Long Sycophants Poems
Long Sycophants Poems. Below are the most popular long Sycophants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sycophants poems by poem length and keyword.
American Psychosis
The sun, the Son,
ECLIPSED
Overshadowed by
Dark clouds of
Bloated EGO and ID
Me supersedes We
The people1
Will weep
DEADLY SINS
More than seven
In one
Narcissist ‘king’ of
WRATH, HATE, REVENGE,
Not a
‘Dish best served cold2
But with anger
Evil so bold
SCOTUS behold!
Bunker-Busting Bully
Historical ignorance, ignominy
Big Beautiful Bombs or
Tariffs Coercion
Psychotic projection
Weaponized state
Now fully effected
No critic is safe
LUST
When you’re a celebrity
You can do anything
Predatory
You want
Assault, murder, rape,
Cheat, steal, defraud
LIES
Free speech
IF you’re with us
‘Fake news’
If you’re not
We have
‘alternative facts’
GLUTTONY and GREED
Never satisfied with
What you have
Never enough!
Never enough!
IDOLATRY
Genuflection
To the ‘Golden Calf’3
Crown of Orange
No thorns4
Nor Pain
LAZINESS, SLOTH
Reap rewards from
Work of the plebes
Let them eat cake5
Simple living, no steak
Accountability – None
ENVY
Look up to look down
The billionaires ladder
The one I will climb
Not Jacob’s sublime6
But the movie
On the horrors of war7
PRIDE and VANITY
Peers, I can tolerate
But
I am the best
Losers and suckers
Make up the rest
OK to call on them
To squelch the unrest
Parade
Honors ‘Dear Leader’
Who dishonors
Misuses the troops
MAGA, sycophants,
And Nazi salutes
No impulse control
Chaos, Disunity, Autocracy
Unreined
Breaking Bad8
RESISTANCE
Inevitable
‘No Kings’
In ‘our land’
Despite fear of
The worst
Assassinations, arrests
Uncivil will be
Armed
‘There will be Blood’9
On the streets
Where chaos will
Reign
Unless it be tamed
1 Preamble to the U.S. Constitution
2 Joseph Stalin
3 Exodus 32
4 New Testament Gospels
5 Dubious attribution to Marie-Antoinette
6 Genesis 28
7 1990 movie on the horrors of war
8 Breaking Bad, highly acclaimed TV series
9 Gangs of NY 2002 movie `Copyright @ Mel Gill 06/14/2025
The joke is on me
When I read that Starmer, when visiting Trump, had with him an invitation from the king of England, offering Trump dinner
I thought it was a joke, but it was true. Trump was flattered and accepted the invitation
Of course, he is an egomaniac who thinks he is a royal American king, and why not!
The difference between the two kings is that Trump has power and the English king is reduced to a face on loose pocket change
Is President Trump a good ruler? Well, he is autocratic and gets things done, not always with aplomb, but no one is perfect
In a world of liberal democracy, we end up with
EU is a talking shop trying to force nations to see
The Brussels way and to think they are called democrats, when its leadership is making life difficult for dissenters like Victor Orban, a sane man among sycophants.
The leaders of any country are to look after their inhabitants’ well-being. If not, then new leaders must be elected, but in our democracy, we see little movement at the top because their idea of democracy is to elect themselves, not much is done for the people
China and Russia have autocratic rulers with a high living standard, but one is not allowed to swear in church, and that is accepted by most people who favor democracy, a system they know nothing about until they move to New York and see democracy firsthand; the living conditions among the masses are atrocious
And the cemetery is sculpted by freshly lain plots
Anticipating a frame to explain the gravely residents
To offer considerable homage with venerate thoughts
Of a journey long taken by soldiers and sycophants
Anticipating a frame to explain the gravely residents
An empty stone awaits the gracious terminal account
Of a journey long taken by soldiers and sycophants
And those who survived differently but died tantamount
An empty stone awaits the gracious terminal account
About an immortal battle that persists a war of sabotage
And those who survived differently but died tantamount
For they are our freedom from this absurd civil barrage
About an immortal battle that persists a war of sabotage
Gratitude is given to the cowards and the brave alike
For they are our freedom from this absurd civil barrage
Now dignity doused in tribute forever bleeds ghostlike
Gratitude is given to the cowards and the brave alike
To offer considerable homage with venerate thoughts
Now dignity doused in tribute forever bleeds ghostlike
And the cemetery is sculpted by freshly lain plots
5/17/2016
There is a place that doesn't go to sleep,
From dawn to dusk,
Nothing changes,
Desire is on the run.
There is a place where ambition and rivalry are birthed,
Sycophants seize the day,
Sing their praises and the door is left open,
Sing their praises and opportunity smiles at you.
There is a place where gloom pervades the decision chambers,
The leaders are saddled with the enigma,
The missing pieces are hidden from the light,
The night is recalcitrant to let out.
There is a place where rapid-paid ransom returns the captives,
A delay in delivery detonates the bomb,
To the earth, the bodies finally belong,
An eternal loss and anguish of hearts.
January 19, 2024.
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
So: thinker, “personality” and actor
are looking for a drink.
If two of them are trailers, one’s a tractor.
“Nice counter-top. Real zinc?”
“Don’t ask them stuff. They memorise words
of better men, to spout ’em!”
“And his type feels the need to gather herds
of sycophants about ’em.”
“There’s zinc in every human enzyme. Fact.”
“An enzyme? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“A catalyst which helps your gut react
a thousand times a day.”
Creators are the only ones who matter,
just them and only them.
Who grows, can know: who knows can grow (and scatter):
the human apothegm.
“The path from easy living? Slow decline
to reach death valley days.”
“Misfortunes? They’re all relative, and mine
are slight. I’m not from Grays!”
Who hasn’t done his share of Boogie Nights?
All wassail hours are zeros.
Two-thirds of humankind are parasites:
where should we look for heroes?
We have a thing now, called celebrity
that’s not the same as fame:
whatever ape forsakes the tree
can make himself a name.
The world, for entertainment, craves a schism
(Max Baer against Joe Louis):
but who foresaw the Queen of Capitalism
would be a Russian Jewess?
He was growing old and senile and his hair began to fall,
And he perched on a stool to tell accounts of the past,
Of how he’d fought for his country and of his manifold valiant deeds,
Speaking of patriotic comrades who’d long returned to dust.
His neighbors sometimes thought that his stories were a joke
But elders who had understanding of the past
Knew his honesty and the truthfulness with which he spoke;
But we don’t hear his tales today for the old Musyoka passed way.
Not many mourned him, perhaps only his children and wife,
For he led an ordinary uneventful lifestyle;
He had a part-time job and a family, calmly heading his way;
The world did not know when death took his nationalistic smile.
When thievish politicians die of eating too much
Their sinful corpses honorably lie in state
While spoon-fed sycophants give crammed eulogies,
But a freedom soldier quietly succumbs to his unfortunate fate.
It seems the greatest contribution to the wellbeing of our republic
Is to lie to the people and severally break your unfeasible promises,
But the patriotic soldier who lays down his life for the country,
Goes unnoticed to his grave without the minutest of praises.
The earnings of a politician are more than their service,
But a patriotic soldier gives up his life to protect his countrymen,
Yet his pension is small and old age and disease the only rewards,
And an ordinary death awaits him at three score and ten.
It is easy to forget old Musyokas for they live no more,
Even disregard that such heroes ever went to the battlefield,
But I hear heart-rending cries from forgotten graves yonder,
Where old Musyokas and their devoted mates restlessly lie.
They cry, “sons and daughters, we died like common folks,
Yet we are the reason why you enjoy the peace you have,
We lost our arms and legs and most of us died cheap as a fox;
Will you deny us a simple and costless thing such as honor?”
I loathe hearing the fallen old Musyoka and mates haunt me so
But I’m not the commander-in-chief of the land,
Nor am I some legislator in the August House,
I can’t honor a fly, but old Musyoka won’t understand.
Prime Minister’s Question Time
That Wednesday morning farce
That starts with the sycophants
Verbally kissing the Premier’s ****,
Followed by the Opposition Leader
Who begs and implores
Answers to his questions
Which the Prime Minister ignores,.
To indulge in propaganda
And very personal attack
When the Opposition Leader
Vey quickly bites back.
Those present in the House
All bay, yell and scream like fools
In way that would bring exclusion
From most decent primary schools.
Democracy in action
There for all to see
The Parliamentary equivalent
Of the The Goon Show on TV
Prime Minister’s Question Time
A misnomer indeed
Behaviour more fitting those
High on skunk, roofies or weed.
A most unedifying spectacle
But thats just how it looks
When any nation is led by
Hypocrites, spivs and crooks.
The honourable resignation
A thing of the long long past
As those in power cling on
Until the very very last.
And loyalty is rewarded,
When the opportunity affords,
By the lifetime sinecure of
A seat in the House of Lords.
We treat politicians with deference
In a manner that confounds
Forgetting they work for us
And not the other way around.
entrance in-trance not for sycophants
take my thoughts in highlight
in the low light of the night's glare
find solace in a central spine
that unknown tell that tugs you in
sweet, veiled, thin ~
no perimeter edges to teeter upon
no concocted thought spooled or spun
more quivering fragments
from corners of eyes
radiating ideas
persisting on scarred sighs
gift me your entirety
nothing less
is my best guess
on how enchantment fixes
stitches
glitches
bewitches
unhitches
until
you are welcomed to my world ~
Inspired by Localization of Graphic Mobiles I by František Kupka
She said she had a Mad Hatter notoriousness
But I did not see it in any whit of a way.
She flaunted it with an aggressiveness
that amused me at first, but then irritated.
I thought she was kidding when she said how popular she was
But many fawning sycophants followed her around
Believing it as truth because she was aggressive
I imagined that none wanted her meanness turned on them.
I am getting increasingly more popular she bragged at supper.
Mom laughed, but Dad congratulated her.
She always was his favorite daughter, me being the homely one.
My soul did not believe in her Mad Hatter notoriousness,
so we stayed at home, not looking out the window
While other weak-mined sycophants goose stepped behind her,
throwing flattery out of their mouths like yesterday’s leaves.