Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Twelve Political Poems

(From the Chapbook: Wars, Death and Presidents)


Dung pile in D.C. (In Poetic Prose)

Escaping the big wigs
And not seeing the humongous dung pile
Obama has built in Washington D.C.,
Is next to impossible (on a visit)
Lest you are blind!
I suggest you watch your back!
They’ll screw you anywhickway, but loose.
The trick is to stay alive and you’ll
Most likely outlive your annoyance!
You see, a man of worth says today
What he said yesterday!
Men of no worth forget what they said

The other great thing, as the old people
Have told us, is ‘remembrance’ and
Those who have survived this last
Decade with Obama, I hope do!
Hillary has a big shovel.

#4989 (1-14-2016)

Note: It is worth noting: President Obama inherited a National Debt from President Bush of a sum of over 11-Trillion dollars, and during his Presidency, thus far, 7-years one more to go, Obama has boosted that sum to over 17-trillion dollars. 


Obama’s Gun Trick 
(In Poetic Prose)

What Obama is trying to do is like taking away a strong man’s sword when he is on the ground—
When he is up, will he try it?
So the trick is, keep him weak, down so who comes after him can keep him in place, like Hillary!

#4992 (1-14-2016)
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


Islam and the Bull 
(In Poetic Prose)

Who is the tick and who is the bull?
No need to guess, the Islamic State
And the Islamists Crusaders
Would proclaim not to be the bull,
Thus they are the tick—
The U.S.A., would be the Bull!
But isn’t it, that the tick fills its
Belly with blood from the back of the bull
And the bull doesn’t even know it?

And then, unknowingly the bull
Carries the tick wherever it goes to eat
Drink, or ordure—
The question now arising who will pick
Off the ticks, in America and Europe
As they fell their bellies?

#4996 (1-145-2016)
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


The Name of the Game
(Political Poem: part of the Chapbook ‘War, Death and Presidents’)

The name of the Game is not democratization!
Nor is it Human Rights!
Nor raising of the living standards!
Even if you think so, it is not, not, not!
In the political arena it is called ‘Power Concepts’
China, Russia and the U.S.A., all know the truth
Of this game!
Sentimentality is dead, has been since 1948
Dispensed for national objectives…
Saddam Hussein, played the same game,
But he forgot: you don’t take more than
The landlord will miss!

#4999/ 1-14-2016
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


From Grace to Grass 
(In Poetic Prose)

Nebuchadnezzar, King of Persia!
Saddam Hessian, King of Iraq!
Twenty-five hundred years apart—
Both armed to the teeth!
Both went into a partial eclipse—
Both went from grace to grass…
If a blind man doesn’t know
His own stick,
What else would he know!
Sooner or later you lose the goat
And the rope.

#5001 (1-15-2016)
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)

Note 1: If a Republican is elected to the presidency of the USA, in 2016, this coming election, Obama will also have lost the goat and the rope! His legacy and corruption will melt into the grass!

Note 2: Releasing 100-billion dollars to a rouge regime like Iran, in the fourth coming days, with nearly a hop-skip-and jump, to nuclear blackmail in the future of the world, is madness; hence, allowing the 4th largest oil producer in the world to march forward with its supplying chaos, as it has done thus far—: in Syria, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, the USA, Europe, Lebanon, Yemen, and Israel. What next? Whatever the mind can imagine, Iran has already printed it out in draft form.


The Good Old Days of the Iron Curtain 
(In Poetic Prose)

It wasn’t long ago we would call the good old days in America—and the world could call them, ‘The old, good old days!” Did!
When the world and in particular, democracies held up with high esteem America for its high values!
They were for us; and they were behind us, and we for them.
We killed a lot of people in-between, and so did they, in-between!
The game we called as kids ‘Hide and seek’ we played as adults, ‘Spy and Lie’— those were the Iron Curtain days, the good old days.
Those were the days had we taken out Moscow with the H. Bomb, in 1945, and perhaps, Beijing, like MacArthur wanted to do in ‘52, during the Korean War, this rivalry would not be today!
But those were the good old days, when, everyone could say, ‘The old, good old days, were those days of the Iron Curtain’.

Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


The Yanks and Islam
(From the Chapbook: ‘Wars, Death and Presidents’)

Islam, doesn’t like America’s God, Jesus Christ!
They don’t like the Yanks’ arrogance of power, liberty, nor that can they gallop across the world as if on parade!    
They refuse to sing her songs, they have their own.
Nor do they fly the Stars and Strips!
Like the Mexicans, they wave their own flag higher, and higher, and sometimes out of sight.
But for some reason they like living in America.
Both Arabs and Mexicans, nearly from the same pool of sand!
Just an ocean apart!
They don’t want walls, responsibilities, but they do want rights.
I’d say they’re eyes have gone out of their nose!
On 9/11-day, the Arabs in America celebrate, bin Laden’s victory.
And in New York City, Obama sings “Hallelujah” …
What they’ve forgot, is: God holds the knife to the yam—

No: 4991 (1-13-2016)
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)

Note: until the group called the ‘IS’ Islamic State, took no preference in whom they killed: Christian, Muslim, or Russian, the Islamic world kept  its distance, could have cared less about involving its self in the terrorist acts of its religious orders, as long as they kept their distance from them,  since it had launched much of it—sparsely and less sporadically themselves, than came along, the IS; now that has all changed,  the masterminds of  IS, could careless who you are or what religious order you’re from, one and all are on their agenda sheets, worldwide, as we have recently seen in Paris, New York City, Java, Turkey; and the decapitations keep coming, and coming and coming.


The Syrian Civil War (2015-2016)
(From the Chapbook: ‘Wars, Death and Presidents’)

The feet fly underneath the torso
The arms, stick to nearby branches of trees
The legs are here and there
On the sidewalks, in the streets, on street lampposts
Concrete falls on top of whomever, necks
And skulls cracked and are severed.
The dead, those who are now dead—
260,000-thousands of them from this civil war!
Have no say-so anymore…
They lay in the dirt, dust, and rubble— they lay dead!
The old dead lay by the new dead.
There are no words to be said, once you’re
Dead: dead is dead.
And the bombs keep coming, falling from
Russian jets, turkey, Syria, England and
America; and the ISIS’ rockets!
You can smell the dead they reek! While,
The dogs, cats, rats, vultures and mice, eat.
And no one knows what head, or limb or foot
Belongs to what torso, neck or body…

Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


Kings and Presidents
(From the Chapbook: ‘Wars, Death and Presidents’)

I’m an old soldier, I believe if I fall for you, this time, and you fall for me next time, we can trust one another in war, battle… a hard test!
I believe if you want good change, it will take a good man to do it, a very good man.
And there’s not many of them left: a dying breed, if not extinct.
Because the country will sit out in the wet rain, and hot sun before it is done! To mention two, America and Peru.
And with kings and presidents like the world has today (prime ministers and governors and alike)—
From Africa, to Asia, South and North America and the Middle East!
The people have lost the sky and the ground.
In other words, they will give you a sermon worth a fortune, and three cents worth of actuality.

Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)

Note: we see this in most South American Countries more often than not; Peru is of course notorious for it boasting to its people what they’ll give, and what they get is a hand shake, if that.  Most politicians in Peru (like President Humala), think no more about lying than eating cuy (Ginny Pig), it’s normal. If they didn’t people would wonder why. Their elections are coming up soon (2016), and the selection of candidates are rather thin as far as honesty goes, nearly every candidate has a reputation for thievery, to include Humala’s wife, Nadine, who dresses like a queen from government tax money of the people, and sorrowfully kept a diary of her spending and is now being haunted by it. One ex-president, hid in Paris, Garcia, for ten-years, after his first prudency, now he’s going for his third. Another’s father who was president, hid in Japan for five years came back, ended up in prison, and now his daughter who went to Colombia College, Tax free, is running for president, she owns a mint of mines, how she got them is another story (Keiko). Another candidate is using tax money from his University to promote his campaign, a breech in the law, but who cares, it’s just a tiny infraction, and the judge will overlook that for bribe. Another one is a drunk, owns half of Costa Rica, was President not too long ago, his name is Toledo, and I could go on and on, but enough is enough, point made: people sit in the rain or in the sun and nothing is done.


“No! Kabisa”
 (Guzman and Penn, and Blood Money)

Sean Penn, an actor by trade, said today he had nothing to do with the leading the Mexican Police to the front door of El Chapo’s abode!
As the Mexican police had told the media (Guzman now imprisoned: captured a few days ago)—
“No! Kabisa” he inferred (the same as saying, no joke)
Then added to his gamut of words: “I’m not afraid!”
And I thought? ‘Is there a reason to be…? `
He reminded me of a little child only capable of washing his belly.
On another note, someone should have told El Crapo, I mean, Chapo, to look at the man, not the camera, I know he’s vain but…
(as they shook hands).
They say he has more blood money than the CIA, and the IS together.
But not more than Mr. Trump,—a presidential potential.
Crapo, I mean Chapo, better hope Donald doesn’t make the rank of U. S. President, after his little slip, of how he’d like to clip his wings:
“No! Kabisa.”

No: 5002 (1-15-2016)
Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)


The French Intolerance

The Jews in France won’t dance to the anti-Semitic attacks by the Muslims, who came to France from afar; nor France’s intolerance in this chaotic war of small-mindedness—
But they took off their skullcaps yesterday, and today, and will tomorrow, all the same: religious symbols that seem to outline the Jew, for Islamic attacks.
The Muslims are making the limbs of the Jews heavy as mahogany, and it is not even their own country, they’re only guests!
The French should know it takes a lion to tame a leopard, at best—
In other words, you need to take exceptional measures for exceptional times, you need as they say, to paddle your own boat, or someone else will do it for you… like Islam!

The Jew in France is under assault, no doubt! By France’s Islamic guests!
Is it not so, one finger gets soiled with intolerance, and it spreads to the other four!



The Emulators (The ISIS)

They have a firing squad, hooded:
Ready to be laced in redden blood…guns, rifles in their hands:
Those to be killed, wear orange jumpsuits, like garbage collectors, they soon will die:
Chests will drop, at the click of a finger!
Emulators for their ancient forefathers, leaders of those far-off days of Muhammad the Prophet—
Whose effrontery, and boldness, whose imprudence, soiled their own souls…!
The emulators, emulate those long forgotten souls…
Vomit, who cares, vomit and be done with it: as they shoot them in the back of the head in the blazing sun: get it over with, get it ended!
They are as Nimrod concluded: no more than bricks (indifference: how will God judge them?)
Pick their pockets and go to lunch, rape the women in the nearby village!
That’s how it’s done! That’s what they do!
For such a performance, sing the one verse hymn:
“Allah, Thy word Abideth.”

Executions can be a popular sport; the bystanders watched as they cartwheeled the severed heads to the dump—
One exception, when the Syrians did it to them—I call operation reverse—you should have seen their faces (perhaps you did)
For once they were not all drugged up, hyped for the kill, and they had a river of tears behind those eyeballs.
It didn’t dawn on them: monkey see, monkey do!

 Part of the Chapbook: “War, Death and Presidents” (Poems)