Best Populist Poems
If you're weird, a black sheep, a natural outsider,
If you fish in a solitary pond.
If you come from the lonely, the lost and forgotten,
If you're eccentric, living beyond
The social etiquette of populist mantra,
To say and do what others demand?
Then you and I are friends in our gorgeous sublime,
To face the world, together, hand in hand.
Abominable holiday season greeting to the have-nots me and you
Bombshell tabloid sleigh bells got those ear holes ringing
Cut the tax gift wrap ribbon, only good cheers for the wealthy few
Ducky Little Donald beaky wacky-quacky curse caroling
Ebony epithets, Latino canina lobs, Palestinian and Muslim sobs
Freeze the Access Holly Would frame, hear the locker room talk
Get smart, dummies ... Populist Idol adored by Wall Street snobs
Hate not the playa, love the con: Eraserheads don’t need no chalk
Incense of Uranium burning, napalm is pissy incendiary to touch
Jingling cash registers be jiggling twin money-makers below and above
Kiss the ring of the Don, you poor stiffs ... just don’t ask for much
Let not the blue chips, white gems and red jewels make you a begging fool
Make the payments on time, or he break your legs with loan sharky love
No Festivus is complete without the test of strength Labor Party feats
O, deary me, Hercules Putin is cancelling from the main event
Proof is compromising truth, we don’t eat no tainted Trump red meat
Questionable straight partners sexually, fake news getting bent
Risque business dealings, tiptoe thru the financial tulip inquiries
Stake your illegit claim, skim a little off the top ... fattening grifter butt
Take a little less scrutiny, a lot more thievery ... no legal worries
Ultimate year end declaration: Shed that slothful image of a Jabba Hutt
Vacant morality, rampant gluttony ... gotta do what the lust belly says
Wiggle weight-loss room is minimal, doing the right thing is optional
*** expose, another failed marriage on the way ... oh, happy dog days
Young bacon tenders is ripe for old Porky Pig, innocence is so sellable
Zinc adulating is the best White holiday blues lip service Rudy brown-nosers do
My golden ego soars higher than yours
I can hold my breath longer underwater
of course,
because my publican lungs are stronger than yours
I can outshout your taxing voice
to the heavens with a prideful text roar
I’m the big button lying king,
that’s for truth ducky sure
Everything I have is bigger than yours
Exaggeration is a lawsuit I wear well,
fancy-laced shegnanians is the shoes I boot you with —
Patent leather pardon free get-out-of-jail
Put a deflecting shine on the witness stand,
make the gullible masses
see me as being smarter than I really am
I bigly roll with the donor class society swells
I take a bigger leak from my Wall Street
inside trader executive bathroom Tower mole tell
My greed is bigger than yours ...
Got great white sharkey needs,
on little flunky guppies I love to gorge
My cyber jaws are bigger than life,
that’s why
Tricky Twitter Moby Dick I
voted for myself ruble roulette twice
I’m a most unpopular populist prez
with no moral boundaries
Don’t try to fence me in,
make me chicken scratch fake news little again
My nihilistic narcissism is bigger than yours,
you best believe
I can sexually harass
better than Willie Boy Clinton
could ever achieve
I’m a business caveman
whose twin brass clubs are bigger than yours
I’ll take your woman,
and with a misogynist leash make her walk on all fours
My serial debts
are bankrupt corrupt much bigger than yours
I bowl a perfect money laundry game
with a mob marked counterfeit score
Mine covetousness is so much bigger than yours
Got more trophy wives than you do,
so king me on the divorce checkerboard
My nuclear button boasts are bombastic bigger than yours ...
and I’ll blow you out the water onto barren refugee shores,
if you don’t lip bow unbutton inflate —
Balloon buffoon infatuate on the dreams I daily tweet snore
He did it before
his voice was trained in song,
singing joyfully.
He did it before
his legs were strong to run,
striding free through waving fields
of golden grass.
He did it before
his eyes could focus as to see,
searching and reaching,
to touch, feel, and experience.
He did it before
his palate was competent to savor
the sweet syrup of human
experience, tasting anyway.
He did it before
his mind had mastered
words, communication, and language.
Writing nevertheless.
He did it using
the tools of his mind and senses to
hone and sharpen perception.
He did it,
turning over the soils of reality,
to deepen the well of his being.
Before Ferlinghetti
7-8-15 b.b.
"Poets come out of your closets, open your windows,
open your doors. You have been holed-up too long.
Poets descend to the streets of the world once more
and open your minds and eyes......
Poetry is dead, long live poetry."
Populist Manifesto #1
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Hey, Mr. Least Popular!
Self-proclaimed man of the people you are
Rode on a grassroots movement to the White House,
but who was the man who drove the getaway car?
Hey, Mr. Populist!
Somehow you won with the least popular vote
Electronic voodoo got the job done,
but who was the man who killed the ritual scapegoat?
Hey, Mr. AZ!
That's you, Mr. Aristocratic Zorro
Got your blade gleaming bright red,
your faithful companion, sword Electoral
Didn't know you had Mexican in you,
didn't know you had Haitian too
Didn't know, but they all gonna know,
the least popular guy is now running the show
Hey, Mr. Least Popular!
Self-proclaimed man of the people say ye
Rickshawed on a rice movement to the White House,
but who's the man, behind the bamboo curtains, no one can see?
Hey, Mr. Populist!
Somehow you won with fewer votes than the other one had
Beating the shaman drums got the job done,
but who's the man in the vault holding the money bag?
Hey, Mr. B Czar!
That's you, Mr. Bankruptcy king
Got your vows gleaming bright gold,
yourself you do wed with this Electoral ring
Didn't know you had Native American in you,
didn't know you had Asian too
Didn't know, but they all gonna know,
the least popular guy is now running the show
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXIV
For Mickey COTO and his PTS-ed cohorts
IF you pull a long patriotic face
" My Country My God boundup in one alloyed essay
The blood I spill for either in one compounded commonplace
For Mother and Father begot me Soul and Body I let slay "
If you pull a long cramped face
In galactic worlds speeding pell-mell trillion light years away
The Glory of the Nation ancient History pure Superior conquering Race
Will Voyager II blot out from the Carter message the stain in our DNA
If you pull a long arrogant face
Vying with one another your Party's Will to impose in mellée
Loud yet dumb those who'll vain political power embrace
Won't names on plaques and stiff statues with time decay
If you pull a long populist face
Confound callow youths' psychés through geo-political play
The Enemy's the one with the ethnic-God's alien grimace
Won't " Demo-Cracy " make " People-Crazy " Passionarias pray
If you must pull a long pro-patria-mori face
Then breed the orphaned cloned-robot grandes armées
Mediativize the great onslaughts from Sun Tzu & Cong strategies
Won't the Populace then exult betting on their revered contrées
© T. Wignesan, Paris, February 16, 2019
Listen to the chumps,
listen to the rubes,
screaming that democracy
is going down the tubes
But every wise guy knows
when the fix is in
To put all their money down
on the one who has no chance to win
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
Seems like all the talking heads
got it wrong from day one
Not just another election cycle
with politricks being done
How does a populist person,
who doesn't win the popular vote,
win the presidential election?
It's the electoral college, you dolt!
It's an old arcane system,
set up way back when
by rich landowners putting
their thumbs on the scale back then
They couldn't let the peasants dictate
all of those really important policies
Just counter balance the popular vote,
always keep an ace up your sleeve
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Guess your vote didn't matter much,
now did it son
It's the art of the con,
art of the con
Getting out the vote don't matter much,
canvassing woman
When the man of the people
doesn't win the popular vote,
it's good to have a sure backup plan
Don't you get it by now people,
or are you still missing the boat
Power was never placed in your hand
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Where less popular is more,
and vote shortfall comes up tall
It's the art of the con,
the art of the con
Guess it really wasn't rigged after all
If you believe in numbers,
then the evidence is in ...
and we all know that numbers don't lie
Mr. Forty-six Percent President,
popular opinion ain't the reason why
you're moving into the White House
Numbers can make you sick sometimes
when they don't jibe with reality
Seems you got well,
running a hot, 304 electoral fever
Made all the talking heads swell,
as you recovered,
and the media became the casualty
The numbers don't tell the truth,
as least like they're suppose to
I got over 65 million reasons why,
suggesting numbers indeed do lie
If you don't believe what I'm saying,
it probably because you're inaugurally in shock
But that's okay,
more therapeutic numbers for you I got
That old, rickety populist bus
got nearly three millions votes left in the dust
Yet somehow that clunker crossed the finish line first,
I guess you win by coming in reverse
Never mind what the numbers say ...
though the loser had two percent more,
just shuffle the one man, one vote straight out the backdoor
I'm really trying
to give this quirkiness a positive spin
But it's really hard
to make sense of it all
by the raw numbers that came in
So don't believe in numbers ...
they're lying to you,
my vagabond voting friend
The joker is the trump card,
it beats any number for the win
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
No citizen has become a politician and no politician was not a citizen
That is Right Of Citizenship which is the fourteen amendment
I think legislature and parliament does the best they can under the
Circumstance but it comes a point of Leader and what know as Leadership
And the quantity of standard know of citizen which is the
Twenty Fourth Amendment
Individualistic and character define once culture it is what makes
A colonel a state to separation standard of parliament and if not
True the minimum wage would raise for all states what is the true agenda
For some!
Take the first col ligate marching band of 1907 Chicago one band one sound
Let take 1932 of Four Freedoms I bare witness to say history does repeat it
Self and oh how they march on capital hill for Freedom Of Speech oh how some may disagree with E sports it may lead the way to new ligate law to set to place
TO question all that is discuss just for a moment question what is
Populist.
“Truth isn’t truth,”
that’s what some Cap’n Obvious toady recently said
He was pissy mad, when his angry tears wet the bed
Lieutenant Rudy Brown-Nose
a has-been sniffing the swine caboose breeze:
Loco breath wafting
between sulfuric methane, prune puckered lips —
sphincter pie holes half-closed
Politrician power tools pocket plugged into their patsy roles,
says with dark chaos authority: Everything is under control
Public trust pirates,
dressed in
populist parrot disguise,
love $inging tavern song$
Foaming out the frothy, dark-amber lager lies
Iscariot getaway chariots
be karaoke squealing yellow snow —
highway robbery melodies
Money green
dollar rain
golden showers
On silver cloud vapor piles,
sticky six-finger flies
be spitting out
buzz-kill dung beetle cries
Butt of the jokes be the wench reward
for the stumbling,
power-drunk whores
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sky
for a few rubles more
$ee the neon $ign $potlight in the $ky,
it’s showing some Two-Face, penny-wise liar
(Riddling?)
Ritalin up the final justice score
Bat-crazy, Commish slum lord
got the Lewd tenant
boot-licking
filthy lucre crumbs on the floor
Dog whistles got the railroad cage bent ...
Wall Street woofers on a barf paid, carny bark yell
Every foul commodity bowel movement
do slug leave a regurgitated profit stench vomit trail
While the vote suckers are on the slow buy,
their Good Ship Lollipop is on a quick sell
“Truth isn’t truth,”
is what some Cap’n Crunch croaker just said
That’s a mouth full of self-serving, apron purse ties
Sweet Georgia boo pecan pie is tasty cow pucky lies
Go on ... take another covetous slice,
and a couple more burglar bites
Wet froggy kisses
scraping the sea below
for a few dollars mo’
Spitballing Prince of Tides
love muddying the waters so
Sold old truths as new lies
“Truth is truth,”
ain’t what some Cap’n Ahab toady just white lie wail said
It crocodile aqua lava seems
the Cap’n Nemo Lying King
is gonna sleep well tonight, on your hot Pompeii water bed
When a nation cries, death rides the reaper is a stride, the loss of reasons in a Ludacris season, where men of nations think they can control the population, the feminine wild, bound to a white populist ideology of ignorance and irresponsibility.
The skeletal hands grace this nation, as technology is at play to pull its strings and prime mistakes, a nation tires to hold the flame, to regain a simpler reason a singular season, but is lost to passion parades of progressive expressions, the right hand of the fool the left hand of man, the one to bring insurrection to the crown, to our country, our town and trying to bring the nation down…
The seat of our heart, the home of our brave, we cry black tears, as the nation is bound and freedoms truncated, we wonder why our freedoms are called into question and lost to the Idiocracy, to attempt to enthrone a false theocracy of lies and hypocrites as we sit ide, hands under ass as we watch or celebrate the death of our democracy.
When a nation cries, something of ourselves dies, and death reaps as it strides, in this loss of reason, we fear a coming dry season, where men of nations think they can control and destroy, the legacies of lies, hypocrisies of the things that divide, blind us to our hearts and minds.
The truth shall prevail, the rights of humanity will be victorious, we shall not go gently into that goodnight, but reap our rewards, into the total of our dedication. The coming white will overcome. The facts will set you free!
« Fools are my theme and satire is my song. »
George Gordon, Lord Byron
I
Donald Trump is an ignorant man,
Put in power by a populist gang,
Property dealer of some renown
Rode with post-truth into town.
‘A living libel on mankind’,
On money likes to keep his mind,
Cabinet filled with billionaires
Huddled rich in hunt for chances
Use their office to make advances,
Increase billions by four or five,
To make them feel their still alive
II
O, Ye great bulletins of Bonaparté,
Paton’s D-Day address to the Armé,
Abe on « a nation born in liberté »,
Churchill to the House in 1940 !
And now D. Trump, 45th president,
Tweets on Twitter setting a precedent,
Policy thought conveyed with such thrift -
Surely a sign of a nation adrift.
But look on the bright side : what a relief !
When Trump talks at length, it’s my belief,
Anacoluthia attack him in shoals,
Grammar left full of great gaping holes,
Collapses in dire, illiterate heaps.
Something to be said for infantile tweets,
Though geo-strategy run off so quick
Speaks of a nation decidedly sick.
Trump’s got a thing ‘bout alternative facts,
Alternative lies masquerading as acts
He thinks are truer than truly true facts ;
So obsessed by media mendacity,
Loses track of simple veracity,
Disorder like this makes for confusion,
Trump KO’ed by semantic contusion,
Is he speaking the truth or spouting lies ?
Makes him a fool in everyman’s eyes.
Big Bucks and Florida
Ron Paul is a jolly colorful bloke
Send politicians to the moon he joked
But Florida requires big bucks to play
Perhaps in Nevada he will have his say.
Santorum wooed crowd when he debated
Called them out when records were inflated
Stayed home to be with sick daughter Bella
Short on money but a real good fella.
The air waves spewed anti-Newt negatives
Tired, Gingrich surely uttered expletives
Defiant, he says forty-six states to go!
Believes his populist movement will grow.
Spending seventeen million Mitt took command
With that much money his margin was grand
Looks acceptable when standing by wife Anne
But conservatives still do not trust the man.