"lashings" poems
ARTICHOKES are very nice roasted with pine nuts
Who likes BANANA cream pie?
They say that eating CARROTS improves your eye sight
Along the river Nile there are many DATE palms
ELDERBERRIES make a flavorsome wine
Piths from a FIG can easily get stuck between your teeth
Nape tape and shape all rhyme with GRAPE
HORSERADISH has a hot tangy taste
ICE-PLANT is a much used vegetable in Chinese cookery
The oil extract from JUNIPER BERRIES produces quine
My sister likes KALE steamed with lemon rind
It is so nice to munch on a LETTUCE leaf
MANDARINS are presently plentiful at the green grocer's
NEEPS can be mashed or left whole
On a hot summer day chilled ORANGE juice goes down well
Has anyone got a good PUMPKIN scone recipe?
Lashings of QUINCE jam were spread on my toast
The lady next door grows RHUBARB
SPINACH gave Popeye much strength
Smothering sausages in TOMATO sauce is sensational
UGLI is a member of the citrus family
In New Orleans you'll find fresh VELVET BEANS
WATERCRESS salad is so easy to prepare
XIGUA is a type of WATERMELON
YAMS are a staple of the New Guinean diet
ZUCCHINI bread is delicious fair
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
i am gloriously indulgent
when left to my own devices
lashings of stylish fulfillment
in a mix of virtues and vices
i have my sense of order
though i am craven to desire
drunk with a sense of beauty
to torch blandness in a fire
poor dear mediocrity
your time is not with me
you are my sworn enemy
find others for company
i burn for what is art
and those, who do it for love
they are my choice of company
together, we'll rise above
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
I understand my panther pal.
if we lock eyes
we never turn our backs
to each other,
yet even if I did
his cuteness would creep
into my nightmares;--;
a phantom of fuzz
and moonish green eyes.
fiendishly plucking my
arm hair with his claws.
rend my flesh asunder
by nightly tongue lashings.
. . . . . .
I understand my panther pal.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
Sometimes he was like f+ck it
just went ahead and stuck em
let em fall where they stood
crack another bottle and brood
hysterically on the ridiculous
he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters.
contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team.
He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
How Poets routinely tell lies or truth with great "sincerity"
and earnest projections of "poetic charisma" and lashings
of "who me tell lies?".
and yet they routinely avoid truthfulness, in case they forget the power of lies and truth, in their search for fame.
Mesmerised by its attendant celebrity groupmind and of course its wealth..
Indeed Poets don't want to know that truthfulness
has nothing to do with truth.
Indeed Poets don't want to know that truth
is a lie and a lie is truth,
two sides of a darkened mirror
and both are equally valueless
except for seeing false faces in..
Poets bleat on about how the shackleable object of their 'love' ,
she or he, are not theirs to own
or categorise or monopolise.
yet they keep on expecting full submission
and just getting an empty back,
and a disappearing set of footprints.
Like the sheep and goats that Poets are,
they bleat on endlessly
about their wants their wants their wants.
They want fame as Poets--disguised as distribution deals.
They want contracts to produce garbage for HallMark--as if..
They want **** licking critical acclaim--from **** licking critics.
They want international poetry prizes from aesthetic morons--
wearing Armani suits.
They want Groupies--but not *******
They want Media eulogies--but not truthfulness.
Always are they deliberately forgetting that
"you cant always get what you want".
The last thing that Poets want is what they need most of all.
They really need
An end to the narcissism of those
that want to be called "poet"--in your dreams.
An end to the juvenile arrogance that motivates them to put up strings
of meaningless associated words
and vainly call them poems.
An end to childish immaturity, and inchoate meandering
through other peoples words and experiences, stealing others lives
and characters.
Always incessantly pretending that because
they can read the words of others
that they have also shared their experiences--indeed their experience was deeper wider higher.
In another day and age of non-violent sensibility
these kind of Poets would
be called thieves and liars.
In this day and age they scribble emotional garbage
and pretend its "poetry"--encouraged by intellectual follies.
As poets they have become walking proto cash registers.
Sin Verguensa.
Sin Verguensa.
Sin is Spanish for without.
Poets are SIN integrity.
Poets are SIN Truthfulness.
Poets are SIN decency.
Poets are SIN.
Im so glad I could never be mistaken for a Poet.
Wouldnt want to be mistaken as a poet.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Today I went on a treasure hunt.
Not in search of one-eyed *****
Or
A new life for myself,
But rather
The old one.
Not for the sake of nostalgia
Was my search,
But for a poem.
The words of someone else
That you thoroughly believed
Carried your heart
Into my own ears.
But I was deaf back then.
Before I developed my selective hearing,
Insisting on my revelation miracle.
Until I
Limited my ears
Only to hear
Your lamentations and tongue-lashings;
Before I chose to
Blind myself
To the
Kindness
Hidden behind your fear.
In our prehistory,
You sent me
A piece of your heart,
Still sopping with heartbreak
Beating with rejection.
You sent me
Someone else’s poem
And now I wonder,
If you knew
You were planting a seed
That when watered,
With months of silence and
Countless looks that passed right through,
Would grow into a beanstalk
That I would climb
To reach back into
Our
Brothers Grimm Love Affair.
With no happy ending in sight
I stepped higher,
Knowing what turmoil I had left
Above.
I awaited the curses we cast
And the wishes we wasted
And I was poised for war;
With my armor coated,
Repellent of
Sarcasm and aggression,
I marched back to look at our battlefield
Ready as any warrior.
I was not ready, though, for memories
That looked as appealing
As Prince Charming,
With the face of
A queen.
No, my love
We did not have a
Happily ever after
But, our
Once upon a time
Wasn't half so wretched.
We were the
Fairytale in reverse.
Meeting at the ball,
In all our glory.
Leaving breadcrumbs
Back to the life that was familiar;
The ones that we didn't realize
We were running away from.
But at the ball,
Looking more beautiful
Than any princess in all of the land,
I met you
On your throne,
Refusing to Rise
In all your queen-like splendor,
Hearing from my
Little bird
That you would request
My presence.
I, your humble maiden,
Approached with
The caution of
A girl who only had
One shoe,
Breaking under the weight of memory.
And while you
Were offering me riches,
I was playing
Goldilocks,
Trying to find the home
That was just right
To rest my heart.
Little did I know
That I had bumped into Rumpelstiltskin,
Thinking he was gold
Luring me away
With me thinking
My heart was sold.
Only now
After I found
That gold weighs
Far too heavy
On someone
Who's only just grown wings
Is it that I find the moral of this story.
And so,
As I gaze at you,
With your now fair maiden
I say a solemn
“Thank you”,
For sending
Your love letter
In another's handwriting,
Because,
Although I never struck it rich,
I realize that the treasure was not in the
Happily ever after,
After all,
But all the magic
In Between.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
his ancestor a coolie
laid the rails many long years
but returned to Peking
to fight white devils
this, the tale
passed through the generations
with the jade necklace which
never left his mother's neck
first born son
spawn of two doctors, expectations
were high he would practice
honorable healing arts
early in his years
he fueled their fears, and ire
coming through their sterile door
with bloodied knuckles
black eyes, fat lips
they tried various exorcisms:
confinement in the temple, lashings
and hushed cabals with head healers,
but none could shrink his will
much to their dismay
Stanford rejected him; he landed
at a community college, where he spent
an indolent year, before vanishing
a thousand tears and fears later
the PI revealed what a hundred
billable hours had reaped
the son was so far west
he was east, in a village on the Yangtze
stooped over paddies, his feet firm
in the mire the generations
had yearned to escape
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
With the magical banner held high
invoking the crocodile rain of oppression by elites
of greed by leeches and bacteria, amoebas and suckers
oh come all come one, join our revolution against dark powers
Oh.. who in rightful mind could refuse
off she went to hear hot propaganda of those high and mighty folks
who took food from baby's mouth and live likes kings in our homes
fed in Le Cordon Bleu a'la Rouge with lashings of aspic fabrications
Without hesitation she swallowed all up,
I'm in and I am an Activist show me the culprit, what can I do
all for one, one for all, that parasite deserves miseries and doom
Easy comrade sister, get to know him and help us do his head in
It's a sport for us that elitist blood sucker
just get under his skin for us, let's play his mind and infest his head
report back to us, inner knowledge is power and we're fighting a war
comrade sister, our hot Activist marched forth on with vim and vigor
comrade sister wholly followed her brief
though soon saw things weren't as the revolutionaries presented
conflicted and confused she felt pity for a rare icon held in gallows
but the majority carries the vote and all is fair in love and red war
At her cost and with a wretched heart she gave her all
did as she was told and played her part as a true comrade in line
Solidarity she give to the fight, was mean and nasty as demanded
It's them or us they say and see comrades I give my services to you
all
No medals for Comrade sister, no epaulette yet earned
rather at her cost her privacy invaded and smears throws at her
tales of dark deeds and loose morals hung on her in dark corners
yet that poor heroine fought and gave so much blood for the cause
where is the honour amongst thieves and knaves
she did all that was required of her
told the lies she was made to tell and played the game as taught
stood at the barricades and ****** her guilt and conscience
yet they still don't trust her for paranoia rules them all
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
They are the ones
That rule the world for fun
They disseminate the guns
And tell us to run
So we flee
From their disease
That will not cease
Power is control that money buys
Burying us in gold and petty lies
They tell us the well has run dry
While we watch them fly
Fences of barbed wire
For us to admire
Inferno funeral pyres
Burn our desires
When they rattle
We're the cattle
That goes to battle
They talk to us with false information
And real bullets
They say it is our fault for instigation
The trigger they pull it
When their saccharine voice
Offers a laughable choice
Forsake love and compassion
To adopt their fashion
Of society crashing
They used to use lashings
Now they use time
Punishing those who aren't complicit in their crimes
They put us in prison
If we don't agree with their decisions
Decimating Bedouin life
So they can profit from strife
People ask who "they" are
The easiest answer is not me
And the problems aren't too far
For anybody to see
That there is a "they"
Not intent on doomsday
But numb to the death of strangers
Which puts us all in danger
I could point to examples like Lockheed Martin and Shell
As two companies that put us in hell
Or a country like North Korea
That has violent ideas
Or a man like Donald Trump
Who is a parasitic lump
They convince us they don't exist
So we don't resist
While they insist
We enlist
In their army
Of harming
Starring
Them
We hem
And haw
While they write laws
That point out our flaws
That are minimal compared to theirs
Yet they are the fortunate heirs
Who decide the code of conduct
Which is whatever sells their product
From plastic to bombs
Killing dolphins and moms
They feel they can't be wrong
When might
Is right
The meek take flight
But there is poison in the air
And they don't even care
They **** the Earth
And ****** its inhabitants
What are we worth
When it's to the rich we gravitate?
There is an apostle
Who's turned into a fossil
That is converted into fuel
So they can keep their pull
And use us as tools
To unearth jewels
And hoard them
Because we can't afford them
We surrender our resources to a select few
To do what they choose
Until we all lose
And can't see the light of day
Who else to blame but "they"?
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 7:38 AM UTC
I never saw the shadow of a tree,
And thought it was a person.
This is quite a letdown to me.
The closest I got was thinking
That my boot was actually my cat.
I wish I could find away to tell myself I'm beautiful.
I didn't know it then,
But I did self harming before I knew what it was.
Back when I was six or seven.
I started bruising myself when my house got loud
With swearing and yelling and
The occasional smack across the face,
And the loud drunken verbal lashings.
I'd sit behind my door,
And hold myself really tight
And pinch my rib cage all over.
Till I couldn't stand it.
It was a nice distraction.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
Ireland is riddled with
cancer.
Pesticides, herbicides,
fungicides-
Are obviously, not the
answer.
Dairygold® have got
it right. Surprisingly!
Organic pastureland,
green grass, happy cows!
"Golden Valleys,
Growing Naturally" ?
("Logo ™")
without the question
mark.
<>
In the event of Corporate
Punishment, IE, finding a
herd of hungry Friesians
in my front lawn, or my
next organic pizza happens
to be a Crispy Cow Pat with
lashings of Mozzarella, I am
hereby declaring that Silent
Spring lady, Rachel Carson,
was bumped off for making
metaphorical accusations, such
as could be interpreted by those
who are currently involved in
the depopulation process by
way of poisoning the people
via consumer products, that
are known to contain harmful
carcinogenic compounds veiled
by misleading advertising.
natural
adjective
1. her policy of using fresh, natural produce: unprocessed, organic, pure, wholesome, unrefined, pesticide-free, chemical-free, additive-free, unbleached, unmixed, real, plain, ****** crude, raw. ANTONYMS artificial, refined.
2. a natural occurrence: normal, ordinary, everyday, usual, regular, common, commonplace, typical, routine, standard, established, customary, accustomed, habitual, run-of-the-mill, stock, unexceptional. ANTONYMS abnormal, unnatural, exceptional.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:43 AM UTC
Forgive me for my lack of articulation
I don’t speak as retardedly prophetic as I used to
Or welcome death because no one knows it
When the fear of leaving
Is hell enough to stay
And the finish line is miles away
We will all meet it
At exactly the right time
We’ll both come in first
I promise
And
You
Well mouthed
Keeper of my darkness
Forgive me if I war trench your back at night
I’ve just never really known safety
Surprised at the size a man can be
When pressed to someone’s back
As the night covers all fronts
I know
I got love’s lashings scarring up my liver
When I drink myself to sleep at night
This morning
I awoke shortly after midnight from a text message
That took me an hour to respond to
Forgive me
I was thinking in dreams again
You were there
Watching me steal a pineapple popsicle and a Dr Pepper
From a vending machine
We then hopped in an airborne submarine
Only it was really a long broomstick between my legs
And your legs
And the legs of two others I’ve never met before
And we weren't ever really airborne
Even the figments of my imagination have to humor me
At times
And my ghosts are kind enough to leave before I awake
Playing poker over my body as I sleep
As I dream
As I startle
***** Drunken Poorly Invented Modern Sanskrit
Into the thick air
So cold I have to chisel the sweat away
I don’t sleep as soundly as I used to
Or speak as well
Or think as thoroughly
I just know what feels good when I don’t want it to
And I don’t know any other way to tell you
To slow down and wait for me
Because I am sure that
We’ll get where we’re supposed to be going
Exactly when we’re supposed to
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 4:24 PM UTC
You ever think about how shallow some people are?
So shallow that if you stepped in a puddle of them your feet would still be dry
The people who aim to do things, maybe even great things just to impress or gratify someone
To put someone down
To make up for some kind of weakness
To prove others wrong
Those who create this image of themselves that appeases others perception of them
Money
Material things
Cars
Planes
Designer clothes
Gizmos and gadgets
Things that don't mean anything more than a look see to anyone of real depth
You know depth?
To appreciate everything you're lucky enough to have or gain
To understand the little things and the bigger picture
To have been through hardships and learned from them
Empathy
Patience
Passion
Creativity
Selflessness
Respect
Depth
But then, there is something worse than being shallow
Hollow
To be empty of anything
No desires
No pleasure
Just numb hopelessness
The ones who have been hurt and just couldn't get back up
And fill the void with either drugs, things of only monetary value or self-inflected lashings of pity, loathing and mistrust
They look at the ones with depth and see them as idiotic idealists with no direction or any idea what it means to be part of a normal society
They look at the shallow ones and see great figures of wealthy stature
Exciting lives being lead by beautiful elitists
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Let me be your Spartacus, baby.
I'll break down these prison walls
and I'll rescue you from this thrall.
Let me be your Spartacus, baby.
I'll take a thousand lashings for you
and I'll fight all of Rome if I have to.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC
Preacher's Son
You spoke like a preacher,
Marble mouthed messenger
Of the rules of your domain.
You let your tongue slither words,
Voice deep, booming, bass thumping
Coursing through my chest, beating.
This was your weapon of choice -
Each syllable a warning
Of what was yet to come.
Your pulpit a collection of your vice,
Beer bottles, ***** jugs, remnants of snowfalls.
You are nothing more than
A false idol,
And I will no longer cling
To your drunk speech
Or grovel at your feet.
Go crack your hammer hands
The ones that nailed my praise-song
Shut to my throat to make me meeker
But these hands were still free,
Free to write silence across your lips
And I hope these thoughts pierce you like darts,
Like spears of defiance.
This is no longer your church,
And I no longer your son
Worshipping the verbal lashings as Godly,
Laudable. No longer seeing bruises as adornments
Of unabashed, deep down spooky love.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
Your heartbreak is as cozy
As the fishbowl I still get dizzy in
After you took me off the back burner
And placed me on the counter to cool
I have to remind myself that
It is not an earthquake when you
Slam the kitchen cabinets
Even though
My world shakes
The thing about fish is
If you don’t put a lid on their bowls
They tend to jump out
Not that it is an attempt at suicide
Just that some of us were born
Without the capacity to understand
Our own limitations
Don’t tell me I can’t breathe on dry land
*********
I am a man
Which means I am too dumb to understand that
Unless I try
How am I supposed to know
That I can’t protect you from everything
Unless I try
How am I supposed to know
That I can’t love you forever
Unless I try
How am I
supposed to know
That duct tape
can’t hold everything together
Unless I try
How was I supposed to know
That we would eventually be
Nothing but gasps of air
On a damp cutting board
When the lashings of love
Have denatured the thickest parts of our skin
Maybe I don’t know how to fix everything
Or love you like a normal person
Maybe saying every thought I have out loud
Makes you uncomfortable
It makes me uncomfortable
My face isn’t always this red
My skin isn’t always this hot
I am not always this dumb
But I am a man *********
And maybe I just
Haven’t learned that yet
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 4:33 AM UTC
Flip pity stickity stickity woe gonna flip pity stickity in yo brown hole, your eyes brown hair curly like a poodle gonna flippity lashings with my wet noodle, angel kisses hevea lye delight gonna flippity stickity all got **** night!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
In Africa the lissome eucalyptus leaves
Sharply ovoid, a washed celadon,
Turn their silvery backs, yield, bend with
The promise of on-coming rain.
You taught me this
Sign, this tree-voiced prediction, long ago, among
The tenderly sloping, densely viridian hills
And heavy, somnolent, rolling fogs of Iowa.
And so, I turn my back. I yield, oh, how I yield.
But, you didn’t foresee, didn’t know
How, much later, my heart would
Flake and flay
How great sheets of myself
Would peel, would fold
Would slough off just like
The bark, the back of those massive whitened eucalyptus trunks, you
Didn’t, couldn’t foretell how this long union
Scars, clings, sinks so deep, tattoos itself so that eucalyptus-like, despite
Repeated rain lashings, leaf bowings, droopings and sun decimated leavings
My heart, my soul sheds, molts, reforms, renews itself and just as those
Sharpened leaves arch and curve and arc and sway
So I bend, I turn, I give in, I give in
To the chafing wind, to the scouring hurt, to
The on-coming African
Rain.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
i am no Stranger to Fear
that which adhere's
to Love,
as if in Disguise
it Preys,
wait's till the Weak
lags behind.
then through courage Seeks,
and easily finds.
Love is everywhere,
flowing around,
matching the Frequencies
our Emotions' sound.
Meaning:
all forms of Expression,
Reaction, and
Passion can be,
in me
i have found
no solid ground.
always Floating,
Flying, and
Dreaming.
Imagination creating
a most serene setting
i fall into Believing.
Deceiving it is.
so i easily give in.
Temptation of Escape,
the comfort holds my hand
to guide me through the land
of possible Truth,
but Fear becomes out of Doubt
and overpowers.
Trust,
Communication,
and Understanding,
can not be
shared by one whom invites,
welcomes,
embodies,
Fear.
when one weight falls,
the Balance enthralls
Chaos into Dimension.
Nothing is the same,
it's all Abstract.
the lashings and arguments quickly Attack.
his Desire for me was Selfishly shown
through the Monuments built on our Love's Tomb.
no longer Love,
but Want,
kept his Soul aflame.
to keep what was his right to Tame.
my Fire Inside.
i could not walk,
stand,
or crawl.
i knew he Loved me,
and that was All.
but this was not Love.
this was Secret and a Blind
transformation to quick to be seen
by me or Time.
..or was it there all along,
waiting to come out and play his melancholy song?
this body,
his Vessel,
was a host of Confusion.
as if maid Mary to Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde,
it took all my Energy to Try,
but Why?
i Loved him,
but it was no longer Him in control,
Madness had finally taken it's toll.
"throw me under a bridge," last words of a troll.
Sorry my Man,
my Lover,
my Friend,
seems Fear got the best of You
in the End.
go down with the ship,
i'd rather not,
my Mind is too Free to be Caught.
i did not give up,
i did not run.
I simply did what had to be done
Body and Soul lay peacefully as one.
my Fear of You
is finally gone.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
the island’s delineating shape is not its realized limitations,
nor a redoubtable defense
against the elements or invaders of the mind
the skin of the land welcomes tides and waves
as gentil lickings,
a seductress’s first caressing volley enticing, firing
but calming
even when the crashing contemptible violent contretemps come,
the winter’s stormy wrath or hurricane tongue lashings of the fall,
partially forgiven for its forced renewal,
but only,
but only so much
the island - my home,
is not a prison but a happy imposition,
its restrictions make inward looking, mirroring, front facing,
a truthfulness demanding,
our self-exploratory word surgeries are precious, precision treks,
required to survive, then revive, declaim,
then exclaim
we are island folk and though our island's firmament defined,
it's poetry
is ever unlimited
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
Forgive my transgressions
Strip me of my sins
I'm sorry I'm not perfect
I wish I couldve been
A murderer I am
Of all my hopes and dreams
Barricaded myself in
And listened to my screams
I forgave those who robbed me
Of secrets I couldn't keep
Because they were too heavy
I couldn't set them free
Now I'm bound to my own shame
And hanging by a thread
Please just forgive me
Of the weight I need to shed
I'd take a thousand lashings
If I could finally see
That the person I need forgiveness from
Is me
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
“Okay you can stop now
I’m uncomfortable”
It’s like my scream couldn’t even be heard underwater
And even if they could no one would hear them
My body was stuck and
I felt like I was just withdrawing from life
My bones ache and remorse from the bruising
My heart breaks and hurts from the lashings
“You didn’t STOP
Why didn’t you just STOP.
That’s all you had to do and I’d be okay”
I am nothing more than a ******* shell now and that’s all I’ll ever be
all because of you
I constantly feel alone with any man who tries to love me
I’ll constantly be accused and feel like every last thing will always be my fault
My soul will always be tainted and brittle
You did this
Because you couldn’t stop.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 3:50 AM UTC
The bitterness in her voice allows us to sync and rejoice,
Since my cold past is parallel to her twisted lines of manipulative choice.
I tend to clinch my fist, not with the intentions too watch her flinch
I know my own strength, she can't weaken me with her nagging sense
The bottle represents a gun, the shots are quickly taken
Her love was mistaken, with affectionate lies and pure frustration.
"Accept Someone for Everything they Bring"
So I should "Accept" their insecure lashings? "Endure" their self centered suffering?
(I won't accept intentional pain)
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Good mood music is what's needed
With lots of hope on the side
Mad dog mybe a peaceful chap
Reflected on wars that have been fort
Mad dog might fight for peace with verbal exchange
Good mood music is what's needed
With lots of hope on the side
Trumpy too may have changed his spots
Don't believe the hype might be his fight
Fairness equality trumps mantra
Good mood music is what's needed
With lots of hope on the side
Billions might be invested in health care for all
Trillions donated to shelter all
Minions with millions feeding the poor
Good mood music is what's needed
With lots of hope on the side
Trumpy likes our planet green
Investing in alternative technology
Changing the climate for the better
Good mood music with lashings of hope
and maybe fingers crossed
Trumpy and his crew
Rule fair making America great again
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
Oh wind of hazardous nature and doleful misty raindrops
Whipped against my face,
What a contradiction thou art.
You cause such painful lashings against my skin, and yet
The leaves dance gaily in thy wake.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC