January, 2019

How sad our Prez chose not to go
Ring the New in at Mar a Lago.
May he sit on the John
Tweeting out until dawn
To reruns of Guy Lombardo.

The Mitt Romney Wa-Po Op-Ed
Has Trump and his crew seeing red.
Don’t carp and lament
Over Trump’s “Deep Descent”
Just be a “Team Player” instead.


So once again Pelosi takes the gavel,
And true to form, a woman on a mission.
Now Trump can face a real politician
Who’ll help this bully blowhard’s slow unravel.

New faces, new agendas take the floor
As fear and judgement butt against their hopes.
And may, with grace, they quickly learn the ropes
Then show us what Democracy stands for.

So witness this historic swearing in
Tho’ opposition offers mostly swearing.
Now will our man in charge be quite as daring?
Who cares. Now let the oversight begin.

New chapters open now – good luck to all,
Except on getting funding for that wall.


His staff is a hemorrhaging mess.
The government’s shut, more or less.
The market is fallin’
Soon, Mueller comes callin’
And this he calls “too much success”.


As Week Three of The Shutdown Game commences
His Loyal Staffers get a tidy bump
While Furloughed Workers surely root for Trump
Reflecting on the Scope of Consequences.

There’s always money for Collecting Taxes.
But those Food Stamps will prob’ly have to go,
Along with most entitlements. You know,
austerity is such a Noble Practice.

So shut it down for months or even years.
Just sit and hold your breath ‘til we turn blue.
Get Hannity to bark your praise on cue,
And bathe in your supporters’ hollow cheers.

A vigil for the Endgame to begin.
A wall does not protect from rot within.


This frolicking Socialist teen!
Her video dance is obscene!
If we don’t stop this witch
She’ll be taxing the rich
To pay for the New Deal Green!


At the Golden Globes people were waitin’.
The winners were cause for debatin’.
Who would steal the scene:
Lady Gaga or Queen,
Or Christian Bale for his Satan.

(bonus sonnet – no extra charge!)
You can’t impeach someone who’s doing great.
You know that you can’t win in 2020.
Most people say that I’ve accomplished plenty.
Who else could match the winning I create.

I’ve stymied trade and turned the market bear
My cabinet is leaking like a sieve
I slipped our former allies all the shiv,
And championed profit over cleaner air.

For dictators and and despots I’m a sucker.
I know that global warming’s not for real.
I’ve lied, insulted, swore & copped a feel
While shocked when being called a “mother-fuxxer”.

Some find my record dubious, but shucks,
I also filled the courts with right-wing schmucks.


Tonight! Broadcast live from the Oval
The Networks are at Trump’s disposal.
As each falsehood slips
From his gross, pouty lips
I’d rather watch John Bolton yodel.


About this 5.7, tell us please
On what do you base your priorities.
Is this an act that benefits the most,
Or merely satisfies a campaign boast.

Could not that future debt be better spent,
If sent to bolster steel and cement
Of roads and bridges far within our borders,
Or used to fund the costs of doctors’ orders

To help rebuild our broken middle class.
This crisis rests upon your head you ass.
Objective compromise leads to reform
A leader’s tantrum never is the norm.

A wall, with countless fences left to mend.
This shutdown still is no means to an end.


As measured compromise sits on the shelf
Two sides dig in. Intractability.
To test the borders of civility
A government at war against itself.

Both sides entrenched for ever-shifting whys
An image of arm wrest’ling politicians
Their public faces mask private ambitions
While consequences stack up to the skies.

Two narratives collide, their truths in contrast.
A crisis or a crisis made for show
The time of post-truth makes it hard to know.
So Chuck and Nancy’s “No” meets exit bombast.

Eight hundred thousand workers in a freeze.
Each one a National


In the meantime, the suit, Michael Cohen
Will tell Congress what he is knowin’
Of pornstar relations
And Moscow persuasions
While our president’s nose just keeps growin’


From Iowa, Steve King is good
Praising White Western Ways as he should
But he stoops way too low
And his true colors show
When he gets the white sheet and the hood.


Hey Trump, if I may be so bold,
Your shutdown is sure getting old.
With this crisis you made
Workers ain’t getting paid
And our National Parks reek of mold.


How funny that Fake News reporters
See no crisis at all at our borders.
The House passed some Spending
Bills for shutdown ending,
While McConnell just waits for Trump’s orders.


Seven-hundred twenty-six days remain
Until our country’s next inauguration
And still the tantrum shutdown plagues our nation
Eight-hundred thousand workers bear that pain.

While at the White House, Clemson football winners
Are feted by our fast-food fan in-chief
Providing comic photoshop relief
So, let them all eat Happy Meal Dinners.

A trying time of famine and of feast
Of banquets filled with empty calories
Their handy plastic boxes fill our seas
While hungry minds rage on against the beast.

How many ways to shape my little rhymes
To say we live in “interesting times”.

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