Donald Trump made nothing so great again
Except his big hair fancy once again,
And the poor old puppeteer of punch lines
Faces a boomerang of mines.
Donald Trump,
Fell into a foreign policy slump.
Forgetting the Strait of Hormuz,
Forced he’s to focus on Hairmuz.
Donald Trump's coiffeur of hair,
Kept his critics in utter despair---
If held together by sheer will power,
Or industrial-grade lacquer?
In Las Vegas Donald Trump
Tried to give the economy a bump.
But no one paid him as much heed
As his massive golden mane did.
Donald Trump’s fuller head of hair
Left media memes in a frozen stare.
The AI-made serum played magic trick,
And his thin thatch turned unto bushy thick.
Donald Trump
Caused rumour mills to take a thespian jump.
And photo shops were suddenly busy
With an over-the-top teased-up medley.
____________________________
Happenings | 13.08.2026 | America, art, humour, political, satire, Clerihew
They push to fashion pain.
They tear to harvest tears.
They take to tighten strain.
They rule by seeded fears.
They lie to lacquer faults.
They bleach the record clean.
They sanctify assaults
And call their hunger “seen.”
They map in righteous red.
They sail on ghost-white cloth.
Pale hands above the dead,
Pale faces naming wrath.
They preach of light and grace.
They brand their conquest “right.”
Yet drain the human face
Until it blanches white.
They rise on borrowed breath.
On blood they will not claim.
Pale empires bloom from death—
And whiten into shame.
I sing the woes of schoolyard crows.
You are no more bird than balladeer,
Crooning sonnets you compose
From gossip of the vanished year.
The gate I crossed, and now am lost
A guest where once I bore a name;
Iron bars are now with lacquer glossed,
But I am still the same.
It grows late to be without a nest
Do we return then? Do we dare?
My guilt hammers at my breast;
You and I, we are unwelcome there.
So sing with me, you sable host,
Of lessons from the years long flown—
For I, like you, am but a ghost
That haunts the yards where I was grown.
To lacquer tomorrow
with the gang’s reckless charge,
they scatter the crumpled myth of Poseidon.
The sticky weave of power and flattery,
eddying as it turns,
is reduced in a pot overheated
by driving rhythms—
sweetened with whispers
like a nightingale’s song.
The more it simmers,
the fiercer the season convulses.
You make me think of a city
of spires and minarets
suspended in the purple
focus of a dusk
that seals the bitter bargains
of sinister bazaars
where gems and crystals mingle
the clatter of their light
with dizzying aromas
of saffron, incense, mint,
where silks as pale as moonlight
and red as blood on snow
and blue as desert noons
stain the heavy breeze
that falls through crumbling alleys
and stirs the scented curtains
of richly cushioned chambers
where lacquer, brass, and jade
receive helpless blossoms
of indolence and passion,
while from the far horizon,
beyond the groaning spars
that throw a crazed lattice
across the dying sky,
startled gulls reiterate
their clean, remote despair.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
hearts of glass
hurled through air
in pieces
plastic idols
nesting dolls
caned by fear
opaque tears
swept beneath
smiling lacquer
Hearts must break to earn the token.
That love is tired and too softly spoken.
How else can a hurting heart bleed,
to reveal it’s overlooked and in need?
Gathering the pieces, starting anew.
is what helps true love pull through,
the slime and sludge of dreariness,
weighing the heart down with weariness.
Use the token, buy a sweet potion.
A balm to reset the heart in motion.
To lift its beat to quiver anew,
at what love's expectation can do.
Hearts don't have unbreakable skin.
Cracks let healing light get in.
They show you where to mend,
the wounds, to remake an old friend.
Don't hide the loss and grief
Cover with lacquer, and gold leaf,
Showing how the once heartbroken,
can become Kintsugi - love's token.
In the jungle's heart, where shadows and spirits blend,
A silent hunter, a forest's friend.
Stripes of amber, black and gold,
The tale of power, courage and bold.
Its eyes burn bright, flaming hue,
Reflecting the skies of cerulean blue.
Its claws are like a silver, steel sword,
As it rules the jungle as its legendary lord.
Its roar splits heaven and hell,
As earthquakes and tsunamis are caused by a shattering yell.
Hunters poach them for their magnificent, golden robes,
As its lengthy tail is like a serpent coiling the globe.
It lives among the jungles, sand, wetlands and snow,
During the dark, its orange, blazing eyes begin to glow.
Deers, birds and boars is a king's delightful feast,
As the enemy feared this bloodthirsty beast.
The speed of the beast is beyond the stars,
As its back is full of lacquer, black scars.
The beast itself ruled Lanka with Tamil kings,
The sabre-like fangs and crushing claws blings.
Oh Tiger, the guardian of the land,
Let Lord Murugan feel you with his divine hand.
Let Lakshmi shower you with wealth, fortune and prosperity,
As the beast speaks to the people in a tone of sincerity.
Kintsugi — means “join with gold” — is the Japanese art of repairing broken objects, often ceramic pottery or glass. Traditionally, gold lacquer is used to piece shards together again, creating a more beautiful object through the acts of breaking and repair.
____________________________________________________
my shattered heart
fractal art sewed~
smart Kintsugi
The cat dreams,
To whom? To What?
Not at Mount Fuji
That he has never seen
With green eyes.
The cat dreams,
To whom? To What?
Not at the Eiffel Tower,
Too bright,
Of lacquer and paint,
The cat dreams,
To whom? To What?
Not to the Parisians,
Who believe themselves superior
To the people here.
Not at the speakerine
Blond-haired
So arrogant,
That she carries on her,
Chanel number five.
The cat dreams,
To whom? To What?
Pink-starred
From Morocco or Crete,
To the whiteness of milk,
The cat dreams,
To whom? To What?
No one knows,
except .
He’s not so crazy
That many of us.
Last Night was a beautiful night
The fire pit burning bright
Today is full of rain
With barometric pressure pain
Blanket on to keep me warm
While I listen to the outside storm
Hot cup of Joe by my side
Taking life in my stride
Nursing all my cracks and creases
Mending all my broken pieces
Taking time out for my heart
Making myself a beautiful art
Filling holes with lacquer Gold
So I can be no longer old
Fragments bonded back together
So I can withstand any weather
Kintsugi highlights imperfections
Mending all the lost connections
Embracing flaws for all to see
Think I’ll pour some gold in me.
Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the house
My grandpa's fast at work carving a wooden mouse
In the spirit of St. Nick he bloomed from his heart
And sang holiday cheers and Noel's from the start
I tiptoed down the steps to his basement and all
Following a trail of music, and grandpa having a ball
I hid from his sight and watched tears run down his eyes
As he carved each toy mouse to its original size
For most of the year, grandpa's an unhappy sport
But save for one night of the year his ship came to port
And there he was a pantomime Silent Night in cadence
As he stood over his lath and drill, his eyes adance
Five gift boxes wrapped in gold glitter waited to be filled
Each gifted to his grandkids, who surely will be thrilled
First, he added a coat of black lacquer, and I did blink
As he dressed each eye, nose, and ear in shades of pink
I may have been five years old on this Christmas Eve past
But watching grandpa come alive, a memory that will last
To have seen his silent night awaken was such a lift
To see him smile with tears in his eyes was a true gift
11/27/22
The Night Before 3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Joseph May
1st
I STAND I STEPPED IN AN AQUATIC SPILLWAY OF A DREAM LAKE
Dream lake head waters
Thing of lacquer
Engaging lacquering
Full of shallows
Silent lac
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
Out by the thought of lakes
Of my dreams, rivers streams
A body of waters
Cumulating waters gathering together,
All those rivers streams
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
They which are perfumed from unseen scoter
In there within themselves lakeshores
Warming were those ground waters
Some sandy beaches pearl aqua clear blue
The soft shoreline shallowing
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
Demersal, demersal ponding
In fact that it was swishing
A landlocked loch lacquering
So there I stand stepped in an aquatic spillway
Dream lake head waters
I stand I stepped in an aquatic spillway of a dream lake
7/21/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Another roll-over-in-bed poem
A nose blow and a wide yawn separates a lubricated **** scene from a gravelly scripture. In that gap, the harlot’s far from the screen.
My blade’s lacquer reveals the blood of my nightmares. Evasive mirrors hide the sum of my white hairs. The mucus of the acetic isn’t enough to stir up lust for a ghost, so I scroll for a post that soothes me the most.
When they let me in the garden, I don’t bite the apple; the yoni is worshipful.
It’s buried in the pit, and excavated in the chambers.
It is massaged. It is kissed. It is suckled. I return to sleep.
This is how it will all end
lacquer looking glass
boundary waters
warm glows
green with envy
molten grasslands
sea foam blazen
Atomic spot light sun rays
Raven wings snow day glacier
Nuclear deviled eggs, inflamed snow angel
Prickly pear jasmine, lavender pearly gates
This is how it will all end
9/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
Conceived with Paint Chip Poetry™ by Lea Redmond
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