Pillars built on words,
Seeking votes with grand designs,
Offing yet unfixed.
©bfa042325
Gripe, Gripe, Gripe
By: Miracle Man
October 2, 2020
Autumn day, cooling breeze,
rag weed induces me to sneeze.
Pollen causes my nose to run,
a killing frost and then it’s done.
Covid-19 is keeping me at home,
each day comes in monochrome.
I feel that I’m under house arrest,
each day feeling more distressed.
I wonder if good days will return,
when history I won’t be forced to unlearn.
When riots and protests aren’t the norm,
and news is no longer a political platform.
I’m stuck inside as years grow ripe,
little to do but sneeze and gripe.
Borrowed Time Horn Limerick
Borrowed time did like to live on
Finally when it was all gone
There had been a big race
Wanted me to set pace
And spread political platform on.
You can imagine what all
of this means.
Jim Horn
Heck, you asked for it
The base in a vortex locked
Crumbling with the torrid shock
Of maligned money
Bonding the world in duress
Spewing for policy cess
Who fooled you to vote
For shrivelling tax and more
Crime and crumbling of the store
The sinister laugh
Like golf balls beat my temple
Mubarak for example
The Arab spring parked
At wall street, and fell asleep
I want to hear the fire weep
To smell revenge stale
Like urine where drunkards leak
The magnate's charm for the meek
Drugged to forget love
The tent cities brimmed with wrath
Subsiding in urine's froth.
It's a busted world
We prize, nothing good is left
Except the brave will to die.
If I were a church
I would be altar on fire
Making sacrifice with ire
If I were the pew
I'd demand a broken chain -
Refund of profit and pain
Unemployed, prisoned
In myopia, dangled
From banner star spangled
What the hell is grief
The blood stains on rag dripping
Mothers' hands, clammy, shaking?
We have aborted
More than birth, nation killers
Political platform swillers
Swine gruel makers
The vultures gather for who
No bell tolls ... death has no clue.
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