May, 2017


For my birthday, the greatest of presents?
To dine on Mar a Lago pheasants,
Play a round of 18,
Do some things quite obscene,
Then go laugh and point at the peasants.



With his spending bill in disarray
Trump’s mad at the Dems who won’t play.
He says “we’ll show this town –
We’ll shut government down!”
Ah, the leadership skills on display!


Our existence is a fragile dance.
A balance of creatures and plants.
Monsanto’s lies
Jeopardize food supplies
We’d all better give bees a chance.


The guy who wrote Art of The Deal
Is the first to say he’s a Big Wheel.
Some are disappointed.
Others claim he’s anointed.
But to me, he is just a schlemiel.


The problems that you might have had before,
Like Lupus, Herpes, Gout and Heart Disease,
Parkinson’s, the Stones in your Kidneys
Sleep Apnea or things Tuburculor,

An Ulcer, Sickle Cell and Paraplegia
Lung Cancer, Restless Leg, COPD
A Pacemaker or Hepatitis C
Thyroid Issues, Schizophrenia

Depression, Prostate Problems, Bulimia
Lymphoma, Migraines, Muscular Dystrophy
High Cholesterol, Hysterectomy
Blood Clots, Autism, Crohn’s, Dementia,

Are no longer covered, being “pre-existing”,
And for this, in the wind, poor lives are twisting.


It’s enough to make words fail ya
When your president decides ta nail ya.
Goodbye safety net.
Goodbye Medicaid, yet
he praises health care in Australia.


Welcome foreign businessman to Great U S of A.
And now here’s just a subtle hint where you might want to stay:
Majestic gilded towers that boldly show his name,
DC, New York and Florida are where to bring your game.

A salesman he is by trade, a president by hobby
But take a look from where you stand, the name that’s in the lobby.
The drapes and curtains all say Trump, as does the center dome,
And all the Trump note pads and pens to take to friends back home.

Trump postcards and an ashtray. A Trump plunger if you’re stuck.
Free Trump balls for a round of golf that you can kiss for luck.
Lay your head on a Trump pillow. Savor your Trump good-night mint.
Let your feet sink in the carpet. Who’s carpet? Need a hint?

In the morning, take a shower in the stall that’s marked with “T”
And the Trump encrusted tile? Please, be careful where you pee.
Organic Trump shampoo and soap and mouthwash never fail ya.
Feel the soft and thick Trump terry robe against your genitalia.

And when you’d like to dine, there’s Trump on every plate and glass
And by the time the deal’s done, there’ll be Trump on your ass.
It’s not to peddle influence. Don’t dare say such a thing.
At least for the time being, he’s President, not King.

But just one question as you go, one thing that’s not quite clear.
Explain to me why there is no conflict of interest here.


You can argue for Repub or Dem
But neither side has a real gem.
There’s no great decision
Just sad lack of vision
And a “vote for us ‘cause we’re not THEM”.


On the stand, Sally Yates is no fool.
She’s articulate, truthful and cool.
And not on the fence
About Flynn’s lies to Pence
For his time as covert Russian tool.


This FBI, so “cherished and respected”,
But will its Russian probe come to a halt,
And will we ever know true cause and fault
With Comey suddenly so “re-directed”.

Long questioned for the timing of his leaks.
Long doubted by the Senate for deception.
Long thwarted grasping for encryption.
No sympathy for when his nausea peaks.

One wonders can Democracy survive
Such ignorance, and internecine coups.
Who has the guts to stand up and refuse
To give the ghost of Nixon a high five.

Who’d want this Top Cop job, and why?
Perhaps young Edward Snowden might apply…


Bharara, Comey and Yates.
How odd they’d find similar fates.
Each investigation
On behalf of our Nation
Led to them being shown exit gates.


Sessions says “lock ’em all up for drugs.
Enough with the handshakes and hugs.”
Good news, this decision
If you’re a private prison,
Or with high-level white-collar thugs.


Thirteen hundred and forty eight,
The days continue, ever counting,
And stories – strange upon stranger – keep mounting,
On twisted paths to making something great.

Some laugh and point as Trump, he sticks it to ’em.
While others cry “resist, revolt, impeach!”
While others still find truths beyond the reach
Of mainstream sources, who can but refute ’em.

And daily now, silent and unsilent rage.
Explosions dot the landscape and inside.
As Sacred Knowns get taken for a ride.
100 years from now – a book? or just a page.

Each moment, choices. A chance to fight or flee.
Find ways to be the change you want to see.


Donald Trump gave his best wishes to
The new grads of Liberty U.
The proceedings went swell.
Being friends with Falwell,
It’s the one place where no one would boo.

5/15/17 – Mother’s Day

A question for Mary MacLeod –
When you look at your son, are you proud?
Are you fine with his rudeness
His ego and crudeness,
Or prefer he were kind, and less loud.


Sharing secrets that are classified
Is an action that many have tried.
I’m sure there’s a reason.
So I won’t call it treason,
But for it, the Rosenbergs died.


It’s enough to drive one insane
And perhaps cause severe gastric pain
So I think that today
I will break, if I may,
And put DT out of my brain.


Oh, shed a tear
For Roger Ailes.
Instead of ‘fessing up,
He bails.

Poor Roger Ailes
That pudgy old elf.
In hell there’s no one to touch
But yourself.


You can act like you really don’t care, or
You can scream in panic and terror.
You can laugh at Trump jokes
But there’s still many folks
Who don’t think they voted in error.


I will try to keep this rhyme cleaner
And not creep into things more obscener,
But only an ass
Thinks a 15 year-old lass
Would want to see Anthony’s Weiner.


The Saudis. Long-time allies, albeit troubled ones.
But still a deal had been struck, perhaps some time ago.
One-hundred ten, in billions now, and all that worth in guns.
We wring our hands, we shake our heads. But why, we’ll never know.

These are our schools, our roads, our arts, our student loans.
This is our health, both separately and in sets.
While still we curse at strangers met upon our phones,
And few among us qualify as of the “gets”.

In prayer and in my life, I often ponder sin.
And humbly seek forgiveness for the times that I’ve caused pain.
And long to someday drain the swamp – the swamp that lies within.
One-hundred ten, in billions now. In loss of life. Insane.

Don’t preach to me of sacred plans. I cannot seek salvation
From any god that pleasures in destroying his creation.


So The Prez wants to cut some assistance.
I’ll assume that he’ll meet with resistance.
But others just sigh,
“Hey, let the poor die.
It’s so over-rated, existence.”


On the stand, Flynn makes quite the defendant
In his uniform, he looks resplendent.
Ah, the tales he’d tell.
But damnit to Hell,
He’s taking the 5th amendment.


When Trump groped an Arabic sphere,
The Internet leaned back in fear,
Suspecting conspiracy
Or Islamic heresy,
While Melania watched with a sneer.


On one side stood a man of peace
Of mercy and humility.
The other side had one who’d fleece
The poor, and boast virility.

The awkwardness this photo found.
The striking clash of worlds and style
The boundless soul, the soulless bound.
The grimace and the clueless smile

These differences both stark and odd
Inspiring shame and pity.
For one here serves both man and God.
The other? Grabbin’ kitty.


Man, the things that he says! The nerve!
Every day a new reason to swerve.
What does all this reflect?
Someone said, “You elect
The government that you deserve”.


Is this rash of abuse of reporters
Quite OK among right-wing supporters?
Such behavior – uncouth
In pursuit of the truth
Is a game plan within fascist borders.


I think there’s a place in this nation
For “backchannel” “communication”.
It should happen at night
Twixt the Left and the Right
And, of course, involve inebriation.


Climate Change is not worth my rhyme.
The EPA’s wasting our time.
It’s only a hoax!
Trust the fossil fuel folks!
Like sugar and ciggies, they’re fine!


When it comes to our nation’s Intel,
Our president does it up swell!
In matters Top Secret
You wonder who leaked it?
There’s no need to ask. He’ll just tell.


The Cubans called Castro El Jefe.
In Europe some crave plain Nescafé.
But you must be insane
If you can explain
The mystery of Donald’s covfefe.

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