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"senators" poems
i. when I was young, I was never complimented. I never felt good enough and it hurt and somewhere along the line I began complimenting everyone because I was never complimented and I never wanted anyone to hate themselves the way I did. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I want in her pants. ii. we live in a country where a gay poet spoke at obama's second inauguration, where five openly gay senators serve, where all fifty states have had a gay elected officer in some capacity, so if I were to be gay, what's the problem with a relatively unknown sixteen year old girl from a relatively unknown town in a relatively unknown state being gay? iii. do you want me to be gay? do you want a better, more socially acceptable reason to make fun of me? is my weight not enough? iv. I was taught the term fluidity by my best friend Alyssa. she firmly believes that sexuality is a spectrum, like many other things. I have a different view on sexuality because I see it as a spectrum, not something that's set in stone. v. I like making people happy, I like completing people, I apologize a bit too frequently and I was taught how to accept people. vi. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I like her. just because I say a dog is cute does not mean I want with the dog. just because I say a painting is pretty does not mean I am going to **** the painting. vii. aesthetic is a very important word. viii. there are three kinds of attraction, aesthetic, romantic, and ****** just because you have one does not mean you have all three. just because I like the way something looks doesn't mean I am going to have *** with it. ix. sexuality is an Identity. not a YOUdentity. x. I'm not gay, but if I were, trust me, I wouldn't go for such a whiny little *****
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Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
to the girls who whisper "I think she might be gay."
i. when I was young, I was never complimented. I never felt good enough and it hurt and somewhere along the line I began complimenting everyone because I was never complimented and I never wanted anyone to hate themselves the way I did. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I want in her pants. ii. we live in a country where a gay poet spoke at obama's second inauguration, where five openly gay senators serve, where all fifty states have had a gay elected officer in some capacity, so if I were to be gay, what's the problem with a relatively unknown sixteen year old girl from a relatively unknown town in a relatively unknown state being gay? iii. do you want me to be gay? do you want a better, more socially acceptable reason to make fun of me? is my weight not enough? iv. I was taught the term fluidity by my best friend Alyssa. she firmly believes that sexuality is a spectrum, like many other things. I have a different view on sexuality because I see it as a spectrum, not something that's set in stone. v. I like making people happy, I like completing people, I apologize a bit too frequently and I was taught how to accept people. vi. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I like her. just because I say a dog is cute does not mean I want with the dog. just because I say a painting is pretty does not mean I am going to **** the painting. vii. aesthetic is a very important word. viii. there are three kinds of attraction, aesthetic, romantic, and ****** just because you have one does not mean you have all three. just because I like the way something looks doesn't mean I am going to have *** with it. ix. sexuality is an Identity. not a YOUdentity. x. I'm not gay, but if I were, trust me, I wouldn't go for such a whiny little *****
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10
A female tennis player might give An umpire a piece of her mind When she disagrees with him. Consequently, she is fined Or penalized in other ways. However, if the player's a male, He can spit, destroy his racket, Yell, and viciously assail The umpire at a tournament. He could even resort to calling The ump an "abortion," and little or nothing Happens to him. Now THAT'S appalling! A candid man might be considered "Direct" or "outspoken." Isn't that rich? But if you are an assertive women, You are basically called a ***** A man who loudly demonstrates At a Senate hearing in an angry fashion Could be considered "aggressive" or even Be called a man of "impetuous passion." A woman, however, who interrupts A Senate hearing with passion hears Herself being called "hysterical" when She's led away to Senators' sneers. Sexism? Discrimination? Inequality? Status quo? It certainly appears that way. The double standard has got to go! -by Bob B (9-11-18)
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Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
The Old Double Standard
-This is Nigeria, Where Cattle’s fly their terrorism flag, Stumping on humtydumpty green white green. -This is Nigeria Where corrupt QWERTY and busy ******   Puts food on the table of unemployed youths. -This is Nigeria Where clerics find paradise on earth Lo!  followers live as church rats withal. -This is Nigeria Where Eve plotted against a serpent   Hm! Mrs Philomena and her fairytale animal. -This is Nigeria Where Sundays are full of bibles and Qurans, Yet her body stinks in poo of immorality. -This is Nigeria Where the mace is a mess in her house As senators sleeps and vacate seats in a hearing. -This is Nigeria Where in Nigeria We are looking for Nigeria.
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May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
THIS IS NIGERIA!!!
amidst Jeffersonian opulence the Prez broke bread with his GOP poker face friends to solve government gridlock and sequester predicament trends citizens of the republic hopeful for nonsense to cease sat at the table asking “would you pass the biscuits please?” Obama perused the wine list boldly choosing a luscious Merlot senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres the guests were all aglow numerous delectable dishes were liberally splayed on the table revelers sipped flowing vintages wine a surefire icebreaker sparkling crystal Lennox flutes tinkled with convivial release while America’s disenfranchised voices ask “would you pass the biscuits please?” chutney meat, curried hens and sweet walnut rainbow trout the table a horn a plenty the guests gorged on fine cuisine a blessed nations bounty the feast consumed the Senators sated said it was some of the finest ever served but the taxpayers only got a peak of the banquet a whiff of senators nerve and asked “would you pass the biscuits please?” the dessert cart was rolled in with custards, cakes, creme brulee cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes rounded out the wholesome feast when the check was presented for payment all guests headed for the door with haste they told the waiter the bill of fare was covered by the guy asking... “would you pass the biscuits please?” Music Selection: Andre Williams: Pass The Biscuits Please jbm Oakland 3/7/13
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Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Pass the Biscuits Please
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after, And the poetry he invented was easy to understand; He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets; When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter, And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
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4.3k
Epitaph On A Tyrant
~ dad said she'd be famous ~ *"...a doctor or diva like lena horne,"* he said he'd been doing odd day jobs and driving cabs deep into the night through  these mean city streets since ella's debut at the apollo and his smile grew wider than jackie o's reservoir in central park when this bouncing baby girl made her grand debut into his world the dimples on her cherub caramel cheeks were irresistibly pinchable and those twinkling eyes knew she'd be spoiled infinitely like a fruit-fly in a box of rotten apples ~ reality check ~ ....if you look closely you might still see one dimple; but the twinkles departed back in '75 ....and the burns on her fingertips and blistered lips ....and the bones.... jutting  like the bones of refugees and anorexics ....missing flesh ...and the tracks on her forearms and filthy jeans .....and the eyes.... shifting like the eyes of senators and thieves ....telling lies .....and the rotting corpse in a black garbage bag in fresh kills multiple choices removed from the doctor and diva of daddy's dreams hijacked by dream-killers: *smack       crack   and addiction* ~ P (Pablo) (8/1/2013)
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Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Daddy's Dreamgirl...
The preacher scrubbed your sins away absolved you under rafters under fire under auspices Of books with dust in bindings layed down many lifetimes thick. But a preacher needs a pulpit like a fish requires scales Without the choir, no pool to swim. Senators tell you sweetened lies that half us want to hear two per state means only saying "Sorry," 'bout half the time to half the people, sometimes. But a liar needs your two ears and a moment of your time No need for snake oil when you're well. McGowan is a drinker, true draining oceans of pints dry under fire under praises, too From quarters high and lowly his legend laid down thickly But a preacher needs a pulpit and McGowan needs a page Needs pen in hand and needs a stage Otherwise, he's just a "Shane."
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Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Priests, and Liars and Shane McGowan
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum? The barbarians are due here today. Why isn't anything happening in the senate? Why do the senators sit there without legislating? Because the barbarians are coming today. What laws can the senators make now? Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating. Why did our emperor get up so early, and why is he sitting at the city's main gate on his throne, in state, wearing the crown? Because the barbarians are coming today and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader. He has even prepared a scroll to give him, replete with titles, with imposing names. Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas? Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts, and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds? Why are they carrying elegant canes beautifully worked in silver and gold? Because the barbarians are coming today and things like that dazzle the barbarians. Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual to make their speeches, say what they have to say? Because the barbarians are coming today and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking. Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion? (How serious people's faces have become.) Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly, everyone going home so lost in thought? Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come. And some who have just returned from the border say there are no barbarians any longer. And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians? They were, those people, a kind of solution.
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2.4k
Waiting for the Barbarians
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum? The barbarians are due here today. Why isn't anything happening in the senate? Why do the senators sit there without legislating? Because the barbarians are coming today. What laws can the senators make now? Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating. Why did our emperor get up so early, and why is he sitting at the city's main gate on his throne, in state, wearing the crown? Because the barbarians are coming today and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader. He has even prepared a scroll to give him, replete with titles, with imposing names. Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas? Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts, and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds? Why are they carrying elegant canes beautifully worked in silver and gold? Because the barbarians are coming today and things like that dazzle the barbarians. Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual to make their speeches, say what they have to say? Because the barbarians are coming today and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking. Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion? (How serious people's faces have become.) Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly, everyone going home so lost in thought? Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come. And some who have just returned from the border say there are no barbarians any longer. And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians? They were, those people, a kind of solution.
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35
A general and statesman, reformer and conquerer, summoned to the senate, and hastily issued a petition of which to bring back a senators banished brother. The Dictator Waves him off, and Cimber grasps his shoulder, “Ista quidem vis est!”*1 Cascas dagger is drawn, swiftly toward the neck it darts, yet caesar nimbly catches such attack, “Casca you villain! What is this you do!?” Casca fearing, cries “Adelphe, Boethei!”*2 Then like the wolves descending on a lonely foe, they lunge and leap, Brutus too… Caesar at the sight of him, averts his eyes and makes for the door, unable to escape he falls upon the floor, “Kai su, Teknon?”*3 The man who was harried, crawled to the steps, and saying nothing, Caesar dies… The Lower steps submerged in the Emperors crimson blood, the body cold, limp, lifeless, had at by the vultures, armed with knives, and stabbed times twenty-three. The conspirators proud, marched through the streets, and announced to fear-struck citizens, “People of Rome! We are once again free!” Yet, no one came out… for now. until, Three hours passed, and only then, was the fallen mans lifeless, corpse drenched in blood, collected and cremated.
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Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
The Death of Caesar...
"Don't work with the Americans." "Don't help the Americans." This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying After their poor treatment by the United States government The Afghan Interpreters are angry And they have a right to be After most U.S. troops have left Some are stuck hiding in Kabul The Taliban tell the local people That they are infidels The Taliban **** many interpreters The Afghan Interpreters struggle Only about 30% get their visa Some only have enough money To make it to Greece They live together Barely any money No hot water Persecuted by the local police One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier The soldier helped him put together his visa packet His visa took three years!!! This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years Had saved the lives of five American soldiers Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators One interpreter Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S. He had to leave on the next flight Because the Taliban  was threatening to **** him Thankfully the U.S. soldier Had a place for him to stay And could give him some money The soldier promised him He would help him get resettlement benefits Even though the U.S. government stated He was not eligible to receive his benefits Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight The Vice Interviewer Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters That there is a massive bureaucracy The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans The soldier tried to get a bill introduced That would streamline the process And increases the number of visas To help the Afghan Interpreters No legislation regarding immigration was introduced Because of bickering among Republican members The program ran out in September of 2014 So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan One interpreter that was interviewed Was stuck in Afghanistan Working as a taxi driver Fearing for his life Many of the Taliban prisoners Have been released Now he fears for his life He doesn't know what will happen 6,000 applicants For 280 available visas As of July 2014 May God bless the Afghan interpreter Trying to live his life in peace May God bless the Afghan people It seems things never change for them
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Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Afghan Interpreters
"Don't work with the Americans." "Don't help the Americans." This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying After their poor treatment by the United States government The Afghan Interpreters are angry And they have a right to be After most U.S. troops have left Some are stuck hiding in Kabul The Taliban tell the local people That they are infidels The Taliban **** many interpreters The Afghan Interpreters struggle Only about 30% get their visa Some only have enough money To make it to Greece They live together Barely any money No hot water Persecuted by the local police One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier The soldier helped him put together his visa packet His visa took three years!!! This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years Had saved the lives of five American soldiers Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators One interpreter Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S. He had to leave on the next flight Because the Taliban  was threatening to **** him Thankfully the U.S. soldier Had a place for him to stay And could give him some money The soldier promised him He would help him get resettlement benefits Even though the U.S. government stated He was not eligible to receive his benefits Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight The Vice Interviewer Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters That there is a massive bureaucracy The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans The soldier tried to get a bill introduced That would streamline the process And increases the number of visas To help the Afghan Interpreters No legislation regarding immigration was introduced Because of bickering among Republican members The program ran out in September of 2014 So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan One interpreter that was interviewed Was stuck in Afghanistan Working as a taxi driver Fearing for his life Many of the Taliban prisoners Have been released Now he fears for his life He doesn't know what will happen 6,000 applicants For 280 available visas As of July 2014 May God bless the Afghan interpreter Trying to live his life in peace May God bless the Afghan people It seems things never change for them
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64
pasty white ghosts haunt the corpse blue cornfields of Iowa whispering wisps of smoke shimmering shadows of the past setting the pace for the rat race that is the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election senators billionaires doctors frauds liars fools campaigning for selection in an archaic and outdated form of governance witness the spectacle the orgastic worship of solipsistic oligarchs bloated by their own sycophantic rhetoric it's just another form of all-American entertainment each orator's charismatic adage froths forth from a throat like a grave pragmatism throttles hope as we stoke the fires of self-indulgence and neglect the fact that we acquiesced as another deceiver stole votes we're choking on placebo pills every ballot cast is another act of apathy escapism pleading vainly for a savior to rescue our sick society but these hands didn't evolve so we could collect a representative to lead us blindly into one fiasco after another these fingers penned   humanity's symphonies and these calloused palms have toiled for years under an apathetic sun we learned to make love using our fingertips and with these fists we could chart a new path but only if we raise them in defiance our only chance is leaderless resistance
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Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
caucus
A Roman, noble and Patrician, moved his Legions into position. The morning Sun was in their eyes as they advanced upon Cannae. The Day was hot, they lacked hydration as they fought this battle of annihilation. The hot winds swept dust in their eyes as they advanced upon Cannae. Hannibal troops seemed to retreat, The Legions were in hot pursuit. The Carthaginians moved to surround the Romans on the killing ground. Eighty thousand Roman dead, Mars’ thirst quenched by the blood they shed Their arms and armor cast aside upon the fields around Cannae. Fortuna always smiled on Rome before this battle at Cannae Rome’s Senators refused to yield though their Sons lay dead upon the field. In the Pantheon of gods echo prayers from the devout to a new god born of that rout. Some say it is the god of doubt.
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Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
The god of Doubt
---:$:---:$:--- There he goes the Democrat's fool the Republican's stooge a New Order tool He thinks his candidate tells the truth He's heading for the voting booth There she goes those lies are glib her female hero promotes Woman's Lib! For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! There they stand The brave Senators The political nightmare Dogs and curs You're out of work and in a jam? Just email your Congressman! As far as our Fearless Leaders go they're no better they're politicos For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin! At the end of our rope we choke and dance but we keep our political stance We listen to their clever quips kissing babies with rotting lips But they are poisoning the water we drink the air we breathe C'mon folks! THINK! We have power! We have might! We gotta think! We gotta fight! The Constitution's eroding away! The Bill of rights? Ha! Gone today. In the end We could WIN! There's 99 of US to only ONE OF THEM For corporate governance they're all in They got that Jolly Roger Grin SoulSurvivor (C) 2/17/2015
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
Jolly Roger Grin
What gentle images in the fading frescos of ancient Italy Sylph-like figures gliding Along emerald green and viridian pathways Showing delicate movements of sophisticated people Brought down to earth by strong fighting men. Disciplined soldiers with life long missions Finding resolve in their heritage and republican history Gaining new ground and no prisoners taken Their senators and loved ones walk the streets and market places Regardless of sweat and toil of their constant striving The upper classes remain in peace with their souls. Vellum, wax or stone, the messages remain Suspended within their time Yet the beauty of their images Depicting a tranquil and calm epoch We can never know the daily lives for sure But beauty remains and we will accept this simple declaration
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Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Fading images
Thousands of grains of rice boiled and resting on the lining of unconsumed human veal. No one can **** the dweeb who suckered that one kid at the party out of drugs with the help of the cutest girl there. He knew how to hurt the best in the world with one word. Sweet tea and *** goes much deeper than the ribs and out the back door much faster than a deadbeat dad. The stomach rumbles the world far worse than a string of serial rapists on trial. World hunger is a yo-yo doing pendulum swings over summer BBQs drinking and popping *** and candy from the local radio station. “I'm sorry I felled you. I should have done better by you. I love you.” Vague women with just five minute existences of commitments, those Senators of Love vying for second and third terms before they sink into those holes in South America you hear about in the news. Men know nothing but control. Women know nothing but control. Numbers know nothing. Collapsed tunnels in the mind of Prometheus before calendars and Twitter and liquor just the dark and blunt objects
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Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
What was made from the rib of Eve?
Sly: The Duffle bag part 1: His Days Were Not Like Most! It was a typical summer night, not a single cloud to gloom the gloomy sky. The sidewalks reeked of a smell that most would consider disgusting, the smell of prostitution eclipsed by drug infested buildings highlighted by the scent of ***** made for a fun night out on the town. Sly was the type to take advantage, and he did. His rough external features were perfectly matched his all black outfit and black trench coat. He was a man of few words, few emotions, and few delights. Each step he took that night echoed through the streets so loud the wind it self would stop. His eyes were red, drained, tired, he had been up all night thinking, wondering, but now he was ready for action. The old warehouse downtown had been abandoned for sometime now. Its cold and unfriendly, a place Sly could call a home, an urban retreat of sorts for him and his duffle bag. His red duffle bag, that duffle bag housed an arsenal, an arsenal of weapons so treacherous, it had intent to inflict immeasurable amounts of misery for a common denominator. Sly was Hungry, angry; his scope was set at the top of the old warehouse. Sly had climbed the catwalk with precious percussion. He set the red duffle bag down next to him. Sly sat down on a beam that barley supported his weight. A large window 45 degrees to the right of him, made a great position. He opened his red duffle bag! A ****** riffle laid cold and dormant waiting and wanting the touch of existence. The energy felt by his emotional bond to his riffle was indescribable. He loaded the piece. Each bullet loaded the clip as if tenors were in harmony with the alto. The voices that sang revenge sang with an unholy cry, yet the confidence in his faith would serve him as he uttered the symbol of his determination. Slowly he made love to his weapon, cleaning and feeling it’s every corner. Across the road no more than a mile, stood a house. House where political propaganda represented it’s housing guests. Senators of Satin! See Sly was in a very particular business; a business most don’t even know exist…Sly was in the business of killing Demons! .
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Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
Sly: The Duffle bag part 1:
Sly: The Duffle bag part 1: His Days Were Not Like Most! It was a typical summer night, not a single cloud to gloom the gloomy sky. The sidewalks reeked of a smell that most would consider disgusting, the smell of prostitution eclipsed by drug infested buildings highlighted by the scent of ***** made for a fun night out on the town. Sly was the type to take advantage, and he did. His rough external features were perfectly matched his all black outfit and black trench coat. He was a man of few words, few emotions, and few delights. Each step he took that night echoed through the streets so loud the wind it self would stop. His eyes were red, drained, tired, he had been up all night thinking, wondering, but now he was ready for action. The old warehouse downtown had been abandoned for sometime now. Its cold and unfriendly, a place Sly could call a home, an urban retreat of sorts for him and his duffle bag. His red duffle bag, that duffle bag housed an arsenal, an arsenal of weapons so treacherous, it had intent to inflict immeasurable amounts of misery for a common denominator. Sly was Hungry, angry; his scope was set at the top of the old warehouse. Sly had climbed the catwalk with precious percussion. He set the red duffle bag down next to him. Sly sat down on a beam that barley supported his weight. A large window 45 degrees to the right of him, made a great position. He opened his red duffle bag! A ****** riffle laid cold and dormant waiting and wanting the touch of existence. The energy felt by his emotional bond to his riffle was indescribable. He loaded the piece. Each bullet loaded the clip as if tenors were in harmony with the alto. The voices that sang revenge sang with an unholy cry, yet the confidence in his faith would serve him as he uttered the symbol of his determination. Slowly he made love to his weapon, cleaning and feeling it’s every corner. Across the road no more than a mile, stood a house. House where political propaganda represented it’s housing guests. Senators of Satin! See Sly was in a very particular business; a business most don’t even know exist…Sly was in the business of killing Demons! .
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4
Bold Captain Gray comes down To islands warm, Where tawny men are chattel; Sees brightly Patrick Spens Survive a storm, And wants to win the battle! But when the cannon Shots roar all 'round them And punch a hole in th' aft deck; Laments that Spens was found A man too "holey" Murmur around the carrack! What were his last words, Tell them to me boys, Or I'll get raw with fury! For Patrick owed your Weight in Spanish coin; God stablished I his jury! But when the men had Still not loosed their lips, E'en under pain or menace; Says Gray, what senators Be these lads who still Possess no fear of penance? Then comes the lookout boy From up above, Where long the mast had held him; Says, Patrick Spens just Gave me his last word; See here, it's writ on vellum! Then up the captain roars... And makes to burn the stores... For tricks the crew had played... With rage, the captain said:      Beehive the rightless dogs, to hell ‘em,      Give me the answer scrawled on vellum!
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Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 7:50 PM UTC
Bold Captain Gray
Promise to nominate a judge Who will reverse previous decisions. Relish the opportunity To fan the flames of people's divisions. Refuse to provide the senators With all of the documents that they need To allow for careful, researched judgment. Your nominee will be guaranteed. Be sure the person you nominate Will have your back if things get hairy. Agreeing that you're above the law Is absolutely necessary. Let ideology be The key factor for stacking the Court. Your starry-eyed supporters will Give you their undying support. Train your nominee to behave Just like you when at a hearing. Your base will consequently find The person even more endearing. If any dirt might come up, Limit the background investigation To make it essentially a sham. And lie without reservation. Persuade Republicans in Congress To sycophantly do your bidding. You scratch their backs; they'll scratch yours. Works like a charm. I'm not kidding! Belittle dissenters. People who don't Support you, you humiliate. Stick to this plan, for that's how you Are going to make this country great. -by Bob B (10-5-18)
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Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
The D.T. Playbook: Chapter 5 (Supreme Court Confirmations)
Come gather ’round people Wherever you roam And admit that the waters Around you have grown And accept it that soon You’ll be drenched to the bone If your time to you is worth savin’ Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone For the times they are a-changin’ Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen And keep your eyes wide The chance won’t come again And don’t speak too soon For the wheel’s still in spin And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’ For the loser now will be later to win For the times they are a-changin’ Come senators, congressmen Please heed the call Don’t stand in the doorway Don’t block up the hall For he that gets hurt Will be he who has stalled There’s a battle outside and it is ragin’ It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls For the times they are a-changin’ Come mothers and fathers Throughout the land And don’t criticize What you can’t understand Your sons and your daughters Are beyond your command Your old road is rapidly agin’ Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand For the times they are a-changin’ The line it is drawn The curse it is cast The slow one now Will later be fast As the present now Will later be past The order is rapidly fadin’ And the first one now will later be last For the times they are a-changin’
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Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
The times they are a changin... ( written and sung by bob dylan) lyrics
Caligula, wise man of course, Sought due promotion for his horse: With no prerequisite debate, The beast became a magistrate. And then one day, without a groom, He clopped into the Senate Room, Followed beastly intuition, Became an instant politician. Without regard for poll or slate, He soon demolished all debate. And senators called out for more When he did wonders on the floor. With misdemeanor as the rule He was a true unbridled fool, Guided by a brute suspicion, Stamping out all opposition. He was reviled by common folk, Democracy was deemed a joke; To quote the ancient anecdotes, He once said, "Let them all eat oats!" Now that he's passed beyond declension His legacy deserves attention: Some politicians to this day Still emulate the equine way: They clop and neigh, they snort and roar, There's always something on the floor; They pound their desks, they're downright corny Making all the issues thorny. Don't wonder when they clown around And seem so shockingly unsound; Just trace the madness to its source: Caligula adored his horse.
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Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
CALIGULA'S HORSE
While waiting, tired and sore, my eyes tremble in awareness. Trying to wake up in a notorious dream. Bronze statues of gay senators, tales of despair, and maniacs. I think of Ginsberg and his reach to free speech, to tell all the fakers to smoke a dinosaur, to see the real world. I think of my sister, deceased, rotting down below, people praying to their unreal God. I dream of living in a narrow world, where the creeps judge the freaks, and prey on the high school cheerleaders. 3 lights, 2 dead, 1 burning out. I sit in my square bedroom, bay side blue walls. My heroes are dead, my only brother dead, paintings from my faded out great-grandmother hanging on the wall. Cd’s of suicidal music, stolen books from school, MAD magazines, no not that kind of madness you schmuck! Books filled with my ***** word poetry, two alarm clocks, one for noise, and the other for amusement. I sink, getting more tired, sinking in my box bed. What will I dream tonight? Sleep. I wake up with Shakespeare written on my lips. 2009
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Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
thinking about. . .
Sing a song of slick men Pocket full of lies. Four and twenty fat cats Terribly unwise. When the truth was spoken They don’t even try. They’re immune to reason And they get all the pie. Sing a song of no sense And how they persevere How they get elected Year after year Still they have no scruples; Ethically impure, They still win out in the polls. Why is still unclear. We should build a big fence And lock them all inside. Then impound their fortunes Wherever they hide. Let them see for sure how Crooks we can’t abide. See if they can stand each other Living side by side. Sing a song of statesmanship Nearly gone extinct Senators and gangsters Not so distinct. The rich still had their millions We lost the kitchen sink. Brought us all to near defeat And pushed us near the brink.
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Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
SING A SONG OF SLICK MEN
Organization man. In the best sense creating the environment in which experiments can be savored and remembered. Then there is the world of interlocked organizations. A world of missions and contracts finely tuned and binding. Is the formation of associations as instinctual as nesting and gestation? A leader may be one who asks a question. Or may be one imposing order. Imposed through consensus and broad shoulders. Waits, watches, acts his part. I was impressed by the list of distinguished senators from Vermont. He placed himself among men, orators, imperfect, in history. We march forward, imperfect in our justice and compassion. Overriding logic with conscience sometimes, not often, when it counts. And mercy. A seemingly irrational, total abnegation of the markets, rules of war, law. Good to be so flawed.
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Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Organization man
Sleepy September rain pretending life isn't busy Standing still on slippery edge Taking in foggy city view Of little senators and harpies Playing house of cards All so quiet up here On newly constructed condo roof Little ant people climbing up Towards the light with fungal parasites protruding from wet open wounds
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Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Harper's pithy lil city