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Election Poem
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-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:)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
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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
Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2013
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The Pied Piper from New York City – Part Two
This is quite despicable and very inappropriate for someone holding the
“Highest Office in Our Land.” The Pied Piper hides his treachery by
Wrapping himself in the glory of the “Stars and Stripes.” Talk about
True shame! He should look in the mirror!
The “Forgotten Man” who represents those who fell prey to the inflated
Promises and mindless propaganda of The Pied Piper, should not at all
Be surprised later when they suddenly discover—they’ve been “had,”
That is,
Sadly, forgotten by their Pied Piper,
Replete with his famous Trademark Attributes:
Thin-skin,
Clay-feet,
Twitter-thumbs and
A shrill-accusatory voice.
The Pied Piper, as new-style politician, is also mired in some other
key controversies with his family that are worth mentioning.
Since coming to Washington, DC and ascending to the White House
on January 20, 2017:
The Pied Piper and his family have viewed the nation’s capital and
the people’s house as,
“Luscious Juicy Plums—Ripe for the Picking!”
And, the Pied Piper’s various plans and actions since his ascension
to the presidency are certainly not done necessarily in favor of the
American people—if at all!
Characteristically, he enjoys playing to people’s “Fears,” rather
than taking the higher road that any good leader would do, by
appealing to the “Better Angels of Their Nature.” For sure, an
Abraham Lincoln, he’s not, nor shall he ever be!
Indeed, the Piped Piper has done some very naughty things,
among others, already to his credit and ignominy:
His poorly-conceived and implemented Muslim travel ban.
Playing “Chicken” with the U.S. Congress on the state and
quality of American healthcare.
Using the White House as his own personal ATM machine.
Becoming the “Patron Saint of Nepotism” with the inclusion
of select family members on his staff. (What’s wrong with a
little nepotism, eh?)
Engulfed in multiple business conflicts of interest, both foreign
and domestic.
Revelations of potential collusion with Russia and Russian
surrogates to interfere with the 2016 presidential election.
Blatant violations of the Emoluments Clause of the U.S.
Constitution.
And he’s just now quashed executive branch protection of the
DACA Dreamer Immigrant Program.
All these very naughty things are: tragic, thoughtless, sad, stupid,
and grossly reprehensible!
With all this, I now rest my case!
Yet, I would like to encourage everyone to reflect for a
critical moment on “The Fragile Nature of Democracy.”
“Democracy,” itself, has been viewed and likened to:
“That Most Precious Fabergé Egg.”
We all must devoutly cherish this most precious Fabergé Egg
called “Democracy.”
And protect it always from the unscrupulous actions of the
Pied Pipers of the World!
For us to do otherwise—would be unforgivable!
Need I say more?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2017 (Political Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017
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Election Poem
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You knew you were going to die. 1
And yet you came, thinking no matter how insane,
the man on the seat of power would never want you dead
… it would be too much on his head.
And so you came, and there in the brightness of the day
they took your life away, on the tarmac… in broad daylight. 2
I was too young to fully understand, and yet I cried -
The greatest leader we never had, the greatest leader we needed to have … died.
August 21, 1983 was a day of ignominy.
The nation suffered from shamed infamy;
Too many people, not just one witness,
yet not anyone saw, everyone was witless.
The world mocked our country of too little people.
Seemed all we could do was pray on the steeple,
we were hopeless, hopeless…helpless…
Quo vadis, Filipino?
The tide of justice was slow in turning,
even though on the streets, one felt intense mourning.
Peace loving people were silently seething,
faithful and compliant, yet inwardly…defiant.
Seventeen years seemed still not enough,
the man on the throne just couldn’t give up;
With close-knit advisers, and media sanitizers -
If one contradicts, he sees the gunpoint…with silencers.
What must have you felt the days after you left?
Did you think we were too blind, too mute and deaf?
Took almost three years for us, to finally get our act
I guess we were too set in our ways, too afraid…to react.
What the man in power and his cronies up the tower.
must not have considered… are the new movers and shakers.
There was only so much we could take…
There was only so much we could tolerate…
February 25, 1986 was the day we started to fix 3
the road of our shamed history.
It was the day People Power came to be
the man in power was kicked out from tower
as ordinary citizens , nuns and everyone
faced his armed men aboard the tanks.
People unarmed, just some bottled water,
a few sandwiches and bunches of flowers.
It was the day we looked up the sky,
offered a fervent gratitude to heaven’s door -
and told Ninoy…thank you for believing
“The Filipino is worth dying for”. 4
History Notes:
1. Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino, Jr., then senator and leading opposition leader (to Pres. Ferdinand Marcos, Philippine dictator who was in power 1965-1986) was advised by the First Lady not to come back from 3-year exile in the USA, as there was a plot to assassinate him. As to whose plot, it was not clarified.
2. Manila International Airport, right after he went out of the airplane. Media took photos from the window.
3. There was so much social unrest, and Cardinal Sin, through the radio and other respected media men, finally appealed to all people to go out and stage a massive peaceful protest with people making human barricade against the tanks in EDSA Avenue, Metro Manila's main thoroughfare. No one was killed. Ninoy's wife Cory Aquino who won the election, took the oath of office. The People Power Revolution, the first of its kind, in the Philippines and in the world, was eventually copied by France and other countries.
4. Ninoy Aquino, in an interview a few minutes before he left the plane to his death.
31 July 2015
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
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Election Poem
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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
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
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11-9-2016
On Election night, twentysixteen
I saw a strange and surreal scene
I looked cross the great harbor at Lady Liberty that night
And I knew right away, something wasn’t right
I saw Lady Liberty and she was crying
Because the America she loved, now was dying
She once welcomed millions to this golden shore
But now they ‘re not welcome here anymore
I thought of Ellis Island, where they once came through the doors
Millions of feet crossing the Great Hall’s floors
They brought their hopes, they brought their dreams
They brought their plans, they brought their schemes
They brought their laughter, they brought their tears
They brought their love and they brought their fears
They came with their families or came alone
Some names we know, but most unknown
They joined the huddled masses already here
The marginalized, the forgotten, the second-class tier
The wretched refuse that made this land great
Yet met with derision, scorn and hate
the First Peoples of this Mother Earth
forced off the land of their ancestors birth
forced to flee, run and hide
one step ahead of the Genocide
those that suffered from old Jim Crow
pleading for rights, met with a NO
When they were polite and asked with a Please
They were met with a Noose thrown over the trees
Many worked hard and were met with success
Their children grew up to be America’s best
Many here now forget where they came
Their immigrant ancestor, can’t remember the name
Can’t remember the ancestor that came here by boat
Can’t remember the issues or the last vote
Once we were great but that’s in the past
Don’t blame us that it didn’t last
Our country is changing from sea to sea
Too many people not like me
The only way is to take it back
go out and stop them, go on the attack
The others are the people that caused our pain
Push them all out, again we will gain
So he vowed an America, that’s once again great
To get there, he said, America must hate
Hate those others that are not like us
Put them again on the back of the bus
America first! and thats not all
protect ourselves, lets build a wall
We can bring back the greatness of a past day
All we have to do is chant U-S-A
The lamp beside the golden door
Doesn’t seem so bright anymore
It sounds so simple, but it’s really so Grand
An idea we once used to build this land
E Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One
An idea that that’s Sinking with the Setting Sun
By John Gordon
Copyright © John Gordon | Year Posted 2016
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Election Poem
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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
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012
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Election Poem
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Why am I voting Trump this time?
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he didn't start the deadly wars in
Libya and Syria, nor did he support
the brutal invasion and occupation of Iraq.
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he does not believe that under our
Constitution every Sunni Muslim around
the world is automatically guaranteed
an unimpeded entry into America.
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he does not support ISIS, Al-Nusra,
the Free Syrian Army, and all the
other terrorist groups in Syria with
money, weapons, or by bombing from
the air the Syrian government forces.
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
under President Trump, the U.S. Air Force will
never be used as ISIS's aviation—let alone
threaten to shoot down Russian warplanes
in an insane no-fly zone over war-torn Syria.
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
I don't want to die in a nuclear
war with Russia and China provoked
by the deranged Cold Warrior hawks
in Washington, D.C., who're seeking to
dominate every other country in the world.
I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he will never cancel a presidential
election his opponent has just won,
claiming that Russia has supposedly
hacked and manipulated the popular vote.
Finally, I am voting for Trump BECAUSE
he has pledged not to be the first to
use nuclear weapons or overthrow foreign
governments during his rule—a pledge that
no other American politician has ever made.
Copyright © Ross Vassilev | Year Posted 2016
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Election Poem
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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
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
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Election Poem
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My small way of showing anger for this year's circus of an election process:
I recall when George Bush had to duck
a thrown shoe, or he may have got struck.
What I'd love now to see
is some dog take a pee
on that dump of a Trump. What a schmuck!
for the the Political Ordeal Poetry Contest of CT
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Election Poem
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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!
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
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Election Poem
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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!
Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010
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......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
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012
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Election Poem
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Folks held a contest to carve a pumpkin
The winner was this one of Donald Trumpkin
He claims he will make Halloween great again
When he makes a mess you know who to blame!
MAY GOD BLESS AMERICA – SHE NEEDS ALL THE HELP SHE CAN GET THIS ELECTION TIME.
Many thanks again to Mama Bear for sending me this funny picture which inspired the poem.
10~22~16
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
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Election Poem
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Today is voting day, I must make it a goal
I'd rather take up residence at the north pole
All the cat fighting
And name calling
To be honest ,I don't want neither one in control
11-8-16
Alexis Y
Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2016
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Election Poem
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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!’
Copyright © Gerald Kithinji | Year Posted 2013
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Election Poem
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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.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
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Election Poem
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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.
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2010
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Election Poem
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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
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2009
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Election Poem
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a purveyor of pretend promises
duplicitous diatribe
fountains of false forecasts
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April 22nd 2017
Copyright © John Michaels | Year Posted 2017
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Election Poem
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We have something in common, a fellow I talk to now and then. We’re about the same age and perhaps the only ones in the diner who think our past lives are interesting. So when the two of us shoot the bunk over coffee, it’s amazing that two men who sometimes can’t remember much about yesterday remember a lot about the past. But the past sometimes shines a light on the present and the lives we lead today.
It’s no secret there’s a movement on by some to make America “great" again. My friend said when he was young, America, despite its problems, was not so bad. And despite its problems today, it’s still not so bad. Witness all the people who want to come here, he said. Who can blame them?
I told him I never thought about America being great until the recent election. I simply thought America was the only country in which I would want to live, both as a young man looking for work and as someone now retired because of the opportunity I found in America.
There were problems along the way, at least three of them quite memorable, all of my own making. But no need to go into those. I think what my friend Duane had to say is more interesting.
He still gets letters and notes from old high school classmates, class of ‘64. Some of them even use a computer and know how to send emails. He’s been their friend for 67 of his 71 years. Any note, letter or email, he said, makes life in a wheelchair easier.
One of his first high school memories happened during the Korean War--collecting metal and bringing it to school. Mrs. Lydia Rayburn (all names changed to protect the innocent and guilty) would take the metal to Herman Ladd's junkyard and sell it. She’d use the money to buy gifts for wounded soldiers and their families. She herself was a war widow from World War II.
It was a great day, Duane said, when the Korean War ended. And it was a war, he reminded me, not a conflict. I couldn't disagree but my war memories preceded his. I was in grammar school during WWII, too young to be drafted for Korea. I was one of the lucky ones as was my friend also too young for Korea.
Duane remembered everyone in his school getting under their desks during nuclear drills....as if being under a desk would keep them safe from radiation.
And he remembered being in Mr. Claybourn's class when Sputnik was launched and being in Mr. Taylor's class when Alan Shepherd took his flight. Everyone in class cheered when the trip went well.
He recalled vividly a striking young president who stood bareheaded and read a speech that called the nation to greatness. It was a far different time than now and the call to greatness meant something different, Duane said, than what we hear today. The call seemed noble then, he said. We agreed that whatever the call to greatness is today the word noble doesn’t seem to fit.
The civil rights struggle came to Duane's small hometown when his high school was integrated in the fall of 1962. He told me proudly there was not one fight, not one walkout, not one act of civil disobedience ruining that transition. In fact, he and his classmates learned something about dignity and patience from their Black classmates although no one mentioned it at the time.
I was able to relate to that because in 1953 I was a sophomore in Chicago high school called to assembly a day before the semester started. It had been an all-white boys school and the principal told us there would be three Black freshmen joining us the next day. There were no gasps, not even when the principal issued a warning I will never forget.
“Bother them,” he said, “and expulsion is immediate.”
No one bothered those three young men who broke the color barrier in 1953 and the school today is thoroughly integrated and thriving. Most graduates move on to college and do well in life as the alumni newsletters attest.
In high school the Cuban Missile Crisis also bothered Duane. His fellow students were upset, and many folks in his town thought the End of the World was near. There was a sigh of relief when the Russians backed down and removed their missiles from Cuba.
But most of all, Duane was shaken by the death of that young president, John F. Kennedy, who had called the nation to greatness in his inauguration speech.
Another student, Annabelle Jones, was in a car with her boyfriend the day President Kennedy was shot. It was after the lunch break when she told Duane President Kennedy was dead.
Duane and his classmates were broken, for want of a better word, as was the nation. He doesn't remember Americans ever being as optimistic again.
I told him his experience after the assassination was the same as mine in Chicago. I agreed as well that Americans alive at that time and still alive today have never been the same. Their lack of optimism may have trickled down to the generations that followed. Hard to tell.
Duane said that despite the assassination, his graduation day was wonderful. The sad thing is he has never seen some of his classmates again. He cherishes the ones he does hear from, the ones who come to reunions, and the ones who visit him now and then. All the years roll away in spite of the wrinkles and infirmities.
At every reunion they’re kids again talking as fast as they did back in high school. They’re still afraid that if they don't say it, it won't get said.
He and his classmates turned out to be who they are because of who they were in that small school. Their teachers and their parents made certain of that.
For many in his generation and mine, that seems to be true. We both wish we knew a way to pass the formula forward to the students of today. They are the ones who will have the most to say about how great America is in the future, far more, Duane and I agreed, than those doing all the talking about it today.
Donal Mahoney
Copyright © Donal Mahoney | Year Posted 2017
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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
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015
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Election Poem
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“If you don’t know the kind of person I am
and I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.*
Shouts abound, demanding equality
Yet, when push comes to shove
My choices are rudely rejected
A bat appears, held in an iron glove.
Ethics and virtue may only reside
Down deep in the soul of each
My effect on the thoughts of others
go only as far as my words reach.
Hold on to your own persuasions
And say what you need to say
Please do so in warm acceptance
With bitterness having no sway.
Only those who are politically correct
Have freedom to voice their convictions
But I, too, have my own opinions
And voted as I chose in this election.
When I reach out with a velvet glove
In tolerance, though we don’t agree
And you return resentment and anger
No one in America is totally free.
*William Stafford
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2017
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For the second time in memory,
We’re faced with the ironic
When we look at an election
More divisive than harmonic.
Though the states made their decisions
And Republicans can gloat,
Seems the Democrat, the loser,
Won the “popular” (ha!) vote.
Something’s wrong with such a picture.
If the population’s voice
Does unite in its selection
We should, thus, respect that choice.
So we end up with a president,
Unpopular at best,
Leaving more than half the country
Pessimistic and depressed.
Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2016
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