"flump" poems
Donald Trump what a Chump
The name makes my blood Boil
His views remind me of
Those poor Jews when ******
Caused such Immortal coil
Trump claims to be against
Extremism yet it
Leaks through his core all the
Way to his Brittle bones
Brainwashing vulnerable;
Led to his Blood stained Throne
No blood shed yet; He speaks
Hell don't be so naive
Trump contemplated by
So many minds in this
Day and age shouldn't be
Building walls make them tall
Then what Is this the way?
Segregation, Racism
Shuts his eyes, Cover's ears
He'll not hear what we say
It's Devastating such
Man claims chance to taint our
Minds with his Bitter taste
A Catastrophe,
Shows no Diplomacy
With 'Morals' formed into
Very Strange Scary shapes
Yes, I agree Something
Needs to change but Believe
Me 'Trump' is not that Thing
Sheds empty promises
Causing controversy
With 'Peace' as the end goal
Trumps No way to begin
His Immaturity
Is so apparent that
He will ruin the world
As we know it today
I think Trump needs some help
Some Mental help to drive
All those Devils living
Within him Far away!
© Karen L Hamilton, January 2016
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
here’s the clunking throb of my heart
and you walk in from work
your hair a fluster of black strands
heels flicked off and keys
tossed into the bowl with a clatter
you flump onto the sofa
say nothing
but listen to the clunking throb
of my heart
and I know we’re both thinking
something has to change
but the answer is hidden
like a note under a stone
we breathe
and the traffic continues outside
we sigh
and the phone shrieks by the door
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime,
Kept slush waist-high and rising hour by hour,
And choked the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses...
There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last,
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles,
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And sploshing in the flood, deluging muck -
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
'O sir, my eyes - I'm blind, - I'm blind, I'm blind!'
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
'I can't' he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids',
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting Next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and flound'ring about
To other posts under the shrieking air.
* * *
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, -
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath, -
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
'I see your lights!' But ours had long died out.
2.5k
The metro station caged the slumbering metropolis
From this dingy mid-March town fridged in January wind
A ******** clad explorer marches in mellow strides
All the way to you
To back the lover's whisper spoken by static selfies
With fleshy whiffs, a borrowed jacket and a gawky face
Blind to but maybe fiddly pepples on the ground.
Down at a backstreet diner, its locked out doorstep,
A hygge cover made for two,
Humming low is the city's nocturnal remains' dubstep
Coming from an illuminating exit,
Luring the busy hands and buckled excitement, whereto ----
Whereto the vacant main street glides them
With the at ease traffic,
Down loops of everextending branches
I followed you
To the roundabout between
two surrounding glassware towers
Where gleaming sparks ***** on each other's windows
Divining themselves by lighting up pavements, entrance signs
and glooming heavens.
Corridors, lawned with clutters from refurbishments,
Lead to glassrooms of suspended business meetings,
And that cozy cavern,
Where you flump into a swivel chair.
Your inhibited expression unwinds
As my curious caress explores
The damp torso slumping deeper into the pliable seat.
And a devoted twitch of ecstasy, blossom unexpectedly
On your face,
Which already shied itself away from its audience,
Doubtlessly, for way too many times ----
A candid sight I could only cache from you,
Because I intend to see it again, your effortless reaction.
The sarcoma-like lump left uncut at the bottom,
Wrinkled like wind waves in a Ukiyo-e drawing.
I scoop the saline ripple, so you can taste it beforehand.
Our bodies started gravitating
onto each other or all over the place.
And lips, they startlingly perched,
out of wills, like magnets
For the very first time.
I've been feeling patient.
And I love taking my time with you
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
1.
Donald John Trump
Just sits on his ****
As his deplorables feast
On whatever he tweets
2.
Donald John Trump
Is wicked and plump
But not nice and fat
Just more an ******
3.
Donald John Trump
Has a **** that's a stump
Women won't take him to bed
So he grabs their ******* instead
4.
Donald John Trump
Owns a golden sewage pump
Except it can't keep pace
With all the **** from his face
5.
Donald John Trump
Is a cancerous lump
On America's nose
That really must go
6.
Donald John Trump
Never gets a fist bump
His hands are so small
We can't find them at all
7.
Donald John Trump
Is a foul putrid clump
Who makes us quite sick
Bragging about the size of his ****
8.
Donald John Trump
Really likes to ****
Women without their consent
And he'll never repent
9.
Donald John Trump
Is a mean old grump
Who tells people they're stupid
But we know who the fool is
10.
Donald John Trump
It'd be best if he jumped
From the top of his tower
Since he's always so glower
11.
Donald John Trump
Is a dim witted chump
Whose head is quite large
Though Russia put him charge
12.
Donald John Trump
Likes to take a dump
On hookers while snorting blow
Many people are saying so
13.
Donald John Trump
Is in a terrible slump
He can't even enjoy his throne
Because the press won't leave him alone
14.
Donald John Trump
Only wants to flump
In a chair with women kneeling
After a long hard day of stealing
15.
Donald John Trump
His voice makes a crump
Like the sound of an engine
Or last breath of a dying pigeon
16.
Donald John Trump
Would never date a frump
Just nines and tens
Preferably ones who're quite dim
17.
Donald John Trump
Has just a cold swampy sump
But unlike humans no heart in his chest
He still says it's the best
18.
Donald John Trump
Is a clownish orange schlump
Who said he'd make America great
But just stoked up a lot of hate
19.
Donald John Trump
Always gives a nasty thump
To anyone who disagrees
Or gives facts to counter lies he believes
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
When I woke
you were gone.
A bowl in the pillow
where your head slept,
six hours
pouring what passes for coffee
these days.
In a text
you told me
you burnt your hand,
showed me
a pomegranate splash that danced
between your fingers.
Ouch, it still hurts you know...
Didn't hear you come in,
silent angel
but your perfume
lingers like a delicious poison
and I notice flowers
are starting to crumble
as snowballs on our window.
No mirror
so I cannot see
whether you've left
a cherry lipstick birthmark
on my cheek
or a note which says
didn't want to wake you!
Got this feeling,
jet lag maybe
but I haven't moved,
haven't flown anywhere.
I flump my arm
into the blank space
where your body ought to be.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
*******
There once was a man named Trump
Whose hair looked like a clump
A little bit plump
Never caught looking like a frump
He lived in a home that was no dump
It didn’t even need a sump pump
For some he was a pain in the ****
Yet you would never call him a schlump
Some thought he was a grump
Others said he was no chump
He did like to make people jump
Causing people’s throat to have a lump
Rules didn’t apply to him, no need for an ump
Even when his business was in a slump
Like most he did have the odd bump
For everyone runs into a slump
While there were those that did want him to flump
So along the way he could see a thump
Still others did relay you were a mump
I say so long old friend, Mr. T. Trump
Trump (Ted) 1925-2005
Andreas Simic©
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC