Best Pols Poems
We had no hand in this rape of nature
Yet we will bear its full weight and measure
Can climate be sentenced to certain doom
Is there time to resolve its gruesome gloom
Don't dare ask us to deny climate change
We've dug a hole that we can't get out of
At the "climate mercy" from high above
Self-interest trumps the collective good
Tell the top players to do now what they should
Don't dare ask us to think or act short-term
Our little spades try digging us all out
As designer-suit dudes plow dirt round about
We dutifully sift through our own trash
So we make these moguls even more cash
Don't dare ask us to bow to huge profits
Those prominent peers, posers, pols and priests
They had their fair say and done their least
Fighting useless battles over oil sites
While we differ on clear-cut human rights
Don't dare ask us to reject world order
Elites hold the power and that is true
Puny results from what we folks can do
As much as we'd like to see it all stop
To fix this we must begin at the top
Don't dare ask us to back broken brokers
Seeing in stores all that shiny plastic
Vast plastic globs float in the Pacific
We drive plastic cars that are half the weight
With which green fuel is still under debate
Don't dare ask us to save our frail planet
Each ecosystem is interconnected
Rising like tides that are all effected
Now fires and storms rage behind a curtain
Weather is volatile and uncertain
Don't dare ask us to endanger species
Air, lands, waters hope for a better day
Some of earth's environs have lost their way
Without half our insects we must move on
The planet's trees are forever half gone
Don't dare ask us to fix this mega mess
Couplet 40 Lines 337 Words
Nothing for Something
What filled your footsteps cannot
Fill mine, yes, a wave does not
Break twice, but do you think
I too have not risen when lured
By the hopes of vacant promises; inured
The rage of empty shelves?
“Free beer tomorrow”, the Pols perennial tout,
"We’ll fill your still-empty mugs with stout,
Then charge it to some other sucker’s tab."
Like poachers back to the same pond
Each season for the harvest, your bond
For the count is assumed.
Do you not see their willful blind,
The guns swinging upward to find
Your range?
How many generations will comply
Before just one dares to deny
The users’ their presumption?
That fire raging from the double cross
Can cleave the element from the dross
And emancipate your art.
Copyright Paul M Thomson 2020
Puritans gather in Congress' hallowed halls, faces glum
Trampling truth, blowing horns, banging drums
Of blazing envy, wrath, and sloe-eyed sleaze
Pelosi-Schumer's moralizing minions on their knees
Digging up dirt on disapproved-of nominees
Judgment fled to Pandora-box divorce decrees
Careful, all you righteous pols, so sure the public will be pleased
Most voters care about the economy, not investigative sleaze
-- And whenever decent folks flee, the door opens for the military
If on history books we can rely
'Tis said Washington never told a lie
He had false teeth it is said
Yet uttered truths from his head
But pols now with 'wisdom' teeth are so sly
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
On asphalt, wet with blood and sweat (down streets with no address),
there lay a man, snuffed by the Man and left to evanesce.
The Man then strode along the road and smiled at his success
and, cavalier, he bought a beer, sat down to decompress.
A life was gone, but day wore on, the sun awash in heat –
the riddled head no longer bled, concealed beneath a sheet,
and passers-by began to cry, were sobbing indiscreet’,
while holy bells in distant hells began to moan and bleat.
In heaven's eyes (no one denies) due process is decreed,
but down below, where burdens flow, it rarely can succeed
and certainly not for those distraught, benighted in their need,
so Men in blue (you know the crew) thought nothing of the deed.
Though just eighteen, a little green (was still his mama's son!),
adored by all, but left to sprawl in webs of hate, undone,
the youth was shot and left to rot, but never held a gun,
so people cried and wondered why'd the evil deed been done.
The sheriff said "forget the dead, his crime was black as slate"
and in the rush to hush and shush, he hissed "I'll tell you straight,
that boy, today, was on his way to rendezvous with fate,
so now you know – I gotta go, it's gettin' kinda late".
Not satisfied with those who'd lied, some took to fill the streets
with peaceful cries neath blackened skies, were paid with clubbed retreats,
cruel gas cascades and stun grenades, then days in jailhouse suites –
though curfew's on from dusk till dawn, each night this scene repeats.
With exits barred, in came the Guard to rumble and repress,
for people stray both night and day in search of some redress.
The city's scarred, the houses charred, the locals in distress –
with cut or bruise, they still refuse to kneel or acquiesce.
So choppers fly above the sky with whirling, twirling blades
and drones in flight within the night erase the renegades.
The tarot cards and crystal shards reveal the masquerades –
the beating parts of diamonds’ hearts forever club the spades.
Now puppet Pols are making calls and acting out charades
(like shouting loud within the crowd, and marching in parades),
while underneath, where lies a wreath, the hope for justice fades.
Yet, freedom waits behind the gates, beyond the barricades.
25 Aug 2014
All today I had the blues
Because I listened to the news,
Learning Iowans did choose
Not Trump or Rubio, but Cruz.
This candidate does not amuse.
His cockiness just seems to ooze
From all his pores and in reviews,
His own Grand Party can’t enthuse.
It seems he likes to put the screws
On fellow pols, who can’t excuse
The vitriol he likes to use
When his agenda he pursues.
In the end, I must effuse –
Oh, Mr. Cruz, I hope you lose!
They say Tuesday's child is full of grace
I would say that it's a disaster.
There are two events I don't embrace
That make Tuesday a glum downcaster.
Tuesday's the day, in most of the States
When they hold primary elections.
Where we extract from a few inmates
Our "favorite" bad selections.
And as if that wasn't bad enough,
We not only pick the nuthatches,
The second Tuesday of every month...
The release of Microsoft patches!
Now, I know pols are needed so that we can have laws,
But, I wish Bill Gates could patch D.C.'s intellectual flaws.
Tinted stars on flatter screens
suave images do hype
Black & White visages from
nostalgic era still archetype
Touched-up photos the ideal
caricature to swipe
Still Life portraits from
Renaissance remain heartfelt
prototype
Gratuitous mavericks, in
manicured uniforms with
stenciled bats, freely gripe
Talented shills in baggy pants
with suborned fealty flailed the
wooden pipe
Poltroons in front of polished
syndicate, with lofty promises
alter egos fight
Festooned pols with burnished
principles at the graven stump
unite
Educated shoppers browse
structured bins with
genetically-modified produce
tainted with chemical wipe
Third generation farmers in
Roaring 20's preen nature's
blight, then pick, sale organic
produce wholsomely ripe
Gilded pols with verbal jousts disarm
With statistical ballasts constituents charm
On opponents deceptive feints, sound the alarm
Scout for votes in city, dale, and farm
Broker deals that bolster their position
Deceptive adds initiate their political inquisition
Bribe voters of every walk and station
Recount votes with cunning derision
Conveniently forget every token promise
Accept all gratuities without malice
With honey and wine, fill every lobbyist chalice
Satiate ego with fatuous, frivolous dalliance
During the not-so-Great Depression
FDR practiced self-suppression
'chatting with us' just once a week
During the current pandemic
Press conferences are epidemic
Pols grabbing every microphone to speak
How many times must we amend
The gruesome news of death again?
What venue will Fate next abase,
some hapless, unsuspecting place?
Such acts still shake us to the core -
These senseless slaughters some ignore.
We're told that guns bought "legally"
Are nothing to condemn, you see.
Just guiltless children lying dead,
A tragic scene - their parents' dread.
While in the rooms with blood-stained walls
Lay books unread, deprived from all.
One answer was a thoughtless call:
Guns unrestrained with guns for all!
This stance - such unimagined gall -
Suggests the price is protocol.
Coffin for one - coffins for all;
Of no concern - this awful pall?
What's caused a Right we've held so long
To become tarnished by these wrongs?
Without true insight to reflect,
Without true foresight to correct,
Without true courage to stand tall
Elected "leaders" shift and stall.
Playing the odds in their careers
Have they now closed their eyes and ears?
For "pols" who acquiesce this mess
Their "jobs" should pass to someone else.
The case for change is nothing new -
Will common sense and reason do?
If change won't come then who's to blame?
Ourselves - for sure - and that's the shame.
Now, silenced victims must be heard -
Yes, they should have the final word!
Ever since Adam and Eve greeted the dawn of Creation,
Humankind has seen the tragic results of miscommunication!
They ate the forbidden fruit because of that crafty snake;
Now we suffer tribulation due to their mistake!
Since the Indians didn't savvy white man's gobbledegook,
They were "buffaloed" out of their lands by hook and crook!
Muddled orders caused the 7th Cavalry to be caught by surprise,
Making Libby a widow due to Colonel Custer's demise!
"Those are American planes causing those radar blips!"
Oops! Pearl Harbor was ablaze with sinking ships!
Despite the lookout yelling, "Icebergs are every place!"
The Titanic plunged beneath the waves without a trace!
"We'll sell a million of them!" proclaimed Mister Ford.
The Edsel bombed - his words should have been ignored!
Interpreting "chads" by pols in one state proved inconclusive;
As a result a party's hopes and aspirations were elusive!
The weather guy said today that the skies would be clear.
There's about three feet of snow to shovel it would appear!
From faulty communication many problems have sprung.
Just shows that folks shouldn't speak with forked' tongue!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The storm was called historic
Before it even hit,
The weathermen euphoric,
As reports they did submit.
They closed the subways and the schools;
Prevented cars from driving.
The pols used all their lofty tools
For snow not yet arriving.
The Broadway theaters shut their doors;
Museums followed suit.
The gyms were shuttered and the stores,
Decisions resolute.
And after all was said and done,
The blizzard never came.
Though all were wrong, there wasn’t one
Who’d shoulder any blame.
Defensively the bigwigs boast,
“We made the right decision;”
But I am one of quite a host
Who view them with derision.
Shots ring out
people scream
Rivers of blood
it's no dream
Some have died
others live on
As spin-makers
prepare their con
Gun control pols
blame the NRA
Although in Congress
they'll have their way
The bottom line
every time
No one's safe
from rising crime
Dreamer
In my boyhood I waded shoal creeks;
Veins of living waters swirling past my
Ankles; returning home, grinding stones.
I asked: How are rain drops like millstones?
I watched a stream of black ants scaling a tree
Through the crevices of bark; Antennae stiffened.
Above, a wily woodpecker whetted his long, nose plier.
I asked: How many ants to voice a flicker?
The grooves are worn, the needle no longer holds.
I station a toy soldier near the spindle, he turns
His post slowly. Deployed, his pace quickened,
Could not hold at the edge.
I asked: How far from the spindle before I fledge?
Awakenings
A huge arm snatched me back. Startled, affright,
By the sight of a man twice mine in height shouting
“Boy, don’t never be drinkin’ from theirs again.”
I asked: Does “colored” water not flow from the same vein?
Legs stiffen straight back when the BB
Entered the frog’s spine, each time. A boy hones
His skill for the man who would be sent to hunt men.
I asked: How many to pith before wars end?
Fear reverses relationships; opposites repel,
Likes attract. Tolerance, inclusion have no
Currency as long as pols pervert polarity.
I asked: Can we long survive the insularity?
Copyright 2018 Paul Thomson