"pundits" poems
Ebola, coming from the Continent of our roots
The WHO is exhausted by your contagion
Nurses are leaving their posts, doctors are dying
What can contain exponential growth?
Not the money and debts of this bankrupt America
We print more money and expect
The world to stay the same, but it won’t
Not after you Ebola, a profit mechanism
Vaccines, for each strain and mutation?
Ebola, your incubation period is too long
Your death-conformity is too high
How can you possibly be natural?
Man-made, racially biased, targeting
The weak, the poor, the masses
Ebola, a colonial rampage in your DNA
I call your bluff, genocide, Genocide!
Obama doesn’t mind Ebola, flights stay open
New epicenters for outbreaks arrive
The pundits say it’s already too late
Fluids or air-droplets, both, who is to say?
The CDC seems strangely apathetic
The UN is oddly apologetic
Ebola, are you ready to decimate
The white man, as you have the black?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Bricks and mortar, steel and boards,
Phone poles lined with power cords, on
Pothole streets, where engines roar,
'Neath smoggy skies, where jet planes soar,
Where penny merchants peddle wares,
And news reports pretend they care,
Where vagrants sleep, and children stare,
And people work for lives not theirs,
That's life in the jungle, adrift in the herd,
Where terrestrial beasts envy free flying birds
Where the pundits stand polished, and speak empty words,
And the artists paint portraits, while posted on curbs,
Where the men push carts, full of empty cans,
And the women spend paychecks, for spray-on tans,
Where the truckers drive loads, 'cross a thousand mile span,
To appease the great gods of supply and demand,
Asphalt and tarmac, girders and glass,
Terrarium trees in cemented sod grass,
Ripe with the stench of exhaust fumes and gas,
As the choir lines up for the 10 o'clock mass,
While the brokers all scream, at a packed stock exchange,
As the veterans in wheelchairs sit begging for change,
That's life in the jungle, it's just a big game,
But remember you're playing, lest you go insane.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Pugnacious pundits having parties,
on the left and on the right.
Lowering sanity and lifting madness.
I hear countless words that all seem trite.
Too many fall into their trap.
In happy splendid ignorance,
Clowns perform, and we're all prat.
Such perfectly played incompetence.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
will the French
please stop stealing words
from Pretty Olde English?
we can’t but fix a secret meeting
and choose a rendezvous
and we discover the French have already
stolen every secret including the word rendezvous!
Oh, the French, when will
they stop this pilfering of English vocabulary?
I buy some trinkets and stuff for my beau
and they tell me my beau has been taken by the French –
and to add insult to injury
(those thieves!)
they’ve stolen all the stuff too!
Oh, there’s no stopping the French.
I can’t even sit to dine and say
“Bon appetit!”
and they steal my words,
and they run off with the dessert…
and would you believe it?
those cunning French,
they even steal the restaurant and its décor!
Oh, the evil French, will they never stop this? -
stealing from fecund English, so simple and innocent…
You see, even the Great Poet John Keats
he starts his poem in English
La Belle Dame sans Merci
and no sooner had he written the title,
the French stole the very words! -
and so ****** off was our Romantic John Keats,
he wrote the poem itself
in what he hoped could never be Frenched!
Ah, the French…would you please stealing
words from our Fair Damsel English….
And the Chindians too!
Chindians?
you know,
the Chinese and the Indians together!
(Yes, it’s a new word,
shows how inventive English is.)
Well, the Chinese have done it with
a smile and a kowtow! –
there you go, while you bow or cringe,
the Chinese steal the kowtow;
and before our very own eyes
today even in our modern world
the Chinese steal words like Dao, Zen, taofu,
chi, and feng shui;
and the Indians, not to be beaten,
and perhaps with a vengeance
to deal a fatal blow to the Raj,
they steal words like: nirvana, pundits, yoga,
juggernaut, pepper and curry
And of course
there are many more tribes and nations
in this merry global **** of Gloriana English
and there’s just nothing Britannia can do about it!
Oh, what’s the world coming to
when our Plain Jane English is molested like this;
and so I do my part
the Dark Knight coming to her rescue -
perhaps this earnest appeal in verse
will touch the hearts of the beasts and dragons
and they’ll keep their claws away
from our Fair Helpless Dame English
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
Ebola Sars and *** sounds like a big deal to me
Isis recruits Australians, Russia bombs Ukrainians
Economic bubble crash is starting to give me a rash
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Hyper fervent slactivism causing me a social schism
Picking up the pieces of a shattered governmental system
Cliches of a topic piled up into a rhyming pattern
Pundits pumping such hot air they might as well just move to Saturn
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Post Modern kids all broke it down as something they could
deconstruct
Idealists will polish turds, while cynics just don't give a ****
Focus on your social status, eating healthy, getting hotter
Better drink my own **** cause we're quickly running out of water
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
the sport of cricket
is no longer a clean game
bribes and corruption
have dowsed it in shame
***** money has walked
onto the cricket pitch
and it does so give
the sporting pundits a severe stitch
ball tampering by the players
and umpires being paid off
these disrespectful actions
causing cricket lovers to fulsomely scoff
the game of cricket has been
so badly sullied over the past few years
and it does so make the fans
feel less incline to cheer
cricket has a grubby tarnish
upon it these days
the ICC should be disinfecting
the game's wicked ways
devotees of cricket are not
a happy lot
they are waiting for the wicket
to be cleansed of all the ***** rot
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
I love to be hated
By the liars and thieves
Who pretend their your friends
‘Till you’re down on your knees
I love to be hated
But never ignored
By the pundits and tyrants
And prophets of war
We froliced like children
Dancing with knives
And we prayed to our Idols
'Til we ate them alive
We all were fatherless
With room still to grow
Lost in the desert
with nowhere to go
They look like insects
So far away
We drown out their cries
The louder we pray
Nobody cares
Unless devils draw near
So scream out for rescue
There’s no one to hear
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Truly.........
the charisma
beguiles and challenges them
truly the sublime force is too irresistible
in attraction and confusion they fake faux condemnation
and in awe the artificialities of superficiality offers sanguine solace
as dim counterfeit pundits give counterfeit commentaries
for who dares say this is one like no other
when to be real is a crime per se
wow! that charisma
truly..........
Truly..........
his charisma
exceedingly shades all others
no one and nothing compares we know
God threw the mould away after making him
cry me a river and build that bridge over troubled waters
for a David walks head and shoulder above most
in truth we see his light but lie we must
when passion voltage overwhelms
its ebb is the afterglow
we live to die
truly.........
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 5:13 PM UTC
*Gone are the days of yore
When intellectualism was a preserve
Of the privileged and distinguished in society
A family ‘heirloom’ passed on to succeeding generations*
*Over the years the human mind
Has morphed into a think tank of awe and bamboozlement
An object for advancement…and destruction almost in equal measure
A portal to self-destruction
*Political pundits passionately discourse in the corridors
Of power over an issue as mundane as food taxes
Am ****** if this aint a move to subjugate the populace
Whilst reveling in the guise of representing the best interests of the electorate*
*It’s a slap in the face of reason and logic
A soiling and tainting of mother earth’s unconditional benevolence
Extended to her humble earthlings as bountiful harvest
But a means of self-aggrandizement it is for the politicians and their loyalists
Apparently this is *political correctness
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 5:40 AM UTC
there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
(that messianic soul
caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glasses
and magical spoons
skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot
lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
embracing
the day with
spontaneity and cheer
grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin!)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear
summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
(culling on his own terms
with a honed discretion)
pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)
cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary
to find
comfort lost
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
I’m at the acorn, a coffee shop, trying to write a poem but my mind is blank. I got here early enough to get one of the comfy chairs - yeah, I’m a self-indulgent monster - and I’m not getting up until my having to *** becomes a medical emergency.
What rhymes with blank.. Spank? THAT would take this poem in a WHOLE new direction - maybe it needs a new direction. Why does coffee that comes with latte-art, which costs 20 times more than what you can have in your dorm room, taste so much better?
A “Hi,” reveals a man standing in front of me, looking down and smiling - I assume he’s smiling because we’re all masked. I look up, blinking, and give him a questioning look and a head tilt - because we are masked. People at tables and chairs near us look up from their zoo of electronic devices to give us the onceover. There’s a keenness to him that makes me want him to go away and I begin to feel a nagging trepidation.
“Apparently I didn’t make much of an impression,” he says. He’s right and frankly, I’m thinking we should keep it that way. “We met at the Pundits party a couple of weeks ago?” He says, the inflection of his whole sentence rising, like a question.
Some background…
To her friends, Lisa being gorgeous is everyday and unremarkable, but take her out somewhere and she draws all eyes, like you drove up in a growling, fluorescent red Ferrari. She’s invited everywhere (she calls them “shiny ornament” invites) and one afternoon, as we’re coming back to the dorm a girl comes up to us - to her - hands her a ½ slip of paper and strikes up a conversation.
She introduces herself and runs through the usual, “What year are you in, where ya from.. bla bla. Then she asks, “Would you ever consider attending a naked party - have you heard of them?” To my surprise, Lisa smiles, brushes the hair out of her face and says, “I’d think about it,” which makes me laugh nervously, “You would?” I interrupt. The girl says that the paper is an open invitation from “The Pundits”, and that there’s a URL on it with details. “Just bring the slip,” she says, touching the paper in Lisa’s hand.
Guess where I “met” this guy? In an instant, I’m tense, and if I were a fox, I’d gnaw-off my paw to get out of there.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 7:52 AM UTC
I’m minded today we have a choice
to make our mark and raise our voice
but there are those, it’s very funny
who’d tell you how they’d spend your money.
All over Europe pundits gather
getting themselves in quite a lather
giving opinions on issues political
trying to make them sound so critical.
Skeletons found in many a cupboard
the found out grimace, some have blubbered
and later when all votes are counted
disappointment follows campaigns mounted.
In Germany too they’ll do their thing
as seats stay put or make a swing
France and Italy, Ireland too
votes for Europe are quite a to-do.
Votes are counted on Sunday of course
and Dimbleby brothers roll out in force
the great Swingometer comes into play
as seats are won across the UK.
After all the dust has settled
new MEPs all keen and mettled
all take their seats with po-faced pride
personal pleasure they try to hide.
And so to business for some it’s new
there are many and various things to do
like getting claims in for their expenses
the sitting places – the search for fences.
Alliances to make are the next big thing
who’ll vote with you on anything
but represent those who for you voted
or you’ll be out next time, I hope that’s noted.
©Joe Wilson – The European Elections 2014
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits
(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man
At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!
However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?
Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down
Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!
As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line
I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons
Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
It's the next best thing!
It's a scream!
It's got a screen!
and a million little buttons
that won't ever do a thing
to erase that feeling
that you're feeling.
why you are always waiting.
like the Rockie's or the Canyon.
like Columbus and the the great depression.
like Woodstock and world wars.
like the Illad and the Odyssey and The Beatles.
something more than
The consumer generation.
a definition through epic episodes.
a defining moment.
The revolution has been sponsored
by manufacturers and broadcasters
and warmongers and pundits
and people getting paid to tell you what you think.
and what do you think?
Why are we content with being incomplete?
unfinished and beat?
What the **** is so Comfy about that seat?
You are not generation X
or Y or Nothing or Nowhere.
or any of these false names they've created
to make us believe we are less than we are.
we've been duped.
the youth is not the future anymore.
It's firmly in the grip of the old and accomplished.
Your fate is their whim for a dollar.
Your life is fuel for the fires.
crass entertainment inspires your desires.
And well, **** that.
pull the wires from your brain
and we'll fight to regain.
what territory they've taken away.
Make decisions for ourselves today.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
colors
slide over
ink-slick
○°○ skin ○°○
○°○° °○°○° ○°○°
○°°○°○stretched○°○°°○
°°○○°○°°○°○°°○°○○°°
a skein of
furtive fabric
wrought of woe
and wrested
from futility
°°○°○°°○°○°°
pundits posture
○°°○°○°imposing ○°°○°○°
○○°○°°○°°postulating○°°○°°○
○°°○ ○°○their ○°○ ○°°○
○°○° importance ○°○°
°○°○°○ ○°°sleek°°○ °○○°○°
°○°○ insolence °○°○
curls °°○
crafted○°
churlish
like a
pre
°° hen
°° sile
°○°○tail
SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/28/2017
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
The cordoned enclosure saw room for exposure, for left was a gap in the gate
Climb too, or come through because you are just you, others will just have to wait
”Pass right along” they pulled from the throng, you’ve made it to pass, what’s wrong?
What’s wrong?"
Statistically I’m missing from the list if it’s your interest, I’m fit to pencil in a premonition’s false opinion
Prequisites parameters convincing your decision, it’s easy to chew if you pursue, (yes I do, yes I do).
Does it matter if the gap between the passage and the trap was rapidly adapting to the path of least resistance?
(Knock it down)
The fence was built for me, you can see, you can see, and I slipped through where the crow
bar cut the seam at your insistence.
(Knock it down)
Now you can pass for normal if we’re looking through my eyes, but for the sake of records,
please mark all that applies:
Are you now or at any time have ever been hispanic, how much cans of beer were drunk
this week, now tell me did you plan it?
Are you a woman, are you gay? Are you black, or something else, how much money do you
make and did you make it by yourself?
(Knock it down)
List the creed that most reflects your personal beliefs, condense it for the register, it’s such
a big relief to know
That we can track the chart, we can craft the slope
We can tell you just by looking if for you there’s any hope
but X asks Y if it’s a study for the pundits
then tell me how we’re told to build if no one plans to fund it
Climb the fence it’s common sense, the barbs are not for you
Go on boy you’ve made it, climb on through, climb on through.
No need to be perturbed as fence hoppers were before us
Well the fence was meant for us, you no longer can ignore us.
Knock it down
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
The king of cover-up is at it again,
Downplaying financial ties
And close connections with other countries,
Especially when questions arise.
First it was with Putin and Russia.
How much collusion remains to be seen.
Conspiracy in election meddling?
Whitewashing is now routine.
And then there was the hush-money
To cover-up some hanky-panky.
Dissimulation's easy when
You've got money in the banky.
It looks as though you must deny
And try to hide actions you rue,
But calling your fling "horse face," is that
A gentlemanly thing to do?
Now the cover-up deals with the Saudis--
With the crown prince and the Saudi king.
Denial…admittance…rogue players…
It has such a familiar ring.
After bragging over and over
About the millions of dollars he's made
From wealthy Saudis, his words are now
Exploding like a hand grenade.
When the leader has conflicts of interest,
Critics, pundits, and others who know
Where his interests really lie,
Shrug and say, "We told you so!"
He says he has a "natural instinct
For science." Isn't THAT a joke!
I wish his "natural instinct" was for
Telling the truth whenever he spoke.
-by Bob B (10-18-18)
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
The verbal diarrhoea of a politician’s promises
Flows over a broken roof of dripping umbrellas
Hustings heckling hastening onset of pneumonia
Voters need every candidate to be seen and heard.
Un-hygienic kissing of babies and pressing the flesh
Flash avoiding fixed smile like toothpaste commercial
Thinks - one man one vote a bad idea by Election Day
I wonder does every candidate vote for themselves?
Tense wait as political pundits make newsless news
Oscar like performances as the winners are announced
Four-more-years in The Slough of Despond for the loser
The Olympian heights of triumph for the winner.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.
They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?
What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-ass ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.
It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.
They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
Many lips never gave them any sporting chance,
As far as that Championship was concerned.
Left they the shores of the country, perchance,
To boot their thorny way to a certain end.
In the first two games sheer mediocrity
Displayed they, finishing both in a draw.
Most fans and analysts on their heads heavy
Words heaped, saying they'd not get a straw
From the tournament. Came the third match,
Which they won relievingly, 2-0 was the
Score. Coming 2nd in the group they did ******
Scraping a quarter-final berth against the Ivory
Coast team, the competition's chief favorite.
At this stage all hopes of further advancement,
Like mists, vanished. Folks and fans affright
Were that the boys against their next opponent--
Even ere they kicked the ball--would surely lose.
For how would they face such an assemblage
Of stars on parade and prevail! They did cruise
To the semi final however by grit and gauge.
Like an eagle dear soared they over the Mali
Main team too, by 4 goals to 1. When the wind
Fiercest is, against thunderstorm, the eagle amazingly
Would glide through it. And that was the kind
Of spirit the Nigeria Super Eagles possessed that
Made them triumph after 19 years at the Africa Cup of
Nations over others, when they beat by 1-0 flat
In the finals Burkina Faso, despite opposition tough.
Pundits and people seldom give us success
Chances in life, seeming to have our very fate
In their hands. Yet, like daring David did press
Forward to confront Goliath great with his faith
Firm in God and self, likewise so must every
Soul serious and desirous about his destiny do.
For no mortal being over our fortune final authority
Has on earth. Coach Stephen Keshi and his crew
Believed in the players and themselves and went
On to lift the Orange Africa Cup in that event.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
- for patty m(mombo)
who will be laughing
out loud, spilling her sippin’ coffee~
after she reads this~
woke up o f f c i a l l y “fully rested”
per the devices that monitor the body,
hoping
that’s all they do, unless they are
writing this?
don’t think but can’t be sure,
cause the poems planted here,
were seedlings elsewhere, and
the Gatherers, my senses, be working
overtime
as we (me & them) trapse
through life picking up the discards,
of songs. tv pundits, (see title!)
overheard snippets of street
conversations,
your poems & comments,
(as I walk among you)
almost everywhere,
anytime
anyhow,
to add
days to
my life span
because
the poem notions
hit me so fast,
hanging fruitfully
needy
for picking, need
more time to love
them so fulsomely
so maybe one or two
are Rem insertions by
my Apple watch, but
not many cause I write
in a funny style!
my son asked AI to write
poems in the manner of
his dad, and it replied,
“can’t help, his poems are
too weird, not reproduceable,
borderline crazy(!!!!);”
give us someone easier
like Whitman or Plath
or Leonard C., no problem
doing dat”
so this poem was an off chance remak,
heard in passing by my digesting ears,
and like Noah’s Ark,
loaded up with alphabets 2 x 2,
set sail to your receptors to bark at ya
awake baby
with hopes
that you rise and read this,
laugh way
out loud,
and suddenly you tutu,
feeling well-reset, rested and very
a very,
moderate modicum more
appreciated enuf
nml
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 11:31 AM UTC
We are immobilized
veins thick
with toxins
brains saturated
with synthetic sensation.
Get out of bed
pill pundits.
Who do you love?
There is bliss without
a script.
Somewhere.
Look at yourself
****** harlots.
Now look in the mirror.
Is it a surprise that the same face
didn’t appear?
Stand straight,
sloppy sippers.
Take the flask out of your glove compartment
you can’t pregame life.
Come clean,
nicotine queens.
We say we do it
because we don’t care when we die
but I care if you draw your last shallow breath
before mine.
We are the machine,
**** fiends.
We can’t be fueled
by ten sacks
and melancholic
dead dreams.
I am envious
sober superstars,
of your greatest feat,
waking in the morning
and walking
on your own
two feet.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 3:58 AM UTC
All the edits finished
All the audio in time
Geoff and Garry worked hard
To get the podcast up on line
topics from the serious
To topics quite delirious
full of energy
even one on me
A pair of pop culture pundits
Spewing whatever comes to mind
It's a great bit of entertainment
It might just expand your mind
Take the time to listen now
They may even have a row
You never know
So start the show
The Pendulum Podcast
Is the show of which I speak
They both put it together
They try to put one out
Most every week
It reaches to the geek in us
sometimes you'll need an omnibus
To understand
the things that these two can
It's enjoyable and funny
Take the time
and listen in
Do yourself a favour
It is not a mortal sin
But, who knows where
the show will lead
they do it for the fun not greed
you'll love to hear
The topics these two spear.
check out The Pendulum Podcast on facebook, and youtube. Link to youtube is as follows
http://www.youtube.com/user/ThePendulumOnTV/videos
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
In a room full of pundits and pud-pullers
I just wanna be the poet.
There’s not a ********* thing
that’s wrong with that either.
No, I won’t be that guy reading “Pride and Prejudice”
just so I can get a handle on the *******
zombie movie that’s coming out.
Give me a Mickey Spillane novel
and a slice of pizza.
Give me a Bukowski poem
and a pork chop.
That’s the problem here,
nobody seems to want to recognize their
base nature.
Nobody wants to admit that they still like *****
and ******** a nice ***
and an amazing pair of blue eyes.
Everyone wants to point out what everyone else
is doing wrong while
hiding behind hashtags and keyboards
like chickenshits.
I’ve had enough of it,
and I’ve narrowed my field of
vision, while widening my perspective
You see, I plan to be the best version
of me that I can be
today
then I’ll do it again tomorrow.
If I knock somebody’s drink in
their lap at some point
in between,
I won’t lose a second’s sleep over it.
I’ll just try to do better on the next pass.
***
-JBClaywell
©2016 P&ZPublications
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Educate our hearts before we speak our minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
I try to catch the latest news,
Lest otherwise,
I become rolled over by it.
And I heard the hiss
Of venomous spinners,
“We must arm ourselves to the teeth...
**** them all! Bomb them all!”
Such comely pundits,
coated in makeup and gloss,
to read incendiary scripts from teleprompters,
to incite and heap bricks of lead
to tip their side of the scales of Justice.
Smoke speaks before fire,
then soon after comes the flame,
and then the wind of sentiment
to fan the inferno.
But who will speak low and soft of love?
Where are the healing eyes
and empathetic ears of poets past
who dipped their feather pens in compassion
and caressed messages, as
balms for our wounds?
Why do we taint the inherent scripture of mankind
with rhetoric and reaction
by those who seek to study the chaff
and not the wheat of a communal harvest?
Our great leaders have gone softly
into their nights…
battle weary
and brittle by war.
So if a bomb explodes at the Café I plan to visit today –
who will avenge my death
and who to see to the seeds I'd sewn
for compassion and peace?
Pray not these men and women on prime media payroll
and those of privileged wealth
and inherited power
who climb the backs of soft singing nightingales
to cackle the message of crows.
I’m none of these.
I was born of the womb,
and crawled to a walk, and thereon
through forests, and mountains, and shores,
shared with all things visible.
My heart rises and falls and races with beauty
and aches with darkness.
I fade, feeling the color run from my hair
and the suppleness of my skin
to dry and wither.
I watch my children quiver
like green leaves on the lithe limbs of youth –
fearing their fall,
but adoring their verdant energy.
All man is by nature equal
before the rise of knowledge –
and as the kingdom rises within each human being,
who will he take for a sage
and who for a fool?
Lo' we must focus the light in our hearts
before we speak from our darkening minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC