Friday Night Bestest Poems Ever

In times of war, in times of trouble, a nation turns to its poets to make sense of it all. Let us begin with two of the classics.

1. I'm a Little Teapot

I'm a little teapot
Short and stout
Here is my handle
Here is my spout

When I get all steamed up
Hear me shout:
Tip me over
and pour me out!

In this classic jeremiad against British imperialism, we hear echoes of both Indian and American independence. The teapot, representing a ruling class society, is soon overturned by the masses, leading to freedom and its attendant chaos. Small wonder it remains banned in much of the former empire.

2. Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

A worldwide call to revolution, the biting sarcasm and unflinching atheism of Kilmer's "Trees" has made it one of history's most quoted and reviled works of art. The eroticism of the second stanza remains a favorite thesis of academics.

And now, one of my own, thrown down like a majestic, massive, huge, challenging enormous gauntlet of challenge to the lieberals who populate our academifascit "campuses."

A dark and stormy night it 'twas,
Bullets flying at my cuz,
I ducked and covered best I could,
Underneath my desk of wood.

The Democrats, they told a lie,
I really love an apple pie,
A treat they don't serve in Iraq,
Nor here at home, thanks to Barack.

We're living 'neath the Muslim's boot,
I've got to say, it ain't a hoot.
'Cause anyone who hates the pork,
Is a major-leaguing dork.

It is a struggle to the death,
We must fight to our last breath,
Hey look! This is so keen and neato!
I've finished a whole bag of Cheetos!

Parse that, moonbats!