Articles in Category: Poemeanderings

A collection of generally expletive and euphemism-filled rhymes and utterances.


To Pass Intestinal Gas Through the Anus (in Trump Major)

There’s no one more whom I revile than Mr Donald Trump;
A dick engorged by nullity, the US penis pump;
Redneck fear of difference gives voice to witless scum
And arms the crazy bigots with their bibles and their guns.

In Europe, yeah, we’ve got our bigots and our National Front
And Hitler was a naughty boy - let’s face it, quite a cunt.
But Trump’s appeal is something strange, a boorish fucking clown;
I stand bemused that anyone would want him to be crowned.

Perhaps they want the crown to cover up his nylon rug?
Perhaps they want him on the stage to stand near sparking plugs?
Perhaps they cry for Donald Trump because they hate mankind?
Perhaps it’s just a case of them not being sound of mind?

All I know is danger lurks when fuck-wits follow fools;
When dumb-ass zealots put their faith in monumental tools.
“Let’s banish Muslims, Mexicans and maybe menstrual rage!
Reporter’s disabilities? Let’s mock that shit on stage!”

Donald Trump, you’re nothing more than pond life with some cash;
Irritating but less welcome than a sexual rash.
USA, you’ve let us down. O say can you not see?
We used to think of Franklin D and now it’s Donald T.

O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain;
America pull up your pants and douse that Trump piss-stain.

Insomnia (The 2nd Movement)

Insomnia, it strikes again,
As I lie wide awake.
My brain spins round and thoughts abound
As daylight starts to break.

I toss and turn, I watch TV,
I drink some Ovaltine.
I count some sheep to get some sleep
But dreams remain unseen.

As dawn begins to rise its head,
I panic in dismay.
I need a hug (or endless drugs)
To make it through the day.

With no one here to hold my hand,
I start to pace around.
The bastard birds awake in herds,
Their tweeting starts to sound.

I start to twitch and something snaps;
I reach beneath my bed.
My patience done, I grab my gun;
I’ll shoot the fuckers dead!

As birdies fall down one by one
And shots rings through the sky,
The sirens scream and some SWAT team
Decides to pass on by.

Now standing in my boxer shorts,
A shotgun in my hands
And laser sights beam through the night;
I may have peed my pants.

Insomnia, it struck again
But now I’m feeling well.
I’ve been chastised, I’m tranquilised
And banged up in a cell.

And as I drift to sleepy land,
I can’t help shed a tear.
As Psycho Fred climbs in my bed
And nuzzles on my ear.

A New Years' Resolution

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up the booze!
It’s been a friend but now it ends;
I’ve got too much to lose. 

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up the fags!
The deathly wheeze of lung disease,
Suicidal drags.

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up the pies!
I cannot wait to be size 8;
Side-salad please, no fries. 

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up the drugs!
No more weed or poppy seeds;
Cocaine? That’s just for mugs. 

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up the sex!
I’ll stand my ground, not fuck around
And gain some self-respect. 

A New Year’s resolution: 
…oh shit, life seems so dull!
The lack of vice, there seems no spice;
I’m bored out of my skull!

A New Year’s resolution: 
I’m giving up pretence!
New Year begins, I’ll keep my sins,
So let the fun commence!

All Works Copyright © 2017 Benedict Francis

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