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Category Archives: poetry

After All

30 Thursday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry

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Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, USA

“There is always light…” Amanda Gorman

Silver buttons, golden boughs, ornately jeweled fingers.  

Adorning ditches alongside random tires and used syringes. 

So much depends upon a little red gully 

Filled with muddy, bloody, rain-water. 

“There is always light if … ” – Amanda Gorman

The demagogue was not a demigod after all.

Dictatorship turned out not to be so much fun after all. 

And after all, after all the joy of wanton cruelty faded

Survivors just got jaded and all the joy faded.

After all the promises unkept and all the lies exposed, 

After all the hypocrisy grew like hairy poison vines

And after all the trees were felled, life itself rebelled.  

After all the hate replaced each and every seed and every need.

It wasn’t so much fun after all. Not to die nor even to bleed.

“There is always light if we are brave enough…” Amanda Gorman

They shoot horses don’t they? 

Yes —
Buttheyshootdogsandcats and anythingtheycan.
Food is scarce, for sure.
But it isn’t just for food.
It used to be for fun.

But now it’s just another humdrum way to fight boredom

Laced with randomness and ruin and rum. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it.” Amanda Gorman

Even the scab-faced Bannonites.
And the golden calves of sanctimonium,
Radioactive to the core, 

As is the mango pit they still adore,
Even they who wanted check and slay,

All are nothing more than shadows on the dead and empty warscape.

Killing off the ecosphere had all the “inconvenience” of a rape. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light…” Amanda Gorman

This was the summer of our discontent. 

Too hot to live, the grid had nothing more to give. 

Lack of AC proved a prize for everyone!

Not just those too poor. Surprise!

The greed, after all, charged its own lightning fast steed 

Of the apocalypse. 

After all the trials and after all the errors, 
After all the pilgrims and their progress.
After all the pillage and the patriots
No-one was saved, after all.  

There was only the infinite regress —

Not to the mythical fifties,

Not to flags Confederate, 

Not to ages medieval

Nor even to Empires Latinate

After all, after all the shattered dreams of millions, 

Just aching to be free, 

We let it all slip away; 

Pretending not to know our history,

Pretending that there is no devil to pay

When we cheat each other day after day after day after day. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light if we are brave enough…” Amanda Gorman

It doesn’t make anything great, after all.

It doesn’t make anything better, after all.

Being a baby that fusses and musses

Isn’t so wise after all

When there are no adults left to clean up the messes.

“There is always light if we are brave enough to see it. There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

After all the pain.

After all the suffering.

After all the self-imposed blindness. 

All we really thirst for 

Is a little human kindness. 

So we search inside the bombed out marts.

We search beside the broken body parts. 

We search beneath the fallen walls.

We search abandoned shopping malls. 

What we find, after all, 

Is what we should have seen before it all. 

We have nothing but each other.

So why would we kill a brother after all? 

After all, 

A Civil War 

Is not so civil…

After all.


Author Page on Amazon

Guernica

Dance of Billions

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Crows and Me

The US Extreme Court

Clarence, but not Darrow

The only them that counts is all of us

We’re all in this together

Supreme Sedition



 

Sonnet: Supreme Sedition

26 Sunday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA

The Handmaiden by POWSTER Creative Studio, Florian Pollet, Sylvain Kellaway is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0

The Monsters of the Magic Modern Monolith:

With Zero Thought and Zero Care; our Freedom they Entomb.

Their Claws are Bloody, Dripping Gore, from Sure to Shore.

Sans Logic, Love, sans Sanity, Forthwith.

Our Rights are Ripped Untimely from the Unripe Womb.

And Every Woman Now is Redefined as Whore. 

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

No Family Now can Claim it’s Built on Love’s Respect.

Each Family Now is Based on Power’s Sharpened Sword.

Society is Based at Last on Baseless Lies.

Each Act of Love is Now an Object to Inspect.

If Judged by Strangers Strange, they’ll Slice the Living Cord.

Foundation’s Crumbled. Every Certainty is Now Surprise.

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

The Tears are Bitter. Tide will Flow. Hypocrisy

They’ll Find, will Sink not Float on Angry Boundless Sea. 

Photo by Marc Coenen on Pexels.com

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

—————-

Dick-Taters

The Broken Times

Poker Chips

The Mammoth and the Mouse

Absolute is not just a Vodka

The Extreme Court

Clarence, but not Darrow

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

Plans for US; Some GRUesome

What Could be Better A Horror Story

Dance of Billions

The Broken Times

Corn on the Cob

The Crows and Me

American Dream

American Dream 2

Fish Have No Word for Water

We’re All in this Together

Author’s Page on Amazon

“There is always light, if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

The Broken Times

15 Wednesday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

politics

Only the skulls remain

Upon the pikes.

Oddly, you cannot tell without the clothes

Without the skin

Who was who and who was not.

Is it so surprising after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” – Amanda Gorman



Once upon a time, 

The legend goes, 

People knew how to repair the cars but

That was long ago. 

After awhile, it did them little good. 

No parts were to be found.

When all the lines went dead. 

Electric grids were hit and miss. 

“There is always light, if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

No-one now recalls just when

The Broken Times began

Or what was the straw that broke 

The camel’s back.

We’ll never really know which straw it is.

The one we’ll choose to blame.

Of course, it’s really all the straws.

The straw men.

The straw arguments. 

The spines of straw.

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman


At some point, 

The weight of lies outweighed the weight of law

When the rule of law was replaced

By the rule of power.

Is it so surprising, after all?

At first, the ones with guns tried to steal everything. 

Well-rehearsed by then in lies, 

They loved to scream and rationalize 

That they needed the grub.

Along the way, they killed the very ones 

Who could have helped their grandkids survive. 

They did not revive. 

They had no time to reinvent.

Nor wits to circumvent. 

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it surprising after all?

Everything went to hell,

Even the hand-baskets never arrived

Supply chains lay all shattered

No-one trusted anyone; not anyone.

Lies became the  way of the people; the lay of the land.

It’s monotonous music that rocking and rollicking band.

If you don’t mind hearing nothing else at all, at all, at all.

If you don’t mind truth being stripped from every strip mall. 

“There is always light if you are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising after all?

Everyone became a thug of sorts, a liar and a thief. 

That’s life on the street, they say. 

That’s all the life that’s left: 

The life of sneak and slay

The life that’s steal and cheat. 

Is it so surprising, after all?

That after choosing lies and guns

Eschewing truth;

That after losing by a lot,

The child who would be czar,

Touted lies both obvious and bizarre 

Which losers slurped as they embraced 

To show their fealty to the lie; 

Is it so surprising after all?

That a nation fell

And every life went straight to hell? 

Is it so surprising, after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

That so-called undesirables were rounded up

Forced to drink a poison cup

Or shot upon the spot? 

That books were burned 

True love spurned. 

Justice adjourned?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Is it so surprising, after all?

With science denied 

And so many lies

The crops all died?

The billionaires learned all too late

They didn’t know how to operate

Factories or companies after all. 

Is it so surprising, after all?

That no-one can recall

The Times before the Broken Times? 

The times before the broken rhythms 

And the times before the rhyme broke?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman



In the corner, I spy a broken box. 

A guitar! That’s what it was called. 

In the Times Before the Broken Times.

All the music now 

All the music now, 

If you can call it that, 

Is all the same. 

Guitars are illegal and inedible. 

Like phono graffs. 

And once I think we had 

Shiny photo graffs.

Illegal now as well

Hard to tell 

What, if anything, remains okay. 

Since the Broken Times began. 

Is that so surprising, after all?

“There is always light if we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman

Dance of Billions

Listen you can hear the echoes of your actions

Ripples

Take a glance; join the dance

The only them that counts is all of us

Dick-Taters

A Profound and Utter Failure

Where does your loyalty lie

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

The update problem

What about the butter dish?

The ailing kind of agitate

The Game

My Cousin Bobby

Wednesdays

Happy Talk Lies

American Dream

The Declaration of Interdependence

The Bill of Obligations

Pattern Language for Collaboration & Cooperation

Author Page on Amazon

The Stopping Rule

.

American Dream 2

12 Sunday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, insurrection, poem, poetry, politics, sonnet, truth, USA

(For a time, Sunday’s are for sonnets. We begin with free, chaotic verse that coalesces into a sonnet, but with ABBA stanzas, rather than the more traditional ABAB of Shakespearian sonnets).

PREAMBLE:

A loser.

More than anything.
A loser.

Love: A loser.

Business: A loser.
Bravery: A loser.

Elections: A loser. 

No creator, just a hater.
A waiter for the Putinate. 

The dawn upon the lawn

Shows the blood of many innocents.

Not a teacher, not a preacher.
If he can, he’ll try to reach her,
Stick his sickly sticky stubby hands 

Beneath her bands.
It’s his closest approach to broach 

The subject of true love.
Lady Liberty he’d gladly grope

If he could con a trope of rope-a-dope. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Like a friar with a briar in his britches;

Like a pussy cat who hisses and then pisses 

Wherever he goes, he goes.

A splitter, not a hitter. 

A bit like Hitler with a soul that’s even littler. 

His littleness a wonder as he tries to tear us all asunder. 

He snatches Bibles as well as pussies. 

He’s a fellow who is yellow to his heart of wobbling jello. 

He’s a puppy and a puppet; a sorry little muppet. 

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com



A rap sheet for a rat sheep. 

A giga-gaga fool who’s jowls are spraying drool

The mango Mussolini who’s a mangy melon fool.

His ship has sailed. His coup has failed. 

His acts will soon be nailed to the wall he never built. 


He is crooked as a broken cow; 

A man absurd, without a word

That anyone can count on. 

Putrid knows it well. He’s just poison in the well.

Mango Mussolini would never ever dwell

In office if Putrid’s coup prevails.

Crude, lewd clowns who spray themselves with gold

Are less than dime a dozen. Putrid would install a cousin.  

He trades in sumps and sewers.

Names are used as skewers. 

Like a crow that loudly cawed, 

He’s a frankly cranky fraud. 

A pawn who likes to fawn

Upon his own necrotic dance. 

An odd and frowsy drowsy prance.

He’s a rag tag brown down

Largely baggy clown.

With a suit of downtown diapers, 

He tries to reason treason with his pipers.

From the Foe-Fox Terriers & Suckers

Carl’s son & Smucker’s cluckers & his clones.

Droning on and on and on until the lie seems natural.

Screams a meme, a theme, until a dream seems actual. 

SONNET:

The crews who snooze; they’ll wake upon the land.

They’ll see what seemed such grand orchestral songs

Was just a band of candy coward schlongs. 

Mirages mirrored & wavering o’er the sand. 



Both time and tide will ebb and flow; and know

That truth will win the day at last and hate

And fear — that sea of filth — will dissipate.

The cuts all sutured; nature nurtured. Though

We must take care. Lay bare the plot to kill

Democracy through wealth & pelf & greed.

Corruption spreads a weedy, cancerous seed.

We’ll hoe, and weed, and weed and hoe until:

We’ll share the truth & goods for all alive. 

Until all folx of earth survive & thrive.

Author Page on Amazon

Sonnet: American Dream

Dance of Billions

Vlademort Putrid

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Donny Boy Attends a Veterans Day Parade

What could be better? A horror story.

If Only…

To Addison Mitchell the III

11 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, family, poetry, politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, gun, life, poem, poetry, politics, safety, shootings, truth, USA

Photo by samer daboul on Pexels.com

Do not 

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare

Pretend to care

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Bloated blaggart 

Yacht-boated braggart

Coward to the nth degree

Weasel words and wobble words

All about the free 

A well-rehearséd fantasy

Photo by Rebecca Zaal on Pexels.com

Your suit and tie and fancy shoe 

They show in fact, what’s really you

Campaign cash ill-promised gold 

Yours a story centuries old 

Photo by Naomi Shi on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care 

Don’t you dare

Don’t you dare pretend to care

Photo by Archie Binamira on Pexels.com

 

You’re owned lock, stock, and barrel 

By a foreign funded PAC

By a putrid agent gone quite feral. 

And all you do is yack yack yack

Your tongue is forked 

Your belly porked

Your heart is corked

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Do not pretend you really care

Do not presume

Do not resume 

Your play of tears

Across the years

Your promises of thought

Your promises of prayer

When all you do is nought

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend you really care

The powder burns upon your sleeves

Your blood-stained lips and pasty face

Your utter lack of human grace

You care much more for bills in sheaves

Than children dying day by day

You sit & munch on curds and whey

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare 

Don’t you dare pretend to care

A coward’s coward’s coward

There’s nothing more untoward

Than a mealy-mouldy turtle 

You contemplate an inch high hurdle 

You remain too yellow to leap

You remain too sick and cheap 

You nibble your crumpet

You cheat and lie to grease your palm 

Dead shark eyes your jowls are calm

Photo by Max Fischer on Pexels.com

Do not pretend you care 

Do not pretend you care

Everyone’s bones grow eventually bare 

Long after life so long as there are eyes to see

Your name will live in infamy

So long as there is one last shred

Of humanity 

Or memory

Uncountable deaths of kids are clearly on your head

You soullessly stand in halls of power

Do nothing but whine at the ultimate hour

Watching children ripped apart

While you play-act your well-learned part 

A thousand horses and then the cart

Your well-practiced lines of lies 

Mumbo jumbo mumbled and tumbled

While another innocent dies

Another opportunity bumbled

Another step stumbled 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Do not pretend to care

Don’t you dare

Pretend to care

Photo by Max Fischer on Pexels.com

Just as a cancerous cell

Pretends to be well

So too do you

Pretending all the while

Wearing your dead-eyed smile

Pointing fingers everywhere

Fingers pointed everywhere

Unarmed teachers

Dearth of preachers

Photo by judit agusti aranda on Pexels.com

 

“Let’s re-make schools be just like prisons

Let’s give every teacher a heavy gun!

Let’s make school shootings loads more fun”

Photo by u5468 u5eb7 on Pexels.com

Do not

Do not

Do not pretend

Do not dare

Do not dare to pretend you care

Do not dare to pretend you care

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Pexels.com

The NRA has bought a beach- 

Head, impossible to reach

The beaches sing each to each

Putin thinks that we will all sit calmly by

And eat our peach

Sand and all 

While children die and checks get cashed

Our future trashed

Bigger yachts are shipped and shined

Bigger mansions bought and sold 

Bigger wads of cash are rolled

Bigger steaks are grilled and dined

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


Do not pretend

Do not pretend you care

Do not dare

Do not dare

Do not send thought

You’re already bought

Do not send prayer

And do not dare

To pretend to care

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Blood Red Blood

Thrumperdome

The Crows and Me

Ripples

Family Matters: Part One

The US Extreme Court

Clarence, but not Darrow

American Dream

American Dream

05 Sunday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Democracy, ethics, poem, poetry, sonnet, truth, USA, violence

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Betray just once: Destroys both love and life.

Can you still hear the shot the world around?

Do sounds and echoes yet rebound around?

As Pattern, Betrayal fosters endless strife. 

When life and love don’t matter to some few;

When greed and lies become their normal ways,

Civility’s turned inside out and days

And nights whirl out of step into Gray and Blue.

Return, return, to common ground or sound

Of songs won’t long remain. Retained instead:

The din of war will echo in your head.

But bitter herbs & shiny shards are found. 

American dream too gladly grasped by greed

Escapes like wisps of smoke of self-served creed. 

———————-

Author Page on Amazon

Guernica

The Crows and Me

All for one; and none for most

All of us 

All together now

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Dick-Taters

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Imagine all the People

The Forgotten Field

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration & Cooperation

Clarence, but certainly not Darrow

30 Wednesday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

SCOTUS

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

Accused of sex harassing, 

Instead of answering any question. 

Instead he kept just right on passing.

Instead he claimed that wee willy winky 

Was massive as a child’s pinky.

 

Resented, he, the mere suggestion

That he would speak of pubic hairs,

His lies were clear to all to see.

But hey, it’s masculinity!

Since he’s a man who really cares?! 

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

He set the stage for Kavalier 

A piece of work who sure likes beer!

Accused of more than one assault 

He turned a logic summersault!

“My calendar is clearly clear!

No single rape is mentioned here!” 

Photo by ELEVATE on Pexels.com

Emboldened by success so far, 

The right endorsed Handmaiden Joke 

She after all had passed the bar! 

And that’s enough for any bloke!  

Reverse at last the liberal line!

All that matters: Rule Divine! 

The Handmaiden by POWSTER Creative Studio, Florian Pollet, Sylvain Kellaway is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0

Clarence Thomas moaned and stated: 

“The Court Supreme is cream of cream!

Political? It’s surely not!

We void elections; that’s our dream! 

I always side with autocrat!

Democracy? It’s so outdated!” 

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

Hypocrisy: It’s Finest Day

At last it came with Attitude. 

As wifey Gin would tweet and pray:

“Dictatorship’s so cool because

It guarantees ineptitude.

It thrives on lies; And hate? —  Its claws.”

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

Clarence Thomas had a chance

To rectify his sinful stance.

Instead he claimed: “No bias here!

Here’s a list of every sin!

As you can see no wife in here!

That proves I’m right and so I win!” 

Then came spring without a bud.

Then came music that’s only a thud.

Then came press as free as a dodo.

Then came illness far and wide.

A Civil War from our divide. 

Subverting the law is just a no-no. 

Then the water streaked with lead, 

Then the air stunk all of rot.

Then the food came tainted, dead.

Then ugly lies were all we got.

Too late then to give a damn. 

Don’t look up, Sam I am. 

Photo by Lina Kivaka on Pexels.com

This is the way Democracy dies.
This is the way Democracy dies.
This is the way Democracy dies.
Not with a bang but a wimp-out. 

“Houston, we have a problem.”

—————-

Dick-taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Siren Song

Freedom of Speech is not License to Kill 

Toddlerhood Nation

Freedom 

Where does your loyalty lie? 

Come back to the light

Childlike or Childish? 

Ripples

Me Too!

Guernica

Author Page on Amazon

“…for amber waves of grain…”



 

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

17 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

America, autocracy, COVID19, Democracy, ecology, fascism, pandemic, poem, poetry, Resistance, TheGreenNewDeal, truth, verse

 

snow covered mountain under blue sky

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

big waves under cloudy sky

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

 

We are a mighty mountain 

A million men and women wise

Surprise! Surmise

What we can do —

You and you and me and you!

 

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com

 

We are a tapestry: 

Rainbow rayed with light arrayed;

A pattern that will still unfold

Reveal our true color: bold

Share inventions not yet played. 

 

2D3064B5-D03E-4030-A3C0-607CAD849A52

 

We are an ocean 

A wave, a tide, a tidal wave

A thousand miles wide,

If we can summon brave 

Feel our brotherhood; eschew false pride.  

 

IMG_3794

 

Believe not those whose only play is hate and fear;

Empty promises that hide behind a hidden tier; 

Russian dolls and chopping halls, 

Down and drown in putrid falls,

Flimsy flash and dazzle — naught inside. 

 

D2560F07-0D3D-4CAC-A440-AD4D8E9BE79B_1_105_c

 

Voices of the damned divide and hide

The nature of the power of the people all in unity.

Czars seek division; cheat with false impunity. 

Have no love; offer no warm hand;

An iron glove; a loud brass band. 

 

abstract barbed wire black white black and white

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

You think you are a stone. 

I say, we are a mountain. 

You think you are a thread. 

I say, we are a tapestry. 

You think you are a drop. 

I say, we are an ocean. 

 

IMG_3071

 

—————————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Life is a Dance

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

Index of “best practices” in teamwork and collaboration

Comes the Reign

Trump Truth Treason

The Ailing King of Agitate

 

Put in the Fool; Put out the Fool

11 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, double-cross, fascism, pandemic, politics, Putin, traitor, treason, truth, USA

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

Another bright and shiny thing!

Let’s all shout and dance and sing!

It glitters in polluted air!

It makes you want to sit and stare!

The newest bright and shiny thing!

happy woman

Photo by Jesus Arias on Pexels.com

 

I’ll cage the babies! Ain’t it fun!

I’m chosen as The Chosen One!

I’ll bring you pain; I’ll bring you down. 

But as of now, my game’s in town!

At end of day, my game is done.

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

 

All my wondrous treacherous creatures!

All my crimes — now being reported! 

But I’ll fight back with reporters deported. 

Let’s open schools and kill some teachers!

They’re over-eager over-reachers!

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

 

Black lives matter? What’s with that? 

I’ve grown fatter! Chomp on my chat!

I’ll spew and spatter racist chatter.

I’ve stolen so much my platter is flatter.

I’m careful as a junkyard rat.

 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

My Pelf on Shelf – he’s such a Sweetie!

Never tries to do his duty:

Lock me away to save the nation.

He’d rather mouth his incantation: 

“Lootie, Booty, Gawd-darned Tootie!”

person holiday people cute

Photo by Public Domain Pictures on Pexels.com

 

I’ll rest at last when all is mine,

“Der Fooler” they will claim’s divine! 

Pootie will show me how it’s done!

Torture, steal — it’s all such fun! 

Just drink a little chloroquine! 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

What’s that you’ve given me to drink? 

Why Vlad, you’ve broken rank

Given me polonium — and I drank. 

I threw others under bus and tank, 

But I gave you your life long prize. 

You betrayed me  – what a surprise!

You said I was the light — just right —

The son you never had

Oh, Vlad, Oh, Vlad.

You used me like a tool it seems.

close up photo of woman holding lollipop

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

I never thought in foulest dreams

You’d play me for the fool.

You’re bad. 

You promised me and now I’m had.

Winning bigly is so sad. 

I’ll tell! I’ll tell! They’ll all believe

Me when I say…

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

————————————

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life!

Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Plans for us some GRUesome

What about the butter dish?

A profound and utter failure.

Essays on America: The Game

Winning by Cheating is Losing

 

The Ailing King of Agitate

05 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

ANTIFA, COVID19, Democracy, fascism, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, politics, Putin, traitor, treachery, treason, truth

IMG_1442

 

A lonely lackey claims a throne:

A peasant traitor to the bone;

A peasant who’s impressed with gold;

A coward who pretends he’s bold. 

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

The teeniest hands in all the lands;

The teeniest glands among the bands. 

The frailest ego ever found.

The smallest heart to ever pound.

 

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

A shroom: Ka-boom! An ort of sorts.

The base proclaim his magic warts.

Eschews a fight that’s not a fix. 

The courts are clogged with crappy tricks.

 

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

Now watch him crumble; watch him fold;

He’s frail and his tricks are old.

He’s flat and rancid as a toad

He’s stupidly squashed upon the road.

 

sign slippery wet caution

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

 

He cannot think from A to B; 

Betrays his country easily.

Now Weenie’s caught; he can’t be taught.

He does not do coherent thought. 

 

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B

 

He’s too inept to fairly race.

Instead he hides behind his face,

A mango face with wobbly head

He whimpers; cries of “foul!” Instead.

 

baby child close up crying

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

It’s he himself who’s truly rank

A Fraud as big as Deutsche Bank.

He sucks the wealth of everyone.

But now at last his time is done.

 

2ED5B35A-54F8-43CB-8534-46D31A07049D_1_105_c

 

He’s needless slain a host of lives

To compensate, he feints and dives.

He rants and raves; corrupts; depraves.

He likes to rape the younger slaves.

 

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 

His daddy never showed him love;

Kowtows to every Putin shove.

He felt a quiver and a thrill.

When Putin ordered him to kill. 

 

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

But soon the people will arise

Vote out the Vichy Putinate!

The People all with open eyes

Will oust the King of Agitate.

 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

 


 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Winning by Cheating is Losing

Unmasked

Index of Patterns — Best Practices in Collaboration

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

(A myth about what happens when insatiable greed is combined with lying).

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

(A series of tales that features ethical, empathic, & effective leadership in times of crisis and uncertainty. Our tale begins as the leader of the Veritas seeks an eventual successor so she devises a series of seven trials that mainly test empathy.)

 

 

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