"charlatan" poems
The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritus:
"I've been writing for two years now
and I've composed only one idyll.
It's my single completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder
of Poetry is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I'm standing on now
I'll never climb any higher."
Theocritus retorted: "Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
And it's a hard, unusual thing
to be enrolled as a citizen of that city.
Its councils are full of Legislators
no charlatan can fool.
To have reached this point is no small achievement:
what you've done already is a wonderful thing."
4.2k
O brother dwimalu!
Why did you bring the white elephant?
In the country of misfortune bodo race!
One of the next one to the king
Country attack in the feet of your own feet.
How glad we had!
You are in the country to increase!
Like to give the flowers to god
The king dwimal to give to the prize
How much happiness was you
The white elephant of burma country.
But the knowledge of the bodo
Knowledge in mud like a bath,
Not to have mercy for the chief minister
Tolerate can't be punished by the king!
Not water to fire
Not stick to elephant
No gun molten to lead
So much injustice did you finish!
O brother dwimalu!
Charlatan and scrooge
Step up mother and then how to believe?
But loved, had food for dinner!
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
the skilled craftsman
he labors pen on page in nights silence
the names and faces of his students
vividly painted to him in small ways on each page
the girl with her flourish of drawings
in the margins of her work
a bird delicately drawn to appear to be dropping
the words onto the page
in amongst her arguments that shakespeare was a charlatan...
the young man from the morning bell
who dose not write as much as he carves and hacks
his words into the dull instrument of the page
crafting it in his way to resemble the angry face he wears within
this quiet man
teacher
he learns too
from the patchwork quilt of humanity
that passes year by year through his world
some shine brightly
others faded away into obscurity's cage
see him sitting in nights silence
pen in hand
a master craftsman at his labor of love
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Sometimes it is, poor Sylvia,
that we cannot find the answers. They're
not to be found clinking about in the stars,
blowing about in the August wind,
or blooming among the tea flowers, no matter
how scented. No charlatan soothsayer discerns.
No pull of the cards deciphers. If answers come
at all they'll be found deep within yourself, only.
Don't we all prove that countless, wretched
times? But know this, dear Sylvia, even though it's too
late for your sanity and your life, your daddy didn't
die because of you, for you, by you. Death simply
drew the line and pulled him across.
What were you to do when life puzzled you
to the limit, when all poems disappointed,
when the ink failed to flow smoothly,
the pen tore at the paper and the paper
turned to ash before a line could be written down?
What to do when your child's smile failed to ignite
motherhood, when Daddy's image floated in and out, when
emotional pain dragged you terrified under its
black cerement, that cold, wet, smothering grave cloth?
Fear, oh my God, fear, and the doubt that you had,
the whirling about of a shattered mind, bouncing
from this trap to the other - your muted, stifled inner
screams unheard, or worse, unexpressed. Yes,
you found a solution, poor Sylvia, but suicide
doesn't always equate with an answer. You found a
sad poem, a dirge to be exact, something that moves
us, but there is no rhyme to it and the ending is an
enigma, a great puzzle yet to be invoked, understood.
----
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
In to the mystery of the night, i wander
the tangled tarantula garden
canopied with prophesies of light,
Lit windows are making
overtures to desires
night unleashes at these hours,
hear the buzz in the air
its time to make love,
darkness forgets hurt and embraces light.
i walk alone,
but an enchanting witch wait
for me somewhere in a garden bench,
to take me by my hand to her secret haunt
filled with thick smoke of ****
where she will remove the drapes
to let me see the truth.
On her quill and cactus bed,
she would make me understand,
how far is pleasure from pain
why darkness stalks light,
a jilted lover, walking a few steps behind,
I've heard her, once whisper
to wind in her husky voice
"A life written off by those
who measure out life with coffee spoons,
as spent in vein; this life of mine,
could have its secret treasures,
no charlatan could ever guess about
a serpent's diamonds
very few get to see,
its dangerous to pry, i forgive their ignorance"
Words induced by her dark power
has layers of meaning
but to many it was just meaningless jabbering,
just magic mushroom blabber
She nibbled and nicked my earlobes,
in between intoxicating purrs,
told me the meaning of caterwauls,
**"Its not pain, its not pain,
once you get in to the stream
you only want to drain,
in to the vast blue ocean"**
I recognize now, it's Walpurgis night,
as i walk in search of my witch,
i see dancers around bonfire,
revelers totally out of their minds,
carouse at the heart of the night.
And i see them all, witches in marine blue dresses,
enchantresses in blackly black,
coquettish red or groovy green,
I wait for her to appear,
the only one in resplendent white.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
The sun bled infection
Mother Nature wept at all this mess.
they was all runts made of litter
& was done away with each other
before they seent they was
one with each other &
it bothered Father Time so
he shot Big Brother &
Little Sister down with his nine
& god daughter blind saw
the whole slaughter but
thought the whole thing was
pretty much black and white.
Do away with em all, Charlotte.
doused in scarlet charlatan-
lifted inhibition
her golden hearted
harlot trickery
speaks of defeat in victories;
he lived in his liquor
to prevent from feelin
too sick with himself
same reason
he sticks himself with needles
treating diseases
no one but them can see &
feeding to the need of the queen
to keep the screams quiet for the night
& keep the hive alive alright
& thriving vibrant
lest the fiends get violent
& riot inside their minds.
then there's a problem.
but problems is made for solvin.
zoom out, island of lost babies
where they got Wilbur's head on a stake
speaking zen
the monster live within &
we're just seeing in others
a reflection of ourselves.
breathe in, buddha.
burn slow.
move steady or
lose your head.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
You will never know what it means
to be a father, until you have a son.
The overflowing joy, and the love
that echoes in the ***** of my being
when I looked upon you;
the sense of honor when I’m able to pass
on something good into your hands;
the heartbreak brought by my demons
that keep me from being the man
I want you to see.
The man that stands in front of you
or has left your life, who
has the power over you — for good
and for bad — that will never let go,
is the man you’ll only see.
A privilege, a great burden it is to be that man.
Sense of manhood, self-worth, responsibility
to the world around you — there’s something
that must be passed from me to you.
Yet, to put this in words is hard.
A time when it’s hard to speak from the heart —
that’s where we live. My life is tainted
by thousands negligibility, and the poetry
of my spirit in silenced by the thoughts
and cares of daily affairs.
The song of being a man is silent.
I find myself full of advice but devoid of belief.
I don’t have all the answers to your questions
but I do understand. I see you struggling
and discovering, striving upward
and I see myself reflected in your soul.
So I can say, I have been there.
To walk, run and fall, I’ve learned.
I have had my first love, my first heartbreak.
Sadness and fear, all of them I’ve known.
I have wept tears of sorrows and joy
but knew that God’s hands were on my shoulders.
On moments of darkness, I thought I’d
never see light, but He’s the light.
I want you to be near Him, the Light.
I have felt myself emptied into the
secret of the universe, moments when the
smallest slight threw me into rage.
When I barely had the strength to walk myself,
I have carried others, yet some other times
I left them standing by the side of the road
with their eyes begging.
There are times I feel I’ve done enough
and better as what others expect; yet other times
I feel I am a charlatan, a failure.
I am a man, as you are.
And albeit you’ll walk your own earth
and move through your own clock,
the same sun that rose on me, will rise on you.
The same seasons, the same paths.
We will always be different,
but will always be the same.
These aren’t meant to make you into me,
rather, I’d like you to use them in yours.
To watch you become your own self
is my joy. To be your father is no more like being
the Summa *** Laude in my class, it’s much more.
You allowed me to touch mystery for a moment
You are my love made flesh,
and I want you to pass that love along.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
First was a demo.
Second was a desire.
Third was a demon.
Fourth was a disappointment.
Fifth was a liar.
Sixth was someone who lost me.
Seventh was a charlatan.
Eighth was a Succubus.
But nineth is a different Angel,
My Angel.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
in the mink pith of our dismal mints and our Charlatan hearse fights
in the twice dark vice of our daffodils
you linger effervescent in the marmalade plans
of mice and gin.
you march men into your womb like pixie dust and Ebola.
there, in the devious whiskers of your manticore
i have found you naked and bereft of kin.
an oodle of gimp where the soul
had been, and the gas lights off the marsh
unclean.
the vivid hork of your dead albatross, pondering the hink of your discontinued love.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.
I **** I **** by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.
I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.
It's a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.
I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.
Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.
But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.
Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.
happy flights :)
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
Wrong
Wrung
Ring
Ring my doorbell,
Wring my neck,
Rid me of this mortal wretch.
*****
Wrench
Can you fix it?
Get your toolbox
You're ill-equipped
I don't qualify
Quality
Quantity
I am not enough
For this.
Too tough
To kiss.
Rough life I've lived.
Live
Life
Lie
Lay back.
Just take it.
Let it happen.
Swallow
Swallow me up.
Swallow me whole.
Throw me down into a hole.
Wholly
Holy
Even God forgot me.
Oh his drones did try.
Saxophone & sweat
Promised hell when I die.
Choir girls & Inquisition
Tore my words, tried to burn me alive.
Then the good chaplain,
Samaritan?
Charlatan.
Daddy out of the way,
Me on the streets,
Mommy where he wants her
Worship at his feet.
Fret
Bet.
I am not afraid.
My debt is paid.
In blood, in tears.
Lost dreams, lost years.
Country roads, cold beers.
Bare
Bear
Burdens
I am brave.
Strength
Truth
Power
You'll have to cut them from my flesh.
Fresh
Blood
Brooding o'er my funeral,
Don't worry about my death.
I still feel pain,
I still draw breath.
My hearts not cold,
My soul is still old.
I haven't set a thing in stone.
******
Skipping rocks.
Flying planes,
Sail away from the docks.
Shoot me into outer space,
If this is Hell,
Heaven can wait.
I'm dancing with the Devil
& God is always fashionably late.
Create.
Tell
Tales
Tails
I'm not done yet.
Evolving
Incomplete
Completely me.
Pecan pie & sweet tea.
Nature
Treks
Blessed Be.
Naked
Exposed
Second for the money,
First for the show.
This is a test,
No time to be gauche.
Gross
Shocking grace.
There's still sand in my grave.
This cannibal inside
Still has a taste.
Human body beneath my tongue,
It's essence still fills my lungs.
Chest
Heart
Beats against this cage.
I'm too young to feel this age,
So don't you dare save the date.
Once the wolf works with the mirror
It's finally free.
Then I promise,
You'll be seeing me.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Dear Diary, you're completely full of **** You are that streetwalker who passes by with a faux smile and a greeting that defines Charlatan.
"Hello! How are you?"
Well, Diary, I'm broken and full of rotting organs and a brain just screaming for serotonin and a conscious that wants to shove a knife in your chest and a heart that's too weak to do it.
"I'm doing just fine, thanks."
Charlatan Diary, you're nothing but a shallow waste of ink. Waste of ink waste of ink wasteof ink wa ste o f ink wasteofink.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 9:51 PM UTC
I don’t believe you!
All you say is a pack of lies.
If you tell the truth
It will come as a big surprise.
You’re unaffected by the truth
You lie, each time you speak
If you could find a way to do it
You’d lie about the days of the week.
You’re as crooked as a helix
Just as dishonest as any thief.
Your warped view of reality
Is totally beyond all belief.
I don’t believe you!
You turn the truth inside out.
Making up tall tales
Is most of what you’re about.
Your every word is fact-free
And every action is a crime.
You steal when you don’t need to.
If you could, you’d steal time.
You’re the poster child indeed
For most kinds of dishonesty.
Telling the truth, being truthful
Is not part of your chemistry.
I don’t believe you!
You’re a gold plated charlatan.
If you get caught lying
You tell another lie and start again.
I don’t believe you!
All you say is a pack of lies.
If you tell the truth
It will come as a big surprise.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
It's nice to have temporary friends again, when they decide to visit.
Sharing stories of underwater animals from a
Viewpoint of an observer blowing bubbles.
A fish that defends its purple eggs till the death.
Sea turtles still breathe air, it seems like such a hassle.
I just want to feel weightless;
Into vacant space.
Still learning what can people can amount to:
Blurry myths of sadness anxiety
Letting go of trick happiness
Hype trend excitement
Constant detail examining
Hummingbird heart beating passion
Assumed reactions endless distractions
Occupy one-track minds
Recycling uninspired questions.
Sagacious in Patience
The Hollow and Empty kind
Finding Solitude priceless
Drifting images of third-eye kind;
I tried at least I thought I did.
I don't
want to break;
Silenced Glass.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
Almost all my most popular poems
Are the ones kicking Trump’s fat ***
I know after November sixth for sure
This particular issue will lose gas.
While that will slow me down for sure,
It won’t make me loathe him less.
He’s a charlatan, a liar and a ****
In almost every way a total mess.
Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.
So I will have to maunder around a bit
To find a juicier source of poetic satire
Than the Big Cheetoh has often been.
He’d open his mouth and spew hellfire.
He frothed and threatened and whined,
And for the most part the scorching
Ended up being his own big ****
And never was an *** more deserving.
Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.
He’s arrogant and babbles lies
One of the nastiest people ever seen.
He only seems to make sure his face
Shows in photographs in magazines.
He has little understanding of the job
He thinks he wants to be chosen for.
He expects everyone to bow and scrape,
To compliment, effuse and to adore.
Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
How sad it is and how how veiled are we. How ashamed we should be. Staring into the mirror we tell ourselves of the imperfections we see. We cry out "UGLY". Pound our fists and beat our chests.
We mustn’t be fooled anymore, I plea, be incredulous of the Magician, for you know in the end there is no truth to his magic, only a master of slight of hand. He is nothing but an illusionist, and a charlatan if he claims to be anything more. We are being fooled in that polished sand. Every imperfection you see, darling, you're being fooled.
Imperfections are the first illusions of human nature, older than the oldest profession. I cry in sorrow at how carelessly we forget, so much and so often. We tell each other that love is the scarlet fog that blinds us from the “truth” of imperfection. We show pity for the fool in love, we laugh and judge, for he wears rose colored glasses. Oh what fools are WE! To think love, LOVE, as the fog that blinds us from seeing another truly. From seeing ourselves in our perfect beauty.
You forget so readily that the only truth is perfection. Insecurity is the mist, shame and fear the haze and fog that blind the world. And Hate, hate is the great illusionist. Hate of others, and hate in your self. The only truth in your reflection is perfection. Love is that veil lifted, we wear glasses for what else but to see clearly when we are blind.
Now speak these words aloud, repeat them and believe them. Let them burn in your brain for there are no other truths besides this. You are perfect, you are beautiful, desirable, you are worthy of all the love and joy that this dark world still possesses. Don't let that fog of sadness, and of the scared blind masses keep you from seeing how beautiful you are. Love yourself, smile into the mirror in the morning at the perfection that you see. I love you. And if your vision is blurred, take my glasses
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Default African,
Yes I am,
And a disgrace for that matter,
Yet African with Katekism,
I am supposed to be,
Come rain, sunshine or high waters,
I have betrayed you Africa,
I have 'back-stabbed' you in the face,
And spit rotten phlegm in the wound,
Giant mother,
With this badge of slavery I now proudly wear,
**** me.
Never have I washed my father, Or mother,
Never have I washed my grandfather or grandmother,
Neither of these have I ever dared looking after,
Yet today,
I assume total custodianship and curator-ship,
I take care of some grandfather and grandmother,
Somebody's father,
Somebody's mother,
Somebody's grandfather,
Somebody's grandmother.
Only yesterday I was told,
Your father and mother passed away last year,
And so did your brothers and sisters,
And they were all buried like dogs,
Their burials were the talk of town,
How could you let that happen,
How could you,
And I am these enermies' comfortable door mate.
My grandfathers were colonised,
Because of our rich land,
And now I have been extensively colonised,
Because of their pound,
Because of wanting to be a Westerner – overseas,
Away from you,
Continent of respect and dignity,
Continent of dance and song,
A continent pregnant with untold tales.
My sick mind has been colonised,
Graduating me into a nefarious modern commercial slave,
Just but an echo of an old tune,
A worse slave than my ancestor,
The Kunta Kintes,
I am a cheap voluntary slave,
Who has been gratuitously deserted by his values,
The African values.
I stand accused before myself,
I am a cumbrous culpable default African,
An African who has lost his ebullient Africanness,
A charlatan ********** African on a detour,
A dismantled, shameless self destroyed pimple,
A nauseating counterfeit second hand African,
An extraneous stain on Africa's underwear,
I am of as much value to Africa,
As is an over- used ****** to a filthy growth point **********
Regrettably, that is the African I have become.
How I wish I washed my father and mother,
How I wish I washed my grandparents,
How I wish I took care of them,
The wish is killing me badly,
I may as I have run away from you Africa,
But never from Africanness,
Litres of your blood flows in body pipes,
I am because you are,
I am a default African.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC
A man known as "The Master"
came to speak to our small town
He was revered as a wise man
And he always dressed in brown
He answered every question
Though his answers did confuse
He was more of a rainmaker
A charlatan, a ruse
For twenty bucks he'd let you in
To hear him speak about the world
His hair, was just a birds nest
And his beard was braided, twirled
I went to see this magii
Find out answers about life
I asked him if he knew the truth
He said, "I see you've met my wife"
I asked him what his answer meant
He said "she always asks me the same thing"
"like, when I've lost the rent"
"Master, all I want to know
Can true happiness come to man"
"If you've money, ***** and three drunk broads"
"Then son, I'd say you can"
"Master, that's not what I mean"
"Then, just why did you ask?"
"I didn't mean that happiness"
He took a sip from his small flask
I sat and looked about me
At the crowd around his feet
I was more confused than ever
And was getting dizzy from the heat
Another man stepped forward asking
"Master, tell us about love"
"didn't you read about the broads
"About thirteen lines above"
"Love..it is confusing"
"It's always different every day"
"If you want love that never changes"
"Then my boy, you'll have to pay"
"I'm not sure that's what I need"
"To hear, Is it the truth?"
"I see you've met my wife as well"
"A big girl, red head...Ruth"
"No master, I just need to know"
"Before I choose a bride"
"Well, make sure you can see the tv"
"When she's lying on her side"
"Always mark the ***** bottle"
"Just in case...you know..me thinks"
"That way, you can always prove to her"
"That you haven't had three drinks"
"Master, this is way off base"
"I think you are a fraud"
"Young man, I know of what I speak"
"I see that you don't have a broad"
He too, sat down, head spinning
The master was confusing as all hell
But, we all sat here in his presence
Under this strange man's spirit spell
"Master, I have one more thing"
"I must know before I leave"
He said" it's two doors down and to the right"
As he wiped his nose upon his sleeve
"No, not that, I don't need that"
"I just need to know what's real"
"Do I believe in all around me?
"Do I believe in what I feel?"
"Christ", he said,"you are a pain"
"I can't answer things like that"
"I just know, who won last nights game"
"Do these pants make me look fat?
"You speak to me of truth and love"
"I know of broads and trucks"
"The only truth I know is that"
"You've wasted twenty bucks"
"Master, you're a ripoff, sir"
"I guess this is a lesson in my life"
"You really do not know the truth"
"Are you sure you've not met my wife?"......
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
I chanced to meet a ghostwriter at my door,
her transportation failed just down the road
A sojourning doppelgänger of sorts
…an elusive reflection in need of a tow
Transmuting words to wine,
We both sip time to time,
‘Til they foment catharsis
And melt to sublime.
Breathless in afterglow,
From insouciance and hubris,
Words weather to sediment
That we’ll climb to the precipice
And once at the summit
We’ll cast words adrift,
Toast our glasses to flying
And then leap from the cliff.
I read your words by day,
to skirt the wiles of your will
but I know your heart by night.
Leave me, charlatan, to my waking hours,
I know whose ghost you are
why haunt my spirit in its sanctum by the light.
I contravene with tears
in the corners of your eyes,
Guide them back, and kiss their lids
And send them off to hide.
In dark whispers,
calling you and calling you
To join them by their side.
Why must you take me with you,
is this protest not enough?
My importune to tender ears,
“I’ve things to do, I must!”
Still you wrap yourself around my world,
My overflowing chalice
And turn the wine to liquid gold,
oh, ever clever alchemist.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
“SHAME ON YOU”
By: F. Panerio
Shame on you!
Charlatan
Shame on you!
Phony
Shame on you!
Hoax
Shame on you!
Larceny
Shame on you!
Debauched
Shame on you!
Mendacious
Shame on You!
Superciliousness
Shame on You!
Snootiness
Shame on You!
Scoundrel
Shame on you!
And shame on me!
If we both alike!
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
Beneath a southern isle doth lie the king of boys
Decomposed was he, as the wit of the world fell to the same solem depths
Alas the ego who stripped our hero of his power
Innocence, his last living breath
HE was nothing more than a charlatan
The so-called king of all things
The so-called GOD among boys
Knew nothing more than the extent of his own vanity
The prospective leader
Prophesized guide us through this darkness that is our world
Now lays in ruins
Shattered
And with him all reason
All notions of right and good
Crushed beneath a shadow of ostentation
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Dear diary:
Land sakes! Leofric cannot believe I carried through with it. But indeed, today I rode naked along the sparse, meager streets of ye old Coventry.
And whilst my long hair, let down for the occasion, did provide me a jot of modesty; alas! a strong breeze I am most certain granted uncivil eyes to plainly see my top half is much ado about nothing.
Nonetheless, an even more discomfiting fear shall be if some peeping tom espied his fair countess to be no natural blonde at all; just a fare-thee-well lemon juicing, miracle bra wearing charlatan.
On the plus side, I did achieve quite a lovely, even, 'no-lines' tan!
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 2:33 PM UTC
The churl in spirit, up or down
Along the scale of ranks, thro' all,
To him who grasps a golden ball,
By blood a king, at heart a clown;
The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil
His want in forms for fashion's sake,
Will let his coltish nature break
At seasons thro' the gilded pale:
For who can always act? but he,
To whom a thousand memories call,
Not being less but more than all
The gentleness he seem'd to be,
Best seem'd the thing he was, and join'd
Each office of the social hour
To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind;
Nor ever narrowness or spite,
Or villain fancy fleeting by,
Drew in the expression of an eye,
Where God and Nature met in light;
And thus he bore without abuse
The grand old name of gentleman,
Defamed by every charlatan,
And soil'd with all ignoble use.
1.1k
And for those of you who don’t
Find Trump to be pernicious,
He shows his *** to one and all,
I hope you find it is delicious.
For those of you who lived in
Dream castles of foolish hope
You have backed an evil man
A charlatan and a dope.
If you tried hard and long
You could not have done worse
And that is the reason for
This neener neener verse.
I can’t think how he could
Have warned you any better.
He promised things intelligence
Could discredit by the letter.
He said he would do stuff
So totally unconstitutional,
That made the rich richer,
And proved you were delusional
To trust a total ripoff guy
Who has been cheating for years.
Why did you think this fool
Would allay any of your fears?
But still you all waved high
His stupid Chinese-made hats;
Bought him gold and diamond studs
For his brand new fancy spats.
And now he’s in the Capitol
Laughing at all of you dolts
YOU gave him weapons to use on you
Instead of a thousand volts.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I’ve been around the bend before
Hung out at the bar to score
I was rotten to the core
But I don’t do that anymore
That was in my past life
Before my kids and wife
Back then you couldn’t tell me
That I was the marrying type
I’ve been a sinner and deceiver
A charlatan now I’m a believer
See I never did conceive her
Comin’ in my life
Never thought she’d be my wife
Given my past and my history
Which was a little blistery
To some I’m still a mystery
And all the girls I’ve kissed ya see
I was rotten to the core
But I don’t do that anymore
That was in my past life
Before my kids and wife
I’ve been a sinner and deceiver
A charlatan now I’m a believer
See I never did conceive her
Comin’ in my life
Never thought she’d be my wife
Lord knows the girl was patient
She waited for my transformation
Though I’d backslide on occasion
She was still my soul’s salvation
It’s amazing that you’d ask
Do I miss my sordid past
Back when I lived too fast
And thought it was a blast
I was rotten to the core
But I don’t do that anymore
That was in my past life
Before my kids and wife
I’ve been a sinner and deceiver
A charlatan now I’m a believer
See I never did conceive her
Comin’ in my life
Never thought she’d be my wife
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c)_2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC