"dotard" poems
Lays of Mystery,
Imagination, and Humor
Number 1
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
And each damp thing that creeps and crawls
Went wobble-wobble on the walls.
Faint odours of departed cheese,
Blown on the dank, unwholesome breeze,
Awoke the never ending sneeze.
Strange pictures decked the arras drear,
Strange characters of woe and fear,
The humbugs of the social sphere.
One showed a vain and noisy ****
That shouted empty words and big
At him that nodded in a wig.
And one, a dotard grim and gray,
Who wasteth childhood's happy day
In work more profitless than play.
Whose icy breast no pity warms,
Whose little victims sit in swarms,
And slowly sob on lower forms.
And one, a green thyme-honoured Bank,
Where flowers are growing wild and rank,
Like weeds that fringe a poisoned tank.
All birds of evil omen there
Flood with rich Notes the tainted air,
The witless wanderer to snare.
The fatal Notes neglected fall,
No creature heeds the treacherous call,
For all those goodly Strawn Baits Pall.
The wandering phantom broke and fled,
Straightway I saw within my head
A vision of a ghostly bed,
Where lay two worn decrepit men,
The fictions of a lawyer's pen,
Who never more might breathe again.
The serving-man of Richard Roe
Wept, inarticulate with woe:
She wept, that waiting on John Doe.
"Oh rouse", I urged, "the waning sense
With tales of tangled evidence,
Of suit, demurrer, and defence."
"Vain", she replied, "such mockeries:
For morbid fancies, such as these,
No suits can suit, no plea can please."
And bending o'er that man of straw,
She cried in grief and sudden awe,
Not inappropriately, "Law!"
The well-remembered voice he knew,
He smiled, he faintly muttered "Sue!"
(Her very name was legal too.)
The night was fled, the dawn was nigh:
A hurricane went raving by,
And swept the Vision from mine eye.
Vanished that dim and ghostly bed,
(The hangings, tape; the tape was red happy
'Tis o'er, and Doe and Roe are dead!
Oh, yet my spirit inly crawls,
What time it shudderingly recalls
That horrid dream of marble halls!
5.5k
A Dotard deals directly with death
His empty head wastes it’s breath
Fire and fury; war and worry
Life lost like a blink of an eye
A flash in the dark and then we die
Another ****** on the news
Black, white, Muslims, Jews
Fears of terror on the rise
Weapons of sizeable lies
Pray for Paris, stand with me
Pray in public for people to see
We’ll send our thoughts, a share, a like
And we’ll declare another drone strike
Tears shed for the injured and dead
For every white city stained red
Another elementary school mess
Caused by a child’s carelessness
Or some ****** having fun
With the barrel of his gun
A classroom of souls sit silent
Victims of a life so violent
Education spent on waging war
Using the pockets of our poor
America’s defence, say the boasters
Our children, new age holsters
A mother explains the world to her son
That’s ruled under finger and gun
Until a time when tragedy hits here
We all live life, paralyzed in fear
A world in decay and that’s okay
Because her child won’t ever know
The sky on fire raining ash-like snow
Won’t ever see the rising sea
Will not hear the screams of the free
As they rally together for peace
And are rained down on by police
Higher he will have to rise
Higher, after he dies
No longer burdened by the blow of living
In a time of eternal unforgiving
Plunged into a nightmare, he screams
Softly, slowly, delved into drowning dreams
As his mother stands above
Holding him under with love
A monster, a fiend they’ll see
An American reality
Another victim of violence
A soul becomes silence
Hearts break, tears are shed
Out of jealousy for the dead
For all the world’s war and strife
He’s just another casualty of life
On the news, a leading millionaire
Offering a thought and prayer
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
East of the Equator on 1° 15' tropics is an old pirate isle
Irate willy-wavers are set to meet, I repeat, on Santosha
where, if you know it by its sanskrit, they might reconcile
Wishful leaders play symbolic. To us are none, but frenzy frolic.
Rudy doubles a pretty sight when smart cookie crumbles
to his knees. The apprentice, a fake gansta has capitulated to
Trump who's known to expostulate his lot of twitterati
oh, the wizard of sentences, cut the circuit and paparazzi.
Rocket man says read my lips, so Dotard threatens bigger drips
Both gaga over trigger hands, like-a-virgin on hot dozen buttons.
Ain’t it a saga, they goatherd each other on, so call in Dennis to
get us out of the funk. Just maybe, a remote chance, a fun slam-dunk!
The world awaits with bated breath, the immovable anchors to a
bad romance. We're stuck for answers to translate two gyrate minds,
singing hits a-capella under nuke umbrella. No tanning spray and
pray please or death-from-behind us all, the wrench of humankind.
At 34, Prince has just begun life, to see his people starving to die
At 71, ****** has a life doing what he does, while waiting to die
Chasms miles long, but cookie cutter share tall man phantasm
94 stories high towards disarming God in their own ego suites.
Gurkhas and gazetted city blocks, the people in uttered groans
All twitterpating over a hermit throne dancing to a jailhouse rock
Two bright like buttons, so zero sum bargains may cost an arm and
an earth - nuclear glutton! Not a far gains from your usual Target?
At St Regis in gather, string theories of riddles to Lord of the Rings
Towkays at the table “Order! Order!” no one absquatulates at all borders
In shambhala, will it be “Big and Bold” or “Beg and Hold”, who knows
Except Goldenhair, in first minute - Upside or Upset of an F1 ride!
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
I
The Rocket-man and the Dotard went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some ego, and plenty of hardblow,
Wrapped up in a billion dollar note.
The Dotard picked up his glass of coke,
And barked to a small guitar,
'O what a ***** A ***** a joke,
O What a ***** you are,
You are,
You are!
O What a ***** you are!'
II
RM said to the Dotard, 'You massive *******
You soundeth just like a dog!
O let us send nukes, no need for the troops:
Turn the world into rubble and fog.'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Rhetoric grows
And there in a wood the 20th century stood
With a tear at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a tear at the end of his nose.
III
'20th C, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your compassion and knowledge and learning?'
'Compassion' said he? 'Get down on one knee.'
But neither could bow to the world’s yearning
They instructed their slaves, to send Hbombs in waves
Their anger writ large with aplomb
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the bomb,
The bomb,
The bomb,
They danced by the light of the bomb.
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 5:46 AM UTC
In the face of infinity, I stumbled to an instigator.
I must have known how furtive the ****** dotard was.
An epidemic stereotype would barely drawl an insurgent.
The tremendous vilification acurred.
Here comes the futile virtuoso with his interminable intransigence.
The vivacity dynamic banality of an unconscious programmed robot.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
The path from Tauts-to-talks
are paved with food intentions
Four -piece meal for peace has
nothing to see here, you scab
Chilli crab - ain't your usual crap
are good gut check with no mishap
Bourbon and Sujo cocktail blend
beats sermon anytime, we'll show you
Summitwich - both sides have agreed
on buttermilk chicken and kimchi
Don you miss it, is Un-believable!
gimmickers seal it with their kisses
oh, and don't forget from the host too
Pandan cake to pudding on the table
no details are too minutiae, they're able
those circling the summit must march
to disarm the hunger and overcome pride
of King-me Dotard and Lil'Rocket Man
Now that's plenty to deal with it, so get real.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
I am not sloth
I am body bodied forth
Beating the day at its game
Dear depression
Take my outstretched hand
-And you may have my ear too-
But your haunts have no place
In the seat of my being
I am lean
I am not a copy
I am variation
Because you are before me
Changing me
Growing me
When I hold my lover
She will know me
And I her
When my lover speaks
I am wiser and all is well
When she needs space
I will steal myself away
Alone but not lonely
I am not fabricated
I am not walled in
My room is balance
My room is not fear
Come envelop me
Surround me
Throw off the those shadows
That flail in my deepest corners
Inhabit me
And I will be host
To you
I am not tame
My yawp awakens
Dotard gods preying
An exhale of mine
-Deep and full of lust-
Is enough to humiliate
Billions of absentee deities
I am not just your version of me
I am not just me
I am us
For a time..
Peel back your crush
Open up
Let me in
Eyes rolling back
To look for the words
That cannot be had
With five pens
Write your sweet everything's
Into my flexed back
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
A orange tufted dotard and a tubby rocket man
got into a ******* match and said: “The world be dammed!”
One spoke of fire and fury while the other threatened Guam.
The World looked on in disbelief-“Who gave these morons bombs?”
Enter Dennis Rodman, a baller of renown,
His hair dyed blonde, his body inked, dressed in a wedding gown.
“Hold on there! Mister President. Don’t press the button yet!”
“Don’t give your naïve voters yet more reason for regret.”
So Dennis traveled to the East to see the Hermit King.
They drank in Karaoke bars; he heard the dread Lord Sing.
They Joked about “The Interview” They compared tattoos.
They ate Korean barbecue and listened to “The View”
Kim had so much fun with him all bombing was delayed
They went out for a quick massage and afterwards got laid.
The seventh fleet remained offshore with no invasion plans.
“A bullet was avoided. Dennis Rodman is the Man!”
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
They call me dogsbottle
don’t ask me why
it’s a story out of time
branded by eternity
Charity was my subterfuge
desperation my defense
I came here seeking refuge
terrified and angry
ready to sow the seeds
of my own defeat
But a breeze on my cheek
deterred me
the chime of the church bells
stayed my hand
some tempest of grace
soaked the parched ground
of my parents’ need
I was relieved
through generations of grief
and ill temper
given grace as thunder rolled
and lightning struck
a sweet song in the wind
soothed my mind
And me.
Not knowing the day.
A dotard of the hours.
Well and yet alive
breathing still, dear ones.
Grateful.
And with fiber enough
for another blessed day.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
By; Cedric McClester
There goes another missle
In the North Korean sky
Which he dismisses summarily
But he hasn’t told us why
All we hear from him
Is how much he loves the guy
The fact he is being played
Is something that he’ll deny
He talks about the nice letters
That his lover writes
‘Cuz he knows how to bait the hook
And also what excites
A dotard like his lover
Whom he envisions in tights
While he luls him to sleep
On those restless nights
South Korea and Japan
Understandably have concern
Because they know that the doltard
Is the type that will not learn
His hand is on a hot stove
But they'll probably get burned
Once his lover reveals himself
And the table has finally turned
He hasn’t gone ballistic
As far as the doltard knows
But that’s not necessarily
What our intelligence shows
But he regularly ignores them
So we’ll have to take the blow
Perhaps he could think more clearly
Without ******* up his nose
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC