Men need prove them time and again
In ways that endorse them as men—
It makes MAGA what ‘tis,
As is Trump what he is,
Trying hard to self-inflict pain.
To bald, I sell hell of hair oil,
He often boasts to world on boil,
Miserably to fail
In Mid-east, seeking bail,
Iran refusing to fall in his foil.
_________________________
Happenings | 12.05.2026 | humour, USA, political, Limerick
Note: Many of Trump’s MAGA followers, a faithful lot for long, seem to get increasingly tired of his foolish ventures that only make day-to-day life hell in USA. Trump still persists selling these remedies to them, gulf oil to all others. This little ditty likens them as a cure-all oil. He thinks he‘s a good salesman, but is he?
"Why do you rebel?"
Asked the artist of the bruise
"Your head is sick, your heart faint
Your skin is slick with wounds"
Yet in the same breath
"I do not delight in lambs' blood"
Yet he likens kin to lambs
And killed both in the flood
But "thou shalt not kill"
Declares he who killed the most
"My sword devours 'til sated"
Saith the Lord of Hosts
"For I am sorry
About all of your punishments"
There's no forgiveness in me
My lord, I'm far beyond spent
Abecedar baffles & confounds didn't even figure Google® helpful ~ I just kinda looked myself ~ not open-minded people questioning rational stuff ~ that until value wilts 2 year zero.
___________
NOTES:
Theodore Roethke likened poetry-forms to sieves, " . . . catching certain materials". Such an attractive sentiment about such an important human activity.
An artist friend once created an art-exhibit wherein the recipients were photographed and asked to write their opinion about his sign which read: "Art is a game with no rules", with the understanding that these too would be framed and added to the exhibit.
Robert Warlov likens 'Poetry-forms' to someone else's "Rules".
~
Inside the Keepers pantry
Jesus can stare at any mirror
Our lives have changed
likens the chaff of wheat
The Lord is neigh
as truth wrestles amongst the shimmering trees
and we are guided by our missives
The green patterns of holly
roots our dreams
When at a Chinese restaurant, I frequently dote upon their paper place settings, the Chinese horoscope. It likens a token animal to the year that one is born and a few personality traits that some people scorn. My brother was born in the year of the monkey and many a day he's still very funky. My sister was born in the year of the rat. She's creative and charming but perhaps a little fat. I'm a large cat but I never purr. I was born in the year of the tiger. Now our president was born in the year of the dog which could make for an interesting dialogue. Dog people value loyalty and so does he. There's no mention of dictatorship or royalty that I can see. Joe Biden was born in the year of the horse. Their motivated by happiness, an excellent choice.
Man’s intrinsic apathy's negligence-justified frown
Is the actual defining substance of a mortal clown;
Who with hollowed prejudgments fellow men slays,
And likens to hallowed duty his thoughtless decays.
He is evil's meekest martyr by doom's onus bound,
The cold-blooded outlaw donning dark's lucid veils;
His the bounden call to trim unwary lives that thrive,
His a sworn charge to hit to halt sea's merriest sails.
They're hell's happiest saints of true devoted cadre,
Obstinate desperados who without real reason hate;
Theirs rare glories for wanton vitriol by meanest fate
Met on innocent casualties of villainy's vicious adder.
What grand gratification fills world's cruelest hearts
That sting undeserving souls in most delicate parts?
Why do allegedly feeling minds grow numbest to cry,
Whilst their pleading victims in iron malevolence die?
How can life’s most cognitive kind find sweet preys,
In other creatures alike in mien and all visible ways?
Light
Light, bright, fair
Long, soft hair
A spectacle beyond compare
Small, narrow, pointy nose
Soaps and scrubs
And cheap lightening creams get smeared and lathered
Lasers, needles, pills
And even IV fluids
Get smuggled in
A global phenomenon
A billion dollar industry
Used to be dark and insecure
But now...
I am Cinderella
I am Belle
I am exceptional
I am beautiful
Less melanin please
White from the inside out
A risk worth taking
Want to be presentable
Even if it cost me my life
Even if burns and rashes persist
Even if poisonous
And over the limit
Even if cheap, deadly ,mercury
Likens me to a baboon’s butt
Either way, I’d be better off
Bleaching my way to access and opportunity
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
06/05/19
African Spring
The rain has settled
liquidy soil
ingested to wait
the blessing of Spring
nature renewed
mystical blooms
surround the veldt
in Africa
endeared by Sun
Clivia
yellow strength
likens Sun
waits for
its kin
Moon
Diminished Hexaverse Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
April 20, 2019
* This is a hexaverse poem but not listed on selection
DANDELIONS -pretty yellow flower huh--
A puffy white fluffy ball;
Windblown, flown flower???
Man do they grow…
Man do they grow;
A Dandelion growing cycle grow;
From a seed;
Grown strong root;
Hard to stoop, to kill OH! Shoot;
Cutting, shovel out herbicide the only way out;
A puffy white fluffy ball
That does not spread asexually;
From a seed, from stolons also known as a runner;
Matures with a pretty lovely flower;
A topical bulb likens a Sunflower;
Most abundant in spring;
Close your eye there grows another one again;
Dies in the winter, sure is hard to git rid of;
Yeah! Yeah! Sick and tired of them weeds..
Them there dandelions tend to flower most abundantly in spring;
3/31/19
DANDELIONS Poetry Contest Enter Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
She’s an artist of word and rhyme
He’s an artist of capturing time
She weaves lines creating emotion
He stills a moment in motion
He brings her into focus
She likens him to a crocus
They dance in monorhyme
The lighting is perfectly prime
He caresses her with long exposure
Her pen bleeds of love and allure
He looks for that shot he desires
Now she and her muse are on fire
His shutter snaps quick progression
She alliterates in rapid succession
Sunrise paints the sky with colors
Inspiring these would-be lovers
He’s waited for such perfect light
She’s yearned for inspiration to write
How fitting they finally meet
On the cliffs once walked by Keats
Her image fills the frame of his picture
As sonnets she pens like scripture
They were destined to be together
The Poetess and the Photographer.
Something to read, discover the charcters.
A blessing.
A hope.
Maybe funny, sad.
But, still, you are glad.
The heart likens it to a poem.
Read my friend and enjoy!
The cactus is a joyless plant
which to dry slopes inclines,
and those who would engage with it
are sure to feel its spines.
But once in every year or two,
the cactus brings forth fruits:
and then its golden succulence
its grimmer self confutes.
Before the "chumba" pine swells up,
the cactus flames in flower,
and I would brave its fiercest staves,
to see it in that hour!
Love, a curse or a boon
a query that has grown
there exist a lucky few
who hath tasted this feeling true
Young love likens a rosebud
pure and delicate, unshed
canst not get enough of the other
forever dying to be together
hearts thudding furious
pulse racing and curious
earnest to explore in negligence
the new world bathed in brilliance
like a bud eager to bloom
and bee to devour
(Love is justified)
Time flies in dalliance
love blooming with experience
with it comes trust
and assurance a must
here and then they falter
unable to alter
bud devoid of the dew
fragrance fading in lieu
(Is love justified?)
The rose now in full bloom
as love on its way to doom
arduous is the test of love
withering away if not conveyed
chiding and belittling the other
love start its decline and wither
It has happened time and again
repeating itself in vain
alas! In the minds of those
the answer still remain!!!
© Nadiya (18 Jan '15)
*Honorable Mention on 25 Jan 2015 in the contest 'Love justice' by Justin Bordner.
quatrain
Resolved to quit, a collection betrays my dear Mona.
Hers are the ones marked by colorful stain.
Her obsession likens her to my aging Smith-Corona.
It’s coughing just now as if in great pain.
Its lungs store a shiny bobble divorced from Mona's ear,
three of her Lucky Strikes all out of smoke…
My functional machine has other favorite souvenirs
including a guarded flight stub, no joke.
She was a stewardess, last year when I met my sweet “Mo”
and I became her first passenger goof.
That is, the first one on whom she spilled a hot cup of joe.
My versatile cabinet holds the proof.
Mona needs to smoke; she is addicted to nicotine.
Maybe she’ll change brands when I light her fuse.
Two new keepsakes - ads from both Life and Post magazine
claim, “Camels, the brand which more doctors choose.”
set in this 1930-40's era, this piece focuses on the cigarette industry.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1470496/
Sometimes I want to go out at night
But this household hugs me tight
Sometimes my mind likens to greater men
And it rages at this humble pen
But like so many before
An imprisonment I do adore
Standing tall, its bars so strong
Has hidden me for oh so long
Outside holds dangers with no guard rail
My mentor, Fear says that I will fail
So as I hug my pillow tight
I tell myself there are other nights
In my dreams the dusty doorknob greeted me
Shaking his hand I glimpsed a place to be free
So I went and left the comfort of my bed
To collect the thoughts that had fallen from my head
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