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#45
god you self-righteous, idealistic **** I don’t like your old poetry it all feels too cheesey— and it’s overly emotional write something fresh, publish something better get the anger out (you can’t bottle it up) if you’re going to explode then do it through a pen or at least, leave yourself out of it there’s so much wrong in this world write about that I know you have at least 10 poems angry, political ones just sitting in your notes app waiting to be jolted to life pull the lever, Dr. Frankenstein This Monster Kills Fascists.
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May 22, 2022
May 22, 2022 at 10:52 PM UTC
Old poetry
Nietzsche postulated His death. tRump proved it. But gods are known to resurrect.
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Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
Gott Ist Tot
I did errands today and I was confused Something was wrong, astray I mused I settled into the evening quiet And my disquieted soul shouted "The flags were not at half staff" As the West Wing staff and Cabinet was trimmed by half Yesterday, Congress was sieged by riff-raff 45 egged them on Congress counted the Electoral votes but our troubles are not all gone Today, I needed to see that flag half-mast My grief begged for a symbol against the bombast And yet the flag waved, full staff, as if nothing and no one mattered And no one has said a word
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Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 12:36 AM UTC
Half Hearted, Full Mast
Here lies a liar Because the liar lied here. Now the liar's stable, For the liar's inable To equivocate and lie.
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Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC
Epitaph 45
The adulterer has the ****** Virus*, And 45 needs to distance Six thousand miles; Cover his face; Buy XS gloves; Add a cup of bleach, Light up his interior, And wipe away the time Spent behind SDNY bars.
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Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC
The ****** Virus
Will the Jenga House collapse If we remove the Judicial block? Will the foundation hold the roof If we remove the Legislative block? Remove the Executive block(head), Place it in the bunker, for reference, And let the House rise up. Rise up!
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Sep 1, 2020
Sep 1, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
The U.S. of Jenga
I'm a sinner, Our boy's a swimmer; Pray for us. I crave to man handle Lads in our *** scandal; Pray for us. My hub's a ****** Pleads, L'amour toujours; Pray for us. We seek your affection, Count our Sunday collection; Pray for us. We drink golden showers, Are massaged for hours; Pray for us. On our private jet, We *** drink and fete; Pray for us. You don't know squat Till you Manage a trois; Pray for us. We are rich, And white as hell; And richer now That we fell. Pray for us all.
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Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 1:02 PM UTC
Pray For Us
To weaken him, He sent the archangel Virus; To muffle him, He sent the St. Michael storms.
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Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 11:51 AM UTC
Heaven Sent
We love my mashed potatoes, With butter on our plates; But at the Trumpian table, We'd eat from Donnie's pate.
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Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 7:55 AM UTC
Mashed and Smashed
If I was a bigot, Or xenophobic, Or prejudiced, Or sexist, Or racist, Or even Evangelical, I would argue The Wrath of God Has enveloped America, Like a plague. But I'm not, I'm a non-believer.
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Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 7:40 AM UTC
The New American Dream
"If everyone around you is forced into the Bubble, Then you don't need to wear a mask." D. Trump
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Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 11:19 AM UTC
The ***** Near the Bubble
Don't you admire his ringwork; His footwork and speed? Dance. Jab. Dance. Did you see Rambonehead snap? Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering Like the bloated incumbent. Jab. Dance. Jab. The Dope's been roped. The final count's on.
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May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 11:16 AM UTC
Floats and Stings
When the son-in-law (who should remain nameless) Is a clone Of the father-in-law, (whom should also remain nameless), The son-in-law Lies in an incestuous bed, And the father-in-law Gets a vicarious jump On the wing (the west one)
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May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 1:57 PM UTC
****** Is Best On the Wing
As in all Partici-Poems, You're invited to add your own. Based on Fake News and False Hope, There's nothing here to help you cope. Covid-19 is China's Beta version. The real pandemic is yet to come. They now have a one year head start. They've proved they can isolate and destroy Without leaving their country. The Sleeping Giant has opened its eyes. It's the Real Rich people's way of getting Really Richer. It's a deal maker. You're Hired. It's all about Government Opportunity. Remember Get Smart and the CONTROL Organization For whom he worked. If the shoe fits, GPS someone. If we send young healthy Jimmy (who tested positive) In to see all the Grandmas and Grandpas, Think of the resources we'll free up. Manipulate the markets. Tell people Russia and the Saudis are friends. But tell your family first. Hydroxychloroquine Not only will it cure you, but it promotes Natural skin color, whether black, white, brown or orange. This is supported by the WH Medical Dream Team. It's a miracle. Deus ex machina. Will also give you blue eyes and blonde hair. And please use a clean syringe when injecting disinfectant. SIEG HEIL ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
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Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC
Viral Lies (A Partici-Poem)
The White House is an inverse reflection Of the matter/anti-matter chamber: It's Not, The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. No. It's, The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many. What matters matters.
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Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 11:53 AM UTC
Matter/Anti-Matter Chamber
We know them best by their first names, Names ingrained on our brains; Mouthed by millions being slain, By the viral ego of the politically inane. Adolph, Idi, Kim and Pol, Francisco, Mao and Nicol. Other names have come and gone, None rise so high, as Despot Don. Tens of thousands die prematurely, The man's bereft of human morality. Preoccupied with re-election, He risks a healthy population: The aged, sick and compromised, Won't cast a vote when they die. The word is out throughout New York: He ain't famly, de foykin joyk.
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Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC
The Don: Make Him An Offer...
Nero fiddled, POTUS diddled, The outcome is the same. Handbaskets are in flames. I, said: Others are to blame.
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Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 10:23 AM UTC
I, *******
Stupid is as stupid does. Tupid is as tupid sounds. Upid is as upid sounds. Pid is as pid sounds. Id is... Donald.
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Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 9:39 AM UTC
D Is For Donald
How do I loathe thee? There aren't enough ways. I loathe your birth, your girth; the lack of mirth My tired spirit can reach under your curse; For loss of truth on your tenuous stay. I loathe you for the depth of my lost days' Most silent tears, for all of what they're worth. I loathe thee as I love our damaged Earth. I loathe you for your blathering self-praise. I loathe deeply with the disdain I held For my old habits, and my wayward sins. I loathe you with the intense, hurtful pains Of lost loves left on our bleak battlefields. I loathe with a passion I freely choose, As free choice allows. I loathe with my heart, My thoughts, my whole being; and when you lose, I'll loathe thee lovingly as you depart.
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Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 11:00 AM UTC
How I Do Loathe Thee (Sonnet 45)
… and the Sanhedrin cried out loudest, Free Barabbas. Ergo, The Republic got nailed.
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Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 1:41 PM UTC
Barabbas
Charles didn't heed the Puritans He was God's appointed, Anointed and empowered. He tumbled from above, Down through the law, Lost his head. Nicholas was placed in the basement crypt, A cult-like condemnation; So they stood him against the wall, He listed to his Monk, His reasoning debunked, So they shot the anointed one On his golden throne. Benito was above the law, High on meat hooks. Could we dare to look? If you were lucky, If you were tied to a stake, And the ******* ignited, Someone dear would tie a bag Of gunpowder around your neck. Why let the crows pick out his eyes, Make golden nests from his hair. End the torture. Pull the life-line. Sever the head from the body politic. It is the righteous thing to do; It is the civil thing to do In pensive state. Rise up from your ashes. It is the kindest cut of all.
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Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC
The Kindest Cut of All
Love's cornerstone set Forty-five years together Dear wife of my youth Our sons, their wives, our lives full May love's embrace continue...           ~ to the moon and back ~
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Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
To My Bride on Our 45
We've numbers in distress; We've villains and scoundrels In need of redress; Choose any one of one thousand quests - We're in desperate need of a Hero. No call for a cape or cowl, Hidden rings or magic swords; We need action, Not placating words - From a righteous Hero. Greece or Rome won't be the origin, There may well be one in Oregon; At this juncture we'll take anyone - A home grown or welcome Hero. We'll have truth without hyperbole, Not disdain, but hearing dignity; One to rise up, reach out, lift us From the swamp of vanity. We don't need Deus ex machina, Or anything supernatural; A woman or man, Natural or choice, A sister or brother, To call us home; To hear a voice say, You're not alone.
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Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 10:44 AM UTC
Perhaps From Oregon
The baboon savant Will rear and taunt From high on his hair-swept hill; He snatches bananas from the unsuspecting, His reach has no appeal. He relishes the sound Of his own voice, Screeching into the wind; He sticks his fingers in his ears, And when he plops down His ruby-red **** His thumb's nestled up his rear.
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Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 9:37 AM UTC
The Baboon Savant