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"pilloried" poems
Give him a skinhead, insignia, boots Less scruples, a swagger-stick, crowds, money. No black shirts visible. Just business suits, and pride is restored: tragic but funny. Proud like a skyscraper, godless as sin Babylonian promises, towering lies Reality shows when plutocrats win, Their rhetoric raining from empty skies. She-wolves, elected by uninformed sheep behave predictably, eyeing the flock Their wool (and the lamb-chops) are hers to keep Grazing voter—this should come as no shock. It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried) So shall we now be ******* or Hillary-ed?
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May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Dual Airbags
His Lady is lovely- Her verses, Divine. On her wit and her wisdom we've all oft opined. He, Texas handsome, skin kissed by the sun in all respects admirable save that he snored some. Pilloried in verse fort his one fatal flaw, Far too much the gentlemen, He didn't get sore. He didn't want her to suffer on account of his curse So, like a true gentleman He'd let her sleep first. But before he, too, could drift off to Nod From her side of the bed came some sounds rather odd. Was it a trick of his sleep deprived brain or did his lady love whistle much like a Freight train? Since its highly unlikely she will cease and desist and, awake, she's the Lady his heart can't resist. He's taken to counting sheep with fingers and toes till the Ambien works and he gets some repose..
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Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
Snoring Beauty
Hearts skipping beats, Unable to vent, 1, 2, 3... الى متى؟ Lungs filled up with dust, Medical was attacked, 11, 12, 13... الى متى؟ Eyes running out of tears, Unable to occupy, 21, 22, 23... الى متى؟ Voices heard deeply, Some pilloried, some bombed, 31, 32, 33... √'Wir haben es nicht gewusst' 71, 72, 73... Suffocated by injustice. الى متى يا عمي؟
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May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:02 AM UTC
Square root...
let me rant awhile for what good it may do to open the valve if only briefly for as one wave after another of sheer indignity is reported survivor guilt courses through me yet even this was not mine to choose for I don't happen to have been born Jewish or black - and that doesn't make me more - or less - worthy of dignity but I can observe closely what it is like to be pilloried and persecuted for one's peaceful contacts and communications holding personal beliefs at odds with a regime and a rage courses through me on contemplating 'man's inhumanity to man' - though written long ago that the world would be so, where hatred would replace kindness, love, empathy I deplore the way an ideology of one disturbed, possessed person can lead to millions donning a uniform, henceforth labelling one sector of humankind 'persona non grata' to be mercilessly pursued in legitimized genocide, even savaging little children frightened lads caught on the run made to hold arms for food mamas with babes in arms forced to watch them dashed to pieces then buried alive underground their infant cries still heard while their mothers were ***** - as beleaguered, beautiful Estonia was brought to it's knees... and I weep and rant feel knives in my gut blood pulsing swift - then take hold of myself seek to understand, if that be possible, even a smidgen of such distorted thinking to delve into the mind of a hateful deviate for but a moment and remain intact so I scan his written mantra and come to see that all deeply held convictions must have at its core RESPECT lest it attract the weak and easily led, or those forced into submission seeking to simply stay alive and they find themselves taking part in a forest fire of polluted propaganda a flood of merciless devastation, while their deluded leader continues to spout forth venom in the distorted notion that they would actually be acting in society's best interests or worse still: 'in the name of God' (Acts 5:39; Hosea 4:1-3)
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Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
dynamics of genocide (strong themes)
let me rant awhile for what good it may do to open the valve if only briefly for as one wave after another of sheer indignity is reported survivor guilt courses through me yet even this was not mine to choose for I don't happen to have been born Jewish or black - and that doesn't make me more - or less - worthy of dignity but I can observe closely what it is like to be pilloried and persecuted for one's peaceful contacts and communications holding personal beliefs at odds with a regime and a rage courses through me on contemplating 'man's inhumanity to man' - though written long ago that the world would be so, where hatred would replace kindness, love, empathy I deplore the way an ideology of one disturbed, possessed person can lead to millions donning a uniform, henceforth labelling one sector of humankind 'persona non grata' to be mercilessly pursued in legitimized genocide, even savaging little children frightened lads caught on the run made to hold arms for food mamas with babes in arms forced to watch them dashed to pieces then buried alive underground their infant cries still heard while their mothers were ***** - as beleaguered, beautiful Estonia was brought to it's knees... and I weep and rant feel knives in my gut blood pulsing swift - then take hold of myself seek to understand, if that be possible, even a smidgen of such distorted thinking to delve into the mind of a hateful deviate for but a moment and remain intact so I scan his written mantra and come to see that all deeply held convictions must have at its core RESPECT lest it attract the weak and easily led, or those forced into submission seeking to simply stay alive and they find themselves taking part in a forest fire of polluted propaganda a flood of merciless devastation, while their deluded leader continues to spout forth venom in the distorted notion that they would actually be acting in society's best interests or worse still: 'in the name of God' (Acts 5:39; Hosea 4:1-3)
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98
by James Bruce You’re the top! You’re the top! You’re a Millard Filmore, You’re the top! You’re the Girls of Gilmore, You’re lucidity’s not Huckabee’s weird views, You’re an immigrator, A great debator, You’re not Ted Cruz! You’re the style, Of a Ronald Reagan, You’re the smile of a foxxy Megyn, Were you Hillary, you’d be pilloried, and flop! But if Donald, Ailes’s the bottom, you’re the top! You’re the top! You’re the Wall of China, You’re the top! You’re acute angina, You’re hyperbole that’s a felony in Queens, You’re Rand Paul’s mama, Barack Obama, You’re full of beans! You’re the star, Of the G.O.P. camp, You’re a jam on a Christie bridge ramp, I’m a crippling loan, a Roger Stone, a flop! But if baby, Jeb’s sunk lower, you’re the top! You’re the top! You’re a well-coiffed dandy, You’re the top! Your hair’s cotton candy, You’re assets vast that cast a glow of Trumpf You’re a Carly visage, The Greenwich Village, You’re Friedrich Drumpf! You’re demure, You’re a friend of pollsters, You’re the spur on some heels with holsters I’m not fit to race, too commonplace, a sop! But if Donald, I’m rock bottom, you’re the top!
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Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
If Cole Porter Met the Donald
For four years we endured them; Trumps ' lame, incessant tweets. He pilloried both friend and foe, in victory and defeat. He raised name calling to an art; His dislikes he made plain His politics lacked subtlety. His ranting seemed insane. Now his account is frozen- he nevermore may tweet We will not hear his theories about how opponents cheat. He stands accused ( and justly so) Of inciting folks to violence So his social media accounts are closed and all that's left is silence.
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Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 12:48 PM UTC
To the Twitter End
By; Cedric McClester How the tables have turn you see Now the general needs immunity It was “Lock her up!” for Hillary Now it’s him who’s being pilloried Oh how the tables have turned indeed In the face of his avarice and greed The 5th Amendment he will not plead It would appear he has a greater need How the tables have turned I guess He’ll have to testify nevertheless And bring the president in this mess Or suggest his involvement at best And does anyone really believe There’s nothing up the president’s sleeve When first he practiced to deceive Which he has failed to achieve How the tables have turned today He needs immunity some will say To put the truth on full display But it’s gonna come out anyway The president has a motley crew And there’s little he wouldn’t do To get to where he got to Which is something I think you knew    How the tables have turned all the same The hunter was captured by the game The one who gave Hillary all the blame Do I really have to say his name You’re smart enough so I refuse Must I give you helpful clues When he’s all over broadcast news Cos’ everybody must pay their dues Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
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Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
THE TABLES HAVE TURNED
Struggling against his Inner Self;         he finally comes out at 30, telling anyone willing to listen his weird tales & odd sayings,   making others think he was only attracted to his own kind;            until finally, declaring he & his father one, he as publicly mocked & crucified;       his friends turn their backs on him, people make up stories about the fabulous things he did, his only real message to love one other; Pilate, a sexist-homophobe hailed to the crowd: 'Shall I release the ****** son of a ****** A good Jew who tends to the sick? Or Barabbas?              Serial ****** murdering thief, ***** dealer, liar, & general scum?' 'Give us Barabbas!'   they cry as if welcoming a conquering hero, and Barabbas is released among them like a wolf among sheep... 'Crucify! Crucify!' They cry ever louder: 'Crucify the ****** Carpenter! Let him build his own cross!!!' Heeding the crowd, Pilate has him pilloried on a cross fashioned by 'Joseph & Son inc.'         The event going so well,       soon Joseph's shop has a run on crosses...
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Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
His Father's Son
You never were the one to wait your turn Blaming me for every bridge you burn ****** me of all for which I yearn A pupil pilloried will never learn I tried to rectify my own Now I’m left petrified and cold And I believe I’m in a bind Can’t seem to find my nevermind The weight of late is getting hard to hold Vacant eyes that search but never find Often open but forever blind Lose perspective as my thoughts unwind This borderline suggests I’m not your kind
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Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 3:05 PM UTC
Nevermind