Best Handlers Poems
And as the hills yonder
Turned red from sunset rays
As darkness engulfed the valley
And the sweet sounds of birds
Rent the cool evening air
Our cows and sheep and goats
Hurried down the footpath
As though they were late
To a gathering of clans
Or to one of their own
And we the happy herds' boys
Turned our ravenous thoughts
To bananas yams and milk
And all available munch-able stuff
To calm our restless tummies
And as the evening metamorphosed into night
And the stars of the sky reclaimed their might
We the famished children of the valleys
Approached the fireside with widening eyes
As the roughshod soldiers laid claim to all
And shot in the air to frighten us all.
And so we watched with pangs of hunger
Training our wrath and rancor and dismay
To other sons and daughters of Africa
Who for reasons best known to them
Or known only to their heartless handlers
Proclaimed themselves ‘defenders of our freedom.’
Voila! Children of the valleys of Africa
And of the cities and slums of Africa
You who gather in the evening breeze
After torrid days in the fields and streets
Only to return to a darkening sky
Sans food sans wear sans light. Voila!
Categories:
handlers, africa, children, poverty,
Form:
Free verse
It’s one thing to be senile
and lie in your own drool.
It’s another to be President
and be that droolin’ fool.
So ask yourself, America,
of all the President’s men…
who was runnin’ the country
signin’ with Joe’s autopen?
Note: To those who have eyes it was obvious that Sleepy Joe wasn’t just sleepy but in cognitive decline before he was even elected President by supposedly receiving 80 million plus votes. He wasn’t fit to run a lemonade stand but the media convinced you he was on top of his game lol. Joe wasn’t physically or mentally up to the job and so his Democratic masters and media overlords set about carrying out the great subterfuge that he was in charge. They stage managed every event and choreographed his every utterance until he inevitably went off script and his handlers (carers) had to shut him down.
So the next time some loony tune tells you that Elon Musk has too much power for an unelected member of Congress just remember the White House for four years under grifter Joe Biden was run by unelected bureaucrats. Yep, the country was ruled by President Autopen. Let that sink in.
Categories:
handlers, america, corruption, political,
Form:
Political Verse
An hour before time, they put her through the motions.
Shoving and pulling her strings adding oil and suntan lotion.
Hot and humid still shining in candid spirit she professes
in music, a monotone but in finesse, a tune nonetheless.
Of her welcome song intrinsic in me but to her handlers, in blase
only the mere task of steering and roping in tense power play.
Embarking though marred by obvious signs of abuse and neglect.
Her rolling in elation disguised the slippery entrance and my regret.
Drivers accommodating cramped spaces as directed, gently to fill.
Opting to maitain serenity as they in vain, placate her iron will.
Do I hear her rising blood pulses or lack of joy in welcome thereof?
No, just the sound of tumultuous creaks and human smell
of perfume, tainted sweat and punjent oil leaks let off.
Disgruntled impatience of mere sailors but of her, not a peep.
Standing tall, holding firm a class of her own as she let sweep.
Riding the waves in style directing me to the destiny I must keep.
On and on she rides tantalising the waves as they foam at the peaks.
Such insight when she lapses into a lullaby putting me to sleep.
I return to a friend who knows well to serve, to ferry me ashore.
Another blissful time with her as the sea beckons for us to explore.
She is faithful, a useful companion with its own metallic commodore.
Sailing majestically forever a classy lady, our very own Lady Samoa.
(N.B Lady Samoa is our Inter-Island Ferry)
Categories:
handlers, dedication, friendship, journey, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
Ms Flip-Flop, busted for plagiarism in her co-authored book in 2008 stealing texts almost verbatim from Wikipedia and other sources.
But the media still run cover for her.
Also plagiarised was a story she told of a childhood memory about when she was a child during the civil rights movement. Only problem is that she stole it from an interview that Martin Luther King gave in 1965.
But the media still run cover for her.
She hasn’t done a press conference in 87 days since she became the nominee because her handlers are terrified of her word salads. Like Joe, she can only speak from a prepared script.
But the media still run cover for her.
The media don’t fact check her because she’s one of them - a gigglin’ woke Trump deranged puppet of the radical left.
That’s why media run cover for her.
60 Minutes got caught editing her answers to make her seem intelligible to voters and are refusing to release the transcript of the interview. That’s election interference.
And so the media will do everything they can to get her elected.
You really think Putin and Xi and all the other dictators and despots of this world are scared of Kamala? You think Iran and Hezbollah and Hamas are shaking in their boots at the prospect of a Kamala presidency?
It’s Trump they fear!
You’ve been gaslit for long enough…vote wisely and vote often (just kidding, we don’t want a repeat of 2020).
Categories:
handlers, america, political, truth,
Form:
Political Verse
Christmas finds reindeer landing on rooftops
Santa’s kindly added some extra stops
His sleigh filled with travelers
Scared of TSA handlers
Scoff as coal through government chimneys drops
*For Francine’s Christmas contest
Categories:
handlers, funny, holiday
Form:
Limerick
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.
Categories:
handlers, adventure,
Form:
Epic
The cadence of the knell on the wind Lord
Has folk peering from windows and doors
A reminder of fickle mortality
Peals forlornly, for whom the bell tolls
The screams of the Angels, are deafening
Those with the conscience to hear
Dark Winter, cuts colder than ice
Unfolding, the fear of all fears
Media controlled information
Has us fighting brother to brother
As the puppeteers pull on our heartstrings
An Orwellian surrogate mother
Totalitarian terror prevails
An Agenda to meet, time is flying
Denver Airports Time-capsule, historic
Egomaniacs prayers to the dying
Positions of power are key
Those appointed are elitely chosen
Merchants of Venice they’d shame
Like iniquitous embryos, frozen
World Health Organization, instruction
To quell conscientious objectors
Mouth the words of the purse-handlers credo
The beneficiaries, monied investors
The greatest good for the greatest of numbers
Bantham cries, from the crest of his pew
Utilitarian logic prevails
Though, decisions are made by the few
Get in line, live your days in your cells
As we gather the troops to protect you
Martial Law looms, incessantly closer
For your safety we’ll need to inject you
The corruptive, are those with the power
Wielding deaths sword, resolutely
Political towers of Babel
Where power corrupts absolutely
In a World of pandemic paranhoia
The essential works, deemed to be crucial
Are the implementation of towers
Beaming Signals of Sorrow, so brutal
A virus is only a name, you see
It was never a death causal factor
Electromagnetic technology
Is the key to the virul reactor
Big Brothers got one million eyes
And a chip, for to go where e’er you go
No crock of gold’s waiting out there
Hid beneath, ‘An Invisible Rainbow’
Categories:
handlers, child abuse, corruption, death,
Form:
Rhyme
A child hears a song on the radio
and the music sets his mind aglow...
at his age he’s too young to know
he’s being sucked in the black, black hole
of foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Tuned to the beat that fills his ears
he merges with the sounds he hears,
he doesn’t know just how severe
the words that pulse play a role
in foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Sex and surrender are entwined
in lyric beats of metered time
and as all decency is undermined...
verse by verse the words take their toll
through foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
As he is swept by carnal tides
religious values wash aside,
all moral binds become untied...
a beast within then gets paroled
by foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
So, entranced by the tunes he plays
song by song he gets dragged away
into the beat of world decay...
he’s in lockstep on a fatal stroll
with foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
The handlers laugh at all of those
who think that they have smelled a rose...
but it’s just the thorns shoved up your nose
by agents into mind control
with foul, filthy, phallic rap and roll.
Categories:
handlers, music,
Form:
Couplet
I remember being a little remote control. My chassis
was sound and I was beeping all the time. My handlers
were amused to drive me around. I was happy to please them.
It made me feel sound.
Then they took me to the track to teach me to race.
It seemed like I crashed all over the place.
Into this one and that with horrible splats.
Then they made us sleep on these crazy floor mats.
There were speeders who were so cool and fast
and I was easy enough to pass.
They laughed at me and I felt like a fool
but my handlers wanted me to be in school.
Then there were those who ran very slow
They ran like trucks with things to tow
And it seemed like I was getting bogged down too
with weights like dummy, drip-nose and pugh!
As I got bigger my engine grew
and I quit banging into you, you and you.
And occasionally, I'd stop to take a fight
and settle a score or show my might.
But mostly I went cruising about, flexing
my muscles, lettin' it all hang out!
Showing off was really a very great thrill
especially when a girl liked my shiny, chrome grill.
There were some who liked me and polished my chrome!
And I sometimes thought I should take her home.
Then there were those who lied right from their heart,
they made me feel bad and my engine wouldn't start.
It hurt bad to feel like a broken go-kart
and they didn't care if they broke my little heart.
It made me angry and I wanted revenge.
I thought of ancient powers from darkest StoneHenge.
I wanted to hurt them down deep inside but something
stopped me, I think it was pride.
They just weren't worth it somehow I knew
and I waited with grace until I met you.
You were shiny and white with chromium delight.
Colors and stripes all looking right!
I couldn't help but fall in love
with a car that resembled a spicy, love dove.
My headlights beamed and my motor purred
I couldn't stop beeping while my oil was stirred
I raced around and pulled up straight away
and said, "hello there darlin' I'm sayin hey, hey!"
You smiled and laughed and made me feel at home
and we sparkled and shined no longer alone
And I realized it was nice to be in this place with you
even though we both were no longer new.
Categories:
handlers, funny, me, love, me,
Form:
Verse
Muddy face band and tin-tin man breaking bad
Game of thrones, constants and variables
Contestants variant, variously able, paid under the table
Save it Larry, your speeches are not reliable
We see your Mr Cain, presentable, but is Cain able?
After what you did your reputation is wrecked
Big crowds but little acceptance, the proof is undeniable
But the underlying logic isn't, we were roped in
Gathered and forayed but duds, useless bombs dropped in
Spy-bots and lover gloves and drones flying past
Avalanches and snow fall, dictators rise and fall
Don't look now, but a new Dawn is upon us just now
I saw her in sitting in a lilac dress, counting exes
And memes rose and handlers bayed for blood
Thug angels unite, it's a season for settling scores
But whoever is directing this show will make the final call
Last laugh, best laugh kind of stuff
In a world where tempers always freeze and thaw
It was bad, thunder, rain and lightning
But the powers above the powers still heeded your call
Elsewhere across the divide, his demands denied
Little old rocket man explodes, guffaws over evil designs
I'll blow you mofo's to hell, and winks at a floating butterfly
I was only kidding. But I'm serious, I'm reaching for Aquarius
It's easy to catch his drift, he's furious
Little big man with small big dreams, call him nefarious
But I don't see how name calling is going to save us
You don't have to have gone to DeVry
Categories:
handlers, rap,
Form:
Rhyme
We are drawn here for the festivity, to glorify His name.
In our crimson best, presents wrapped gaily, to glorify His name.
Joyous revelers and their dutiful handlers arriving.
Doors open, we are welcomed heartily, to glorify His name.
Presents not expected, but the mistress will not feel neglected.
Material offerings stacked neatly, to glorify His name.
The High Priestess, same outfit as daughter she wears, begins the Mass.
Tailless donkey, fat clown smirks knowingly, to glorify His name.
The sacrificial ham, its remains doused in mustard and served up
In a Wonder Bread coffin festively, to glorify His name.
Materialistic revelry, the presents torn asunder
Young onlookers seethe deliriously, to glorify His Name.
Priestess brings out decorated cake, pink frosting, five blazing flames
Candles trace pentagram, implicitly, to glorify His name.
Ice cream Bacchanaila, another unhinged Saturnalia
Revelers sway intoxicatedly, to glorify His name.
Sugar crash dysphoria, the merrymaking ends tearfully.
Priestess signals the Mass’ ending quickly, to glorify His name.
Thomas asks, with tremulous hesitation and no small dreading,
Is Jimmy’s birthday party next Sunday, to glorify His name?
3/13/16
For the "Give me a Gazal" contest by Timothy Hicks
Categories:
handlers, america, birthday, childhood, culture,
Form:
Ghazal
When I go outside and see the homeless, I see one thing,
There are no homeless Hispanics and yet,
There is a Hispanic Panic amongst those who are paranoid
From the abuelitas selling taquitos to artists hawking cartoon portraits, street vendors were hustling long before the pandemic. But they are being forced to adjust even more due to the downturn caused by COVID-19.
Mexican merchants are struggling to keep their
Food Truck small businesses, LA Street Vendor’s, are not pan-handlers
For goodness’ sake, buy KEEP-SAKES!
In an era where more of our workforce is in the informal economy with zero protections and safety nets for emergencies
LA Street Vendor Campaign demonstrates how local solutions
can scale up and reach thousands of precarious workers
across Los Angeles and beyond.
Categories:
handlers, allusion, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
He looked so lethargic sitting there in the parking lot of the oldest city in the world. I was perplexed as to why they harnessed him and tortured him in the cruel hot sun. I am no veterinarian of desert animals, but I knew something wasn't right. My friend didn't want me to ride the camel. Neither did I!
They were persistent, unwavering; they just wanted to see me smile. Before I headed up to the Mount of Temptation to pray I got a horseback ride from this camel. Oh his poor rickety legs and arthritic spine. If you were able to read his eyes you would have seen that I am a tad bit overweight. That poor camel!
I begged the men to give Sammy some ice cream when we were done for all the abuse they put him through. Sammy's smile was hideous and in between his teeth it looked like glue. My heart was crushed, but what was I to do? About 15 minutes later the irritated camel tried to bite a young girl dressed in blue. She jumped about 5 feet to escape her demise. He wanted to call it a day. The handlers just wanted to earn their keep.
I used to feel sorry for all the stray emaciated cats here in Israel. They prance around the city meowing all through the night. Poor cats!...Now I have made room in my heart for the camels too!
gwendolen rix
8-8-15
Categories:
handlers, abuse, animal, feelings,
Form:
Prose
Scared
by Odin Roark
Fear saved the fly
The spider wept
Fear kept men alive
While Napalm paved the way
Fear keeps the 1% insulated
Handlers and mental bodyguards
At their beckon call
The mongrel on Manhattan’s frozen streets
Knows well the virtue of fear
Yet
Never will we see our species
Handle being scared like an animal
Where the lesser evolution will defend
We the sentient superiors will think only offense
How beautiful
How heart wrenching0
The defense elephants
Rhinos
Big cats
Exert to protect only that
Which is their province
Their instinctual responsibility
Wanting not to harm the perp
But only to ward off the aggression
Escape to safer surroundings.
Why does man feel he must instigate aggression
To justify his superiority?
Why do we continue our behavior
Moving science
Technology
Mind set
Ever closer to android resolve?
Might we be so complacently satisfied
We ignore the advances of AI?
Are we really so consumed with the media clap trap
We’re becoming more and more ignorant of information
Vet proof stats that tell us
Wake up
And yet
To sit in a quiet attic
Observe the simple
Yet perfectly designed survival
Instinct of the spider
Is to become aware
It’s all about living in harmony
Not acrimony
Wait patient spider
What you need for another day of survival
Is but waiting
Love nature
Or perish
Categories:
handlers, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
from antiquity of the Peruvian Inca mountains
'til today's unsheathed bladed Java buttons clicking
the numbers add up to incessant discounting counting
to sacrifice our own graven image sown sickening
if she floats - she's a witch and frankly must die
if she sinks, well, obviously she's sufficiently pious
when down on the bottom, we can't hear her cries
of sacrifice, still, very little can get by us
filed and defiled is all the better all the while
as the former digits click off of our palms
fingers and toes, complete legs fall away, as do
whole heads mounting kill count without qualms
virgin girls, citizen children, soldiers of play
their sacrifice is for civilization after all
us, uh, i mean the gods, won't have it any other way
they must have their place on our wailing wall
the altar so sacred, so blood red royal
C-4 strapped around plain white-robed torso
from handlers who assure they have the will of God
sending heavenward, pink clouded supplication - more so
for the sacrifice of the body than of the soul
robed theocratic surgeons who cut off our noses
in a perceived attempt to maintain their control
of those around them that might be opposed to
notions that they need not explain themselves,
or that God demands carnage for reasons unknown,
that their actions should beget peace in our time
that they shan't pick up, to cast, the first stone
that we all could be better humans I suppose
if we sacrificed our pride, instead of our fear
if we worked hard not to be taken for a ride by
admitting things aren't what they might first appear
dunno, but if there is a god for us to pray to
then maybe we could pray to not be preyed upon
and sacrificed for that bloody old world view
time to cook up some whorled peas - and move on
© Goode Guy 2012-08-02
Categories:
handlers, brother, faith, fear, history,
Form:
Quatrain