"demagogue" poems
reaching the back of you
not sure I could. not sure i would.
scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered
the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
pleasured mercy
the remaindered searchingly
suffices
you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize
playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time
no exit. no back of you. stuck in a longingly heaven
this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
PARNELL'S FUNERAL
UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart. Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives. But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation. All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy -- but I name no more --
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
7.7k
i detoxed myself under this pale sun
(you stood by and watched the
unfolding saga all the while
questioning the meaning of zen)
the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
(can you recover your own fumbles?)
every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
(my love for this is a game of solitaire)
i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.
i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
(i have seen you ignoring me)
in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
(you will know me by the number of the dead)
i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.
i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.
i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.
Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
(aren't you proud?)
(isn't he cute?)
i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
(what do you know about pain?)
i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe
my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....
i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...
i have run out of things to sacrifice
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
Some have tried to tell me
not to write as I see fit;
they wish to impose their rules and their taste
onto and into my personal expression.
My Art.
While I do always seek
honest and fair critique;
attempted Censorship
is outright offensive.
At heart, I'm a ******* Artist,
a slave only to my own Will;
not some ******* demagogue
merely sacrificing his own Quill.
**** 'em,
and their illusory book of unreal rules;
I'll write as I ******* please:
I'll write how I want
about what I want
as often as I want
on what I want
where I want
when I want,
and so can anyone else,
*or so I think.
It can be so hard to tell..*
I really hope I'm not special in that regard.
The pen is mightiest
when it refuses to compromise.
**** 'em
and their failed dogmatic domineering.
**** 'em
and their fake-ass, ego-inspired rules.
**** 'em.
Once more:
**** 'em.
And, *lest we forget;
****
the living hell
out of
them!**
(Though it would surely take a good while!)*
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
I
Under the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart. Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives. But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation. All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
II
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy--but I name no more--
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
1.7k
It’s a simple rule: Why things don’t go
as they should.
The bad drives out the good.
The internet, cities or democracy--
everything becomes dominated
by the dumb, the vile and the lazy.
Instead of community, the web
is **** and hate.
Time can’t run backward; there’s no recourse,
It’s too late.
The bad apples poisoned the tree.
You, out there, ruined it all for me.
Democracy has become mob rule,
and the mob prefers a tyrant, a demagogue, a fool.
City Hall is occupied by panderers and jerks.
Public office for them is just a way to get some perks.
A crass madman on Pennsylvania Avenue
doesn’t represent me–but maybe you.
That’s what the mob wants–someone just like them.
And when it leads to disorder, collapse, mayhem,
they invent a paranoid conspiracy theory.
But it’s not complicated. We made insanity easy, and free.
Now we have the rule of the dumb, the vile and the lazy.
And we call it democracy.
People aren’t equal. We all forgot this truth.
We let the mob take over. I guess we needed proof.
Proof that the old adage is as true as ever.
Have they ruined everything good forever?
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 12:41 AM UTC
“A demagogue, in the strict signification of the word, is a 'leader of the rabble'.” — James Fenimore Cooper, "On Demagogues"
a political leader who seeks support
by appealing to popular desires &
prejudices rather than by using rational argument;
A demagogue or rabble-rouser is a leader
in a democracy who gains popularity
by exploiting prejudice & ignorance
among the common people, whipping up the passions
of the crowd & shutting down reasoned deliberations;
rabble-rouser, agitator, political agitator,
soapbox orator, firebrand, fomenter, provocateur
"he was drawn into a circle of campus demagogues"
Only in ancient Greece and Rome
was it a leader or orator who espoused
the cause of the common people;
demagogues overturn established customs of political conduct,
or promise or threaten to do so;
demagogues have appeared in democracies
since ancient Athens. They exploit a fundamental
weakness in democracy: because ultimate power
is held by the people, it is possible for the people
to give that power to someone who appeals
to the lowest common denominator
of a large segment of the population;
demagogues usually advocate immediate,
forceful action to address a national crisis
while accusing moderate & thoughtful opponents
of weakness or disloyalty
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
malignant assembler
you are my crucible of faith
my devout reverie
is just fleeting truth
architect divine
an incursion of allegiance
leaves me enraptured by you
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
Seraphine wields her dagger like a torch
to illuminate her path—a figure at once
youthful and monolithic. Mother Earth
caresses her as flowers bloom amidst
the bloodbath. the old skulls of dead
fascists rest in silver platters. three arrows
plunged into the hearts of charlatans,
an Iron Front, disrupting decorum.
the celosia petals burn like a bonfire
around Seraphine as her nāgī coils
like an ouroboros, slyly smirking.
Seraphine works the blade back and forth,
sawing through the Nazi's neck, smiling
while decapitating the demagogue.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
Americans live with fear.
Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.
The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.
Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.
Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.
And then there is Putin's Russia.
The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.
Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.
Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.
M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
we are protesting.
why we won't shut up.
because we are angry.
because we have had enough.
and we are throwing down
a line in the sand.
enough.
standing up for yourself
and other human beings
in the face of danger and adversity
is one of the hardest things
a person can do.
it takes guts.
it takes determination.
it takes strength.
and for that you mock us
like children.
calling us names.
you are reflecting in every way
what we find repulsive
in this man.
for months,
we heard every excuse
in the book to
get your man
off the hook.
about women.
about minorities.
about immigrants.
about refugees.
about the first amendment.
people continue to struggle
for things you take
for granted.
and instead of showing
kindness, empathy, and understanding,
you align yourself
with a demagogue
who has no problem
standing in front
of the world
complaining.
whining.
showing contempt
and ignorance for everyone
under the sun.
blaming everyone else for his problems.
shows absolutely no empathy
for anyone but a select few.
seeks, encourages,
and causes
division.
i'm not sure what is going on
inside you that
you can't see that.
that you can't recognize
danger when it is about
to engulf you.
that you can't remember
the cold facts of history.
when one group of
citizens' rights are threatened,
we are all threatened.
when one group is marginalized,
we are all marginalized.
you feel safe in this society.
and you don't
understand
those of us
who do not.
you do not put yourself
in the place of others.
some of us can.
and some of us do.
some of us have
seen injustice,
inequality,
and bullying
with our own eyes.
some of us realize
that even though you don't think
your way of life is in jeopardy,
it is.
and by standing up for ourselves
we are standing up for you.
we have to protect the most
vulnerable among us.
we are done with excuses.
with discrimination.
with sexism.
with victim blaming.
we are done.
so, yes
you are going to
see opposition.
and if you spread
lies, nonsense, and hatred
don't expect to go
unchallenged.
because we are done.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.
Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.
That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
What the **** is Cuck?
It’s a brand new ***** word
If you’ve been called a cuck
You should know that you’ve been slurred
You may have come across it
While browsing the Interweb
And seen it used insultingly
When describing a Bush called Jeb
It’s short for the old word Cuckhold
But given a new spin
It’s used to insult someone who’s committed
the Political Correctness sin.
If I may be declarative,
The word is simply horrible,
Be ye liberal or conservative
I’d say it’s quite deplorable
The Donald is no cuck, for sure
When he utters dog whistles like this -
If he says “blood comes out of her ‘whatever’”
The true meaning you just can’t miss
Or when he said the Second Amendment People
Might take care of our dear Hillary
Of whom he impugned would eliminate guns
And promised that he would pillory
Apologies are for sissies
Don’t wait for a pivot or turn
Was it voter suppression that rigged the election?
One day, we may learn
Cuck is the word of the day
Like some chirp made by Pepe the Frog
A new epithet from the far alt-right
Who follow our new demagogue
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
Fellow Americans
Won't is not can't
We can end this tirade
This ignorant rant
******* crusade
This fearmongering
Xenophobic campaign
This point your fat finger
Take none of the blame
This **** flinging ape
This bombastic baboon
Rotting all of our brains
Like a ****** cartoon
This email distraction
For no course of action
Except the word "jobs"
And a Twitter war faction
This sick, twisted joke
This comedy act
Dropping the curtain
On matters of fact
This tax-dodging fraud
Has stolen from you
So what makes you think
You're a part of his coup
This billion-airhead
Makes no cents at all
He speaks his small mind
Behind a big wall
This nuclear bomb
To diplomacy's voice
Aborting the right
To democracy's choice
This false god complex
Disguises his devil
Deceptions to drag us
Back down to his level
This Molotov cocktail
In Putin's back pocket
His greedy heart froze
In a cold-plated locket
This coal-blackened soul
Toxic demagogue
Keeps poisoning us
By spewing speech-smog
This climate change hoax
Outweighs all the lies
Deny this one truth
And everyone dies
This you're fired show
Outsources our trust
To Chinese steel towers
Of slave-labor rust
This loaded handgun
To sanity's head
Depravity bullets
Promoting bloodshed
This locker room talk
This all Muslim ban
This election is rigged
This ******* madman
This antithesis
Of all we stand for
Great from our first steps
Onto Liberty's shore
So I beg of you now
Vote him off of the stage
This dog's had his day
Put him back in his cage
This nation was founded
By working together
And those who attempt
To divide us shall never
Condemn our ideals
To an amoral fate
Lest we forget
That love always trumps hate
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Thistle ****** draw the blood,
Jolt from their timeless lulls.
Candle wicks singe the flood
Of ignorance infested skulls.
Watch the fair complexion
Be siren to their common eyes.
A god to provide direction,
The answer to their cries
Words sweet as golden honey,
But toxic to their souls.
The wise dismiss it as funny
Until the joke runs stark cold
Bigotry is their dole
Scapegoats on the menu
Brick walls they patrol
If you cross, they’ll **** you
Scrawny dogs lap up the brine
Of what’s thought to be milk.
Nameless number on the line
To cloak him with purple silk.
Once the throne is prepared
And the cushion well plumped
He’ll suction your air and
Have your humanity *******
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
One demagogue, two ayatollahs,
a socialist fossil, a withered feminist.
The best of 360 million people?
Thanks so much, Amerika, for the
right to vote for such imposing choices.
I know I won't show up.
Anarchists know the lesser of two evils
is still and only ever can be… evil.
Enjoy the farce.
~mce
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
Give him a chance, people say.
Give Trump a chance; let go of fears.
The SAME chance Republicans gave
President Obama for the last eight years?
From the beginning Republicans
In Congress superciliously vowed
That President Obama would serve
Only one term. They felt so proud.
Pushing their petty partisan agenda
And blocking proposals with all their might,
They perfected the art of obstruction
And did it with insidious delight.
Calling the president a liar
And his birth certificate a fraud,
They displayed contempt for their leader
With reasoning that was greatly flawed.
It's dereliction of duty when
Republicans, the Party of NO,
Refuse to confirm a Supreme Court justice
With all their lame excuses in tow.
Flouting the very institutions
That normally make a democracy succeed,
Unethical members of Congress have
Only made our democracy bleed.
Their mindless obstruction, along with their
Unprecedented disrespect,
Is partly why we have a populist
Demagogue as president-elect.
NOW they say to give the next
President the respect that is due.
It doesn't work that way; they can't
Have their cake and eat it, too.
- by Bob B (11-17-16)
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
Trump.. what can you say,
he thinks he's a shark and he preys upon all he can.
His calculated bid, always on the attack,
his war cry, don't give any sucker a decent break.
He chooses walls over bridges
in dealing with the rest of the world.
He has more than enough money,
enough to 'get the job done', and say 'you're fired'.
He's dangerous and the whole world is watching.
Another North Korea, with a sense of a false bravado.
This man doesn't care how he'll go down in History,
he could care less of any man women or child.
It just goes to show you, he's crafty, the son-of-bitch.
A man-child in depends... let's make him wallpaper.
Let's show them that they have awakened the peoples
and that we are not going to cave in to the bully on the school yard.
The whole world is watching and we won't go away.
We have the energy to become a force of truth and justice.
The Universe is watching and no stone will be unturned.
No deed will not be illuminated and courage will stand up to fear.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.
Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.
beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.
we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
A demagogue is loose upon the land.
Draw fast the curtains and switch off the light,
Mothers keep your children close at hand.
What is that odd footprint in the sand?
What sloughed skin glistens in the night?
A demagogue is loose upon the land.
Mark well that stranger tall and tanned
Whose smile conceals white teeth that bite.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.
O do not accede to his demand,
Prepare instead for instant flight.
A demagogue is loose upon the land.
Things may not go as we have planned,
The world feigns deafness to our plight.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.
We've felt the breath, observed the occult brand,
Now all the facts assemble in plain sight:
A demagogue is loose upon our land.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
The pulpit stone was gray and warm,
beneath the priest of fire.
Each flaming word a dread alarm -
portentious and dire.
"Your ways must change!" he did extoll
with booming voice and spittle.
"Or hell will claim your timeless soul
to dance to Satan's Fiddle!"
Some people who, enfeared, did try
to mend their sinful ways.
With hope that cleaner souls would buy
more peace at End-of-Days.
But others left the place unmoved -
they stayed the way they were.
And though their ways did not improve,
to sin was still to err.
Then years did pass; the reverend died.
So too did all his people.
That pulpit where he stood with pride
lay crumbling 'neath the steeple.
Whatever thoughts of wrong or right
lie quiet like these motes in light.
No matter what the old man said,
your life's your life, and dead is dead.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
You know it was a fairly odd day
(As far as family Facebooking goes)
Not when there's news about what a demagogue will say
But when you become known as the family ******
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
I don't want to work for you,
fake a smile in this costume,
I don't want another day
of a boring job and ****** pay.
And I don't believe in G-d,
no TV expert or demagogue,
promising a different way,
it's the same formulaic play.
So I twist in sheets and walk around
to escape all of these household sounds,
the news is spouting war again,
I close my eyes and count to ten...
...And I wait for some change to come.
Your patient *** your siren song.
Are you maladjusted too?
And do I have a chance with you?
Because I slip a pill to fall asleep-
nothing else will work for me,
I've tried everything there is
to cure me from this restlessness.
They **** the many to save the few,
they decimate all that we knew
about what it means to be free;
doctoring our history.
And I don't want to be the one
to bring you down or mess you up,
I just want some peace to come,
no broken streets, no fallen bombs...
...Is this all there is?
Pockets of momentary bliss?
I just close my eyes and think of you;
my drunken words,
your ocean blue.
I'll close my eyes, my mind, my tomb;
if I could have a chance with you.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC