"politicking" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Kanye Got Got
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,
hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proof,
and then we play ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,
They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quota to fill,
these politicking capitalists are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,
but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,
to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******
first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in these narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,
Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a sadistic cult,
but what’s the cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with Jay?
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…
∆ LaLux ∆
The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,
hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proved,
and then we player ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,
They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quote to fill,
these politicking capitalist are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,
but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,
to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******
first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in this narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,
Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a cult,
but what’s they cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with J?
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…
∆ LaLux ∆
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
a confessional screen
chambered in opaques
the pearly gates would sport
checkers sovereignty with grime
between myself
and the other side of this poem
another acolyte had founted
from our species-widened narthex-maw
the answer to the test
the answer i have tested since
despite the veto of a roshi's sleeve
while adults justify in frowns and threats
commandment-etched
i am a child still
aghast at drawing lines in sand to mark the living
from the soon to die
one i knew who drew such lines
for whom a line was drawn to mark himself as well
not just in votes and homeland hate-speech
you see
he crossed the line
no unadulterated childhood can cross
he shot his own face
or at least his face was shot
when he was found
who can read the final lonely moments of another
when mistakes are easier than ownmost acts ?
bombing bullies politicking death
can sanctify the safe
unpunctuated traps
dividing moods in swallows
pills
swilled with undigested fear
of nozzled death
mercilessly sudden
.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
The plantations have been privatized
The cotton fields paved with concrete
They still exist
Despite how much you resist
Needing working bee's
They persist
And insist you enlist
From the stone like mass
Sky scrappers are erected
At the tiptop, a **** head runs the show
He tells all the little white men
Who work beneath him
What to do and were to go
You're too tired to even think
But you have to work
If you want to eat
From cotton
To poppy
From slaves in shackles
To droids with imperceptible chains
Leading and whipping the pack,
NASDAQ reigns
Grinning like a fool
All complacently cozy cuddling your coins
In an ornamented box
Where your view of the stars is blocked
Politicking away with a bottle scars of yesterday
Telling yourself "Everything will be okay,
It has been this far."
All the while Uncle Sam blows freedom smoke
Up your *** with his federal cigar
Buy, consume, sell
Get drunk, stay distracted, inhale
Imbibe thoughts instead of ale
You could read a book for fun now,
Or to cure boredom in jail
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Warm and gregarious are the politicking politician's.
They give hand outs, they take back. 100 dollar plates,
1,000 dollar ties, 50,000 dollar rides, all seem innocent
Behind smiles and whitened teeth grinches. All want to
Win a race, based off of other young men's livelihood's,
Sticking poor in poorer places, down south we call that
HOOD! Small business hard working peasants are losing
Stores to affluent men, who get ****** under tables for
Favors, present day-galore. The fast food workers get an
Extra dime to spare their time, while trump, Clinton rehatch
Nixon, and communism's back in prime. Bernie Sanders about
To die, Ted Cruz speaks of God, while playing pokie-pokie
With the fallen ones mirage. Mansions get bigger, pockets
Decrease, no more Mary Magdalenes to be forgiven, beggars
Only beg for hard cash, not their food to eat. Life's become*
Money_riches_jewels_you steal from me. I'll **** for you . don't worry uncle Sam's tax fund will keep you happy for tommorrow, don't worry, we'll get more money, from the wars and the next one we will borrow
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
Too many whys
Running through my mind
Like why o why
Do we live our life
Searching for things that never wanted to be found
Why do we shy....
away from our real purpose in this life
Why oh why
do our Politicians lie
Telling us things will be fine
beguiling us with few cups of rice
Acting like we the people blind
How oh how, do they expect us to thrive
When the only thing they subsidised....
is our faces filled with joyful smiles
Why do they connive
to bring sufferings to our lives
with the politicking vice they devise
Why do fathers die
Living their kids orphaned
Where are the real mothers and Wives
When wishy-washy women keep tiktoking their pride.
Why wont our elders understand
That the life we in now is different from the past
Why oh why
Is it so hard to find
Someone to keep close to our heart
When all they do is t mess up our mind
Oh why Oh why
Do our youth put on guise
guise of lies' just because they want to survive
Why do our boys sell their soul all for that luxury life.
why do our girls dress bare; to impress and advertise.
Why do our clerics keep weponising our mind
Building partition in the name of the most high
Why do those terrorist thinks they're doing it right
When clearly tis not jihad
Why oh why
Won't God listen to our doleful cries
Forgive our past; filled with sins and crimes
Guide our leaders right....
and liberate us from the powers that victimise our lives.
Aug 23, 2023
Aug 23, 2023 at 1:57 PM UTC
Emptinesses
framed by inequalities
that sew the disaffection,
throw the disenfranchised into
blues sharp relief,
stark contrasts of
black and white
rich and poor
needful and needless cries
There should be no politicking
or filibustered unkempt bluster
in the emptiness of children’s stomachs,
nor grave injury from
the ignorant knuckles of authority
Hunger of all kinds
in guts and minds
brings pain
and a shame to even voice,
for there shouldn’t be cause
to have to
Hunger has a way of spreading
to hearts and minds
and when hurting enough
will drive change
But not alone
The comfortable,
careful, silent,
the full,
must give time,
use voice,
use currency,
and fight
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 6:24 AM UTC
Under the rubble
Of humanity’s last battle
Lay the lost children
The neglected, impoverished and unfortunate
Subject to the politicking of cruel men
Their souls polluted with the dust of the devil incarnate
The children have no voice
Lost, in the darkness of Damascus
Stolen, in the ruins of Rwanda
But their odes shall remain
Imprinted upon
The broken concrete of civilization
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC