Best Igor Poems
Don is the ultimate user
His deals seal you as a loser
When Trump holds the cards
The lives now in shards
Bear witness he’s an abuser
The Don has a trick to reveal
He’ll dick you and cancel your deal
Like hands on your neck
Trump voids your paycheck
And feels ecstasy when you squeal
If acts are life’s indicator
Don’s a classic woman hater
Though cratered with flab
Trump will pussies grab
As rapist and a dictator
What will show how Don’s dick-brain thinks?
Trump’s thrusts come with lies and high jinks!
Amid this disgust
Some high and non-plussed
Have heads up his rump with what stinks!
Some men came and rang my doorbell
They barked To your pen say farewell!
Since you dared insult
Our Trump lover's cult
It gets ten to life in a cell
Lately I feel like Igor with a hump,
swamped with work a continuous pump,
running everywhere,
yes master I care,
Frankenstein warehouse giving me goose bumps.
12-17-16
humans spotted, Igor hides ‘neath his bridge
with watchful eyes, the bridge sees them pass
“It’s safe,” she murmurs to Igor
leaving the bridge’s safe retreat
Igor knows his foes will be heading back
“May I?” he asks the might oak
“Let my branches carry you to safety,”
the centuries-old oak responds,
“I am strong; I will not break. Let my manly arms surround you.”
torch lights borne by villagers approach again
but the oak protects Igor, swinging its arms in the wind
making it too dangerous for them to find Igor
hidden he remains in this shaky loft
caressing the oak’s arms in gratitude
until the bridge whispers, “It’s safe to return home.”
villagers' lights fade in the distance
as Igor regrets being born an ogre
with only a tree and a bridge to love
For the Fairy Tales Contest
*Personification in the tree and the bridge
Why promote wrecking-ball malice
Behind the wall of a palace?
This callous man sick
Acts like a big dick
To cover up his small phallus
In bed Don loves wearing his gold
Where billionaire's come to the fold
They need not hold loins
But just buy Trump coins
While we work till we're dead and old
Trump’s deals concern what he can break
It’s how this Don hauls in his take
The rich on him spend
As they must depend
On what they’ve kissed his ass to make
His son’s payoff struck them as bad
Republicans hate Hunter’s dad
But they won’t ascribe
Meme coins as a bribe
And part of Trump’s theft launching pad
Hillbilly VP JD Vance
Surely hails from bad circumstance
Though spruced up by Yale
He acts much too male
To hide the wee lance in his pants
Note: Many other misogynists share this issue (DT, EM, 19 year-old college drop out Rye Country Day School wimp "Big Balls", etc).
There is no me
where on the sand I cannot find your trace today
where white bird that is very sad
where white bird that is very sad has longing near me at the bay.
I'm only there
with trembling sound close to the pier of wanted lips
where swifts of your eyes are around
where swifts of your eyes are around, they glide the sky like little ships.
There is no me
where smoke of hair won't hide the white day with the haze
where tender deer will wipe with care
where tender deer will wipe with care the amber's tears from pine's face.
I'm only there
where you with hope sometimes are looking at the door
and like a kid you cannot stop
and like a kid you cannot stop
to sculpt a snowman more and more.
There is no me
where nighty steamer brought its hooter with a tear
where roof of heaven caught the thought
where roof of heaven caught the thought: it's like an orphan without you, dear.
I'm only there
where there's no me around, you cannot see, no way,
You know without you there's no doubt
You know without you there's no doubt I can't live even single day.
P.S. This is my translation of poem (song) by Igor Nikolaev.
Quick, Igor, Fetch the Subject
By Elton Camp
At last Dr. Fraggle has achieved success
He’s developed a potion to bring distress
“A mad scientist they dare to call me!
Now who’s insane we will very soon see.”
“For if my elixir proves to work under test
Its power will soon be felt by all the rest.”
“Helping mankind has been far overrated
Most people I meet, I’ve instantly hated.”
“My research, grants foundations all deny.
But their evaluations were nothing but a lie.”
“That my work has value they will now find
My potion’s fumes will change their mind.”
“Other scientists will beat a path to my door.
None will ever dare to revile me anymore.”
“And the grand name of Fraggle will be hailed
Unless I fail and then I’ll probably be jailed.”
In the steppes of central Russia
Lives an old theater usher,
Igor Ivanovsky is his name.
In his youth he had ambition
To gain wealth and recognition
And be a star on stage and screen, that was his aim.
He studied acting, mime, and ballet,
And could sing like Rudy Vallee,
But from talent scouts he never got a call.
There is one thing I ought to mention
That I'll now bring to your attention---
He was a mere three feet eleven inches tall.
Why it should be no one was knowing,
But at age ten he just stopped growing,
The doctors guessed it was a phase and it would pass.
But as he waited to grow taller,
His dreams of fame kept getting smaller.
He feared he'd wind up washing cars or pumping gas.
But Fate was not yet through with Igor
And to help mitigate his rigor,
The job as usher came along and saved the day.
While it required no special training,
Nor was emotionally draining,
It was still a kind of show biz…in a way.
To movie-goers satisfaction
He has become the main attraction
As he shows them to their seats with great panache.
Now at three score ten and seven
Each day is one step nearer heaven,
And though not Broadway, dreams like his are hard to quash.
He works on Saturdays and Sundays
And occasionally Mondays,
But does it just for fun and not for wealth or fame.
Now throughout all of central Russia
There's no more celebrated usher,
And Igor Ivanovsky is his name.
With women he likes to cavort
And conquering them is just sport
Since Trump likes to rape
Girls might not escape
And everyone else he’ll deport
To satisfy itches he’d scratch
Panama’s channel is his catch
And like she’s a gal
He’ll grab this canal
Since Trumpenstein wants a wet snatch
What explains Trumpenstein’s command
That the U.S. borders expand?
His withered small shaft
Needs a bigger graft
Of mastodon parts from Greenland
Oh, she has lifted on tiptoes
and gifted lips to me for kiss
that was so tired, and autumn knows
wet silence. There were soundless tears
of ours, they were falling down,
And there was boring dying day,
All being had a boring gown
excepting only dream, I say.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Igor Severyanin, 1909
The proud boys fill Trumpenstein’s need
His pardons saw oath keepers freed
They’ll serve this nation
Intimidation
And feed our great narcissist’s greed