Honesty is not found in voice;

Actions will convey this.


© Jack Nugent


Dead Upon the White House Lawn

He was just the son of a fat cat and happily took his birth right

He checked off his stocks and made sure his toupee was tight;

He had to sit and listen to those awful ecologists talk,

“You aint gunna trump no more!”



Gory, Gory, gunna kick his orange arse

String him by the flag pole

And make him eat his pants

You aint gunna Trump no more


Verse 2

“Is everybody happy?” cried his daddy looking up,

Our Don feebly answered “Yes”, and then they stood him up;

He jumped into his fancy suit and exposed his greedy eyes,

And he aint gunna Trump no more.




Verse 3

He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for his stocks,

He felt the pinch, he felt the debt, he saw the FTSE drop,

He pissed his silk pyjamas and it dripped around his legs,

And he aint gunna Trump no more





Verse 4

The debtors swung around his neck, creditors cracked his dome,

Muscle fibres were tied in knots around his fatty bones;

The networks become his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.

And he aint gunna Trump no more.





Verse 5

The days he’d corrupted and exploited and manipulated kept running through his mind,

He thought about the boy back home, the one he’d left behind;

He thought about the auditors and wondered what they’d find,

And he aint gunna Trump no more.




Verse 6

The bankruptcies were on the spot, the administrators were running wild,

The journalists jumped and screamed with glee, sharpened their pens and smiled,

For it had been a year or more since the last ‘ruptcy had been filed,

And he aint gunna Trump no more.


Verse 7

Full of braggadocio the bankruptcies went flying by,

He covered his ass, he bent the rules, walloping a great smile;

But his hair fell out, his stomach dropped down

And he aint gunna Trump no more




2016 he decided to run, Republican till he dropped, his popularity went soaring high

His minions they were heard to say: “What a way to go!”

He got to the top on the back of his own lies,

And he aint gunna Trump no more.




With small hands that like to be sodden in wee, he boasted about his dick

He said build a wall, the racists stood tall and put on their pointy hats

He stoked the fires, laid lies left and right; but the wall stands tall!

And he aint gunna Trump no more.


People said no way, there’s not a chance in hell

He is not gunna win, that much I can tell

How do you feel, now he stands proud?

And he aint gunna Trump no more.




There was blood upon the white house, there were brains upon the lawn

Intestines were a-danglin’ from his thousand dollar suit

He was a mess; they picked him up, and poured him from his shoes,

And he aint gunna Trump no more.


Gory, Gory, What a hell of way to die

Gory, Gory, What a hell of way to die

Gory, Gory, What a hell of way to die

He ain’t gonna Trump no more.


(Slowly, solemnly)

The assassin sat amongst the trees, rifle at his back

He couldn’t quite believe, he’d shot the president through the leaves

The shot was heard the sirens wailed, but there he stayed a-smiling

Cyanide dissolved upon his tongue, and there he died, reclining


The killer was found and his name was screamed loud


As Macaulay hit the dust , he had claimed back his fame at last

And he aint gunna Trump no more


Gory, Gory, gunna kick his orange arse

String him by the flag pole

And make him eat his pants

You aint gunna Trump no more


© Jack Nugent

Endless Possibilities

The endless drawl of planes above, mathematically guided to their destinations

Bound in an endless loop cleaving the sky in transitory bliss

A hiss of engines, a whine of wind

How long will we glide to far off lands searching for something that’s inside us

We mistakenly forgot that the power lies with us

That can lead to beautiful moments of endless tranquilities


We create screaming demons and baneful angels

Silhouetting as unknown shadows in the deep recesses of our minds

Occasionally masquerading as devilish nightmares and delicate fantasies

Invading our thoughts complicating our beautiful psychologies

Distorting and intrinsically fragmenting into echoes of the servile self

Crescendoing cacophonies of emotion spill seamlessly

Our identities pervade it, losing out on all sensibility.


We are kings, we are queens, we are saints and sinners

The realist and the surrealist, the good and the bad, the clever and the naïve

The compassionate and the jealous, the ambitious and the competitive

The sensitive and the hurtful, the part and the whole

Yourself and ourselves, simultaneously.


 © Jack Nugent


You Left

I once knew a girl whose eyes were as bright as the world

I know her still, in my dreams and remnants of memories

I told her I loved her on the banks of the Thames

She told me with fervour that “I love you so sir”


Then we waltzed through the arches of London Bridge

To the shouts of the street pedlars

And the wind blowing the falling brown leaves of autumn

All the way to the palace, where we kissed under the gaze of the Queen 


Our bellies were full of wine

But we didn’t mind

The night was full of beguile

And I’d wished known what was about to transpire


Kilburn was foggy the night that you left

The lampposts were lonely

And my heart breaking in its chest

I drowned my sorrows in a barrel of whiskey till the dawn rose 


You said I was handsome you said I was yours

But my heads in tatters and you caught the coffin ship from Liverpool

To dance with chance in the land of the lady of liberty 

And me in cold blighty alone with my dreams of you 


I once knew a girl whose eyes were as bright as the world

I know her still, in my dreams and remnants of memories

I told her I loved her on the banks of the Thames

She told me with fervour that “I love you so sir”


 © Jack Nugent

Death Under The Bridge

Down beneath the stone bridge he sat, his head bowed against his chest. Mist rose from the water to lap at his boots in lazy curls. Three alcoves the bridge had underneath it, and he sat in the middle one, on a patch of dirt, just above the water line propped alongside the damp, mossy wall. For now the water was low and he was safe but when the high tide came he would be washed away by the currents.

Either alive or dead. For how long he had sat there he did not know, his body was bruised and broken. A great pain in his ribs made it difficult to breath and bubbles came out his mouth when he did. His knee was broken, he could tell that much and his right arm didn’t want to move, laying limp by his side. He watched the dark river water lap at his fingertips but he couldn’t feel it, his whole arm was numb, it felt strange, like he wasn’t his self and must’ve had an awful lot to drink, however he couldn’t remember doing anything of the sort.

A panic rose from his gut but its adrenalin couldn’t help, he lifted his left hand and with it, inspected his head. A lump the size of an egg grew out of the back of his bald noggin, covered in congealed blood. Lamenting at his situation as the acquiescence of death set in, an image of his wife appeared in his mind, he tried to cry but had forgotten how. He hadn’t cried for over fifteen years, not since his first day as a carpenter’s apprentice, when he hit a nail straight through his thumb, so he screwed up his face and wailed, silently. The pain in his chest soon stopped the wailing, fear gripped him like it never had before, and he could not compare it to anything he had feared before. This fear came from within, from somewhere deep down, from somewhere primal and animalistic, it was the fright of death.

Shock was beginning to set in, and mortality was not far behind. A man’s whistle cut clean through the mist, and suddenly someone jumped down into the alcove from the bridge.

“My my, what do we have here then, a right mess by the looks of it, they touched you up good and proper, my little pinchpenny” the stranger declared.

The dying man looked up groggily and tried to focus his eyes on the man who just jumped down, to join him by the water. Hope rose in his punctured chest, he was saved!

The stranger bent down, and with his hands went through the bewildered man’s pockets, which is not what our bridge dweller presumed, and not too kindly either. Pain shot everywhere. The stranger grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, so close he was inside the brim of the stranger’s hat. He could see the man’s unkempt facial hair and rotting teeth, acidic breath filled his nostrils.

“What did you tell them?” The stranger shook him roughly.


The dying carpenter moaned in reply.


A gloved hand slapped his cheek, hard.


“What did you tell them?”


Another moan.


“You useless sack of shit, you can barely hear me I’m guessing, pain must be bad” The accoster sighed and continued


“It’s not your fault, mind, I’ve arrived too late to get what I need from you” he said as he shook his head.


“Bastards, probably didn’t think I would find you, either way, you’re fucked, and I need to take my leave” and with that, the hatted man took himself off, climbing back up to the bridge.


The water was rising, tide was coming in and within a matter of hours the tide would take him, his body food for the fishes. The only place that he would still live would be in his wife’s memory.