"whooped" poems
Stormy rain, stormy Eyes.
Look at me.
Wish you had of died.
A fairground trick, you never rang the hoop around.
The fairground ride, you could see the nuts and bolts.
But still you whooped with me.
There was a time,
at the beginning of the line,
where you begged me for a kiss,
for a moment of bliss,
before the fear set in;
before the terror unfolded,
and i was screaming and opening my eyes,
and looking forward,
and never at you.
I smiled for the camera,
to capture the moment,
of unequivocal bliss, of falling and riding high again.
Still you swore you would hold my hand,
for whatever we had planned,
and when i let go,
you looked at those lines,
and realised,
boy, you're in this world alone,
to ride the ride,
with me by your side,
but alone in your seat;
So what is it?
Ultimate bliss,
or,
terror of self-defeat?
Just remember,
I was there,
just a hairtip away,
just a fingertip, from your fray,
when you start to unravel,
from me.
As we swoop,
as we fold,
as we argue through your childhood behaviour,
untold.
Line up, line up.
The ride is free.
The journey is finali-ty
when you are riding,
with me.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
He awoke at four that morning with the sunrise.
"Time to go, babe, get ready," he said with a smile,
Thinking I had been asleep, unaware
I lied awake all night, waiting anxiously.
I wondered if he thought it rather strange,
His little girl wanted to deep-sea fish.
He hand-made ham sandwiches with cheddar cheese--
(Because he knows that cheddar is my favorite)--
And then forced me to take some dramamine.
"It keeps you from puking your lunch," he teased.
I didn't fuss at him for giving me the **** pills.
I was ready to catch my first Atlantic shark.
Florida's early mornings aren't that warm,
So he gave me his old jean jacket as we drove south.
The dock was full of average sailor types--
Our captain's name was Anderson, I think.
Anderson looked just like his boat too,
Weathered by the wicked waves of the ocean.
The boat would swerve and I would sway so awkwardly,
Unbalanced like a newborn giraffe.
Dad gripped my shaking shoulders and whooped,
"This one's gonna be a beauty, you can mark my words!"
I snatched, tugged, and reeled violently--!
The beast finally surfaced with the tiniest plash.
She wiggled on the hook, to my mild astonishment,
Slippery, slime-covered, and small in size.
"It's a white snapper!" Anderson boomed.
She was sixteen inches and diamond white,
Glistening in the sun like the greatest treasure.
Dad patted me on the back, chest swollen with pride.
Catching Atlantic sharks didn't matter now.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
The elevator opened on the 46th floor, to a small foyer and one plain, grey door
The door opened and a young girl, 10ish, in a blue, polo, tennis dress, said, “Hi! I’m Karen, you must be Anais. Will is around here somewhere. Aren’t you pretty, though? You go to school with Lisa? No wonder Will likes you.”
She skippingly ushered me from a bright, windowed, off-white, staircase entryway, into a deep-red, mahogany paneled library. A persian cat was soon underfoot, purring and winding around my legs.”That’s Misha,” Karen said, “just shoo her away if you don’t like cats.”
I stooped down to pet Misha who eagerly offered herself to be petted and admired. As I stroked her charcoal fur, Karen said, “Let me get Will,” as she scampered off.
A gold framed, impressionistic painting, pin-lit in bright crystalline light, hung over a fireplace. In the painting, two girls, in summer hats bright with startling red bows and yellow flowers, were sharing a book. The colors were rich, deep and swirling - it looked very much like a Renoir (I know my French artists). He’d done a whole “two girls” series. I drew closer - it wasn’t a print.
Though dazed by the opulence, I hadn’t missed what Karen had said. Will liked me. I longed to interrogate her about how exactly she knew Will liked me, and what form, exactly, Will’s liking took.
I know Will and Lisa (who would be joining us in a minute) are just friends. Not that it matters, we’re heading back to New Haven later - but Karen’s statements were capable of activating a girl's guy-dar.
Karen, wearing socks but no shoes, came to a sliding halt, on the wooden floor, by grabbing the door frame to stop an otherwise complete slide into the library. “You guys are going to the Ritz for lunch?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder, in a way that indicated that she knew the answer quite well.
The Ritz Carlton is a block away and our mission was to grab the food and bring it back here to eat. “Mind if I join?” she said, before I could answer her first question, all wide-eyed, blinking impatience.
“I don’t mind at ALL.” I said, Karen whooped and was off again down the hall. “I’M COMING TOO!” she yelled. I chuckled, knowingly - I’ve been there - I’m a little sister too.
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 12:41 PM UTC
He had their attention,
He always did,
The whole nation looking at him,
Every one focused,
Waiting...
Waiting for the great Khan to speak.
He scanned the crowd,
Masses of people going on for miles,
These were the Mongols,
The wolves,
And he was their leader,
Their lord.
" My people, the moment has come,
For everyone of us to go to battle,
And be glorious!
For as long as there are a million enemy's,
We shall fight a million times,
And be victorious!"
This year would be a good year,
He could feel it,
The crowd whooped and cheered,
Chanting their lord khan's name,
Genghis...
Genghis...
Genghis...
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 10:39 AM UTC
Midway- Surprise! We saw them
Coming from a mile away.
Japanese aircrafts and ships try and attack,
And they get their butts whooped!
And then we got the idea to island hop!
Hop to Iwo Jima- Slowly.... Slowly.... Don't scare it,
It's like a nest of bees!
And we got it! Two air bases captured
And one step closer to the mainland!
Japan may be fortified, but we
Have tons of muscle!
Hop to Okinawa- this one was a doozy...
The biggest amphibious battle of WWII,
And contained the most casualties! Pretty harsh.
Maybe you they shouldn't have attacked us in the firs place!
We only meant to invade and use the island as a
Springboard towards the mainland, but the
Battle took too long.
Just weeks after the fighting ended, Japan surrendered
And we bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki!
We never got to invade...
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Wobbly was wondering?
"What will we wager"
We will wrangle worms
"Winner wins whatever"
Which Worm?
White,
Walnut,
Wheat
We wondered, why wrangle
We walked,
We waited,
We watched
Which wacko would wager wrong,
Wobbly winked, wondering why,
Wanda waited wondering why?
Why wink,
Why worms,
Why, why, why
Would worms win wagers
Without watching weird worms
Wobbly
Wished
Wedding wishes
Which was wonderfully weird,
What would Wanda want?
Wobbly wandered, waiting
Wonderfully wishing.
Wanda's wise words whispered, wobbly
Whooped,
Whooped,
Wailed
With wonderment,what was whispered?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
The boy, with the dent in his chest, inhales so loudly
that his ribs pop with a resounding boom. They shatter and collapse,
sinking to his feet. His life is lived slumped over, never making eye
contact because he believes it is a spell. His spine grows twisted, broken,
bent. His heart is locked away in a bone prison. With his eyes to the ground,
he is running blindly forward into a sea of decisions and failure. His
confused feet charge him head first into the girl with the swollen skin. She
sees his spine and ribcage ankles as intriguing, and he doesn't mind her welts.
He touches her, feels her, learns her.
She holds him, feels him, learns him.
She is his, and he belongs to her.
They are each other.
He sees the world, sees everything he was never seeing. Her welts become
a foreign thing to him. She was different, less beautiful compared to the sights
he was now seeing. Her mind tried its hardest to forget his twisted nature. She
could only remember how he felt her skin and called it amazing, stunning.
Her skin welted in his memory; his spine curled in hers, but snapped back
straight when she called for him. She shouted a final plea for the future.
He whooped and hollered and yelled so loudly that his inhale broke his
ribs and sunk them back to his feet,
as his head slid back into its horizontal position.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
Storm clouds raged across the sky and the silver sea boiled in the wind.
The great green fin of La Isla de Tiburon cut the water,
Mysterious, so painfully close, yet dangerously distant.
Monsters swam the gap and past waist deep the ocean had a lethal tug.
All morning we (father, big brother, little sister, and me) hunted in the sand for clams and later boiled them in a sardine can.
Dad ran along the shoreline and into the waves wearing yellow trunks, hunting with a sharpened stick.
Dad, the Wildman —hairy and shirtless—ran for our entertainment into the surf and whooped when a skate flapped pitifully at the end of his spear.
My brother kicked a trio of ***** fishermen's gifts, kept them from scuttling back into sea, and leaped over them for fun.
Sardines on saltines tided us over as the main course—crab, clam and skate—cooked on burning drift wood.
We children watched in drooling anticipation as a claw, wreathed in flame rose in agonized supplication
then collapsed back into embers to cook. Froth bubbled out alien mouths and black stalk eyes.
Roasted alive seems an awful fate, but, oh, how delicious the meat!
Later, by lantern light my sister read her book over the protests of a gathering wind that scratched at our tent all night.
The sand spat out the tent stakes, but the poles held firm and our weight held our shelter down.
Never before and never again
I live here in my dreams.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
LET'S GET REAL
There are no more jokes to life.
WE are FALLING as a RACE and we should be ASHAMED in ourselves
Violence is erupting in our streets
Innocent people are dying
Yet instead of mourning over the lost we are being ignorant
The foolishness needs to stop!
All we are doing is PROVING THE WHITE MAN RIGHT
Proving that we cannot be civilized, that we belong in shackles being whooped in cotton fields
Our ancestors would not be proud if they saw what we are doing today
In fact they would turn their heads and bow them in disgust
Thinking to themselves all that hard work for nothing
Is that really what we want...history to repeat itself all over again
For us the black race to be treated like animals
To be treated as if we are inferior to dirt the other races step on
If that is what you really seek then continue
But if not...
Stop the meaningless violence
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
I see it as from outside a window,
Myself walking fast, head bowed,
Life happening all around me without sound,
Distanced even then, not sure I know why
The paces of development grow hazy around that line.
My heart was soft,
My head curiously empty,
A balloon floating along,
Not certain where she might belong
It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head,
I don't remember the feel of the wind on my face,
But the feel of the wood I sat on in my classroom
The urgency every time the bell rang for lunch hour,
The acrid taste of isolation when I hadn't enough for the tack room
It was the best of times,
I still go there is my head,
My friend had a bag of coin in the desk nearby,
I saw her put it there and,
I took it, I don't know why,
They found me out, hung me dry,
From then on I tried not to pry,
Kids really know how to crucify.
It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.
When my child's eye was pure,
Boys hard-wearing, still demure,
I used to think I would never be self-assured,
I'm still not,
Confrontation ties my insides in a knot,
But I live for those days,
When Saturday mornings meant cartoons,
Followed by hilariously misguided cooking attempts at noon,
That would get you later whooped past sense
All your friends watching from the fence.
It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 4:53 AM UTC
Nothin like true love
me and the wife had a fight last nite
lots of cussing and slapping each other around
she said I was a loser if ever there was
she coulda found something better in the dog pound
I said yeah I lost alright that's rather obvious
just look in the mirror if you dare
well she kneed me in the vestubles realy hard
and yanked out a couple of my nose hair
she said I was lazy never worked a day
if it weren't for her papa we'd be starvin
well your papa's not all that smart I said
else why did he marry a woman named Marvin
back and forth and around we went
one jab worse then the other
she threatened to have my **** whooped good
by her stupid fat *** brother
well when we finally stopped to catch our breath
she had me in a headlock
I accidentally fondled her breast
and then we started to rock
she pulled me close and gave me a smooch
we both said sorry and we knew
we were gonna get us a bottle of scotch
get fallin down drunk and *****
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
For My Aunt
The woman who is my mother’s sister is also my mom.
She has whooped me as well as helped me escape, and showed me to be calm.
She snuck me snacks; cookies, chips, and things like that.
Helped with homework, spoke up for me whether right or wrong
The love we share is beyond the measurement of strong.
I will keep our memories alive well after you are gone.
My auntie. My auntie.
I just want to say from me to you thank you for being my.
Auntie.
C. E Cheatham
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC
Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
She stood,
at serene attention,
her frailty forgotten.
face made alien,
to most, by the nature
of the disease.
Oh! but the smile,
beamed lighthouse bright.
as she brought forth her
frail hand,
to recieve the parchment
paper. Her Doctorate.
The soft hat glowed,
velvet, indigo blue,
in the autumn sunlight.
The crowd that had, expanded to twice it's normal size,
for just this special person.
Stood in a wave of love.
and the graduation day,
became,
The Day of Sue.
As we whooped and hollered and stamped and clapped,
the tattoo, of our loving respect.
As tears streamed, unchecked,
down one thousand faces.
She beamed and bowed
and left the stage.
One last time.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
The old man sat on the long park bench
Where the children used to play,
He seemed to be harmless, sitting there
Though he’d be there every day.
His pockets were always full of sweets
And he’d smile a kindly smile,
But mothers would huddle nervously,
They suspected him of guile.
‘What do you think he’s up to,’ said
One mother to her friend,
‘I’ve read some terrible things about
Young children and old men.’
‘Can’t you see that he’s harmless,
He’s so old, and frail and sick,
He’s just like a kindly grandfather
Who walks with a walking stick.’
‘He shouldn’t be handing out those sweets,
We don’t know what’s inside,
What if it’s something horrible
And one of the children died?’
‘You need to become more trusting,
He’s out here in the light of day,
I hope that he didn’t hear you,
That’s a terrible thing to say!’
He smiled and nodded, and fell asleep
Sat back on the wooden seat,
His overcoat had seen better days
And so, the shoes on his feet,
He woke when the children whooped about,
Swung high on the rusty swings,
Tempted the children with his sweets
And to some, he muttered things.
‘What did the old man say to you?’
One whispered to her son,
“He asked if I wanted knowledge, if
I did, then he’d give me some.’
‘You’re not to speak to him anymore,’
The woman cried, in fear,
It isn’t right that he fills your head,
By rights, he shouldn’t be here.’
She went to sit on the wooden seat
And she grabbed him by the sleeve,
‘What do you mean by ‘knowledge’ then,
I think you ought to leave!’
‘I mean no harm, I’m a kindly man
And I love those children dear,
I’d give my all to be young again
And I feel young when they’re near.’
She nodded, said that she felt ashamed,
And patted him on the arm,
Then got up, leaving her son to play
She’d lost all sense of alarm.
The boy was tempted again by sweets
And the old man grabbed his hand,
‘Just stare right into my eyes, my boy,
I’ll take you to fairyland.’
The old man’s eyes were hypnotic when
He stared, and soon glowed red,
And then the little boy trembled as
A lifetime flowed in his head,
The old man smiled, and his hand relaxed
As the young boy turned to go,
‘At last,’ he capered, and danced about,
And the old man sank back, slow.
The mother came to collect her son,
He was nowhere on the green,
She went to the old man on the bench,
‘Where’s John? You must have seen!’
The old man struggled to sit upright
And held out a trembling hand,
‘I’ve waited ever so long for you,
But I don’t think I can stand!’
David Lewis Paget
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
He lost all he had
in the fall of '09.
His job, his home, his parents.
Now he feared the worst
that he'd lose his children and his wife.
So out of desperation,
he drove down deep into the woods
to end it all.
He turned on the radio
to hear a song for the last time.
He didn't know what he was looking for
or even what he'd find.
Words of hope
flooded his ears
and gave him strength to carry on
and on that night
his family found a miracle.
On the drive to his sister's home,
he got a phone call
telling him that there was work for him.
He whooped for joy
and gave his wife a big hug when he arrived home.
He was thankful for being alive.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
HUNGRY PRINCE
It is the year One-Reed, and on this date
Lord Quetzalcoatl, from this earthly throne,
Long, long ago departed for the East,
And on One-Reed it’s known he will return.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
One-Reed: It is a fatal year for kings.
Our scriptures teach that when a murderous streak
Finds black Tezcatlipoca, lord of chaos,
On year One-Crocodile, he hunts our elders,
One-Jaguar or One-Deer, he claims our children.
But if he strikes on ominous One-Reed,
Death swoops for princes.
MOTECUHZOMA On that jolly note,
I open business for this syndicate,
Myself presiding. All may find their seats.
Now Tlacaelel, venerable friend,
What progress on the state’s scholastic front?
When last we met, the annals of our past
Were deemed due for aesthetic overhaul.
TLACAELEL
Lords, as you know, our eldest histories
Have painted base and barbarous accounts
Of our bewildered, wandering origins
As meek and muddy natives, which- though true-
Do not keep pace with our notorious present.
Those earth-born tracts have all been commandeered
And each one cast to char in heaping bonfires.
Ah, what a purifying blaze that was!
The inks of black and reds were rarefied
To sheets of flame and wells of fluid coals.
Now is our culture cleansed of heresies!
So far from mourning that scholastic loss,
The rabble whooped, and, singing rowdy reels,
Made merry at that bedtime barbecue.
And now, to re-devise those lowly annals,
I move that we enlist our liveliest dreamers
To craft extravagant and stately archives
And claim the pedigree that we deserve.
For what are histories but wrangling theses,
Or dogma, but the darlings of a moment?
So on this same authentic evidence,
Let’s breed imaginary ancestors-
Or ***** their deeds out- with a flourished pen.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
As the sun comes up,
I realize I’ve been wasting away night after night
And I’ve done it all with a nonchalant air about me and a smirk plastered onto my **** face.
I’ve been wasting the gift that is my life.
I’ve had every opportune moment to put an end to my dilly-dalliances
And yet I have ignored each of these many signs in favor of bringing about my own downfall. Might as well bring out the corks because I’ve practically celebrated–whooped and cheered!–as I’ve run the course of life through each tattered obstacle
Bumping and falling like a drunk performance artist trying to make a buck at the county fair.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
My mantra is
What goes around comes around
For I can trust in karma that
He who kicks my *** shall
Get whooped also by the
Mighty hand of God above
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
How’d those spots get on the moon?
That’s where the astronauts wrestle.
Papa said Andre the giant came over to his house for fried chicken one Sunday.
Guess who got whooped?
But Papa has never been to space.
So I’m not sure how he’d do against Neil Armstrong
Gravity is tricky business
You’ll catch on when you get older
Thats why it all become less dreamy
And everything starts to sag
Green lantern came over the Sunday after.
He got a whoopin that he couldn’t have imagined
Probably why that ring doesn’t work anymore
It’s funny how imagination is a super power once you’re past 20.
Space helmets covered in chalk dust from where the kids used to play.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
I was in my mama's whip coming back from group session
Didn't think I'd see this pretty girl at the intersection
Man I had to get to know her fell in love with her complexion
So I turned the whip around I did that **** like so aggressive.
She was with my sister and my cousin but I was stressing
Had to get her by my side I knew she was a blessing
Took the 3 to Mickie D's didn't say one word to me
But I knew we needed time you just had to notice me
Didn't even know your name and I just knew I couldn't ask
Didn't want to start no trouble sister would've whooped my ***
In the whip just switching lanes I caught myself just looking back
Looking at the woman of my dreams sitting in the back
October 2nd, 2011-present....
Five years with her on October 2nd 2016
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
Be here,
be there,
be everywhere.
Alone to look at the starry sky,
alone to watch to night go by.
Afraid to share your hopes and dreams,
that once had died like the stars that you watch fly.
Bring yourself to a stand and let it all go.
Let it fall free from the bags you held it all so close.
What do you do?
You let him in, and no he's gone.
He ran away.
Far, Far, away.
You tried to convince him to stay.
He wouldn't listen to your words.
He would listen to your movements.
The dance that you had shared...
forever lost on one side.
The choreography was beautiful.
Like a dream come true,
but soon it turned in to a nightmare.
The crowed all cheered,
Clapped, and whooped.
It was the end of the show.
The curtain was called.
They didn't know that there was another act.
You took his hand as they all clapped.
You slapped on a smile, and bowed with the crew.
You where the only one that seemed to notice.
It wasn't suppose to end.
Maybe it was in your mind.
Or maybe it was in the script.
Whatever it was it was time to make a new wish.
When you went back stage.
You where in a field of dreams.
You looked up at the sky, and then be your side.
He was gone... but you are stronger now.
You are always stronger in the end.
As you looked up at the sky.
You had a new wish in mind.
All you had to do was find a way to fly.
When you lay down to rest.
Your dream came true.
You flew, and you flew.
You flew over the ocean.
You flew over city's and Fields, and in to the sky.
The dark blue starry sky.
You became a star.
A bright and shinning star... full of vibrant life.
You dance and you play, and you fly all night.
Your wish came true.
Surrounded by bliss.
That's all you could wish.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
On Wednesday I cried for so long
that I lost my voice afterwards,
With my throat on fire
and my chest sore,
I swallowed 3 pills, a litre of water, then slept for 14 hours and woke up a mess of sweat, clothes and ****
I don’t know why everything I do is so excessive.
I cancelled 2 job interviews,
Took my cv off of indeed and text my boyfriend:
I’m moving to Madrid, I’ll see you when I see you.
Turned my phone off and found my way back to my cold wet bed.
My dad strangled the **** out of me in my dream,
Chased me down a never ending flight of stairs with a rake
Until I was so tired
I sat on the bannister and put my arm out:
Hit me man I can’t be bothered.
His face went red,
He started pulling out his hair,
His nose grew bulbous
He screeched like foxes
And ripped off his face to reveal a clown mask.
He started doing tricks
I became a baby and clapped my fat sticky hands together:
More more more!
He performed for hours
He grew tired and started vomiting
Rainbows of bile escaping his mouth.
I grew taller and danced
I whooped and sang and tapped my feet in the puddles
Looked down and noticed I was dancing on a lifeless clown body;
And I danced harder.
I woke up in a panic
The clothes on my chair looked like my fathers fat body
In the dark I swear I could hear him screeching.
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 5:54 AM UTC
Messianic Don found tarnished appeal
trumpeted bluster thwarted
with muted (hip hip hooray) Democratic zeal
played (on microscale) like quashed
ill fated braggadocio big deal
bombast, sans General George Armstrong
Custer's last stand,
viz Little Bighorn, achilles heel,
where Native Americans
showed deadly steel
against cocksure doodling
haughtiness didst conceal
Yankee sited in cross hairs,
who got comeuppance,
whence his notorious
reputation did never heal,
thus markedly high light
ting (albeit in deadly fashion) might
whooped, undermined, and
served just desserts,
when forces of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne,
and Arapaho tribes did unite
defending their turf against
7th Cavalry Regiment of the
United States, mauled as ****** sight,
which justified comeuppance,
and whipped up white
settlers fury like an inferno doth ignite
combustible material showing
no mercy toward "red men"
unleashing brutal, short
and nasty genocidal spite
long a tragic footnote in history
proves tummy at hefty price
that present swaggering presidential chieftain
more'n halfway thru administration thrice
occasions brought third "shut down"
(the first time in more than 40 years)
during his opprobrious term,
now got meted "no dice"
cuz commander in chief usurped, provoked,
and kickstarted retaliatory actions, I.C.E.
suspect, where staunch stonewalling tactics
unexpectedly found paunchy big boy lice
sensed to shame, name and blame Congress
i.e. as he ****** forward power,
and hood did launch
bully tactics doth evince,
how he does not play "nice"
demanding five billion dollars for
pet project wall barring Mexicans
(and other asylum seekers south
of the border) did not entice
unanimous concurrence thus sets device
sieve ness roundly shows
Trump doth need strong cussed hard advice!
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC