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Best Election Poems

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Details | Election Poem | |

Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie, Weenie Brain

To the tune of "Itsy Bitsy, Teenie Weenie, Yellow, Polka-Dot Bikini"
Dedicated to Nancy Pelosi

Chorus:
She has an itsy bitsy
Teenie weenie
Brain inside her little beanie
And she uses it infrequently

An itsy, bitsy
Teenie weenie brain
We get the heebie jeebies
Whenever Nancy's in our company

Two, three, four 
Don’t stick around, head for the door

Nancy:
  Oh, I pushed and I wrested for health care
  But no one wanted this lame, inane fare
  Still I managed to get it through Congress
  The court may now say it was pointless

Two, three, four
Please don’t give us anymore

Chorus:
She has an itsy bitsy
Teenie weenie
Brain inside her little beanie
And she uses it infrequently

An itsy, bitsy
Teenie weenie brain
We get the heebie jeebies
Whenever Nancy's in our company

Nancy:
  Some will tell you that my voice sounds too shrill
  But House members have followed me still
  Yet we have an election upcoming
  From my muse all my members are running

Final Chorus:
From the Congress to her home state
From California to the streets
Of San Francisco you will find her
Oh so sad to lose her seat

Details | Election Poem | |

President for a Day

-Dr President Lady, please  launch the nuclear war button-

I'm packing up my girdle; I'm heading up state 
Where society thinks only men should run for president
Chill with Bill, on the side show Hill
Subsequently, he got tripped up with his hand in the biscuit jar
This poem is not about me... It's not about, Hilary 
I'm here to cheer and throw off an early vote voluntarily
I'm numbering my days with the aces 
Until the 2016 U.S. Presidential election
Only in a woman, you’ll find confidence and determination, 
Someplace out there is our leading lady in disguise
A woman who sits down and pee's with pride
A woman Like Hilary, whose place was denied in the sun

I will vote for a woman who is not afraid to lead,
Grab up her crotch, and fight for all the right reasons
Repaint the town white and her fingernails red
Blue lipstick in the breeze, a tommy gun in her possession

A million dollar diamond ring, 
A mink from all cultures of the globe
Sing hallelujah, Amen Praise the Lord! 
Pink ribbons of freedom, 
China can test all her might,
It's time to feel the empowerment of a woman's delight

There she’ll be’, sit down and enjoy,
When it’s time to hear her voice, 
The bullet will miss her beautiful mind, 
She'll Raid the Democratic Nomination moment of the blind
Her ego on the side; when it's time to reason with society
Feel the shattered glass feeling when sharks attack whitey 

Cop Out the Republican Bully
Black Ops the Democratic Liar
For women can reach, preach, and teach,
Nursing a world, collaborating with every mind
A barrier to be breached, a blessed moment to come,
If you require a true hit, vote for a woman in the Oval Office
Who said Mrs. Wonderbra can’t launch the nuclear war button 

By:)

Details | Election Poem | |

L'Italia del Nonno - Drunken Pen Contest

It's addsurd! Who's going to veliebe his lies? Who's going to bote for him? Plutocracy in these times? To besmear American reputation?... with just a cl-ass... exercising its power by birtue of its wealth...and the legislators...aligators... those who considered themselves... the best...to receive... hiccup!...from lobbies. Or is it Oligarchy? ... or Aristocracy? It's one of those "cracy." Or is it this glass of wine? The old Lady from Arizona had endorsed him. Ha! He must not ve bery happy with it. Wrinkles of xenophobia... legalized discrimimination. Excuses, lies, and negligence... Somebody has to pay for the vroken dishes...in doggy perceptions without style... knocking at the door of their prejudice... trespassing upon their addsurd generalizations ... satisfying their own prommmiscuous imagination...they tend to destroy the ebbidence ... coloring just coloring, coloring, coloring. Pickpocketing their errant misconceppttions... their exiled spiritualility... their mind in poverty...guilty of  larceny, of stupididity, of biolence...On the other hand, an extended hand at traffic lights trying to get what they could ...some change...coins...rusted coins which were never thrown into a fountain... no need of wishes. Trevi fountain and Anita, Marcello, Federico...La Dolce Vita. L'Italia del nonno. Another inmigrant but in another country... Argentina, where foreigners went to work the land and were accepted with open arms. L'Italia del nonno. I need to go to visit his streets, his old towns, his Mediterranean sea, his Sicily... Rome and the Trevi Fountain...Anita, she reminds me of another woman... I thought I had forgotten her and her plunging necklines...sophistitication, style, glamor...lip balm, lip boosters, lip conditioner, lip gloss, lip liner, lip plumper, lip primer. Arden's Red Door never considered  the gag reflex for a pearl necklace. That's elegant; I should use that line. She should use the makeup remober at the morning vefore she wake up to sleep. Sleeping veauty: a porcelain...gorgeous outside - empty inside. Was it Arden or Rubinstein? or Lauder? "Pleasure"...her perfume still lingers... memories from a vuried past. She used to call me but I let her go. She knows how to cuckook. I miss her Cannelloni and Lasagna.L'Italia del nonno... The land that he had to leabe...Nero, Caligula, Machiavelli, Dante's Inferno,The Borgias, Mussolini. Hiccup!... Who's going to bote for him? Re-election never sounded so good...

Details | Election Poem | |

Unique Lady

She is gracious,skillful and filled with true love,
Dense weight on her shoulder to help those in need,
 Utopian woman  selected  from above,
Malice absent, but poetry her  daily feed,
Doesn`t compromise as regards perfection,
She`s voted as the VOICE without election,
Pride and oppression she detests to the core,
Her traits and values many damsels adore.


*Dedicated to Debbie Guzzi,Linda(PD) and Andrea, NOT forgetting Nette,Carol,Catie,Carrie,Gwen,Leonora,Suz,Anne-lise,Mandy,Sara,Constance,Skat,Gail etc.

Details | Election Poem | |

W Z 8

My name is W. Z, 8.
I do not start work until late
You may recognize my orange hue
As I clearly come into your view

I am a street lamp, here I always stand
Life for me is not always grand
I’m going rusty though covered in galvanise
This drab grey colour I really do despise

Your dogs they love to wee up me
How would it be if I gave them a jolt of electricity?
They hang scoop the poop signs upon me
Can someone tell me where’s my dignity

I am not political yet every election
They hang their signs on me it looks like an infection
Pictures upon me of a lost cat and dog
My yellow light lets you see them in the fog

Sometime my bulb may just get broke
All the other lamps they make jokes 
At night I see tramps sleeping in boxes
That and the owls and the urban foxes

They say Prince Charles likes to hug a tree
Can someone tell me why no one will hug me?
Is it that I’m about twenty feet tall
Do I not provide a service to you all?
 
So after this I hope you appreciate
Me working in the dark and very late
In the future don’t hit me with your car
Because my life is already hard enough by far

Details | Election Poem | |

27 FEB 1861

February 27, 1861

My Dear Miss Holly Winegardner,

   After saying goodbye to you, Johnny Birdeye and I traveled from Columbus to Nashville by train, then west to Memphis arriving home two days ago. Johnny’s family was glad to have him back and were grateful to me for going to Ohio to fetch him for them. You and I did not talk about young Johnny while I was there in Newark so perhaps I should tell you how I came to journey so far north and to eventually meet you.

   As I mentioned in our passing conversations, I live on our family farm on Crawley’s Ridge in Arkansas. It is located some fifty miles west of Memphis on a ridge overlooking the Mississippi River basin. Our farm belonged to Mr. Raymond Bennett Dobbins, my mother’s second husband, until his death eight years ago. It amounts to about five hundred acres now, including the acreage of my father's farm, of mostly rolling, hilly land - a great deal of it wooded and untamed, but filled with a variety of lakes and natural springs. That which is arable provides deep rooting for generous orchards and vineyards. We farm some and graze some but mostly fruit out the land as much as possible.

   Every year, we load some ten wagons with fruits, vegetables and nuts, and travel to Memphis several times for money crops during the harvest season. There is never enough to sell and we are constantly clearing land for more orchard space. We raise a variety of apples, plums, peaches, cherries, pears, apricots and persimmon. Our pecans are widely known, and sought after even in an area with an abundance of such nuts. We have several vineyards of grapes for jams, jellies, and wines. Even wild muscadine grapes are in abundance. We also have a wonderful stable of horses and, as you know, this is my passion.

   As I told your father while in Ohio, my mother married Mr. Dobbins, after my father’s death, on the condition that there be no slaves kept by him. At the time, he owned some fifty slaves and willingly freed them so that Mother would accept his proposal. Most of them moved away to Memphis and some further west but a few remained on our place, and worked along side the rest of the family. I will tell you sometime of John, our blacksmith, and Ethel, his wife, of Alice, who works in our home with my mother. Of young Tobacco Dobbins, my friend as a child, who now lives in California, having taken muscadine grapes there to grow. He has become quite a legend there and we are all proud of him.

   Johnny Birdeye’s family lives in the basin at the eastern foot of Crawley’s Ridge bordering our property. Their spread is vast covering thousands of acres of timber and at least a thousand acres of cotton farming. Johnny is younger than me by a few years, and in some ways not very mature for his age. Perhaps it is due to his upbringing in a rich family; perhaps it is just the way he is.

   A year ago, he left home with a gypsy girl, and it has taken the family this long to locate him and to dispatch me to Ohio to bring him home. I think he grew up some in this year, and realized that not everything in life is as it seems - meaning the girl was already married and leading him on. Perhaps I have said too much even now.

   Miss Holly, it is a trying time in which we live. Since Lincoln’s election, so much has transpired. South Carolina’s secession followed by so many other southern states is unbelievable. If Lincoln is inaugurated in March, there will likely be a fight. There is talk that my own beloved state will resign the Union in the spring.

   More chilling is the cold aspect of war. Many of my friends are arranging to travel to Little Rock or Fort Smith in case such a terrible turn brings us to incivility.

   The Birdeye family has a friend in Memphis whose name is Bedford Forrest. He is a plantation owner and slave trader, but says that he will build a fighting unit, if war breaks out. Mr Birdeye has offered to introduce me to Mr. Forrest, and I have considered it. Given my attention to horse flesh and Mr. Forrest’s expectation that he will raise a cavalry brigade, I am leaning toward such a prospect.

   Please understand that I want no part of war - it is a horrid thing to take a life. But, if we are invaded, as I told your father I will be compelled to defend our home.

   This is not the letter I sought to write to you, Miss Holly. I wanted to tell you about my time with you and how I felt since I saw you last. I wanted to tell you about my home, for I wondered how you would like it here. Though warmer, it is somewhat like your rolling hills in Ohio. Perhaps you will consider visiting us some time; my mother would love to meet you.

Yours most sincerely,

Jas. W. Johnson,
-late of Ohio,
-now on Crawley’s Ridge near Cherry Valley,
-and west of Memphis.

Details | Election Poem | |

Untold Bible Stories

Of a child growing up without a father
And the love and nurture of a mother
The struggle for food on less than a dollar 
In a world of abundance poverty still a ruler

Dried up wells and contaminated streams
Life on the brink in a desert of dreams
Knowledge like water, how rare for some 
Education and schools taboo (Boko Haram)

Remember to pray my son, mother said to me
There’s so much evil, airplane crashes and terrorism
And Islam and the perversion of this religion
The focus and fear drives us from being Christian

Remember to call on God the only true referee
The one who can guide us to unity and victory
He seeks neither an election nor a campaign
Forget His love we remember only hatred and pain

Details | Election Poem | |

Falsifying Truth

The concerned politician was running for re-election
   But a very cool, steamy sex scandal he struggled to hide
He used his thick, bald head to provide some harmful protection
   By taking a scholarly, dim-witted babe to be his bride

By hiding appearances this loser won the seat he sought
   But the love/hate relationship with his former mate went on
Under cover, above reproach the governorship he bought
   The wickedly good scheme went awry, the lover suddenly gone

In the shadows of limelight his true love would no longer stay
   The powerless governor didn’t want his private life public
And his charming, boring wife soon suspected there’d been foul play
   Lying alone in her separate room made her healthy heart sick

A sleazy, reputable reporter showed her photographs
   Of her husband and his lover in a platonic embrace
When confronted, the governor made a fortuitous gaff
   Laughing contritely, he told his wife their love he’d not debase

But well-intentioned cons have a way of gleaming through darkness
   For the long-lost mate found his way to the governor’s mansion
Startled resignation on his wife’s face so expressionless
   To explain he was gay led to consolidated expansion

The news was revealed, the governor was forced into hiding
   For he was no longer viewed as a truthful politician
He’d not been upfront, but back down in a closet confining
   And he’d risen to downfall with a concealed revelation 



*For Kristin’s “Oxymoronic” contest

Details | Election Poem | |

California's (Pot)tery

Medical they proposed  to be
Arnold Schwarzenegger and me
Relentless advertising - negativity
Individual battles -  the Ebay girl - a possibility 
Judging seventy-two year old's virility 
Under cover  all some political  pot heads
Another election seeing thin, colorful threads
No one's thinking clear, a foggy way to go
Andele, Andele, -  Arnold and I will end up in Mexico...


for Carolyn Devonshire's Contest "Election Humor"

The California Proposal of Legalizing Marijuana did not pass...  :)
Election results for Governor of CA: Meg Whitman (R) (former CEO of Ebay vs Jerri Brown - 72 (D) He won.

ándele   excl  (Méx)  (=¡venga!) come on!, hurry up!

Details | Election Poem | |

Elections

  Elections are less than a week away
  And all the candidates have something to say.

  With nervy tenure the ads were on the wing
  Tossing the dirt as far and as much as they could fling.

  When the signs are all up with their names posted there
  I always say..."Voter, Beware!"

  It's not their programs that they'll try to move
  But the largess in their pockets that they'll try to improve.

  I won't say I'm not cynical about election day
  I work as a judge during that crazed fray.

  Candidates all quote Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln for sure
  It would be better for us, if they knew who they were!


Details | Election Poem | |

Straw Man, The 2012 Presidential Campaign

       ......a strange color, green

   Become better informed, listen to your teachers,
educate yourself....which branch will the bluejay
survey from? 
The hawk, circling, choose his best option?

   Bleeding soldiers depend on doctors, rich men
depend on accountants, souls depend on preachers,
tap water depends on scientists and engineers,
nourishing the parched vagaries of citizens
and houseplants.

   Words fall like acid-rain, seemingly harmless,
we thought we understood rain, it falls, it
nourishes, fills our reservoirs....then leaves a stain,
a clear outline of abuse, like evaporated salt, clinging
to our shirts after a hard day, sound bite upon bite.

   Still, we wade through flooded streets, hoping the 
tides will descend, rhetoric return to sanity, our lives 
safe, from future floods.

  after the elephants parade through every mind 

        the straw left behind

                               collects promises dumped in the streets

        polled, polished,perfumed

                               ready to sweep it all up on election day
                       
        hit pause... wait four years

                               repeat

                                                wait four years

                                                                           repeat




09/08/12
6:09 pm








Details | Election Poem | |

Who let the Dogs Out

He went the way of a sickly pigeon,
and dropped his nasty load on religion.
The evil ones hailed him,
power they availed him,
which increased his vanity a smidgeon .

He declared himself the messiah,
From the depths of earthen hell fire,
The people believed him,
almighty pride seized him,
now he’s forcing God to retire.

You see there’s only room for one master,
to be God is what evil is after,
As enticing as it looks,
he and his cronies and crooks,
are setting the world up for disaster.

We Christians who always vote by rote,
keeping the Truths of our faith in a tote,
it’s we that keep evil in power,
We’ll know that in our last hour,
Right after we get thrown from the Boat.

Author's note:
    I read that in the last presidential election, 57% of Christians
voted for the present administration which is currently in the midst of 
of taking away their rights to conciencious objectionality and religious freedom
where the killing of babies ("abortion" for those of you who are still in la la land)
and the financial obligation for it is concerned. 
It is now desired by the present administration that Christians too pay for this 
murderous and horrific agenda.
To the 57% of Christians who voted for the current administration: you got your choice. 
Are congratulations in order?
-Robert A. Dufresne






















Details | Election Poem | |

A Mate For Moses

I bought him a mate,
     a pretty bird.
He sat there, sullen,
     nary a word.
He wasn't polite,
     he would not share.
So she pushed him off his swing
     and she sat there.
He pushed her back,
     no gentleman, he.
She plunked down beside him
     most begrudgingly.
So the swing they share,
     not because of affection.
It's the best seat in the house
     by unanimous election.
He glares at her,
     she glares at him.
My hopes of baby budgies
     are now somewhat slim.

Details | Election Poem | |

The Wilderness Part 2

Why not build a building of the real self,
You mind has jumped off it’s cliff,
Having nothing left of itself,
With the old man dead,
Where is the dread,
Live life instead!

There is nothing left,
But God within myself,
For I have been in a hassle,
In my worldly castle with my selves!

Here is the way it goes in hassle’s,
Worldly castle,
My aware said, I do declare,
To my mind, in times line,
Who said to my brain,
You’re lame,
Now my lame brain,
Said, to my flesh,
You’re the very last,
To see,
Twiddle Dee,
The mind’s creation for you to be!

Now that we see our devils,
Lets get our lives on the level,
For there is no devils,
Only a house divided,
Has been decided!
You can now see the cure,
That has been provided!

Just your outer parts out of line,
Created a wilderness in your mind,
In life’s time line!
So sit and pine no more,
No need to walk the floor,
Your mind created your life’s W- - - e!
Read about it in your bible some more,
Living with her has been such a chore,

So now I’ve opened the real door,
Of my inner world to explore,
It’s the real world,
Not the world in peril,
But my real pearl, of God’s world! 

One soul, one heart at a time,
With love’s kind,
Dane & Carolyn!
Myself I can change,
You, I cannot rearrange,
My love I can give to you,
But I can’t live it through you!

Once enough members of life’s city is built,
The whole world will tilt,
Toward perfection,
In love’s direction,
Toward the city’s election,
Of a world of perfection!

In the building of the city,
Black stones are a pity,
White stones build the city,
The carnal mind is a pity,
From the white of the hearts,
Comes a perfect city!

6-22-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com

Details | Election Poem | |

Debaucheries

Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.
Capitalism is the key to how our engine’s stoked.

The rich swap hats and argue that they know what’s best for folk
The corporations buy House and Senate, then they sit back and gloat.

Election laws guarantee the wealthy keep their poke,*
Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.

We have the vote, they say and so Democracy makes us free
But surely they’ve not bamboozled the likes of you and me.

We know to vote is useless since money’s the only key
Justice takes a back seat to political debaucheries.

Like we believe they're different what do they think we smoke?
Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.



* Poke - a pouch or bag used by a cowboy 
to carry his "possibles" (small personal items).
(Derived from the French word poche, meaning a pocket or bag.)
Also used as cowboy slang for sex. 

Details | Election Poem | |

A Good News Day

The sun rose this morning
Hip-Hip-Hooray!
Things are going our way

Frost and drought
Did not destroy crops
There’s food for the world – Lick your chops

A truce finally came in the Mideast
Soldiers are coming home
No more to war will they roam

Cures have been found for Ebola and cancer
All who were ill are now well
We’ll never again hear the death knell

Washington D.C. is rejoicing
A new president won election
The economy is headed in a better direction

All who want jobs are now working
Teachers, nurses, street cleaners too
Accolades abound for this major breakthrough

Harmony prevails throughout the world
All religions and cultures have united as one
No one need carry a gun

Environmental protection efforts are working
Let’s rejoice with a sip of wine
Prayers have been answered by a Creator divine
 


*October 18, 2014

Details | Election Poem | |

Purge Our Consciences

From my lowly bachelor’s house
Proudly christened ‘Embassy Fair’
I woke up to the chirping of birds
On the trees above and across the vale
And the riverine bushes in-between
I woke up to the crowing of cocks
And the mooing of cows
I woke up to the leaping of calves
And the bleating of anxious goats;
To the braying of the donkey
The barking of my brother’s dog
And to the mumbling of the sheep.

There was no time to brood
Or think negative thoughts
Or linger on yesterday’s deeds.
I opened up all my senses
And voluptuously drank of the new day.
As my feet stroked the dew
On my way to the reserve fields
My eyes fathomed Mt. Ithangune
The eastern fortress of Mt. Kenya
Itself a mere one thousand feet higher.
Then we were mountain warriors
And our locale elevated us accordingly 
Leaving no room for flippancy
Even when it was flipping cold.

Times were when our men grazed there
On the slopes of Kirima kia Ng’ombe
Times were when Omo elders made rain there
Little did we know then (as now?)
That the God of Rain had slumbered
And demanded pure white fattened rams
Delivered by pure white-haired men
Whose penance upon the mountain
Would atone the sins of the Meru clans
And make our mountain God weep
And let his tears soften our rich soils
To ward off barrenness once more
And banish famine from our midst;
And as our fast-flowing rivers swelled
So, too, our cattle and our granaries.

For although our God lived at the apex
Yet he allowed us to get this close
And so to commune with him
Without touching his garment
Craftily spread over the three peaks.
Krapf and Rebmann never knew this
They were mere trekkers, mere explorers
Of a continent pregnant with mystery
That their kinsmen sought to make a home,
A distant home away from home.

One time I HEARD THEM TEACH THAT Krapf
Was the first man to see Mt Kenya
To which I responded, ‘Really? Aren’t you kidding?’
So what kind of men were the mountain warriors-
Blind men? The Meru, the Kikuyu, the Embu,
The Wakamba, the Masai, the Samburu, the Borana-
Were they all blind men then? Stone blind-
All those Africans that had known it before Krapf?

Desecration followed desecration
As alien men sought to climb Mt Kenya
And alien men sought to expropriate
Not just a field but all our land.
From a handful of missionaries and clerks
To shiploads of coolies and soldiers
To throngs of settlers and administrators
To segregation, imposition and subjugation
Till the people- wary, weary and desperate
Rose from the caves, valleys and forests
From every blessed nook and cranny
Chanting MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU
(Mwingereza Aende Ulaya
Mwafrica Apate Uhuru- 
White Man Return to Europe
African man Attain Independence!)

Though a youngster and much afraid
I sang that, too, in my youthful heart
Forbidden, I still sang it, in my heart
For I had seen the sword on my mum’s throat
As they sought to extract a confession
I had seen the village burn down
And I had seen the limp body of a fighter
Paraded through the village paths
But that was over half a century ago
And although I had seen the aftermath
Of Kaya Bombo and Kaya Tiwi in Kwale
On my way here (but thought it a dream)
And the agony of the 1998 Al Qaeda attacks
I had not seen much else; nor will I ever see
The likes of Eldoret, Nakuru, or Naivasha
After the 2007 election- I ardently pray not
For this is not the white man in Africa
That we are up against, surely not here
Not this long after regaining our independence
No! Not here in my beloved, bounteous Kenya.

It is commercial and political greed
A vicious, ugly cross-breed beast perhaps
That is all there is, that is all there can be
And these we must banish from our hearts
For who can bear to see Kenyan blood
Flowing down River Tana or Athi or Nzoia
Or swelling the banks of Lake Victoria, Nakuru or Turkana?
Who can plead such a case before God
And come away with his soul intact?
Have the Kenyan people not chosen
Through a brand new constitution
Their route to freedom, justice and progress?
Have they not decreed their own destiny?
Let me hear it from you and you and you
Whose hand or sword or bullet or arrow
Was stained by the blood of woman, man or child
Let me hear it from you who schemed or aided
And you who lent your tongue or thought
Or simply sought refuge in silence and waited
For something, anything to happen to ‘them.’
Let me hear you say, ‘Enough, enough!
Purge our consciences O Mighty One!’

Details | Election Poem | |

Taxing Benefits

I met a Sheriff the other day.
Just teasing, I happened to say.
I am stopping by to pay my taxes.
Giving you my money before axes,

He said to me, “I get none of that money“.
I looked up in surprise, and thought, how funny.
He and many others forget our taxes pay salaries.
They work for us and their duties are in galleries.

Without working people to pay taxes, they would not be.
They forget these things after office acquired you see.
They pump us up upon the Election Day’s arrival.
Reinstatement in public office is part of survival.

We the people pay for their cars, meals, homes, indeed.
Our money than dispatched into the funds that do seed,
Without the people paying taxes, their jobs would recede.
We the people elect and pay wages, so justice will proceed.

However, many law officials take rules made for all.
Bending them to fit their need, in name of the law,
I have the utmost respect for officers on patrol.
They need to be cautious, to keep crime under control.

However, to break any law, for no reason at all, indeed.
Makes justice suffer, two wrongs make a misdeed,
Their pledge, for no reason at all to break their creed,
Serve and protect, without wrongdoing, as agreed.

An oath, I know they all take and so easily forget after.
Some upon that tomorrow, just ease back in laughter.

Details | Election Poem | |

Lost Free Will

We are all a proud Canadain people,
But as of late, I dont like what i see,
There is no more debate on certain things,
We are just simply told, this is how its going to be.

Prices on everything is going out of control,
With no end in sight.
No one even seems to care,
Or even put up a fight.

We follow along like lost sheep,
Waiting for someone to stand up and say,
Ok.Ok. enough is enough, we cant take no more,
Its time this Gouverment moved in a different way.

At each election , we are promised this and that,
Things will get better they say,
But for those who cant find a job,
It gets harder to live, day by day.

The welfare line keeps growing and growing,
Because there are no jobs to be had.
For a father of five young mouths to feed,
Makes his heart feel awful sad.
 
I think its time this Gouverment stood up and say,
To the rich people of this land,
You made your money of poor peoples back,
Now it time to give them a hand.

But like most Gouverments , nothing will be done,
Unless we ALL stand up and say,
We put you into power to help the PEOPLE , 
Not just the rich along the way.




Details | Election Poem | |

Random Thoughts *23* Double Etheree

Miss N.Y.C.
Double Etheree
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1

-----No
-romance,
-----promoting
her deep longing,
--------------sexuality.
-----------Only casually.
--Occasionally, my creep.
------I am her vanilla creamer,
blended well with her cappuccino
-----influence, sweet, stirred by my erection!
------------Mayor of my world, sole candidate
---in this election. Love injected.
--------Definition of perfection. 
her body recites a verse,
softly singing to me.
-----Lovely poetry,
------stimulating
----  melody.
romance?
NO!!!!


Jared Pickett
10/5/09
Asavvy1

Details | Election Poem | |

Xylond Doid - Apprentice Demon

Xylond Doid was an apprentice demon sent to earth by old Beelzebub himself
to kill the supreme leader of the planet and thereby creating worldwide chaos,
thus assuring Xylond Doid of earning his much coveted horns.
A demon without horns in Hades is the lowest scum of all,
and Hell is inhabited by nothing but scumbuckets of the first order.
I know that most people think that Hell is nearby, but in reality it is a faraway place.
Xylond Doid never was a real pro at navigation, so instead of landing in Geneva,
Switzerland and storming the United Nations Headquarters to confront
the supreme leader, he landed in Crossbow County, West Virginia instead.
He went into Bo Jinx’s Bait and Tackle Shop and demanded to be taken to the leader.
Bo, being the accommodating soul that he is, walked Xylond Doid over to Sheriff
Deke Fisher’s office, which was just a couple of blocks from Bo’s place of business.
The scummy little demon told Deke that he was sent by Satan
to annihilate the leader. Deke told him that he was a day late and a dollar short,
for Crossbow County’s Commission President Edgar Farnsworthy
had died three days before, after serving over fifty seven years in that office.
The sheriff informed Xylond Doid that as the sheriff of the county,
it was his sworn duty to appoint an interim president
until an officially sanctioned election could be set up to choose
a permanent successor to take the worthless old hack's place.
Deke had yet to find a single soul who wanted the job,
it would take too many hours away from their hunting, fishing
and drinking times to make it a worthwhile proposition.
Sheriff  Fisher told Xylond Doid that he was plenty ugly enough
to be a professional politician and offered him the position.
Xylond Doid took him up on his offer and still resides there to this very day.

Details | Election Poem | |

Electile Dysfunction

I voted for Ronald McDonald for Governor
My local politician said that was rude
But if I had a choice of clowns
I wanted one with food
Now our Congressman’s campaign manager was Pinocchio
He thought he was very lucky
But when the campaign manager faced southwest
His nose was in Kentucky.
After watching all the election ads
I’ve been doubled up with gas
So when you’re done kissing babies 
Politicians can kiss my (Darn! Almost said it again)


Details | Election Poem | |

Resurrection

Reassuring Eternal                                                                                                            Salvation                                                                                                               Union with God                                                                                                       Receiving Rewards                                                                                                                    Election                                                                                                                Completely  made whole                                                                                              Time                                                                                                                        Is                                                                                                                        No more  death sorrow or pain

Details | Election Poem | |

William Alexander Bustamante (From Pages)

Now let us forget foreign captains
And Conquistadores myth
That colors the morning exuberantly
With exotics wars and phony fathers
Like a fine lady strolling along a rotten street
I have tasted lemon
And though I wince at my tongue's
Sharp reaction
I value the tart worthiness of vitamins
And the aroma of the blossoms
And the bee like workers singing
While the flowers fall
Like stars littering my eyes.

I cannot see again
Your extroverted flair flashing 
By the country paths
Where the horse yield to your mastery
What else was a boy to do
Tired of the Irish legacy
Tired of plantation life
Tired of the little elementary school
That made Britannia into another Bible
For the masses of the suffering world
What else was there in a small island
To hold twenty one years of restlessness
I can see why the waves
Washed you onto other friendly shores
The Pan Amanian dandy
The tongue upon the Cuban candy
And then there you are
Staring at Wall Street shriveling pain
Licking the candy out of the store again
Your tall mane of hair
Billowing the against the Blue Mountain
The man has returned
Captain of the storm in nineteen thirty eight

And there they were
The Harts, the Hills, Henrys, Coombs
Isaacs ... the whole plethora of our light
Shining at the edge of night
But not you, dietician, 
Hunger was no miracle here
No you, money changer, lender and userer
Good interest is taken from the bank of fear
Not you, tired of the Irish despair
You knew Denham had no purpose here
Your were the voice the workers would hear
You were the hero with chest bared
My father felt the system's rock
And felt wounded and scared
The hand of change was on history's clock

You who dreamed Federation first
And then destroyed it for the gravy pot
Was too small to staunch
The empire's collective curse
You cave from dungeon and cage singing
Winging from Ward
To chief among the murder of crows
And when you flew away from it
From the by-election to the Federal Parliament
And when we were dvided
You rose on it
We are just a lonely island in a crowded sea
The rivers vomit mud
Red with bauxite, and the Prime Minister
Rose like an eagle 
And we love you still today
For it seemed you were not made of common clay
You were the noblest of the Clarkes
Ovations feathered you to fly
Blinding the sun's blinded eye
The greatest of the stars
Inventor of self, en-nobler of dust.

Details | Election Poem | |

BULLETS

BULLETS!
If there ever was a time in the history of human, It is now that one’s being is bound to civic duty impost. He or she is a loyal citizen of his or her nation. Intensify is the fortress bond of armory and strength. Through our faith and courage, our minds and our heart have engaged vigor. Dynamism is diversification via structure. What is seen is statement beyond repose via strategy. As we discuss the militant way, we centralize our thoughts To suffrage in other nations against dogmatic methods. Systemically approached the right to vote interposed by Illegality of the election booth intervened by Bribes and other means to destroy equitability. What is seen is statement beyond repose via strategy. Impartiality is an assured plus of unanimous. Political leaders aboard focus on a suppressed nation Through their views on enslavement and incapacitation. For sure, this is the Putin’s views of the Ukraine orders retain. To incarcerate through tenets of rapaciousness is cruel. Therefore, what is seen is only a system of beliefs. The Ukrainians must remain free to be at liberty. ______________________________________| Verlena S. Walker Penned on October 02, 2014! Form: Decapentasyllabic Verse