Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
TR3F1LD Jul 2023
one person said: "peace is nothing but illusion
all I want is retribution"
[from "Pure Power" by Zardonic]
that's something I can identify with, which is why
I decided to write this heap of lines
————————————————————————————————
on a shooting range in a boondock la[ɛ]nd
with gloves pU̲t on; sta[ɛ]nd
in front of an autocratic ruler chained
by his hands to two moola safes'
[greed]
handles looking way
like an old-fangled car directing wheel
[steering wheel]
have this die-hard fool restrained
so that he, more or less, is still
I'm not a scho[ɑ]lar who can wave
around a degree in the medics field
but it's obvi this high-hat dO̲U̲chebag's plagued
with megalomania in a neglected condition
but there's a dreadfully effectual treatment
and he'll get it like villains
quite a gruesome fate
is looming upon this power-befuddled ****
like darkened clouds that, beyo[ɑ]nd a doubt, are soon to rain
["dark end"]
like waveriders, he's go[ʌ]nna serve
["surf"]
as a punchbag for I'm in quite a mood to raze
gonna wI̲nd up as nada short
of a ****** loon today
like Battinson, clepe me Vengeance
but I'm more something like the Zorro-looking caped
anti-autocratic vigila[ɛ]nte
from the Norsefire-ruled UK
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
meets someone whose work field's tormenting
like victimizers who pertain
to LE in one tsar-sized off-putting state
[law enforcement]
you know, the one that's go[ɑ]t a putrid trait
of always posing as a side you shouldn't blame (it's all the West!)
now, let's go back to the foul autocrat
————————————————————————————————
like a snotty boss that you disdain
I give this f#cking no[ɑ]b a cool g'day
by douching him from a bo[ɑ]ttle full of straight-
-fro[ʌ]m-a-cooler H2O; just a fE̲w secs break
for him, & once it's U̲p, I ****** this base
creature fro[ʌ]m a stE̲wpot great
with **[ɑ]t-a## noodles aimed into this hU̲mbug's stupid face
[the "hang noodles on the ears" expression]
pepper it with some ground 7-po[ɑ]t to boost the taste
feel how I, like a husband who betrayed
his devoted, yet testy, wife, get rudely gazed
at, racked, beda[ɛ]mned (by who?)
by food-lacking men from Africla[ɛ]nd
[Africa]
ask him: "is the provided food okay?"
zero gratitU̲de displayed
all that comes from this swine's bazoo's complaint
but it's nO̲[ɑ]t that I'm surprised
a classic pro[ɑ]sperous gobshite
repeat the tactic priorly applied
using a bucket full of maroon red paint
[autocrats have blood on their hands, hence "maroon red paint"]
like that music producer famed for dull future bass
I put on his viscous head a **** bucket
[Marshmello]
whereafter pick a wedge up & drum it
[golf wedge]
and, like a heap, I barely get started
[worn-out car]
like an unprepped passenger on an insane car ride
with no seat restraints applied
he's about to have a way hard time
I'm a cosmetic surgeon that operates part-time
fix his blamed jawline in just twain sharp swipes
with a steel bat, then yield some keen slaps
that meet his kneecaps until the knees snap
like the Baba Yaga hitman detached
from his peaceful life by someone ge[ɪ]tting him mad
[John Wick]
get his nails removed
which is pretty much the same that you do
when you repaper a room
[wall nails]
having perforated his fingertips
I get 'em plastered
a few minutes later, I rip them things
off sim. to wax strips
he gets his phA̲[eɪ]lanxes smitten with
a freaking ratchet
[rathet wrench]
pro[ɑ]b'ly, he regrets that his bo[ɑ]dy's still not dead
pick U̲p a pistol, set a drum-like clip in, get
it cocked, then shoot lead around his silhouette
till the clip has zero ammunition left
seems like this once co[ɑ]cky piece of dreck
has gotten his khaki chinos wet
but if I've go[ɑ]t him in a sweat
like a summer jo[ɑ]gger being dressed
in venthole-deficient threads
for this brash dude, there's bad news
like me when I write some sick bloodshed
sadly for him, I've not finished yet (uh-uh)
like a runner who's go[ɑ]t some distance left
to complete, & it's not as dark as things can get
'cause, like the heroine o[ʌ]f M. Streep in "Death
Becomes Her" after falling fro[ʌ]m that string of steps
I've got a somewhat twisted head
[that staircase fall scene with Madeline Ashton]
so consider this as an insult-to-inju[—]ry sesh
————————————————————————————————
grab a brace of scissors
for garden mainte[—]nance; Richard
****** Trager's here ta
get his skills of surgery trained; begin ta
amputate this creature's half-dilapidated fingers
operate at leisure getting 'em disarticulated I̲nto
twenty eight **** pieces
and cauterizing the remains with illuminated cI̲gars
fling into his piggish face some tissues
and some pain relievers
tell this nazissistic patient: "hE̲A̲l up"
["****" in the sense of being "severely intolerant or dictatorial"]
let him relax for eighteen minutes
over the spa[ɛ]n of whI̲ch I put on play "La Chica
Rockabilly" & some other ro[ɑ]ckabilly
jams to make the whole vibe a mite less grisly
like an NA brown bear that is gravely injured
["mightless grizzly"; North American]
(as, in fact, this tragic-fated bleeder)
whereafter spray him with a
["wither"]
can of gas & make his dicta—torial a## go ablaze akin ta
a straw-fabricated figure
during gala days at the late of winter
[Maslenitsa effigy]
telling this piece of trash: "in case you wI̲[ɪ]nd up
in somewhat of Hades, give a
warm shalom to the infamous ******"
consider this autocratic **** a sugar daddy's skirt
'cause he's gotten what he was asking for
————————————————————————————————
oh, & one thing more to say: the
nullified, like ruler's presiding terms, dictator
was known among some as "toilet sprayer"
like a scuttered urinator
"punishment of an autocrat" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
st64 May 2013
Three-legged spider on a ***** tile
Eyeball rolls, clean in hand
Massive metal door opens, up top a hill
Graveyard of ever-ringing cells.

What's real creepy to you?

Enclose the city, lock us out ..for good
Condemned as doomed, living dead
Big guns survive in metallic domes
See the crass ******* shoot us down!

Wanna talk about what's creepy, huh?

Plunderers now lay down new laws
Can't fight the sick, red sway
Random acts of violence bay
Armoured eyes see all from lofty towers.

Creepy autocrats hide the truth, right?

No soaring when blood runs rivers
Tripping over rotting corpses
Decaying stench of hope dying
Help will come, we must believe!

Do you believe lies to your face?

Infrastructure's down, no services
Power's out, no more flushing
Car carcasses aflame on every corner, yet
How come big brother's eyes still move?

Are the gullible ones really stupid and feeble?

Sun shines, but nothing grows
Rain seeps red away into sewers
Crops of twisted metal, hoards of guns
Skeletal trees adorn our landscape.

Why hold askance your glance skyward?

The gates will open to let us in
Surely, they witness our hardship!
There must exist a life beyond this strife
Uproar, bombard, gas, artillery....then no more....

Can you ever cease to have temerity?

In face of adversity, calamity and injustice
We should NEVER cease to be exasperated!
Hope must prevail; faith must live;
Thoughts expressed; love and respect must survive.

Can you afford your spirit just to let go....?

Think about it. Creepy autocrats eternally rank ...

Chronically..........Insidious
Repressively........Deleterious
Egotistically.........Inadequate
Eruptively............Odious
Pretentiously.......Tedious
Yucky...................****!


S T, 31 May 2013
Down with those who think they can control people; fed up with ...systems!
Written in Jan 2013.

Inspired (partly) by movie "Doomsday".



sub-entry:

'fool'

don'tcha go tryna control me, sucker
I'm-a kick yer *** fer you, fool!


(need I say more? lol)
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
These are couplets written by Donald Trump and limericks and other Donald Trump poems "care of" Michael R. Burch (please note that these are parodies) ...

Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch

To outfox the pox:
off yourself first, with Clorox!

And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!

No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!

Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!

To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!

To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!

To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!

Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!

Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, humor, Clorox, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, mrbtrump, mrbcouplets



What REALLY Happened
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump lied and lied and lied.
Americans died and died and died.



Grime Wave
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is ******* crime ...
unless it's his own grime.



Trump Love
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump "love" is truly a curious thing ...
does he care for our kids half as much as his bling?



Tangled Webs
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh, what tangled webs they weave
when Trump and his toupée seek to deceive!



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

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.

Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.



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

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



Green Eggs and Spam
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I do not like your racist ways!
I do not like your hate for gays!

I do not like your gaseous ****!
I do not like you, Crotch-Grabber Trump!

I do not like you here or there!
I do not like you anywhere!

Your brain's been trapped in a lifelong slump
And I do not like you, Hate-Baiter Trump!



Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

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



Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

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



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

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



Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
―Michael R. Burch



Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch



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



The Ex-Prez Sez

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



Quite Con-trary
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trumpy, Trumpy,
fat, balding and lumpy,
how does your Rose Garden grow?
“With venom and spleen
and everything mean,
and my gasket about to blow!”

Trumpy, Trumpy,
obese and dumpy,
why are your polls so low?
“I claimed I was Cyrus
at war with a virus
but lost every time to the minuscule foe!”



Piecemeal, a Coronavirus poem
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(Soon a portly & pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your death as "no biggie.")



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

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



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

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



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

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



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

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

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



The Final Episode of Celebrity Apprentice President
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald
said to The Donald,
"Just between us clowns, your polls are too low!"
So The Donald thought hard
then said to his pard,
"It's because I'm a martyr. The world must know!"
Thus Eric Trump jumped
from his obese Trump ****
to declare the virus a "hoax." (End of show.)



modern Midas
by michael r. burch

they say nothing human's alive
yet the Hermit survived:

the last of His kind,
clean out of His mind.

they say He relentlessly washes His fingers,
as dainty as ever, yet the smell of death lingers.

they say it sets off His corona of hair
when He blanches with fear in his Mansion Faire.

they say He still spritzes each strand into place
though there’s no one to see in that hellish place.

they say there’s a moral in what He’s become
as He fondles gold trinkets and cradles His john.



Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"




Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

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



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

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



White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

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



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

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



we did not Dye in vain!
by Michael R. Burch

from “songs of the sea snails”

though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.

i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!

Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!



Twinkle Wrinkles
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Twinkle, twinkle, little "star" ...
Trump, how we wished you blazed                 afar!

Twinkle, twinkle, Groper-Cupid ...
How we've wished you weren't so stupid!

Twinkle, twinkle, Man-Baby "president" ...
In truth you're just the White House resident.



Americans have the opportunity
to greatly improve their community
with votes a-plenty
in 2020.
Dump
Trump!
—Michael R. Burch



Joe Biden, Joe Biden,
our future is ridin’
on you defeatin’
and hidin’
that cancerous lump
called Trump.
—Michael R. Burch



The Perfect Storm
by Michael R. Burch

Stormy Daniels
is Trump's worst nightmare—
a truthteller,
a woman without fear,
full of *****,
unimpressed by his junk,
that he can't debunk.



Aftermath
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Carmen Yulín Cruz is a hero.
Donald Trump is a zero.



15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Our president’s *** life—atrocious!
His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics—a shell game!
My brief moment of fame
flashed by before Oprah could notice!



March for Our Lives
by Michael R. Burch

It's not a moment,
it's a MOVEMENT
created to save
innocents from the grave.



Tweety and Pootie
sittin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
second comes marriage,
third barechested weasels in a White House carriage!
—Michael R. Burch



Three Trump Valentine's Day Poems

1.

If you're tall, blonde and pretty,
I'll grab your kitty.
If you're dark-skinned and short,
It's time to deport!

2.

I'll secure your southern border tonight,
as long as you're wearing white!

3.

If you're not
as hot
as my daughter,
beware;
prepare
for the slaughter!



Why did Trump endorse Roy "Score" Moore when Nostradumbass claimed he "knew" the Sludge Judge couldn't win? ...

Predators of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch



Kneeling Verboten
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Colin Kaepernick took a stand by kneeling;
now Donald Trump is reeling
as the NFL owners he implored
lock hands with the players he deplored.



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

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



Trump Trumps "We The People"
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump fired Comey
to appoint a *****:
some pawn in his Kamp
with a big rubber stamp.

Out the window flew freedom!
Rights? You don't need 'em!
Like Attilâ the ***,
Trump answers to no one!

Do you think you have worth?
Trump makes you his serf.
He's your Lord and your Master:
you elected DISASTER.



Pass the Hat for the Fat Cat
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you're a Fat Cat,
vote for an Autocrat;
otherwise, stick with a Democrat ...
or get ready to pass the hat
for yourself,
doomed by that strange little pixie-fingered orange elf.



****** Assaulter-in-Chief
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump Bozo
bopped Bill Clinton Clown on the nose: “Oh,
I’ll trump your cigar
with my groping, by far,
when I bounce interns on my Big Pogo!”



Trump's Donor Song
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

(lines written after it became apparent that Trump is not
"draining the swamp" but stocking it with his crocodilian
donors and political piranha)

christmas is coming, the Trumpster's purse is flat:
please put a Billion in the Fat Cat's hat!
if you haven't got a Billion, a Hundred Mil will do.
if you haven't got a Hundred Mil, the yoke's on you!



Alt-Right White Christmas
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump's dreaming of a White Christmas,
just like the ones he used to know
when black renters groveled
or lived in hovels
while he laughed and shouted **-**-**!



*******
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
Is a chump,
He’s an
Orange Heffalump.
His hair?
Made of batter.
His brain?
***** matter.
His “plans”?
A disaster.
His “position”?
Your Master!



Fool's Gold
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

THE DONALD has won (so we're told).
If it's true, worthless swampland's been sold!
But who were the buyers?
Poor folks who trust liars
and pay through the nose for fool's gold.



Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Agent Orange is full of bunk:
Tiny-fingered, he claims a big "trunk."
And his "platform"? Oh my,
I think we'd all die!
And he can't even claim he was drunk!

NOTE: Donald Trump claims that he doesn't drink alcohol, except when he partakes of Holy Communion. However, Trump insulted the body and blood of Jesus Christ when he spoke dismissively of his "little *******" and "little wine." He claims to be a Christian, but also said that he never asks God for forgiveness! Is he punch drunk or just pulling our legs about being a Christian?



De-Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There's something I'd like to debunk:
the GOP's not in a "funk."
The Donald, by choice,
is its unfiltered voice.
Vote for someone who's sane, or we're sunk!



Fooling Around
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump-Bozo
cried, “Clinton Clown cheats with his yo-yo!
He plays fast and loose!
It’s clearly abuse!
Whereas broads love to bounce on my pogo!”

BTW, it's amusing that Rudy Giuliani is now Trump's surrogate, defending him from accusations of ****** assault and other improprieties by scores of women, when in a 2000 "Mayor's Inner Circle" video, Giuliani in drag had his "*******" schmoozed by The Donald, after which Giuliani slapped his face and called him a "***** boy." Obviously, Giuliani was well aware of Trump's reputation for grabbing and groping women without bothering to ask for their permission! Trump's outrageous behavior was a running joke among alpha males in his circle. In 1993, fellow bad boy Howard Stern asked Trump directly: “So you treat women with respect?” Trump answered honestly: “No, I can’t say that either.” And hundreds of chauvinistic public statements and tweets by Trump confirm that he doesn't treat women with respect, or minorities, or anyone that he considers "weak" or "overweight" or "unattractive."



Trumping Tots
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Things that go bump in the night
fill Herr Trump with irrational fright;
his brain hits the skids;
he shrieks, "Ban dark kids!"
Where's his self-lauded "courage" and "might"?
Is cowardice Trump's kryptonite?



Trump Explains Why His Hair Looks Like ****: It's Been Bleached By Drool
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

"Although my hands are quite tiny,
I have an enormous hiney;
so I stick my head in,
predicting I’ll win,
while everyone kisses it shiny!"



The Name and Blame Game
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you have a slightly offbeat name,
you'll be de-planed, detained, restrained, defamed.
Supremacists know pure white names are best,
so be prepared to prove you're among the Blessed.
(Woe unto those who fail Trump's Litmus Test!)



Trump the Game Plan
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a huckster named Trump
who liked to be kissed on the ****.
He promised awed voters
if they'd be his promoters,
he'd magically fix up their dump.

Now the voters were dreaming of Ronald
and hoping they'd found him in Donald.
And so, lightly "thinking"
after much heavy drinking,
they put out, as if they'd been fondled.

But once he'd secured the election
Trump found his fans cause for dejection.
"I only love tens!"
he complained to his "friends,"
then deported them: black, white and Mexican.

Thus Donald fulfilled his sworn duties
by ridding the land of non-cuties.
Once the plain Janes were gone
he could smile on his throne
surrounded by imported beauties!



Egad,
what a cad;
the Orange Heffalump
scowls when he sees
a baby bump!
Like the Grinch who stole Christmas
(but every day of the year),
The Donald eyes happy
mothers with a leer!
―Michael R. Burch

NOTE: Donald Trump actually body-shamed Kim Kardashian for having a baby bump, saying that she was "large" and ought to watch the kind of clothes she wears in public!



Donald Trump Campaign Songs

Christmas is coming!
Tycoons are getting fat!
TRUMP says, "Take a ****
in some beggar's hat!
Beat him to a pulp
then run him out of town
if he dares object to
the MAN with the GOLDEN CROWN.
And if you're not a Christian,
nothing else will do!
But if you're just like TRUMP,
then may TRUMP bless you!
―Michael R. Burch



SANTA CLAWS is coming to town!
He sees Spics when they're sleeping
and Blacks when they're awake!
He knows that Whites are always good,
but dark skin is God's mistake.
So if you're some poor orphan
with slightly darker skin,
BIG BROTHER will be WATCHING
all blacks and Mexicans!
―Michael R. Burch



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



Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

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



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

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



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

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



Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

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

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

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas, evil, democracy, coup, treason, treasonous, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America



In My House
by Michael R. Burch

I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.

When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.

"Manifest Destiny?"

I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.

This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.

When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.

I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.

We were wrong.
This is my history.

I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.

We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.

Published by Black Medina

Keywords/Tags: Race, Racism, Black Lives Matter, Equality, Brotherhood, Fraternity, Sisterhood, Tolerance, Acceptance, Civil Rights



Instruction
by Michael R. Burch

Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.

Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset

of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs

and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.

The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,

are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.

Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly


Published as the collection "Not-So-Heroic Couplets"
ConnectHook Oct 2016
Italic drumroll...
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised;

♪ ♫♪♫ ♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪

ALL HAIL !
Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters:
attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire, The Anti H-Rod: Donald J. TRUMP !

(
Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)

And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God also bless his worthy opponent and adversary HILLARY (
"H-Rod")

(
Patricians murmur, nod; a few salute*)
Let the circus roll - (yawn)

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2016/10/19/of-debatable-importance/
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Feathered Fiends
by Michael R. Burch

Fascists of a feather
flock together.

Alternate:

Conformists of a feather
flock together.

I came up with the "Fascists of a Feather" epigram after Donald Trump repeatedly praised authoritarian "strong men" like Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un, Rodrigo Duterte, Xi Jinping and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Heroic Americans fought a war against fascism and many of them paid the ultimate price, so why is Trump giving comfort to the enemy of democracy?

The alternate version of this couplet was written first and won a National Couplet Contest sponsored by the Society of Classical Poets. The couplet has now been published in one form or another on the websites of major newspapers and news services like TheHill.com, Haaretz.com (Israel), ******.com (Australia), Cleveland.com (as the headline of a letter to the editor), Reddit Political Humor, and Humane Conservatives Unite Blog. Sometimes the epigram is quoted in reader comments, sometimes by the writers of letters to the editor, and sometimes within articles.

Keywords/Tags: fascists, flock, together, fascism, conformists, nazis, blackshirts, brownshirts, dictator, tyrant, autocrat, despot, totalitarian, cultist, militarist
TR3F1LD May 2023
his own & this world's realities are like the fuzz in the States
they're ones to escape, which is a plan of attack
that, like a unit of ammo dispatched
to the bean of a **** autocrat dying physically damaged & sad
hits his deli̲ght-bankrupt brain; like Donald the dung piece, today
he feels bold, so maybe there'll be, like abundance of cake
["bald"]
fortune coming his way
["fortis fortuna adiuvat"/"fortune favors the bold"]
————————————————————————————————
this one's a schmuck thing to say
but this club reminds of Ukraine (what?)
he, like motorized cavalcades from the next-door empire, invades
its territory causing, like unaccommodating writer, a sla[ɛ]m
[Eminem & his "Unaccommodating" song]
as he shuts the door frame; obvi, sO̲me people may
find them bars offensive, like an armed aggression
so my apologies, I'm somewhat ashamed
mainstream house stuff is on play
a thought in his skull: "this is lame"
Michael S. straight after he turned around & stumbled on blamed
Toby F.; through the crowd he cuts like a blade
[the ending of the "Frame Toby" episode cold open from "The Office" series]
having hopped U̲p on the stage
as if it were a narcotic substance you've ta'en
he, so loud as if with his cullions in grave
nU̲t-wrenching pain, bawls: "THIS ****** *****!", like a brace
of someO̲ne's OTKs colored with stains
["*****"; "so[ɑ]cks"]
of blood; a schoolgirl on sO̲me yandere[eɪ]
sh#t; disgruntled, he makes for the f#cking DJ
delivers a verbal punch in his face by the fo[ɑ]llowing phrase:
"boy, go house-sit with your confounded
boring house sh#t, just like a housewyf"
whereafter thrusts him away
ending the uproar with "ciao, drip!"
music-wise, it's gon' go hard as nuts in this place
as if a flock of ones who're deranged
["who're" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "whoor"]
swung by a club in the wake of a ****** **[ɑ]spital break (nuts in this place)
he puts on midtempo dark cyberpunky synthwave
Gesaffelsteinish mid-paced
type of music; that's what drives his crumpet insane
speaking of crumpets, he spots a buxomish babe
while nodding his ******* nut to this cray
music, he feels like a **** being aimed
at, for she stands with her sight, like one of a gun, fixed his way
————————————————————————————————
for a few secs, at each other they gaze
she's quite a fox with her vibrant locks
reminding of flame; somebody call a fire brigade
hourglass-shaped & rigged out in tight pa[ɛ]nts & a blouse
with a U̲-neck, like a fella without
*****, & leaving her waist a bit out
["******"]
on display; he makes his way to this frau
salutates her with "ciao"
she greets him with just the same, then he mouths
the following: "babe, you're way like a house
for lodging that's nowhere to be found
that is, in the deep of a labyrinth"
she's like: "what in the void's name's this about?"
he replies: "I'ma translate that one now"
"the way you look's amazing, ten out
of ten", like that "KleanColor" skin bro[ɑ]nzer
["a maze inn"; "Tan Out Of Tan"]
she makes a soft smile, then replies: "ain't you nice, pal
when you lay your thoughts out?"
"not being nice would be a crime
when you face a fine gal
like you", - he replies
"if so, rejecting the company of a guy so gracious would count"
as a crime too", - she replies
being a music ****** with such a need fO̲r it it's
stuff he cA̲[ɛ]n't live without
the guy asks the gI̲rl if she
is ta'en with this sound
her reply is affirmative
she says she mostly faves underground
kinds of music; they vibe
to these tunes being pU̲t on, just like
that loony sh#twipe the whole antifa community'd like
to see end up ruined, just like
Aleppo or Mariupol; stop, I'd
like, before the main telling resumes, to rewind
a little: the newly-met vibe
to these hard-hitting beats put on; he finds
out, when asking her what drinkable fluid she'd like
to have, that she deems it uncool to imbibe (*****)
he replies: "to tell you the truth, so do I"
so if there's somebody to end up lit during this night
it is the moon in the sky
["some body"]
————————————————————————————————
soon after having their soft drinks taken, they bounce
like the name of the style
of music brought into this wO̲rld heaps
before chicks twerking
blew into the mainstream like "blaow!"
["hips"]
like a sick pervert that digs scourging
while engaged in a bout
of carnal fun, he's got a whip ordered
they wait for several mins for it
finally, the motorized conveyance comes out
like a deb girlie
[debutante]
he trails this fox like she's prey to hunt down
watching her proceed to[–]ward it
in a way like she's on a catwalk waving around
a rig splurgy
having hopped in it, to a lodging place they set out
the saucy look in her eyes
once his palm is put on her thigh
a kind of luminous sign–
–board reading: "absolutely alright
with going on a lewd spree tonight"
"a night out rhyme tale, part I" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)

"a night out rhyme tale, part II":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4883683

"a night out rhyme tale, part III":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4883684
TR3F1LD Sep 2023
have you ever felt like you're trapped
in a prison you self-erected & cast
yourself into? like life's something you're terrible at
existentially wack so dreadfully that
there's a reasonable question to ask
where are your testicles, chap?
'cause, like a man that commits a va[ɛ]nishing act
once he detects that his lass is expecting a brat
the way you live is cowardly; a hell of a lack
["way you leave"]
of ***** akin to sO̲mebody bereft of his nads
comfort zone ain't
much different from a coffin you are a hostage to
A̲lthough no way a freaking throat spray
will treat you okay
["coughing"]
if you want to live akin to those a[eɪ]—
—zure-hued pills treating fever or pain
["want Aleve"; "want to leave [the coffin]"]
you've gotta Beatrix Kiddo your way
outta it; in fact, I'm 'bout to evince one more way
[the "outta the grave" scene from "**** Bill: Vol. 2"]
by which you portray the thing aforenamed
like a guy when he gets to fourth base
if you wanna feel good
you have to ream it, keeping it broad, stretched like a ****
or else it's gonna be you
the one winding up f#cked, much like a chief authoritarian a##—
—hole when his dishono[—]rable rule
winds up effing collapsed; like a pestilent brat
you get it, but your co[ɑ]nstant pla[ɛ]n of attack
is digital escapism helping to kick aside depression, a tad
though; 'cause no matter how much you la[ɛ]m, you get back
into the real—nE̲ss that you have
which is quite a mess like a lass'
coif when she's outside, & the weather is trash
raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
————————————————————————————————
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
[opportunism]
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides (ha-ha)
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned (a wake)
'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
[German "scheißer"]
them go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
————————————————————————————————
the rhyme-insane, yet quite cheap, brain
is, like the most upright stiffs reign—ing for a long time, depraved
thanks to the West-produced mass
culture (tha[ɛ]nk you a stack) & has a relish/penchant for gals
with looks of models composing the "dekok plus" class
["dekok" (Esperanto) - "eighteen"]
the problem's most of those lean to[—]ward sE̲lf-confy lads
and are mostly/mainly 'bout lettuce, in fact
which makes me remember the Jack
the Ripper case (letters)
[more than 200 letters signed as "Jack the Ripper" were written]
so, as for a GF̲ for a chap
like that, having one seems like an excellent pad
[house]
for a beggar to have; impossible like a well-meant autocrat
(like a well-meant autocrat; absolute absurdity)
forget it, let me get to something else I would yap
about; not an oriental-grown chap
but into rhyming 'cause I'm a perfectionist that
["ramen"]
takes this thing as something he's no[ɑ]t ineffectual at
if not for the aesthetical cast
["cast" in the sense of "outward form", etc.]
which is rhymes, I'd not even bother tryna express all this crap
[especially, the personal one]
'cause what's the point when nigh-on none on the web who reacts
to whatev' you say or demonstrate?
remember I had the more pleasura[—]ble past
virtual realities, not having to go to a jO̲[ɑ]b that stinks
nO̲ stupid po[ɑ]litics (these were the times)
which is ****̲te you can't take null notice of 'cA̲U̲[ɑ]se you twig
it's the post-enlightenment time gO̲ing on, A̲[ɑ]lthough it's
a giant & atrocious auto[ɑ]cracy
you abide in, as if you were related to the dude presiding
as the head of the big state kept, like a group of do[ɑ]gs in—
—volved in a mush, united; in terms of music, I̲ went
["you are Biden"]
from somewhat generic electro[ɑ]nic
sh#t, both, ba[ɛ]ngers & melo[ɑ]dic
ones to heavier & dA̲rk sh#t; however, I, regardless
still dig some graves like a fellow with boneY̲A̲rd shifts
[Christian Mochizuki, better known as "graves"]
though wouldn't tE̲ll that I am go[ɑ]thic
given that, it's okay I̲f I
["if I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "ifa"]
would get benamed with the
word "grave-digger"'; might as well take mE̲ a
****** ***** 'kI̲n/sI̲m. ta
a playing card; though I, as I've said, am no[ɑ]t
[a card with "spades" suit]
gothic, outdoor appa[ɛ]rel's all black (all black)
like a visitor on a cemetery plat
in the course of a burial act
void inside, an atramental-hued gap (mental)
which makes me something like
a walking black hole, as well as the fact
that I'm surrounded by
space like it; kind of Arthur Fleck that's yet to turn mad
which sounds a mite
hair-curling like waving, so, before you find
yourself a bit horrified, let me get that clarified
to be more precise, a marbles-wise
lighter case, 'kin to a lighter casing
with the web to distract myself from the lack—
—luster realness, yet, with all thA̲t
flammable crap, ptui, I mean negative crap
I'm like a walking ba[ɛ]rrel with gas
it's better not to set a lit match
my way, it's appa[ɛ]rent, like a stem a pear has
a psychotherapy cab's
["a pear end"'; "cabin"/"cabinet" in the sense of "private room"]
where I should be spending the time of mine
instead of sitting in the bedroom inditing rhymes
as if you hit upon rhymes so tight
that their existence is considered a kind of crime (indicting rhymes)
but I'm the type with a b#tch of a mind: if I
have not a really distressing existence, then I am fine
like that dog sitting inside, despite
the room inside which it sits
is, like someone after an imbibing spree, lit (this is fine)
————————————————————————————————
implausible as it may sound, a bullish thought's approached
[implausible" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "implausibowl"]
my mind: I may be someone looking lost, although
I, unlike someone unable to move or gone, still go (that's the spirit!)
dull right to (like an average new-school rapper) **** nowhere
["dull writer"]
"a depressive rhymefall" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Bob B Jun 2019
(An experiment, this poem can be sung to the tune of "America" from "West Side Story.")

(Fans)
Donald Trump, oh,
You fearless leader.
Of praise you are so deserving.
Never liking what critics say…
And always hoping they'll go away.

(Critics)
Donald Trump, oh,
You nasty leader--
One who’s so blind and self-serving.
Only caring about the rich.
Your biggest concerns: your sales pitch,
And the people who snitch,
And the money you earn,
And the people you burn….
When will they ever learn
How you're destroying this nation?
And still you expect admiration!

(Fans)
We all agree we like Donald Trump.
We want to be more like Donald Trump.
Our cup of tea: it is Donald Trump.

(Critics)
Lying is key when you're Donald Trump.

(Fans)
We want to visit his tower.

(Critics)
Watch him accumulate power!

(Fans)
We think he rules us with finesse.

(Critics)
Though he's an autocrat, too. Yes?

(Fans)
Drilling off shore: that's with Donald Trump.
He'll never bore you--not Donald Trump.
Job growth will soar with our Donald Trump.

(Critics)
Tariffs galore with your Donald Trump!

(Fans)
We're going to vote for him next year!

(Critics)
It's hard to believe you are sincere.

(Fans)
The man is great; don't forget it.

(Critics)
Sorry, you're going to regret it.

Immigrants fear Mr. Donald Trump.
They won't go near Mr. Donald Trump.
One thing is clear about Donald Trump:
A racketeer he is--Donald Trump!

(Fans)
He says we all should do all right.

(Critics)
If you are rich and if you’re white!

(Fans)
Four more years will be a blessing.

(Critics)
Four more years would be distressing!

(Fans)
Well, don't you know that with Donald Trump
Stocks will all grow, yes, with Donald Trump?
You'll make more dough, yes, with Donald Trump.

(Critics)
With quid pro quo, yes, with Donald Trump.

(Fans)
If he wins, we're gonna be glad.

(Critics)
If he wins, we’re gonna be sad.

(Fans)
Certainly, no one can beat him.

(Critics)
Anyone, you must defeat him!

(All)
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…¡Olé!

-by Bob B (6-19-19)
. She's a top-hat autocrat, inamber wavesof grain,singing whiskey lullabies-As young girls comes of ageanother flower dies.3 a.m. pencilsprickfamous strangers;the waitress in theblack stockingsstill believesshe's lost some timebomb ticking somewhere.A starving dog,unblinking-barked at my shoes..
Thomas W Case Feb 2023
My autocrat of a
cat
sat on the pedestal
and watched me type.
His eyes, slits, like
slivers of emeralds.

He took a paw,
licked it, and
washed his despot face.
He owned me.
I did whatever he
wanted.
He sauntered off,
then turned and
watched , as I
took liberty with
truth, for the
sake of
imagination and creation.

I dreamed last
night that he could
talk.
He just said two words.
"Beautiful lies."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCOi2c1S_o8
The tree was the lord of the neighbourhood
For it looked down over all,
Grown on a hill by a sparkling rill
It blossomed from Spring to Fall,
Its vibrant life flowed up from its roots
And broadcast through its leaves,
The warmth of a wise old autocrat
As it nestled into the eaves.

The tree had been there before the house
For a hundred years or so,
The builders wanted to cut it down
But the owner answered, ‘No!
There’s something magic about that tree
And I fear, if its timber falls,
The house you build will be cursed, you see,
I’ll be left with cold stone walls.’

The house changed hands as its owners died
But the tree grew on apace,
The other trees in the valley there
Were humbled by its grace,
Its topmost branch you could see for miles
It was marked on many a map,
They said, ‘Look out for the giant tree
On the hill by Calder’s Gap.’

The house was sold to a man called Binns,
A miserable kind of man,
They said he’d framed the dollar he’d earned
As a boy, while shifting sand,
But wealth had sharpened his temper, he
Was rude, to one and all,
The locals whispered behind their hands,
‘He’s headed for a fall.’

He looked from his bedroom window, and
He said, ‘I hate that tree!
It hides the view of the countryside,
The view that I paid to see.
You mark my words, it’s coming down,
It scrapes my window pane,
And wakes me up in the dead of night
It’ll go by the winter’s rain.’

The branches stroked on the window frame,
The frame was made of wood,
And passed to the tree its tale of shame
The tone of the owner’s mood,
The tree had shuddered, sent waves of pain
Abroad in the midnight air,
Like a cry of help, and its one refrain
Was, ‘Cut me, if you dare!’

The mile-a-minute responded first
Entwined and blocked the door,
Invaded the little garden shed
Where the axe lay on the floor,
It grew incredibly, overnight
As a shield around the tree,
To say, if a vine could really speak,
‘You’ll have to get through me!’

But Binns crawled out through a window,
Red of face and fighting mad,
‘What’s going on with this garden,
Where’s the gardener I had?
He went and got a machete, and
He slashed away at the vine,
Freed the door of its tendrils, and
The shed, in double time.

He found the axe on the earthen floor
And he took it to the tree,
‘You may have stood for a hundred years,
Now you’ll have to deal with me!’
He swung it once and the handle cracked
And splintered up his arm,
There wasn’t anything made of wood
That would do the old tree harm.

The splinter entered a major vein
And his blood dripped on the ground,
Apart from his scream and a sudden hush
There was just one other sound,
A violent cracking above his head
As a tree branch came away,
That hurtled down like a spear, and pinned
His heart to the ground that day.

The tree still towers above the rest
And sways in the slightest breeze,
It stands as a lord of the countryside
For it brought a man to his knees.
The house is ruined, a few stone walls
Still stand, and the curtains flap,
For nobody’s game to build again
Near the Tree by Calder’s Gap!

David Lewis Paget
TR3F1LD Feb 2024
I write sometimes li̲ke I'm out for
blood (I kind of have been & am)
like vampires; tha[ɑ]t's for
all the injustice & violence absorbed
[video games, films, (& later) rap & politics-related stuff]
from this unjust & f#cked world
you may think I'm a kettle boiling, 'cause
writing rhymed texts & going hos—
—tile in 'em is a way to blow steam off
besI̲des that, I'm bored
like a plank that I̲ would, o[ʌ]f course
["board"]
not mind watching a ****** dumb war—
—mongering, power-drunk ****
walk off into the waters galore of hungry cro[ɑ]cs or
sharks, though I̲ would o[ɑ]pt for something much worse
if punishing power-corrupted schmucks were
up to mO̲I̲ with my warped
mind; like a drama queen, or a jihadi fiend
at a public spot with **̲[ɑ]stile in—
—tentions & a bomb, or a gun on him
I'd make such a scene
["sin"]
one tor—mentors would love to observe
one worth grabbing some ****** po[ɑ]pcorn
[like the one portrayed in "punishment of an autocrat"]
****** alert; the cynical fiend
inside wants to join this lyrical binge
give 'em *******, dude
————————————————————————————————
listen U̲p, you da[ɛ]mn fool
this message is also for the trap rap playschool
that you pU̲nk pertain to
consider yourself LIA 'cA̲U̲se you're plain doomed
[lost in action]
like an aircrA̲ft which is about
to crA̲sh into the ground (plane, doomed)
call thI̲s sh#t maltreatment
but don't get the joke twisted
saying that, like a wicked professor prone
to acquitting indecent, bold, I'ma teach you a lesson, ***
I don't mean you'll be a victim of *** assau[ɔ]lt
or something
["molltreatment"]
a lesson 'cause in this lyric-writing game, you
are as qualified as lame stewds
[stu(ew)dents]
you better find some da[ɛ]mn tools
'cause the screws of mine are cray loose
just like Deadpool's; memorize this name to
call me by: Slay Illsome
[Deadpool's real name is Wade Wilson]
you're like pup: so ****** tame you
should be called Lame Chillsome
["po[ɑ]p", in the sense of "pop music"]
so inept that holding somebO̲[ɑ]dy's dra[ɛ]nk, you'd
prob'ly wind up with the dra[ɛ]nk spilled, chump
I'm an instiller of awe & distaste
a thrill killer, nuts, A̲lthough well-trained
and I really like to slay noobs
I'll be enjoying some thrilling, high-octane tunes
while you'll be stricken by the grave blues
'cause I'll have you feeling such a pain you
are gon' wish it were Max 'stead of me & start to pray to
["Payne"; Max Payne, who mostly just guns down his targets]
me to put you down like I̲'m the type slinging
off at others; I'll I̲ce you by swinging
my ****** blade through
your neck like a batter, whereA̲fter I[ɑ]'ll pick
up your nut & make use
of it as a **** bA̲sketball, *****
I'll chop you in parts, then bo[ɑ]x 'em, like a way to
verbally tag an attrA̲ctive gal with
a set of plumply shaped *****
["buxom"]
I'll have the box wrapped a la gifts
and then get the remainders of you sE̲nt ta
a replantation-focused center
(so much for something with the littlest of spite...)
————————————————————————————————
like a substance a[ɑ]ddict
tryna quit but quickly sliding ba[ɑ]ckwards
one verse & I'm back to mY̲ bad ha[ɑ]bits
[the prelude]
of writing; like someone you wa[ɑ]nt, this art form
is something I sure have go[ɑ]t a lust for
which explains why
I'm sO̲ de—voted to my stuff when it's getting laid, like
a carnal co[ɑ]mmerce; lyrical self-indulgence, much more
than self-indulgent "I̲'ve got" type twerps
making unco[ɑ]mplicated trap
as if there were something like a cavy that
those diletta[ɑ]nti aim to catch
like someO̲ne depraved, I have (what?)
a ba[ɑ]wdy-like urge in my mI̲nd when I verse
like a tI̲ght-fit guise worn by a gal with nice curves
exercising, intention... of nailing rhyming
["in tension"]
as if rhymes were lush girls
the type to whom technical seduction comes first
lyrics-wise, which is why some of my works
may be regarded as hot stuff
like a heated iron flyi[—]ng to[—]ward
the face of a tyrant-like ****
with the bo[ɑ]ttom side forth; do this kind of stuff for
fun & to maintain these mI̲nd skills I scored
["slay just to maintain some relish & killing skills"]
which explains why I dub it "bar sport"
[sport/fun of making bars (rhymed lines)]
you trap rap hacks ou[ɑ]ght to ha[ɑ]ve your
bars shA̲rp just like swords of samurais, for
["sharp" in the sense of "stylish"/"attractive"]
as I̲'ve said afore, I'm O̲U̲t for blood, twerps
————————————————————————————————
struck this "bar sport" writing up short
["bar sport (prelude)" followed by this one]
on hope, wound up with a flood of thou[ɑ]ghts versed (wow)
guess this writer's inner fire's no[ɑ]t burned... out
like someone dO̲ne too much work
"bar sport (Slay Illsome)" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
When I think about forever, only your
humble face shows up for my heart claims it can endure your smile
forever... that simple stretch that's
in between the make of closed bright
petals and a completely stretched
blossom but again I'd appreciate even an hour with you, because a single
moment with you is worth a lifetime
without you albeit the moment wouldn't be enough... but what's
enough about loving you? I can never
get enough of you...even forever
would never be enough...I'd crave
more and more of you the more I'd
take... I'd feel more thirty the more I
drink...
I only wish for an eternity
because it's the inadequate anyone
with such passion would prefer...One
that can give
me room to explore all
corners
of the volatile untapped
passion that's almost fermenting to
solid.
I love you, I do... I don't need a
lifetime
to prove it, we just deserve a
lifetime
with each other like any other
two normal lovers do albeit we don't lie within that limitation... I would ask God for infinity but then would my romantic waves still hold their strength in a
million years? Would I still love you
this much?
It doesn't matter, I don't
have infinity in my sample space,
forever's unlikely too...I'll thus make
the best of every now to cherish you, to appreciate you, to keep you cool in the
air of romance and to protect you like
the protection a tortoise gets from her shell...
and do the much I can to lend some heaven to the earthly hell
Just run to my arms for they will always be open,
this is home for you at all times and
the doors
of home are never closed to
family...
that's what you are, the leaf
that's been missing on my family tree,
the much welcome member of the
canopy. I love you more than a king
loves his throne, I even love you more
than an autocrat loves commanding. I
love you
for the lack of a better phrase
to mean I do.
I love you.
TR3F1LD Dec 2023
a medieval blacksmith, insO̲—
—much as lyrical material of mine gets cast sim. to cold
weapons; I'd say, as anything mind-distracting, like dope
["destructing"]
lyric-writing acts in the role
of temp rise, 'cause it unshadows the mind
like da[ɛ]mn skies, dissipating clouds of lack of delight
which is whY̲ I clepe
it as "mind eclipse" (lack of the light)
hence all the grimness seen in mY̲ bar sheets (chernukha)
like someone having a flight, a bored, tragedy wight
["aboard"]
lashings of spite I add in my lines
a geek practicing harassment in rhymes
as a pastime; an antihero, like Frank Castle I side
with on going against baddies with vice (lesser evil)
'cause you can't battle a knight
or a savage canine, or seize a bastion by
means of any kind of chatting (good luck managing that, gandhists)
get real; chances of collapsing
a toughened up corrupt regime by tranquil, brawl-free rallies
are as high as a bA̲nged up substance addict
can be (highly unlikely); though I keep the anti-autocratic
subject matter frontline, for ones who half-a##edly indite
their lyrics, it's casket likewise; a wA̲ck sod with pine
boxes & nails for 'em; & thA̲t's something I'm
more than glad to provide
you with; tra[ɛ]nslation: you ain't sA̲fe, chumps
[a casket isn't a safe, hence "it's casket" means "it isn't/ain't safe"]
like an offer to have a sled ride
"dude, let's slay some"
["sleigh"]
said the voice of the Islamist radical-like rapper in my
bean (Shady); "let's bring a da[ɛ]ng mayhem"
["bin Shady": Osama bin Laden + Slim Shady, who's a lyrical terrorist]
it added with passion, then I'm
like: "sounds like a blast of a time" (kaboom)
but no[ɑ]t to you, be—cause I'm on my violent bullsh#t (again)
like a jihadi loony; with these lines I'm suited
up with, you'll be blasted like plants bY̲ a shrE̲wd wind
or like a head of state ordained to invade
a neighboring state
in this **** field, I feel
like Max Payne with a gauge
[shotgun]
in a prey-tE̲E̲ming weald
hunting as sport; slay just to main—
—tain some relish & killing skills
you're like misbehavior-free slaves
in this field; translation: you're tame (lyrically)
["tranSLAYtion"]
therefore, you're unwished-for
like anyone & anything with a high lack of approval
[by "high lack of approval" I mean "dissent"]
on politics of the regime of some dastardly ruler (dastardly ruler)
drunk by the power he keeps a tight grA̲sp on & moola (power & moola)
just like Vlad the mean puta (Vlad the mean puta)
code name's lavato[—]ry shooter (lavatory shooter)
you jacklegs remind
me of simple cases or the Batman that time
when he wound up with his bA̲ck damaged by
Bane, 'cause I get you cracked with no strife
just like trash, you would wi[aɪ]nd
up in the dumps if you set your crap next to mine
and let ones being into rap scrutinize
your level of lyrical threat's to splatter a high—
—ball glass or stuff like
that, punks; me? like an armor-clA̲d man, a night—
["knight"]
—mare; Dante strapped with a scythe
[Dante from the "Devil May Cry" video game series]
the way I whack, it's so tight
that I have my device playing some phA̲t beats as I
masterly slice you hacks into stripes
like the Senyera; rap di̲letta[ɑ]nti
and political oppressors are picked as targets
and I may be read as a vigila[ɑ]nte
'cause I go after you like
V; like 2 sawbones having a fight with their scalpel-like knives
[I go after the aforementiond figures in my lyrics]
["after U [which is followed by V]"; V from "V for Vendetta"]
a pa[ɛ]radox while A̲t it 'cause I go autocratic, despite
["pair of docs"]
the views thA̲t I stick by; other words, I kick A̲## as if I
were dealing a jA̲cka## foot strikes
[I'm against unjustified maltreatment of animals, that sentence is just for wordplay]
a rebel thinker with a wrA̲pped up in rhymes
sick, hazardous mind bringing lyrical disasters & crimes
oh, there's one I'm imagining right
now; a rap-writing dabbler, besides an autocratic *****, wi[aɪ]nds
up inside a hearse
with me being A̲t the wheel like
a town that's rife in terms
of poison-pushing; a psychopA̲th when I drive
["atterville"; "****** path"]
speed up to 150 miles per
hour on a track in Alpine
heights, pound a go[ɑ]ddamn curb
barrier breaching it & sending the wagon in flight
open out the driver door
and jump out with a 'chute backpA̲ck on my spine (bye-f#cking-bye!)
watching the car go down, just like a war
criminal busted, & whereafter burst, like
brain arteries of a nazissistic scoundrel; like reports
saying an autocratic piece of trash nullifies
the limit of his presiding terms
I'm bA̲d news when I'm
on my lyric-writing horse
[the "high horse" expression]
like cavalry; I'd like a dastardly, vice-ridden autocrat to reply
["riding horse"]
with lyrics to any of the crA̲p I've devised
in opposition to authoritarianism
should I send some to the office with galore of rE̲A̲r-licking minions
of that "it's all the nasty West" guy
or that's suicide?
"a hostile rhymefall" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
On my shoulder a heap of garment
In two hands two birded cage
In my mind time management
That I love to do with craze!

List of my works to do
Keep growing in a hellish way
Clipping nails polishing shoe
Time is too short for one day!

When to do them you may ask
If all loose ends I’ve to tie
So I take up multitask
There’s not even time to die!

At 8.30 her medicine
9 I must run the pump
I must keep my cheek trim clean
Traitor time not run but jump!

With one hand I push toothbrush
With one eye I keep check on milk
Alertness aids in the morning rush
Time’s too alert for you to bilk!

Stairs to climb windows to open
Pluck some flowers from back garden
Time autocrat hears no bargain
Slow down a bit get a big burden!

I’ve to make time to blow her a kiss
Will be away whole day she’ll miss
While I peck I hold a biscuit
For the dog at the door badly needs it!

I don’t ever think time kind to me
Give me respite a little time free
But chase it hard without relent
A multitasker bent on time management!

*In this thankless pursuit I can’t tell thee
If I manage time or time manages me
But one thing sure I make time on bed
For not just love but what cooks in head!
An imperial flat
round circle autocrat
where dipper yesterday
only quash their goad  
though doldrums there dock a yacht
for deeper waters afloat
let me take her far away
to the mellifluous island strand
with coral sand and coconut butter
as sea whips up in royal flush
to whisk her eventually from horse latitudes  
while temperate hold sway but
the moon air breeze with lavender
and stella star light again.
Bob B Jan 2019
The clues have been…let's say,
Preponderant. We've seen
That Trump's reputation
Is far from squeaky clean.

Now he sounds indignant:
"How dare they imply
That I worked with Russia!
Do THEY think I'm a spy?"

Is there evidence
That Trump and certain staff,
Knowingly or not,
Worked on Russia's behalf?

Knowing or not knowing…
Yes, even the latter
Definitely is
A counterintelligence matter.

The FBI will discover
Whether suspicions are true
While Trump sends out a tweetstorm.
Of course, what else is new?

Is he an asset to Russia
At our country's expense?
The accusation really
Makes a lot of sense.

His words and actions are
Often injudicious,
Which makes him sound so utterly
And blatantly suspicious.

Mueller certainly knows
A lot more than we think.
He will put together
The pieces, link by link.

Team Trump will spread
Deep state myths to steer
Us off the path to truth.
They smear whom they can smear.

They will try to hide
The truth without a doubt.
Cooperation with Russia
Is what it’s all about.

Misstating the law,
Giuliani tries
To give Trump his support
By backing the president’s lies.

Trump’s words leave us
With so much to bemoan.
Who knows WHAT goes on
When Putin and he are alone?

He's been parroting Putin's
Talking points. How's that?
Is he a spokesman for
The Russian autocrat?

Undeniably, Trump
Finds himself in a spot,
Which amounts to a case
Of possible kompromat.

Never have we had
A situation so…hairy.
Never have we had
A president so scary.

-by Bob B (1-13-19)
K Balachandran Mar 2017
None other than him
matters here at the noon.
The sun is an out and out autocrat
the sky, he singularly rules,without
any apology to anyone.
He has banished all the clouds;
not even the faint trace of
fluffy, milky  white strands
seemingly unstoppable
till the far horizon.

This is when his hidden
intention to scorch all at sight
is at it's atrocious peak,
which would lead to his decline.

Under the low hanging sky
the earth parched dry,
is a cry for mercy.Sun now is
a roaring water fall of heat
waves lash one after the other.

The village of thatched mud huts
stand dazed, like it's women
in this ascending symphony of pain
not feeling any difference of tune,
this is what it always been.
It's a living miracle, it  still exists
fighting the vagaries of winds and the sun
not willing to collapse as dunes of dust,
which would have been a better solution.

The little girls from a school
the only secret this village keeps,
in midday break pour out
like ants from  hidden anthills,
scurrying to all directions, trying
to cheat the wind spitting fire.

A frail old woman, her skin
sun scorched,dark,
deeply furrowed and folded
a true face  of resistance
life capable of in the face of
the attack of armies of obliteration,
sweating all over, sits under a tamarind tree
all twigs and only few patches of weak green,
cobbling for a living, as if it is her day last here.
Face to face with a village almost  in all time drout
TR3F1LD Nov 2023
a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own go[ɑ]ddamn shadow, for it, ju[ɪ]st like
this *****#cking fatso's order, is quite
terrible; on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "all the worst to autocrats" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and with earphones on in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" video game series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave that mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts
"spit on autocrats' graves" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Charles Sturies Aug 2017
By autocrat I mean a domineering bossy pseudo-dictator of a basically free country.

No, I say, and he's doing a good job, but he has thing kinda harsh peopled following that probably wouldn't exist if it wasn't for certain pink lazy young people infiltrating the power structures of this country.

That sounds far-fetched, I know, and the babbling of a jealous old man, but that's my hunch - there are too many young people in high school who come home and plop themselves down on the couch to a bunch of inane TV with a whole bag of Lay's potato chips at their fingertips, irritating their right-winged father, cheating afterward, and getting educated in a technical field and offending dangerous psychotics off the street.

If Trump would just correct that and not take his hang ups out on us Latinos (I'm partially Mexican, Puerto Rican, South American, and Spanish, so far as I know) and Muslims like me, this country wouldn't disintegrate with mass murderers and such, who might have delusions that Trump is their der fuhrer.

He's kind of a know-it0all and becoming autocratic as it would seem.

He could prevent this from coming to full fruition by just minding the liberal media a little bit.
Charles Sturies
Bob B Feb 2022
Russian aggressors made their move.
Now they're in Ukraine.
What is Putin trying to prove?
What is there to gain?
The autocrat's messages are cloaked
In lies that Russia was provoked.

Stand with Ukraine as Russian forces
Put Putin's plan into action.
We already know that this of course is
More than a mere infraction.
Playing the role of boogeyman
Is part of Putin's larger plan.

Putin claims his forces are there
To stop denazification.
The argument, which is full of holes,
Is total fabrication.
We already know that he's obsessed
With Ukraine's interest in the West.

We watch as the egomaniac
Causes death and destruction
With this unwarranted attack--
Another Putin production!
Stand with Ukraine in this sad hour
As Putin basks in his ill-gotten power.

-by Bob B (2-24-22)
mike dm Jul 2014
All is a graveyard
We stumble about upon epochs
of reverberating death knells
Living like leaves
upon one solemn tree
Enriched by ancestral spell below

Fallen
Not yet

Organics ancienter
-unknown-
That black-indigo before the dawn
Ground up between bedrock
Churned into an oil

We go because they went before
And we too will go
Gone from this whirl

The skull calls all

Either respond
Or don't
It does not matter

The worm is autocrat
Its dictate: feed
Excreting the creed
Again again

There is death
Then there's the sleep of Fall
Death's second self
As Shakes' leaves once penned

But the reflection of this
In this our complicated globe flitting
Is death's third self
A selfish giver left to leave

A self that is
Because of what once was

A flourishing
Sped forth by inner-whorl of seed
An intimate meeting of bodies
Being being
And been
Slavishly touting laudatory
Remarks that
Run counter to his belief
Could not let a journalist
A moment's relief!

"The incumbent
Has flickered
Darkness piercing light
Now as things are bright
None stop
We have to condemn the past
To catapult the present
On the infallible mast!"

Conveying messages
Without beef,
Also forced to turn
Eyes, to reality, deaf,
He is smote by
Excruciating grief
Freedom of expression
Turned brief!

To spare himself
A stomach pang
He has to allow
Political thugs,
In the guise of
Media bosses
That form a
Government's favour
Ingratiating gang,
His mouth to gag!

Intimidated by them
Into self censorship
The facility of his pen
He could not keep!

Ironically,
A mainstream press,
With a toothless face,
Rather conveys
An autocrat or,
To be precise,
A clinically dead
Government in place!//
The fate of genuine journalists across the globe who have to work for no other option of living in a country, where democracy is gasping for air.
TR3F1LD Aug 7
someone who, age-wise, reached beyo[ɑ]nd
20 (quite beyond), but this extremist co[ɑ]n—
—science of a wicked armed
comic book vigilante keeps my mind thinking some—
—times, like: "wish I get to meet someO̲ne
who'd revise this inco[ɑ]m—petent wight into one
surpassing assassin"
[not a hitman, big ******* difference]
so there's a solid why in this ***
existence
["hell's waking up every ******* day & not even knowing why you're here"]
————————————————————————————————
but also 'cause some-thing I wa[ɑ]nt is o[ɑ]bscene mob ****
and tsars with their ***-lickers done
away with, since these swines live off wro[ɑ]ngs (a heap of wro[ɑ]ngs)
that's a base they get their filthy lives built upo[ɑ]n
get your vice-ridden hides
out of your private planes & whips
or your ******* ace retreats
like someone on an invitation list
come in sight & taste some lead
as if it were a plated dish
["come inside"; also, "sight" in the sense of "gun sight"]
or you may get iced, like a dra[ɛ]nk in heat
in ways way more creative, ******
the kind excited by pre-RPG "AC"/Jo̲hn Wick fight sh#t
[3A "Assassin's Creed" games, which have wicked counter kills & coups de grâce]
so it's art of violence, like that **[ɑ]stile rhyme piece
in which I have a despo[ɑ]tic swine fixed (to death)
["punishment of an autocrat"]
or like that wicked bass-musique-led symphonia
made by We Are Magonia
speaking re[eɪ] musique, for a scene in that way, my pick
like a vis. representation de—
—picting me, would be a midtempo-bass-like beat
["my pic."]
hold up, wait a bit
like a meal-serving guy the da[ɛ]maged phiz
of which is like: "PA received"
["waiter beat"; "PA" - "physical assault"]
I was saying stuff like "you may wind up slain by means
way more creative in plA̲ce of ju[ɪ]st
being shot down", like a ba[ɛ]nkrupt biz
["shut down"]
how 'bout a grave blood leak
initiated with an a[ɛ]mple streak
of slashes & stabs with a serriform saber, which
would be followed by
your knees & necks perforated with
bolts from a ******* crossbow? (nice)
my imagination tends to go crazy sick
when thoughts of mine get occupied
with elimination sh#t
"obsessed (art of violence)" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)

— The End —