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"congressman" poems
--- On February 15 a congressman went out for to ski never did return that day he died "hitting a tree" There was much blunt force trauma to the front of his head elect of California legislature now Sonny Bono's DEAD - CHORUS - Who murdered Sonny Bono? How did that man die? Was it all a "ski accident" or is that just a lie? Did he have information of government high ups? Laundering money for drugs and guns doin' things corrupt? There is an old story and you know it's true The Kennedy's were conspired against and now Sonny, too. --- Blunt force trauma to the skull but no broken ribs or knees and no counter coup to the brain you don't need an MD No coroner to tell you somethin's fishy there and the back of Sonny's jacket **had a tell tale tear** - CHORUS - You won't see this on TV It won't be in the news all the links have been shut down They have too much to loose There's only one who's brave enough to convey this, you see and he has had attempts on his life for telling you and me - CHORUS -
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Who Murdered Sonny Bono?
My wounds bleed war paint and there’s an air of mischief on your tongue. When chaos propels itself on our sweet plans we are reminded of our wavering energy to hiss past the unexpected. An appetite for freedom can’t sustain starving artists. I often imagine life as a black and white silent film. Those rust-tinted spectacles stay concrete on the bridge of my nose, Dancing giraffe-men on stilts boisterously taunt the congressman on his crackberry, ask him what he’s livin’ for. Give me your half-drawn dreams to hide in, give me your blood. Because mosquitoes never tire of kicking you when you’re at your lowest. Give me your childhood ambitions and carefree summer nights, and you’ve got guts, kid, you’ve got guts, to careen over rooftops in search of a paradise. Sway in narrow alleyways in the major cities and feel the warmth of life occurring.
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Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
Mischievous Guts
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight. Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly, as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch, and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport. "Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned, and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft. But I was getting divorced while all the other couples were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction. Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph, on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam. The conductor yelled, "All Aboard." and as if that period denoted a punctual mark, everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle. The first influx of lovely passengers to board were, Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache. Unlike Dr. Feelgood, They had been waiting in line from the previous night, like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale. Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity, for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet. Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles, while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection. The  Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains, so TSA wheeled him through the crack rocks Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart; traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.   My analog heart will eventually be shelved, as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul, but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick, my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
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Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
My Analog Heart
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight. Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly, as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch, and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport. "Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned, and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft. But I was getting divorced while all the other couples were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction. Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph, on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam. The conductor yelled, "All Aboard." and as if that period denoted a punctual mark, everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle. The first influx of lovely passengers to board were, Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache. Unlike Dr. Feelgood, They had been waiting in line from the previous night, like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale. Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity, for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet. Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles, while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection. The  Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains, so TSA wheeled him through the crack rocks Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart; traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.   My analog heart will eventually be shelved, as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul, but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick, my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
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34
the CIA will never make the money off ****** it made off ******* ******* is for parties dance clubs good times in social settings ****** not so much dark alleys with ***** dealers selling black tar to hopeless souls Mexican mules with **** cavities brimming carrying kilos into Nogales or maybe Calexico bow legged and sweating just 35 more trips and sweet little Consuela can be an American until Trump gets his wall – article after article relaying tragedy the poor, lost in addiction desperately seeking a coping mechanism something to stem the tide of despair and general malaise dead in their prime over a twenty sack and low self-worth…. many friends and family this same tale… some folks heritage is in ranching, thousands of head of cattle driven across the open plains grandfather to grandson, uncle and cousin…. others, political dynasty papa congressman and auntie judge but not mine – the crest of my tree looks like the biohazard symbol as generations of drug addicts litter the undergrowth their weight attempting to hold me lock me into familial history unfortunately or fortunately my will, and recognition of god’s power flowing within me, as it.. I am my own master and free to fashion my branches to whatever my liking desires – undercover government agents line street corners whispering illusionary tales of release stories of becoming void of pain parables relating a free mind to personal freedom through chemical alterations I whisper back “I bet my **** is delicious, wanna taste?” –
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Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
same ole C.I.A.
the CIA will never make the money off ****** it made off ******* ******* is for parties dance clubs good times in social settings ****** not so much dark alleys with ***** dealers selling black tar to hopeless souls Mexican mules with **** cavities brimming carrying kilos into Nogales or maybe Calexico bow legged and sweating just 35 more trips and sweet little Consuela can be an American until Trump gets his wall – article after article relaying tragedy the poor, lost in addiction desperately seeking a coping mechanism something to stem the tide of despair and general malaise dead in their prime over a twenty sack and low self-worth…. many friends and family this same tale… some folks heritage is in ranching, thousands of head of cattle driven across the open plains grandfather to grandson, uncle and cousin…. others, political dynasty papa congressman and auntie judge but not mine – the crest of my tree looks like the biohazard symbol as generations of drug addicts litter the undergrowth their weight attempting to hold me lock me into familial history unfortunately or fortunately my will, and recognition of god’s power flowing within me, as it.. I am my own master and free to fashion my branches to whatever my liking desires – undercover government agents line street corners whispering illusionary tales of release stories of becoming void of pain parables relating a free mind to personal freedom through chemical alterations I whisper back “I bet my **** is delicious, wanna taste?” –
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55
Reckless habbits destroy the dying chance for children. Worthless yells wont be heard. Because we shutndown our compassion. Over eight hundread thousand mortgages, Double the car payments, Tripple tuition, And end homeland security. We shut down. I **** you not we had to do it. I can scream I can say spending went to far. But I wont get recalled because my aid was furloughed. Im a ***** an orange ***** Ill kiss vetrens. Ill find ways to open the gates I closed. Im captain of this ship. And I will fix anything that Leaks with red tape. Wait till october. Because ill show you who the teorist really are. I want equality for every minimum wage worker in kentucky. I need your vote for 2016. My name Is independemce. Im the ******* who couldnt represent a bad fart. Ill blame obama, Ill fake my death before ever realizing Ideals make ****** outcomes. Your family will raise their family. While my family pinches grapes off of trees everyone else sweated for. Ill promise people wine. But im really just a sour cup of juice. Im your snivelling congressman. And I had nothing to do with incompliance. Im just trying to make a point. And I still get paid even when we pretend.
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Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
To the congress ( your all ********
---:$:---:$:--- There he goes the Democrat's fool the Republican's stooge a New Order tool He thinks his candidate tells the truth He's heading for the voting booth There she goes those lies are glib her female hero promotes Woman's Lib! For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! There they stand The brave Senators The political nightmare Dogs and curs You're out of work and in a jam? Just email your Congressman! As far as our Fearless Leaders go they're no better they're politicos For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! At the end of our rope we choke and dance but we keep our political stance We listen to their clever quips kissing babies with rotting lips But they are poisoning the water we drink the air we breathe C'mon folks! THINK! We have power! We have might! We gotta think! We gotta fight! The Constitution's eroding away! The Bill of rights? Ha! Gone today. In the end We could WIN! There's 99 of US to only ONE OF THEM For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin SoulSurvivor (C) 2/17/2015
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
Jolly Roger Grin
They tried so hard to banish me To eternal non-entity; They resented my voice They denied me a choice; I had to be the type of soul Adhering to their own goals. The don’t care what we suffer They speechify and don’t stutter. They haven’t been secretive About the way they’d have me live. They bellow and bawl their mind And little of it is anything kind. They have no obvious compunction Behind their every injunction. They point and label me something odd, Invoke a two thousand year-old god. They drape themselves in our flag And shout names like queer and *** And tell us we are abominations Not fit to live in Christian nations But they forget that we all free To choose what our religion will be. In truth, they do not seem to care About anyone’s opinion but theirs. The hardest thing of all to bear Is for all the venom they share Is that this country has rules That they ignore by being fools. They want the right to tell us all Who we can bring with us to the ball And who we can love or marry. What a heinous load for us to carry. There may be nothing quite as egregious As a congressman all sanctimonious Who tells us we must not disparage The sanctity of heterosexual marriage Whether is his bride number three or four That’s exactly what the Christianity is for Because didn’t Jesus himself say He didn’t want no homos today?
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Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
FUNERAL FOR A SACRED COW
done turned like the radio dial - zig zag in its artsy  ness on the afghan blankets,  on the bench seat old tahoe. never have i ever ****** the gym owner in my over achiever bally sports bra / or i lie all the time. and, like, you could be the pink alien in tassled chaps or the singer/poet. dialed the pizza place and hung up, dialed the congressman and hung up, embarrassed - without a trick to pull out of your ultracool spacesuit.
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Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
tracts
Today I realized the world has gone mad, Still lending bills to penniless debtors, But now sending in knights with armor clad So no one messes with debt collectors. This is it—my Sunday epiphany, That somehow could rattle my state of mind. Yet looking back, it’s not very holy. I’m starting my day, and no longer blind. Even their stuff sneaks over the border. Look, toothpaste! Made down south in Mexico! They laugh at the sign “Welcome to Mordor,” And they **** the man asking “Friend or foe?”   Dear Congressman, answer me this, big guy.   I’m confused – where does our allegiance lie?   Is our friendship with China just a fling?   I thought we trusted them with everything!   “You can make our computers, shirts, and toys.   Oh, our toothpaste? We hired that country’s boys.” Now there’s a just reason to start a war. Some racist fear of lead-infested paste, No care for the kids sweating on the floor, More worried that our nation’d come to waste. Ignorance is bliss; knowledge is power.   A slavery that no one speaks about Will never reach its final hour unless I stand on a street corner, shout, and wave around my poorly crafted sign. Commercials are about money, and lots of it, Not kids working in a factory line. A modest proposal: destroy all profit!      We should either be poor or go down fighting,   At least we’ll have honor while we’re dying.
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Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
A Mouthful of Realization
I don't trust Hillary Clinton because of the allegations that she's facing. A future with her as President is something I would have a difficult time embracing. Bernie Sanders is the Presidential candidate for me. I've contributed to him and voted for him in the primaries. Many years ago Sanders opposed segregation. That was awesome and deserved celebration. Congress passed Sanders' first piece of legislation for the National Program of Cancer Registries. All 50 states now run registries to help cancer researchers gain important insight because of the effort of Bernie. He was re-elected to serve eight terms as a Congressman by the people in Vermont. Bernie Sanders has integrity and that is the kind of President that I want.
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Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
Bernie Sanders
There is a congressman in the United States who has said that America has thought control satellites in outer space beaming down thought rays into our heads, and I saw this on the sports part of the news, weather and sports, and the sportscaster laughed and thought that the congressman was crazy, but what if he isn't crazy, and that it is a real thing, like the delusional crazy people have known all along, so, I would suggest wearing a hat with aluminum foil in it, to protect us against unwanted brain farts.
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Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:26 AM UTC
Thought Control By Satellites
A scholar to change the human view to make sense of twas, thou and than. either shouting in the street through a mask or preaching through the screen to those still ignorant. Maybe a congressman to strike at the heart, to burst from within scattered in gore and gold. or just one more journalist, one more stab at the sour core. the flag bearer will fall time and time again Brown, Snowden, Hammond. they are not martyrs, they are victors, the idea will never die with you carry your flag through the hail of arrogance and evil, through the fog of the ignorance and hate, till you pearce the blackened heart, and the last thing they'll see is your rosy cheeks.
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Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
Flag Bearer
i'm sure she's a terrorist she drives a stick shift and wears sensible shoes and everything she does arouses my suspicion she's up there now in her cluttered apartment yapping about her congressman and the debt ceiling i hear her every sunday yelling at her tv set giving attitude to all those panelists on the political programs and someone told me she sneaks off to the mall in plaid sneakers and has four computers and hides her cats in shoe boxes whenever the property manager comes around and she always has a smile for the property manager i'm on to her and i have a plan that involves deadbolt locks surveillance video and a bugging device she's up there now going on about the governor give me a break at least he isn't driving a stick shift
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Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
my neighbor the terrorist
Idiot Man goes to Washington well I need to come up with a brand new plan I'm sure there are many more lives I can ***** gosh I bet you I can be a congressman I mean after all I have no clue yeah I'll strut my strut and pretend to be concerned act like I have the people's best interest at heart I'll argue with the others like they have learned instead of doing right I'll pick my nose and **** so round and around and around it goes every four years the people try making a change replacing the current Heckle and Jeckle crows with new wiener shakers just as strange so after four years of wasting everyone's time what should I think up next I mean after all I am Idiot Man maybe send a picture of my **** with text David Nelson ....
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Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 6:28 PM UTC
Idiot Man goes to Washington
I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad - worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.' Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, God **** it! My life has VALUE!' So I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, 'I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!'
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Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Howard Beale, 1976
I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad - worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.' Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, God **** it! My life has VALUE!' So I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, 'I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!'
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1
Honesty: that elusive trait that is the key to a great society. The boss says he'll give you your share, he hoards your labor for himself. Congressman says he'll make the boss give you your share, his pockets get stuffed; blames the boss. Give the underpaid money for food, and they'll just spend it on ***** Don't trust the powerful or their competing victims; either gnashing or selfishly escaping from it all.
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Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Trickle Down Libel
Each day on the TV I watch as the newspapers die I say to myself "You're about to go blind" To have a country like this Should be a dream come true Out of all the nations in the world We have democracy   So is it just my imagination Running away with me Or is the freedom of our nation Running away from me?   Soon I'll be married But I won't be employed I'll dream about a home in the city But there's none I can afford I ask you Am I losing it all? This American dream Is it too good to be true?   So is it just my imagination, once again Running away with me Or is the freedom of our nation Running away from me?   Every night, in e-mails that I send, "Dear Congressman please Don't take my voice away from me Or I will surely die" Ooh, their speeches assure me When they appear on TV, I hear their concerned sympathy, But in reality, they could care less about me   And is it just my imagination, once again Running away with me, Or is the freedom of our nation Running away from me? I once had it and I can't forget it, Just my imagination Running away from me Just the freedom of our nation Running away from me I once had it and I can't forget it Was it just my imagination?
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Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
Was It Just My Imagination? (Lyrics to the Tune of the Temptations' "Just My Imagination")
She had trespassed and slept in the bed of a bear And had eaten their porridge and broken a chair. When the bears saw the damage, they Goldilocks sued. The defendant is guilty the judge did conclude, So he ruled they may cut off and sell all her hair. That Pinocchio lied, everybody could see. A bad puppet and son to Geppetto was he. With his nose greatly grown and no longer a youth, He had mastered deception and twisting the truth, So he set off to salesman or congressman be. The Pied Piper was hired to get rid of the rats. When he finished, the leaders of Hamlin said, "Drats! Many children are missing, but rodents remain." When they re-read the contract, the mix-up was plain For it stated, quite clearly, get rid of the brats. Since the Beast loved the Beauty, he asked for a date. She replied you're too ugly, unfit for a mate. After therapy sessions for years he'd endured, The good Beast is now married and happy and cured While the sad former Beauty's with spouse number eight. When he rubbed the old lamp, a kind genie then said He would grant him  three wishes, but look where it led. The result was a tragedy none had foretold. For Aladdin then wished for a mountain of gold That delivered by drones was then dropped on his head. For a handful of beans, Jack had bartered their cow. "That's a terrible trade!" moaned his mom with a scowl. But she changed her opinion and ceased being peeved, When her Jack sold the stalk and a fortune received. It's the world's tallest tower for cellulars now.
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Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Twisted Tales
She had trespassed and slept in the bed of a bear And had eaten their porridge and broken a chair. When the bears saw the damage, they Goldilocks sued. The defendant is guilty the judge did conclude, So he ruled they may cut off and sell all her hair. That Pinocchio lied, everybody could see. A bad puppet and son to Geppetto was he. With his nose greatly grown and no longer a youth, He had mastered deception and twisting the truth, So he set off to salesman or congressman be. The Pied Piper was hired to get rid of the rats. When he finished, the leaders of Hamlin said, "Drats! Many children are missing, but rodents remain." When they re-read the contract, the mix-up was plain For it stated, quite clearly, get rid of the brats. Since the Beast loved the Beauty, he asked for a date. She replied you're too ugly, unfit for a mate. After therapy sessions for years he'd endured, The good Beast is now married and happy and cured While the sad former Beauty's with spouse number eight. When he rubbed the old lamp, a kind genie then said He would grant him  three wishes, but look where it led. The result was a tragedy none had foretold. For Aladdin then wished for a mountain of gold That delivered by drones was then dropped on his head. For a handful of beans, Jack had bartered their cow. "That's a terrible trade!" moaned his mom with a scowl. But she changed her opinion and ceased being peeved, When her Jack sold the stalk and a fortune received. It's the world's tallest tower for cellulars now.
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30
The congressman from Mars whose many gaffes Led to his drop in ratings at the poll, And whose awful decisions marred his role, Had found his explanation drowned in laughs. And following his footsteps and his paths The congressman from Venus bared his soul, Explained why his career has borne its toll, By drawing on his skin some stats and graphs. Because I'm green, the Martian dared to tell Constituents, that's why I'm hated so! Because I'm purple, the Venusian cried Unto an Earth whose races blended well To shades of black, and who have learned to know That gaffes behind a color can not hide. (C)2014, Christos Rigakos
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Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Future Terran Politics
I kid you not .. Overhead //// Chemtrails , radiation cloud , or acid rain? Or just a fleet of drone airplanes?___ Hey kid What can I say? Talk to your father he's supposed to know . Write to your congressman and complain Or climb a mountain and find a saint ----- Am I in control?????? -----no I ain't!!!!---- . (I kid you not) It's not a question of whom to blame ::::::: ::::::: (So I pause) What really can I Should I ------------- As a simple gentle  old man (!not a kid no more, kid!) --- ---------------portray (As a poet) To you? ---- Like I've asked before WHAT REALLY IS MY RESPONSIBILITY ? & DO YOU REALLY CARE ANYWAY? ----- Something horrific is happening Just a warning DEATH has  been loosed Just a reminder There still is TRUTH (It's all we got) & love's REAL, kid I kid you not ---- I am just a man But I'll follow the story as long as I can And stand my ground til I fall down
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Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
Kid
I’d write you a love letter but the thing is My printer is out of ink and my internet is down plus my spellcheck is ****** up and I don’t want to misplell anything. I should get around to writing my congressman but the thing is I doubt he even reads those letters and it would be just too depressing to write to some old, boring **** who doesn’t give a **** about me. I get enough of that already. I might try to write some more but the thing is I don’t know what to write about and it won’t go anywhere and no one will read it and even if they do they won’t get it or maybe they will but seriously who the **** would put themselves through these asinine ramblings that don’t really mean anything but I think are important and Oh How long have you been standing there?
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Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:18 AM UTC
Oh.
Dear Congressman Tim Ryan, Allow me to turn your attention to a gift from your American people: those who elected you and those to whom you remain accountable. We call it the Constitution of the United States of America. In part, it reads, "insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves," so I ask you: Which burdens you most, When the rain turns to flood? The mud of the Med, Or our Forefathers' blood? While these refugees stream Toward our French-fashioned Girl, Where a poet's bronze stanza Adorns a stairwell, I hear you implore us "Yea - Take them all in, For to turn them aside: Humanitarian sin!" So let me remind you: Our tax is your pay, There's a gate at our border, And you stand in the way! Our Constitution's each word Writ to keep us secure. Will you stand in betrayal, Or keep your oath - pure? For as long as we pay you To make U.S. law, No matter the pull Of political awe, NEVER place such words scrawled On a cyprium plaque Above my Constitution, Or we'll take your job back! @DracoTalpus 19Nov15 For Kevin and Ohio Rep. (D) Congressman Tim Ryan, who uses a French statue to claim American liberty is a #SyrianRefugee's right - while France keeps her borders locked-down!  :/
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Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Syriassly?
on sunday, i sat in our kitchen with my dad as the pale april sunlight streamed in and we watched as the brasilian government held the vote over whether or not to impeach the president dilma rousseff. my brother’s at college, my mom was at work; it was just me and my dad. a family friend told me once that my dad loves his country more than anybody they'd ever met. i remember, we ate apple slices as we watched the government vote on the fate of the country. i am 17 and my dad still slices my apples, cuts my grilled cheese sandwiches into triangles, calls me querida. my dad gestures at the TV, we both talk with our hands a little too much, and tells me that you can tell which way the politicians are voting based of the color they’re wearing. the worker’s party, partido dos trabalhadores, called the PT is wearing red. they're the ones that vote against impeachment, eu voto não. my father marched for that party in the 70s, 80s. they were born of the opposition to the military dictatorship of his childhood. he glares at the TV screen, now, like he’s angry for the promises they broke. the TV in the kitchen is practically a relic, a boxy fourteen inches, older than me. we have a satellite dish in the backyard so we can get globo, the biggest television network in brasil. neighbor kids accidentally chuck their ***** into it, hitting the dish and scrambling over the fence to collect their toys. on the TV, ricardo barros walks up the microphone. he’s a congressman from my family’s home state of paraná. my dad says, “hey, i went to college with him!” they both majored in civil engineering, went to university in maringá. i remember i laughed. my dad knows so many people that he can find acquaintances on the TV. i asked my dad if they were friends. he laughs a little, too, says it depends on how ricardo voted. ricardo voted yes. my father was 7 years old in 1964 when the military took over brasil’s government in a coup. sometimes i wonder if for him this whole thing feels sort of like de ja vu, history repeating with a new face. i don’t ask.
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Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
ordem e progresso
on sunday, i sat in our kitchen with my dad as the pale april sunlight streamed in and we watched as the brasilian government held the vote over whether or not to impeach the president dilma rousseff. my brother’s at college, my mom was at work; it was just me and my dad. a family friend told me once that my dad loves his country more than anybody they'd ever met. i remember, we ate apple slices as we watched the government vote on the fate of the country. i am 17 and my dad still slices my apples, cuts my grilled cheese sandwiches into triangles, calls me querida. my dad gestures at the TV, we both talk with our hands a little too much, and tells me that you can tell which way the politicians are voting based of the color they’re wearing. the worker’s party, partido dos trabalhadores, called the PT is wearing red. they're the ones that vote against impeachment, eu voto não. my father marched for that party in the 70s, 80s. they were born of the opposition to the military dictatorship of his childhood. he glares at the TV screen, now, like he’s angry for the promises they broke. the TV in the kitchen is practically a relic, a boxy fourteen inches, older than me. we have a satellite dish in the backyard so we can get globo, the biggest television network in brasil. neighbor kids accidentally chuck their ***** into it, hitting the dish and scrambling over the fence to collect their toys. on the TV, ricardo barros walks up the microphone. he’s a congressman from my family’s home state of paraná. my dad says, “hey, i went to college with him!” they both majored in civil engineering, went to university in maringá. i remember i laughed. my dad knows so many people that he can find acquaintances on the TV. i asked my dad if they were friends. he laughs a little, too, says it depends on how ricardo voted. ricardo voted yes. my father was 7 years old in 1964 when the military took over brasil’s government in a coup. sometimes i wonder if for him this whole thing feels sort of like de ja vu, history repeating with a new face. i don’t ask.
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Famous Poets I may not be William Blake, all my poems are mostly fake. I may not be Robert Burns, I'm to young to get any positive returns. I may not be Robert Browning, but really is anyone counting. I may not be Emily Dickinson, I write for shock and for fun. I may not be Robert Frost, but I do have my fingers crossed. I may not be Thomas Hardy, my mental state is never sturdy. I may not be James Joyce, but really did I ever have a choice. I may not be Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, wish I had the money to live at a bordello. I may not be Ogden Nash, I never have had enough cash. I may not be Edgar Allan Poe, but I'm a poet don't you know. I may not be Mary Darby Robinson, but at least I'm not a congressman. I may not be William Shakespeare, I love to write with not one fear. I may not be Mark Twain, but I do love standing in the rain, I may not be Walt Whitman, but at least I'm not a ship man. I may not be William Butler Yeats, my skills are still up for debates. All their poems would set you free, but now their dead, so its up to me.
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Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
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