Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Trumpoet Feb 2017
So they hacked some computers.
"No big deal" you may say,
"Since their influence steered things
toward the right way"

"They just didn't respect us,
that's why the attack.
So I place all the blame
on the Dems and Barack"

"So we'll get nice and cozy,
Vladimir and me,
since there is just so much
upon which we agree"

"We want to be strongmen
who'll shape history
and we're both such examples
of virility"

"And we'll handle the media
through fear and attack
to ensure truth and balance
shall never come back"

"Admiration and power
is what we adore,
it's the one greatest cause
that we truly live for"

So, Mr. Trump...

When you're there in the Oval
and Europe's alarmed
'cause in Prague and in Warsaw.
the Russians, well armed,

have crossed o'er the borders
and come to reclaim
their former domininons,
then who will you blame?

So why this great bromance?
What's your motivation?
Why would you align
with Vlad and his nation?

Could it be business ties?
Or maybe high debt?
Or maybe dark secrets
you wish they'd forget?

I do not want to think
that it could be such things
but the Russians sure look
like they're pulling your strings.
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/VvZzczQhNEY
Written January 15, 2017
Robert Zanfad Oct 2013
it's another autumn
migrating geese bark like dogs in distant clouds
marking their journey for earthbound creatures;
tree-crowns browning in rust
frame liquid skies neither of us reached,
though, our younger selves tried

from shelves of every Beatles' album ever made
organized alphabetically by noon after a vetted maid left;
we imagined rock stars strumming guitars,
turning our godawful poems into even worse lyrics
to make us feel important
in hungry aftermaths of disappointments

five star dinners cloistered within the entourage
of strongmen your father sheltered;
they would close restaurants for us
he spoke hushes of business from a stead at the head of table,
and broke men like you,
ordering salads made only from tender hearts of lettuce,
the rest set on plates of those less demanding

I remember blinking away teenaged intoxication like fever,
a world without rules for behavior,
a sixty mile drive to buy Italian hoagies in Atlantic City after midnight
because there was no one to deny an urge
to bend night to daylight; they reopened business for the son...
you knew they had no choice...

you showed me how to climb to my second story window once home again
leaving me hanging from the sill 'till Mom woke to let me in -
mind spinning, mumbling my drunkenness -
goodfellas never worry over consequences
she thought she hated you then,
I learned a measure of self-assurance

but there, in a too-small pup tent
you bought one summer by the sea
to work a job flipping burgers at the boardwalk for money
otherwise spent like water at the public shower
you bathed in

to be near any nagging mother
who set out an extra plate at dinner, because she secretly loved you, too
to be close to broke, dangling brothers like me
I felt the poverty of family

this morning I found the black suit and shoes in back of the closet-
abandoned search for lost yarmulkes that lived among mated socks
and wondered when my shadow disappeared
so many agos, this beard gray, time a dead skin I live in today

we'll lower a set of mortal remains into yet another Gethsemane -
under the cemetery canopy,
covering a carpet-rimmed hole still moist with yesterday's rain
I'll see the blue tent you sheltered in that season at the beach
feel closeness again as if there were no
intervening ocean of living between

there will be neither memorial service nor repast, after ...
only this
Bob B Apr 2018
"It's an attack--an attack on our country,"
The president said. "It's a disgrace."
It's still amazing how he can say
The things he does and keep a straight face.

The Mueller probe's an attack on our country?
An attack on all we stand for? Say what?
Maybe if Trump had been honest and forthright
He wouldn't find himself in a rut.

What DO we stand for? Rule of law,
Search warrants, magistrates…
Where no one's above the law, not even
The president of the United States.

The president's idols--Putin, Duterte,
And Erdoğan--would never permit
Investigations into their own acts.
To strongmen it would NOT be legit.

To Trump a legal pursuit to find
Answers is a ruthless attack.
Yet Russia assaults our democratic
System, and Putin's a crackerjack!

Poor Trump just doesn't get it.
Whenever he talks, he more or less
Rubs salt in his very own wounds
And finds himself in a bigger mess.

-by Bob B (4-11-18)
kanma Oduwegwu Dec 2014
laws that i create
and space overcame
the spottish help of Scottish fellows
that screams danger
and i still proceed
with caution to the wind
i walk on harms way
waiting to embrace the sharp embers of a furnace made with steel
of fairytale dinners in hell
and fatigued fluttered strongmen
bound by vain skinless hounds

songs that i write
with rhythms misplaced
moves the devil to dance
as i pine for all i want
the harmless danger i breathe
of harmful sour cream
i mix wheat with vinegar
and smile as i eat
as that weird stinging pain
stabbed my heart of all its might
with the help i freely gave,
withered me just before me

lines that i sketch
lead me to doom
helping vain and pain go through
wanting harm that looms abroad
withered  hands i dare not stretch
moving pains now bang my head
searching for my muse, that i might never find
i know i just have to get away from this new venture but i can't
Bob B Mar 31
Strongmen and their death squads.
In many countries, both exist.
The squads inflict terror while
The strongmen rule with an iron fist.

The people have to watch what they say,
Watch what they do, and live in fear.
Often they will end up in a morgue;
Sometimes they'll merely disappear.

Indirectly, Donald Trump
Appears to have his death squads, too--
Far-right extremists who
Are a rather deplorable crew.

All that Trump must do is find
Someone out there to criticize--
Opponents, prosecutors, judges,
Their families--with vicious lies,

And suddenly, they will have
Giant targets on their backs.
They live in constant fear for their lives
Merely because of Trump's attacks.

Many Republicans also fear
Opposing Trump and therefore feel
Coerced into supporting him.
The chances of being a target are real.

Whether or not Trump likes it, his thugs
Are there to terrorize us. Alas!
Imagine the nightmare if for Trump
A win in November should come to pass!

-by Bob B (3-30-24)
The Trumpoet Mar 2018
I must beg your forgiveness up front for this verse.
I don't want to be ****** or rude or perverse,
but all over the world, things are going oh so wrong,
and it's due, in large part, to the President's ****!

Some leaders have brains and they lead with their mind.
Some lead from the heart and are thoughtful and kind.
But President Trump, he shall reign and shall rule.
Being led from below by his shriveled old tool.

You can tell by the way that Trump likes to abuse
women like they are objects to conquer and use.
Trump surely likes weapons, strongmen and dictators.
Trump labels all challengers liars and haters.

It is this sort of strutting, denial and attacking
that comes from a man who is seriously lacking
in confidence and a true manly demeanor,
and to compensate, Trump is obsessed with his wiener!

Now, I don't want to ridicule, criticize, heckle
the importance and worth of every man's schmekel,
but it's rather perverse and off base and quite sick,
when you turn off your brain and just follow your ****.

It just makes Trump so subject to manipulations
when he's flattered and aided by unfriendly nations.
Through his payoffs to hide his betrayals and ******,
Trump's Johnson has led him to such Stormy seas!

When he calls out Bill Clinton for his cheating ways,
the hypocrisy never shall cease to amaze!
All the cover-ups prove him a liar and a fake -
A pathetic, small slave to his small trouser snake.

Now I hope in your heart some forgiveness you'll find
for me planting these images into your mind.
And let us all hope that it will not be long
'til the world's ruled no more by the President's ****.
You can also see this and my other Trumpoems performed at: trumpoet.com.
Link: https://youtu.be/NuldzX3Hy7k
Written: March 18, 2017
Allison Dec 2014
my mouth is wrapped in the tape of social conduct
my hands cuffed in handbooks and rules

I'm standing on this balcony teetering on social suicide and endless solitude
Running away into my pen and paper because it's the only one who can listen

Numbers and phrases you paste on my forehead like a bandaid, your words hold weight but not to the strongmen
Im on my hands and knees screaming myself raw and the clueless raise a glass and tell another joke

The castle I've built in your arms is tumbling down I'm under siege from my allies
It's a slow death being inches from your legacy and thousands of miles away in your sacred heart
This is about a personal struggle I've been battling for a couple months.
West of a mutilated day, wormwood salts are scattered for some wild-chinned Controllers on a high pinnacle with viva vox in the Mandrake, Vernarth's house of Orion:

Saint John the Apostle says the proverbial Psalm: “In the lofty Cage, Gregorian sylphs, with skillful gestures and mania for cheering, are graced for coming to the Way of the cheap and venerable souls that are made up of the bodies of the evil-born on their railing. , in quagmire of swallowing spittle where the cold winter is banished, to jump from the cold oriental, having to walk with the elbows, and with the daring screams of the Sylphs that shake themselves among the foggy and fleshy tangle with rags and fur cloths flying smoothly through the tops of the oak trees in smoke to purge for Vernarth! Gospel, gospel in the barn of the delicate humus was felt, and that it was refracted in the refined forest with philosophical sacred love. Lord, all of us who are because we are, are you Lord ..., all in my exercises of loving gaze, are channeled by the indexes of my thumb to the little finger at the bottom of the sea, and float again from the little finger to the bottom of the surface. Waving in the transience of the world and holding back, Father God thunder, this with laryngitis when he outlines himself with the vast earthly sight, he covers with his right hand, the phlegm of ***** that made him drive an empty tremor, in my lack of security he testified by singing thousands and millions of choirs at this auction. The first ring of the profile will be carried by Jesus light, rubbing his back with some eyelashes of a drunk beetle, while the beetle will collect water between its extensions that will wail real needs of every morning albi - rosaceous that will travel in a circle towards the auditory of the Last auctioned saying: "As I have not to be where I was and was ..., if at night my beloved morning row impulsively and goes against it so as not to stumble into the night ...". Each cut piece of the dermis will have to be auctioned, I had Faith and the screenplay, encapsulated and embedded in each hope of the ramshackle flock, the impiety-weary ogre needed to stow his empty viscera with the cloth of the celestial kingdom, which at auction was beginning to squeeze and vanish when regurgitating smoothies and disintegrated spaces of belonging of the devotees of Vernarth. The writing is signed with lupus, this Lucia emanated from the morning resentment of skin envy, and from the massif drenched in anarchy and city archeology, lying hesitantly ..., as if the forest gave it some indication of rebirth, under the shadow of twinkling doubt, from the high front where they were nuanced over the engendered banners of truth, elucidating the forbidden and true matrix.

Adelimpia, Vernarth's grandmother, was squatting cutting the drool from the dwarf tree that lost a forage, at around 6:30 p.m. on the 39.9th day of a supposed 14th month of another dimension, almost winding up in a tangled series of productive hesitations and rituals, taking her victorious chariot in Lent where the teacher without felt traction, weave sprinkles of forgiveness on her distributor, starting her shaft and not her running engine, she already knew herself as a commoner with the wake of a ship without knowing where to go. Those who did not see themselves more backward intrigued to be part of the central bar of the rocker of the nymphs in their stadium, with a yawning lip where no one was invited. Mega-watt snitches go to the sacristan, breaking speeds of intangible entities that abide by her law, as a sage vilified in her secular realm, even in nowhere, the atmospheric larynx hissed widening through the flakes of the auctioned field, Joshua leaping with her. Cranky black horse Equus, with his anthropomorphic hooves, accelerated with action that put him among the lost belongings of the plateau, whose east limited him to two half-quarters of each other, and two-thirds slowing the sunset from ruby to ruby, brightening in the shades of green and green. Vernarth  Bernardolipo's father swallowed crops, from whose movements were born out of place gestures of residence, parturient fairies appeared emerging at once, or perhaps not emerging, the afternoon crushes the unplayable sun, Hugh and Anne covered their supra orbital eye areas, more towards a hillside where thousands of repertoires were being knocked down, and copious tableware with caked sugar, which seemed to reduce the acoustics from the beginning in what seemed solidly to fade to postulate in new shades of the weary rubbed rainbow, like thousands of shades doing the times of zascandil  in a curled comb, re-sprouting certain storm deities in the natural bow of the wind entangled in each stratus, sprinkling on the hectares of Possessions, standard deeds, sales orders, mutual funds, bonds ... the coffers and the earthly decomposed. Before each onslaught, a highly dense fog arose, highly ignored, anti-critical, and more disparaging of amassing a high scarcity with a local, in his quintals of his last bread for the flock. Lashes that exceed the grammage, foliage from leaf to leaf, from today until tomorrow, in a traveling satyr of dry leaves, "The Sphincter of the World will need Purgative ...".

Marathon of poisonings,… Lord, you have looked me in the eye; with your boat I will follow you, to your privileged perspiring cinnamon dock with various vociferous songs. What fared more than seven zeros, now they will be eaten by rodents, Lord attend my prayers, the pink mast has been sailing at several knots from the north, and it is rapidly losing its polar location, between verbs never traveled or driven, I dared to show off that the path of the gospel in small distant fragments will abound in infinite space, only the one that predominates will glide over my forehead with an accumulation of everything seen and that today in this sale; where everyone you own and care for, like a baby in front of a dissimilar kinship of good adventure and progeny that will leave your hands. "  

Etréstles says: "Soft and mellifluous presumptions ..., where do I have to look if nothing is heard? What is proposed and permeates the law of possessing and not, perhaps the strap reaches an infinite house, where the sun breaks down ..., the spout of my minimal rebirth slowly turned it into my reoriented defined cell. My grandfather Joshua fertilizes the new sales every day with his hooves bandaged with hemp, the sebum stones since they were so are already spirited circles, the hand of the maker is being compared with his tactile sense, Kaitelka's lungs, full of phosphate residues and sulphated, for the first time they milk in medium drops on their udders, although saying and what they prefer to assert of a worthy Down! If it were not, for his regal model of cetacean ostentation, he would not be in the Horcondising taking from today, towards the end of the curtain in the regular blushes, to create the great detachment, so necessary for the pulsating plain and purge his master Vernarth . The night covers it with sulfur oceanic satin, with the spauto of its jet and a magical moving game. Everyone was distracted when she circled over the routines of well-magnetized charms. More than two subjects were deprived of their well-placed jaw, when the overtime ran not crossing in the entire field in which she lived. It was time to unmask the interveners, the boatswain of the alfalfa field had been eating almonds with oil from the sole of a Joshua bototo shoe, she folded her wings at halftime to take a modest breath, to resume weak paths, deprived of confidence and not. To know who they would obey and to whom they would yield the fruit of their old and stock market work in the garden. Chaos for them, light of Lights, for those affiliated with the ruler who is Joshua, who will live behind a makeshift Patagua tree, erecting  aquisus tents and the dogmas of tomorrow. The magnificent concessions in the Horcondising massif continued to fall precipitously; some rummaged through their accounting almanacs, distanced and squandered their exquisite profits. The stagecoach is moving away, and the barrels of water were scarce, the aroma and tastes of roasted beef comes out over the bushes, the stores sway in a naive wind of blooming daisies, the sales were coming against the owners themselves, the taste of the laughter degraded their own present absence, the paraphernalia of the little birds on the carpet of the mountain plateau were, they began to do mercy of the tip in the exposed beams, the hundred feet with calluses came down from the semi-incinerated poles. Nothing smelled of pride anymore, just the last shadow of Joshua's Chief Sheriff; Vinicius, who thinned out the spotlights of the semi-strongmen still trying to collect his heavy wealth, now that among clouds of heavy cargo they went to give him only one habit to try to fit his body, just to wear his outfit. They looked, looked and kept looking at his octogenarian tearful sapro- genito dream, where the first dream ends, and his exile begins. Vinicius, locks the door, and starts drinking mate tea; while screams of those bad jackals were heard fighting for their inherited evils, in manners of not conquering those who lose a dream of their patriarchal courting-love, under the shadow of the most powerful bush for the rest of their lives in groves. Crumbs come off the beards of Joshua, his galvanized knife cuts multiform slices, to feed everyone equally and continue the purge of Vernarth "

The most desolate deity came; he walked in full sun, shelled and unattached, full of elongated bridles and with haste in his eyes. But not in its strides, thousands of years passed, and it brushed with my lost zeal in the quarrels of the Argolica, in the salinized and rotten feces of Eurymedousa, with its snowy and tricolor feet, hooded with its goods! , therefore, unable to sustain its own air from its nasal socket, dropping it likes brave foam that fell in the fired distance. Bad cooked fruit, with the flavor of a sleeping cinnamon stick, mitigating in its kind balsam, frayed wind yielding 360 and so many more suns, before the last one that I carry on my limbs ends. The end of the End began, in the seven ends adorning my steps. The obscene deities came, with their rebuilding geo music, breaking endometriums of goddess’s mobs and their almost massacred Pillan Mapu, among thousands that were, thousands of nowhere they are ..., in a today already anesthetized. He lies in the stench of the corrugated floor, in the wooden handles and rods stacked on the floor gesturing; the god Pillan Mapuche, under a generic vault of sleep falls into lethargy on the faces, leaving his unintelligible hollow free; and its unbalanced environment, crossing the basaltic moraine that circulated one day from the placenta of the fatigued cemetery. Dreams in kilos everywhere of pressed ducks, with dense covering and grasses on the hooves of bucephalos, crucible, living trident and extraordinary flowers ***** in floating skirmish, with dosing globules, thirst that is born from the whiteness of the first day in confessional liberation, cell of white with a looted look, shields of osculation, like icy air that transpires his ninth life and that is born from his ninth death, splinted in the face of death that mutilates his fingers when crossing his genes of perfidious and monkish plot of a life bypass. I sing or I do not sing, I lack my throne from where I observe the glances with time and impudence, possessing everything behind the back of the macabre time in counter-steps of tender golden plague, in foreign skin growing on my right blanket, from so much passing lights with cracked night outings, walking towards me, between roads and between Monday nights with faces of long and sinuous unctuous branches, with great step and size. Now I have to draw the curtain, on light lying in the shadow of an opening scattered in warm beets. With sincerity ..., and mistake there is no will to germinate in them, I will be born without being with them, to be meaningless without them ..., and that it is above other absences, with great eloquent and numerical weight on absent.

They are still plastered, washed out and with the frizzy pigments of a parnassus Paradise, where it has been intervening over its bloodless headers. Joshua walks thousands of steps on with his Equus skull, like a meridian slipping off certain rods of decay. Thus they all floated in the cephalous porous airs, with great airs of Cain collapsing on Abel recomposed in reserves of a millennium that fell twisted and stunned, captivated by an ominous word. Sendal covered themselves in bandurrias that covered the melodious icebergs of exulting individuals and swollen with passion, with their rummaging and thunderous noises going along with their flowers to the sea dissipated. My paternal grandmother was delimited; she paraded from the openings with cough-covered mounds of the frozen volcano, growing reflective slits of dense gradation in the nervousness of the overhang and angry sighing heat, in all the vertiginous and venerable spirits numbed by the darkness of so many sorrows on their bluish heads. Eurymedousa, already ill-fated to continue in Rhodes, appeared on stilts and with agonizing lights and yielding to the crossbows of the centaurs gagged by the Beauties; they consisted of their seesaws before the agreement with the Master, who gave us her Hellenic manifestos, and no less to others. My uncle King Arthur carried news of the locked consonants of his string and with a riding crop for his steed, tangled in rows that tore his face into small abscesses on his face, which were superimposed on those capillaries of the sweat of Heaven. Blessed Lord, the knee had grafts of golden steel, the horns of the radio sol brego that were broken in its metaphysical pregnancy, and its food collector that had solid gold baths towards a tabernacle fussing through its mucous orifices of alfalfa with the a flavours of irradiated cattle . He paraded with his loving mount flying down his track and kept clueless, at times he ran so swiftly that he crossed evil omens with Joshua, he was seen as weak and white in insulting slanders, Tamayo; his friend, who was a Talamite native, followed him on horseback, his son rode the sheep every summer, passing wool of pure holy insignia of a healthy man.
Along the banks of the reeds, he came riding on a donkey, Edward my paternal uncle, the third of Adelimpia, came three steps before his donkey, and he counted three times before riding him with provisions for good waters, wrapped in an energetic fire of Saturday tobacco in his mouth in mourning, who lovingly watching over himself, looking at today towards a peak for his sheep, looking at them for a manger of borders and tiny hunching phrases of black song about legends of the offender, which tempted to show off invading their fields. He is to the right of his mother Adelimpia, and under the rib of his father Bernardolipo overflowing, giving sugar to the colt Dolly in the sunsets, bequeathing affection with syrup, and a thousand compliments in December of 9,900 AD, Joshua, I remained in shreds of pageantry and endless lives, I always said, my lady, here I bring you a peasant's soup in flower of primed twisted canvas, in this three-year period I must call them to dinner in past lands with sweet potatoes to eat and candlesticks of flying seeds, with eager candies of a crack and their thirsty mouths. Gentlemen, I am Edward, their son, I want to sleep in your arms, after escaping from my worst perfidious toothless bite that still hurts inside. After eating great cholesterols from all over the world, amidst the tools of my children I am, always putting a tobacco leaf caught in the scrawled pieces and in great coinciding strokes, in circles dancing to throw away the bad and broken places badly thought and done. When I get to the end I will cling to the Joshua habit and shout not to leave me alone in the middle of this world, without toasted flour, cheese and tobacco. I am not a malignant man, I am only like those of us who are far below, feeling footprints on my spine, and I do not tell my wife Molly, so that she does not lack chickpea flour for our children wrapped in regrets and ***** with hunger and light blue in goodness, like saints and media, but in the end with clear blue water in my glasses. I invite everyone to my table to dine on oceans and worlds of clear celestial light, because with this hand I break this piece; I am the Son of Adelimpia and the supplier. They brought me in anemone branches when the Lord's headache invaded him, when he felt nails in his hands, to the east of Eden, without steps or turgid edges and a rough runaway palfrey”

The Horcondising massif turned into a great mountain, Edward was in the limestone of some potters and followers of Joshua molding him, they began to bait the rope that merges the mountain range, with the valley at the foot of all the mapus, mud flowing from the monastic floods , here they polisonated in the stony atonement of each lamentable trunk. They say;… faramalla  demonion, would be with a Silfife facing the mass of the vital obstacle, with faded coffee fiber, smeared in wine and bread, with eternal vintage vine. Luccica, Vernarth's mother, tackles familiar corners, with anointed frames of fiction in irrational ergonomics…; in numerous steps that will reach your distinguished heart. An ocean of doubts has fallen due to the inheritance that has precarious injuries, of battered egos and scrubbed by undue ignorance. Mountain delusions and manias, which run through the fibrillated vigils of some soft ropes and their abundant bristles like the choppy of an echidna escaping as it tingles by my twisted temples ”. The Horcondising  tam tam modulates through its crater and its pale face of a perpetual cell. Towards the forgiveness of the primordial ones and the commiseration of the orb burying itself in creation, this sacred and over the pale Sudpichian region will rest, in the roots growling in capillaries of the carbonated earths and in its badly wounded footprints. Horcondising is in quarantine, the elevation of the constellations are hyperillusionible, they migrate Along with Albalalhue and Carnivorous, the succeeded nymph that extracts exudation from a flushed match in the palm of some ideas on rollers, higher up and on angular from other right angles. Toiling with her hands, and rubbing possessions with her mazote and her patronage full of rakes.

Etréstles says: “Beyond all metal of hatred of every god not heard, beyond all evil of timid hatred I have not heard. I hold the playful phrasing of Edenic song, which calls us in voices full of long journeys, especially on this day fading. Through the hollow, belts and picket rings breaking the timid lights of the last sunset.  Cardinals in envelopes of fragile strengths, mountains with borders and deposits in the last voluminous plagues on the mason's eye.  Binding themselves in a pile, with saffron nails in their ears, with moths that run through the unforgivable morphologies. Do not lose life, abandon all noisy fight in coalition with the uninhabited *** of coins, there are forty days left to say goodbye to the god Faramalla, who lies with closed tec, limps to his lost pupils, and the sky swirls over his day when nothing not fit for any drinkable air with light bulb. Horcodising loses millimeters within minutes and rising, towards harvests to harvests, they lose merged schedule of a time without a past, reviling themselves from a present of consanguineous evil with an abstinent future. Luccica; Vernarth's mother, she is a sylph dragged by the tempest moraines, being detached to a contemplation and intake of life. The membranes of the accordion burst, and between brittle passageways crying without union, succumb to the teachings of foolish fate, Luccica as a portion owes its origin to the sea, taking its physiognomic bark from a seal specimen of aqueous flattery, to frize it on a similar surface umlauts on the "u", with phosphorescent and indeclinable forges, making it a beautiful maternal nymph, like the beautiful female picking up a moon in her arms, clinging to a new hallucinatory satellite to engender. "Live and talk with your peer, her dazzling sneaks in and laughs at this prominent queen, to exhale on those who observe her."

End Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichian
Transversal Valley  the Ferments - Parapsychological Regression
Mandrake, the Wild Auction
Mr Leyhey May 2017
Yeah I know the game the **** weasels play in there tight shirts muscles glistening looking all sweaty **** .

Well I won't fall for the same fooled again bud.
You mark my words .
You see there all playing games with there mind **** slugs all trying to mind **** you.

Sure do i like to have a drinky boo maybe misplace my pants or wear a costume and do something completely normal with randy candy sometime .

What goes behind on closed windows is a rights man to happiness you know what I'm saying .

Gotta go to liquor store remember .
Keep your whistle wet and your thoughts opened before that garage door comes down leaving you behind the door or something what was I talking bout .

Avoid the **** hawks there abound like **** strongmen .
Redaviel Nov 2019
How great it feels to conform
Shackled, restrained by norm
Because dragons won't win
Against the fighter planes
And hellfire missiles
Are better than dragonfire
The magical place of peace    
Never touched by pollution
Away from industrial reality
Bullets will take away the light
Strongmen will put out embers
But the war cry of secret rebellion
Will summon the forbidden being
That will once again shine in gray clouds
And the being shall smote the heretic
As the legendary sword of freedom
Will make itself known to the risky
Adventures ragged but shining
Wide thinkers and everdrowsy dreamers
Descendants of crazies and misunderstoods
They hold the magic that allows them
To choose whatever path the story goes
Like the chaotic place called "poem"
Imaginary beasts and sceneries
Not bound by boundaries of these mortals
You hold the magic that will allow you
To choose whatever path the story goes
Like this chaotic place called "poem"
Bob B Jun 2018
The D.T. Playbook: Chapter 2:
Alienate your allies and friends.
Then sidle up to strongmen
Leaders, pretending to make amends.

Impose tariffs on your close allies.
Oh, yes, and don't forget
To stupidly suggest that they
Could possibly be a national threat.

Countries that were threats in the past
Might be scrambling head over heels
To make what in the future for you
Will be lucrative business deals.

Overlook the fact that your
Dictator friends have a score
Of D minus or F on human
Rights violations heretofore.

Although you and your allies have
Supported one another for years,
Let them know that you support
Countries that will give you cheers.

Keep ignoring foreign involvement
In past elections. Instead attack
People in your own system.
Tell them faith is what they lack.

Don't forget: distractions, distractions.
Always keep confusion brewing
So people have a tough time seeing
What kind of damage you are doing.

Finally, keep repeating words
And phrases over and over. Create
The illusion that your strategies
Are going to make the country great.

-by Bob B (6-8-18)
good times bring weak men
weak men bring bad times
Bad times make strong men
strongmen make good times

Is it a good time or a bad time for you. Lets figure this out
Bob B Sep 2021
Now peddling replacement theory,
And even calling it by name,
Some on the Right are using the term
Overtly, without a hint of shame.

A multicultural America
Is clearly what the proponents fear.
But who or what is being replaced
To many people remains unclear.

I used to think the concept was
A bigoted, racist thing of the past.
But what we are seeing happening now
Shows how long such ideas can last.

After the rallies in Charlottesville,
When mobs of white-supremacists chanted
"Jews will not replace us!" we knew
That we shouldn't take our freedoms for granted.

So now the Right is telling us
That immigrants are "invading" our land,
Bringing disease and who knows what else;
Therefore, we must take a stand.

Furthermore, the Right insists
That bringing immigrants in is not
Beneficial to all, for it
Is nothing but a "liberal plot."

To bolster their non-inclusive ideas,
Some on the Right have traveled abroad
To gain support from strongmen leaders
To whom they give an approving nod.

Ideas that used to be on the fringe,
Now occur on a larger scale
And out in the open--in clear sight--
As the GOP drops its veil.

Hold up a mirror, America.
Do you like what you currently see?
Heaven help us if this is the kind
Of country we were meant to be.

-by Bob B (9-30-21)
Bob B Aug 2021
It’s hard to know how the country
Survived having to spend
A four-year term with 45.
I thought it would never end.

Four long years of scandals;
Fours years of anguish and grief;
Four long years of fatuous tweets,
With little if any relief.

Four long years of a slogan
To make America great.
And yet the president seemed much more
Preoccupied with hate.

Four long years of hearing
Constant words of praise
For Vladimir Putin and other strongmen
And their autocratic ways.

Four long years of watching
His sycophants kiss his rear
And be afraid to tell him what
He didn’t want to hear.

Four long years of lies.
The number hasn’t been topped.
And though he is out of the White House now,
His lying hasn’t stopped.

Four long years of observing
Extremists in his base
Become so extremely emboldened that
An insurrection took place.

Four long years of feeling
As though we were swimming with sharks,
For he loved tearing people apart
With his nasty remarks.

For four long years we heard
Constant “alternative facts,”
For one of his guiding principles is
Anything that distracts.

Four long years of our lives--
Unrecoverable time.
If voters decide to give him four more,
THAT will be a crime.

-by Bob B (8-3-21)
can you save American democracy?

I highly hugely grant
Barack Hussein belated kudos
what with his wizardesses
in tow wrought wonders
to one nation analogous
while an under dog
sweeping in like...
It's a Bird... It's a Plane...
It's NOT Superman
but the Beagle Snoopy
imitating the Red Baron
saving the day.

Analogous to powerful twelve Olympians
in ancient Greek religion and mythology
(Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Aphrodite,
Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Ares, Hephaestus,
Hermes, and either Hestia and Dionysus)
you wield immense influence
among United States electorate,
(especially an exceptionally strong following,
where people of color be concerned)
which upcoming presidential election
November fifth MMXXIV
decrees intrepid politically savvy candidate.

No need to x (typically pronounced
as the voiceless consonant cluster /ks/
when it follows stressed vowel e.g. ox,
and the voiced consonant /ɡz/
when it precedes stressed vowel e.g. exam.

It is also pronounced /ɡz/
when it precedes a silent ⟨h⟩
and a stressed vowel
e.g. exhaust) spleen
with mine pun hushing
dull liver re:
how many citizens (most Democrats
and even a goodly amount of Republicans),
would vote for you in a heartbeat.

As the elegant forty fourth first lady
you became a role model for women
and an advocate for healthy families,
service members and their families,
higher education, and international
adolescent girls education.

Your megawattage aura, charisma, persona
continues to bring you rave reviews
and imbues avid supporters
as she positively affects
ringing endorsements of the following:
military families, working women
balance their careers and families
encourages national service,
promotes the arts and arts education,
and fosters healthy eating
and healthy living
for children and families
across the country.

Additionally, you earned
widespread acclaim and publicity
on the topic of healthy eating
by planting the first White House
vegetable garden since Eleanor Roosevelt
served as First Lady.

Totalitarianism will be trumpeted
courtesy the coiffed oaf
donned with FAKE orange hair,
whereby constitutional freedoms
beginning with disenfranchisement
will disallow, disable, and withhold
an increasing number
regarding people of color,
plus people hashtagged

as undocumented immigrants
forcibly returned to their homeland,
no matter purpose driven lives
includes people arriving
for work and study,
as well as for humanitarian purposes,
including unique events
such as those arriving
from Ukraine and Hong Kong.

Citizens like yours truly
will raise cane to no avail;
the prospect hard won freedoms
since the founding
of these United States of America
could be rescinded
at the stroke of a pen,
I already bewail
as a fait accompli
no surprise then

that even crafting poetry
dutifully doth decry abolition
of inalienable rights
(for life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness
strongmen of the law could curtail
suppressing dissent as forcibly decreed
"The devil is in the details"
will mount insurrection against holy grail
as enshrined in Declaration of Independence

turning into figurative mincemeat
the Constitution lighting a torch,
where “City On A Hill”
backbreaking slave labor
erected courtesy hearty and hale
dark skinned people
violently wrenched from homeland
mercilessly whipped and tortured
viz lynched while still alive a stake
thru flesh didst impale.

Politicians with a conscience
the exception rather than the rule,
and looking, peering, and
scanning back forty seven years
when thirty ninth occupant of White House
chose Walter Frederick "Fritz" Mondale
an American lawyer and politician
served as the 42nd vice president
of the United States from 1977 to 1981
under President Jimmy Carter,
I think virtue throve.

Hammering the final nail
in the figurative coffin of democracy
can be heard echoing
across the voluminously storied
complex edifice rent asunder
courtesy diabolical forces crumbled,
whereby all the king's men
and horses could not
resurrect best western civilization.

— The End —