The Poet Workshop

Much does he love, at workshops’ feat,
The grandeur of the poet meet.
To see the writer calm and trying
For a rendition of his crying.

Smooth words said with disdain temper
Followed by the cough and then a wimper.
Such workshops give a weak mind pause
To think one is a poet and to seek applause.

But nothing comes to prove it’s all in vain
As fast as the blank page of empty pain.
This empty goes from brain to page
And settles on his hate-filled rage.

He writes of trash and liar’s crime
And tries real hard to make it rhyme.
The words are formed but not as verse
For workshops don’t help the obverse.

A Socratic Truth

I sit at my computer, waiting for all your lies to pass by
The large lie now on the screen insults my
Intelligence. It is a record of your endless cry
Of hatred, rants and lies that fill the China sky.

I read your lies every day, and I see
Only the hatred you send that must be
Deep within your tortured soul’s marquee
Spewing the words like infected yellow pee.

I often wonder if you ever, ever know
That your soul will end up dashed on hell below
For the hatred ugly in the words that flow
From you moistened lips so sad with woe.

For it is truly sad the hatred you send each day
In the rants against the truth from you so far away
Believing the lies that will make you one day pay
With more than even I care not to say.

You have rationalized the truth you’ve seen in your eyes
And turned your back on logic in favor of the liberal lies
No remorse for the turkey you thought to be the prize
In fact turned out to be the lie that proved to be your demise.

As Socrates has told us and this is nothing new
We are what we daily do
You have lied and this is plainly in view
So why repeat what you know is not true

A Difference

Amidst the constant jumbled lies of the daily lib’ral press
I set out on my daily search for information, truth under stress.
Lost within my personal search pattern from all these lies
I search within the parameter of the truth liberals so despise.

In this website, I find an Iraqi, pointing to the busy street.
He was walking, shopping, laughing, and living without retreat.
Just what he said, I can tell you, thanks America for this right.
This seemed to be echoing - as I navigated within his site.

"The surge is not working, So it’s time to cut and run.
The Iraqi's all hate you and al Qaeda’s already won!"
It seemed this is all I see at the daily lib’ral press
But I just can’t find this in the Iraqi address.

And these self-appointed traitors, were trying one-by-one
To convince us of our defeat at the hands of all these scum.
I saw their try was hopeless, as most of them would lie.
I called out from my internet world, "Hey liars, don’t even try?"

Must be at least a thousand sites, built with ugly lies,
And even if you had the time, none would dare revise.
Would it make a difference, to waste on them the truth?
And then I paused and thought, it is for the Iraqi youth.

I stopped at another site and saw in an Iraqi’s eye.
"It makes a difference to me sir, this Iraqi will not die!"
With that, I sent out the truth as the Iraqi had spoke.
I stopped to slam another. I could tell this was no joke.

The words that I kept hearing, cut me like a knife.
Where I saw only websites, the Iraqis saw their life.
There is not a lib’ral living who cares about the right
Of a single Iraqi’s freedom and the battle he must fight.

I didn't stop to argue, to prove that I was right.
I kept attacking websites with the Iraqi in my sight.
So I attack you, Dhimmi, and rip you into shreds,
Writing lines of truth in emails by the hundreds.

IF Lying Would Make You Right

If lying would make you right
No truth would ever you invite;
If all your lies were told in speech
No one would ever with you teach.

Were honesty part of lib’ral rants
And truth heard in their ugly chants
No one could stand up to their feats
Of winning elections so complete.

For who could argue right from wrong
When truth backs right with the strong.
Were lying right and fulfilling need
To thrill and create such sinful greed.?

But lies are not right and you know "Why"
Lies give your soul its right to die.
Your lies match your ugly deeds
Hate-filled words no one exceeds.

An Envisioning

I envision you sitting there
Coming up with more lies,
Rationalizing that you’re fair
About others you so despise.

Is your heart too corrupt to seek
The truth you have replaced with hate?
Are you such a liberal freak
You would let this evil be your mate?

Or is it hate that rules the day;
As rain that’s fallen from on high;
Washing away the truth in your dismay;
Filled with the lies in your reply?

With your back to all that’s right
Traveling down the liar’s road,
Dare you step into the light
While you carry Satan’s load?

Are your eyes so filled with rage
You can’t see the harm you’ve done,
To those who in war now do wage,
To protect you from the terrorist gun?

This gun is aimed right at your head
And only those you hate protect your fort.
You see, those terrorists want you dead,
They don’t care about your dumb support.

Don’t you think its time to confess
All the words were lies; nothing more?
Your hate-filled prose you do express,
Prove you are a terrorist to abhor.


As the words of hate hit your tongue,
Doesn’t honor flash across your mind
And convict you of this immoral dung?
Or do you simply stare with both eyes blind?

Charcoal Gray

The Dhimmi is the liar of the year
And all the lib'rals repeat his same lies
The hateful podunks still their ears hear
But not the truth of facts he does revise
And he, with ugly hatefulness
Spends all his time in total sinfulness
Then sends me lies in word and deed
Of the now relentless white lib'ral greed
 
He heeds not the great bird of truth on high
But follows worms that on their bellies crawl
He only hears the words that fit his lie
Repeating them to show his heart's so small
His emails come without proof, only lies
But rant and rave the same old lib'ral line
Of tip dance, discount and rationalize
Of one big, long, everlasting lib'ral whine
 
But what cares he his soul is lost
When all the hatefilled bounty now his own
Though his own sick soul has been the cost
Not one regret his calm demeanor shown
Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free
He lives his life out joyously
No care when death stalks o'er his way
And turns his heart to charcoal gray

When the Lies Come Out of Hiding

When the lies come out of hiding as the lib’rals spew their schlock
And you hear the podunk spouting all the crap that’s all a crock,
And the lib’rals all are pointin’ and cluckin’ like bloated hens,
And the local dems are waving all their white flags on the fence;
Then you know it must be time to be watchin’ all the rest,
With the lyin’ mouths a spoutin’ from the the stupid lib’ral pests.
As the podunk shouts his lies out and he spreads his normal crock,
Then the lies come out of hiding as the lib’rals spew their schlock.

There’s something kinda smelly bout the lies he tells right here
When the crap he sends out from his mouth stinks up the atmosphere.
Oh, he says he’s right when he spreads 'em all out loud,
And he mumbles all the garbage and he acts so great and proud.
He thinks he’s got all the truth no matter where it came,
For he shouts out all the same old lies even though they cause him shame.
He’s a picture of an idiot, as the Bush he tries to mock,
Cause the lies come out of hiding as the lib’rals spew their schlock.


The stupid, squirming podunk, a lib’ral full of scorn,
Eats the raspin’, graspin’ lyin’ stuff like the kernals of the corn.
His lies stream out boldly like the poison from a sore
But he can’t seem to remember how the truth he can ignore.
He’s a filthy, loathsome creature not worth a dollar bill
As he lies about our soldiers in hopes for Bush a major kill.
He’s a gruttin’ little savage who’s proud to hate us all,
As he sits in his podunk room making faces at the wall.
He thinks he is a clickin’, his great words no one can block
When the lies come out of hiding as the lib’rals spew their schlock.

When the end comes a visitin’ and his lies are piled in heaps
He’ll wonder why he’s gettin burned and he’s the only one who weeps.
When the visitin’ is finished and his life then is all through
He’ll be sittin’ on the burning piles and wishin’ he was too!
I don’t know how to tell him, but I gotta try somehow
That if he doesn’t quit his lyin’ he’ll soon be Satan’s chow.
I’d like to see him stop this crap and come back to the flock
For the lies come out of hiding as the lib’rals spew their schlock.