Best Mob Poems
Oh, You Brutish Mob.
Ye fool's Ye.
It falls on your watch,
You care not what You see.
While all is being squandered,
you simply will not agree.
Yet you wave a finger,
then claim it's not me.
You Grandstand and Glad hand,
Ad nauseum of these.
And all you care about,
are those clowns on TV.
Reality is not, the Fantasy,
That they force feed.
Division, Derision, and Hate,
You've All sown the seeds.
Go Reap the Whirlwind.
Ye Fools Ye.
Is the bill that you proffer,
A plan of sound action?
Or just to fill the coffers,
of your Political Faction?
Do You stand with your Country?
The Land of the Free.
Oh, You Brutish Mob,
Ye Fool's Ye.
The years of prohibition
The mobsters had no contrition
They were a gang of thugs
Lacking morality to judge
If a poetess rose
Simply stating humility thus opposed
The Mob well, would not take to her goals
In the ground thus the flower was to decompose
She stood her position, so sound
A parliament of owls she would not back down
In full bloom, she shines in the heavens
She heeds not the tongues below loading weapons
The Tommy gun, the Chicago piano
The seekers now all singing soprano!
Some recalled Kristallnacht,
the white mob’s facial fever,
once the same fever of a night,
now the fever of a day-mare.
Some recalled Charlottesville,
the white mob’s lust for blood,
once the same blood craved,
now the blood of a purgatory.
Some recalled Greenwood,
the white mob’s rampage,
once the Tulsa rage inflamed,
now the ire of the privileged.
Oh persecuted one,
aspiring despot, so maligned and martyred,
your words hang in the air like the endless
echo of wailing toddlers.
Captain of the siege,
What incendiary drivel have you sown?
What lie ignited white wrath again?
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
To steal elections, accuse your enemies of it.
To win by fraud, manufacture it.
To decertify black votes, rile white mobs.
Broken glass, shards of democracy
swept from the floors of the capitol,
the bloodied casualties,
the pipe bombs awaiting discharge,
while white thugs are protected by white justice.
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
White supremacy
beds well with fascism and capitalism.
Broken glass, shards of democracy.
When will the next carnage surface?
Where will democracy die?
I was not in a wrong place
Neither was it a wrong time when I met my fate
I was unarmed with my sweat’s worth
Another day’s dime in my pocket
I was confronted by a flood tide of an angry crowd
Their faces were unrecognizable, the voices too loud
I looked over my shoulder, there was no one in sight
Pointed accusing fingers rose, I started to take flight
It was too late to escape, the tide caught my feet
My whole body was stampeded and I failed to breathe
I tried to hang on to life but my arms where weak
I could not swim to safety, the shore was bleak
My defenseless body succumbed to the violence
In the attacking mob’s fuming eyes I saw hell’s darkness
As I gasped for breathe
My soul was unshackled from the earth
I ascended into the heavens in God’s hands
As my blood was dripping from my attackers palms
The vengeance became senseless, guilt swallowed their hearts
They left the scene heads down, could not look God in the eye
But I was now free like a bird
Rising above clouds the feeling transcends flying
I thought I would be dead
But on God’s right, I have just become undying
I cry for you now, you who are ladened with hate
I cry for you because the blood of the innocent is never drying
SAY NO TO MOB INJUSTICE
It is an injustice to an innocent soul, to your own soul and to all
I once was
A wasn't
But
Doesn't
A dozen
Wasn'ts
Add up to
Something
Why is ‘Almost Good Enough’
never what you need?
Why is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
an ounce more than you deserve?
Why is ‘Almost What You Need’
the most you’ll ever have?
Why is ‘It’s Not Only That’
the only thing that’s left?
Why is ‘In Almost Every Case’
not in any case at all?
Why is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
the thing sure to be missed?
Why is ‘In Actuality’
in real terms actually not?
Why is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
the biggest lie you tell?
Why is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
the one you continue to try?
Why is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
the one you repeat again?
Why is ‘Really’ not real at all
and spoken then in vain?
Why is ‘Probably’ not possible
or even close to that?
Why is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
the top of your agenda?
Why is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
strictly out of school?
Why is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
the easiest thing you do?
Why is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
so much harder than before?
Why is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
the end of the debate?
Why is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
the beginning of what comes next?
Why is ‘So What’ a euphemism
for the most important thing you do?
Why is ‘It Is What It Is’
categorically not, and never meant to be?
Why is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
ceramic and for sale?
Why is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
the one taken in disgust?
Why is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
four points more than its worth?
Why is the special ‘Love You Lost’
the only one you’ve never found?
Why is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
the one that flies away?
Why is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
the silence you extol?
When will your words wrap like copper wire
to conduct the truth unrobbed
When will you cease to pander and mislead
—naked before the mob
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
The crowd investigated a thought of a crime,
The web was the tool of their choice,
The arrest by the crowd, the charge by the crowd,
To the crowd he now had no voice,
No confession of guilt, no evidence needed,
When the crowd put him directly on trial,
Beyond reasonable doubt meant nothing at all,
To the crowd which’d now become tribal,
You see, the burden of proof was thrown away,
The rumours had a life of their own,
The rumours grew to a spectacular story,
A story where the truth’s left alone,
And the sentence was swift, no appeal was given,
His soul was on full public parade,
He was hung, drawn and quartered by the rumouring crowd,
And then he was thrown away.
When is ‘Almost Good Enough’
never good enough?
When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
an ounce more than enough?
When is ‘Almost What You Need’
the most you’ll ever have?
When is ‘It’s Not Only That’
the only thing that’s left?
When is ‘In Almost Every Case’
not in any case at all?
When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
the thing sure to be missed?
When is ‘In Actuality’
in real terms actually not?
When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
the biggest lie you’ll hear?
When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
the one you continue to try?
When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
the one you repeat again?
When is ‘Really’ not real at all
and spoken then in vain?
When is ‘Probably’ not probable
or even close to that?
When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
the top of your agenda?
When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
strictly out of school?
When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
the easiest thing you do?
When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
so much harder than before?
When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
the end of the debate?
When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
the beginning of what comes next?
When is ‘So What’ a euphemism
for the most important things you do?
When is ‘It Is What It Is’
categorically not, and never will be?
When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
ceramic and for sale?
When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
the one taken in disgust?
When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
four points more than its worth?
When is the special ‘Love You Lost’
the only one you’ve never found?
When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
the one that flies away?
When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
the silence you extol?
When will your words line with copper wire
to conduct the truth unrobbed
When will you cease to pander and mislead
—naked before the mob
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
“Deep, deep, deep. Listen and hear our faint gait.
Sanitation, fluorescent lights, and a PC pillow for smother.
Agree! Agree! Atone! Suck it in and suff-o-cate.
White-ness. Black. Ev’ry creed, faith, and color. Listen to Nanny State and call her your mother.”
A wilting flower and grass that’s mowed
Are ever learning why the wilt and why the harm
Innovation, creativity, and where Americana once flowed
Abandoned by the Deep as “fly over” and robbed and made empty the house and the farm
Nude, nude hush in the cellar and the hand can’t hold the gavel
“Trade with China, take arms to China. In Syria sustain the war.
Rude, rude, rude! Abuse of power and a ban on travel.”
Rightful tariffs to the farmers and the market still tends to soar
“Bully the one we call a bully or brute.
A triggered, flying milkshake will save a safe space.
‘You get out and make a crowd!’ You fight! You punch! -- You loot!
And if you see his son about, spit in his face and invade the place.”
Knowledge of good and evil, and the tree from which it sprang
Covet, covet, corrupt in Kiev; greed was found a-Bidden
An Arkansas mansion mem’ry and sight on the oval did haunt and did pang
An outsider, and drainage of septic forbidden
“The farmers don’t want handouts or charity.”
But past year’s labor sets this year’s price
And The Salt of the Earth today will have clarity
The cream off the barrel of tariffs is their due, and the tycoon’s not calling it “nice”
“I’ll still call you a hater. You deplorable vulture!
Because the map in November robbed us our due!”
It’s not 'the other' we hate; it’s your stainless-steal culture
You polled the what, -- (here a hint and a Midwestern clue)
you owned the what, but Deep, my dear, you forgot about us and left sour the Who.
Warm, warm, yellow warm incandescent nourishes
Blue, blue, sterile, starving, hopeless erie --essence
Nanny off the hitch and hands uncuffed --a dirt road gives and flourishes
With the death of equity and the light of equality. And the tapestry shall dawn irid--escence
The long bulb dies along the edges and fringes
Clinical, global culture to the bin
The gate has fallen off its rusted hinges
And the incandescent will win.
Half price sale, half price sale’
Half price sale today.
Into the town centre on a bus
Rode those to be plundered.
Forward the crowd as it swayed
“Charge on your card! The cry
Into the town centre to shop
Rode those to be plundered
Shoppers to the right of them
Shoppers to the left of them
Shoppers all in front of them
Brolly and handbag drawn, at bargains
They wondered.
Storming the shelves they yelled
On to the tills they fell
Into the jaws of debt
Into the hardest sell
Charged those that were plundered
Where are the deals they made?
Oh how they did some trade
All the town wondered
Would bill’s ever be paid
In the homes of those
That were plundered.
Charlie Milne 2008
Thank you and sorry, Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892),
A great poet from a time of the greatest poets.
Cut and pasted it to poetrysoup.com
so I could send you a poem. You can
do same with your poems and send
them to:
jthorn5656@atmc.net jthorn5656@gmail.com
we learned how to lift
spirits from sin and from shift
overcame all rifts
we started to sob
when overtaken by mob
who will kill and rob
in the flowing flood
things were covered by much mud
flowers with a bud
God will always bless
help me straighten out mess
did remove all stress
It is easier to write poetry and
concentrate on it via Poetry Soup
and FaceBook rather than via
Virtual Zoom. I have difficulty
understanding what the person
is reading. If they would cut
and paste poem to Chat section
of Virtual/Zoom screen, this
would help. This is the best
way to do it.
James Horn
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Will put website address of this
on FaceBook.
Kill the howling mob
Their bibliophobia
The library burns
Murder the arsonists
And their hatred of books
Crumpling Paper
By J.R.Wren
Caw, Caw, the voice is rusty and the fry will always be true
The crows don’t know a suit, a camera, nor a comma splice
War Machine MSNBC has messy hair and forgot to tie their shoe
Tariff money, the farmer’s due, and the Tycoon’s not calling it “nice.”
“Don’t tell them that story yet; they won’t understand it.
What’s the format today? Are we mixing in op eds with obituaries and news?
We call it a ‘narrative’ today, and we look for the Monk to help us to land it.”
Talking heads continue to spin, and War Machine still needs to tie that shoe.
“Sit on the truth, till the snitching fox and voice-fried crow calls our hand”
Crumpling paper says they do the same job -- same, same, like a clone’s clone
“We don’t get leaks from the Deep, it’s all honest reporting we demand.
Now report it before we get had!” And CNN is early at the driveway of Roger Stone
Caw, caw, the voice is rusty and the fry will give a clue
Salt of the Earth have spoken, and they leave the tabloids on the table
Crumpling paper, and War Machine too, MSNBC, tie your shoe!
The deep hates, just hates, that a new mind is the thing to make us stable
And Foghorn will be red-faced again if they continue to ignore the Who
Crumpled paper, stop telling us WHAT, and start thinking about us and the WHO!
Mob frenzy - 'rationality lay dead'!
Amidst all frenzy - rationality lay dead!
does excited mind ever bring any good ?
Of what use is knowledge, if it falls prey;
leaving reason behind and enters the fray!
Game of numbers, not a way to succeed;
melee prevail, process of thinking recede!
Headless and rudderless - lost insight,
creeps-in only towards muscular might!
Tradition and culture that's set on violence,
blunts thinking men, stunts thinkers to silence!
Nature's law is ever to progressively adapt,
in long run, it's seen to successfully redact.
Matter of time for thy realisation to dawn,
opportunist, played you a sacrificial pawn!
Doomed is the cause found on false premise,
resultant effect - towards its natural demise!
Show a little finesse, place a bet.
You’re just in time for the game, get some skin, the fix is in.
What’s more American than cashing in?
The real winners do, and now that could be you.
With suckers out there waiting, scamming is as easy as creating
an NFT, bitcoin, an online bet or a romance baiting.
You’ll be a witness, as the wise guys step in, for the NFL it’s a win-win
You get the excitement you need and the real playas get the proceeds.
Come on, Mr slick ricky, you know you’ve got to be bold to win gold
winners double-down, they never fold—the thrill never gets old.
The winners will add your measly bucks to their pot.
Let's admit, all you’ve got, isn’t a lot - it wouldn’t, say, fuel a yacht.
So, step up, place your bets, you’re in the digital front row all the time,
don’t be lame, be part of the game, it’s greasy, sleazy, organized crime.
.
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A song for this:
Vicious Games by Yello
The Game of Love (feat. Michelle Branch) [Main/Radio Mix] by Santana
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I LOVE NFL football, but now every commercial is for some sports book like “Draft Kings.”
How can the NFL, increasingly in league with gambling books, not end mobbed-up and fixed?
It’s ruining NFL football - the illusion that it’s a real sporting competition.
Once they start calling the NFL “entertainment” and not sports - it’s over.
The game I grew up loving will be like pro wrestling.