Tag: political

Sovereign

Raised on a diet of dominance

The largest steak goes to the king

He’d always been promised a prominence

and a woman demure to the ring

 

All his life his fist, plated in iron

With nary a doubt of his power

Those who dared challenge subject to his burn

Submission with simply a glower

 

Yet the world is in full metamorphosis

Many know this to always be true

Many cannot embrace an amorphousness

Unprepared for the change that ensues

 

So he clings to a now cobwebbed effigy

Perplexed by the stripping of titles

And the new ways push him into lethargy

‘Til he fills with an anger unbridled

 

His town becomes foreign and follied

Gone now is his unearned respect

He could once speak his mind and be jolly

Now he’s unsure of what to expect

 

A fear starts to spread through his bloodstream

And greed booms in pandering voices

His upbringing now callous and extreme

He’s lost propriety in all choices

 

He feels that his life’s being stolen

Or at least that he faces great peril

Slowly parted with what was beholden

His great wisdom now forced to be sterile

 

So he sets out to find his dominion

To find him a like-minded setting

He’s soothed by familiar opinion

He’s done with remorse or regretting

 

Now stands an unwavering army

Fearful they’ll be soon cast aside

That no matter how fabled or smarmy

They only will stand with their pride

 

No compassion will get past their guns

Only of their own freedom they’ll sing

And their conflict will never be done

For in democracy they should be king

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Sentimental Sunday: Call and Response

The skin that’s been blighted
A hope unrequited
exposing the roots of the rage that’s incited

Well shown in the annals
Is the way things were channeled
to turn certain humans from people to mammals

A continuous tamping
Through misandric vamping
and the boxes created were brutal and cramping

Yet their voices still rise
In unending reprise
our response to their call shows of what we’re comprised

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Sentimental Saturday: Mayor Willy Wompett

This poem was written in August of 2016 and originally appeared on my previous blog

Mayor Willy Wompett
Was the head of Wompettburg
But just what is a wompett?
Well it’s really quite absurd

Their head is really large
But their faces really tiny
Their hair is very brittle
But their skin is very shiny

Their body arms and legs
Are sized like normal human portions
But their faces always rest themselves
In rageful scowled contortions

Their hands are quite diminutive
For such a full-sized fellow
And the color of their skin
In a sickly orange-yellow

But Willy was the best of them
At least in his own mind
He saw himself a leader
Who was faithful, smart, and kind

Alas the other wompetts
Told quite a different story
His focus was attention
Celebrity and glory

While he stood above a crowd
He thought his speeches jovial
But the others coined a term
Many said that he was blovial

He’d talk and talk and talk
Never really making sense
Telling wompetts in a scary world
He was their one defense

No one would dare to cross him
He’d know just what to do
And work them to a frenzy
With his trite hullabaloo

Some grew tired of his words
And tired of the terror
Some saw that many things he said
Were rife with blatant error

Those who parted ways with him
Would suffer his disdain
Red faced with disparagement
Some saw him as deranged

The other nearby ‘burgs and ‘villes
Did worry for the wompetts
It couldn’t be a happy life
With a leader who’s so pompous

But the loyal wompetts scoffed at them
And claimed they were misled
But as the speeches prattled on
A different feeling spread

They tired of the hatred
From this tiny minded twit
Exhausted from the idea
That the downtrodden were nits

They knew hard times could happen
To almost anyone
Except the pulpit speaker
No matter what he’d done

Born into a fortune
Empire built on lies
Willy wasn’t like them
He lived off the little guys

He paid his workers peanuts
And dined on caviar
And never once has thanked them
For getting him this far

He made entire fantasies
Seem like they had occurred
Oblivious to the ire
That these stories had incurred

He shamed all those against him
Even those who were respected
And yet when wompetts angered
He found it unexpected

Election time was coming
And so many found him silly
But could they save dear Wompettsburg
From such a giant Willy?

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Hate is a Door, Truth is an Axe

A tempered steel with which to cut

A door always intended shut

Locked and guarded for many ages

The propitious crusaders locked in cages

 

So many destroyed by this vicious battle

Obfuscation keeps the masses addled

When truth emerged and was rightly spoken

The speaker then was bruised and broken

 

Those who questioned beyond the thresholds frame

Were cast out through it, shunned, defamed

Some began to exit freely

To discover what the truth was, really

 

So together they would fabricate

The weapon that could gash the gate

It took so many just to wield

To ensure the gate became unsealed

 

And even now the reconstruction

Continues on despite obstruction

Though many hands still carry splinters

It may be ages more ‘till all can enter

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This is the Rend

Once hard work could shirk all of your worries

One job for a house and a car

Good benefits

The most modest of debts

Even pittance could get you quite far

 

But greed took the lead soon after

And twisted apart the old ways

Even good dividends

Won’t meet all your ends

And healthcare fades more every day

 

Now just wealth ensures health and a good life

despite all the effort that’s spent

still the deck keeps on stacking

against those who are lacking

and lawmakers care not who is rent

 

 

 

 

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Magma Chamber

Upon us spews the lava

Of a hateful culture risen

The magma slowly hardens

In these deepening divisions

 

Walls that form around us

Fashioned from the remnant rubble

Freshly toppled monuments

Of the Jim Crow bubble

 

Once our countrymen picked cotton

That’s now shoved in many ears

To shut out the guilt they’re feeling

From choosing not to hear

 

It’s easy to say past is past

It feels better to be blameless

The louder one shouts “not my fault”

The quicker they get famous

 

They insert words into rival mouths

And in their cohorts heads

So that any hopes of a peaceful end

are cruelly whipped instead

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