Showing posts with label Russia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Russia. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 18, 2026

The Garden Is Open

 

The poem is about a patch of Grass

The ones behind The Ones Behind the Bookshelves have published a poem of mine. It is called The Garden Is Open and may or may not have been inspired by a joke in the film Love and Death. 

Saturday, June 14, 2025

A Blogpost Dealing with the Relative Size of Things in the Literary Universe and the Effect of Adding Another Link

 


Not sure about the relevance of this image. But certain editorial powers above chose it to represent my work. 

The Yesterday Review published two poems of mine. Feel free to celebrate with me. 

They did so in their first issue, aptly named First Draft

Of course my work is in the poetry section 

And if you have read this far, enjoy the two poems I got published



Tuesday, June 9, 2020

4 POEMS by Ben Nardolilli

Nauseated Drive has published 4 POEMS by me. I say POEMS because that's how they chose to title the section about my works. I guess one by itself is still a poem but taken together they are POEMS. So head on over and read them.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Trump's 2020 Campaign Poster

If let's Make America Great Again could be taken from Reagan:


Then his 2020 Campaign can steal from Lyndon LaRouche:


Sunday, October 15, 2017

I Wrote a Spoof


To the tune of "I Pity the Poor Immigrant"

I pity the poor president
Who wishes he would've stayed home
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone
That man whose tiny fingers cheats
And who lies with every breath
Who passionately hates his wife
And likewise, loves immigrants’ death

I pity the poor president
Who does nothing but complain
Whose chief enemy is poor ratings
Whose tweets are insane
Who rules but is not satisfied
Who fears and is never free
Who goes to fight with truth itself
And breaks the law with glee

I pity the poor president
Who drags us through the mud
Who steals and golfs while laughing
And who covers other lands in blood
Whose rule in the final end
Must shatter like the glass
I pity the poor president
When our judgment comes to pass