Bureaucrat Poems

Tonight into the Mourning 3

Without food 
Means to change station
As go the dying poor in document 
So must I

The forager 
Origin of contempt
Translation of bureaucrat 

My headaches not for information

This and this alone
Finds the civilized item
Creating civilizations

Spaceman
Sour Apple Ice

A hand me down
From a news friend 
On our street

Whom possessed the capacity
Of a bad gateway?


A spacemare lands her bright
Simplicity and amaze
Without charge
Her lounge and a courtships ending 
Where and how does a man resemble
His fortune after beings are conquered?

The post of California 
In lost postage 
Where has liberty wronged?


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Hello Poetry


LRH11ZY1

Oh, Momma

They called it terminating a pregnancy you know,
like they were canceling some out-of-date TV show.
If you don’t like the song do you kill the radio,
Oh Momma, surely there has to be a better way.

You never gave me the chance for my life to unfold,
for me to fall in love, to laugh, to cry, to grow old.
And now the story of my life can never be told,
Oh Momma, why have you flushed my hopes and dreams away.

I understand what you’re saying, it’s your right to choose,
you don’t need some bureaucrat telling you what to do.
But what about me mommy don’t I have some rights too,
Oh Momma, I’m out of sight out of mind so they say.

To dream, to breathe, and to love are rights that my God gave,
to be allowed to follow my path from birth to grave.
Should you be permitted to dismiss that with a wave,
Oh Momma, for the world’s sins why did I have to pay.

Time To Push Back

If we delay pushing back,
Telling others it is wrong to do that,
Putting on a hard hat,
Leaving a one bedroom flat,
Giving bodies less fat,
Chasing the money trail to a fat cat
Smelling a rat,
Going out to bat,
Getting rid of the weeds covering the welcome mat,
Reading the latest crime stat,
Giving a word to the wise, to a bureaucrat,
Making gangs scat,
Checking the thermostat,
Firing a technocrat. 

If you can show me, how we will be ok if we don't start pushing back,
And just turn our back on all of that,
That  the system will cope and we will all grow fat,
With no freedom being lost if we ignore all that,
That profit after tax will stay pat,
That everybody over 60 will still be able to bat,
That children will have no nightmares,
If we delay pushing back on most of that,
Then I will eat my hat.

Just When I Thought Common Sense Was a Myth

I was beginning to think I had been dreaming all these years,
And thoughts of common sense being anything other than a myth,
Would only only end in tears,
With anger becoming harder to suppress.

I was wrong,
Common sense can still be found,
And we should burst into song,
Every time we find it still makes a sound,
That proves us wrong,
And that our eyes and ears are sound.

I just read that an 11 year old ,
Was given a lawn mower,
In a move that was quite bold,
It was not a toy and could cut grass with power.

And best of all there seemed to be no-one around,
To say he was too young,
Or he might end up hospital bound,
And his parents were with no fine stung,
With not 1 bureaucrat making any audible sound.

So, for tonight at least,
My thoughts can be less sour,
As I pray that common sense is more than a blast from the past,
And has returned to restore the balance of power.

Red Tape and You

If you care to look in your cupboards,
You might doubt being out of bed,
As all you will see is red.

If you rush to the bathroom cupboards,
For something to keep you out of bed,
You may start to wonder if you are dead,
As all you find there is red,

If you dare to open more cupboards,
You may well end up under the bed,
Where you will find only more red.

When you have opened all your cupboards,
And established you are indeed out of bed,
Proof that you are alive not dead,
But have cupboards full of tape that is red.

Now will you clean out your cupboards,
When you come out from under the bed,
And stop acting like a bureaucrat who only uses tape that is red.

If you care to restock your cupboards,
Instead of going back to bed,
You will no longer think you are dead,
Your family will be well fed,
And you will no longer be seeing red.

Appointment For Love

I turned to my wife
With desire in my eyes
And my loins a little disjointed
Forestalling sin,
She asked with no grin,
¨Kind sir, do you have an appointment?¨

You'll need to make an appointment
If you wanna have a shot at love

I was having a chat
With a sweet bureaucrat
Whose curves nature had appointed
The moment seemed right
When up came the red light
And a billboard reading, ¨Make your appointment¨

In the future, you'll need an appointment
For love, for kindness, for care
Some justice of the peace
Will preside your release
Or decide on your fate of despair

In time we'll be damned
To a hostile land
Ruled by gods we ourselves anointed
Hey, you get what you give
So don't ---- where you live --
Or at least not without an appointment.

Beware the Shepherd

While jurisprudence illustrates through brief,
the bureaucrat stands verbal in reply.
To pillage righteous freedoms like a thief,
he fans malfeasance tethered to a lie.

  Incitement is the weaponry of choice 
for inspiration fanning despot flames,
autocracy inflects within the voice 
to emphasize the fabricated claims.

  When treachery lies hidden in pursuit 
of public trust or monetary gain,
a blind belief leaves reason in dispute
to dispossess such mutinous disdain.
    
  Beware the quisling, quick in repartee, 
with flouted oaths that lend to vagrant creed,
for in their wake, the demagogue will plea 
constituents were partners in the deed.

  Is not a vote the voice behind the lead, 
is not a gathered flock thy shepherd’s keep?
For voices served are culpable in deed,
and what they cultivate so shall they reap.

  Though, but a bit more goodness lights 
the night than evil bids to dim the human heart,
morality must lean into this fight 
if e’er to let benevolence impart.

Devolution

He'd grown up a pest and a brat
Evolved into an oily bureaucrat

While bribes greased his palms
Folks back home begged for alms...

Stripped of his bureau ~
All that was left was a rat

Tom Dart's Really Quite Smart

The name of Cook County Sheriff's Tom Dart
His staffers grin that he's really quite smart --
  When it comes to his budget
  He can't find ways to cut it --
'Cos 'bout taxpayers Tom could give a fart

Every word in the first stanza is true
Would I lie to astute readers like you --
  When his boss says to spend less
  Tom plays political chess -- 
Pay raises for his whole bureaucrat queue





Note:  Cook County Illinois is a governmental
          unit which includes Chicago and many
          of its suburbs.  Its total population is
          5.18 million (2018 figure).  Dart's boss,
          Toni Preckwinkle, has asked her commis-
          sioners to cut their budgets 10-15% this 
          year. All have complied -- except Tom Dart
          who actually wants to increase spending!

Joe Biden

Thank you very much Ms Tara Reade for confidin',
Your allegation 'gainst Jo-Jo the Clown Joe Biden!

Interesting that the fake news at CNN and MSNBC
Hammered Trump and Kavanaugh for like dallying constantly!

But from them regarding Biden, we hear not a peep
About the alleged assignations of this puerile creep!

Most of the time Joe doesn't know where he's at,
Nor can he find his butt with both hands, this wily bureaucrat!

Vote for him if you will this coming fall,
But if he is elected, God have mercy on us all!

(I suspect I'll receive vile flak from those with a different view - that's OK - fire away!  I'm sticking to expressing my First Amendment rights!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired

The Coming Storm

Very strong message taking form,
Coming like a violent storm,
Warning of nation’s moral low,
Unaware of approaching foe.

Ignorant! How this world beguiles!
Blind to the culture’s subtle changes,
Dull to enemy’s evil wiles,
Naïve on immoral binges.

Stressed out by malignant ills.
Misguided by bureaucrat vow.
Duped by sharp marketing skills.
Depending on NASDAQ or the Dow.

Wake up, see the coming dark storm,
In midst of silver lining.
Judgment framed by hope’s reform.
Urgent need for land’s refining.

Trump Is a Fat Cat

Trump Is a Fat Cat

Trump is a fat cay;
Wants to be a bureaucrat;
Dumber than door mat.

Jim Horn

Even Bad Guys Do Good

Pirates were known for their notorious acts of
This or that.
I learned while traveling the seas
That they were A mean frat
With an endless rum vat
Which got them in to all kinds of troubles on their
Journeys.
Pirates were known for their notorious acts of
This or that
The worst one was a tit for a tat
On whoever was the appointee
In the government at the time got the full 
Attention of the frat.
Usually it was some fat bureaucrat
Who was trying to do something on the QT.
Pirates were known for their notorious acts of
This or that
Yet, Once in a while they would slip up and expose
A government rat
Who got their large chest of bootie
Which the frat
Lost out on. Drat!
So much for being good time to sail
Off in to the sunset on to their next spree.
Pirates were known for their notorious acts of
This or that
They were a mean frat.

Cold Shoulder

The side of a road’s called a shoulder, but why?
The resemblance, to me, isn’t striking.
The berm or the edge, a more literal choice,
Would be, somehow, much more to my liking.

I enjoy a good metaphor when apropos
But in this case I’m driven to wonder
Why not elbow or ankle or even an ear – 
All could help to keep stop lanes asunder.

Who came up with this phrase? Not a bureaucrat, no.
Maybe somebody clever with wordin’
And because of his efforts, we’re left, to this day,
With the need to thus shoulder the burden.

The Coming Storm

Very strong message taking form,
Coming like a violent storm,
Warning of nation’s moral low,
Unaware of approaching foe.

Ignorant! How this world beguiles!
Blind to the culture’s subtle changes,
Dull to enemy’s evil wiles,
Naïve on immoral binges.

Stressed out by malignant ills.
Misguided by bureaucrat vow.
Duped by sharp marketing skills.
Depending on NASDAQ or the Dow.

Wake up, see the coming dark storm,
In midst of silver lining.
Judgment framed by hope’s reform.
Urgent need for land’s refining.

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