September, 2017


In a limerick, one can’t get long-winded
But our leader wants DACA rescinded.
Hatch and Ryan say “No!
Don’t make those kids go!”,
Harming innocent lives if it ended.



An insanity of our sad time
Is the topic of this little rhyme.
I’m sad to report
Fairooz back in court
Because Sessions thinks laughter’s a crime.



Kim Jong Un is not a Trump pal.
Fight a duel? Yes. Maybe they shall.
To a Morricone tune,
They should meet at High Noon,
And blow up the O.K. Corral.



One-thousand two hundred and thirty-four
Days until the next inauguration.
We celebrate this Labor Day vacation.
Acknowledge bloody struggles of before.

As bosses squeeze us, wanting more for less,
And lobby for the sham of “right to work”
Consolidating power with a smirk.
Our Unity comes under more duress.

The history? Busting unions, busting heads.
The Reagan era trashing of our Cause.
The gutting of our whistle-blowing laws.
The CEOs so cozy with the Feds.

In solidarity we must keep up the fight.
Oh, Workers of the World – Unite!



The Perfect Party.
A great To-Do
‘Cause no one mentioned



A new book out from HRC
Looks at losing the presidency.
How could it be clearer.
The “why”s in the mirror,
(Plus that Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy).


From the Caribbean up to Key West
Record winds put lives to the test.
Now Hurricane Irma
Levels the Terra Firma.
Mother Nature, please. Give it a rest.


In her Thursday speech, Betsy DeVos
Made abuse victim advocates cross.
Why do chicks need protections?
Hey, dudes get erections.
Guess she showed all those whiners who’s boss!


The huge Equifax data breach
Put the secrets of millions in reach.
But before we got told,
The bosses’ stock sold.
Someone please rinse their souls out with bleach.


Deserted streets wait for the hellish deluge.
As bands of red highlight an exodus.
No gas, no food, no mercy from the crush,
As seven million people seek their refuge.

Oh “awesome”, how sadly overused a word you are.
A drink, a song, a day, so overpraised.
Behold the awesomeness of islands razed.
This awesome former life. This awesome scar.

Are we complicit in the wind and flood,
Or does our grief fall from a greater hand.
Existences reduced to mud and sand.
A rider to Life’s Lease in tears and blood.

No wondering How or Why when in the Where.
Oh Lord, if You exist, please, hear our prayer.


Some raise up their fists and curse.
Still others cite theories, perverse.
But each one will say
They remember the day
When everything changed. For the worse.


Wake up. Arise. Greet the morn.
One more poem about to be born.
Sad to say I’m in bed,
And stuck in my head
Is the thought of Ted Cruz “liking” porn.


In the Senate, ol’ Bern’s still a Player.
A Progressive Vermont dragon slayer.
He wants to kick ass
On the Healthcare morass.
Go Bernie! Bring home Single Payer!


The news we get from online links
Rarely changes what anyone thinks.
What we see is selected
Based on data collected,
And the “comments” part usually stinks.


Healthcare for All. Keeping score?
Some in Congress say Yes! with a roar.
Then, the ones who say “no”,
Grab the Lobbyists dough,
And show clearly who they’re working for.


Secret servers. A huge data hack.
Flees the country but forced to come back.
MSM cannot handle
The Awan brothers scandal.
Who is keeping us off of this track?


Now begins the investigation
Of a smoke, and flame-filled situation.
Without pause or doubt,
Our hearts all go out
To the victims of Parsons Green Station.


At podium on Emmy Night
Sean Spicer faced the nation.
To celebrate his tenure
As Head of Obfuscation.

Press Secretary to Punch Line
He’s still a blowin’ smoke.
Too bad the greater populace
Was not in upon the joke.

He lied and tap danced for his boss.
Accusing. Reprimanding.
How could the Hollywood Elite
Assist with his “rebranding”.

I guess this only goes to show
This is a show, indeed.
And all the actors on both sides
Go to one trough to feed.


When times are bad
And things get scary…
Throw money at
The Military.
(Burma Shame)


Lashed out against corrupt and roguish states.
Our sovereign stood before United Nations,
To stares and folded arms of delegations,
While threatening enemies with fiery fates.

A shallow nod to harmony and care
Then brags of greater spending on defense,
And halting aid without fair recompense.
Down in his Valley of Disrepair,

Diplomacy lost to belligerence.
While Bibi found it bold, more others sinister.
I quote the Swedish Foreign Minister:
Wrong speech, wrong time, to the wrong audience.

The message: Tho we wish our allies well,
We will look out for us. You should as well.


Play well with others?
That thought’s on the shelf.
The man cannot even
Play well with himself.
(Burma Shame)


Will fire rain down from the sky?
Will innocent folks have to die?
I won’t say the names of
Those who play the games of
“I know you are, but what am I”


Of the folly of war, one learns
From the new ‘Nam war flick by Ken Burns.
The toll of lives lost.
The damage, the cost,
Yet, and sadly, it’s how the world turns.


With the White House confounded by glitches,
And his policies riddled with hitches,
There’s so much amiss,
But still time to diss
Those kneeling football sons of bitches.


So the Anthem Debate has begun:
Who will stand. Who will kneel. (What fun.)
But amidst all the mayhem,
Ol’ Cassidy & Graham
Tried a Health Care repeal end run.


There are two Puerto Ricos it seems:
One’s flood waters burst at the seams.
The crisis it faced
Left millions displaced.
The other exists in Trump’s dreams.


In victory, let’s hear it for
The one who’s morals will not budge,
The Christian Theocratic Judge
The pistol packer named Roy Moore.

When we sing Alabammy Bound,
We mean bound up by Moore’s beliefs,
His putting God in legal briefs –
That is, the God that – he – has found.

What Senate laws will this man make
To pander to his base’s fears
Did God tell him to lock up queers
And burn the Heathens at the stake.

Roy Moore will not dictate to me.
God made me, but God made me free.


There once was a fellow named Hugh.
On a round satin bed he would screw.
In his time, he was bold.
With his nude centerfold.
But we read for the articles, too.


Getting word of the new Trump Tax Plan.
Full of breaks for the Corporate Man.
We’ll get soaked in vermillion
To the tune of two trillion,
And of course, he’s the Plan’s biggest fan.


After too many a chartered flight,
There’s a cabinet opening tonight.
This new resignation
For the Health of our nation
Goes to show that the Price was not right.



August, 2017


John Kelly says the free-for-all is through.
This Chief of Staff’s imposing discipline.
A welcome thought compared to how it’s been.
(But how long ‘til The Boss tires of him, too?)

So long to Mooch – that shiny, mirrored sleaze.
A major splash that quickly headed south.
Go home and let your mother wash your mouth.
When Kelly says to leave, he don’t say “please”.

For this Marine has lived the Art of War.
He’s suffered loss, and will not suffer fools.
Look forward now to protocol and rules.
And leave your midnight Twitters at the door

New order to the White House power grid,
As polished brass collides with flaming id.



Joseph Otting, an ace at evictions,
Once forclosed without conscience restrictions.
This One West retread
Was made Comptroller Head.
To further his avaricious predilections.



When 45
Makes his demands,
He pounds the table
With tiny hands.



Jeff Sessions. There’s some reason why
He wants pot illegal to buy.
Cracking down on the need
For medicinal weed.
Will somebody please get him high?



Conway says they shall tirelessly seek
To the Press, those who secretly speak.
Though this intrigue is fun,
It’s the shit being done,
As opposed to who’s taking the leak!



One-thousand two-hundred & sixty-three to go,
Until this odd administration ends.
And how it goes, on who you ask, depends.
And how much popcorn’s needed for the show.

So what’s been done? No wall, but immigration’s down.
The ACA will see another round.
And Syria has boots upon the ground.
Barhara, Flynn and Mooch are out of town.

The online memes by day, pundits by night.
Realities from Macedonian lies,
And Julian’s wikileaking pizza pies
The fumbling left. The weaponizing right.

We sicken from the vitriol and baiting.
And to the side, the Kochs and Mercer waiting.



A securities fraudster named Shkreli
Made a drug price hike that was quite smelly.
This Pharma Bro’s wealth
At the expense of good health
Earns him a nice place in Hell-y.



On vacation we two took flight
To Canada late Monday night.
To our cursory looks,
Nice folks, these Canucks.
Like Americans, but much more polite.



Two rulers engaged in a duel.
Their words were like fire to fuel.
This Nuclear Chess
Could create quite a mess.
And is, globally speaking, not cool.



A Russian jet set out to roam
O’er the White House & Capitol dome.
Those Slavic spy gents
Sought intelligence.
And then, finding none, flew back home.



Two leaders, both easily goaded.
Both tell us they’re locked up and loaded
Two fingers. Two triggers.
Two rockets. Who’s bigger?
Diplomacy’s just so outmoded.



Please forgive my need for complaint,
But Trump, a world leader? He ain’t!
He tweets out his threats
Without pause or regrets,
While China calls out for restraint.



They came to show they’re white and proud.
And the chant “blood and soil” got loud.
With their tikis aflame
Were “many sides to blame”?
When one plowed his car in a crowd.



My parents, truth be told, were racist folk.
Polite, but still avoiding black and brown.
And moved our family to a whiter town,
For schools where only English she is spoke.

They did not gift their hates and fears to me.
I found enough quite nicely on my own.
Not proudly though, and fewer as I’ve grown.
But given up by thought and choice – not by decree.

The blood and loss of life in Charlottesville.
The viral image, lit by tiki flame.
And now begins the rhetoric and blame.
All tiny snapshots of a greater ill.

In my own self the demon Other dwells.
But seeing It in others is what sells.



The twisted logic
Of white conceit.
The twisted crosses
On our street.
(Burma Shame)



Off line, away from the grid.
No news to report what he did.
My heart’s productivity
Needs no connectivity.
It is here that my peace has been hid.



Three days on a train presents
Paths to cross with new ladies and gents.
Talk of pleasant diversions
And favorite excursions
No bother with Current Events.



How refreshing when one sees the glow.
That comes with the word “Trudeau”
Not the smirk or the frown
That comes with the clown
We elected to serve down below.



The White House Chief Strategist
Is gone now, but won’t much be missed.
He’s juiced up for battle
In the Breitbart News saddle
Where he’ll give us both finger and fist.



A new Social Action has trended –
Downing statues of those who’ve offended.
It’s a fix cheap and fast –
Throwing stones at the past,
When so much of today must be mended.



Ah the once-in-a-lifetime views!
The corona and breathtaking hues!
Don’t miss all the fun!
Look up at the sun!
All the cautions you’ve heard are Fake News.



Of the outrage and scandals we’ve heard
From the violent to the absurd.
But in all this excitement
What of the indictment
Of Imram Awan? Not a word!



One-thousand two-hundred and forty-six
Days until this administration ends.
And how’s it going? Well, it just depends
On if we’re here to break or here to fix.

To celebrate a dark and bloody past?
To spend our future on these wars unending?
How long can those around him keep pretending.
Their leader has been hopelessly miscast.

Let’s fan the fires of discontent and rage
Condemn all thought of compromise as heresy
And blame it on the Media Conspiracy
Then, if a book remains, let’s turn the page.

For those who faulted what he had to say ~
Enjoy some Arizona Pepper Spray.



At Trump rallies we’ve seen quite a range
Of supporters for his brand of change.
They’re all waving signs
To speak what’s on their minds,
But that “Blacks For Trump” guy sure is strange.



It’s not that I really don’t care,
But this weekend I will not be there.
Damn the brickbat and shield
Upon Crissy Field.
Damn the “riot” in Patriot Prayer.



You can spend yer days in bed
If yer livin’ in Club Fed
Doin’ time locked up in Minimum Security.
It’s a far cry from the hell
Of the heat, the food, the smell
That you’d find in Arizona with assurity.

For in Maricopa County,
Where the boys hunt you for bounty,
With the handcuffs tight enough to make you cry-o
You can run or just confess,
Just make sure that you don’t mess
With that tough ol’ bastard Sheriff Joe Arpaio

It was Joe! Joe! Joe!
Serving old and moldy lunches, Sheriff Joe!
In the news, he’s give his ranties,
Dressed his inmates in pink panties,
But he’s good enough to pardon, Sheriff Joe.

Get pulled over in his town?
If yer skin is colored brown,
Have your papers ready, pray, and keep on smiling.
‘cuz before you ask “what’s up?”
You will find your ass locked up
With denials of a trace of race profiling.

Rolling over those who bossed him,
He’d go after those who crossed him,
Prosecuting those who’d dare to criticize.
From atop his prison tower,
Can you say “abuse of power”
Locking up reporters comes as no surprise.

It was Joe! Joe! Joe!
If a prisoner died in custody, who’d know?
This is jail, not insanity.
I lament your lost humanity,
But you’re good enough to pardon, Sheriff Joe.

Joe would boast he was the toughest
And he kept his prison roughest
Treating prisoners like dogs was his solution.
Though the Right might say “that’s great!”
Back in Two-Thousand and Eight,
His methods proved against the Constitution.

But you still could end up booked,
Locked up just for how you looked.
From due process, Sheriff Joe seemed quite exempt
Til’ one day, Judge Murray Snow
Put an ending to the show
And he finally found him guilty of contempt.

But then Joe! Joe! Joe!
Those who long for justice now are eating crow.
Your tough ways gave Trump a hard-on
So he granted you a pardon.

Go with God and thanks’ for nothin’, Sherrif Joe.



Over 40 inches of rain.
Loss, destruction and pain.
No food or power.
133 miles per hour.
Beyond the scope of my brain.



A year’s worth of harsh litigations.
And wikileak-type allegations.
The suit was dismissed.
Jared Beck must be pissed.
“Sure we cheated. Thanks for the donations. ”



This is truly no reason to gloat.
Nature’s got that poor town by the throat.
It’s like there’s a curse,
For to make matters worse,
They’ve got fire ants that float!



Three cheers for FEMA’s Brock Long
Who’s disaster credentials are strong.
May he bring some relief
For those drowning in grief
Leave those red hats at home. They’re just wrong.



Good things to say? She had plenty!
When she should have been ruder and blunt-y.
Perhaps Feinstein is wise
With her eyes on the prize
As his running mate in 2020.


July, 2017

With days left at twelve-ninety-nine
Sara Huckabee’s doing just fine.
Her lame-ass excuses
For Trump’s Twitter abuses
Spew nicely along her party’s line.


With days left at twelve-ninety-eight
The EPA’s doing just great!
Pruitt wants to besmirch
Many years of research
And flood the world with more debate.

With days left at twelve-ninety-seven,
The madness continues to leaven.
Our American fate
Is not to be Great,
But to be All-Star Wrestling Heaven.


Listen my children, and I’ll turn you on
To the Presidential run of Don the Con
On the sixteenth of June in Twenty-fifteen,
Hardly a soul was on the scene
Who didn’t predict he’d soon be gone.

But he told the people what they wanted to hear,
Leaving sixteen candidates in his wake
As he spun his message of doubt and fear.
He was more than some TV Game Show flake.
Leaning more to FOX than NBC,
The “Values Voters” were his key,
As against “Lyin’ Hillary” he sounded alarms
Through bankrupt cities and repossessed farms,
And those who cherish their right to bear arms.

The Saturday Night Live Baldwin impressions,
The lurid Left’s “Fake News” confessions,
His daily phobic tweets and rants,
And grabbing hands down some chick’s pants.
So many moments, lacking grace
Would leave one lesser on his face,
But only strengthened Donald’s base.
With each outburst, they loved this jerk
Much more than Hillary Clinton’s smirk

Meanwhile, the trusty Christian Right
Saw his ascendance as part of The Plan
They heard the message beyond the man.
To right the wrongs of Barrack Obama,
To end this evil Muslim night,
And dump the “Lib-tards” in the can,
To end this Socialistic drama.

And gradually, he climbed the polls
With promises to make us great.
And through each gaffe, he’d boldly skate,
Obscuring specifics of his goals.
The Left could only shake their fists and bitch.
So powerful are Tax Breaks for the Rich,
And dreams of bringing decent jobs back home –
These castles built on sand and made of foam.
And so that night – and sadly unexpected:
November 8th we saw him get elected,
And in seclusion, Hillary popped a stitch.

A flurry of days as things proceed –
A global presence marred by lack of flair,
Attempted murder of Obamacare,
Our schools run by one who can barely read,
Our Highest Court to serve the moneyed few,
The Democrats who know not what to do,
The middle-class and poor still get the screw.
Our air and water no longer a priority,
And penalties for questioning authority,
While hired leaders cling to their seniority.
Is this the end of our Democracy?
No room for compromise or true debate,
A chasm filled by ever-blinding hate,
While ruled by some damned corporate theocracy.

The chapters yet to come have not been written.
But still, too many good souls have been bitten
By despair – so I say dear friends, stand tall
For how quickly the mightiest can fall.
This land – our land – not just for the elite.
This story need not end in our defeat.
From largest state to smallest neighborhood,
Seek those who choose to serve the common good.

And through these days of Don the Con
Especially on this Fourth of our July
Don’t wring your hands and wonder why,
For in twelve-ninety-six, he will be gone.
This Country’s weathered storms before
And fought off those who’d rig the score.
For borne on night winds of the Past
Through all our history to the last,
In hours of darkness, peril and need,
We have the power to see him gone,
And all those driven by their greed –
And end the ride of Don the Con.


They seem to have nihilist goals,
And post from their ass, without souls.
All “normies” beware.
Those Kek boys don’t care
That the comments section’s run now by trolls.


A dictator named Kim Jong Un
Had himself some ICBM fun.
If this nut should blow it,
Before we all know it,
We’ll find World War Three has begun.


To G20 in Hamburg he flew,
Where world leaders do what they do:
Kow-tow to investors,
Shoot at protestors,
And drink like a fish til they’re through.


Whatever the goals,
What ever the aims,
Hamburg does not deserve
The flames.


In sadness, watched upon the global stage,
While leaders chat, one sits in isolation.
A clueless metaphor. A once great nation
Gets left-behind as others turn the page.

But one discussion went on long and seriously
They spoke of life and trade and rigged elections
And marveled at the size of their erections,
But not of how one’s critics die mysteriously.

And now our future in this tiny hand
That cannot comprehend the matrix of our now,
No interest in the why, much less the how,
But still applauded through our shallow land.

How could we fall so far to see this as an answer
A flaming boil above a deeper cancer.


Of politics, it’s easy to tire.
There’s no bottom line to the mire.
So today we lament
All the money not spent
By the feds: California’s on fire!


Those voter fraud numbers are small.
Insignificant, as I recall.
But we are seeing surges
Of unwarranted purges,
And ballots not counted at all.


To serve Clinton dark-gossip sifters,
Don Jr. met with Russian “gifters”.
Are campaigns are the season
For collusion and treason?
So much for this family of grifters.


The summer daze of Trump seem never ending.
Each headline, post, and inch of Breaking News.
So which jaw-dropping scandal do you choose
While missing out on issues not as trending.

Like constant slashing of the Corporate Tax,
And dimming of our rights in subtle stages,
The crippling stagnation of our wages,
The Super Rich’s weight upon our backs.

Discrimination based on sex and race,
Our schools sadly bereft of arts and science
A State not wanting freedom, but compliance,
And Robber Barons eying cyberspace

This never-ending Clown Car’s poised to steal.
So keep your eye on who is at the wheel.


A protest in New York has arisin
Sending actor James Cromwell to prison.
Courageous, his backing
The war against fracking –
A destruction-for-profit decision.


The proposed Senate Health Bill’s a laugh!
Who cares if it hurts the riff-raff.
Those boys on The Hill
Showed their faith in the bill
By exempting themselves and their staff.


One friend says he’s tried
Counting up all who’ve died
Chasing Putin in the Russian nation.
While another’s decided
To count those “suicided”
On the trail of the Clinton Foundation.


Despite the loud noises from backers,
Trump’s numbers are low, say poll trackers.
But beyond his approval,
I’d prefer the removal
Of many Congressional slackers.


Despite all the wheel and deal,
There’s still no Replace and Repeal.
Does it cut too much stuff
Or not go far enough.
While we beg and borrow, they steal.


The Senator named John McCain
Had a tumor removed from his brain.
There’s much that he gave,
And he served – proud and brave.
May good health and strength he regain.


In comfort, I can sit and shake my head
In awe of how one serves a greater cause.
A six-year capture serves to give one pause.
In those boots, I would surely end up dead.

Enduring still, so shattered but not broken,
Refusing still, “Humanitarian Release”
But in his time, returning to find peace.
How many hells remaining yet unspoken.

A just cause found within an unjust war.
Perhaps a Hero forged in this survival.
Only to find one’s Presidential rival
Who gamely mocked all that had come before.

And now another foe to squarely face.
And God to shield you in Her warm embrace.


Politics is the thorniest garden.
Makes the sunniest optimist harden.
But there’s few things akin to
Donald Trump looking into
The ways he could grant his own pardon.


There’s a New Mouth for President Mango,
Causing Spicer to leave with a bang-oh.
Welcome to the show.
What the world wants to know:
Scaramouch, can you dance the Fandango?


Either Democrats are masochistic
Or Republicans are solipsistic.
But this sort of philandering
Called partisan gerrymandering
Lets a minority control a district.


A tragedy in San Antone.
An action we cannot condone.
I would so build a wall,
And behind it, put all
Those who traffic, and leave them. Alone.


One thing McCain said caught me fast:
“Stop listening to loudmouth bombast”
I thought it quite swell
That he damned them to hell.
Still, he voted “debate” and it passed.


The House IT staffer Awan
To Pakistan almost was gone.
But at Dulles, how odd,
Got arrested for fraud.
Do tell, what the hell’s going on.


With politics, I know I’m green.
All those deals made behind the scene.
I just have some doubt
Any good can come out
Of amending a bill you ain’t seen.


Collins, Murkowski, McCain.
They did not vote yes or abstain,
But rejected the deal
Called “skinny repeal”.
Once again, Trumpcare goes down the drain.


As promised he proceeds to drain the swamp.
A muddy puddle of his own creation.
A hateful show, but none can change the station.
Reality. A heads-a-rollin’ romp.

The Loyal Staff arrives, but leaves so soon.
To serve a King impossible to please
With zealotry, incompetence, or sleaze
Our future’s history becomes a sad cartoon.

While Gossip News leaves precious truths redacted,
And posturing replaces true discourses,
What policies were moved by unseen forces,
What things were taken while we were distracted.

When all D.C. gets thrown beneath the bus,
Who will be left to truly speak for us.


To police, Donald Trump says, “Use force!”
Knock some heads without feeling remorse!
That’s a bit of a swerve
From “to protect and serve”
But it’s making us great, so of course!


My lovely wife thinks I am neat.
Together, we two are complete.
But it must be confessed
That despite all my best,
With Sam Shepard, I could never compete.

June, 2017


Fletcher, Namkai-Meche, and Best.
Standing up against the poison that divides,
Pushed back against the bloodless, bleeding tides,
Now, one forever scarred and two forever rest.

A vector on a train, their fate
with Christian – my, what’s in a name –
A soul at war, a hatred to proclaim,
An offer to his father god of hate.

This is the now for some – the time to kill
To subjugate or slay the demon other
Ignoring truth: we share a common mother
And yet in death I am your brother still.

Some look away. Some run. Some freeze or stare.
I lie awake and ask, “if I were there…?”



Screw the global village.
It’s time to pillage.



It appears that The President’s stiffin’
The comedian Kathy Griffin.
Her career may be dead
Over some tasteless head.
He can dish, but not take, the riffin’.



From terror to government swindling,
Respect for life seems to be dwindling.
Must corruption and hate
Determine our fate?
We have got to be more than just kindling.



Farage and his ilk are the champs
As the response to terror up-ramps.
This Brexit romancer
Suggests that the answer
Is putting all Arabs in camps.



One thousand three hundred and twenty-four
Days until the next inauguration.
Occurrences defy imagination
In numbers that are hard for keeping score.

Despite our best, Democracy is tired
And throwing tantrums on and off the stage
Expressions new of violence and rage
A TV Boss who’s catchphrase is “you’re fired”.

And shouting, always shouting, drowning out
Compassion, conversation and debate
While headlines scream the newest scenes of hate
And spew a mix of fear, half-truths and doubt.

Within this noise I long to hear the sound
Of Babel’s Tower tumbling to the ground.



I don’t mean to drag out that bit again,
But glyphosate’s a deadly carcinogen.
Monsanto’s collusion
Sold safety’s illusion.
What an upstanding corporate citizen!



Alone, two men faced off in a green room.
And so began a tense and subtle dance.
One claims to favor truth at every chance.
The other: loyalty. But then, to what and whom?

And what in fact did we expect to hear.
That certain players warrant a free ride?
That Russian agents snuck a man inside?
That Sessions and McConnell both are queer?

Let’s hear from he who led the FBI.
And how they’d work a hostile foreign power.
But will the guilty ever truly cower,
And will we ever know the real why.

With history as our guide, we get the sense
That politics abides no innocence.



Did Comey throw Trump in the tank?
Is Flynn tied to some Russian bank?
During CNN’s tizzy,
Our Congress was busy
Carving up what was left of Dodd-Frank.



The lobbyists pulled off a trick,
Knowing just what makes our congress tick.
They’ve helped tip the scale:
Banks are too big to fail,
But the rest are poor to get sick.



Union-bustin’, poor-bashin’ Paul Ryan
Says the president’s green, but he’s tryin’
“He’s just new to this”
Ach! My ass he can kiss!
His sorry excuse I ain’t buyin’.



Politics has many fine pupils
Schooled in dollars and euros and rubles.
First, you’re up, sittin’ pretty,
While your “friends” feed the kitty
Then you ask how you lost all your scruples.



As your morning progresses, please note:
A Health Care Bill soon gets a vote.
Crafted behind our backs,
The compassion it lacks
Will hurt as it’s crammed down our throats.



On Monday, stalwart men around a table
Reflected clear the strangeness of our days
A shameless shower of loyalty and praise
Heaped on this bully child they enable.

They sing about his “record-setting pace”
And one by one, they baldly kiss his ring
To wipe away all trace of Comey’s sting
And daring not to speak truth to his face.

For just beyond the tweeting midnight rambles
Our health, our land, our rights all ebb away
A country-wide assault of truth-decay
A sad, corrupted government in shambles.

And Priebus says how blessed he is to serve.
Speed up my friend. A lot. Here comes the curve.



So many deaths. So little time to grieve.
The fire, the lead, the anger. Then, the blood.
Has what was once the trickle become the flood.
What innocent will be the next to leave.

I look for justice served and come up blank.
Does one deserve to die for what one thinks?
Does one have rights to kill because life stinks?
Is this to what collectively we’ve sank.

My thoughts and prayers are weary now. No more.
I long to raise my hands in gratitude.
But cannot shake this pessimistic attitude
For what tomorrow’s headlines have in store.

Each breath we take affords us more to give.
Til otherwise informed, let’s fiercely live.



I have some friends who think he’s a creep,
While others praise one of Christ’s sheep.
But hero or cur, one thing is for sure –
Right now, he’s one lawyer’d up Veep.



It’s hard to say what is so great
About House Bill sixteen-two-eight.
Behind the scenes wrangling
Leaves poor and sick dangling
While the lucky and healthy can skate.



A Milwaukee sheriff named Clarke
Made his prisons no walk in the park.
Sporting badges and patches,
A man died down his hatches,
And he’s harder on you if you’re dark.

But despite his hard line resume
At the DHS he will not play.
Has a shadow been cast
By some skeletons past?
At the moment, we really can’t say.



For whispers where
They hide their bones,
There’s no one quite like



Ex-NSA head Flynn, it seems,
Sold surveillance to evil regimes.
To keep under duress
Dissidents and the press.
Cash sings while democracy screams.



A Senate head by name of Mitch
Knew his purpose was serving the rich.
So his Medicaid cuts
Kicked the sick and poor’s butts.
That heartless old son of a bitch.



The reins of power, once touched, are fiercely grasped.
And who among us still could walk away,
Despite the harm we’d do if we should stay.
Who’d dare admit the sacred prime has passed.

And when the plan becomes but to remain,
How many righteous goals must we so sadly see go,
The sacrifice of dreams eclipsed by ego.
The glory of the past can be the future’s bane.

A bloodless passing of the crown? How rare indeed.
How many allies lost for fear of youth
When coveting the throne eclipses truth,
When truth above all else is what we need.

Let go the reins, but stay to guide and teach,
Or see The House forever out of reach.



When Healthcare from Hell was contested,
And deep Medicaid cuts were protested.
The disabled, the scared,
The poor and impaired,
Were simply dragged off and arrested.



One July 6th in ol’ Falcon Heights,
A policeman had two in his sights.
The events that transpired –
The seven shots fired
Wouldn’t happen if those two were whites.

But NRA words of support
Are pretty much coming up short.
What was legally carried
Led to one getting buried,
And another acquitted in court.



Our President proposed something grand:
For new immigrants, welfare is banned.
What a fine, forward plan!
(Someone please tell the man
That it’s already law of the land).



We don’t know what cuts are in store,
But we know who the profits are for.
You don’t need to quote it.
It’s the people who wrote it
Who have the “meanness” at their core.



At briefings now,
It seems that Sean
Is scared to turn
The cameras on.



On the one thousand
Three hundred-
And -second
What did
Have to



A countdown til the next Administration.
While headlines favor gossip over issues,
And for each victim we break out the tissues,
The real powers work to shape our nation.

Above all else, preserve the status quo:
To squeeze more from the lower 99.
This will not change should 45 resign.
(A truth both sides along the aisle know)

All up in arms o’er some offensive tweet.
While softly, bills appear upon the docket
With crafty laws, designed to pick our pocket
By Red and Blue, complicit in deceit.

Each day, solutions seem more out of range.
A far cry from Obama’s “Hope and Change”



While today’s morning news headlines greets
Us with outrage for Donald Trump tweets.
We’d best save our fires
For the crooks and the liars
Who take up Congressional seats.

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.

April, 2017

The April Fool
He is not jokin’
Beneath the Sideshow
Power has spoken.
With pen in hand,
He’ll slash away.
The New Agenda
Is in play.
No Laff Track clap trap
Obscures that sound
Of Human Rights
as they get ground


A daily verse to the perverse.
A daily rhyme to the sublime
insanity that seems to bind our time
together, (tho yes it could be so much worse).

One thousand three hundred eighty nine more
Continues this push-pull cheering, sobbing
Great or Grating? Still, this subtle robbing
Eroding what stood proudly once before.

To shadow hands, our world is just a toy
With pawns and puppets playing out their roles
For those who broker lives and steal souls
But still, it is our right to find our Joy.

There’s more to hope for than this verse displays,
And more to do than sit and count the days.


With Pruitt
The EPA’s man,
you’d best
breathe deeply
while you


There once was a judge named Gorsuch
Who didn’t like poor people much.
So the Dems tried to muster
A House filibuster.
Those with privilege seem out of touch.


A Russian dictator named Putin
Solved his problems though poison & shootin’
But upon deep reflection,
That he hacked our election
Is a matter, still, of some disputin’.


The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the stalwart GOP
Cruz and Rubio were slippin’, and the rest were lost at sea.
Poor Kasich seemed a RINO and Jeb Bush was still a Bush
But no one quite expected it was Trump who’d kick their tush.

The Democrats, they had their gal – or maybe she had them.
For the DNC conspired to keep ol’ Bernie in the ‘pen.
This time around, no Barry O was there to block her way,
But no single mainstream pundit won the bet on that sad day.

TV Debates were called a draw, and no one quite knew why
A man could be the victor for not spitting on his tie.
But from the bleak fly-over states to fields of alt-right hate,
They knew a pussy-grabbin’ clown would make this country great.

Behind the scenes, and gradually, a new advisor crept.
He sported a gin-blossom nose, and clothes in which he slept.
He hated DC Bureaucrats, and vowed to clear the air,
And had support from Mercer, the Anarchist Billionaire.

But in the meantime, Donald led like Nero back in Rome,
With Conway perched upon her knees just looking quite at home
While at Sean Spicer’s podium amongst evasive lies,
Alternate facts just sat there. In piles, and drawing flies.

His campaign promises fell moot – no wall, no Muslim ban
But privacy and “climate change” were tossed into the can.
His Healthcare plan was DOA – it simply wouldn’t fly.
The Freedom Caucus voted “no” ‘cause not enough would die.

Behind the scenes, Steve Bannon stood. Quite mum about his plots –
A world where he and Alex Jones would get to call the shots
Then when his bloated face had graced the front of Time one day,
Some folks, they started askin’ ‘round – who is he, anyway?

They say he came from Goldman Sachs, and left as a VP
And then he went to Breitbart News and trashed the Left with glee.
He made some propaganda films that proved the Right was right
And all along, with Mercer, his good buddy, he stayed tight.

Who really knew what Bannon wanted when he came to town.
The Donald’s ear? He had it. Still, the word was gettin’ ‘round
That past the policy advice, he had far darker aims –
He longed to see the system crash and burn and left in flames.

But Donald Trump defended him just as an old friend should.
And he who sits at his right hand once said, “Darkness is good.”
But something happened here today, the whys we’ll never know
Kept secret too, the deeper truths beneath this sad sideshow

For somewhere in our Government, behind the fastened doors,
Where Generals can fantasize about their Global Wars.
Back in the hallowed NSC, you’ll hear a joyous shout,
One thousand, three-eight-five to go, Steve Bannon has struck out.


It’s not what Bill O’Reilly did
And not that Trump condones it
It’s not who’s in the White House,
But the secret group that owns it.


There once was a man named Assad.
As a ruler he thought he was God.
With astounding velocities,
He committed atrocities.
I’m sorry. This world is too odd.

Because then, without asking please,
With his bombs, Trump made more casualties.
Then lamented the cost
Of innocents lost,
But he still won’t let in refugees.

As distressing as I find these times,
I’m still sitting here writing rhymes.
My daily obsession
Helps stave off depression
Til I get locked up for Thought Crimes.


One thousand three hundred and eighty two
And each day, new events, so sad and strange
With peace and justice sadly out of range
While power rests in hands of just the few

Say no to crimes of rigged elections
Vote out the shills bought off by cash confections
Remove the ones who’d piss on your protections
And those who have to kill to get erections.

Retire elected puppets bought and paid
By billionaires and right-wing think-tank thugs
Blackly financed by sex and guns and drugs
The ones who of the Truth they are afraid

There still are ways for stopping evil’s climb.
Find power in the ballot while there’s time


This is number 1,381.
And we’re havin’ so much fun…
Lay me down
Roll me over
Do it again.


I want a government that works for guys like me.
That builds us roads that work and schools that teach.
Not some prosperity forever out of reach.
But spacious skies from sea to shining sea.

Don’t give me leaders who just stand around and bitch.
Plot narrow points along a party line
And live their lives in mansions far too fine
While making poorer poor and richer rich.

And when we’re old or sick, to lend a hand
To those who lived their lives as best they could.
A government that serves collective good
And acts as grateful steward of our land.

And then I see the government we got
And wonder how the hell that it got bought.


Yesterday, Dr. Dao was enroute
To Kentucky, but given the boot.
This brutal tirade
Has now sadly made
The concept of “Friendly Skies” moot.


Sean Spicer, he sure has a flair
For blurting untruths without care.
How senseless and crass –
“Hitler never used gas”.
He should talk to some folks who were there.


Kim Jong Un –
Please put down the gun.


Eleven tons of power
Fall down from the sky
And in a mile radius
No time to say goodbye.

“We don’t kill no civilians”
We’ve heard that one before
We also know that truth’s
The first casualty of war

The journalists all in a row
Will take down what is said
Then play it back in black and white
So we don’t see the red.

I have no love for ISIS
Or Radical Islam
But please explain – why did we drop
This Mother of All Bombs.

He called this mission a success
A huge, tremendous score.
I’m pretty sure he liked it
And soon, there might be more.

The game of global Real Estate
A grab for oil and sand
There’s no Art to the Deal
Just the button in his hand.


Golden eggs are a charming addition
To an annual White House tradition.
For the party this Easter
He’ll grab a mom’s keister
And charge all the kiddies admission.


Ayn Rand, could you lend a hand?
Or is it for you: all about Me.
Must you shun complexities of We?
Is your Sacred self so god-damned grand?

I get your fetish for the human will
I also have wondered, “Who is John Galt?”
But is it truly the collective’s fault
When the lucky few take far beyond their fill?

Is human value but a bottom line?
Our greatest purpose only to consume?
To simply be – have we run out of room
In bowing to free market’s Frankenstein?

This poem comes to me as one big question
And from your answer I might get indigestion.


As months progress,
The question burns ~
What is inside


Behind the black mask
There lies,
For sure,
Another agent


There once was a rally in Berkeley
Where some goons on the right acted jerkily.
Them fascist provokers
Brought clubs, knives and pokers.
While the police looked on somewhat quirkily.


This morning, we saw on TV
That FOX News has dumped Bill O’Rielly.
He was given the boot
And a Gold Parachute.
In all fairness, he never touched me.


On Earth Day, a nod to Scott Pruitt.
Climate change is a hoax. Nothing to it.
As things slowly get hotter,
Some day, under water,
He’ll sadly admit that he blew it.


Rush Limbaugh is an addict.
Bill’s a sexist pig
Ann Coulter is a scarecrow
With no brains beneath her wig.

Then there’s Tucker Carlson
With his mommy-tied bow-tie.
And if Glen Beck should come to mind,
I only wonder why.

The local Michael Savage?
A bully and a hack.
I’m glad that Milo went away,
And please never come back.

“Performance artist” Alex Jones
Is paranoid and mad
And Koppel said Sean Hannity,
For America, is bad.

These shouting, ranting pundits
Hot air like passing gas,
Debates like All-Star Wrestling
But only with less class.

Where are the thoughtful voices
To speak for the Red State
Who don’t spew tired insults
And ratings-driven hate

On either side, politically,
It’s reasoned thought I crave.
Somewhere, old William Buckley
Is a’ rolling in his grave.


Days to go: One-Three-Six-Seven.
All good children go to Heaven.


Three Cheers for our boy Jeffery Sessions.
His policies, mostly regressions.
While for Justice he’s crowing,
His white sheet is showing.
No wonder there’s voter suppression.


The billionaire Betsy DeVoss
Of the whole country’s schools was made boss.
For our students I fret.
Empty minds full of debt.
And each science class gets its own cross.


Our grants for the Arts are quite small.
Not much of our budget at all.
But they still get the slash
To help free up more cash
To build 2,000 miles of wall.


Our President: narcissist, manic.
Still, some say there’s no need to panic.
Some march, others fret.
Some have voter regret.
Dusting deck chairs upon the Titanic.


One-thousand three hundred and sixty-two
Days until this administration ends
And still the Corporate Media pretends
This sad joke is not on me and you.

On what to do, elected Dems still draw a blank
So marchers pick a cause and fill the streets
Their clever phrases raised on signs and sheets
While those who call the shots march to the bank.

One hundred days. So many swamps to drain.
So many walls to build, bridges to burn.
So much fake news exhausting to unlearn
And far too many drugs to mask our pain.

To Great America, let us raise our drink.
A subsidiary of Koch Brothers, Inc.


At the Press Dinner on Saturday,
Donald Trump did not come to play.
He eschewed their lampooning
Preferring the swooning
Of his dear friends at the NRA.

March, 2017


With days to go
At fourteen-oh-five
Please celebrate
Your being alive.


The days to go
Are Fourteen – O – Four.
Kellyanne Conway
Is a parlor house whore.


With days to go
At fourteen-oh-three
Don’t let 45
Put his hand on your knee.


With his “Yes Men” advisors in tow,
His First Lady is still a no-show.
Will Democracy thrive,
Or just rich guys survive –
Fourteen-Hundred & Two days to go.


Fourteen Hundred and One.
And the fun’s just begun!
Slashing budgets except for Defense.
He’s not qualified.
He big-talked, and lied.
Would we rather have President Pence?


There’s Fourteen Hundred Days!
Let’s hear Hip-Hip Hoorays!

(Except from people who are gay
Or came from countries far away
The scientists and teachers too,
Unlucky folks who get the flu,
And have no cash to see their Docs,
The bees all dying by the flock,
The Native folk who daily pray
On land where their ancestors lay,
Artistic folks who must create
And all the foreign heads of state,
The ones not deaf to those in need
Or fueled by power, lust and greed
The hearts that ache, the souls that grieve
The fools who want clean air to breathe
The sick, the scared, the sad, the old,
The folks who don’t do what they’re told.
The Eagle, Buffalo and Foxes
Those who don’t fit into boxes.
Made by those who claim to see
The truth about what you should be,
And those who think and those who feel
And have to beg for their next meal
Because they lost their safety net
To fund defense department debt,
And social justice league attorneys
And all of us who cast for Bernie.)

To those of you who’re left to cheer –
You have a pleasant day, m’ dear.


Thirteen hundred and ninety nine days
Until the Madness End.
Unless ,INC comes after your name,
Neil Gorsuch is not your friend.


Thirteen hundred and ninety eight
I ain’t got no more time for hate.


One thousand three hundred and ninety seven
Days til this administration ends.
With bitter arguments twixt families and friends
As whether it’s path leads to hell or heaven.

Emailed leaks and Russians fill the news
Alluding to and masking plans beneath.
Dark visionaries rotting Freedom’s Wreath.
Believe with all your heart the Truths you choose.

And as a rhyming counter of the days,
Distractions from the things left undiscussed –
This sad and crumbling edifice that is us.
The price a future generation pays.

My counting down – a mask for my confusion,
Lamenting every obvious conclusion.


Thirteen-ninety-six days to go
That health care vote was quite a show.
The Freedom Caucus had him eating crow.
Let’s hear it again for The Party of No.


The Tower where Mrs. Trump stays
Has a bill our society pays.
Barricades and 5-0
Costing mountains of dough
Thirteen hundred and ninety five days.


With the common folk he’s out of touch.
With their minimum wages and such.
Doesn’t care if you’re tired.
Freeze to death or get fired.
Vote ‘no’ on Neil Gorsuch.


Only 1,393 days to go.



Thirteen hundred and ninety two days
Until I hope we will be parting ways
With this pretender to an elevated station,
This avowed enemy of education,
Champion of deniers of science,
Advocate of self reliance
Unless you’re of the moneyed elite,
Or nourished at the lobbyist teat.
One-percent? Russian?
Pick up the phone. Otherwise, sorry.
Yer on yer own.
Man of the deal. Man of action.
Treating governance as a financial transaction.
Such a gamer. Such a kidder.
Selling legacies to the highest bidder.
Fearful of press, avoider of arts
Narcissistic whiffer of his own farts
Making America great again
Yes, let the deregulation begin!
Jobs! Jobs! Jobs! At any cost, growth!
A cynical mockery of a sacred oath.
Who’s woods these are, I think I know.
His house is in a gated village though.

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


Thirteen hundred and ninety one.
Celebrated, in brief, with rhyme.
Telling the truth’s not always fun,
But General Flynn – you should try it sometime.