Donald John Trump, meet Percy Bysshe Shelley
You might have missed him since he's not there on your telly
He shows up in one of those things you held up in your hand
They're better read right side up than at Lafayette's last stand
Now Percy's man no longer stands 'cept in imagination
But what he stood up strong and tall befitting of his station
Is left in its inscription that you might do well to study
Like the writing on the wall where feet of clay turned muddy
Mistaking feats that magnify for feet that fate can't glorify
Leaves features that ironically will serve naught but to horrify
Historians and poets, even patronizing patriots
Even zealots, fans, and delegates won't help you dignify
Clouds arise from the seas to
quench thirst of earth in rain.
Yet some parts remain parched
praying for due share of water.
Ironically excess rain also floods
destroying homes and lives.
Flood afflicted pray for less rains
to minimise their watery sorrows.
In imbalance created by nature
living beings are forced to adapt.
It is, indeed, difficult to tame nature
Let alone fully understand its cues.
After centuries of reckless destruction
we have not learnt our lessons yet.
We need to preserve nature and
bring it back to its pristine glory.
Protecting endangered species, planting trees for higher green cover
may help regulate rains and halt
adverse impacts of climate change.
Look into her eyes
See evil that tells only lies
See three lost souls
Strangled by a heart of coal
See her stares
As men watch with glares
Women watch with empathy
A woman deserving no sympathy
Women once picked the bear
As if any man would truly care
So isn't it ironically tough
Men will now pick the bear so rough
The truth is we all heard her
But only some see the truth in murder
But when she lost her way
Three children forever lost their day
Don't bother trying to lecture
I'm done with their lame conjecture
If it were my mom she'd be disowned
And if it was my wife divorced and left alone
Look into my eyes
And tell me when I'm saying lies
See the three lost souls
Strangled by a heart of coal
We are in Silvermoon,
A sanctuary where we coexist.
Danes, Anglo-Saxons.
Yet,
Drawing nourishment from both roots,
We become one.
Your past, your present—
Though we seem locked in eternal war,
In the end, we fight for the land.
Greeting a brief truce,
We speak across the divide:
"Why did you slaughter my father?"
"I am sorry! I killed to survive!"
As time flows on,
Like King Alfred,
You become one under the name of England.
And ironically,
When the World Cup arrives,
We weep and roar as one.
England! England!
A FREEFLOW APATHETIC INVESTMENT: AN ALLEGORY MOMENT
Know that today’s war is
A real power mongering,
Money-making investment:
Mudering innocence lives,
A part of the bloody returns:-
Ironically, to ignore this investment,
Is a moneyless investment itself.
However, the return is abject hypocrisy:-
And so-called “legal murdering”,
Of defenseless human beings,
Is of little concern for us
Beings who declare we
Are for human equity,
Freedom, justice,
And democracy:-
How long will we wallow
In the mockery of such beliefs?!
Come on now, let’s evoke peace
And get to depressing today’s war:
Icing out heated political muderings:-
It’s misty green and blue I bleed from my eyes
And the pale moonlight watches as I tear my shirt
And jeans as I am transitioning from man to wolf
The scent of her clusters of camphire and estrus
Holy smoke and evergreen has got me howling
As the thurible is swung I'm still howling, better run
It’s midnight purple patches that I use to bandage
The wounds after necking with a vampire, in my veins
There’s a fire of passion and I can’t help myself
Ironically, I help myself anyway, to another banquet of kisses
Your porcelain skin, and my engorged eyes filled with skies
This vision let down on a silken sheet, a sight for blood red eyes
Oh the lavender sickness of vervain
And as you wait I have the musty smell of legends
To unfurl, and the crystal ball tells the future and past
Midnight purple patches and misty blue and green
Set the scene combining for this reverie of Aphrodite with arms
More arms than Shiva even Durga to pull at you
Don’t pull me under with you, my life is just beginning
Blackness, please leave me alone, I sleep in silver strands
As sleep demands and the sun is coursing over
It's All In
The Resistance
To The Resistance
To Change That
Has Changed...
(Slow Down.)
It Might Get AWAY!
That Resistance To
CHANGE!!!
It Might Go Wild (Hooray! HOORAY!)
And Be Hilarious
Ironically...
(LASTLY)
Because You'll Be
Laughing AT
You, (Whatever THAT Is.)
Contentedly (!)
(You Tried So Hard...)
-Gray Squirrel
05-08-2026
TOPOGRAPHICAL IMPRESSIONS
accessible
panoramics
emanating
with
attractive
simplicity
complete
focused
interest
in
affectionate
familiar
memories
&tendencies
a plurality
pictured
ironically
dearly-cherished
manifestly
transformed
into
future
tangible
universality
On Saturday, the nation will
Join forces east to west
To protest this administration,
Easy to detest.
Called “No Kings” with no explanation
Offered or required,
There will be large-scale gatherings
This “leader” has inspired.
To show support, I thought I’d buy
Some “No Kings” merchandise –
A hat or tee or even
Some lapel pins would suffice.
The quickest way to find this
Would be Amazon, for sure.
No matter what you think about it,
Speed’s its biggest lure.
So I was shocked when, on the site,
Most “No Kings” items shown
Could not or would not be delivered
(Cue the sad trombone…)
Until at least the 28th
Or after; either case
Would get here past the point
When “No Kings” day had taken place.
I don’t think it is paranoid
To see Jeff Bezos’ role,
For when it comes to Amazon,
He’s kind of in control.
Ironically, this underscores
How vital is this cause,
For when greed and power rule, we’ve learned,
The kings make all the laws.
SPORTS VERSUS LIFE
In sports, we are so together;
Collectively overcoming resistance:-
Ironically, we’re more together in sports,
Than we are in the challenging life we live ?
With a lost in sports, you get to play again;
But when you loose life, its all over for you:-
You can cancel a game and play it later;
But you can’t cancel life and live later:-
Let us in life, live more collectively than we do in playing sports.
Life is not a game; rather, it is the blessed reality of being in God’s grace:-
Iconically perceived bipolarities,
like receptive nuts round assertive bolts,
are all so orthodoxically well
Yet not nearly as paradoxically swell
as ironically received dipolarities,
like liberated convex pleasure poles
consummating concave passion holes.
Why do men have an Adam's apple?
Because of sin and how we grapple
(It was Satan who did deceive Eve and ironically
It was Adam who choked (like the eye and the mote)
One thousand deaths every time we sin
One thousand breaths, this death, the lack therein
Then we eat sin and it becomes caught in our throat
Because we did not meet sin as one not inchoate
We don't support our wives even when we're right there
Why didn't Adam step in for his maiden so fair
Because we don't speak up in everyday conversation**
We don't meet the nay-sayer in every contemplation
We are called to battle sin everyday
Not explain or justify our sin away
So turn away from the sin that we play with
And away from the life that we decay with
And make a turn to a Savior because of our behavior
Have a stiff upper lip before the slip of the lip
Because Jesus rows us away from the slave ship
As I complete this poem and hand down this sentence
We've been given the gift-command of repentance
NO FEAR OF WISEHUY DONALD MASSIMO PELLEGREN FAKED HIS DEATH IN FORT MYERS TO CONTINUE DOING HITS FOR THE MON RUNNING THE WISCONSIN WOMANS PRISONSADLY MASSIMO DECIDED TO IMPERSONATE MY DECEASED FATHER BORN 9.14.1942 CHICAGO WHY SIMPLE LOOKING FOR MY GRANDFATHER HERITAGE SERVING IN ROME SEVERE IDENTITY FRAUD UPON VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILY GAMBINO HITMAN HIDINGBOUT IN DETROIT RUNNING PRISON GAMES THE MAFIA'S HORROR SHOW SEVERE DEATH THREATS HITMEN ATTACKING DISABLED MOTHER ATTEMPTING TO RACKETEER MY AMERICAN POETRY EMBEZZLING A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM ON MY BEHALD FORD MOTOR COMPANY THIS WISEGUY GARMENT DISTRICT HITMAN FAKED HIS DEATH TO BECOME MY FATHER IRONICALLY OBSESSED WITH 1942 MY FATHERS BIRTH DATE
War in its profound essence
begins not in the battlefield,
but in the dark chambers of human ego.
The self-interest thrives on the illusion of invincibility,
distorts the judgement of historical forces,
designs the destiny of nations
to misshape the configuration of the world.
The selfish egos of war write the story of pride,
seeking a permanent legacy of triumph.
The tragedy lies in their blindness to the primary truth
that all existence is intertwined,
and to harm others is to destroy oneself
when the guns go silent and the dusts settle.
In the irrationality of war their vanity
can’t transcend the narrow limits of egotism.
Sedated by the delusion of greatness
the selfish egos of war seek to embed themselves
upon the enduring world,
but their quest for immortality ironically hastens erasure.
A FALL’S NIGHT WINTER PRELUDE
The thunder roars,
The lightening sneaks
Piercing peeks
Through the darkness;
Cosmic tears gently flow
Down with beautiful
Splashing rhythms;
The pitter-pattering melody
Echoes throughout the night,
Caressing the mind and soul
With moisturizing serenity:-
Ironically, this will soon become
A scene of casper-like flakes,
Quietly floating down in the night,
Slowly laying their crystal-white carpet:-
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