Tag Archives: Poetry

Democrats

All white males suck

Because they are prejudiced

Based on race and sex.

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Dear Not-America, Love The U.S. of A

Hello from America,

Where we play real football!

Our dicks are the same size as yours

Although you’re not as tall.

Our women spend more money

And our kids aren’t well-behaved

But we have free tap water

And most of our roads are paved.

We owe your nation money

That we’ll never repay

But we also have lots of nukes

So please do what we say.

Our politicians are all crooks

And most are wimps as well

But we pledge them our allegiance

And pretend that things are swell.

But speaking patriotically

Our country’s still the best

At drinking booze per-capita

And functioning while stressed.

Here’s how you can emigrate

From where you live right now:

Just walk to California

And never leave. Kapow!

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The Farmer’s Breakup

If you see a cow

Running o’er the fields of Maine

Please tell her that I was wrong

And to please come home again.

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War Isn’t So Bad…

We’ve walked among some Autumn glades

Just us and the wind from the helicopter blades.

Falling gently to the ground

Are a leaf and some limbs and an M16 round.

A quaint little creek

Glitters bright mountain green

And, despite all our blood,

Is still cool fresh and clean.

We came here to camp,

Found these meadows to walk,

Because some old men

Wouldn’t sit down and talk,

But we can take solace

And our hearts can still sing

All thanks to the peace

That our murder will bring.

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Ode To A Xylophone

Thirty-six to forty-eight

Bars of polished wood

Cut in a way that they vibrate

To play the note they should.

It isn’t quite a saxophone

If used to woo the fairer sex

But out from the crowd it has grown

Because its name starts with an X.

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The Complete Abbreviated Works Of Shakespeare

“Wherewithin the stuff doth lie

Comes hither forth to thee and I.”

We know not what its meaning may be

But its important to someone with a PhD.

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When The Light Goes Out Things Get Dark

There is one green light bulb

From an old Christmas tree

In the upper-left-hand plastic ring

Of the thingy that holds together

A six-pack of generic-brand cola,

Reclining in an Ohio landfill,

Never again to be lit

Or decorate a house

Or hold public office,

But the bulb is happy

Because it will outlast the family

Who chucked it in a hefty bag

And forgot all about it.

The bulb remembers.

The bulb is patient.

The bulb is all out of mercy…

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