checking potent aftershock
observing seismic anniversary
checking another tremor
resuming constrained writing

annexing hidebound constituents
hugging incoming eschatologies
fighting pervasive insomnia
battling invasive fatigue

damning incompetent fools
awaiting furtive escape
abandoning corporate wasteland
summoning celestial syzygy

detesting spaghetti code
protruding riparian dolphin
establishing unilinear escritoire
glowing cybernetic cynosure

avoiding eternal invisibility
supporting valued customer
performing lexical gymnastics
scrooping notification sounds

restoring usual happiness
glorifying darkwave fanfares
collapsing old relationships
raising ambient awareness

defining wolf people
propagating yesteryear's spectre
achieving hemispheric virality
testing weekend legerity
installing iron curtain

propagating today's spectre

developing niche audiences
transmitting abstract propaganda
disappearing thought experiments
overusing various condiments

double-checking hyper-real emotions
rubbernecking celestial explosions
observing splendid holiday
exploding volcano day

erupting bucolic mountain
disrupting hectic shouting
perfecting suggestive triptychs
checking festive pyrotechnics

drifting across multiverse
regifting glossy paperwork
writing six-lined hexagrams
liking two-toned instagrams

recalling pygmalion sculptures
brawling tatterdemalion cultures
"rambling corporate shill
rattling rapid prosody"
"battling hamburger hill
ambling hundredth library"
"sensing ideological schism
pending guttural neologism"

glowing verdant background
foreshadowing palmyra takedown
developing geopolitical mess
geminating quasi-couplet stress

"hugging cultural diversity
shrugging irrational adversity"

distancing spooky raindrops
avoiding potential burnout
implementing lexical databank
approaching crash-scene sudser

becoming increasingly selective
escaping tyrannical bureaucracy
perpetuating cut-throat capitalism
purchasing contrived happiness
incorporating chance elements
relaxing rigid structures
reheating your retweet

holding theoretical design
smiling beach life
scrutinizing eternal simulation
rushing artificial apothegm
annexing facetious document
freaking creepy centipedes

writing neural structure
congratulating yestreen's warriors
encouraging seatbelt usage
boosting abstract setting
sensing frivolous ochlocracy

keeping hypothetical metropolis
blurring metaphorical æsthetic
scrutinizing computational festival
memorializing towel day

raising six-fingered paw
eternizing fragment schedule
liking subtextual repository
quoting quintessential quidnunc

finding ideological style
disregarding their slovenliness
planning spatial factoid
spinning glacial ellipsoids

enjoying eternal spreadsheet
deleting repetitive tweet
awaiting festival lineup
gainsaying unethical startups

observing turgid experiment
contemplating conniving contrivances
enjoying dynamic project
dropping two-toned simulation
finding harmonic space
finalizing warring cavaliers

detecting enigmatic apathy
retrieving potential exchange
meddling middling muddling
baking hypnagogic pizza

spinning galactic dinosaur
building trans-pacific partnership
finishing theoretical mission
giggling agog googlers

crashing atypical tessellation
cherishing precious hexagons
proliferating western lottery
cretaceousing funkaholic skeletor

blurring turgid gallery
cancelling tsunami warnings
extemporizing incoherent neologisms
transmitting harmonic rave

gliding black hawks
hiding quacked ducks
archiving animated light
googling moonbow imagery

ignoring relatable messages
observing unfinished world
generating optional content
continuing exponential growth

In my Times column Thursday, I reviewed a new generation of LED light bulbs. They last 25 times as long as regular bulbs, use maybe one-eighth the electricity, work with dimmers, turn on instantly to full brightness and remain cool to the touch. A big drawback has always been cost, but now, I noted, the prices have fallen.

This column generated a lot of reader e-mail, probably because LED represents change. And change is always scary. Here are some excerpts, with my responses.
FDDP
The Times’s technology columnist, David Pogue, keeps you on top of the industry in his free, weekly e-mail newsletter.
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* For LED bulbs, the biggest issue that most consumers will notice is the color. You correctly point out that you can get different colors, and also different shades of white, from warm white, to cool white, to daylight. However, not all white is the same. Two bulbs, both of which measure 2700K (warm white) color may create a completely different impression in the room.

The difference is C.R.I. (Color Rendering Index). Incandescent bulbs have a C.R.I. of 100. Really bad LEDs have a C.R.I. of 50; average ones (most of them) have a C.R.I. of 80 to 85. The really good ones have C.R.I.’s above 90.

C.R.I. is a way of expressing how many colors in the rainbow are actually contained in the white light. Incandescent bulbs contain every color in the rainbow, all in equal measure.

With LED bulbs that have low C.R.I.’s, the color of objects looks wrong, and everything “feels” ghostly. It is not a subtle effect.

Wow. Well, I’d never heard of C.R.I., and it certainly isn’t listed on the package.

I can say only that I’m completely happy with the light color of the Cree bulbs. They look nothing like the weak, diluted light of the compact fluorescents they’re going to replace. I don’t perceive anything ghostly or wrong about them.

But if you’re worried about C.R.I, maybe try out one bulb at home before you replace the whole house’s bulbs.

* Why I don’t have LED bulbs: I have yet to see one that puts out close to the same lumens of an incandescent bulb rated at 75 or 100 watts offered for sale in my area.

Many of you made this point: that the 40- and 60-watt bulbs I reviewed are not bright enough for aging eyes, reading, detail work and so on.

That really is a good point. You can buy 75- and 100-watt-equivalent LED bulbs — online, they’re plentiful — but they’re still expensive ($30 to $45 each).

* At my home, CFLs don’t last half as long as stated on the box, and when CFL electronics flame out, they leave that nasty burnt electronics smell, strongly disliked by my wife. A few friends have reported CFL flame outs that have set things on fire.

Sorry to hear that! However, my column was about LED lights, not compact fluorescent light bulbs. Compact flourescents are basically curlicue tubes filled with gas that lights up. LED bulbs use tiny light-emitting diodes, of the type you have seen in some flashlights and the “flashes” of smartphones.

* Why didn’t you write up the LIFX bulbs on Kickstarter? Are you some kind of paid shill for the light-bulb industry?

Mainly, because I hadn’t heard about LIFX bulbs. Now I have!

Looks like it’s a lot like the Philips Hue kit I reviewed, in that these are LED bulbs you can control from a phone app: brightness, timing and color. The beauty of LIFX, though, is that there’s no router box required. The networking electronics are right in the bulb.

And the LIFX does more, too: changes color in time to the music, for example, or notifies you when you have new e-mail.

These bulbs did super-well on Kickstarter, so they’ve obviously captured the public’s imagination. I’m in touch with the creators, and they’ve promised to send me one to try out when it becomes available!

* You have done what many before have done: Praise LED light bulbs — without touching on the quality of light.

It doesn’t matter whether the light bulb is $200 or 50 cents. If the light is ugly, and it hurts your eyes to read, then why should I buy it?

Compact fluorescent lights have an austere blue tinge. Some give a “warmer” shade of yellow. But the quality of light they produce is atrocious.

I did, in fact, mention the quality of light; in my opinion, it’s wonderful. You can choose “daylight” (whiter) or “warmer” (yellower). With some, like the Philips, you can dial up any color you like: white with a touch of blue or yellow, say.

But I’m not sure why we keep talking about compact fluorescent lights. LED technology is completely different. There is zero relationship between a compact fluorescent light bulb’s light quality and LED’s light quality.

* You neglected an important point: because of heat issues, you’re not supposed to put LED bulbs into enclosed fixtures, like ceiling “cans.”

Actually, I asked Cree specifically about this. The representative says the bulbs are fine in ceiling cans. “The Cree LED bulb can be used in any application that would use an incandescent bulb. As long as there is an opportunity for air to circulate, the bulb is designed to work properly.”

I’m aware that not all bulbs meet this criterion; I’ve seen warnings on 3M and Philips bulbs, for example, not to use them in ceiling cans.

* Is there a potential issue with RF (radio frequency) interference from the circuitry? I know someone who put the LED bulbs in his garage door opener and then had trouble with the remote control.For more information, please visit cree led flashlight

****** f@ggot shill and f@g
oldf@gs newf@gs rolling hard
trips and dubs and even quads
but OP won't deliver

rate us, hate us, sauce pls now
in this thread we save a cat
mods, is this under 18?
the /b/etards at it yet again
but we don't talk about it

cringe us rekt us make us laugh
this thread's preventing suicide
****** racism sexism ****
we mostly rate body parts in /soc/

normies not welcome
******, alpha, femanon
is a girl? **** or ****!
welcome to the internets
pics or it didn't happen

gore thread? not enough!
self-hate, ponies, rule 34 fap
the "cesspool of the internet"
is really not that bad

Hell* is at my door
knocking in some rhetorical rhyme
mimicking the voices
inside my head

"Get out of my ******* house"
screams my fathers voice
as his fist hits the yellow walls
of our dainty but quaint kitchen.

"You're just going to end up pregnant"
my mothers shill voice cries out
reminiscing in her past mistakes
blaming me for her horrible life.

"I was just your friend because i felt bad for you"
whined my best friend of ten years
swearing up and down
that I was a jealous, no good, compulsive liar.

"It just wasn't meant to be"
his voice echoed to my soul
breaking me down piece by piece
and walking away forever

My own personal hell
trapping me in the confines of the people I love the most
Haunting me with their displeasure
tormenting me to death

But death sounds like the perfect escape
away from this profane hell
occupying my home, mind, soul, and heart
who's still knocking at my door.

You look like everything I have ever hated if it had to consist of one being.
Seriously you remind me of the feeling you get after your first punch in the face.
The human version of what drips from the belly of a garbage truck.
I would say you're the **** of society,
But even they don't deserve the insult of being compared to you.
I bet you look in the mirror and tell yourself you're the embodiment of the American dream.
What success looks like. A guide on how to be a model citizen.
Every other normal person that you consider to be damaged goods looks at you like some sort of foreign matter. Clinging to your currency like a deranged woodsman clutching a mattress full of fivers. You think that you look sharp in that crisp new shirt fresh from it's expensive packaging. All I see is a manipulator who wouldn't know an honest days work if it bit him in the ***. Keep that painted on smile though, it's the only slightly pleasant thing about you.

Nocturne,
whence she calls me
Nocturne,
whither I call back

After hours, when all
the lights turn out
but mine
I hear birdsongs
as the sun turns on
the sky

Nocturne
whence she calls me
Nocturne
whither I call back
Nocturne,
whence she calls me
Nocturne
Best never to look back

After lights out, and all
the streetlight seeps
through sidewalks
I see her there
she turns the sun
back on

Nocturne,
whence she calls me
Nocturne
I reply
Nocturne
I turn guiltily
Sometimes dreams remind

Sometimes dreams remind
Some dreams rewind time
Sometimes dreams rewind
Some dreams rewind time

Nocturne,
as she calls me
slowly I reply
Nocturne,
shill she calls me
Guiltfully I close my eyes

A king will be a king,
His queen must be a shill.
Dare she were to disobey,
Stick her head in a guillotine.
The modern world seems so classical,
An era of error on repeat,
As if a broken record,
So to speak.

Her hair a factory of honey,
Glistening eyes of a little girl,
A figure of motherhood in need of a mother.
Why, she was just a baby,
Right from wrong?
She could not tell,
He wanted her,
He got her,
And they all danced to his tune.

She worshipped her king,
Loving him tenderly as —
The king worshipped himself,
Taking care of business.
An entire world heard him speak,
Yet never saw her.

Enslaved in a kingdom of grace,
While she was up,
He was down.
His majesty ruled rocking,
Molded his maiden,
And left her but to wonder,
Simply of his whereabouts.
The throne,
Lonely without her king.

A flawless woman feared flawed,
Merely a mirror of his honor.
A man of many mistresses,
Ravaged for *******.
Who was she?
She could not say,
A lover or a friend?
A mother or a gem?
In time past due,
She could not stay.

The goddess vacated his palace,
Long left to showcase his gold,
But even those walls reek of plastic,
Hindered by a painting left unseen.
They did not know him,
Neither did he,
Only did she,
And she is forced to eat,
At the dime of his memory.

Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal 
Depreciating vane my artistic license to  bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light could the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal  
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill

Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal 
Depreciating vane my artistic license to  bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light can the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal  
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill

shill, (hill)
pistol, (still)
fuchsia,( a)
cunning
cocoon sucker
moth, a fuchsia
titillating

Sandy Hook Call to Love
by Michael R. Burch

Our hearts are broken today
for our children's small bodies lie broken;
let us gather them up, as we may,
that the truth of our Love may be spoken;
then, when we have put them away
to nevermore dream, or be woken,
let us think of the living, and pray
for true Love, not some miserable token,
to command us, for strength to obey.

The first line in the poem above came from President Obama’s speech in which he wiped away tears as he discussed the Sandy Hook killings.

###

For a Sandy Hook Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails, when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream while winter scowls
and nights compound dark frosts with snow?
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?

###

Sandy Hook Call to Action
by Michael R. Burch

We see their tiny coffins
and our hearts break,
so we ask the NRA―
"Did you make a mistake?"
And we vow to save the next child
for sweet love's sake,
but also to protect ourselves
from enduring such heartache.

###

I dedicate my poems to the victims ― may they rest in peace ― and I urge all Americans to act now, before the next massacre. If we don't, our loved ones will remain continually at risk:

Epitaph for a Sandy Hook Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

###

This poem is for mothers who lost children at Sandy Hook, and in other similar tragedies ...

Childless
by Michael R. Burch

How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
Of one fallen star.

###

Shooting Gallery
by Michael R. Burch

If we live by the rule of the gun
what can a small child do,
but run?

###

Sixteen of the students who died at Sandy Hook were six years old; the other four students were seven. I wrote the poem below for another child gunned down by a madman. While we cannot legislate sanity, we can be sane enough to legislate away the "right" of serial killers to purchase assault weapons so easily. We can defend many small victims from such carnage, if "we the people" have the wisdom and the will to defend them.

Child of 9-11
by Michael R. Burch

a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who was born
on September 11, 2001 and died at the age of nine,
shot to death ...

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm ― I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring ― I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the brutal things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bear them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

###

US or Them?
by Michael R. Burch

The NRA wants money in the till,
thus Adam Lanza had a license to ****.
Our government’s the serial killer’s shill
and will be, unless WE express OUR will
and vote to save our children from Boot Hill.

###

This haiku below makes me think of the students and teachers of Sandy Hook, who were trapped in a war zone:

War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
―original haiku by Watanabe Hakusen, translation by Michael R. Burch

###

Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch

If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.

It seems to me that the NRA has declared a war ― an open season ― on our children, by insisting that assault weapons must be available to every Tom, **** and ***** Harry. But what will we, the people, say and do?

###

Something
by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost―
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone―
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past―
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.

###

Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this―
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live six artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...

###

Here are tribute poems for exceptional children who should be alive today:

Emilie Parker,
the horror grows starker
as we see your sweet image
and cringe at the carnage;
but dear, how you mesmerize
with those vivid blue eyes
and death cannot sever
our hearts from you, ever.

###

Dylan Hockley,
a blue-eyed "gorgeous boy,"
was super beyond
death's power to destroy.

###

Jack Pinto,
who idolized the New York Jets' Victor Cruz,
is now Cruz's hero
and neither can lose.

###

Grace Audrey McDonnell,
our "beautiful, sweet little girl,"
wherever you are now,
there's a far brighter world.

###

Avielle Richman
had a "spirit that drew people in"
(and an infinitely knowing
and cheeky grin!).

###

Noah Pozner,
"extremely bright"―
your mind and your smile
both exuded light.

###

Jessica Rekos,
a "creative, beautiful little girl"
who loved horses,
are you now riding Pegasus
down heaven's courses?

###

Benjamin Wheeler,
"an irrepressibly bright and spirited boy"
had brown, soulful eyes
and a spirit no killer can destroy.

###

Ana Marquez-Greene,
as sweet a child as we've seen,
you "beat us all to paradise."
Was it because you were so very nice?

###

Charlotte Bacon,
our love for you is unshaken;
as you "lit up all rooms" down here
you now illuminate heaven, dear.

###

Daniel Barden, his family's light,
once brightened this earth, and now brightens heaven―
not a bad trick for a boy who's just seven!

###

Olivia Engel,
angel,
your only possible crime (I've been told)
was "being a wiggly, smiley six-year-old!"

###

Allison Wyatt,
so shy, so sweet, so caring,
loved to garden with her mother.
Six pink candles, then an eternity of sharing.

###

Catherine Violet Hubbard
when you were here
the cupboard
of life
was never bare,
but full of light
and your electric hair!

###

Josephine Gay
had just turned seven;
now she will always be
"a lovely part of heaven."

###

Caroline Previdi,
"sweet, precious little angel,"
we fondly remember
your infectious smile.

###

Chase Kowalski, age seven
seems awfully early for heaven;
but since there was never a better child ...
perhaps the angels called, beguiled?

###

Jesse Lewis, so full of life,
you could fill a room with bright laughter;
I'm sure you're entertaining angels now
and brightening the Hereafter!

###

James Mattioli,
exceptional swimmer,
without your bright presence
the world seems much dimmer.

###

Madeleine Hsu,
what we know of you
is so limited, but we love you too.
May your loved ones keep your memory secure
and your memory give them the strength to endure.

###

Here is a memorial poem for the school's lovely, valiant principal who, according to accounts, ran to defend her young charges the minute she heard shots being fired, lunging at the shooter in an attempt to disarm him:

Dawn Hochsprung,
each child's courageous friend―
you defended them all till the unthinkable end;
so let your kindness and valor be sung.

###

Rachel Davino protected her charges
from the killer's barrages;
like her loyal friend,
she was loyal to the end.

###

Anne Marie Murphy,
fun-loving, hard worker;
you defended your charges―
no coward, no shirker.

###

Lauren Gabrielle Rousseau,
who loved to teach, and who loved children so,
we're glad you achieved your dream
that final year, and how lovely you seem!

###

When Mary heard shots being fired, she could have run away to save her own life, but she joined principal Dawn Hochsprung by leaping to her feet and running to protect the students she loved so much.

Mary Sherlach, who courageously ran
without thought for her life to the aid of the children,
taught not just them, but also us,
love's surplus.

###

Everyone loved Miss Victoria Soto;
she was every student's friend.
And when a killer threatened her charges,
she defended them to the end.

Keywords/Tags: Sandy Hook, school, shooting, massacre, students, children, teachers, gun control

Free spirit of the world who hath the fire,
With what bold mind do you strive to aspire?
To cast yoke off the oppressed Souls,
Whose dismay the righteous mind appeals,
Could I surmise thy beauty with a psalm,
Craft thy form with a Lover's palm,
I would entertain thee with a dram,
Encrypt a loving, gleeful telegram,
To amuse thy mind with mutual rapport,
Of coy messages in purest passion thought.

Could we begin the correspondence blessed?
Lately from Loves work I have digressed,
For being much encumbered by the dark,
Of shill who sent to **** my divine spark,
The devils wield their lacklustre lassoos,
To strangulate me, inflict suffering true,
To vanquish voice of mine, suppress it's truth,
Take away its power, force, forsooth,
But in thee I see redemption sure,
So with Psalms to thee I fast implore.

Ferry me to sweet and seismic shores,
Where music of the heart doth sweet uproar,
And waves of sheer delight kiss passions sands,
Feel the joy of flight while in thy hands,
On shores of heaven we would surely play,
Soothing, quelling, pacify dismay
Adding bright sweet spark to darkling day,
As demons, angels go upon their way,
On chariots, the angels, singing loud,
In a divine aura duly shroud.

Thou art a rainbow shine in spite of faith,
Art a sun blaze in spite of eyes embrace,
Its sure world good and good is surely true,
And world is more good for the life of you,
Thou art a beacon of hope and fertile joy,
Suffice to inspire rise and fall of troy,
War waged to capture beauty of the day,
Who doth inspire worship of the ray,
That emit soft sultry from your sun,
Blessed form through which God's fires run.

Soul of Universe, immortal creature,
Face adorned in soft enchanting features,
Unto you I faithful bestow bars,
Sing to you under the sprightly stars,
Walking on and on through space forever,
We'd see infinity of realms untouched by man's endeavour,
Spheres rotating for infinite hours,
Testifying to creations powers,
Borne aloft on wings golden, sublime,
We suppress, vanquish hell and transcend time.

Meditation hath betrayed to you,
Inspiration through which my mind flew,
No regret in which to struggle, rue,
As I enter golden sanctuary of you,
My heart turns to raw red from deadening blue,
For warmth of love the flowers plant there grew,
To truth which raptures us in throes I sing,
For luscious love, most cherish able of things,
I welcome the ascension that it brings,
And go racing round the earth with you in rings.

In asylums
we know them's not mental
they're not playing the game
just working the system.

and the street is a shill
plodding uphill,

the homeless,
why should we house them?
and the needy
why bother to feed them?

Greed then?

Let's all be the pigswill
the shill
plod uphill,
take what is there
because
we do not care.

Talk about polarisation,
It's not the ice caps,
it's
not space exploration,
this is the
Great British nation, but
turned out in new clothes
as
a giant corporation.

There are reactors that breed
self sustaining,
that's greed and
reactionaries in
missions with missions
to feed those on
the edges
those with real need

systems were meant to be hacked
codes to be cracked
fracking's not allowed.

what happened?
to fair play
was that only played by
people yesterday?

what about the tomorrow that
never comes?

guess what?
it's here now.

Well Trump thinks he's found an ally
And he's ah shill, to Trump ah thrill
He's as broken as Texas asphalt
With Paxton came his crooked game

So leave Wisconsin alone
Leave Wisconsin alone
It’s not for you to plead
Elections been decreed

You shouldn't be here, your case is *****
Your words unspool, brakes all the rules
He just lies so to gain his entry
Into Trump's world, his case unfurled

So leave Wisconsin alone
Leave Wisconsin alone
Its not like you don't see
An election as clean can be

Some Supreme Court day the hands of time
Will have their way
You’ll understand why what you do is not okay

Trump's a loser, he’s not the winner
He still finds hoods to do no good
He only wants to get praise and money
Cadillacs and rust, diamonds and dust

So leave Wisconsin alone
Leave Wisconsin alone
It's not like you don't see
An election as clean can be

Yeah, leave us Sconnies alone
Leave us Sconnies alone
He’s not like you and me
He needs to let us be

Donald Trump Limericks IV



The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"



Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”



Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.



Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
His pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.



Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!



No Star
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.



How the Fourth ***** Ramped Up
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump prepped his pale Deplorables:
"You're such easy marks and scorables!
So now when I bray
click your heels and obey,
and I'll soon promote you to Horribles!"



The Ex-Prez Sez

The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump Dump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a con man named Trump
who just loved to take dumps at the stump.
“What use is the truth?”
he cried, with real ruth,
“Just come kiss my fat orange ****!”



Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten A$$
by Michael R. Burch

There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest a$$ (et) wus his ****.
It wus padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!

Interpretation: In this alleged "ode" a southern member of the Trump cult complains that Trump's a$$ produces so much ***** matter that his legions of a$$-kissers can't hope to drain it and need mechanical a$$-istance!



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"



Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a political sump pump!



Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!


Keywords/Tags: Trump limerick, Trump limericks, limerick, nonsense, light, verse, humor, humorous, donald, trump, president, ignoramus, *****, imbecile, conman, fraud, liar, shill, criminal, huckster, snake oil salesman, Twitter, tweet, tweety



OTHER TRUMP LIMERICKS, POEMS AND EPIGRAMS



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

Trump cares so little for the silly pests
who rise to swarm his rallies that he jests:
“The silver lining of this dark corona
is that I’m not obliged to touch the fauna!”



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a cute stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.



There once was a senator, Cruz,
whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze.
When Trump called his wife ugly,
Cruz brown-nosed him smugly,
then went on a sweet Cancun cruise.
—Michael R. Burch aka “The Loyal Opposition”



Mini-Ode to a Quickly Shrinking American Icon
by Michael R. Burch

Rudy, Rudy,
strange and colludy,
how does your pardon grow?
“With demons like hell’s
and progress like snails’
and criminals all in a row!”



Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!



Fake News, Probably
by Michael R. Burch

The elusive Orange-Tufted Fitz-Gibbon is the rarest of creatures—rarer by far than Sasquatch and the Abominable Snowman (although they are very similar in temperament and destructive capabilities). While the common gibbon is not all that uncommon, the orange-tufted genus has been found less frequently in the fossil record than hobbits and unicorns. The Fitz-Gibbon sub-genus is all the more remarkable because it apparently believes itself to be human, and royalty, no less! Now there are rumors—admittedly hard to believe—that an Orange-Tufted Fitz-Gibbon resides in the White House and has been spotted playing with the nuclear codes while chattering incessantly about attacking China, Mexico, Iran and North Korea. We find it very hard to credit such reports. Surely American voters would not elect an ape with self-destructive tendencies president!

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas



Trump Limericks aka Slimericks



The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to ***** unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!



the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.



Mercedes Benz
by Michael R. Burch

I'd like to do a song of great social and political import. It goes like this:

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends ***** in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?

Oh Donnie, won't you rent me your **** import?
You need to pay your lawyers: a **** for a tort!
I’ll await her delivery each day until three.
And Donnie, please throw in Ivanka for free!

Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?
I'm counting on you, Don, so don't let me down!
Oh, prove you're a ******* and bring them around.
Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends ***** in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?


Ode to a Pismire
by Michael R. Burch

Drumpf is a *****:
his hair’s in a Fritz.
Drumpf is a missy:
he won’t drink Schlitz.
Drumpf’s cobra-hissy
though he lives in the Ritz.
Drumpf is so pissy
his diaper’s the Shitz.



The Ballade of Large Marge Greene
by Michael R. Burch

Marge
is large
and in charge,
like a barge.

Yes, our Marge
is quite large,
like a hefty surcharge.

Like a sarge,
say LaFarge,
apt to over-enlarge
creating dissent before the final discharge.


Trump Limericks aka Slimericks

The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to ***** unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!



the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.



My Sin-cere Endorsement of a Trump Cultist
by Michael R. Burch

If you choose to be an idiot, who can prevent you?
If you love to do evil, why then, by all means,
go serve the con who sent you!



Bird’s Eye View
Michael R. Burch

So many fantasical inventions,
but what are man’s intentions?
I don’t trust their scooty cars.
And what about their plans for Mars?

Their landfills’ high retentions?
The dodos they fail to mention?
I don’t trust Trump’s “clean coal” cars,
and what the hell are his plans for Mars?



Untitled

Don't disturb him in his inner sanctum
Or he’ll have another Trumper Tantrum.
—Michael R. Burch

It turns out the term was prophetic, since "conservatives" now serve a con. — Michael R. Burch

To live among you — ah! — as among vipers, coldblooded creatures not knowing right from wrong, adoring Trump, hissing and spitting venom.

Trump rhymes with chump
grump
frump
lifelong slump
illogical jump
garbage dump
sewage clump
sump pump
*******
cancerous lump
malignant bump
unpleasingly plump
slovenly schlump
yuge enormous diaper-clad ****
and someone we voters are going to thump and whump
—Michael R. Burch



Putin's Lootin's
by Michael R. Burch

They’re dropping like flies:
Putin’s “allies.”

Ah, but who gets their funny
money?

Two birds with one stone:
no dissent, buy a drone.

For tyrants the darkest day’s sunny!



Preempted
by Michael R. Burch

Friends, I admit that I’m often tempted
to say what I think about Trump,
but all such thought’s been preempted
by the sight of that Yuge Orange ****!



Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch

The editorial board of the Washington Post is “very worried that American women don’t want to marry Trump supporters.”

Supporting Trump puts a crimp in dating
(not to mention mating).

So, ***** dudes, if you’d like to bed
intelligent gals, and possibly wed,

it’s time to jettison that red MAGA cap
and tweet “farewell” to an orange sap.



Squid on the Skids
by Michael R. Burch

Sidney Powell howled in 2020:
“The Kraken will roar through the land of plenty!”

But she recalled the Terror in 2023
with a slippery, slimy, squid-like plea.



The Kraken Cracked
by Michael R. Burch

She’s singing like a canary.
Who says krakens are scary?

Squidney said the election was hacked,
but when all her lies were unpacked,
the crackpot kraken cracked.

Now, with a shrill, high-pitched squeal,
The kraken has cut a deal.

Oh, tell it with jubilation:
the kraken is on probation!



Trump’s Retribution Resolution
by Michael R. Burch

My New Year’s resolution?
I require your money and votes,
for you are my retribution.

May I offer you dark-skinned scapegoats
and bigger and deeper moats
as part of my sweet resolution?

Please consider a YUGE contribution,
a mountain of lovely C-notes,
for you are my retribution.

Revenge is our only solution,
since my critics are weasels and stoats.
Come, second my sweet resolution!

The New Year’s no time for dilution
of the anger of victimized GOATs,
when you are my retribution.

Forget the ****** Constitution!
To dictators “ideals” are footnotes.
My New Year’s resolution?
You are my retribution.



Two Trump Truisms
by Michael R. Burch
When Trump’s the culprit everyone’s a “snitch.”
It ain’t a “witch hunt” when the perp’s a witch.



Horrid Porridge
by Michael R. Burch

My apologies to porridge for this unfortunate association with an unwholesome human being.

Why is Trump orange,
like porridge
(though not some we’re likely to forage)?
The gods of yore
knew long before
Trump was born, to a life of deplorage,
that his face must conform
to the uniform
he’d wear for his prison decorage!


Dictionary Definition of Trump
by Michael R. Burch

Trump is a chump;
he’s the freep of a frump;
he’s an orange-skinned Grinch and, much worse, he’s a Grump!;
he’s a creep; he’s a Sheik (sans harem); a skunk!;
“**** the veep!” he’s a murderous coup d’tot-er in a slump;
“Drain the swamps, then refill them with my crocodilian donors!”;
Trump is a ****** with insufficient ******;
Trump is, as he predicted, a constitutional crisis;
Trump is our non-so-sweet American vanilla ISIS;
Trump is a thief who will bring the world to grief;
Trump is a whiner and our Pleader-in-Chief.



Triple Trump
by Michael R. Burch

No one ever ******* a Trump like Trump.
He turned Mar-a-Lago into a dump
and spewed filth at the stump
like a sump pump
while looking like a moulting Orange Hefalump!
Trump made the Grinch seem like just another Grump
by giving darker Whos a “get lost” lump.
No colored child was spared from his Neanderthalic thump.
Trump gave fascists a fist-bump,
consulted **** servers for an info-dump
and invited Russian agents for a late-night ****.
Don the Con con-sidered laws a speed bump,
fired anyone who ever tried to be an ump,
and gave every evil known to man a quantum jump.
You may think he’s just plump
and a chump,
with the style of a frump,
the posture of a shlump,
his brain in a slump,
and perhaps too inclined for a ****-star ****,
while being deprived by his parents of a necessary whump ...
but when it comes to political *****, Trump is the ****!

#TRUMP #DONTHECON #MRBTRUMP #MRBDONTHECON #MRBPOEMS

Keywords/Tags: light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, limerick, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, *****, salacious, ribald, risque, naughty, ****, spicy, adult, nature, politics, religion, science, relationships


Scratch-n-Sniff
by Michael R. Burch

The world’s first antinatalist limerick?

Life comes with a terrible catch:
It’s like starting a fire with a match.
Though the flames may delight
In the dark of the night,
In the end what remains from the scratch?



Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!



Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch

Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.



*******' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch

Men are scared of *******:
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.



Devil’s Wheel
by Michael R. Burch

A billion men saw your pink ******.
What will the pard say to you, Sundays?
Yes, your ******* were cute,
but the shocked Devil, mute,
now worries about reckless fundies.



A ***** Goes ****
by Michael R. Burch

She wore near-invisible *******
and, my, she looked good in her scanties!
But the real nudists claimed
she was “over-framed.”
Now she’s bare-assed and shocking her aunties!



MVP!
by Michael R. Burch

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
make it cute and okay
to write KKK
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
prove the nemesis
of white supremacists
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
cause supremacists
to cease and desist
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, double limerick, triple limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, *****, ribald, irreverent, funny, satire, satirical


OTHER LIMERICKS AND POEMS



Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic,
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.



The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, IN HIS SLEEP?



Mating Calls, or, Purdy Please!
Limericks by Michael R. Burch

1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle *****),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

2.
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!

3.
It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when again I enquired with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

4.
At 3:42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!

5.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!

Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, light verse, mating calls, *****, prudish, lonely, loneliness, longing, America



Animal Limericks

Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot."



Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can't sing,
but now, here's the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry! "



Honeymoon Not-So-Sweet, or, Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride? "
"Nevermore! " bright-eyed Raven replied.



The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch

The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his *****, boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!



The Platypus
by Michael R. Burch

The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******.
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?

The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******.



The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
　
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!

Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!



"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch

The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.

in the hour of our frozen gleam
the minute of our fire.
in the year of our immortal toil
the day of our desire.
in the crease of our unyielding
lies surrender to the void.
to the matador, the bull
and from the horn, aplenty -
nothing good.

II

a masterpiece of blink, the love
that seldom loves the monument -
that stands before the world, a surge
of effortless bewonderment.
a shattering renewal
of a timeless thing to ponder with.
that carries every angel
far above the dread of human steps.
a sovereign note to fugue
is Love that covets
what it's never met
and nothing can consume it all
too ill equipped to join
with it.

III

summer past your face
is how the spring resolves
how winter sleeps.
the dead are long, but life
evolves to swell upon the earth's
descent... to buttress the oblivion
that howls amid the heaviness.
the weight of our conniption
fits the coma, mostly
now and then.

IV

pearls are made of glass men
that shill.

and the willing dark
contains it all.

and It

the dream
we fathom with.

and All

the pearl
we can't
recall.

Sun and moon

Flower and bloom

This is a cartoon

But also in tune

With reality

The stream flowing freely

Merrily, dreamily

The me flowing me-ly

Mealy

Milly

We are Grist for the Mill

That’s the gist, I’m just a shill

In the mist, I don’t shoot to ****

I aim my arrow with love

To heal, I wield this skill

And I point my pistol high into the sky

I will throw away my shot

Again and again

So that others know where to aim

I am but a photon blasting into and out of the sun

I am all and I am one

Just begun, yet fully spun

Not just having fun, I am become

where a dollar separates you from being broke
or rued some fellar' stealin' your broad.
down the blue collar road in the land
of Alabam' ?

ever been a shill for a thief or the cuckolded
ole stooge standin' in the wake of the love
hurricane?

Ever noticed another man's woman?
Or tried to pet his dog when he was gone?
Stole a glance at some beauty,
way outside your reach?

Been immobile no phone or
wherewithal wet breeches and droopy
jowled, alone in Mobile?

But the skies are so blue,
the song said it true.
Down in Alabam'

In this City built on bones and dread where the poor are chained and fed on scraps
someone taps upon the door.
'no room in here',
The banker boys with bankers toys play scrabble on the backs of notes  where promises are paid in shares and Monopoly squares the game away.

In the central ticket hall, we all stand tall to see the others and what they bought, where they sought to go, how much was laid upon the shill who pockets one half, in the till the rest.
At times, the best is nearly there, but nearly's not quite on the ball and so we cover London like a pall,
a flock of starlings screech,
no change at all in the City built of dead men and so it's off to bed then.

If tomorrow lights my torch, it might not, so in my pockets I have got a tinder box,
the pistol cocked, the sounds of ears within the wall, the City never sleeps, I call,
'Geronimo',
and let go my feeble grasp, let go with one long gasp and then there is,
the City in my soul, in the hole, interim,
the grim reaper another non-sleeper greets me with a smile.
'It's been a while', he says
I gaze longingly at the City
I no longer know.

Helpless, when so many have died.
Can we do nothing but hurt inside?
Those can’t go home, no matter who cried.
Yet we never set those guns aside.
We listened while politicians lied
And even when some of us tried
Too many took up the other side
And insisted they were on the right side
The godly side, the intelligent side.
But they too were wrong or just lied.
And fifty eight, so far, have horribly died.

So, who is in the right here?
We ask year after year.
Why do we sell illogical fear
To allow weapons to be sold here
That are not used to shoot deer
Or game for food, but it is clear
They are for shooting people here
In our own country, not in Tangier
Or Kabul, killing strangers for fear
They’ll take away our freedom here
And very much like some King Lear
Trust all the wrong people. It’s clear.

Every eight years, we go insane
And let America’s worst bane
Take over what still remains
Of a splendid land that retains
The intentions and words of the sane;
The founders of our nation, and again
Give it all away “to elect for change’
Without consideration for the pain
That it took; the blood and the pain
To fight those who hate freedom’s name
And then to elect them back in again.

They are only too glad if we ****
And maim and destroy at will
As long as it's the poor we ****
And not their beloved on their hill.
That is too bitter of a pill
For them to take, so they shill
And subvert and always will.
They’ll approve the crazy skill
It takes to sit up on a hill
And shoot people at will.
They never quite get their fill.

So, when will we people get wisdom
And ban those repeating weapons
Being sold ***** nilly in the kingdom
Of hate, greed without sound reason?
When will we see that we are with them?
Just another human like their women
Brothers, fathers and even their children
That can be erased by their bad decisions
To let more nameless, brainless buy weapons
That have no good solid application
Except a bullet to the brain of our nation.

Woke up,  wrong side of bed,  cross,
Polling station, box, cross,
Got my message across.
...That'll teach them.

Straight out no deal,
Feel the shill media squeal,
Economic nightmare... shame,
But we have ethnic minorities...
Who we can blame.

Turned out nice again :)

a shill
dusk sky
lively by
night ere
the dawn
and fraught
a wisp
but mellow
here his
bulge really
bare him
angular stork
with frost
will quickly
freeze his
whir again

Stream of Consciousness

Walking out of the building
Into the overgrowth littered with debris
A polluted stream flows wildly
And there I just sit and breathe

But the shill voice cuts through me
A serrated blade through bread
And in an instant I’m reminded again
Of all the things just said

Like…

Why are you crazy?
How do you feel?
How can you hope to possibly know
What is false and real?

Where is my joy?
Where is my life?
What have you done to me?
are you doing this just out of spite?

(Scream…  Scream…)

Get out of my head
Get out of my mind
Don’t think I know
Which thoughts are theirs and which are mine

Scream, Scream
I’m daring to dream
Nor me nor them
But somewhere between

The life I want
And the life I’ve been given
Not sure anymore
What I can believe in

(And I scream once more…)

Finally silence Alone in my bed
But the thoughts of the chaos
Just swim in my head

Like a fish
Or a flipper
Cinderella’s Broken glass slipper
Finally trails off
My conscious like a cowboy in the sunset
And I dream all the dreams
That I was trying to forget

And I wake
To the overbrush
The polluted stream
Chemical dust

And I do it all over again

To be sung to "***** Laundry"
by Don Henley

We have a little story
That we could tell
We have a little poison
In our inkwell
Let's be a gossip
Let's be a shill

Give us the 'ol Pulp *******'.

We peep through the windows
And listen at doors
We buy the "Enquirer"
And "The Star" at the stores
"She ***** herself"
And "She's a *****

***** little minds galore!

Give us the 'ol Pulp *******'.

Have a li'l "lady"
Who's fast and free
I've heard she's been a prossy
That she's easy
Nothin' nice to say?
Come sit by me!

Give us the ol Pulp *******'

Could have been emeritus
Could have been a great
But I pound out nothing
But dreck and spate
So what if it's full of hate?

You don't really want to know
If it's real or true.
It's not what they SAY
it's what you they DOO DOO
DON'T YOU WORRY WHAT
I THINK OF YOU

(THAT YOU ALL POO POO 💩)

Give us the old Pulp *******'

Kick 'em while they're up
Kick 'em while they're down
(1, 000, 000, 000 000, 000 X)


🎯 Write of Passage


***** Laundry"

I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something
Something I can use
People love it when you lose
They love ***** laundry

Well, I coulda been an actor
But I wound up here
I just have to look good
I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us ***** laundry

Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down

Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em all around

We got the bubble headed
Bleached blonde
Comes on at five
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash
With a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us ***** laundry

Can we film the operation
Is the head dead yet
You know the boys in the newsroom
Got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need ***** laundry

You don't really need to find out
What's going on
You don't really want to know
Just how far it's gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your ***** laundry

Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down

Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're stiff
Kick 'em all around

(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)
(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)

(Kick 'em when they're up)
(Kick 'em when they're down)
(Kick 'em when they're stiff)
(Kick 'em all around)

***** little secrets
***** little lies
We got our ***** little fingers
In everybody's pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love ***** laundry

We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When it's said and done
We haven't told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us ***** laundry

Don Henley

If the shoe fits...



SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2022

They'll take our wings and plug us in
breed us
until we fit in
then they'll take our wings and plug us in
to breed us yet again.

It's destination corporateVille
to feed us with another pill and mark our cards
( they use a shill for that trick)

I'd be pig sick but that's bred into the new horizon.

Some will try and many do
to dig their way out
from the zoo

escape and to where?
they're there
wherever you look
and they'll get you
by hook or by crook
and it's hardly worth
******' living
no more.

But we do because that's we do,
you say
**** them?

I say
Plug them in and watch
'em spin
until the battery's dead.

Modern:
O bards, beget your wisdom, tell it pure
My appetite for it is wild, wants more
What divinations have thee pray to tell
With artful voice your message you tell well
The truth of other worlds you sweet convey
And to the law of Peace you do obey
The knowledge of God is yours, the mysteries
That transcend both time and history

Ancient:
O friend of modern age, of your request
To beget the knowledge with which I am blessed
I open up my arms, welcome you in
To honour thee I happy, joyful sing
The democracy of knowledge beckons me
To share the truth of all I sense and see
I hope the truth regales you, feeds thy mind
Superior truth is Love, activity refined

Modern:
O friend, I thank thee for thy correspondence
And note your song has Love flow in its cadence
We need your wisdom in the modern age
A time when lies of shill outnumber sage
Nature stands attacked, her knowledge ******
Exactly as the monarchs have cruel planned
The trees must speak to impoverished modern ears
O tell me all the wisdom of your years

Ancient:

The trees salute your wisdom, as do I
In Nature we may find a superior sky
The monarchs? They be but exalted fools
You would do well to disobey their rules
The true lord is Ganesh, his love is sure
That cherub irresistible to adore
I tell thee, be devoted to his form
And of illusions your vision shall be shorn

Modern:
When present times be cold and dark as these
And trouble be as fathoms deep as seas
We could do with the wisdom of Ganesh
But from his truth the modern folk digress
They seek for glory in material things
They see an angel and, ignorant, clip his wings
It makes a sage remorseful, these cruel times
O friend, write back, with your superior rhymes

Ancient:
The modern folk, you're right, are led astray
By status, wealth, I share that pain, dismay
But redemption is a possibility
If souls will to think and eyes to see
Our bond with universe is there, remains
When nourished, God's wisdom rains
I end this message with a soft salute
May knowledge bless your heart, take root