"colbert" poems
Talk-show queen
Oprah Winfrey with her entourage
is going to Australia
and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report
on the state of the colony of Australia
Colony?
Yes, that’s right
Australia is still a British colony -
How else do you explain it?
as the Head of Government in Australia
is still the British Monarchy
and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain,
has her representative
a Governor-General in Australia;
and the Aussie national media faithfully reports
that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island
and the TV stations broadcast visions of
which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy
And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony
Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in
are surprised to learn of Australia’s status
at citizenship ceremonies
and the young man explains to his grandma:
“Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia;
sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.”
And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment
are heard to remark:
“Oh no – does this mean we still have
to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?”
But then they are consoled by the fact
that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years
so we can all still get on with our lives
and the nation will continue
to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos
until such things may happen…
Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey
and her entourage
this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under:
Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 12:16 PM UTC
I dig Joe Rogan
Suheir Hammad
And Alix Olson
Truth seeking
Artists
I dig Howard Zinn
And Noam Chomsky
Dead intellectuals
Truth seekers
I dig Marty
McConnell
And Jason Carny
Poet lovers
Of Humanity
I dig Shakespeare
Mark Twain
Edgar Allen Poe
Emily Dickenson
John Keats
Percy Shelley
Ginsburg and the other Beats
Writers and poets
I will never meet
I dig The Daily Show
The Colbert Report
The John Oliver Show
The Young Turks
News and fake news
Comedy Shows
That expose
Deep truth
I don’t dig me
Always
But I like you
And all the potential
You hold
You are not a black hole
But a blazing star
Waiting to blow
Waiting to be born
The only good form
Of a hydrogen bomb
That reminds me
I dig Einstein
Tesla, Da Vinci
Gandhi Thoreau
Bruce Lee
Great Minds
That are dead
My list goes on
Forever in my head
So instead of
A dissertation of love
I would like to know
Who do you dig bro?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
The earth is flat. We'll never die
And unicorns exist.
Olympic athletes never cheat;
Decorum won't be missed.
The sun did shine when Donald Trump
Took office; folks all bowed
Because they formed the largest yet
Inauguration crowd.
When Colbert talked of "truthiness,"
He meant it as a joke.
When lies disguise as facts, our dreams
Will all go up in smoke.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
“Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man:
one draught above heat makes him a fool;
the second mads him; and a third drowns him.”
— Feste, Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Pulling into Colbert on a mid-week afternoon,
I stride through drifts of passengers falling
from each carriage.
Inside, they deck the station out
in wait like chess figures. I leave as soon as I arrive.
Blessed with rain again,
pestering the roof tiles, great sweeps
of grey water
dash each street. Across,
a building's squared face, chipped bottle green.
Namelessly familiar,
my hermitage.
I enter half-drowned.
I place myself on mark at the bar,
flanked by fellow veterans. To my left, a lowered head,
the dark hide of a colt
retired early from his race.
Right,
a creased face and suit I dimly recognise.
Before my eyes adjust, I limply
raise my hand —
few fingers outstretched, Christlike. A head bows
in response. He moves
to draw a black slick glass;
a tarred trickle, foam-topped like stormed wave.
The first.
A swash against my lip, my mouth
a vacant cove.
Bitter, it gathers in the pit of my tongue
— my pleasure,
I swallow half in one surge.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
Once upon a time
It was unique to see
The President or First Lady
On TV.
Now, Michelle
Does push-ups on Degeneres,
And Barack
Does stand-up on Colbert.
Oh Camelot,
We miss thee.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Le Père Labat était grand amateur de pastis
Qu 'il coupait de son rhum guêpes
Bien agricole à 55 degrés
Comme décollage
Avant d'ingurgiter coup sur coup
Un ou deux diablotins de Marie-Galante
Rôtis à point au boucan
Dans les hauts du volcan
De Dame Soufrière.
Le Père Labat pour compléter aimait sa purée d'avocat et banane jaune bien écrasée à la fourchette.
Or il advint qu'un jour à Pâques le Révérend Père
Plus vorace qu'à son habitude, comme illuminé,
Engloutit douze diablotines afin de rompre le jeûne du Carème.
Vous imaginez l 'indigestion que dut subir le saint homme.
Cette overdose charnelle se manifesta par une érection phénoménale
Qui prit possession du quidam qui entra en transe perpétuelle.
Il y avait là fort heureusement un docteur feuilles qui habitait dans les parages
Un maître quimboiseur
Fort connaisseur en herbes et onguents
Qui lui fit prescrire une bonne soupe de gombo bien pimentée pour lui éclaircir la bile.
Mais cela ne fit aucun effet. L'homme apparemment était dévôt de Priape.
L'urgence était urgentissime. Il s'agissait d'un cas de vie ou de mort.
Il y avait sur une goélette qui arrivait de la métropole
Un médicament miracle du nom de képone.
Un médicament miracle qui allait résoudre tous les problèmes
Le bois bandé ecclésiastique qui avait comme effet
Non pas de produire d'intenses érections mais d'avoir des bananes fruits et légumes de haute tenue.
C'était un nouveau médicament du nom français de chlordécone
Non remboursé par la Sécurité Sociale du Roi et du bon Colbert
Mais qui avait été testé sur d'autres cas terminaux comme celui du prélat.
Le saint homme dut suivre un régime de quarante jours et quarante nuits
Qui consistait à gober à longueur de journée des bananes jaunes
Trempées dans du jus de canne arrosé de moitié de chlordécone.
On ne sait par quel miracle mais le Père Labat fut sauvé et rentra illico au pays de ses ancêtres se consacrer à l'étude et à la méditation.
Mais jusqu 'à aujourd'hui encore les terres de la Soufrière et d'ailleurs sont contaminées.
Les bananes antillaises hantent de leur Chlordécone invisible et inodore les prostates cancéreuses de ces messieurs !
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
i finally understand why
he had to create
a whole persona
to explain
the
phenomenon.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
My lover,
He's sweeter than unprocessed honey.
His touch is softer than a puff of air,
But his jokes aren't funny
And he isn't Stephen Colbert.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
comfortably placed in a well-padded swivel chair
fingertips tapping a lovely mahogany desk
on the left rests a vape pen loaded with rosin I squished
next to a hand-blown glass pipe
specifically for the finest organic outdoor flower
which, it just so happens, I grew myself
the soft glow of the screen beacons
another lovely poem for the community –
outside the window just off my right shoulder
barely noticeable fin movements send spotted coy across the pond
just beyond, the gardens, both vegetable and medicinal
sit in the sun, swelling and flourishing
surrounded by large quartz stones
placed into a medicine wheel
ala black elk speaks --
the old lab comes and rests his greying mug on my leg
a few pats and some scratching under the chin and around the ears
fat and ornery black and white cat hops into the window sill
offering up a weak meow, and anticipatory purrs
soft caresses from the top of his head to the base of his tail
stretching his *** way into the air, he looks over as if to ask,
“who said you could be done”
I place my hands at the keyboard
typing what may be the one that gets me on Colbert –
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC