Category: poem

  • The Lost Rodeo

    The Lost Rodeo

    The Trump Chronicles by John Sinclair

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    The Lost Rodeo

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    Taken from the previously unreleased…forthcoming album: The Trump Chronicles by John Sinclair And Tom Worrell.

    “…an obscure recording project that Tom Worrell and I did in New Orleans a few years ago, sponsored by our pal Frenchy but never released, which involves a small set of poems composed by Worrell, recited by myself, and recorded with Tom on piano and assorted helpers in a little studio off of Oak Street.
    It’s called The Trump Chronicles and in my estimation it’s a brilliant set of satirical works in twisted rhyme schemes that skewer and roast the guy I call Resident Rump.
    –John Sinclair, Detroit (November 2023)

    www.tomworrell.com
    radiofreeamsterdam.org
    thejohnsinclairfoundation.org


    ========================================

    credits

    from The Trump Chronicles, releases December 10, 2026
    Written by Tom Worrell
    Recited by John Sinclair
    Produced by Tom Worrell
    Executive Producers: Tom Worrell, Frenchy And Steve “Fly” Pratt
    JSFR-38

  • Summert New

    Summert New

    So that the futures children
    Know, without any doubt,
    That we tried to do good!
    Howdydoogood

    The tale of the tribe
    Like a mission to mars escape velocity
    All history in one book
    Earth mother nature

    All humanity
    Culture technology art
    Laid out like the narrative
    Comes from the collective
    History itself

    The process without subject

    –26/06/26

  • Makes Me Wanna’ Hurl

    Makes Me Wanna’ Hurl

    An off the top verse, put to mic, plus freestyle guitar take added post production. Rough. x Fly.

    A new boom-bap to bop the old mad christers,
    Time to take a stand make a band and eat oysters,
    War porn torn across villages and cities
    Building up the war machine with Jesus throwin’ fiddies,


    Hey listen up you dutty man, misreading scriptures uncle sam, which,
    Clog the arteries and fuel the devil archers from the marching forgeries,
    Blowing up schools, hospitals and mortuaries,

    The dead can’t talk but these fingers can tap,
    Dance to the speaker and double rap to my black cap sap lap, your honour
    Slipped in some marijuana now I’m wanted by the hour to throw a cake made of flower,
    Flame sewer sour tower power dower cower for cover, spittin’ bars for my brudda,

    Rake mower grass seeder automatic inter breeder, success and suck seeda’
    Hop in my pan, I fried ya’
    A kindred spirit beside yer’ inside we take slide to
    The outdoors shaped like a funnel spider

    When I see dem’ killa girl, it mek me wanna hurl,
    Killing the innocent and so what be their punishment
    When he see em’ kill a girl, god get angry on the whirl’d
    Blowing up schools what a whirl what a whirl 


    Spun out like a spinning top at the audacity they got,

    War ain’t holy it’s phoney a mugs game of the lonely,
    Bombing away the life they say they give, if only,
    They’d wake up in time space, recognize they out of phase-traced,
    The error of their ways and face the stinging tear gas haze laced    

    With memories of once womb innocent babe
    All from the cradle but some sent early by Trump cabal to their graves,

    They digging and the cabal dancing on em’ then builds a big ball room,
    To swing little dick, sing bronze age dogma like a sequence of strokes,
    Who buys this shit except the business spivs and talk show hosts,
    The return of Jesus on a winged horse, just say neigh
    Not even Elon on Ketamine riding Pete Kegsbreath with wings, let us say,
    Our men don’t support fascists they destroy them,
    Put that in your pipe and smoke it while losing to von neumann

    When you unabashedly kill many little girls, or protect those who do,
    You get the worst place in hell a really low place that’s true,
    That’s the trump fash’ axis pedo power far-wrong netanyahoo,
    Sorry to break it to you but to put this song into review,
    You target innocent young girls and murder them in cold blood without a sorry,
    Shame on you, you lack any moral high ground everything you say is dud and folly
    I’m counting down days until yer trial upon the tally,

  • breath breath

    breath breath


    Breath, Breath, to the KLF

    Life, life, to family and wife

    Curse, curse, on war mongers perverse

    Love, love, all humans hand glove

    Stop it, stop it, those who fire the damn rocket

    See, See, hypocrite BBC

    Peace, Peace, in the middle east

    Greased, Beast, selling arms murder feast



  • POEMMXXIII

    POEMMXXIII

    Some scrawls from 2023.

    Love x
  • Posting on postings (Clip)

    Posting on postings (Clip)

    From the files, under edit compilation. Off the top. S

    wrote a rhyme in wrong order
    chaos simplicity, wrapped and tracked pasta border
    word marauder playing monk on record her
    door to door delivery days
    making beats on the corner chords and ways

    walk the talk tale swerving slug snail
    snug in sun or hail, no email
    beats blown through the letterbox
    feets quick like bipedal fox
    house to house nation
    each family feeling inflation
    wheeling their patience
    painting their places

    generally kind and pleased to meet faces
    I take my paces, step to divide beats
    accents in all places and leave spaces
    for what I don’t know

    hip to honour simplicity and respect the flow     
    thinking on my feet discrete 
    dropping news in the street
    by the end of each day I’m touring complete
    the map is not the territory
    know some maps do cheat
    but these hairy legs work and carry my meat
    rain and shine rambling sublime…

  • Not A Bug But A Feature – R.U Sirius

    Not A Bug But A Feature – R.U Sirius

    Music by Steve Fly Agaric 23
    Video by SatoriD
    Lyrics and Kibitzing by R.U. Sirius

    Not A Bug But A Feature

    We all have a lot of drugs
    It’s not a bug it’s a feature
    And me I’m easily buzzed
    So I can give you a bunch of my drugs

    They tell me hugs not studs
    They tell me don’t piss in the strudel
    But I don’t care for their advice
    I’ve got some drugs to make me nice

    We’re having too much fun
    And all the guns are loaded
    And we were born to be wacked
    And we were made to attack

    We were born inside out
    Like in a Cronenberg movie
    We have lots of strange drugs
    Therefore the whole thing is groovy

    Ken Goffman aka R.U. Sirius

    Taken from the ALBUM: Infinite Gesture (A Work In Progress)

  • Squintin Quarantino – Third Coming

    Third Coming
    Can you hear the clapping, my gums flappin’
    Moronic juicy rhymes keep the songs sap in
    Religion double tappin’ state talk crappin’
    Corona virus wave, another victory lappin
    Third coming
    Crowned for Easter
    Profit from misery is a sign of the beast (er)
    Baste the turkey with Brexit, the piss, Boris teks it
    You vote for rabid dogs and Brexit you get sick
    The virus, Zuck text it, fuck facebook and hex twit
    Take you bitcoin and shove it up your arse slit
    Who work for it, masses of energy, you tit
    No wonder Elon want Bitcoin to hit the ceiling
    Lao Tzu, Hegel and Machiavelli thieving
    Layers of capital, players and neigh sayers
    No socialist agenda to help or pay us
    Third coming
    Business class ass still got a thumb in
    Free ride capital, greedy market slummin’
    Mean motherfuckers own the means to living
    And I keep moaning, remaining, reframing
    Hot under the tongue, breath aiming flaming
    Wildfires
    From coast to coast
    Dumbos spread the virus like its jam on toast
    And my petty rhymes don’t even begin to roast
    Most the guests at the park who insult the host
    The planet’s not ours to save
    Greed stings like aftershave
    A curse on plague DJs who play the plague rave
    Greeting the third wave, go live in your cave
    Third coming
    In the air tonight like a song
    And I’m using a dolphin as a wake-shift bong
    You can thank Boris Trump Putin and Ping
    For the super spread of capital mutations this spring
    There’s a way out, forward, just look
    For the mutualist syndicalist anarchist book
    It may take a while, more destruction and bile
    We must crawl mile after mile after mile
    Eat that third shit sandwich and smile
    I know, my once tasty raps may seem vile
    Some raps snap like a crocodile
    Some traverse the Ganjes and Nile
    I’ve mysteries and manuals on file
    Spit a botticelli mosaic on your floor tile
    Suck satan off kitchen foil
    Cook up spies until they ready boiled
    Memories well oiled
    Serpent’s tooth and tail coiled
    Bed and pants soiled
    Poems loyal, dialed, dyed and royal real
    A bargain bop bonanza, a steel
    A wing on the third rail, another on the wheel
    Third coming
    Yower’ all-grow-ridim can’t latch me
    This patch is quilted with hatched ste
    Setting head fires with match key
    Game set seal, Adamski
    Born inwards Lee
    Burrows down to Gordon Brown’s downfall
    Gordon Bennet wrote it, I just float a bit
    Encircle, we mote it bee line for bass face distance sting
    Third Coming
    Ouch, like a corkwynder to our chops
    Like people without masks buying bog roll in shops
    Britain top of the pops
    But the band eating slops
    The Queen still banking and reaping our crops
    My flipper it flops, the bit penny drops
    From heaven or hell, or Giza cheops
    Capitals zit pops, death toll hit tops
    Exceptionally sexless brexit means worse off
    Oh well, so let’s make a mockery
    Come see my garden pond, deck chairs and rockery
    I fancy pigeons in my flockery
    Writs sound odd like socks, hurry
    In a global pandemic I’m sick like McFlurry
    Furry like mink
    Stinky like skunk
    Tuned up on Sun Ra and Thelonious Monk
    Third coming
    Like a trilogy
    We say three and in dutch it’s drie
    Wonton soup and cantaloupe with brie
    That predictive techx cunht catch flea
    Mimic my octopus, high me, fly me
    Word coming back from the grave
    Forgiveness, NHS not Jesus saves
    Eton enclaves and PPE chums
    Suck up resources and steal the last crumbs
    Tory Brexit death march to distant drums
    Oh diddums, it’s only a life
    Only a son, daughter, mother, father, husband or wife   
    Put down the knife, pick up the pen
    Write it out kids, let us begin
    Hideous crimes by this lying gangerino
    Pale when compared with Squintin Quarantino

      

  • Squintin Quarantino – Unherd Of Covidiot Media.

    Squintin ain’t flinchin’ at the quack mob preachin’
    Covidiot ravers should be sent to plague island, bitchin’
    Lapsed Christian football thugs, fake gangsters, mugs
    Snot nosed middle no-class kids, rotten gammon luggs
    Y’all need some drugs, you give cannabis a bad name
    You organize on Facebook and then criticise same
    No moral compass, no empathy, y’all wampie’s
    The sheep you see in others, led by Donkeys

    I’m no fan of Rutte, that benefits scandalous slut
    Squintin’s been critiquin’ while unherd truthers tweekin’
    I come to wrap you muddafuckers around the wreakin’
    Tongue on fire, heart desire, meme-warfare be speakin,
    Last and next weekend, your damn lies piss takin’
    You organize and support superspreader events
    Crazy rogue serial Qillers, alt-right media savants
    I’ll serve you up like ham-kass croissants
    When my eyes get hot cross, I swing vision with passions          

    Ongehoord, whores and hard-right horrors
    Support for Engles, Bidet and Wilders
    Ongonize on Facebook, Arnold Karskens, bald fuck
    Nasty populists like Trump and Farrage,
    All white hate and populist brainwash-anon mirage
    No funding for anti-fascism, just geld to verk’ for Shell
    What’s that corporate capitalist market research smell?
    Preying on the disenfranchised and the vulnerable
    Stirring up racial tension, Zwarte Pete, abominable

    Branch Covidiots and faithful maskless masses
    Gather in superspreader groups and speak out their asses
    And the police state expands, to kettle the unherd
    Shouting Freedom, dumb dumb minds to mush and turds  
    Hot Yoga Engels can shove it up his hot chakras
    Lange Frans, go dance alone in crap circles at black-mass
    From the demented world of Bannon and Sarkov
    The new Dutch right media can shut up and fuck off.
    I’ve a message for all branch covidian media
    Pack your shit like Trump, I ain’t scared of yer’

    –Squintin Quarantino.