Best Ingrates Poems
We scowl at this great country we live in?
Such ingrates we can be…….almost a sin!
Never appreciating its grand freedoms?
Instead fake news paints unholy doldrums!
We never had cities, destroyed by war.
Instead, we just demand more and more.
Such ugly, scowling crowds on TV screens.
Not grateful at all, just unseemly mean!
The good, the giving, like first responders.
Replaced by crooks from countries far yonder!
Worse yet, by those born on our own shores.
Who want everything free~eternal more!
Perhaps, we can cease being wee, adult babies?
Get a job, get off-line, lazy-daisies!
***Note…There is a plethora of jobs in the USA.
But some have forgotten the dignity of a paycheck.
Of giving to others, which is a true joy. ***
*** Note… this does not apply to those who are
validly disabled or ill…..certainly!. I understand that.
Just to those out to “beat the system.”
7/17/202
~1~
Yes, Let's Do it. Election Insanity.
....................
Yes! Let us have all felons vote!
Better yet, let's muddy the "Swamp"
Have known killers run for Congress.
Perhaps, even be our President.
Indeed, the Americans have gone looney.
Must be chugging down really cheap wine.
Or smoking tons of powerful Ganga.
Don't forget the OxyContin...Whooh!
Let's believe those who work are evil.
Pit them against those who will not.
A typical Communist famous card trick,
Played by Commie crooks.
Let's knock over every statue of those who
made America great,
And replace them with un-American ingrates.
Let's replace them with killer rappers,too
Or female singers on TV, who love to
flash their woo-hoos!
And a special garden so inspired,
Dedicated to disgusting race-batters, too?
And a special duo needs one, also
Stormy Daniels and Avenatti, a dude so
falso!
The newest one to Jussie Smolett,
all made in gold.
Hope that idea. Leaves you cold!
Why heck! We took God out of schools.
Then like refards,we complain ,they don't
know the Golden rule.
No, they don't..you removed a basic tool.
And to salute the flag? Oh, no, they won't!
Flags are to be stomped on and for the
Burning?
All this sets my stomach churning.
In recent years, our government wanted
Their spies in churches.
Yes your ministers are evil don't you know?
But into a mosque, the FBI may not go.
Christians are a dangerous breed!
Really? Yes, so say all the druggies high on
speed.
This is my brief peek as what's coming down
the pike.
I find it all dismaying and not at all right.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
3:2m PST
They Be The Descendants Of The Confederacy
By Roy Merritt
Way down here in the land of cotton
A great many people are mean and rotten
A great many of them are foul you see
They be descendants of the Confederacy
They love that flag the Stars and Bars
Fly it from their trucks fly it from their cars
Some wear hoods only their eyes you see
They be descendants of the Confederacy
They be fools who feed on hate
They be fools a bunch of stupid ingrates
They be people who vote for poverty
They be descendants of the Confederacy
They want to go backward fast not slow
They want to go back to days of Jim Crow
They want to hate blacks burning crosses to see
They be descendants of the Confederacy
They no longer like the Democrats
Cos’ now they the party of the working class
Republicans the ones who feed their treachery
They now the party of the Confederacy
They fell for their lies the Republican scam
Thinking these Republicans ever gave damn
Ever gave a damn for their future you see
They be descendants of the Confederacy
Way down here below the Mason Dixon
They love our food our Christian tradition
The notion they’re kind full of hospitality
They be descendants of the Confederacy
Way down here in the land of cotton
A great many people are mean and rotten
A great many of them are foul you see
They be the descendants of the Confederacy
The ugly descendants of the Confederacy
The truly ugly descendants of the Confederacy
I reckon the empty nest syndrome hits all at one time or another,
When youngsters flee the nest leaving dear old Dad and Mother!
This morning on the patio I witnessed this situation at its best,
When two baby wrens took flight and left their parent's cozy nest!
Mr. and Mrs. Wren set up housekeeping in a birdhouse I had made.
They soon became the proud parents of a couple of eggs she laid!
I watched them flit to and fro as they filled the ever-empty maws,
Of their little darlings from grub carried in their over-flowing craws!
Once the kids had spread their wings to experience the thrill of flight,
Mother Wren would sit on the birdhouse porch to contemplate her plight!
She'd plaintively chirp as if to say, "You ingrates left sans saying goodbye!
You've left me and your Pa in this lonely nest to mope about and cry!"
It wasn't long until Mr. Wren was in a romantic mood with his spouse.
When he tried to nuzzle up to Mrs. Wren, she'd scurry inside the house,
As if to say, "No way, buster! I've had it! Cool it until next spring!
Perhaps when the cherry blossoms bloom again we'll have another fling!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Poems, prose and roses
Poets hate politicians
Poets prefer poking pens at people
P-words, power and paupers
Poets love writing about love
Tears, the sky and meadows
Poets are prostitutes
They are sex vendors
They expose their naked thoughts
To the world
They talk dirt without apology
And care less about anyone's emotions
Poets are short-tempered like a mini skirt
Like a G-string, there's a thin line between poetry and bigotry
Poets flaunt their innermost secrets for attention
Poets are prostitutes
Because poets are deep
They spread carnal diseases
Such as satire, criticism, rebellion, revolution, philosophy and the worst diseases of all:
Human love and hate
Poets write out of need,
Self-righteousness, lust and malice.
Poets lurk in the twilight corners of solitude
Under the street lights of obsession
Poets are a minority group
Protesting for equal rights
And recognition of poetry as a profession
And they claim poetic license
Poets sometimes render their sensual services
To ingrates who refuse to pay attention
Poets are often sneered upon in a hypocritical society
And a critical clique of readers
Poets get arrested at night
As this is the time when the goddess of creativity is moaning with faked pleasures of expression.
Poets **** you up for fun.
Writers are whores
Who lust for the misery of others
Their pens drip at the orgy of words
They write from different positions
They milk rhyme and reason dry
They suck life's dictations
Until the truth 'cums' out in torrents
Poets at times endure penetrations of mediocrity
And implants of other people's labour
For the sheer ecstasy of public approval
And literary glory
Poets can rob you of your money
By sweet endearing words
So you have been warned:
Beware of these brutal bards
They can easily elope with your spouse!
From the bottom of my heart
I thank you honey bee
for all that liquid gold
that's bought and sold
Your precious honey from your tiny womb
Yes God bless thy fine honeycomb.
But sorry for stealing
your liquid of healing!
And thankyou baa baa bleating sheep
for your warming fluffy wool
The cold makes the babies weep
and they could die of the cool.
Mother hen to you thankyou
for protein packed trays of gratis eggs
and forgive me, for delicious drumstick legs!
And mooing cows sorry for taking
your calf's milk we too love drinking
for cakes have to be baking
Ah, and apologies for loving those tasty fish fillets
Coated and fried in those fine sizzling skillets
And thankyou little silkworm
Silken dresses have been the norm
Deers thankyou for musk, and venison for the meal
Apologies to calves for partaking of their veal.
Ah thankyou God for all that food
If we thank Him not we're ingrates rude.
NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
SAY ADIEU TO EUROPE AS IT EDDIES TO THE DRAIN
THE DEMISE WILL BE SLOW WITH BLOOD WITH PAIN
THERE IS AN INVASION ALL EUROPE IS UNDER SIEGE
BY DEDICATED JIHADISTS DISGUISED AS REFUGEES
THEY WILL SLOWLY COLONIZE INTO URBAN CENTERS
OBEYING SHARIAH DEMANDED BY THEIR MENTORS
THEY WILL REFUSE TO ACCEPT LOCAL TRADITIONS
AMASS LARGE AREAS FOR ISLAMIC IMPOSITIONS
ESTABLISH NO GO ZONES TABOO FOR THE LOCALS
CALL TO PRAYER RITUALS WITH ARABIC VOCALS
ONCE SETTLED WILL COME CONSTANT AGITATIONS
CAUSING RIOTS AND UNENDING PROVOCATIONS
AVOIDING BEING CALLED RACIST LOCALS CEDE
YIELDING TRADITIONS TO SATE INVADERS’ NEED
LOOKING AROUND OSLO YOU’LL THINK ITS IRAN
WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLAXEN HAIRED BEAUTIES GONE
THEY’RE IN HIDING AVOIDING THE LEWD FOCUS
OF MEDIEVAL SAVAGES THE MODERN DAY LOCUSTS
EVENTUALLY THE LOCALS WILL BECOME AWARE
BUT IT MAY COME LATE FOR THOSE IN DESPAIR
IMPORTANT TO RECOGNIZE GENEROSITIES WOES
OFFERED TO INGRATES THAT ARE IDEOLOGICAL FOES
HOUSING, FOOD AND FREEDOM IS OPENLY FURNISHED
A JOYOUS SPIRIT OF GOODWILL FOREVER TARNISHED
Just to set things straight before I rant on.
I believe in God
Religion in almost any form disgusts me
They were given this earth and life in all its glory
What did they do in appreciation ?
They promptly invented a better place!
Heaven. Paradise. Angels, Virgins (why?)
And of course Satan with his burning Hell
It's like being given water to drink and defecating in it
Oh I forgot, we did that.
Then of course they branched out into sects
Protestant, Catholic, Sunni, etal
Convincing Irish men to war with each other
over how to please God
As to Earth (The Gift from God)
They war over who gets to destroy it
They die to actually own it
Complete with headstone.
Usually in the best area for living.
How do you religious ingrates live with this sin?
In blind senseless destruction of all it can be.
There’s a fury on the waves
A madness taking place
Fueled by the blood
Of weary wage slaves
And they taught us how to hate
In a hi tech kind of way
Made us meat puppets
For the wars they wage
In a playground, running round
In a playground, being clowns
Weren’t we once kids
Just kicking a ball?
Laughing ‘bout everything
Nothing at all
In a playground, ‘neath the sun
In a playground, having fun
Weren’t we once kids
Thought war is a game?
Fall over dead
And jump up again
(Hey, hey, what do you want to say?}
Don’t want to lose my legs
In defense of larceny
The banksters stealing billions
From the national Treasury
Don’t want to take a bullet
Left coughing up blood
For your right to a lap dance
At some faraway club
Don’t want to suck my meals
Through a thin feeding tube
On behalf of profiteers
Dealing addicts their crude
Don’t want to wheeze harshly
Hooked to a machine
In the service of ingrates
And all that’s obscene
Don’t want to suffer flashbacks
Those nightmarish screams
While billionaires lullaby
To private jet dreams
Nobody’s tool, nobody’s fool.
NO!!!!
In a world so long ago
In a world we used to know
Weren’t we once kids?
Who sang funny songs
No thoughts of torture
Phosphorous bombs
In a world so long ago
In a world we used to know
Weren’t we once kids?
Who rode on our bikes
Vampires scared us
Not nuclear strikes
(Hey, hey, what do you want to say?)
There’s a fury on the waves
A madness taking place
Fueled by the blood
Of weary wage slaves
There’s a world of growing horror
Where a playground stood before
And it ‘s time to stop
This lunatic war
There’s a world of growing horror
Where a playground stood before
And it’s time to stop
This murderous war
There’s a world of growing horror
Where a playground stood before
And It’s time to stop
This sickening war
There’s a world of growing horror
Where a playground stood before
And it’s time to stop
This bloody awful war
Let’s bring back our playground
Stop this war
Let’s restore our playground
Stop this war…
Yes, it’s time
(yes it’s time)
Time to STOP THIS WAR!
Just yesterday this patriarch
sat on the beach to watch the larks,
parents and grandkids digging sand
a warm sun, stranger in the land.
No breeze to sap the gentle heat,
the sea far off with the tides neap
absorbing there my day’s memoir
witnessing summers door ajar.
Aback the beach a little hut
specific for refreshment put,
its tables filling as mid morn
folk take a tea and scones sojourn.
The sea is creeping slow away,
some rush towards in there to play
then faster rush back to dry sand,
with blue imprint of sea’s cold hand
And now the rock pools have their day,
soliloquy has had its play,
with bucket, net and child to hand
adventures in crab-nippy land.
The plastic buckets slowly stocked
with outraged tenants of the rock-
pools weed filled tide deserted homes,
each forced to have a sloshy roam.
A sequenced of heart testing shocks
unbalanced on the slippery rocks
until it’s time to reinstate
in pastures new the crab ingrates.
Confident stride on firm packed sand
to reclaim our oasis land,
now circled closer than before
by lovers,haters,dogs and more.
The pull of home late beckons me
to bid adieu and saunter free
from the foundations once I laid
when I was young, across decades.
Arriving from unknown somewhere
He set up clinic in the market square
Declared he could cure any disease
Using herbal drugs of plants and trees
Townsfolk being credulous
Soon to his shop began to rush
Diabetics, rheumatics, asthmatics flooded
None over his degree brooded
A few weeks later, afloat was this rumor
He cures for he rightly detects the humor
Realizing that every client is a prospective fan
He talked in technical terms even with laymen
He would expose his victims to numerous medical terms
Also trade-names, contents, firms, diseases and germs
Just to exhibit erudition and sound philosophy
Without occasion he embarked on learned topics
Often dwelt on sedatives and epilepsy
Or discoursed at length on tumor and biopsy
Then in a torrent of rodomontade would relate
Histories of cases cured with specific names and date
Discourses full of references to Ayurvedic treatises
Madhav, Charak, Susrut and other varieties
To prove his point he recited aloud original excerpts
As a result ,he soon won the epithet: "expert of experts"
"Discourteous ingrates! They even do not thank
Though I give 'em new life" exclaimed the mountebank.
Always eager to spar against allopathy
At the slightest provocation he would lecture on allopathic hazards
Or would lament on untidy hospitals and unhygienic wards
Boldly averring: "To hide anything from patients is a deadly sin"
Within no time he became a celebrity
His tricks worked and brought him publicity
After a year DHO came to see him in person
And sought his counsel for his sick son
A minister's car at his doorstep halted
Just to enhance libido and weakness treated
He gave the minister powerful mercury dust
Which triggered his vigor and inflamed his lust
Then to CM's ears reached his fragrant fame
Who called him secretly telling him not to declare name
MPs in turn heard of this rare phenomenon
And turned up to consult him one by one
Director drug control came to seek his advice
For chronic dysentery and perennial bronchitis
At length PM had to send him his compliments
For service to nation and" particular "patients
The whole world acknowledged him as master of his craft
But a person knew his truth in his own staff
His compounder knew his master was a fake
But he swallowed the secret for heaven's sake
speaking severe nasal sounds,
when exhalation boyhood memory draws
obvious twang – another ace in the hole for bullies –
gnashing identityguard where gauze
superfluous, and those hurtful ingrates lobbed words,
when they may as well swang fists at me upper and lower jaws,
though decades in the past, the imprimatur indeibly etched,
yet stinging rebukes from maws
and faux paws trigger remembrance of things past
(analogous to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -
in my case countless acromonious, denigrating, execrable names
contributed to Schizoid Personality Disorder –
though predisposition for sundry mental illness
most likely incsribed within mom and pop sic cull genes),
now greater enlightenment reacting/responding to stress
comprehending my biology, chronology, ecology, geneaolgy
(fyi – Amelie paid consultant at 23andme.com for blueprint
denoting fabric housing jumbled, linkedin, nested past –
results surprisingly showed 1% Neanderthal
comprise inherited) psychology,
thus explaining insatiable hunger for bananas,
and intermittant urge to swing from tree to tree,
whereby I willingly accept arboreal, corporeal,
generallly less than ideal traits
which pro active overtures arrest
(without a warrant), contest, assent everest
(albeit metaphorically) satisfactorily
extending virtual olive branch (pitted)
recognize immutable imposibility to confront
excrutciating bygone feelings,
this endeavor, a quest to test mine kempf zone, and endure
current flow of uneasiness (clammy
and sweaty hands fostered by andiety),
yet exorcizing mailer demons critical
to experience mindfullness, and requisite
to fast tract expeditious deliverence,
whereat ye ought not be deprived
THIS SIBLING (HAN SOLE BROTHER)
WHOSE LOVE TOOTH HE
(on account of dentures) DIDST OFTEN BESPEAK!
Enfolded in nature, we deliberately stand apart
Lurking heavily on industrial achievement
Luring generations to beckon towards the light
That man made idolatry of machine machine
Raging capitalism spleen from Darwin's dream
In intangible regime is impossible to wean
Sucking at the fountain of corporate stream'
Prospects hover in gluttonous parasitic attachment
As layers of process separate human from source
Government zoning forces the management of crude estates
While paper weights stagnate the make up of landless ingrates
Lives a poet in the United States
Who's sick and tired of insolent ingrates
She went on a diet
And thinks you should try it
It doesn't involve the food on your plates
You're not allowed to talk of politics
Can't claim elections were stolen with tricks
Headlines are taboo
Evening news is, too
The country is a mess and needs a fix
Trump's big lie is never to be swallowed
In the mud he's slung, regret you've wallowed
The truth always comes out
Of that, she has no doubt
He's not a good leader to be followed
She will not boast of President Biden
His mental faculties may be slidin'
Age has taken a toll
On not reaching his goal
The road to Democracy must widen.
The diet will not drop pounds from your weight
But you'll be happier without debate
She's not being a schmuck
And is no longer stuck
In quagmires of governmental stalemate
Purim Serum
Reverse the decree, costume quorum,
Dour outlooks, ingrates can wait,
To “V’Al HaNissim” respond “Amen!”
‘Til Shichur or REM inebriate,
Confusing “Baruch Mordechai & Arur Haman”,
Choose an opponent as a receiver of being considerate,
Send Mishloach Manos, listen quietly to Ahem!
Uplift with LeChaim! Drink Schnaps to hydrate,
To a Purim Seudah gather friends,
Imbibe wine! Purim Torah relate,
Hamantaschen savor as Oneg’s the end,
Be generous to a fault, an Oni sate,
Is Purim Serum bourbon?
Or Simcha shared? Requires Iyon, Ruminate!
This poem may be wordy surplus, excess, abundant,
Which means “A lot!” Not at all “Definate”