By the Grace of Sean (Bad Poetry for Bad Media)

Bellicose, via mega phone, go…

Secure your homes, Holmes,

Cause you’re all alone, Jones

All the skin and bones talk,

All them victims criss-crossed…

With their children en tow…

They tried to cross the road!


By the grace of our God…

We won’t let them in,

Mired at the pass, Barely skeletons,

Desire, there’s a hope,

there’s a light at the end,

‘Til Sean Hannity

Gets pissed once again.


Them Kids: terrorists

diseased with dirty hands,

Sew their seed, so in need

so full of demands.

Need food, need homes

need more medicine.

They Dream, wanna be,

born Americans.


But they’re not,

and we ought not let them in.

In 15 years

they’ll┬ácompete with your Kids

In 15 years

they’ll rule with a fist.

steal yer jobs, push your kids

off a goddamned cliff.



mighty Sean will pen.

It’s all about

White Americans.

Brown friends are bad,

tire huddled mass,

they passing you by

while they steal your pie

and laugh.






























Author: Fort Nag

Ft. Nag is a poet and speculative satirist who lives in Sacramento, CA. "Real News and Fake News have become interchangeable in our world today. This probably won't help. Sorry."