Inspired by one witty Nate White, of Britain
I vote him in a year ago
Vainglory man with orange glow
We didn’t have another choice
The country spoke, a single voice
I hate him not, he is the boss
There’s way his power comes across
So much revealed as time goes
For us to find and him disclose
No class, no charm, no wit, but troll
No warmth at all in present role
No wisdom, honor, humor, grace
Insults dispatched when face-to-face
He can be nasty, don’t show soul
He bashes heads to reach one’s goal
Lack of nuance and spite don’t stop
Behaves like bull in china shop
Offensive, crass, with shallow scope
We pray and watch, while harbor hope
For better life and worldly peace
He's mostly driven by caprice
Not man of word, give and withdraw
Commits to Russia win the war
He shakes the world to see what comes
Yet some big plans are yielding crumbs
Ain’t no compassion, noble not
Aims cutting Middle Eastern knot
Amusing? No, this isn’t the case
Who are you, Mr. Orange Face?
August 30, 2025
Collops of fat line the tables of the few,
while the many stretch hands toward empty plates.
Skyscrapers rise in the capital,
yet in the villages, children bend under jerrycans,
walking miles for a sip of muddy water.
The economy grows, they say—
percentages polished and paraded—
but the growth is stored in vaults,
not in classrooms with broken desks,
not in hospitals without medicine,
not in the pockets of the farmer who tills red soil for nothing.
Every election season,
collops of fat are dangled like bait—
T-shirts, soap, envelopes,
promises swollen with grease,
but never nourishment for tomorrow.
The youth, restless, crowd into boda stages,
degrees folded in pockets,
dreams reduced to dust by unemployment.
Markets overflow with speeches,
but not with buyers.
Streets fill with posters,
but not with jobs.
Uganda’s wealth pools in corners,
thick, congealed, unreachable.
The nation limps,
while a few grow heavier, rounder,
their laughter echoing across gated compounds.
Collops of fat—
the evidence of excess,
the proof of imbalance,
the weight carried not by those who eat,
but by those who starve.
When appearing in public as Droopy sad vote needy it just
crumbles just as the millions of others.
Left with a guilty dialogue to chase? Please yourself
and don't for once, your a grown up, you can don't know too.
Please visit Ventura and thousand oaks cities guys.
Bring your spine it has a home here it's missing
Get to work
Make nother talking history hiding
Oopsy building down?
Elected by majority of population, sad?
The holes were plain
For all to see, clear as day
Like every word pressed from tight lips
Heavy, weighed down with lead.
Yet we chose to believe
Clinging to words for relief
Some of us danced
Caught in the endless trance.
Half a decade passed in a blink
Now we question what we heard
Were those words ever true
Or just echoes from years before?
Their efforts now feel hollow
Trying to patch sails with holes
Drifting lost on restless seas
Like a mind caught between drunk and sober.
Once in a century there comes a notable war,
To prove how uncivilized human beings are!
One steps up, reaching for the star,
The other steps down,
Leaving a never-vanishing scar.
O ruled people! Say no to war,
It has always favored the rulers so far.
“We are the saviors of the world,” they say,
Yet the shepherdless flock is left as prey.
What will justify the war?
What can replace the genocide of the little flower?
“Holy war,” they command,
What holiness do you see in the blood-soaked hand?
Left and right, they divide the world,
Yet both belong to the same word.
Having messed up this blue marble as much as we can,
Now praying for another one to mess it up again.
An initiative unforeseen
Supported by the Countess Aberdeen
Motivated several politicians and were
Encouraged to convene
In the year of 1920
When issues were aplenty
Delegates backed the Cork City charter
And elected MacSwiney, our dear martyr
Yet as many were to grieve
Others would also leave
They were faced with a new mandate
Upon founding the Irish Free State
However not everyone was happy
And things got rather scrappy
With views diverging ever-more
Making it hard to keep the score
The dust took a while to settle
And tested our civic institutions’ mettle
Though issues were left unsolved
Causing city councils to be dissolved
New problems were to be addressed
That would get the people rousing
Occupied with public works and housing
Making the managers obsessed.
That’s an oversimplification
For a topic deserving of dilation
An overview of a creation
Being the Municipal Association
I am he who says goodnight.
Don't take me for a label.
At least I'm from a time when thought,
Use portents undue fable.
Vuck doors and rules to hide lyrics lying for a sadist,
Lest the sense of selves perchance; employ spells of'n alchemist.
I invoke the inner man.
I invoke to see that who wants for we.
Gather us, from we you'll be,
And carry such until we're free.
I invoke the word of man,
Laughing at such laze.
Pretended by a lack of can,
To be without my gaze.
Round about the cauldron go,
The trumper sure to ever know.
Gasp for breath and ask for why,
This stunt d'serves 'nother try.
Tell me how to think
Tell me what to do
Tell me if my politics
Should be red or blue
Tell me how to live
What to keep or give
And tell me what I know
If I should stay or go
Tell me what is truth
Tell me what is lie
Tell me how to keep
Big corporate profits high
Tell me how to live
What to keep or give
And tell me what I know
If I should stay or go
Tell me who to shun
Tell me what to see
Tell me who to love
And those not akin to me
Tell me how to live
What to keep or give
And tell me what I know
If I should stay or go
Tell me everything
Tell me who I am
Tell me what I know
How to get with the program
Tell me how to live
What to keep or give
And tell me what I know
If I should stay or go
Tell Me!
When love of sport turns to hatred for the opposing team
that's seriously taking the 'we' against 'them' too far
AP: 1st place 2025
I kneel by the ash heap of my country,
pulling out the charred bones of laws
once tender with purpose. A womb,
a book, a vote—each gutted clean
by men in ties who grin as they light
the match, who quote scripture
as forests burn and children cry
in cages built from policy.
My daughter will not inherit
a peace I once believed in.
She will patch what I could not protect—
clean air, clean water, a truth
without spin, a touch without price.
Her hands will be calloused,
her hope hard-earned.
It is not that we lost something.
It is that they took it and smiled.
Politics is the art of the possible
And of the impossible too
Politicians make you responsible
For all the bad things they do
The people from other countries
Despise you although they know
You’ve no power to finish this
Art of the impossible show
So you are a pariah nation
You are never an individual
It is you who waits at the stations
But still your train is not visible
It is you who’s no goal to achieve
Who is relentlessy condemned
It is you who should never be
Indistinguishable from them
Because politics is an art
Unfortunately, not a science
Every day makes a new start
Every week it’s a new alliance
Politics is the art of the possible
And of the impossible too
Should’ve been a museum fossil
But it’s not, cause one’s dreams come true.
From the ashes of struggle, we rose—
I, Mao, with fire.
I, Deng, with reform.
Now, Xi walks where dragons tread,
With silence sharper than swords.
Taiwan waits—not to be taken,
But to remember.
For the Art of War wins wars unspoken,
And rivers return to their source.
Do not fear the red sun rising—
It does not burn,
It illumines.
China does not beg the world.
It shapes it.
Steel in the spine, silk in the hand—
This is how empires endure.
The mandate is not granted.
It is earned.
And Xi has earned it.
Not even heaven resists
What history has already written.
They're smiling leniently don’t be silly
You can’t be apolitical these days
I’m smiling back I don’t trust them initially,
It doesn’t fall under a criminal offence
I’m fascinated by the incongruous lines
Just look at those familiar shapes, distorted
The early cubist paintings make them shine
Not blindingly, but just how you would want it
Ambiguous light of green and brown hues
Strict and fastidious lines, this is my politics
No one’s deprived, humiliated or abused
You’re in your favorite chair watching pics
It’s a spiritual job, not quite a passive leisure
Those pictures move in time can’t stay the same
They grow on you without any measure
Until your mind will get the best of frame
You hang out in the school of old escapers
The shooters cannot see us with their drone
Tomorrows ash deploy yesterdays papers
Don’t ask of yesterdays old girls – all gone.
We clap and cheer
when they speak well
phrases that please
that cast a spell.
But behind the brilliance
are borrowed lines
they read poets
study the rhymes.
Our leaders rhyme
not truth but lies
with practiced timing
and careful guise.
They stir the crowd
with crafted speech
not to uplift
but to mislead.
And yet
if words can sway
the hearts of men
then write your truth
and write again.
Poem ‘Oblivion’
Drastic times calls forth bold demands,
Not quiet hearts or passive hands.
For change to rise, the roofs and roots must shake,
To build a new, immoral and unethical ways must break.
Sometimes it takes the patience to fall,
To raise up justice, loud and tall.
Opposition paves the path, it’s true,
For something better, bold, and new.
Wrongdoing for too long has been bought.
For so long, people of the past have fought
Acts of misconduct is in plain sight.
We must fight wickedness and injustice
With all our might.
Together we must unite and stand strong.
Before we go down the path of oblivion
From them doing wrong.
Related Poems