Best Electorate Poems
It's a day that will live on and haunt history,
When a once proud nation, took a leap back in time.
As millions placed their bet on a fat felon,
While a red wave washed away any crime.
Sadly, the majorities' voice was muted, as it
Whispered quietly all the way to the polls.
Where a fraudulent felon convicted a country,
To an incarceration term with heavy tolls.
What's been spoken of in the message is penal payback,
And its vengeful talons are in a Project 2025.
Now those of conscience easily warn of its folly,
As the puppet masters quickly turn to those alive.
This is a turning point in the ledger of liberty,
When the electorate turned its back on reality.
But if I dare to look forward and prognosticate...
We'll bear witness to social and cultural chastity.
America has been GREAT, great for the last two centuries.
All right, America has been the greatest among all countries,
For a long time. MAGA is a cheap pleonasm, which just
Won the most contentious election in American history.
The problem, as widely reported, Trump is corrupt, unjust,
Sexist, racist, homophobic, xenophobic, vociferous, and nasty.
This is the first time that we have such a hyperactive loose cannon,
Who is despised by his own political party. He is an orchestra
Of unusual lyrics and melodies. The man is like an untamed lion.
As a reminder, money, strength and power are not everything.
Humility, wisdom, decency, and common sense, in America,
Are extremely crucial and important, to make the dogs sing.
A president should be a role model, a beacon for children;
A fighter, a problem solver, a savior for the entire electorate;
A leader, a giant not a bully, a diplomat for the world to emulate.
The jury will be deliberating; America does not need to be 'great again';
We need an improved economy, mutual respect, controlling the flow
Of immigration, money, illicit drugs, and put our ducks in a row,
To be a haven for all, regardless of race, color, gender and ethnicity.
America is the greatest, I am not lying; simply ask the Statue of Liberty.
Copyright © November 11,2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
The books are open
to us who fatten
mice into pigs
even tho' u limp, brethren
crawl to the ward
take seat in the arena
shortly,
curtains will part
To you : Be brutal!
this epistle per mine choice of heir apparent presidential throne
composed from one liberal minded non-conformist rolling stone
prompted awareness that one voice can affect which contestant will win
and occupy the white house after the votes get tallied from political spin
aware thy missive from an anonymous fellow and a self anointed scribe
will be carefully screened no matter opinion already cast with nada bribe
personal opinion of this sole american male of two score and nine years
that barack obama possesses that je ne sais quois diplomatic state craft
despite disparaging broadside starring paris hilton plus britney spears
the land of lincoln candidate exemplifies (to myself) a charismatic charm
in tandem with a relaxed persona and gait akin per a commoner on a farm
that nonchalant easy going affinity speaks nonverbal volumes to this chap
cringes when espying or hearing from opposing challenger whose lips flap
meaning john mccain whose hidden motives and agenda include his trap
to plant seeds of doubt per un-decided electorate causing lead to get a zap
unknown how trials and tribulations rival democratic senator from Illinois
will weather local nor global challenges and said solution he might employ
i opt for said captain to steer ship of state and exclaim to drop anchor ahoy
if via cosmic divine intercession the galloping newcomer in this horse race
ushering biracial as nominal winner televisions would show a beaming face
the political ramifications analogous to betting square outcome on this ace
i gently beg, decry, fulminate counter attack advertisements fast and quick
against those subliminal sly messages that at first blush appear airily slick
and please reach deep in that magic bag resorting to retaliatory artful trick
lest burning from the madding crowd extinguished like jack’s candle wick!
It’s in the dictionary: disambiguate.
It reminds me of Bush’s misrememberate,
a word that always makes me hyperventilate
and sometimes even makes me discombobulate.
They’re words for those who want to circumambulate
proven facts. Politicians overcompensate
with sesquipedalians to overcompensate
for ideas they’d rather not disambiguate.
They also tiptoe as they circumambulate,
or say, “Oh, I guess I must misremeberate.
That liberal press just makes me discombobulate
and more than once it’s made me hyperventilate.”
It is not abnormal to hyperventilate
when one’s stumped and trying to overcompensate
while working so hard not to discombobulate,
worried that someone’s going to disambiguate
his harangue. Then he’ll claim to misrememberate,
or convolute the truth and circumambulate
it if he can. If he can’t circumambulate
embarrassing stuff, he might hyperventilate,
which sometimes causes him to misrememberate
the lies he’s spewed. So then he’ll overcompensate
and slip in some truth that might disambiguate
the ambiguity and discombobulate
his campaign. Then his hopes to discombobulate
the electorate and to circumambulate
the truth will be dashed. If folks disambiguate
his thoughts, all he can do is hyperventilate,
although, he doesn’t want to overcompensate
and say he’s been known to misrememberate.
The admission that he might misrememberate
could lead voters to think he’ll discombobulate
under pressure. He’d rather overcompensate
by making up stuff that will circumambulate
the simple truth and make you hyperventilate
and just too distracted to disambiguate.
Politicians overcompensate, misrememberate.
If you disambiguate, they’ll circumambulate,
discombobulate and then hyperventilate.
Goodnight to our Rome with all your garrisons
and your streets that have become
as loveless as empty barracks.
For you I will never weep.
After all,
your Senators
Who made the deals
To keep the last
Last
And the first bored
and lost in ennui,
govern the burning ruins
of the human city which evicted the cobbler
and used the electorate as a weapon
With unforgiving recoil
Which guarantees
that
the bottom will stay at the bottom
and dance to the music of the
midnight carousel.
2
Now that the middleman has been cast
To the prairie grass
With his own middle cut away
His fate was decided over lunch
The legal apparatus has fallen from its hinge
Leaving only the greatest felony
Unnamed.
And who are our neighbors
When we’re sentenced to the
Four year winter hotel?
Will they be the nameless ghosts
Evicted from their bodies by those
Who are afforded the right to escape the tombs
With kept wives in cheap furs
And Upper eastside penthouses.
And in all those apartments
All the beautiful people
Wash down oxycodone with fine wine
While bitching about the junkie below.
“Send the cops to clean up the drug
Problem,” they cry.
“All addictions should come with a ‘scrip.”
It takes a truly trained country
with few alternatives
to put a knife to its own throat
or hand it over
to an orange buffoon
with a poor hair cut
in a loveless room.
He always
lines up his bets
on what con will turn the American heart
into just another dead
theater
where it was all the show of shows.
And when the decision is made
The worst one is chosen.
The decision has certainly been made.
For what other country
Choses a landlord so crooked
All self-respecting cons
Walk past him
Never stopping at all
For fear he will pick their pockets clean
For he is the biggest con of all,
Who now has to do a sometimes honest man’s job.
Those he loved the least
Ignored all the papers
Who for once
Didn’t celebrate
The game of chance
But cried out
With the urgency of a siren
During an air raid
to pick the other.
While he spoke as one of the mob
His heart was that of a landlord
Looking to evict
All his useful idiots
From their lots.
For now he can expect nothing in the end
But to stand on the stairs
Or escalator
When all your Senators approach
smiling
with drawn knives.
“Et tu Sessions?”
Privately educated, privileged backgrounds .……no problem per se …….…but ......we're led by these plum in mouth toffs by the troughful.…... their snouts in the pockets of the electorate, creaming the real workers of cash for taxes .…....so long as they're okay with backhanded deals and offshore accounts, their empathy remains as real as a cuboid moon.
Distrustful dinosaurs with prehistoric rhetoric....... and arrogance beyond belief .......they give the people grief. Arguably their role is to be unpopular..... no reflection of the real people, no microcosm, no cross section, no true representation of us compounds their ability to irritate.
This is politics in full swing, full of stuck up d*cks and silly twerps in tailored shirts telling us how to vote. When can this change to a real democracy? ........Real parties talking real issues with real solutions with real taxes spent on real things. The equilibrium is unbalanced, the donkey jacket came and went ......now we're left with just the donkeys, more mules to carry the weight of their own egos.
We have the right to vote.....we pride ourselves on this democratic right...but this is looking through the rose tints.….I only have the ability to vote for different shades of beige....unless I want to become a part of an extremist, sensationalist mob.….I don't.... I just want a real choice of real people..….so for now my ballot card will remain a useful piece of cardboard.... to fold and prop up the wonky leg on my dining room table.
...iii.
What would the ballot box say, if the ballot box spoke?
What would the ballot box relay if the ballot box wrote?
Would it, scream blue murder, and expunge the air from its lungs.
In honor of all of the injustices, and all of the wrongs.
Would it collapse weak, and weep?
Then release details of murders it had had to secretly keep.
The murders at the ballot box.
Or would it be a witness that's been silenced, with signs of bruises and knocks.
Or maybe a freedom fighter fearlessly exposing the lies,
Fighting with such fire in its belly, and just truth in its eyes.
Shining light in the dark places of electoral fraud,
Where the electorate is owed a deficit when an election is flawed.
Where against an orchestral background of human progress, you can hear the odd struck dissonant notes of dissent and discord.
What would the ballot box say; would the ballot box bawl?
Would any of this be any different if this could even happen at all?
But because the ballot box is silent, even when democracy stalls.
The ballot box, same as ever will continue to take the fall.
*Extract from poem - Murder at the Ballot Box
Mike Concise © 2015
www.mikeconcise.com
"We need to cut the budget" the Treasury Minister said
"To try to get back in the black we’re deeply in the red
Our creditors are losing faith we’re getting near our limit
Gordon said he’d saved the world, I think he’s dropped us in it
Hang on a m’o before we go lets speak to Work and Pensions
Or better still the Bond Market to find out their intentions
The economy is shrinking , the pounds begun to drop
This will up the anti on the credit default swaps
The interest we are paying now is going through the roof
There’s really no way out of it we’ve got to tell the truth
We’ll slash all public spending, that’ll do for starters
If not, no doubt the IMF will have our guts for garters
Lots of folk will lose their jobs, that really is a shame".
"I know it is" the PM said "And we will get the blame.
I know things will be difficult but people should be told
it was Balls, Brown and Milliband who gave away our gold.
Those three and Darling made this mess and got us in this plight
Now we’ll be sacking thousands just to try to put it right
and honest men will lose their jobs and that sticks in my throat
Brown even signed the Treaty without giving us the vote.
They try to blame this on the Yanks for letting Lehmans fall
But that’s a lie they took their eye completely off the ball.
They never made an effort to control the greedy banks
When they tried for re-election the electorate said "No thanks"
Their short sighted ignorance has brought us to our knees
The entire nation now is set to feel the squeeze
They are in denial of the nations cash position
Once the cuts all start to bite they’ll blame the coalition"
I Give Up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The turning sphere of history remains without merit
Until we earn again for ourselves that which we inherit;
The open window admits the gifter and the grifter.
Passionate pages seeking to be filled with meaning,
Accept copy and paste solutions without fact checking;
The illusion’s brilliance blinds.
Freedoms won with the sacrifice of patriots inveterate
Are ceded to a siren’s song by a servile electorate;
A vote for the melody no matter the lyrics.
The anomaly becomes a tool to indict a group
By extrapolation in a never ending loop;
So many so willingly led by so few.
A kaleidoscope of human mutations vying chaotically to be begot.
Is this what six billion years of random opportunism has wrought;
*****sapiens, the symphony, played to discordant notes?
Local authorities’ love recycling
It’s a green policy and its one that wins
They want to reduce the carbon footprint
Of the electorate, for their sins
But if they were truly serious
They’d stop making so many recycling bins
O-n this day in history, electorate gave the
mandate.
L-ords of that time annulled an election,
an unfair decision to the citizenry, a
decision without a reason.
A-nnulment it was, that was the worst
J-uggernauts!, were they? who were?
I-ntention in doing that was in fact
opposed
D reams were shattered, some were
battered, alas, others passed on
E-mphasis on the struggle for
Democracy is paramount, and one can
not overemphasise the importance.
O-verjoyed, to hear the announcement
R emembrance at last, honours deserved
I-n my time, some critics of politics are
alarmed by the honours: honours long
overdue
A-ccolades: finally given, accolades
deserved
M-artyr: A Martyr is reborn
I-s Mediocrity in our Democracy over and
can we empower Democracy to
overpower Mediocrity and sustain
Democracy.?
S-olidarity is forever, our rights, our lives
E-mbrace our dreams, we breathe
Happy
Democracy
Day
Olajide
Oribamise
June
12
2018
Destiny, I’d say, is the bedfellow of fate
Wedded they walk in undisclosed ways,
Suspense of mystery their kindred trait
As to our country, the outcome of late
Every politician trying to accommodate,
Depending on how the electorate sways
Destiny, I’d say, is the bedfellow of fate
Wedded they walk in undisclosed ways.
Written July 16, 2022
(for Manoranjan Byapari, a rickshaw puller who writes Bangla novels, stories and autobiography)
--Jaydeep Sarangi
You may dismiss all I record here
Stop! Please don’t ignore them as junk...
Here it goes....Hope you hear me....
You will hear me one day, sure!
You can never hide your face, Priyotosh.
We’ll get you in streets and lanes
Of this incredible city of joy.
Long struggles
demystified Byapari of false tags
of the caste-ridden society
beauty in the working class,
cooperation among the have-nots,
humanism among rebels,
simplicity among outcastes.
Byapari drinks them all.....
he salvages various concepts
from the hasty derogatory labels of the privileged,
and makes the understanding concepts
more complete and realistic.
We remain
as hands folded in inaction;
prisoners outside jail.
Lectures move electorate in a civil society
Justice cries in a caged cell.
Byapari writes a new history
as Shankha Ghosh recommends
his books for Bangla readers,
only Hope against Hope.
Artists are legislators of the world!
let there be enough crackers to celebrate
it further
under an alien sky.
There is hardly anything ‘complete in completeness’.
(Shankha Ghosh is a Bengali Indian poet and critic.He released Byapari’s book, “Amanushik” and spoke for Manoranjan Byapari on the 27th August,2013 in an evening gathering in Kolkata)
The public turned out
Ballots were counted
And the results read out
Surely that’s it
That’s how democracy works
Whether you like it or not
The will of the majority wins out?
But those who love money
Don’t like to lose
The markets have already had a pay out
From our National Bank
Added to the debt of the UK taxpayer no doubt
To sure up those bets they made yesterday
Speculating on the pound
Thinking during a referendum was a good time
To financially win out
Is nothing sacred in our land?
Sadiq Khan's plan is that
The City of London
Should make its own independent stand
Against the will of this land
And Boris now says
“There’s no need for haste!”
Despite campaigning vigorously for
The UK to leave (maybe he confused the UK with DC)
But today supporting the financial markets
Who now greave
As it looks like due to our democratic will
Those bad buggars in nice suits
Will lose their plum deal
Despite what the electorate said
They’ll never let us leave!
Oh Greece
Your vote also dead
Along with you I now seethe
So what can we do if democracy is
To be insulted in our fair shores
Well I refer you to my earlier poem
‘The UK EU Referendum Campaign’
589 days....
My friends
That’s all it will take
To get the whole rotten lot of em’ out!
So if they won’t serve that notice and
Let democracy have its day
We’ll serve one of our own
It states you have 589 days
To mend your ways
Get one to your MP today and have your say
Mine's got one coming his way....
Anna Archichek