I flipped on the bathroom light
a flicker in the tub swirled my head
there were three teensy tiny gremlins in there
I could not hear their words
If I got closer, would they disappear?
I hesitated not wanting to frighten them.
One of them pulled a teeny bullhorn out of his satchel.
“Please keep this viewing to yourself” he said into it.
This came out as a whisper.
I shut out the light and tiptoed out of the bathroom.
The Irish in my veins respects the privacy of the fey.
Boy, you Folks sure have a lot of Nerve!
You empty your Corporate Colostomy Bags,
On the same Workers that filled up your Greedy Guts,
Then pay them off with their own Bloody Rags!
Have you no Shame? You Clowns! Have you no Soul?
Your Mantra seems to be a bit One-Sided,
More Money! More Money! More Money Boys!
You hoard the Cheese and keep the Mice divided!
Those Long Corporate Strings are strong and stretch for Miles,
You Dangle your Puppets and Dance them till Dawn.
"But, how dare "They" ask "Us" for Concessions,"
"Gee, can't they see that their Labor Leash is On?"
From their Lofty Loft, they "Blow" that Big Bullhorn,
Jump! Jump when we say "Jump" all you little "Slaves!"
"Breaks? Benefits? Bonuses? Insurance? Pensions?"
"Your list of Rights are "Moot" unto your Graves!"
"So, Adapt to your Strings that Feather no Wings,"
"Shove your Grievances up your Bowel Syndrome Rears!"
"You Demand our "Trust?" Then "We'll" give it to "You,"
"We'll pay you off with "Dust" for all your Faithful Years!"
“As senior rooster ’round here, it’s my duty, and my pleasure, to instruct junior roosters in the ancient art of roostery” ~Foghorn Leghorn
Foghorn Leghorn
didn't need a bullhorn,
he had an egotist's way
of saying what he had to say.
The Illinois emperor favors no bail for the violent
He's a softy in the middle, and more so on crime
From his bullhorn pulpit, he proclaims that we're safe
I'm afraid the land of Lincoln is made of papier-mâché.
He lives in a crystal bubble in a billionaire's den
with state-of-the-art, impenetrable defenses.
He hates the 2A and the working-class men
his weapon of choice is a red-headed commie pen.
His next plan is to mix wildlife into our lives
like lions and elk and black bear... oh my.
He's caved to the lobbyist and tree-hugger friends
while playing with his snubby under a wooden desk...
But the citizens of Cook County keep voting him in; he bribes them with freebies and slaps them on the wrist.
A mouthful
of hate
A bullhorn
of lies
Dissected
infected
With terminal
pride
Conscripting
the fledgling
Embedded
in brine
Indicted
convicted
True felons
— of time
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
In a dream
being chauffeured
to where? I do not know
where? the silence stifling
still as the night,
stars glowing…
but the chauffeur, driving
heedless to my faith –
Jesus is dead, he speaks
like a bullhorn
going off in my mind,
grief surrounds me
but the dream comes to life…
“He is ALIVE!”
I say it, my voice amplified
WHO IS THIS MAN?
my mind enters the war
with his spirit – evil words
a dark that won’t heal
a world filled with sorrow
pain and so much horror!
“HE IS ALIVE!”
my voice doesn’t tremble
I am at war, the shield will defend me.
“He is ALIVE!”
“He is ALIVE!”
“HE IS ALIVE!”
And, that is how it ends
I wake up, speaking, announcing
to the dawn…
He lives and so I can smile!
the chauffeur is a liar…
His love invigorates my life
His light flows through the dark,
quieting the fears,
wiping away the tears
He’ll always be here – always
He is ALIVE and I can survive
because He is mine,
this Jesus who will never die.
Oh, how that chauffeur lied!
Don't take it as song; what the media cackles.
They're just bullhorn harlots for politicians.
Who'd sell your marrow to the lowest bidder-
They lust for our division to maintain power.
For a people united is poison to them
(a cross in the face of a vampire).
Citizens united would mean term limits.
No more heavenly wage increases...
Their necks would be short leashed.
Insider trading would all but cease....
But only in a good citizen's dream.
Bandicoot's bounce over my dead lead head.
Grim the outlook,
I am the grimness in my own storybook.
Moods are my mannerism's.
Gooey nose - a stonking flu
got me
now I mimic a monkey
with my bullhorn blowing.
When will the sun rise my eyes?
Blighted by sniffles, I dizzy and sway
to the 'Drug Mart', there to gag and goggle;
at so many meds for a bunged-up head.
Handfuls of hope
back to the laze-upon floozy chair
guzzling pills a popping.
Later, write this,
mayhap get pissed on some bitter brew.
Bandicoot's snoring.
A little peckish.
Here a glimmer
there it is, the shiny light,
feeling svelte in a sky bright blue.
Sniffing better, sleep later.
A politician using a bullhorn
places it over the mouth
Though given the stuff that comes out
it ought to be positioned down south
Maybe one day at city square
I'll scream your name in a bullhorn
and post a flyer on every flag pole
my confession of loving you.
I have no fear of the consequences. Love's
the true culprit and I am its robot in action,
who can blame my madness?
Maybe one day you'll have pity on me
and stop your indifference bound to melt
once you get to know me, who knows.
I know love's in the air and you only need to
open your heart to its distinct possibility, the
arms, and kisses, will do the rest.
Maybe one day you get tired of my nuisance
and throw the towel, conquered by my resilience,
who knows, love's a crude affair of the heart, not
a school discipline.
Maybe one day you finally read one of my poems
that honors our love and promises deliverance
to the bosom of happiness.
Maybe one day you'll fall in love with me
madly.
The reason the radicals are slapping labels on you
Is because you're strong and refuse to be silent.
One thing they love is a dog that rolls over.
One thing they fear is a fighter who throws down.
Never give in to the bullhorn -cancel crowd.
Never be silenced because silence is death.
For you and our faith-fight to the last man.
At times you've got to tap them in the mouth.
Tinkle on their campfire, then lay them to rest-
Oh, say can you see the land of the freebie
and the home of the ungrateful bleating.
Where borders are blown wide open by vote vamps.
To the glee of coyotes -desperados -the depraved.
Stars and stripes replaced by the heartless-shooting blanks.
Where elitist stick shanks into the faith of good people.
Who're deemed racist for standing for a starry banner... disgraced.
The trinity was tossed long ago into cancel culture canyon.
Were last seen thumbing it down Route 666 in a flash flood.
As the cultists put another bullet in Honest Abe's head.
While looters and rioters and cop killers were martyred.
Working-class stiffs were slit open- bled out from either end...
into the collection plate of the jackass-fascist and Uncle Sham...
Where goodness was woven into the fabric of evil and mayhem.
Upon burning looms of crooked buffoons and bullhorn goons.
In the land of the freebie and the home of the ungrateful dead.
Shouts, Yells, Screams, Rants, Raves
Bullhorn-magnified Bombast
"Decapitate him!"
Why don't the police stop it?
What happened to enforcement?
The media has two faces: mayhem and disharmony.
They bring in the highest of ratings.
Harmony and unity are ratings disaster for the media execs.
They couldn't care less about the people.
They get off on Plane crashes and train wrecks.
They are voice boxes for evil.
They love mass shootings, wars, and church arson fires.
Most of all, they adore a high-profile white-on-black crime.
Then they sit back with popcorn in hand.
Enjoying their heavily biased, fueled race riot.
Playing the same clips.24/7/365/ from a one-sided perspective.
Then enter the clowns.
The politicians in their ties and stilettos. Hustling for votes.
Then the activists and reverends slither in.
Stirring the golden pot with bullhorn rhetoric.
Hoping everything turns to rot.
The Soros's anarchists are there to make a quick buck
Get off and leave their greasy wet spot.
You tickle my tummy
With laughter and tears
Creating sounds of cheer
Your billowing voice
With sounds of a bullhorn
Cause calm and peace inside
Without you I am silent
With you I am a clown
Honking my nose horn
With a painted on smile
Magic you bring to me
Under this circus top
Swinging from ropes
Never falling to the ground
Popcorn and candy as I hear
My tickling tummy
With Laughter and cheer
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