"panderers" poems
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
People lock their doors driving through my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Dogs are the kings in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Harlots bargain with panderers in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Felons avoid the police by hiding in schools, in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Eye contact is discouraged, in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Walking alone can be the biggest mistake you ever made, in my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
but in my city, my pretty pretty city,
the sea sends you salty, sandy kisses, in my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
and in my city, my pretty pretty city,
the railroad tracks take you to Zion from my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
in my city, my pretty pretty city
i have left behind my blood and promises to return.
Oh-
my city, in my pretty pretty city,
hearts break, while others mend,
tears fall, while smiles are conceived,
hate roams, while lovers love,
fear attacks, while fortitude prevails,
Oh-
my city, my pretty pretty city,
that's where i belong.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
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
“Our apparatchiks will continue making
the usual squalid mess called History:
all we can pray for is that artists,
chefs and saints may still appear to blithe it.“
W.H. Auden, “ Moon Landing”
<>
Let us happily and heedlessly
i.e blithely
send the pundits, panderers, and pussycats
and and the ill tempered ones,
the “like~seekers”
whose factual are not actuals
But
opinions gussied up
as itter-bitter-litter factoids on opioids,
of little value
*yeah
they’re history*
seek not likes or to be liked,
make your own history or herstory.,
and you will be admired
'tis a far far better thing…
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC
In the fifties in the USA
It was sad, but at the time
It was a rock solid fact;
Flamboyance was a crime.
I had to wear a coat and tie
The uniform of every day
Behaving quite the normal guy
In every conceivable way.
To be a good Samaritan
And genuflect at the altar,
Wear the collar of a puritan,
And not shame your father
By being some kind of fool
Who goes against the will
Of a society that longs for
A conformity inducing pill.
I gazed longingly at clothes
Of fashionable panderers
With the color matching garb
That triggered the slanderers.
But more than their profession
I saw their ability to strut,
The fit, the material display,
The magnificence of the cut.
And I had trouble being
That kind of person they craved.
To me it was a boring ride
From birth, right to the grave.
I could not understand those
Who felt life was not for living.
What good were the gifts I saw
If I refused their very giving?
Not for me, even when young
To spend my time mud crawling.
I would rather spend my efforts
In verbal social brawling.
I rejected insulting phrases that
Proper people so often employ
And chose instead the descriptive
And openly proud ‘gay *******
I refused to let the common man
Who was afraid of his own crotch
Insist I be mute while he insisted
That I should stand and watch.
No, I would be who I was then
And reject their false packet
Of wearing the coat of social balm
Which I called The Straight Jacket.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
A systemic epidemic amid the pandemic
Shots off at capitol hill and alls a panic
Forensics takes money from the shooter
Proclaims the victim to be a looter
Throw lives away like trash on the block
Take poor lives at their sides a Glock
Stocks soar, Deaths soar, **** just our luck
**** on tour at mast is the patriots ****
Peace an option until they grabbed their piece
Take the lease call your tab a life will cease
Six six six its the nature of the beast
Money, greed, and avarice
All they want is every slice of prosperity
They flaunt a salary a workless propriety
Makers, producers, and workers in poverty
Still, they will rule with iron sovereignty
This goes on for four more I'm going on a tour
Camp on a grassy knoll taking shots of Cuervo
Not enough to throw off my aim though
My contribution is to the body flow
That's just how war goes, no justice no peace
Just taking justice away with a piece
When I feel a debt is to me I pull the lease
And I feel what is owed to me is some peace
That'll never happen till all my friends can eat
I may die in a miserable cell in complete defeat
At least my skin won't be fleece won't be meat
For wolves to eat I'll be a man crushed underfeet
Funny we still fight confederate beliefs
More like fight the degenerate beliefs
Of the weak and the meek thieves
Stealing rights and lives for conceit
Liberty or death is the creed of our founders
Yet when liberty is stolen everyone just flounders
Death is the only retort to fascist panderers
Tired of all this fake comfort as a ponderer
The answer soon to be immutable one last stopper
That can permute this course as the only offer
An election of a conqueror or a molester
Choice between a beast and death or a monster
One mimics ein fuhrer the other will fester
So whats best here civil war or uncle Chester
Months until the toll bell calls on her electors
To choose hell or tepid **** to quell the defectors
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 8:48 AM UTC