Sycophants Poems | Examples

Helpless Winners At The Fair

Helpless Winners At The Fair

Clone Wolf
 Tantrum Rages 
  Leader Of The Pack…

Careless Sycophants  
 Elephantile Contagions
  Self-Defeating Victims. 

The Old Irony Escapes
 Bare-Knuckles
  Modeled, Paling…

Grabbing Artificial
 Pleasure From
Manipulation's
 Freshest Kill.

Your Cheeks Are
 Tender Bloody Sweet
All You Cuddle-
 Yummy Treats!

Your Tribe Awaits
 With A Better Hat And
Sweater - Be-Damned…
 Re-Damned. AGAIN!

Idolizers.

What You ‘Really Needed’
 Cost Us All Our
  Arms And Legs.

Too Bad That
 Couldn’t Save Our
  Extremely Enormous:

Vapid 
 Heart And
  Head, Instead…

 Skull-Candy Now
In Sugar-Cotton.

-Gray Squirrel

06-30-2025

Not Good Enough

Abstract ideas flitter about in my brain
like butterflies navigating a stiff August breeze.

I try unifying them into something,
a patchwork quilt of grandiose dreams
showcasing profound thoughts
that I feel are worthy of sharing
with strangers and sycophants,
maniacs and mentally sound,
downtrodden and dignitaries,
paupers and princesses
in hopes of making a lasting impression
that will forever change their lives.

But before unveiling my work to the world,
I scrutinize the stitching,
then question the pattern.

Thinking that it’s not good enough,
that it requires additional refinement,
I tear apart the completed piece.

Quickly I discover that it can’t be resewn,
reassembled
or recreated.

What was once coherent,
vibrant,
profound,
now lies in ruin.

These scraps of doubt then entomb me.

Unable to manipulate the fabric,
I remain immobilized
by a misguided attempt
to cover my perceived imperfections
and bury my profound neurosis
so my frail ego
will be shielded from nonexistent ridicule.

Russell Brand, Ayn Rand and Ray Milland Walk into a Bar

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?

Kakistocracy

It's hard to maintain a strong democracy
when people elect a kakistocracy.
To those who believe in "America First":
your government now consists of the worst.

The POTUS must be cruel and cockeyed
choosing a cabinet of the least-qualified.
Only someone vile and obscene
would select a Health Secretary who is anti-vaccine.

And the Education Secretary must be stunned:
she actually refers to AI as "A One"!
But then, a man with a history of disorderly conduct
would choose sycophants who are cracked and corrupt.

The new definition of stupid
is accepting those who are unsuited,
knowing the truth and seeing it with your own eyes,
but still believing the hype and the lies.

Falcon Fuel

Sycophants, thy future.
On what does it depend?
Gold upon the ground, be pure!
River, yield thy bend!

Tormented, ye prophets?
Pleiades, rescue me!
Toolshed, art thou Tophet's?
Fly, O fancy-free...

Gain upon in rhythm?
By what right, friend and foe?
Onward, black abysm!
Dark backward, well ... Although ...

Reign of conquerors endless!
On this doth all things hinge!
Forward, O ye stark friendless!
Heart within all, twinge!

White sand, will ye countermand?
One man gang or band?
Prison walls about us planned?
Better that we stand!

Robber, burglar, thief, thy grief.
Defy, my belief.
O ye Indians, stern thy chief?
Ten thousand foot reef...

Tentacles, reach upward!
Tangle, root! Enchant!
Golem, gate! Break fast, my guard!
Feet of mine, just plant...

Will or wool, O brazen? Bull.
Mea culpa, pull.
Green fire? Clean death due a trull?
Fate and Fortune, full?

Demonstrative dedication

Easy to entrance the sycophants watch their helpless dance their back and forth swaying and swooning, in cunnilingual somniloquence.
Droning and drooling with flattering and fawning, turgently swelling, spouting placating pleasantries, a mess of gushing adulation.
Self exultation, craving congratulation by consensus for another conventional  sensation, clamouring for congratulation in lurid inflated infatuation.
Curtailing castigation, striving in strides as pedestrian asperation gives rise to typical inspiration, stillted it saunters soulessly, provoking predicable platitudes.
Dreary dedication denoting the humdrum and the ho-hum, tirelessly tiring, offering effortlessly banal bestowments bequeathing a tepid tranquillising testimonial.
Uniform, unchanged, unilateral applause, amplifying abysmal analogies, articulating dearth depictions of derivative denotations.
Cryptic quips collapse carelessly caused by cumbersome correlating contradictions, deviating detrimentally forth fatuous flutterings.
Stale sentiment, sterile superfluous suppositions, garishly guilded in grandure,
Repetitious rudimentary ruminations, repackaged and retold.

Beware of Wisdom

In case you’re an artist, beware of wisdom
Experience brings reassurance 
That you have developed yourself into system
Through years of work and endurance
But don’t fool yourself with a pretty deceit
You can’t do it right, though you try
Experience tells you to do what you did
But anyway, it’s a far cry
From works of the past, that achieved a success 
Now you want to generalize
But the more you come up with better be less
The wisdom you gained isn’t wise
Cause its dull as a hell, and was meant to be this
Who told you that art should be limited? 
Your sycophants laugh, cause they know what is missed
You can’t afford one more naiviety.

Glass Prisons

Man—  
born to think freely,  
now trapped in a prison of pixels.  

Facebook—  
a wasteland of worthless chatter,  
where minds rot in the soil of mediocrity,  
graves of shallow likes and empty words.  

Telegram—  
a playground for the desperate,  
lust clothed in secrecy,  
hands searching for meaning,  
finding only silence.  

TikTok—  
a parade of fools,  
dancing for scraps of validation,  
feeding off the carcass of real life,  
while the world spins into chaos.  

WhatsApp—  
a pit of beggars and sycophants,  
lives traded for coins,  
desperation dripping from every message,  
humanity stripped for change.  

Twitter—  
a battlefield of blind warriors,  
fighting wars that don’t exist,  
spitting out opinions like venom,  
while the world keeps turning—unmoved.  

Man—  
meant to think,  
to feel,  
to change the world,  
now reduced to a slave of the screen.  

Unsocial.  
Unpolitical.  
Doomed to stare,  
to scroll,  
to rot in glass den 
Break the screens.
Burn the cages.
Find your mind again.

woman in a shop

A woman in a shop

 
She  sat in a shop that sells jumpers and scarves 
doing some embroidery for a wealthy client who 
wanted his name in big red letters to make it clear
his exalted sanding, but also as a person who 
bought wares made by hand 
When the man who runs a famous site had
gone in a fanfare surrounded by sycophants
she tied on a silk dress of untold value and
we embraced at the foot of hell
 the dress was not for the intended bride
The girl, artis with needles and threads, had 
green eyes as a bottomless sea impossible to 
read in bedroom light or in a shelter waiting 
for the bus to take us heavenward in the sin 
of greedy sex and thorn lips  
Oh, this heavenly day, a haze of dreams
most of them unfulfilled, lacking in the truth
as something partly remembered, a line 
a famous poet wrote, but whatever it was
she stung me with her needles

Bootlickers

   Sycophants calculate 'syc'
     Authority's boots they lick

   Masters of the clever and slick
     Their every maneuver, politic

The Easiest of Jobs

I’m naïve, but untill then
When belately realize
That I stopped to understand
Much to my surprise
I’m a fool, but then one day
Spring comes down again
And I have too much to say
For a foolish brain
Who am I, I could have known
If only one could see
But it seems they’re on their own
And as alone, as me
No more sycophants around
No one says kind words
Still I’m sharing what was found
In my past time world
Who can see it, who cannot
I don’t give a damn
The easiest of jobs I’ve got
In my no man’s land.

Township Terror

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.

Golden Shovels

Each of them had one
A golden shovel
To sweep away the detritus
Of life’s lingering keepsakes
Scratching the gold-plated spears
Dodging deaths deadline 
Struggling to be remembered

Ecologically egotistical entrepreneurs
Pictures, suitable for framing
Polished, souvenir hard hats
Sign waving sycophants
Applauding the arrogance
Of progressive platitudes.

An old woman weeps
The shadow of her home gone
The echoes of her life fading
A Teddy bear lays crushed
Beneath an unseen future.

3 Card Monte

Gather your false prophets
and sycophants
 Bury your heads
in the deepest sand

Tell the same lies
 as you sing to the choir
 Slave to the mirror
—and sleight of hand

(Dreamsleep: May, 2023)

Sycophants At the Soup

Definition..one who uses obsequious compliments, 
to gain self-serving favor or advantage from another. 



P…parasites who want payback
H..harmful  hucksters, hedonists
O…obsessive, offenders, outlandish 
N..nebulous, narcisstic, nuisances 
I….impetuous imbeciles, imposing
E..egocentrical, entangling, enemies
S…support-savages, so selfish!


              4/ 23/2023

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