Trump Derangement Syndrome (Remove filter)
Ode to Trump Derangement Syndrome
O Trump Derangement, thy name we scorn,
A sickness wrought to silence minds,
A label placed to quell the born
Of thought, whose roots may tear the binds.
In wisdom's place, thou offer none—
No cure, no hope, no space for air…
For every voice who dares to run
Against thy crown, thy law, thy glare.
How sweet the word "insane" you say—
A balm for wounds, a mask for fear.
But none shal...
Saturday 22nd March 2025 6:13 am

Recent Comments
Patricia Wright on a younger poet’s response
44 minutes ago
John Coopey on 74, NOT OUT
21 hours ago
Adam Whitworth on Yours
22 hours ago
Adam Whitworth on The beauty of silence
22 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on 74, NOT OUT
1 day ago
Hazel ettridge on Living and dying for ideas
1 day ago
Graham Sherwood on 74, NOT OUT
1 day ago
John Coopey on 74, NOT OUT
1 day ago
Greg Freeman on 74, NOT OUT
1 day ago
Graham Sherwood on I listen
1 day ago