“Sonnet Number One Because I am Number One” by Donald Trump

Donald Trump has been taking a lot heat lately.  People have said many mean things like, “Donald, you’re not qualified to be president,” “Donald, you aren’t even a Republican,” “Donald, you are a racist, fascist, sexist crook in a gilded toupée,” and, most commonly, “Donald, you are a soulless shadow man who will singlehandedly doom America to an endless spiral of despondency and unspeakable humiliation.”  Sometimes we forget about sweet blonde Don’s gentle, poetic side.  He is a man of words; he knows all of the best ones.  Here, we take a glimpse into Donald’s bard-like nature with a sonnet inspired by William Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18” (which doesn’t have as many words as Donald’s).

On poetry, Mr. Trump has only this to say:

“Shakespeare is really just a hack, he’s a loser, people.  If I could time travel, I’d go back to England, I’d become king (women can’t resist, Queen Elizabeth’s no exception) and win all of the poem contests.  I once wrote a great haiku. It goes like this:

‘Tiny children are not horses.

One vaccine at a time.

Over time.’

I am the greatest poet this country’s ever seen. Look it up.”


“Sonnet Number One Because I am Number One” – Donald Trump

Shall I compare thee, Donald, to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely than Rosie…Disgusting

More temperate than Hillary: your temperament wins awards,

All of them.

Rough winds do shake your sexy corn silk hair,

Which is not a wig,

Your hair is as much a wig

As global warming is NOT a hoax concocted by those communist Chinese,


Summer’s lease has run out too soon,

Because God doesn’t know how to run a real estate business,

Our planet is freezing, our scientists are stuck in ice,

And they try to tell you about “Global” “warming,”

I have one word for you: bullshit hoax.



But don’t let my intelligence intimidate you,

My IQ is one of the highest,

It’s not your fault that you’re not me

And though beauty always fades,

All women, even the 10s, get old,

Disgusting really.

But not me,

Not beautiful Donald T,

Not my long, beautiful hands,

Are they small?

No, their size is well documented.

And don’t get me started on my hair,

100% mine,

Permanently painted

Yellow as eternal summer,

Golden as my toilet bowl.


But I’m more than just a pretty face,

I don’t pay my taxes,

That makes me smart.

I have inner beauty too,

Heaps of it,

It’s called money,

It’s beautiful.

I’m beautiful,

That is to say, I’m very rich.

The losers don’t get it – they’re so mean,

They don’t understand how

I could even stand

In the Middle of Fifth Avenue

Shoot somebody

And I wouldn’t lose a vote,

Because I’m so temperate,

And I get along with poor people so well,

Probably because I was once poor.


Just a boy,

Abandoned by a cruel, miserly father,

Without possession, without hope,

Nothing but $1 million in my pocket,

Just look at me now:

I know words, I have the best words,

I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to ISIS,

I cherish the weaker sex: bimbos, slobs – I don’t discriminate,

Speaking of that,

I have a great relationship with the blacks,

But above all, I’m a gentleman.


Commies are red, waterboarding is blue,

America, if you vote for me,

I’ll make Mexico build a wall for you.


“D” Poem

I was supposed to be doing French homework, but I got distracted and decided to write out a bunch of snazzy “D” words instead, and then somehow this poem popped outta my mind shadows:


Discarded dreams of diamonds

Dripping in the dark

Like so many dented, dazzling dewdrops

Driven into dismal depths

Where demons dwell

Dank and dreary

Drooling driblets of death

Digesting dregs of despair

Delighting in driveling deliria

Drunken dementia

The delectable downfall

Of diamonds

Damned and drowning

In dust-choked darkness

Where dreamers dwell

Discovering doom

Dallying in death;

Divinity defined.


DP Challenge: Time for Poetry

Wooden wishes wither,

Wringing wisps of whispers,

Worthless words,

Wasted on waxen wives

Whittled white with worry,

Weeping wilted weeds,

We wave washrags

wet with whiskey,

Waging war

Within white walls

Without windows,

Wondering why in a world

Where wonder is wreaked,

Waltzing widows whirl

in the Western wind

Among winged wanderers

wishing for welcomed warmth,

Withdrawn from the womb

Waxing wicked

Waning wishes

The wraith whispers.




My First Attempt at Becoming at Haiku Artist: A Haikartist, as they say

1. Puffs of tickling grit

Prickle and pierce dusty eyes

Streams nourish dry cheeks.

2. Schoolyard haunted by

unraveled dreams, crushing my

empty heart to dust.

3. Faltering footsteps,

Breath quickens, shadows beckon,

Nobody is home.

4. Sallow flesh trembles

Bulging and bloating in bumps

That swell at Wind’s touch.

5. I close my eyes tight

Velvet shadows lap my lids

And swallow up stars.


photo (4)

Times Tables


**Creepy ish I write at work when I should be receptioning**


She cackles and gurgles, night falls and she’s gone,

“Say a prayer for me darlin’,” with a black toothy grin,

She gnaws at her nails, on a chalkboard he writes,

“Negative times positive, negative wins every time.”


“Say a prayer for me darlin’,” with a black toothy grin,

She frightens the boy, flesh wilting she whispers,

“Negative times positive, negative wins every time”

Don’t look at it, don’t look! Eyes scrunched up tight.


She frightens the boy, flesh wilting she whispers,

To the sun, she pleads warmth and licks her cold lips,

As light plunges deep, burrows into the crust,

With a white hand that trembles, shadow swallows the light.


To the sun, she pleads warmth and licks her cold lips,

She gnaws at her nails, on a chalkboard he writes,

With a white hand that trembles, shadow swallows the light,

She cackles and gurgles, night falls and she’s gone.