On Halloween, someone
Wore Jackie’s pink suit,
All spattered with blood –
She thought it a hoot.
The Rose Garden’s gone
Like the East Wing’s demise,
Though none of these acts
Should be any surprise.
We live in a time
Where behavior’s debased
And where gilt covers up
All the class it’s replaced.
With a leader unhinged
And the government cowed,
Will we ever regain
What once made us so proud?
Our Jacqueline days
Have been dragged through the mud
When now people can laugh
About feces* and blood.
*Truth Social showed an AI-generated
video of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named
in a fighter jet dropping feces on “No Kings”
protesters.
Certain things despised by me without a doubt:
foulest elevator farts that no one wants to own,
tasting garlic from their gas, I gag and shout,
"Farty creep, I think you're rotten to the bone."
Very much detest commodes that overflow,
more than that I loathe the floating feces, though.
Really hate to step in stinking piles of poo,
squelching shoes or boots becoming pungent too.
Hail needles the skin.
Wind cracks the spine.
The mountain holds,
breath seizes on the tongue.
Snow knives the summits.
Cracked hands fumble dry stone,
paper-thin air slices,
bald eagles tilt in the blast.
Alpine skiers parched,
no more Earth Day banners.
Cherry Creek scrapes its bed.
Feces in the bedpan,
chapped gloss smeared,
cocoa hair salted and smoked.
The Zephyr rattles east,
carrying the mountains backward—
Grand Central dissolves
V.
It used to be understood that
people were pretty safe,
that our streets and our neighborhoods
weren’t a dangerous place,
that you could let your kids go out
and they’d come back alive,
that we had good law enforcement,
security to thrive.
But now they coddle criminals,
help them get out early,
our cities have become failed states
of crime, drugs, and feces.
Worse yet is they’re importing them,
illegals in cruel gangs,
handing out money to the thugs
who probably should hang.
It seems a week doesn’t go by
we don’t see migrant crime,
people murdered and women raped,
it happens all the time.
Whole apartments taken over,
the tenants extorted,
by people your leaders let in
so they could get ahead,
all of it just to rig the vote
so they alone can win,
no problem with condemning you
to a future quite grim.
Your life has no meaning to them,
they’ll gladly leave you screwed,
see the evil and don’t forget
what was taken from you.
A Statue of Liberty stands despite growing pains
Morning welcomes bird feces and political gain
Every heart who seeks new start new chance
Rarely knows the ills of the underdog dance
Is it still the land of the free
Can you become rich and famous and have peace
Are you willing to sacrifice your beliefs for dreams
Tears in my eyes, pain in my heart
The country my forefathers fought for
Lost in the pathetic battle of politics
Bloodshed keeps ascending, dirty politicians
Forgotten land, hopes, and dreams
grow thinner every day. The air tastes like poison
Sectarianism is a virus eating us alive
The feces of poverty, insecurity, and terrorism
O Pakistan, rise from the forgotten sands
The cords of religion are strangling us
Discrimination is a mountain of birds
Education is a right for all
The unnoticed goodbyes are too much
Burdens of the heart, faded warm embrace
Let the journey begin, a new step of reformation
Our struggles are been stacked like bricks
Chase the darkness away
One people, one Pakistan
Many good things have been done
A sea of ugly happenings, kill
Time to face the unknown, brave
Let write our take in ink and with fire
We are here, hope breathes like
A burning candle; better Pakistan
With Habakkuk Kargbo (Rabbi)
Poem Makers SL (17/04/24)
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
I LAMB COVING MY LINKAGE
My beef is forced anger
So goose my way through life passages go figure
I goat what I eat what I ate aspirate danger
My by product waste excrement, temperament
Cleanse out covered wrinkle tribe
Neither lamb fry nor black pot
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Spiritual and Physical
~
Left over thrown away chitterling
Skins of mine intestines
Mutton never tasted spiritual under taking
I’ve been bomb basin
A jointed of veal provide
How we feel been denied
Speaks of feces yum turn inside out
In my feelings I’m fillings
In my splitting placement settings
Intentional pig intestines
Physical and Spiritual
11/12/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Hydrochloric acid fell on my hands and my eye
The sharp moon and the terror of the dim sky
It cuts me off with a spun of petals and a sigh
The ink of the pen on my cheeks, then my paper
Then words I didn't smoke in my bathroom sink
A mosaic with feces and the atoms of the universe
Turn your head to the left, then up, then right, are they right?
Individuals lost in time then harden marrow
The sunny hill caresses my ears with headless wings fly
We already feel the difficulty of breathing, where is the co2
The mustard seeds in the fern gardens have crystallized
I'm there for me and then here for you until you burn my skin
It was inflamed under the collar and presented an ugly sight
I am for you until I am as fine dust as pure snowflake
There’s not much to love in the land of
72 ounce steaks
Air-conditioned grace droning over
AR-15 soaked Saturdays
Remembering is not the problem these days
Rather it is forgetting that
Children can have new names
If they pick them up with their own hands
The bootstraps have all but worn off
these snakeskin boots
And I am tired of something I can’t put my mind to yet
But I never thought I would love
Bird feces soliloquies
Thanksgiving apart from family
Humidity on top of humidity
Or evenings that never turn to nights
So I’ll just hold my own name
Firmly in soiled hands until I can
Plant it back in the ground
Where it belongs, beside a cool swift stream
Shaded by a bigleaf maple
It's hard to smile in Frisco, with feces on the ground
Equally difficult in Chicago, where crime abounds downtown
But there's always 'sunny Florida,' from which leftists are fleeing
No more socialists, LGBTQ-advocates, or folks on sidewalks peeing
if you are finicky or squeamish at all
do not crawl under that locked bathroom stall.
You never know what you will find on the ugly floor
crusty dried feces and urine, other awful stuff galore
if you are the one who locked it and slid out of the way
know that we custodians kind of despise you today.
An old biologist named Ulysses
Had a job identifying species
Ulysses was ****-backward
His technique manufactured
'Stead of faces, he examined feces
The TS Restaurant was started by two old broads.
They hammered drums outside using lightning rods.
Come one and all! Get your Tarantula soup!
It’ll make your innards happy, it’ll make you poop!
The mayor was upset, he said “it’s not dignified!”
Until his tummy got knotted, and his feces stayed inside.
Now he is outside yelling “Come get your Tarantula soup!”
It has made him more pleasant, now that he can poop.
Mr. Camel is fascinated by his friend Dilbert Dung Beetle’s diet.
He thinks eating up excrement, feces and manure is a riot.
It is tasty! Delicious! You should try a salty elephant pie!
Dilbert Dung Beetle says. You would love it if you gave it a try!
Mr. Camel watches Dilbert dig in, gulping down gobs of the stuff.
He thinks it must have a weird smell, but Dilbert can’t get enough.
You might sample a tiny bit Dilbert says, it is delicious you see!
Mr. Camel shakes his head and says “Sorry, it does not appeal to me.”
Don’t bury me in an eco-pod
for I am biodegradable already.
Don’t bury me in the earth,
or animal feces I might birth
nor in lead
because while lead is harmless to the dead
it is after all lead.
Don’t bury me under stone,
beneath a stone all alone.
Bury me in fermenting compost,
you may leave my feet
sticking out just for laughs.
Yes wormy me, good an
germy, awfully squirmy,
until all is dank and smelly,
the I will grow roses
out of my belly.
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