Tag Archives: donald trump

Fareed Zakaria is Stealing my Stuff

I was watching Fareed Zakaria and Don Lemon on CNN last Friday night; they were trying to make sense of  the ongoing tragic farce that is the Trump White House and Don Lemon posed a question which could be summarised as follows : “Is Donald Trump crazy like a fox or crazy like a fool”. It was clear that Fareed thinks that the needle has been stuck on ‘fool’ for quite some time. At one point, he says to Don something like “look, you have to understand that Donald Trump is a performance artist.” This sounded familiar to me, so I looked back through my blog posts and there it was in a poem I published on Reuben Wooley’s website :’I am not a Silent Poet” back in January 2016. Here’s the poem, but please click on the link above and check out Reuben’s excellent site.

Trumped

I get it now

Donald T

Is a performance artist

Like that guy in Beijing

Sucking dust out of the air

With a vacuum cleaner

Or maybe he’s

one of those mirrors

In a fairy tale

Reflecting only

The worst in ourselves.

 

Fareed, I’m waiting to hear from you.

 

A Poem and a Prose Piece up at Rat’s Ass Review

I have a poem (American Carnage) and a prose piece (Agent Orange has a Dark Moment) up at Rat’s Ass Review as part of a collection of poems under the title Such and Ugly Time, related to Trump’s first 100 days. Take a look, I’m the fifth poet as you scroll down – lots of good poetry in the collection.

Also check out the rest of the Review, the submission guidelines alone are worth a visit.

Both pieces appeared previously on this blog.

 

 

Agent Orange has a Dark Moment

 

orange-is-the-new-bleak-1

Agent Orange has a Dark Moment

Do you know who I miss? Jeb Bush. I miss Jeb Bush. He was my first. When I hit him with that low energy jibe and he fell apart and all the Bush family could not put Humpty together again, I knew I was on to something. Then Little Marco and Lyin’ Ted, I miss them too. But most of all, I miss Hillary, Crooked Hillary. Man, she was tough, had me on the ropes. It took Comey and Vlad, that pointy headed villain, to get me back on my feet. I was nearly out for the count, which might not have been a bad thing. Who needs this shit! I should give Vlad a call, I’m a bit worried -there’s no such thing as a free hack.

Reince Priebus – what kind of fucking name is that? It sounds like bad news from the doctor. “I’m sorry, Donald, you have a Reince Priebus on your rectum and it doesn’t look good”. Ha, I just made myself laugh. And Bannon, I’ve seen sofas on the side of the road in better shape than that rumpled fucker. Spice Box? Hardest job in the world – explaining the unexplainable. That Melissa Mc.Carthy  just slays me. How come all the cool people are on the other side? Who have I got? Ryan and Pence? Bland and Blander? Where did Pence come from anyway with his brush cut and his antediluvian politics? The best surgeons in the world couldn’t remove the poker from that guy’s ass. Antediluvian, you didn’t expect that did you?

Talking of cool, I should give Barack a call, ask him down to Florida for a game of golf; check his birth certificate again (Joking! How I miss those days). Man, I hate this fucking White House furniture, is it Friday yet?

Point of View/ The Arc of Agent Orange

 

The Arc of Agent Orange

          I

And so we

spin from one

spin to the

next;  things I

 

said, I did

not mean; things

I meant, I

did not say.

 

Stand by for Greatness

Stand by for Greatness

Stand by for Greatness

 

II

 

Success can

be measured,

 

The toys have

left the pram.

 

Stand by for Greatness

Stand by for Greatness

Stand by for Greatness

 

 

Steve Bannon’s Eyes

 

look like

portals to

 

hell.

Post-Election Rag

(Walk that back

walk that back

I know I said it

but I walked that back.)

 

Attack dog surrogates

inveterate invertebrates

re-stock the swamp

with old white males.

 

Post logic, post truth

snake oil and kool-aid

re-stock the swamp

with old white males.

 

Post Obamacare,

post pussy-gate, post gator aid

re-stock the swamp

with old white males

 

Inveterate surrogates

attack dog invertebrates

re-mail the stock

to the old white swamp

 

re-stock the swamp

with old white males.

 

 

POTUS

potus

poultice

poultry

poetry

podcast

pomegranate

pornography

porridge

pork

only

one

of

the

above

is

a

lethal

weapon

when

given

to

a

fool

 

Thought I’d reprise this one on this sad day.

 

A More Innocent Time….(a conversation and two poems)

A More Innocent Time…

It’s a Sunday afternoon in late August and I’m sitting outside The Post-Coital Beetle watching the traffic on Broadway. At the table next to me, four bearded guys wearing flat caps and plaid shirts, looking like the bastard sons of Mumford, are downing pints of over-hopped pale ale. At the traffic lights, an eighteen year old Asian kid checks his hair in the rear view mirror while his Lamborghini growls like a panther on a leash. And who is this slouching along Broadway his bald head shining in the sun? No, it is not an image out of Spiritus Mundi, it’s not one of the boys of summer, it’s Slim, a man with all the charm of a pit bull with distemper; his remaining hair is scrunched into an angry man-bun and he’s carrying a magazine which he slams down on the table in front of me and says:

“Look at this bullshit!”

For some reason, Slim is wearing a Bernie Saunders tee-shirt. The magazine is called “Windows 10 for Seniors”, inside a couple straight out of a Cialis ad, stare blissfully at a PC screen like they’ve never seen one before, which is a bit strange because they are well dressed and obviously middle class. So, it’s hard to believe that they have not encountered a PC sometime in the last 20 years. The magazine answers questions like ”what is the Internet?” I say to Slim:

“When are you going to admit you are not a medium?”

Slim’s gut pushes Bernie’s face forward. Bernie has that look of his that says “I need to fix the world, and I’m running out of time”.

Slim is silent, so I say:

“What’s your problem, you’re not a senior so why should it bother you that Microsoft assumes anyone over 60 is a complete idiot and where did you get the tee shirt?”

“Seattle, it was on sale and you’re missing the point. I wanted Windows 10 for Dummies and this is all they had, so the cashier assumed I was a senior, she called me ‘sir’!”

“You are wearing the face of a seventy four year old on your tee shirt, and you do not want to be associated with seniors, see this is the problem, people have recently acquired the ability to house two completely contradictory thoughts inside their heads. For example, Donald Trump doesn’t always mean what he says, Donald Trump tells it like it is”

Slim smiles smugly like a man who has just spotted the finishing line at the end of a long wank.

“Did you have to study to become an asshole or does it come naturally?”

“A bit of both, nachos?”

“Why not”

“Guacamole?’

“Knock yourself out”

And as the sun goes down over Point Grey and automatic timers turn the lights on in empty Styrofoam mansions, we settle in to a plate of nachos and one pitcher follows another until we find ourselves face to face trading lines like Lennon and McCartney  (well, not quite) and two poems emerge which with election day approaching now seem like whistling past the graveyard and if that’s not a run on sentence I don’t know what is.

Here they are:

Ivanka (a slimverse)

Ivanka

you seem fine

but your dad’s

a wanka.

 

Melania

 Melania

his megalomania

don’t let it stain ya

don’t let it restrain ya

and if he should fail ya

remember this:

you know the size

of his hands

and

his genitalia.

 

Boom! Everyone a winner! Not a dry seat in the house! Laugh? I nearly cried!

 

 

 

Roger Waters at Desert Trip (a poem, photos and a shameless segue)

A Conversation Overheard at the Craft Beer Barn at Desert Trip (a triple slimverse)

I’m from New

Yawk, we were

raised to hate

Donald Trump.

 

My mother

used to say:

beware of

the man with

 

orange hair,

beware of

the man with

orange hair.

 

Roger

 

img_1137

img_1139

“The Sun is the same

in a relative way

but you’re older”

Maybe so, but Roger has lost none of his anger, he managed to have a go at Donald Trump and the Israeli government’s treatment of Palestine and entertain 75,000 people at the same time. Oh yes, and that pig in the title photo carried a none too subtle message.

img_1149-2

img_1153-2

This incensed the guy in front of us, who was obviously a Trump supporter, he started to swear at the pig, and give it the finger, but the pig sailed on full of truth and helium.

(All photos by Marie Feeney)

Shameless Segue

“He’s got a concealed weapon’s licence

a shot gun and a rack, 

and he has no idea 

how he’ll pay the hospital bill

he says guns never hurt nobody

only people kill”

from “Saturday Morning in Idabel” by The Mitchell Feeney Project.  Click here to check out our album, also available on iTunes (search for “The Mitchell Feeney Project”).

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

Super Saturday

Super Saturday

 There’s a dog wearing a tartan skirt

outside the window of Starbuck’s;

a tartan skirt, a belt, and a knitted white sweater.

Its little dog legs are moving furiously

on the wet pavement,

across the slick road

and the sodden green park

the ocean sits

like a slab of lead

having clearly decided

to take some time off,

no crashing on the shore today.

South of the border

A bigoted bully with a head

like a bloated turnip

is moving towards

the presidency of the United States,

and God, once again,

is moving in mysterious ways

but I, for one, wish he would knock it off,

enough already with the mystery

for once in your eternal life,

clarify something,

I mean, for Chrissakes,

there’s a dog wearing a tartan skirt

outside the window of Starbuck’s.

 

 

The Unconventional Republican (remix)

The center folds

and all ’round topple

into the opening void,

what rough beast

rabble in tow

slouches towards Washington

bursting with tawdry pomp

and irrational schemes.

 

A few notes, this poem of course echoes and directly quotes “The Second Coming” by WB Yeats, a poem which was written after the first World War and still resonates today. For a brilliant analysis of the poem, read “Break, Blow, Burn” by Camille Paglia. The Irish jazz singer, Christine Tobin has put the poem to music on a CD called “Sailing to Byzantium” which is well worth checking out.

The Trump Collection (5 poems)

Well, despite the best efforts of a clown car of cartoon contestants and the ridicule heaped on him by John Oliver, Trevor Noah, Bill Maher, Samantha Bee and all those late night satirists,  Donald Trump is about to win the Republican Party nomination; he is about to become the winner he has always claimed to be. Time to review this blog’s vain efforts to stop this behemoth. Here they are in order of appearance, as they move from ridicule to outrage to reflection to fear and finally an appeal to a higher power.

Donald Trump (a slimverse)

Donald T

court jester

hair today

tomorrow?

 

The Level of Discourse

I want to say a few words

About the level of discourse

How low can it go?

How low can it go

When a candidate for the presidency

Of the United States

Gets up on television

And mocks, mimics, ridicules

A disabled man

And the media endlessly debate

Whether he intended to or not

When he plainly did

And the members of his party

Refuse to criticize him

Refuse to say that

This is beneath our dignity,

Perhaps dignity

Has left the room

Has left the United States of America,

And these same party members

Pride themselves

On their rugged individualism

Their boots on the ground machismo

And oh how they love their Hitler analogies

But when a trumped up

Pumped up tin pot bully

Emerges from their own ranks

They are too chickenshit to say anything

How low can it go?

The level of discourse

How low can it go?

 

Trumped

I get it now

Donald T

Is a performance artist

Like that guy in Beijing

Sucking dust out of the air

With a vacuum cleaner

Or maybe he’s one of those mirrors

In a fairy tale

Reflecting only

The worst in ourselves.

 

The above poem also appeared on https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/trumped-by-jim-feeney/

 

Watching the Republican Debates

potus

poultice

poultry

poetry

podcast

pomegranate

pornography

porridge

pork

only

one

of

the

above

is

a

lethal

weapon

when

given

to

a

fool

 

Super Saturday

There’s a dog wearing a tartan skirt

outside the window of Starbuck’s;

a tartan skirt, a belt, and a knitted white sweater.

Its little dog legs are moving furiously

on the wet pavement,

across the slick road

and the sodden green park

the ocean sits

like a slab of lead

having clearly decided

to take some time off,

no crashing on the shore today.

South of the border

A bigoted bully with a head

like a bloated turnip

is moving towards

the presidency of the United States,

and God, once again,

is moving in mysterious ways

but I, for one, wish he would knock it off,

enough already with the mystery

for once in your eternal life,

clarify something,

I mean, for Chrissakes,

there’s a dog wearing a tartan skirt

outside the window of Starbuck’s.

 

There you go, the poetry’s a bit rough and ready but that goes with the territory. That’s probably enough about Donald for a while. It’s hard to argue logically against statements that have no logic to begin, against policy that doesn’t exist except as cynical manipulation but most of all I can’t get interested. He’s had his twenty minutes. I’m bored. I’m bored with Donald. I’m bored with the people who believe what he says.  Little Marco is gone, lyin’ Ted is gone and we are left with boring Donald (#boringdonald). Until I get irritated again………

 

 

 

 

Donald Trump Enters the Kingdom of Heaven

This is how I’m going to do it, folks,

I’ll build a giant needle,

the biggest, shiniest, pointiest needle

that you have ever seen.

This needle will be so pointy, folks.

 

Then I’ll  get a camel

from Egypt or somewhere like that.

Get the irony ,

me buying a camel.

See, I can do irony

I can be so ironic.

I’ll  mount that camel

using my gold escalator,

and ride it

right through the eye of the needle

into the kingdom of heaven

and when I get there, folks,

when I get there

I’m going to make some changes.

Those angels…….

Sitting around on clouds playing harps

for eternity? Give me a break!

Eternity is a long time, folks,

eternity is the longest time….

anyway, where was I..right

those angels are gone, history, outta there

who needs them?

Then I’ll sit down with God

the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

well maybe not the Holy Ghost,

what is he anyway…a dove? A ghost?

That’s it folks no more Holy Ghost.

Gone, history, outta there.

Who needs him?

Another thing, folks

who’s actually in charge?

Is it the Father or the Son?

Has to be the Father,

can’t let your children run things.

So I’ll sit down with God the Father, folks

and together

we’ll make Heaven great again!

 

 

The Level Of Discourse (Donald Trump,The Republican Party and Hitler Analogies)

The Level of Discourse

I want to say a few words

About the level of discourse

How low can it go?

How low can it go

When a candidate for the presidency

Of the United States

Gets up on television

And mocks, mimics, ridicules

A disabled man

And the media endlessly debate

Whether he intended to or not

When he plainly did

And the members of his party

Refuse to criticize him

Refuse to say that

This is beneath our dignity,

Perhaps dignity

Has left the room

Has left the United States of America,

And these same party members

Pride themselves

On their rugged individualism

Their boots on the ground machisimo

And oh how they love their Hitler analogies

But when a trumped up

Pumped up tin pot bully

Emerges from their own ranks

They are too chickenshit to say anything

How low can it go?

The level of discourse

How low can it go?