How the Trump Stole America

Politics in America had suffered a blow

Americans were fed up with the status quo

Obama did what he could with what given

The red states were mad, they were hellbent and driven

Give us a new leader, give us fresh meat

A guy who knows how to make money and tweet

That's all that they needed, no more and no less

Could that guy be found? It was anyone's guess

Then out from a rock came an orange-shaded man

Whose hair was combed over, his body fake tan

Republicans fell one by one in debate

to his promise of making America great

When down to two choices, the people did cry

Why hadn't we chosen the blue Birdie guy

The choices were pared down--one lady, one man

A woman with balls 'gainst a guy with small hands.

The voters had spoken, and held out the hope

That electors would wise up and see through this joke

There were no more chances, the election was over

America faced a Trump White House Takeover

The folks who had voted the Charlatan in

Didn't know what they bargained for letting Trump win

I'll stop social programs, you'll have nowhere to go

for your handouts, your food stamps, your government dole

Your paydays will dwindle, You'll beg for my mercy

Especially Chris Christie and his goons in New Jersey.

Latinos, and Muslims, and foreigners all

I'll send you a packin' and I'll build a wall

I'll think up new taxes, new tariffs and fees,

Until it's not profitable for the Chinese.

I'll rape the land and cut down all your trees,

Why I'll even deplete all the birds and the bees

Then the President laughed, yes he laughed till he cried

He looked in the camera with a face full of snide.

I told you I’d do it, I said I would win

You fell for my lies and my fakey false grin

No longer will this be a government for all

My mission's to watch your democracy fall

He finished his tirade by blowing a kiss and said

Thanks for the votes, now you all are dismissed.

©P. Beckert 2016

In Honor of National Cancer Survivors Day - June 1, 2014

This is not a satire post. I am taking liberties as the owner of this blog to showcase a poem I wrote in honor of National Cancer Survivor Day. I hope it helps those who read it realize just how strong they, or whomever they know, who have survived the ravages of cancer.

I am a survivor

I am
I am alive
I am alive today
I am alive today because
I am alive today because I
I am alive today because I refuse
I am alive today because I refuse to
I am alive today because I refuse to allow
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to defeat
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to defeat me
I am alive today because I refused to allow cancer to defeat me.
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to defeat me
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to defeat
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer to
I am alive today because I refuse to allow cancer
I am alive today because I refuse to allow
I am alive today because I refuse to
I am alive today because I refuse
I am alive today because I
I am alive today because
I am alive today
I am alive
I am.

©P. Beckert

Bernard Madoff Has Taken Up Writing Poetry in Prison

Bernard “Bernie” Madoff, the mastermind of the largest Ponzi scheme in US History, is now well into his fourth year at Butner Medium Security Prison in Butner, North Carolina. As many will recall, Madoff made off with billions of dollars taken from thousands of clients who trusted him to invest their money in various fake accounts. This resulted in some people losing everything they had.

His “clientele” included the rich just as well as the poor slobs who slaved away and socked some money into retirement accounts—he was not choosy as to whom he flim-flammed. As a result, he was sentenced to 150 years in prison.

For the first couple of years, he tried his old tricks with his inmates, swindling their cigarette and tattoo money out of them by promising to hook them up with outside brokers to “get in” on the penny stock market. Unfortunately, one of the inmates who could read found out that Bernie’s sentence included a restraining order whereby Madoff could not come within 10 feet of anyone and their money, and he (Madoff) escaped narrowly with his life. This pretty much led to self-confinement to his cell 24/7, with time out for meals.

With nothing else to do with his time, Madoff scored a counterfeit Mont Blanc fountain pen and took up writing poetry. His prose has become a hit with the prison staff as well as with his bunk mate, William O’Henry.

“His stuff is good,” said O’Henry when asked if Madoff had any talent writing poetry. “When he reads it to me, I sometimes get all tingly, like I could easily fall in love with him almost.” For this reason, much of Madoff’s works have gone unread.

Evidently, Madoff is writing sonnets to rap songs. In fact, he has sold a couple of raps to prisoners who dream of becoming contestants on America’s Got Talent once they’ve served their time. Another of his “clients” has commissioned Madoff to write a good old-fashioned country song, which Madoff admits is a bit out of his realm of life experience, but is willing to give it a shot.

But flowery poems seem to be his niche as you can see by reading one of his favorites about life behind prison bars:

For me there is only desperation

as I sit in isolation.

Within these four walls,

the only consolation is

knowing I can trade the convicts

for an occasional can of shaving cream.

I sit and I dream of the day I am free

and back on Wall Street

doing what I do best,

Taking for myself and screwing the rest.

While the words intimate that Madoff doesn’t seem to show any remorse for his dastardly deeds, he certainly does show a great rhyming skill. And, if all goes well, he’s even considering putting his poems in book form and calling it “Life in Prison: A Book of Sonnets,” by Bernard “Shaw” Madoff.

Steroid Therapy Treatment – A Descent into Madness

Oh sweet bed you mock me from your prominent position at the center of my universe, your covers pulled back ever so slightly, pillows askew, beckoning, beckoning me to come within your folds and partake of your soft luxurious wonderments.

You taunt me with your scent of freshly laundered linens, the coziness you exude only mocks me more as I cannot luxuriate with eyes wide open, I must not even contemplate the fate of lying down without a chance to close my eyes and once again enter into the realm of quiet slumber. It would be futile and futility brings frustration and frustration, oh the longing for a restful nap.

I count the pills in the hideous pack, just five more days till I am back to normalcy, but will I be? I ponder the changes the chemicals have wrought, the inconveniences they have brought to me as I dutifully slipped them over my tongue and let them slide into my system allowing free reign over my body. They do not allow me comfort in the slightest except to do what they were meant, to pull the veil over pain but yet, in doing so they rob me of my most prized possession.

Sleep.