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I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.

Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.

There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.

There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.

The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.
To make us think
Robert Ippaso Jun 29
Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.

How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.

The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.

So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.

Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.

Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.
To make us think
Traveler Jun 23
No one can keep up
with the evil deeds
done in our names.
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.

So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.

Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,

No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?

Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.

Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.

America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.

So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.
To make us think
Bomb them all
Send in troops
**** a USA killer
These are poems about Palestinian children and their mothers...

Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Epitaph for a Palestinian Girl
by Michael R. Burch

Find in her pallid, dread repose,
no hope, alas!, for a human Rose.

who, US?
by Michael R. Burch

jesus was born
a palestinian child
where there’s no Room
for the meek and the mild

… and in bethlehem still
to this day, lambs are born
to cries of “no Room!”
and Puritanical scorn …

under Herod, Trump, Bibi
their fates are the same—
the slouching Beast mauls them
and WE have no shame:

“who’s to blame?”

Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

for the mothers and children of Gaza

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable …

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss …

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears …

For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go ...
when lightning rails ...
when thunder howls ...
when hailstones scream ...
when winter scowls ...
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?

Night Labor
by Michael R. Burch

for Rachel Corrie

Tonight we keep the flame alive;
we keep the candle lit.
We burn bright incense in your name
and swear we’ll not forget—
your innocence, your courage,
your commitment—till bleak night
surrenders to irrevocable dawn
and hate yields to love’s light.


Well, Almost
by Michael R. Burch

Jews and Christians say “Never again!”
to the inhumanity of men
(except when the object of phlegm
is a Palestinian).

I, too, have a dream …
by the Child Poets of Gaza (a pseudonym of Michael R. Burch)

I, too, have a dream …
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve such scorn.

Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch

for the mothers of Gaza

There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.

What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?

Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough …
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—

what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?

Suffer the Little Children
by Nakba, an alias of Michael R. Burch

for the children of Gaza

I saw the carnage ... saw girl’s dreaming heads
blown to red atoms, and their dreams with them ...

saw babies liquefied in burning beds
as, horrified, I heard their murderers’ phlegm ...

I saw my mother stitch my shroud’s black hem,
for in that moment I was once of them ...

I saw our Father’s eyes grow hard and bleak
to see his roses severed at the stem.

How could I fail to speak?

Starting from Scratch with Ol’ Scratch
by Michael R. Burch

for the Religious Right

Love, with a small, fatalistic sigh
went to the ovens. Please don’t bother to cry.
You could have saved her, but you were all *******
complaining about the Jews to Reichmeister Grupp.

Scratch that. You were born after World War II.
You had something more important to do:
while the children of the Nakba were perishing in Gaza
with the complicity of your government, you had a noble cause (a
religious tract against homosexual marriage
and various things gods and evangelists disparage.)

Jesus will grok you? Ah, yes, I’m quite sure!
Your intentions were noble and ineluctably pure.
And what the hell does THE LORD care about Palestinians?
Certainly, Christians were right about serfs, slaves and Indians.
Scratch that. You’re one of the Devil’s minions.

King of the World
by the Child Poets of Gaza, an alias of Michael R. Burch

If I were King of the World, I would make
every child free, for my people’s sake.

And once I had freed them, they’d all run and scream
back to my palace, for free ice cream!

Why are you laughing? Can’t a young king dream?

If I were King of the World, I would banish
hatred and war, and make mean men vanish.

Then, in their place, I’d bring in a circus
with lions and tigers (but they’d never hurt us!)

Why are you laughing? What else is a king’s purpose?

If I were King of the World, I would teach
the preachers to always do as they preach;

and so they could practice being of good cheer,
we’d have Christmas —and presents—every day of the year!

Why are you laughing? Some dreams do appear!

If I were King of the World, I would send
my counselors of peace to the wide world’s end …

But all this hard dreaming is making me thirsty!
I proclaim Pink Lemonade; please bring it in a hurry!

Why are you laughing? Mom’ll make it in a flurry!

If I were King of the World, I’d declare
a year of happiness, with no despair—

only playing allowed, for my joyful subjects!
Not a toy left behind! Repair all rejects!

Why are you laughing? Surely no one objects!

If I were King of the World, I would fire
racists and bigots, with their message so dire.

And we wouldn’t build walls, to shut people out.
I would build amusement parks, have no doubt!

Why are you laughing? Should I use my clout?

If I were King of the World, I would drive
a red Ferrari, like no man alive!

But behind would be busses for my legions of friends:
we’d party like maniacs; the fun never ends!

Why are you laughing? Hop aboard! Let’s be friends!

If I were King of the World, I would make
every child blessed, for my people’s sake,

and every child safe, and every child free,
and every child happy, especially me!

Why are you laughing? Appoint me and see!

Keywords/Tag: Palestinian, child, Palestine, Gaza, children, mothers, death, grave, Israel, USA
These are poems about Palestinian children and their mothers, fathers and families.
Robert Ippaso Feb 29
I have a plan
Yes it may be unconventional,
But as a fan
I assure you its success will be intentional.

Most of you may know me
My talent feted shore to shore,
With puppets real as all can see
Talking, singing and much more.

I know I have a skill
And the will to use it right,
Some may say a magic pill
A potent weapon that can bite.

Now that I'm finally a Star
I need embrace the social causes,
No longer propping up the bar
I'm great at mimicking the poses.

One such thought that came my way
To help the old man pull it off,
It's for me to do and say
While he covers with a cough.

I can crouch behind the stand
Prop him up as best I must,
Work his head with my free hand
With experience I'll adjust.

All dear Joe needs do is focus
Read the screen and move his lips,
They won't know that's it's all bogus
That I've written all the scripts.

Only this way can he win
As my famous mates all say,
A little magic is no sin
If I get him through each day.

Should he stray I've got a treat
An ice cream cone well in his sight,
Only once his tasks complete
Will I let him take a bite.

I'm a patriot as all can see
I'll move mountains to beat Trump,
If Joe's to win it’s up to me
And if he flags I've got the pump.
Obviously combining humor and satire...with maybe a touch of insight?
I'm sitting pretty biding my time
Staying real quiet towing the line,
For President Biden, that lovely old man
Playing the game as only I can.

Why make loud waves, somehow act up,
When everything soon will fall in my lap,
Quiet will do it, with a giggle or two,
Hold my cards close and see this thing through.

Joe barely knows and doesn’t much care
When all he can muster is the 50 yard stare,
Once a great man now just a shell
Hell of a shame he can't hear the bell.

Time is my friend for as every week passes,
The closer I get to those fawning masses,
Cheering me on as I take our great oath
Sealing my path, cementing my growth.

Joe's a mere tool I’ll use till I'm ready,
But it needs to be soon as he's ever less steady,
Have him beat Trump, that foul mouthed buffoon,
Then on to dear Joe who shan't be immune.

The Media will gush, but just for a bit,
While I contentedly wait and quietly sit,
One gaffe way too many, they'll call for his head,
And here am I ready to jump in instead.

Madam President, sure has a ring,
A fine tune Beyonce will conjure and sing,
As to the fact I wasn't elected,
Who cares if it's me that must be selected.

For those that once doubted my
inscrutable skills,
It gives me the goosebumps and even the chills,
I socked it to Hillary and ******* the great chump,
So call me Kamala, the Queen and a Champ.
Political Satire
Robert Ippaso Jan 19
My head is in a spin,
My obsession just to win,
I'm driven and I'm mad
All I smell is gushing blood.

I feel I'm in a surreal game
That shooting sort - so very lame,
Where targets pop-up all around,
Nothing ever out of bounds.

What's good for them is great for me,
I'll deftly flatten all I see,
From rabid lawyers to media hacks,
I relish all their wild attacks.

For unbridled as they are
They alone propel me far,
Every moment of every day
From their lips my name they say.

Isn't that just simply grand,
As for every blow they land
Folks just rally to my side
Ferral wokes unable to abide.

I'm a fighter - all see that,
Unlike Joe that doddering dud.
Yes I'm tired - who wouldn't be,
But now the end I clearly see.

With the White House in my grasp,
I doubt I'll even need to ask,
They'll plead with me to take the keys
Given Biden's on his knees.

So while my enemies do the dance,
The time is near for me to prance.
They'll squeal and holler with all their might,
With me cheerleading at the sight.

I'll seal this race and do it quick
By any means and every trick.
Count me out at your great peril,
Not great odds even for the Devil.
Please remember this is political satire
Robert Ippaso Jul 2023
Why would I do this
What was in my head
My charmed life of bliss
Perhaps irreparably dead?

Yes I'm a fighter
A grifter of old,
I deserve a fate brighter
But on this I've been rolled.

Politics such a foul game
They claim I'm the one crooked,
But these hacks put me to shame
With actions deceitful and wicked.

Still you know what they say
When you're in the arena riding that bull,
Hold on tight and don't sway
The harder it bucks the stronger you pull.

Melania's not happy,
The kids out of sight,
While I may sometimes get snappy
It’s when I’m alone in the dead of the night.

Truth socials' my outlet
Where I vent and I rage
An invaluable asset
With my fans to engage.

For despite all my troubles
I'm still leading the pack
Supporting my struggles
They all have my back.

Biden is scheming
When the guy remembers at all,
In most polls I am far leading
Now he's praying I'll fall.

The media is gloating
With me as their lead,
In money they're floating
When Trump is their creed.

So maybe it's worth it
This journey of pain,
The path to outwit
And put these connivers to shame.

With me as your President
The US will be great
My abilities so undeniably evident
I’m clearly your best Head of State.
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