Before you swear and look for a cyber rock to throw, read and contemplate the wisdom of nursery rhymes that have withstood the test of time. Now the can be applied to the Obama administration in frightful clarity.
Obama’s Election:
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner
Eating a Christmas Pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said, What a good boy am I
Little Barack Obama
Cursed by his mama’s drama
Given the Affirmative Action pie
He admired himself and learned to lie
He won the election plum
I can win, no matter how dumb
A Wartime President’s Confusion:
I’m the king of the castle,
Get down you dirty rascal.
I don’t care if there is a war
I’m so busy, and generals are a boor
I’ve won a Nobel Peace Prize
What’s war to me, but excuses and lies
Yankee Doodle
Yankee Doodle came to town
Riding on a pony
He stuck a father in his cap
And called it macaroni
Before the American Revolution, the British troops ridiculed the American colonials for their country ways and dress. The Americans had a habit of wearing a feather in their hats and their hair was often unruly. The British troops were required to keep their hair tied at the back in a small pony tail, this pony tail was referred to as macaroni and thus the British regular considered it far superior to an American’s typical hairstyle. Thus the song was written by British troops to embarrass the colonials with their rustic hairstyle and appearance.
At the Cornwallis surrender, the American band played Yankee Doodle while the British soldiers surrendered their rifles, in an effort to add insult to injury.
Barack Obama came to DC town
Riding a train like a foolish clown
Pretending he was Lincoln
Right then, I stopped believe’n
Ring Around The Rosie
Ring-a-round the rosies
A pocketful of posies
Ashes, Ashes
We all fall down
This was a game devised by children to make light of people dieing of the Black Plague, in the early 17th century, during the time while Shakespeare was putting on his plays in the Globe Theater. People who contracted the disease would fall ill suddenly, the first indication was an appearance of red rings with pustules in the center, the person would then become dizzy and walk in a circle and fall over dead. To combat the disease, people carried posies and ashes, if these failed, death at least came very quickly. The streets of London were littered with so many dead that special wagons were hired to haul away the bodies. Children will be children and the game is still played today, but without the ghoulish knowledge of the past.
Ring Around Rosie
Obama leads us on a fool’s game
Trust in me, George, he was so lame
I’ve got him to lay all the blame
With lemmings and fools I play, tis all the same
It’s ring around the Marxist
And you be racist if you resist
now we hold hands and sing Obama’s creed
And if you want to be rich or have a need
You can now be a Socialist indeed
Ring around the rosie
Ashes, ashes and we all fall down
Queen of Hearts:
The Queen of Hearts
She made some tarts
All on a summer’s day;
The knave of Hearts
He stole the tarts,
And took them clean away.
Queen of Hearts, Revised:
Our Queen of Hearts
Came to DC to get a head start
Her husband so wily and dull
Can rewrite history in minute detail
Especially if Bill Ayers ain’t in jail
Stand aside, let a woman throw the bull
This is really bad. You guys should have pretended to lose his post or something. It’s embarrasing to think this was written by an adult who thought it was witty enough to share with the world.
@Fit fit:
We allow your mind dribblings to appear here complete, unedited, and unfiltered whenever you decide to drop by.
What was your point again?
Actually, I get edited all the time. I once got deleted for saying: “Thanks but no thanks to that bridge to nowhere”. That was the entire post. You guys can dish but you’re not so good at the taking.
Oh, my my Fit fit
are we in a snit
In self righteous indignation
you guard the Obamanation
With a sharp critic’s knife
you seek to butcher a poet’s life
While we seek honest diversion
from a mad killer’s perversion
We struggle to keep our seething rage intact
So little faith we have in Obama’s will to act
Oh Obama, so cool and full of indifference
the deaths of patriots and wounding so intense
Perhaps he should confer with the mastermind
who planned the Fort Dix massacre, friend Bill Ayers
It’s true incompetence killed his lover and his kind
bomb making is tedious, but the intention was there
A fundamental difference between Obama and me
Is placing political correctness over national security
For terrorists and mass murderers I have no empathy
No Weathermen write my prose or verse, nor share my tea
Skook
There once was a man named Barry
Who fell in a fix that was hairy
the clue to the answer was nary
So he spred lies about all who were contrary
You’re response was much better than the original post, but that Ayers bit is still a bit awkward and forced.
Thomas Horner, an ancestor of Helena Bonham-Carter, was steward to Richard Whiting, the last abbot of Glastonbury.
Abbot Whiting sent Horner to London with a huge Christmas pie for Henry VIII. The pie contained the deeds to a dozen manors hidden within it, as the Abbot was trying to bribe the King into not dissolving Glastonbury Abby.
Thomas ‘Jack’ Horner opened the pie and extracted the deeds of the Manor of Mells in Somerset, and so then became owner and set the family up for generations.
Davey, what we lack in poetic expression we make up for in spirit. I look at political poetry like a fight, soften your opponent with jabs and hooks, when he blinks or grimaces throw the overhand right. If it connects and staggers him, quick, go to the body and finish him, you stop when he is on the mat. Keep them coming my friend, I love a good fight. Who knows, we might have a Marxist poet venture from his ivory tower at some cushy job at a University come challenge us on the bloody sands of the verse arena.
Doc M the old poems and stories are fascinating. Thanks for the update!
Fit fit, it was an experiment, not all my articles are published and as a former pro, I don’t expect them to all make the cut. I thought our readers needed a diversion from Fort Hood. There are many former military on these cyber pages who are outraged and doing their best to remain civil.
I try to write different material that is off the beaten path, that means experimentation and occasionally a slap in the face from one of my own. I am a big boy with many scars, I can take what life and readers have to pass out. This political writing is new to me and a real challenge; horses, fishing, and hunting are my usual subjects, subjects I know well.
I and many others have viewed Obama’s leadership as immature and incompetent; the nursery rhymes were a method of registering my contempt for the Obama administration. I expect Liberals and Progressive Marxists to be incensed and outraged at my humble criticism: otherwise, my material would be missing the mark.
Skookum, thanks for the thread and for sharing your poignant poems! Keep up the good work.