Monday, January 23, 2006

The Poetry of Dick Cheney

For the safety and security of the person(s) involved, I cannot reveal how these authenticated pages of The Poetry of Dick Cheney came into my possession.

These poems were scribbled in the pages of a handsome, leather-bound, oiled Moleskine Journal.

I am reproducing some of the poems here to offer insight into the mind of the man who many call "The Dark Lord." Please leave your reactions and comments, below.

Thank you.

Beauty

Halle Berry, Halli Burton.
Both
are fine
by me.


Dumbfuck

George, the fool,
Makes his old man look like a genius,
And he was a tool,
too.


My Ticker

It stops,
It starts,
I flops,
I farts,
I wish I had,
Two hearts!

A back-up ticker,
That wouldn't flicker,
When the first one quits.

It thumps,
It skips,
Me rumps,
Me hips,
They hit the floor,
Me pants splits.

A back-up ticker,
A constant clicker,
When the first one quits.

In fits,
And starts,
It spits,
It darts,
I wish I had,
Two hearts.

A back-up ticker,
A steady kicker,
When the first one quits.


Shoot the Damn Thing!

Hunting with Scalia,
My prostate acting up,
"I got to go pee-a!"
He says, "Use a cup."

Just then the geese emerge,
From `neath the hazy gauze,
Me, with little Dickie in hand,
While a bead, Salia draws.

"Shoot the damn thing," I shout!
Unable to squeeze out a drop,
While Scalia pulls his trigger,
And his gun lets out a "POP!"

"Goddamn it," Tony bellows,
"You made me miss my shot!"
"My prostate," I explain,
"Urinate, it will not."


Green

It's money I love,
More than my wife,
More than torture,
(Almost) more than life.

Not just for me,
But for my homies,
In the parlance of the press,
My "Halliburton cronies."

If I could still get hard,
And money was a hole,
I hit it every chance,
With my little Dickie pole.

I know that must sound sick,
But you may fail to comprehend,
That power comes from money,
It sends me `round the bend.


Uz Beck and Call?

I admire the Uzbeck way of extracting,
Teeth,
Fingernails,
Information.


I have more of Dick Cheney's poetry that I may add to this post as time permits.

Thank you for reading. I hope this has given you new insight into the soul (as it is) of our Vice President.

JUST ADDED: Additional selections from Mr. Cheney's notebook:

Max Protect

In my bunker,
See me hunker,
Down, down, down.

Me and Rummy,
No George -- dummy,
Clown, clown, clown.

From this hideout,
Wielding my clout,
In a long, black gown.


Rummy-O
Rummy-O, Rummy-O,
Wherefore art thou, Rummy-O?


Sneer

Some say it's perpetual,
My anti-intellectual,
Sneer.

Some call it a smirk,
And claim I'm a jerk,
Sneer.

I have a reply,
A one finger "Goodbye,"
Sneer.

Go fuck yourself.


I will add further selections as time permits...

9 Comments:

At 1/24/2006 3:08 PM, Blogger H.E. Logan said...

PLEASE do not dishonor Darth Vader by referring to Dick Cheney as "The Dark Lord!"

 
At 1/24/2006 3:12 PM, Blogger Bob Johnson said...

We'll revise Cheney's moniker:

The Darkest Lord

 
At 1/25/2006 2:59 AM, Blogger wobblie said...

I find most of Cheney's work to be a trite reaction to modernism, reacting against it, but never reaching beyond it. Cheney's poetry harkens to the pre-modernity of American literature.

Similarly, his verse also seems, what's the word I'm looking for... clinical. There's very little warmth, and very little of the man to be illuminated by the written word. Of course, this is to be expected of a man who needs to have his blood changed every 3000 miles in order to keep ruling the universe.

Then I read the last poem, "Sneer." Quite simply, after reading the rest of his rather blase verse, I was stunned. Finally, a connection! I felt that the real Dick Cheney was finally speaking to me.

Go fuck yourself, Mr. Cheney. Go fuck yourself indeed!

 
At 1/25/2006 9:28 AM, Blogger Bob Johnson said...

wobblie,

Yes, the subtext of that last piece, "Sneer," reveals much about cold soul, or, perhaps, the absence of said soul, in our Vice President.

Interesting. Enjoyed your take.

 
At 1/25/2006 4:05 PM, Anonymous OldCoastie said...

OT - Found this on the Dog Whisperer site in the comments section... Bob Johnson, is this you??

"bob says:
my dog also takes a swim and is very good at it, so good I decided to teach her to ride a bike, she can run too. So I entered her in the Kona Ironman Triathlon. She did very well but she kept falling off the bike. She came in 500 out of 2000 and 1st in her age group."

 
At 1/25/2006 5:32 PM, Blogger Bob Johnson said...

oldcoastie,

No, that's not me. But that Bob Johnson may have stolen my dog.

 
At 1/25/2006 6:57 PM, Anonymous OldCoastie said...

Gee, Bob... I'dda bet money that was you... except that I figured Rex was a boy...

 
At 2/06/2006 2:59 PM, Blogger Bankable Poetry said...

Cheney's line breaks indicate prolonged study of Rambo, Gregorian Curse-o, There's-the-door Rut-key, and Ee! Ee! I'm Coming!
Fine work for a lark. Even better for a night in a gale.

 
At 2/06/2006 3:08 PM, Blogger Bob Johnson said...

Bankable,

Put your hair in a pun. It looks good that way.

 

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