Best Tabloid Poems
========== O
Monday night. Moving magazines. Aimed dead at killing an evening, my fingers target =========
These same old four buttons; >.
1, 2, 3, 4. Five’s a pipedream. Gaudy, small-minded and trapped in affected Americana.
Just like whatever the hell this is. Too much smiling.
====== > Diseases. An old man’s mouldy cock. Right there, mid-screen. Mid-bite, I choke,
as they mumble about vulvas
======== > A dog rolls in a mound of white paper. Whimpering at the softest **** tickle.
Like his little tongue? He’s running! With T.P! The Hilarity! Ho ho
======= > A mother and daughter swing together on a sunny day. One is singing like a
xylophone. They bond across a yoghurt.
Processed fried chicken cracked open with a wry smile and a twinkle in those white, white
eyes
======= A familiar street, full of families too awful to hate. Bald men stomp, cheeky
guy’s grin, heart throb’s pulsate. Young filly’s flounce, old hag’s huddle and all moan
mournfully. Other’s pass in between, and outside of, the broad spectrum of emotional
alliteration and post-modern punctuation without so much as a smile ==== >
Kevin Bacon and Kyr =========== > Michael Dougl
========= > Widescreen TV’s at my fifteen inch window
========= > A man with a silly haircut, waving a knife at a pepper with intent
========= Women in windows waving enhanced monstrosities at the wanking and eager.
Tittilitation for the text buck, a half-filled screen of despair. Tribute to the madness
that grips young men through the night
========= > Still, writing this keeps me sane. More sadness
======= > More sales
============ > ============= >
============
That’s a thought.
These images do not create ======== O
Trump's Security Clearance is void
And a Florida judge is annoyed
She wanted to see
How Trump's latest plea
Shifts the blame to an FBI droid
I dream to wake up in a new world,
A world that is balanced and healthy,
A world where love, peace and togetherness thrive,
A world where war is not a resolution to disputes.
A world where no one is indigent.
My dream is,
To have my thoughts on a slate before me,
To be able to shut the door to the deluge of my mind,
To be able to permute my thoughts in a serene flow,
To have my sky clear from sombre clouds.
My dream is to wake up in a sculptor's world,
Where defects are easily chiselled out,
My dream is to have the world on a canvas,
Painted with colours of laughter, joy and hope,
Bringing daylight into the midnight train.
My dream is to always yield to the Potter,
To have Him mould me to His choice vessel,
My dream is to wake up in a different world,
A world adorned in its pristine beauty,
A world unsullied by the innovations of time.
August 12, 2022.
You scream for my attention in the checkout aisle
With tales of infidelity and sordid guile.
You pique my curiosity with spicy clues.
Gives me those supermarket tabloid blues.
You document the glamour of the silver screen
By trumpeting the rise of some new movie queen,
Then interview the hooker who her husband screws,
Exposing supermarket tabloid blues.
You hear a scandal splash and then you go to press
And document the details of the whole damn mess.
Your hottest stories simmer like delicious stews
To feed us supermarket tabloid blues.
You swear to any rumor's truth, however vague,
By spreading sordid gossip like bubonic plague,
Then quote the Bill of Rights if anybody sues,
Exploiting supermarket tabloid blues.
"The Pentagon communicates with UFOs."
"Archbishop blesses little boys without their clothes."
You’re churning out more headlines than my head can use.
Gives me those supermarket tabloid blues.
There's just one small confession that I have to make;
I’ve got a funny need to hear those stories break.
A guilty little pleasure that I freely choose.
Bring on those supermarket tabloid blues.
Trump and Terrible Tabloid
What the most we always want to avoid,
Is a terrible thing that they call a tabloid;
Not clever;
Buy never;
Wherever we have seen it do try to avoid.
Jim Horn