"presidential" poems
talkshows and the yellow press
get excited in excess
over his shenanigans
that delight his faithful fans
rumors of these *** affairs
strong words for all macho players
in the game of social thrones
texts with threatening undertones
for minorities and women
treating immigrants like demons
neither fans nor his opponents
seem to notice the components
of the white house strategy
throw them bones
fodder for the yellow press
and while they fight
clandestinely out of sight
works the Trumpian policy
money laundering blatant lies
scolding allies breaking ties
adoring foes praising those
usurpers of democracies
experts in atrocities
slowly yet persistently
undermine civility
with foul language
fill all courts with servile judges
court the aristocracies
of oil sheikdoms in the East
praising communist dictators
who have helped him build his towers
step by step he‘s leading US
from the groups of international powers
to an isolation desert
at the margins of the world
slogans we have rarely heard
over decades
now re-nourished
twittered with presidential flourish
make America small again
warning voices call in vain
no wonder the statue of liberty
is hiding her face in misery (*)
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
we live in times when words have lost their meaning
they only serve to fill some soundbite gaps between
faces of popstars, politicians, presidential candidates,
maybe some refugees, victims of crimes and natural catastrophes
and more sensational media creations flooding our lives
with unrelenting hype unless you push the button
that brings quiet to your life and you find time to reconsider
what it might be exactly you desire to achieve
in the short time we are allotted in this world
you will discover it is not the senseless media blather
but some coherent thoughts turned into words becoming deeds
enacting change leading to bold decisions
think for yourself and don’t let others think for you
then speak your thoughts in words like others cannot do
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
Guess what I'm writing about
Deez Nuts!
No seriously,
Not the thought we were going for?
So let's go a little more;
Maybe about the presidential candidate
Or the family jewels on my plate.
I'm trying not to laugh
Or bust a gut.
Maybe I can use Deez Nuts!
To bust in your guts.
Let's just rhyme.
I like big butts
(And I cannot Lie)
Or I might get in a rut
If you play with my nuts
And don't let my kids
Kiss your back or your ****
Or reach those guts.
Sidenote: I'm tan
Like a pharaoh, King Tut
But first,
Get Acquainted with me
Unless you're a ****
Than you're more than welcome
To meet Deez Nuts!
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
Don’t tell me it can’t all be equally shared
Don’t tell me elections are fair
Anywhere
I know whose had the power
The weapons to prove it
The world in their hands
And the money to move it
Perpetual profit
New product to cell
Dwellin’ deep in the pocket
Of your lol
So don’t tell me with Twitter you’re not all Obsessed
When you buy every lie presidential address
Comin’ hot off the press
Not so free to inform
A pornhub tuggin’ ******
Publicity Storm
And another blackout
On my people uncovered
Like Firestone burnin’ through natives
Unrubbered
Don’t tell me you don’t have the cure
Or that war
Isn’t waged on the people
To sheeple the poor
To the industry slaughterhouse
Dream factory
Where success is a breath of fresh
Debt peony
I know slavery still puts
That food on the table
And big pharma’s FDA puppets, the label
So don’t tell me dope is what’s making us Dumb
Don’t tell me my God’s not the LSD sun
Or that guns aren’t hired
To desecrate my
Sanctified inner peace
Keepin’ graffiti sky
For my ties to this earth
Are invaluable worth
So don’t tell me my rights haven’t been mine Since birth
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
Trump invades Nicaragua;
lights a powder keg to the
relief of everyone; let's get
on w/ it; change the world;
otherwise Nicaragua threatens
to become another Syria w/
Sandanista vs. Sandanista &
drug lords & communists;
mercenaries; contractors
& experimental weapons;
welcome to a world that is torn
completely in two to everyone's
relief for the sheer catharsis;
that is what frenzied freedom
looks & feels like; touches like,
smells like, ***** & eats like;
the madman in the marketplace
is the last person who can spell
Bourgeoisie & Ancien Régime;
Disestablishmentarianism &
Nouveau riche; time & technology
will turn the soil of psychology
churning up some never before
seen creature; mankind is suicidal;
this new Being will have no such
concept; coming in & out existence
like walking through a door; time
is meaningless running in countless
waves in all directions; space is
flexible like clay; women & men
create each other to the limits of their
imagination; Newton laid the foundation
& Einstein painted the ceiling; Pascal,
Hawking; Leibniz & Nietzsche & every
poet that ever lived or never lived; every
celestial siren & songstress who whispered
in a magical scribe's ear & he scratched
the miles & hours & places & people there;
thus, it began somewhere far out in space;
but they've been there all along; peaceful,
loving, able to shape-shift to perform
pleasurable functions in accordance w/
mankind's selfish wishes; mankind thinking
it's putting one over on the new species,
still finds itself bogged down in Nicaragua
long after Trump has built his Presidential
Library & joined the aliens like everyone
else; the poor Nicaraguans & Guatemalans
& Hondurans fighting it out to the death;
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
she smells (nameless and shameless)
*a concoction of mixed aromas,
a once in a lifetime scent,
impossible to bottle,
impossible to name,
nameless and shameless
morning coffee, last nights vin rosé,
a come-a-little-closer-tasting for the summer solstice,
the stale of the evening meals of grains and kale,
the sour remains of bedroom sweat,
the displeasing scented sight of
sweat soiled clothes carelessly discarded
the first of the season red spot-stained white peonies
fail to mask the bodies aromatic musks,
which are mostly gender identifiable
my sneakers hail mary, her stockings odorize the atmosphere
most unusually, nylon and lycra are strangely familiar,
prior memorized perhaps, from deep within, a ****** hallelujah,
deep amidst where, the ***** linens are shelved and binned,
before they journey to the Egypt Nile of the basement waters
the burnt crumbs of illegal in-bed brioche toast
amazingly invisible on unclean sheets,
state “breakfast in bed, was yummy in the tummy,
but next time use a big dinner plate,
down here, the burnt of the bread and the burnt
of other things (popcorn pieces)
is just a scratchiest fragrance too far,
needing a sheet wiped clean slate
even the colorless and tasteless water
absorb the ionosphere of smells,
because one does usually speak poetically,
one of us makes a (vice) presidential declaration:
she smells, I man-ually stink, each,
each glower shower nower,
open the window to the spring wet grass aroma fresh cut,
to exhume and then send away
this odor now christened,*
nameless and shameless
11:47 28/4/19
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
It burns in the heart
Of eighth grade girls
Sparkles like diamonds
In the watery eyes of the poor
It is born, kicking and screaming
In toddlers, before they can speak
It slowly dies and sputters
Out in old age
It is the bite and growl
In the dog fight
The motionless upper lip
Of botoxed trophy wives
It is the stacked and ripped
Bicep of the body builder
The clenched back teeth
Of every smiling presidential candidate
It resides in the pits
Of the stomachs of the second place
The money in the pockets
Of realtors
It is the fight to the top
The never give in
The blood boiling revenge in
Every made-for-TV movie
It is the Red, White and Blue
Blood, pumping through
Our country
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
The GLOBE hath gone infected
Media mobs
MOGUL infected
Bilderberg GODS!!!
Mother's shalt turneth against daughter's
And father against son
RISE of thine technology oh man
For thou shalt looseth by thine own guns
Thou shalt SCREAM PEACE...
Ourn savior hath come
ANTICHRIST beast
To the one's who chooseth dumb
CHIPS in thy hand's
Shackled at the feet
BURIED in sand
Defecation SECRETE
Babies shalt HOWL
No **** to be given
I bet I'll be gone
This time
By THANKSGIVING
Liveth out thy life,
PAY presidential bills
Down thy DRINK
Swallow thine pills
Mocketh me if thou WILT
Awaketh human slave
The CHAPTER is coming
To the end of thine DAY'S!!!!
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:31 PM UTC
A woman sits on the train.
Watching, waiting for something to happen.
She rushes pass building after building lost in the sights.
The world flying by her window seat.
One track at a time.
Fixed between one common place to another.
She turns her head.
A man reads the paper.
Headline covered by the fold.
Presidential debate.
His hold is tight, side eyeing the woman beside him.
Her round face.
Randomly clicking on her phone.
Bored.
Social media sites.
Candy crush.
He views in full.
The air is cool.
Cool enough to put you to sleep.
She wonders if anyone notices her.
She yawns,
lips printed on the reflection of buildings.
She quickly looks away.
The train passes.
Overhead she sees a plane.
Never has she flown.
To see the sights above.
Would the experience be the same.
Travel size smile.
Hand bag at rest.
The train rushing faster and faster.
The buildings now out of sight.
The plane races on.
She turns her head.
Now she's asleep
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
They hailed
and prostrated on the dust
as the monstrous jeeps passed.
Chants of praises
in loud native phrases
all for one man with deep pockets.
White man would look and say,
" Africans "
Black man would look, smile
and shake his head.
We say Nigeria is distressed
We say there is no money
We say all our leaders should face the firing squad
We say alot of things.
Churches are increasing,
Spiritual leaders are prophesizing,
Intellectuals are holding conferences,
Analylists are investigating,
Ministers are budjeting
and yet nothing is changed.
Still that black man on
the presidential seat wants
a second term.
Another term of nothingness.
I know everyone deserves
a second chance,
but ruling Nigeria
isnt a dice game.
We are in a state of nature
where every man is a danger
to the next.
Even body parts can not be guaranteed
to remain in one piece,
even in death
because of these ritual get-rich quick individuals.
Just like a mathematical equation,
Nigeria's solution
is " no solution ".
But, because there is no answer
doesnt mean it can not be solved at all.
I would not be the first to write about Nigeria
nor will i be the last,
but let history record
that at least i verbally cared.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
*it's not exactly Walt Whitman's o captain my captain in reference to Abraham Lincoln.*
to społeczeństwo jest gnój...
to społeczeństwo jest... szambo,
daj mi kandydata na prezydenta
z koła Navajo! dawaj kurwa!
bo tego nigra nie zdołam przetrawić
w ramach jego Nobla!
pierdolona kukła białasów!
o tak panie prezydencie, no tak
panie prezydencie... dziecko chcem
wysłać na Harvard... może pan pomoże
z wojęnką na bliskim wschodzie?
pięknie panie prezydencie,
dziękujemy za zbieranie włókna larw ciem.
ah panie prezydencie, jaka piękna sciema!
jaka piękna mgła! ah tak panie
prezydencie... kultura nie była asz tak
zgodnie zparowana z siłą! hip hop hooray
nad top z pana wagarami władzy
chodem po cmentarzu!
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
*Deadly deluded deceitful demon's of: inter-racial racism; murderous religiosity; frightful jealous hackings; tribally usurping genocides; atrocious political strength-of-arms; invading ferocity; selfish presidential reasoning;
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window;
self-effacing prime ministerial decrees of war; sanctioned moves by greedy banker pawns; designer labelled terrorism; War, a game now called 'Texas Billionaires Commodity'; a countries paid survival; seeded maniacal jealousy; globalisation's murdering grandiose; grandiloquent made walking bombaster(s) ; revenger mob leaders; our taxed Fools World !?
Globalisation - orchestrated profiteers, betting our losses*
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
In the Presidential Palace, the steaks are served up seared.
There’s an excellent wine cellar for meals expertly prepared.
The Palace is cool in summer; in winter it's toasty warm,
And Maduro and his spouse are always safe and free from harm.
In the streets of Venezuela there is anger and despair.
Inflation is the problem but why should Maduro care.
The store shelves are nearly empty; most people live in fear
There is ****** done in daylight and the sense that chaos nears.
This was once a beautiful, Prosperous land, the envy of the South.
Then a populist Socialist came to drive investors out.
Now a nation, resource rich, has been importing oil,
a nation whose own oil reserves are the greatest in the world.
His critics?- dead or imprisoned; the media is controlled
There’s no term limits on his rule. Voters do as they are told.
Demonstrators, even peaceful, can be shot down in the street
While Maduro sips his wine and decides what next he’ll have to eat.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
When did news parody
stop being funny?
Was it somewhere between
Alan Jackson’s 9/11 cash-in
and Donald Trump’s hair?
Was it BoJo stranded on a zipline over London,
or Cameron’s alleged porcine relations
(bizarrely black-mirroring fiction)?
When did the news
start doing Chris Morris’ job for him?
When did they start
pre-satirising the headlines?
“No evidence mermaids exist,” says US Government.
Swimming pool evacuated after prosthetic leg is mistaken for **********
Robots follow Marco Rubio to South Carolina.
I swear, I didn’t
make any of those up.
The actors on Saturday Night Live
are more statesmanlike
than the Presidential Primary Candidates they’re lampooning.
How the hell do they breed these
creatures? These gurning,
overgrown foetuses with their
conveniently dead ****** sisters to get
all wet-eyed and tumescent over,
their boomingly hollow controversy and
their total, catastrophic
crashes of personality.
These loathsome
organic constructs who would seem
more relatable and trustworthy if
their image consultants made them wear
Nixon masks for every
public appearance.
When did it all become
this strange, sick spoof
of itself?
Is there no one left in Britain who can make a sandwich?
Man dressed as penguin receives more votes than the Liberal Democrats.
Piers Morgan given jail time for illegally hacking ‘phones and gloating about it.
Okay.
I made the last one up.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:07 AM UTC
On the day
I was baptized,
I sat in the back pew
of my church,
weeping.
It took a long time
for me to arrive
on the bank
of the
River Jordan
that Day of
All Saints.
Flanked by my
two young sons
also getting
dipped
that day,
moved
me to
solemn
tears;
humbled
that I
would wade
into the living
waters
with my sons
as brothers
in the
Living
Christ.
My fount
of tears
rolled
cause
I finally
arrived
as one of
Gods
own.
Today
I saw
Maya Angelou
weep.
She received
The Presidential
Medal of Freedom.
She sat while the
President placed
it around her neck.
She did not rise to
receive it.
I think she was
sitting in a wheelchair.
She looked tired
but she was not feeble.
She was humble
yet remained unbowed.
Her eyes were closed
as they read a citation
about her; yet I know
her vision remains
keen.
She did not look up.
She quietly wept.
The President kissed
her cheek after
he clasped the award
around her neck.
Maya Angelou
never
looked up.
She just
wept.
Maya,
fellow award
recipient
John Lewis
and
their
son
Barack
Obama
have
arrived;
sitting at
America's
table
of freedom,
as
Maya Angelou
gently
weeps.
2/15/11
Oakland
jbm
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:15 PM UTC
Travel he must
And travel he will
But never without the public expectation
That he was there to ****
He took to the sky
With his dulled chocolate skin
Ah, the perfect scapegoat
The man in the turban
Typical and expected,
There is a bomb on this flight.
But not so expected, yet so typical,
The man who placed it here is white
With guilt and regret,
He watches the passengers go up in flames
Though he is glad that his country
will be given a different person to blame
*A terrorist
When will they leave us alone?*
I'm just curious
Does anyone even remember what country we've been told they're from?
That brown man did not bomb that plane
He did not come here with intentions to destroy
He is not the monster you are, and on this man your corruption is displayed.
Age twenty, to be exact. He was only just a ******* boy.
And you killed him, along with 149 others.
You then proceeded to tell more than 315 million people that it was a suicide bomb, a terrorist attack, all credits given to the Israeli.
Ha.
If you wanted to talk about a terrorist, you should've written an autobiography.
Nationalism
Nationalism
Nationalism
It is a nail that has been so drilled into your very being, it has ripped through the other side.
You are a robot, a political Frankenstein. None of these parts are yours, each brain cell has been donated by a false newscast or presidential speech.
"A foreign terrorist" - wait.
Perhaps the "foreign" isn't needed. Every mere speck of dust from the Eastern part of the world is considered a terrorist.
In fact, is anywhere even really part of the world if it is not in America?
Anyway,
"A terrorist has bombed our plane,"
they tell you.
Racial slurs are heard in every living room, coffee shop, and office.
Thank you for giving us another reason to hate any country besides our own.
Thank you for killing their families, and letting his family grieve not only for his death but also for the fact that the world hates the man he was not, for a lifestyle he did not live.
Do you love our country now?
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
Born in South Africa in 1918
95 years, a long life you had seen
Maybe not the best but better than most
You won the Presidential medal of freedom and the Nobel peace prize
Sadly today, the world cries.
You will be missed by so many
and are known by all
the impact you made on this world was nothing small
so many obstacles but you found a way
your determination inspires many people
that is why the 5th of December will always be a very sad day
You were great maybe the best
now it is time for you to finally rest
You changed the world and made it better
Rest In Peace, NELSON MANDELA
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
All us children of the Millennial
awaiting an omen,
seeking out the last augury,
weaving among the boomers
who present us with a forgery.
Stay strong, my children!
We are the last missionaries,
the last lost lovers,
are the rarest breed indeed,
above us a genuine gospel hovers.
Stay authentic, my friends!
Set out with unmatched veracity,
imperfection glistens these days but,
we see through the deceiving fog with rectitude,
we refuse to be mislead.
Steer the course, my children!
These maps made for us yield no
sensible shape or design when traced,
we forge our own compass.
Forgetting north south east west,
undulating inwards with a steady pace.
"We are the lovers, we are the last of our kind, so hold my hand and keep your chin up and I swear we'll be just fine."
We desire no recompense, only truth.
On sour soiled presidential soliloquies we muster strength again and again to chew, repeatedly breaking a tooth.
With roots above and branches below,
we capture our affections in nature's photo booth
but,
furrow our brows in a sordid mirror reflection.
Stay clean, my sweet princes!
Dart ahead to meet me and my words I will not mince.
Hold steadfast to the healing hope hovering above our masts,
steer this ship with steady hands,
fear not the undertow.
A voyage which is long and treacherous,
but this is no ship of floating fools.
Be proud, my children!
We have sailed successfully into the millennium,
leaving in our wake the outdated value systems of the past.
We are the strong
We are the brave
We are the lovers
The last of our kind
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
A Presidential pardon for all inmates and the expulsion of every American's arrest and incarceration record. Change the lives of forty million people and see the economy roar the Lion's head.
What could be more, Christian?
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC