Best Bureaucrat Poems
Very strong message taking form,
Coming like a violent storm,
Warning of nation’s moral low,
Unaware of approaching foe.
Ignorant! How this world beguiles!
Blind to the culture’s subtle changes,
Dull to enemy’s evil wiles,
Naïve on immoral binges.
Stressed out by malignant ills.
Misguided by bureaucrat vow.
Duped by sharp marketing skills.
Depending on NASDAQ or the Dow.
Wake up, see the coming dark storm,
In midst of silver lining.
Judgment framed by hope’s reform.
Urgent need for land’s refining.
Categories:
bureaucrat, conflict, corruption, destiny, future,
Form:
Rhyme
I feel just like that old grey squirrel,
whose belly is empty as can be.
He keeps on searching for those acorns,
but he has climbed up a maple tree.
He worked hard and long the whole darn year,
burying his food out on the lawn.
But when he went back to grab a snack,
he had found the whole damn thing was gone.
All because some stupid bureaucrat,
said he had filled out all the wrong forms.
Now there’s nothing left of his nest egg,
to help him survive the winter’s storms.
I keep rolling the dice for sevens,
somehow, I always end up with eight.
Each time I think I’ve reached the garden,
someone has already locked the gate.
Now I’m too old to hanky panky,
and I’m too tired to even care.
Point me towards the supper table,
and just see how fast I’ll make it there.
So don’t dare ask me where I’m going,
'cause I can’t remember where I’ve been.
I’m sick of always losing the race,
Just when will it be my turn to win?
Why do I keep reaching for those dreams,
when I know they’re unattainable.
Anytime I find a little hope,
I know it is not sustainable.
Yes, I know I’m insignificant,
you don’t have to keep pointing it out.
I did not fall off the turnip truck,
with no idea what life’s about.
I know that there are no right answers,
because it’s all just lies and deceit.
But before I even start the race,
seems that I have already been beat.
If you gave a penny for my thoughts,
that’s likely twice what they would be worth.
I may be, ugly, poor, and broken,
but I’ve always been that way since birth.
All I can hope is when I’m buried
somewhere beneath a simple grey stone.
That the epitaph carved into it,
“Here lies a man who didn’t die alone.”
Categories:
bureaucrat, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
When I spotted Saint George in a van,
I feared that his horse might be lame.
Or worse, in a Doggomeat can,
when hurt in some chivalric game.
Saint George, it appeared was not happy,
now carried around in this way.
He used to dress well and quite snappy,
with armour and sword on display.
It didn’t seem right, when I saw him,
in wellies and minus a hat.
I expect my Saint to be trim,
not looking like some bureaucrat.
“You there!” said Saint George to a swain,
“I need you to help with my quest.
They’re wanting a Dragon thing slain,
because it’s becoming a pest.”
“Noble Saint, may it please you to hark,
‘tis Ramblers and Naturalists Day.
They’re swarming all over his Park
and demanding a new Right of Way.”
“Yon Dragon is hid in his cave,
all cringing from lads and the lasses.
He claims he’s no longer so brave,
when facing the wrath of the masses.”
The Saint then climbed back in his banger,
but soon got it stuck in the mud.
He next was assailed by the clamour
of peace keepers baying for blood!
The Entrance, he got a surprise,
when told he must purchase a ticket.
‘For seeing a Dragon who cries,
when hiding behind a small thicket!’
Saint George soon fastened his tabard,
(of bio-degradable tin),
then drew out his gun from its scabbard
and gingerly ventured within.
“Brave Saint! You have come and will save me,
before I am forced back to crime
or ghastly do-gooders enslave me.
Thank goodness you’ve got here in time.”
“I’ve finished all Dragonly trades
and prisoners now been released.
I love little children and maids.
My fire fighting days are all ceased.
Saint George said, “I must go ahead.
This isn’t the world as we knew it.
The age of old Chivalry’s dead.”
He pointed his gun – and he slew it!
~
For Judy's "Hail to the Dragon Slayer' Competition.
Categories:
bureaucrat, england,
Form:
Verse
I too sing corruption
I waited on the bench
was told no work
reason (mkono mtupu)
yes had no long relative
I sat next to the conductor
comes an officer
wringing their hands
red-pinkish 100 shilling note
(afande chai)
but the vehicle overloaded
I went job-searching
but my less qualified counterpart had it
sexual favors I tell you
My certificates useless
I now clean the streets
In the bureaucrat
I see my tax
I see embezzled funds
several investigations
with no results
The country is mired into corruption
Who will emancipate us???
strong vespers we need.
I really yearn for the times
when fairness will thrive
when we will sing a dirge to corruption.
Categories:
bureaucrat, betrayal, jobs, leadership, money,
Form:
Narrative
I turned to my wife
With desire in my eyes
And my loins a little disjointed
Forestalling sin,
She asked with no grin,
¨Kind sir, do you have an appointment?¨
You'll need to make an appointment
If you wanna have a shot at love
I was having a chat
With a sweet bureaucrat
Whose curves nature had appointed
The moment seemed right
When up came the red light
And a billboard reading, ¨Make your appointment¨
In the future, you'll need an appointment
For love, for kindness, for care
Some justice of the peace
Will preside your release
Or decide on your fate of despair
In time we'll be damned
To a hostile land
Ruled by gods we ourselves anointed
Hey, you get what you give
So don't ---- where you live --
Or at least not without an appointment.
Categories:
bureaucrat, humor, irony, romantic, sexy,
Form:
Light Verse
Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen
While reading Charles Bukowski poetry
On the metro ride home
Listening to Buddha bar music
On my oh too hip IPod
I begin to see myself as I was
Over 30 years ago when I was merely a bit player
A minor character in a Charles Bukowski poem
A wild young underemployed intellectual
Hanging out in dismal bars and dives all over Asia and California
Hanging with disreputable women and drunks and drinkers
And characters out of his kinds of haunts
A mad poet bard of the underground
A drunken poet in a drunken bum show
That nightly played in his head
Then one day I met the women of my dreams
And went down a different path
A long slow path to respectability
And now 30 years later
I am no longer a wild man
I am still a poet at heart
But I am now also a bureaucrat
In a button down suite
Doing the people's business
Working for the Government
I've become the Man
Sometimes I wonder
Would I have been better off
Going down that another path
Would I have ended up
Somewhere else
Doing something else
Would I have been as happy
Would I have been as successful?
There is no answer that satisfies
The longing in my heart
For that wild thing
That still lurks beneath
It's civilized cover
And I know that I am still
A mad poet at heart
Railing against the injustice of the world
As I work day by day in the belly of the great beast of State
I recall the ancient Chinese saying,
"Confucian during the day while Taoist rebel at night"
Playing out in my head and nightly dreams
In the true American Upper class patrician tradition
I close the book and look out the window
Get off the train, and walk slowly home
And realize I had no choice
But to take the path that I’ve trodden on
And so I put aside my misgivings
And say goodbye to my "Bukowskian"desires
For another night of domestic contentment
Was it worth it all to take the conventional path
And not take the bohemian road to hell and back
I look at my wife and realize
I had no choice, had no choice
But to follow her to the ends of the earth
And beyond by her side as we walked our path
Of shared destiny
Goodbye Charles Bukowski wherever you are
May I meet you in a bar in the next life
And figure out where we should have gone
Until then the drinks are on me.
Categories:
bureaucrat, anger, anxiety, career, change,
Form:
Free verse
at this moment
a game is being played
two contemplating
on moves being made
four sitting at a table
in a game called spades
ten passing a ball
up and down a court
all different variety's
and kinds of sports
a man telling his wife
why he's coming home late
a leader telling the his people
why they have to wait
the man at the gate
telling you it's too late
the bureaucrat with power
that decides your fate
a boy asking a girl out
for her very first date
a cop looking for criminals
using drugs as bait
the devil with his lies
who you dare to debate
and your compromise with God
with whom you cannot equate
Categories:
bureaucrat, introspection, drug,
Form:
Rhyme
I wish I knew the reason why
An X, L, V and I, I, I
Is how one can identify
Which Super Bowl this is.
Though Roman numerals I hate,
Without them, one could not equate
Those letters with game 48 -
It’s almost like a quiz.
I wonder who decided that
The Roman way is where it’s at;
It had to be a bureaucrat
Or mathematics whiz.
So every year I rack my brain
In hopes that yes, I did retain
Those skills to let me ascertain
Which Super Sunday ‘tis.
Categories:
bureaucrat, football,
Form:
Rhyme
Cutting Cheese
There once was a bureaucrat
Whose body made sounds where he sat
It would be underhanded
Were he reprimanded
Without a complete list of stats
So his supervisor kept up a log
Of each time he let out a fog
It’s not really my fault
He said I can’t halt
I’ve a medical skewed apologue
But with 60 blasts all written down
In 17 days, the guy found
The charges would stick
He must do something quick
To end his rear end making sound
The Social Security Administration
Has certainly added to my consternation
They recorded each stink
Which just makes me think
They have set the low bar for this nation
So I beg you please
If you must cut the cheese
Don’t cut the cheese while at work
For the unions have rules
Gave your bosses the tools
To publically call out your quirk
Another true story I learned about on the web
Categories:
bureaucrat, social, stress, work,
Form:
Rhyme
While jurisprudence illustrates through brief,
the bureaucrat stands verbal in reply.
To pillage righteous freedoms like a thief,
he fans malfeasance tethered to a lie.
Incitement is the weaponry of choice
for inspiration fanning despot flames,
autocracy inflects within the voice
to emphasize the fabricated claims.
When treachery lies hidden in pursuit
of public trust or monetary gain,
a blind belief leaves reason in dispute
to dispossess such mutinous disdain.
Beware the quisling, quick in repartee,
with flouted oaths that lend to vagrant creed,
for in their wake, the demagogue will plea
constituents were partners in the deed.
Is not a vote the voice behind the lead,
is not a gathered flock thy shepherd’s keep?
For voices served are culpable in deed,
and what they cultivate so shall they reap.
Though, but a bit more goodness lights
the night than evil bids to dim the human heart,
morality must lean into this fight
if e’er to let benevolence impart.
Categories:
bureaucrat, anger, angst, hope, society,
Form:
Rhyme
Living walls composed of tiny living building blocks
Pinchers, claws, legs, holding on, gripping, intertwined
Compelled to embrace each other in this crawly house
Scratching on hardened shells, always adjusting, tightening
Ever responding to the constant hum deep within
Awaiting the call to aid the foraging column
The mighty stomach growls and workers spill out in raids
Blinded by design, they have no choice but to follow
the trail laid down before them, to stray is to be exposed
They ravage the frontier, surpassing all by shear numbers
Dragging back strange trophies for the greater good of all
Though Mother Nature's own, they leave her environment sterile
And the sovereign soldiers lean to the sky, expectant
Guarding the queen's highway of dutiful progress
So monstrous their jaws that the workers must feed them
But wary are the workers for they know their guardians
Blind unbiased vises that will seize friend or foe
Once triggered, they slam shut never to release their prey
And deep within toils the creative bureaucrat
Or so think the loyal workers who greet their new brothers
She pestles their trophies into ever more mouths to feed
Her eyes on the future, but blind to the present
Commanding the make-up of her workers, but not their minds
She perpetuates a brood of millions with the love of none
Inspiration:
Discovery Channel TV Special – “Killer Ants”
The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers song “Essayons”
Proverbs 6:6-8 (KJV)
“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise which having no guide,
overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the
harvest.”
Categories:
bureaucrat, allegory, nature, political
Form:
Free verse
You can line up at the bank
Or you can line up at the mall
If you in a real big rush, you can line up in your autocar
Coffee lines and fast food lines
Even I, have some lines
If I may whisper them to you
Lines lines are everywhere,
Even at the local state fair
Line lines lines
Long lines, short lines
No one likes any lines
No one likes my funny lines
So what if they rhyme?
Unless you a burly Bureaucrat
Then all the lines are very good times
Especially when they all lined up
Paying unpaid taxes, along with hefty fines,
Fine fine those dam fines
One day I would like to say, we have had enough
I would draw a line in the sand
Sadly I have no worldly doubt
There’s even a line for that
There is a group, they don’t like lines
They sure know how to sing
Hold the line, Hold line
Love isn’t always on time!
Doctors, lawyers, dentists too!!
They all have lines tailored just for you
Hours, days, endless waiting
They love to have their lines
Don’t ever ask why the line
There will never be an answer
Even if they should make one up
There’s a line for even that
Now one day, your line shall end
As you lie at the funeral parlor
Funny how for this last task
There is no line for that
I am sure, there must be lines, way up and above
As well as Hell down below
Lines will never never never end
Just because you’re dead
Now if your one who hates me so
There’s even a line for that
Concert tickets will have less lines
Than getting a shot at me
So if one day, there shall be a soul
Who may wish to love me even so and so
I have good news, for this is true
That line is empty, except for dust
Waiting just for you
=====
Notes:
have to run
have to go
Check my soup site just to see
who is onLINE now to talk to me
( if you wish to read this twice, please get in line and start over )
Categories:
bureaucrat, funny, humorous,
Form:
Light Verse
I was beginning to think I had been dreaming all these years,
And thoughts of common sense being anything other than a myth,
Would only only end in tears,
With anger becoming harder to suppress.
I was wrong,
Common sense can still be found,
And we should burst into song,
Every time we find it still makes a sound,
That proves us wrong,
And that our eyes and ears are sound.
I just read that an 11 year old ,
Was given a lawn mower,
In a move that was quite bold,
It was not a toy and could cut grass with power.
And best of all there seemed to be no-one around,
To say he was too young,
Or he might end up hospital bound,
And his parents were with no fine stung,
With not 1 bureaucrat making any audible sound.
So, for tonight at least,
My thoughts can be less sour,
As I pray that common sense is more than a blast from the past,
And has returned to restore the balance of power.
Categories:
bureaucrat, age, analogy, appreciation, baptism,
Form:
Didactic
Thank you very much Ms Tara Reade for confidin',
Your allegation 'gainst Jo-Jo the Clown Joe Biden!
Interesting that the fake news at CNN and MSNBC
Hammered Trump and Kavanaugh for like dallying constantly!
But from them regarding Biden, we hear not a peep
About the alleged assignations of this puerile creep!
Most of the time Joe doesn't know where he's at,
Nor can he find his butt with both hands, this wily bureaucrat!
Vote for him if you will this coming fall,
But if he is elected, God have mercy on us all!
(I suspect I'll receive vile flak from those with a different view - that's OK - fire away! I'm sticking to expressing my First Amendment rights!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
bureaucrat, political,
Form:
Political Verse
“I have an idea”, were the words that I said,
To the cabinet of officials before me.
“We don’t have enough workers to build and to farm”,
Success I would boldly guarantee.
They worked through the day, and through every night,
In shifts each twelve hours long.
Creating powerful buildings of pure austere and awe,
Huge buildings that were invincibly strong.
Everyone had a bed, was fed regularly, they laughed,
Sang, were so happy and loud.
And those that were sad, we just sold them to a theatre,
To wrestle lions in front of a crowd.
No one complained in those days of create, folks lived lives,
Till they could no longer toil.
Then they prayed to me, they loved me so much,
So I let them dig their own catacomb in the soil.
My idea, it was brilliant, we accomplished so much,
They built my striking Egyptian grave.
We were first on the Earth to make a working business,
Turning an African culture into a slave.
24th July 2016
Categories:
bureaucrat, evil,
Form:
Quatrain