Fools, Politicians, and the Press
Fools, Politicians, and the Press
A jesting farce, a grim blockade—
The fools have dragged us to our knees,
Joined by the Dark, corrupt brigade
Of liars in the press’s sleaze.
And guarding them, the brute police.
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Comparison of Two Types of Criminality
A bandit’s just a brute at best.
A politician, sharp and sly,
Is like a purulent abscess,
Destroying roots as others die.
A fool alone could place their trust
In tyrants posing as the wise,
Who open doors to lies unjust,
And welcome butchers in disguise.
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Light Above the Canvas
A painter dipped his brush in grime—
Without the Light, it’s always so:
A wretched smear, a mark of time,
A slave’s disgrace for all to show.
When twisted canvases take flight,
Herds cheer for “depths of fragile soul.”
The answer’s simple: bend through Light,
Transform each work to make it whole.
But where the darkness tends to creep,
The Light will rise above the frame—
Complexity through anger seeps,
A modern artist’s subtle flame.
Yet fools alone would hold their peace
When life around is filth and woe;
Darkness marches, finds release,
To pierce the depths of all below.
And then the “darkened” canvas yearns,
A burst of Light reveals no lies;
Its filth dissolved, its truth returns—
The Light within must always rise.
How can you reach it? Turn your gaze
From outward lies to inward skies.
The outer world’s a fleeting haze—
True growth begins where wisdom lies.
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Entropy as Fate
Trinkets feed the shallow soul,
Bound to earth, they’ll never rise.
Serve the vile and wear disguise,
Rot in greed till spirit dies—
Such their fate: the entropy.
Empty now, what will they be?
Oblivion! Annihilation!
Madness reigns—degeneration.
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The Sowing of Darkness
“To be or not to be, that is the question.”
Hamlet’s Soliloquy
To be or to rot—
That is the query.
Words mean a lot,
Yet sound so dreary.
To be is to breathe,
To live in the Light.
To rot is to seethe
In Darkness’ blight.
Fear waters lies,
Sprouting deceit.
The harvest? Cries
Of souls’ defeat.
To be—you’re no feast.
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The Icebreaker
“A living word is mighty, nothing can stop its stride...”
Alexander Herzen
An Icebreaker of Forgotten Words
Once more carves its daring trail,
Through icy lies—a frozen herd,
Compressed today in a dreadful veil.
Most such paths through verse are laid,
Poetry’s voice, both sharp and clear.
In gaps between the words displayed,
A clever mind finds food sincere.
Rhythm and rhyme will gently guide
The keen to a Heart’s Hidden Cave—
There Salvation will abide,
And fools find pastime they crave.
In Words, there’s something for each soul:
An end to Evil Words foretell.
Not mine, but one that fills the role,
Declaring: darkness’ reign shall fell.
An Icebreaker of Fiery Speech
Brings doom to chains and all their slaves.
Its roaring voice, a final breach—
To end the rule of masters’ graves.
Beyond these Words, a Vision lies,
A gateway to transcendent spheres.
Once the ice thaws and Darkness dies,
A brighter stream of hope appears.
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Zombies
Few... The Few! Is not enough!!!
Greed, a serpent’s fang so tough,
Sinks its teeth into the soul,
Ripping thought to ragged whole.
Then stupidity creeps near,
Turning life to crude veneer.
Wretched goals and vile desires
Fan the rot instead of fires.
Thus, a dead thing’s born anew—
One of many in the crew.
Evil’s legions, vast and vile,
Claim their kingdom for a while.
Beasts now rule this wretched sphere,
No free cheese remains, I fear.
Only lies and fears they spread,
Endless attacks—a reign of dread.
19”
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The Fading Song
Hour by hour, it grows grimmer
For the dwindling choir’s shimmer:
LIES IN PROSE devour the throng—
Idiots applaud, forgetting song.
Few are left who stand unshaken,
So the tune is little taken.
Worse to come, the path is dire—
The world’s gone mad, bereft of fire.
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Entropy:
No hope to See,
The world is sinking, lost in gloom.
And when will I embrace my doom?
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True Courage
Courage lies in striving,
In the fight with wrong,
Free from all contriving,
Steady, brave, and strong.
Let them call you foolish,
Still, you gave your all.
Saved your soul from ruin,
When decay enthralls.
Rot surrounds; it festers,
Claiming hearts in vain.
Rooted deep, it nestles,
Spreads its cruel domain.
World—a madhouse broken,
Crushing soul and mind.
Dreams of rot are spoken,
Yet you stand, aligned.
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Gerontological Political Science
“My advice as an old man to you is this: do not listen to the advice of old people.”
Antonio Machado.
Decay, dismay—untouchable, revered!
Gerontology to this world is near
To political science, in its way:
The clueless stumps still hold the sway.
By stepping stones of sordid deeds,
They walk as though on water’s sheet.
Submission to their whims proceeds—
In servile worlds, the meek compete.
They crawled up Misery’s lofty slope,
The sycophants now crowned as kings.
For scoundrels rule the foolish folk,
Those elders fake, their lies still cling.
This broken world, in madness steeped,
Deserves the “monarchs” it has crowned.
Despair is left for souls who weep,
The rare sane minds where fools abound.
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Gargantua and Pantagruel
To gorge oneself—that’s all the aim,
While grabbing riches, feeding shame,
And in this gluttonous parade,
Transforming slowly to a jade.
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False Faces
A lying face can hide more pain
Than mines beneath a traveled lane.
No Sappers clear the Lies, beware—
You’ll lose your soul, your cross to bear.
Indulge the scum, and you’ll ignite,
Their human bomb, their truest blight.
A fine line splits: most sway with ease,
The slavish herd that serves disease.
The risks are vast to lose your way,
To join the goats, become their prey.
Bow too low, and soon you will find,
Power claims your soul and mind.
Stand like a rock, defy the crowd!
No lies should ever be allowed.
For men of honor, strong and true,
Expose the falsehoods, break through.
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People as Goods
The warranty’s expired, the label’s torn,
A fact so grim, it leaves the soul forlorn.
Our small world drifts toward Fascism’s cruel embrace,
On the brink of collapse, it finds its place.
Repairing mass production bears too high a cost—
Communism tried, but its gamble was lost.
Now a new bio-robot will take up the scene,
Such are the changes in this Hellish machine.
We are bio-robots, exceptions so few,
Lost in the darkness where ignorance grew.
No Master returns to restore and redeem,
For Satan presides where fools chase a dream.
A deceitful dream—its name is Degradation,
While the Earth, long oppressed, endures occupation.
Yet hope still flickers: a Cataclysm looms,
To purge the satanic lies that consume.
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The Police
Criminals in disguise,
Much worse than all the rest—
Deception in their eyes,
Yet fools think they’re the best.
And since the fools are plenty,
Injustice rules the land.
The world, so weak and empty,
Now bows to their command, unmanned.
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The Bottom
Not just a few—
Lies they spew.
A million strong,
The loud and wrong;
A horde of fools, a shameless crew.
CowID laid bare it all—the view.
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The Desire for Children in Hell
“More bones! More bones for monstrous beasts,
Let them feast on fear’s dark feast!”
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Courtyard Cats
Furry friends and mates of mine,
With souls alive, not toys, divine.
A ram approaches, bold and vain—
A citizen of lands profane.
Comparison’s a slippery slope,
To insult one may lose all hope.
For sheep’s decay has reached its peak;
Your souls outshine those who are weak.
Unlike the lamb, so blind to fate,
While goat “sages” dictate and hate,
They herd the flock to slaughter’s door—
And you may follow, lost once more.
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The Subtleties of Noble Verse
A poet’s tracks dissolve, erased,
Within the darkness, vast, unphased.
Their souls endure torment and strain,
To serve Psyche, not Mind’s domain.
The mind, when frail, lets falsehoods seep,
And lines grow hollow, shallow, cheap.
This truth must anchor thoughts that stray
Amidst the servants of decay.
And servants, too, of evil’s art
Are legion—poets play their part.
Through ages’ gloom, the wise perceive:
Delusion reigns; few truths reprieve.
Yet poets raise the Spirit high,
Though unaware the reason why.
In Spirit, brilliance claims its throne;
Through Mind, despair becomes your own.
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Cinema Brotherhood
In films, propaganda blazes,
It’s paid for, bold and loud,
While fools consume, their reason grazes,
Their souls and minds enshroud.
But artists—be they poets, writers—
Are harder to confine,
To bridle them with nonsense tighter,
Takes a crippled mind malign.
The gullible trust the screen’s delusion,
And numb their reason more,
Today, in cats, there’s more conclusion,
Than humans’ minds explore.
Truth’s scarce—a rare and fleeting ember—
These times are ruled by lies,
Art fades away, lost to dismember,
The world sinks as it dies.
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