Artwork © Richard Spisak

 

All Trump, all the time

All Trump all the time
We always must always evidently prime the pump
It’s fine, the press supported messes
Fill prime time, with the worsening coarsening subliminal hoarsening
Remained in concretinous ceiling fans
God-Save Us!
replete with the gonging song of whimsical splintery wintery wind
          chimes. Dimed and sublimely timeless.

Crypto flip to, lauds abuses
So much fun like furrier, unbrushed.
Yet more than loosened blue tinged bruised contusions.
Whiskery focused local yokel history.
Misleads, outshines any substantial suburban moral victories.

Moral stricture, in tablets or capsules
Purple lozengers, with tasseled diction
Lose the ladies
With shady maladies
Elementary Salaries seem rich’n
Colonial Victories.

The Whole worlds upside down,
The British colonial forces fled the crown’s Frown.
And forced Marches through Marshes beat a hasty retreat. Fleeing
          the colonial phonial baronial, Sensible indefensible Senate.
How fabulously fashionable in actual. Ably Savory Ivory assisted feet.
Unresisted…
Replete with meticulously
Conscripted Deceit.

Fake the HATE-RICH, Gingrich seated,
heated news, construed contusions used, to boost the dated
          rating slated and conceding. Only to be revealed at last weeks harrowing concealed meeting.
Only to Go forward with the Retreat.

 

Once again proved in a switch

Once again, thank you, its proved, In a switch, if you’re rich,
You can be fourty-seven kinds of a son of a bitch.
And walk thru walls, no cell can keep you,
Walk through the open church door, and ignore the people.
Once again, all the restraints go UN-used.
Why son, if your rich, the sheriff will even shine your shoes.

If I listed all the places, the charges were dropped.
The million myriad places where the law just STOPPED
It has basically flopped. You’d be convinced,
that o’ those laws ON THE BOOKS,
there just weren’t any. Shine that pretty ol’ penny!

If you sadly, didn’t have, any. That is, if you were cash short,
the law snorts! Or like Ol Jack Benny,
but if you’re down to your few last pennies.
On you, then the law would drop. If you had not,
two coins to rub together – STOP.
You’ll be hauled up on a million charges, or maybe accidentally,
some copper’s gun discharges, accidentally of course cause it’s rare,
but you, poor ol pool boy, you’ll prolly, just end up in jail

Its completely
UNNECESSARY TO REMIND.
THAT ANY RICH MAN, IN ANY COURT WILL FIND.
A SPECIAL PLACE TO REST HIS FEET, ON A FLEET OF
ETERNITIES ATTORN-NITIES, TO MAKE IT ALL, ALL REET!

STEAL SOME SECRETS, CORRUPT ELECTIONS,
maybe he’ll see justice, or his next few connections.
How he stumbled, past any law form, he’ll just laugh, and pass out
some Tinsely Gingerly gold-plated chloroform.
Steal and rob, or murder fer sure, then barely ten minutes later…
he’s waltz’n out the door.

He’ll be rewarded in the end, as long as he can buy enough ,
o those judicial prejudicial friends. Justice looks away and just coughs.

Election interference, don’t you worry that well coiffed head,
all the charges will be suddenly circumstantially dismissed instead.
Election interference, why that’s just for littles, go right ahead,
your maid just told us, the prosecutors, busy
Frying up some of your fav-o-Rite Vittles. STEADY!

Investigations, of your bogus college scam. Were dropped, they flopped
by a hopping prosecutor, with willful knowledge.
Amazing what writing kiting checks CAN DO!
Whether from Mad-hattan, Miami or Kalamazoo! Sez You!

His boast, “he could shoot anyone on Second Avenue,“
No longer seems to rings so hollow, All that stuff you once found,
so hard to swallow. More Like Daniel In-na Den of Spaniels,
walk on water, steal the race, seems simply pathological.
If the occasional reporter, dare to ask a question… hey?

Order me up, 11 thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty votes,
but that case’s all washed away, but hey,
it was a great big flood a’money.
Sways, take note. Who’s to say?
All them secrets stacked and packed,
by the pool at Mara Large-o, any discussion of that,
well my friends, keep it under your hat!
There is, an embargo!

Will New York or Georgia, find some spine,
or just blinking slink away,
Jest LIKE GOETZ, in the NICK OF TIME?

 

Richard Spisak began his artistic career as a light artist in the Lumonics Studios of Mel Tanner, a legendary Light Artist. After serving under Jack Horkheimer as a planetarium operator at the Miami Space-Transit Planetarium, he left to begin traveling with Lumist Kenvin Lyman, whose show Dazzleland Studios traveled across America. Richard later worked as a Laserist with LASERIUM and Laser Productions, served as a technical producer for the festival company PACE Concerts, and later as operations Manager and Senior Producer at WWHP and WTCN-TV in Stuart Florida.

Richard writes for Theatre, TV, radio, and the web. He published two short story collections, Two Small Windows, in a Pair of Mirror Doors, and Between the Silences. Followed by his poetry collection 7370 Allen Drive and the recently released STONE POETRY. Richard also produces “POETS of the East,” a televised webcast featuring poets from across the globe.