Best Machiavelli Poems
Machiavelli s'been stewing
teardrops in the Soup
Stooping to new lows
for SYMPATHY
stirring chickens in the coop
Seems some folks will do anything
for what they think is fame
Swiss cheese stories for glory
Lordy! Whaddah' shame!
Reminds me of two classic movies...
"Freddie Lives" and the other is
"The Crying Game"...
but this one's very unbelievable, it ain't scary,
and it's much
MUCH more lame!~
Sherry, The One That Got Away
By Rick Rucker
Sherry was the one that got away,
I remember her to this very day,
She was quite a winsome lass,
I was far below her class,
Her brother was a friend of mine,
I first met his sister, with a smile of Sunshine!
I went to his house to swim in his pool,
There, I made myself the perfect fool!
I was drying off, and standing there,
When out walked Venus, with raven hair!
I was not merely tongue tied,
Had I not averted my eyes, I might have died!
Just then, my heart suddenly stopped,
But for paralysis, I would have dropped!
Understand that I was shy,
Too afraid to talk to her, I won’t lie!
Just to make matters worse,
A song came out, to add to my curse,
Frankie Valli sang a song,
To, my embarrassment, prolong,
The title was graced with her name,
It made feel even more lame,
A line of the song asked her on a date,
To never have the courage to do that was my fate!
I had a rich fantasy life,
In it, she starred as my wife,
We were so much in love,
Birds serenaded us from above!
I imagined we had little need of clothes,
Writhing together, we would curl our toes,
Finally the balance of the Universe I had to restore,
I could not take it anymore!
I began to think like Machiavelli,
All because of Frankie Valli!
With her brother, I did pick a fight,
So that I could sleep at night,
So that I would see her never more,
In time, my heart became less sore.
In time, I learned to be more assertive,
Not merely giving girls glances, furtive,
I even fell in love and married,
But, sometimes at night, my thoughts tarried,
On the memory of that lovely girl,
Who, among the swine, she was a pearl.
Whenever I read about two people, married forever,
I kick myself for lack of guts I never,
Asked Sherry on a date,
Therefore could not become her mate,
I do not know what might have been,
Had I not been the most timid of young men.
I hope she has had a wonderful life,
I did, and a terrific wife,
But still I sometimes hear that song,
And instantly, I know that I did wrong!
He was a man penned,
By instinctive needs,
To whisk away,
Dirty deeds.
The necessities of others,
Trumped what was,
Making headlines,
Out of quiet acts.
Into a text,
He appeared,
From the text,
(h)e disappeared.
A lion he was,
Doubt it not,
Full of blood and fire,
Ready to grab his lot.
Sin was virtue,
Guilt was shame,
The man was hungry,
In want of a name.
The lamb came later,
Down gossip’s path,
Upon an alter,
History crossed.
The books,
With deliberate fancies,
Inverted the meaning
Of time.
Meanwhile,
Blood became wine,
As castles rose,
To hail the divine.
For God’s sake!
The man was made of steel!
Not like superman,
But still a pretty big deal.
One reason,
He became the son,
Was that god,
Needed to be born.
What was the point of
Laying down arms?
When the Romans came,
There were no other charms.
Ay, there’s the rub,
Machiavelli,
Outdated, outrun, out-stated,
By the donkey riding man.
Without faith,
Its all just a spoof,
With out doubt,
There’s no proof.
Before him,
Metaphors were magical,
After,
Merely logical.
Myth,
Is the shining example,
Of what you get,
When men dance and sing.
Religion,
Is the only way,
To get things right,
Some other day.
When the temple,
Came crashing down,
Fate was sealed,
For money ruled the town.
His worshippers protested,
Not to budge,
If he did,
Some rocks they would indulge.
Not one to say no,
Believing in his flock,
He was surprised,
How they began to mock.
When the real story began,
The fake one ended,
Men of action,
Lost their main attraction.
The men with quills,
Who with great depth,
Expressed their wills,
Still whisper in the halls.
Who’s to say,
What it means,
When all is said and done,
Nothing is as it seems.
All hail and rise,
To this story that was devised,
By one god damn man,
Of art he was comprised.
for KNOCK US DOWN WITH YOUR LINES Contest
How many generations have to suffer
the stings of those who would be bigger than
they are? Cain, Goliath, Saul, Hammurabi, Xerxes...
Other Ages were no respite from Despots.
Caesars, Hannibal, Pharaohs, Machiavelli, Richard II,
and those of the Middle Ages. All these made us suffer...
The Great War was only another step on the road of
"Man's Inhumanity to Man". Hitler, Stalin, The Terrorists
of today. Can't we yet beat our swords into plowshares together...
written 8/26/15
They're never supposed to end, they're
supposed to last forever
Its supposed to be locked down but it's as
light as a feather
Someone could've been your best friend
forever a few years back
But now you turn and look at them and be
like "who is that?"
Friendships are seesaws, one minute
you're cool, the next youre enemies
One minute you're fightin', the next
Drinkin' Hennessey
Facebook friends same people that'll rob
you
Same people who'll start huggin' you then
try to mob you
People lie when they say friendships
always last
Now seein' someone you would've given
your life for is like a blast from the past
Wise words were told by Machiavelli and
Kanye but who's will last longer
One said "the ends justify the means" the
other, "That don't kill me, Can only make
me stronger"
We used to be close, especially when you
lived up the block
You can walk right past me but that don't
come as a shock
You always got so much to say, but I'm
just laughin' at 'cha
You really just don't know. But I ain't mad
at 'cha.
peace to dead poets, to most we owe, its about time we show our awe in a flow,
some respect towards those and controlling future woes, power we all stow,
but taught to ignore though i ain't pointing fingers,
let loose out your throat, from your mouth scream you'll float,
that flow be what its all about. MORE, as i materialize a peace they didn't know before,
guided by lights lets show them more,
the path, most known but ignored at home, what you talk about? We was born stone then molded by Machiavelli before dawn and blamed, but just a pawn,
but thats not your fate,
open your eyes as you break faith, chop it up and use it as bait, then leave cause we never wait, to each thee own they must find alone, with light shone from my poem, wield it like a stone!
and skip it in a pond, them ripples be your influence upon this world when I'm gone.
‘ Can She Pick ‘Em … ’ 26th Senryu
Boy, Can She Pick ‘Em !
From Machiavelli-Boyfriend
Rasputin-Husband
Dr Johnson I presume
May I enquire why Sir
This 2nd edition of your dictionary
Has so very few words and only 1 page
in it
Such as and if I may , can I quote you
Contempt
Corruption
Cruelty
Deceit
Disregard
Genocide
Lies
Manipulation
Power
Oh or am I missing the point is this
indeed in fact the Machiavelli
Political and Power special edition
They use to put your hand on for
swearing in ceremonies
The truth and nothing but the truth
So help me God
gauntlet of mirrors transparency personified
transparency personified when the curtain falls
in an arena of quick sand and impromptu judgement
the stage was well set though actually
it presented itself as rather empty
epic theatre art form at its vacant best
I placed himself at the very manifest epicentre
of concealed and subconscious intentions
would I shed the gauntlet despite sharp sordid shards
sharing poetry soul-stripping and nakedly honest
Freud would think of an electrifying Egopuss complex
Jung’s shadow play might reveal phallic saints on display
until of course Nietzsche found God in Mary Magdalene
a marriage apocalyptically consummated in Dante’s inferno
with four horsemen in G-strings frottageing lust and desire
no contest is real unless the audience may be allowed
to pervert justice or shed more than hypocritical applause
constructive critique does not forbid foul language nor rage
at times I felt deprived when my poetry in the soup’s cauldron
merely attracted kind comments or however heartfelt approval
when I put myself into the lioness’ den I expect to be ravaged
ravaged displaced exposed devoured and put to the stake
a wizard needs fire because talent and flair have to be moulded
publishing poetry is an interaction between consenting partners
otherwise it risks to become pantomime or unilateral megalomania
mirror mirror on the wall am I not the best screwball of them all
where is the podium what is my prize accolade and quilled line squall
a masked persona falls short of the truth and I am the court jester
expect my bells and whistles to jingle as tools for the eloquent fool
tomtoolery when Machiavelli meets de Beauvoir in the boudoir
oh crystal ball kaleidoscope gemstone alchemy of soul and mind
nights in white satin and shining armour pain pleasure and words
words that cannot express my conflict when the prism is smudged
footnotes:
Egopuss complex refers to Oedipus’ gender neutrality, although it could be
viewed as a misspelling for the purulent excretions of Self on autopilot
tomtoolery are male tools of trade and craft, but could I not be the feminine
version
If we say only a white male is ok,
Have we violated the law in someway?
What if we say the opposite?
Only a black female fits the requisite.
Do you now consider,
Ihre papiere, bitte
The proper way
In the USA
Here's something to think about.
If you google "lies about"
And the page of results is all "lies by",
Has google just told a lie?
Why is freedom of the press,
For so many a one way address?
The constant clamor to suppress
Opposing views that are confessed.
Is it just a bad dream,
Or has Machiavelli become mainstream?
At least to me it seems
Too many are fine with the ends justifying the means!
Sophomore Bertha Succubus
Was a virgin at your school
The football team adore her
And you say she's pretty cool
Her mom and dad are preachers
Authorities on Hell
Every sin a man can do
Is one they know quite well
God made her lips for kissing
And the Devil's keeping score
Every boy she touches
Finds his trousers on the floor
I know she really loves you
She said so on that pew
Where Peter opened Pearly Gates
And I had it in for you
Dollar signs will trump a cross,
Burning bush, or etched in stone;
All it took was just a buck
To give your girl the bone
Presidents set a standard
For others to emulate
So after you console her
Set me up for another date!
The ends justify the means
Machiavelli oxymoron
or Ovid paraphrases...
O Donald Trump, your crown was earned
By chants of hope from those who yearned.
They dreamed you'd end the endless fight,
And lead them from the dying night.
You rose not as a common name—
But as a symbol wrapped in flame.
“Make America great,” you cried,
Yet truth and action soon divide.
For bombs still fall in lands afar,
And peace lies broken by your war.
You spoke of walls, of strength, of pride,
While millions weep and sleep outside.
You mocked the weak, empowered the strong,
And sang the old imperial song.
But greatness is not built on fear,
Nor made through wealth when none is near.
The people cry for bread, not war,
Yet you have opened every scar.
The money flows to fuel and guns,
While schools collapse and hunger runs.
O Trump! If Machiavelli spoke,
He’d warn you of the crown you broke.
The prince must lead with tempered grace,
And not betray the people’s face.
Socrates would ask you still:
Do you govern by truth or will?
Can virtue thrive where ego reigns?
Can justice rise in gilded chains?
The empire groans beneath the lie,
And history’s ink will not run dry.
Will they recall a man who healed—
Or just the mask behind a shield?
Donald Trump, the path is near,
To lead with heart or rule by fear.
Undo the harm, begin again—
Or be remembered not as a man,
But as a warning to all men.
To be feared or to be loved
A king contemplates
No right answer can be had
A covert narcissist dressed in a hand-me-down victim cloak,
Master of the tear-tantrum tactic —
He sniffles, sobs, and simpers until your defenses drop,
Then slides a betrayal in your back so smooth you almost thank him.
A codependent parasite latched to his mother’s emotional tit like a tick,
Bound by an enmeshed dynamic so tight you'd think she birthed him twice.
He’s 40 going on 14,
Displaying classic symptoms of Peter Pan Syndrome with a sprinkle of Oppositional Defiance Disorder every time life whispers “grow up.”
Zero employment history,
But extensive experience in triangulation, gaslighting, and learned helplessness.
He’s the CEO of deflection, a PhD in projection,
Weaponizing guilt like a toddler with a grenade.
He calls you "too emotional,"
Right after he weeps his way out of another confrontation
Like a soggy Machiavelli.
He’s not just a mama’s boy.
He’s her emotional husband,
Their emotional incest dressed up as devotion,
While he lets her make every decision
Between his gaming sessions and tantrums.
He’s the kind of man who, if given a mirror,
Would still find a way to blame the reflection for his failures.