
Operation Epic Cruelty
Amid the twisted rebar and the rubble
the pages of a schoolbook flutter.
Taking part in Open Link over at Open Link Night #404 | dVerse

Operation Epic Cruelty
Amid the twisted rebar and the rubble
the pages of a schoolbook flutter.
Taking part in Open Link over at Open Link Night #404 | dVerse

The Toddler King has Second Thoughts
5 am
the Toddler King checks Truth Social
his stomach gurgles
shouldn’t have had
that second burger
in the parking lot of a big box store
two plastic bags
pirouette on the morning breeze
in the back seat of a Ford
a store day shift worker wakes up
and checks her watch
she’s been sleeping in her car
to avoid that 2 hour round trip
gas is too expensive
in the Middle East
war drags on
eyes for eyes
teeth for teeth
but no one is tallying
the eyes and teeth
and no one is turning
the other cheek
that is soooo New Testament
a week ago, a Tomahawk missile
hit an Iranian school
and killed 170 people, mostly children
the US Military weren’t sure
if it was their Tomahawk,
considering the missiles
cost around $2 million dollars
you think they would know
where they were sending them
no one is claiming responsibility
and the news media has moved on
meanwhile the Toddler King
is sitting on the can
could be a lengthy process
that protein carbohydrate diet
has its drawbacks
he’s feeling nostalgia for times past, simpler times
last month for example
Greenland eh,
now that would have been less complicated
he’s thinking also of Tomahawks
and the Tomahawk chop
and how Native Americans don’t like the term
but no one objects to the name being used
for a missile and he thinks
man, that’s deep,
I should call a press conference
if I could only get off
this damn toilet.

The Waiting Room
The receptionist at Medical Imaging
tells the man in the wheelchair
to have a seat
I look around to see
If anyone has noticed
the redundancy of that instruction
but they’re all on their phones
plucking messages from the ether.
The waiting room is brightly decorated,
I pass the time by giving names to the colours
Monday Custard yellow
Remains of The Rain Forest green.
Life is a waiting room
Man, that’s deep!
I should stop reading that Dan Brown novel.
I reflect on the spread of the literal
there’s a cafe on Broadway called “Provisions”
elsewhere there’s a bar called Brown’s Social House
there’s a restaurant called The Eatery.
Next they’ll be putting signs on park benches
saying “Place Where People Sit”.
But just when I think that irony is dead
the NRA, having learnt that the innocent man
executed by ICE agents in Minneapolis
was carrying a concealed weapon,
feels obliged to point out that this is not an offence
that warrants execution.
It is the God given right of every American to carry a weapon.
They fail to mention that peaceful protest
is also not an offence that warrants execution.
The receptionist calls the guy in the wheelchair.
Time moves slowly in the waiting room
outside the world is moving in fast forward.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse

Snow Business
an Arctic cold front
Amazon trucks stuck
down snow-packed side roads
but that was 2022
this year
the winter is mild
that low January sun
illuminating the dust under the sofa
and that kid’s toy from Christmas
that no one could find.
south of the border
the president is obsessed with Greenland
there’s no business like snow business
he says
but Greenland
where all the brass monkeys sing soprano
and Ice has a different meaning
is a long, long way from Mar-A-Lago
Over at dverse the prompt is “snow”.

A more relevant question would be : Could AI write a good novel? And the answer would be: Probably not!
Novels aside, I have always wanted to draw cartoons but I don’t have the drawing skills so when WordPress added the ability to generate images using AI, I thought this is my chance. A fat chance it turned out to be . The instruction I gave for the image above was AI writing a novel. Hard to tell what that robot is doing but it has some pencils nearby in a cup, one has an eraser, very old school!
For a recent post, which I have since deleted, I put in an instruction to generate an image of Donald Trump leading a flock of sheep off a cliff. This what AI generated:

Not bad but Donald appears to be leading the sheep away from the cliff’s edge and what is that sheep’s head doing on Donald’s lapel? And that electrical pole in the background, is it connected to anything?
So I tried keeping it simple and just wrote “sycophants” as an instruction. These folk turned up:

I don’t know…is it a birthday party?
So I tried the opening line of my favourite joke….A giraffe walks into a bar…

Well that’s a little better, it’s a giraffe and a bar. Of course you all know the punchline.
AI can generate the obvious but can it create humour? To use a music analogy, AI is the equivalent of a cover band, it can at best produce a copy of what has gone before. But can it take what has gone before, throw it up in the air and create something original?
I for one…….

On Reflection…. Donald Trump
America has given birth
to a giant orange child
a zaftig infant Gulliver
striding the ravaged earth
of his own imagination
trampling whole villages
swallowing villagers whole.
This poem was published previously in Oddball Magazine.

Anderson Cooper’s Hair
There’s something comforting
about Anderson Cooper’s hair
its quietude
its insouciance
its unabashed whiteness
no Clooney dusting of grey
no Pavarotti boot polish black
just plain white
lightly cropped
a hint of a comb over, maybe
but that’s ok
and it does not move
a Midwest tornado
vile invective
a blast of foul air
from the president’s mouth
nothing moves Anderson Cooper’s hair;
to misquote Paul McCartney
and triple down on a preposition
in this ever changing world
in which we live in,
there’s something
comforting about that.

Go Fly a Kite
blatant weather
so unashamedly spring
cherry blossoms striking iPhone poses
the sun making promises
it cannot possibly keep
on Easter Sunday
while the churchgoing are going to church
we vote in the federal election
on Easter Monday
after giving Jesus his day
Pope Francis shuffles quietly off the mortal
and leaves us to talk of tariffs, annexation
I look north to the snow-capped peaks
and the wilderness beyond
and I think
we could mount a resistance from there
if it comes to it
if it comes to it
lately, the phrase
that could never happen
seems impossibly naïve
I submit a version of this poem
to Poets Respond at Rattle Magazine
and get a form rejection
but I understand
they receive so many submissions
and they are so polite
meanwhile to the south
the behemoth awakens
a faint, melancholy stirring in his loins
he remembers that he was once the Loin King
and now he’s just the king of all that he destroys
and it doesn’t seem like enough.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.

The Sheriff Of Tariffdom
Down by Locarno Beach
two guys in camouflage pants
are repeatedly checking
underneath their parked Tesla
they check, they get back in the car
they don’t start the car
they get back out
they check underneath the car again
what could they be looking for?
Snow-capped mountains
an empty eagle’s nest
in the bare branches of a tree
is this a symbol?
Is everything a symbol?
Nope,
the eagle is down on the beach
searching for snacks in tide pools
is this a metaphor?
Is everything a metaphor?
April’s Fools Day, and to the south of us
The Sherriff of Tariffdom
The Prince of Petulance
The Toddler King
is looking for his Sharpie.

The prompt over at dverse is :
“So for this prompt our writing will be in the Open Poetry Form, otherwise known as Free Verse or Vers Libre. This is not to be regarded as an anarchic free-for -all but rather poetry set free from the uniform straight jacket.”
For more on Laura’s excellent prompt, read here.

The Man with Orange Hair (A Lament)
Wiffle, waffle, wombat ways
These are the very worst of days.
Beware, beware, beware, beware
Beware the man with orange hair.
Grickle, grackle, grunt and grumble
Sit and watch the markets tumble
The threat of war is everywhere
Beware the man with orange hair
Trump, Rubio, Vance and Musk
It’s enough to make an angel cuss
Protest, protest if you dare
Beware the man with orange hair.
The prompt over at dverse is:
“Writing challenge: Write a complaint using the poetry form made popular by William Dunbar, Lament for the Makers. Your theme is your own, be it unrequited love or a satirical poem on the injustice of the world.“

Dispatch from La Costa Gringa
A baby’s soother in the sand
plastic nipple blackening
in the Mexican sun.
Tequila on the rocks
Iguanas on the rocks
A girl with a falcon
by the breakfast buffet.
Down here on La Costa Gringa
it’s still Margaritaville
but no one I see is wasting away
and no one, absolutely no one
wants to talk politics.
In the markets though
they’re selling t shirts
saying Canada and Mexico
are not for sale.
A gay couple from San Francisco
get married on the beach.
Why does this seem threatened?
Why does everything seem threatened?
And to the north of us
a president out of an abandoned Vonnegut novel
is making friends with enemies
making enemies out of friends.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.

Donald Trump announced today that the Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) will from now on be called the America Goose (Goosaurus Americanus). He says that Canada has been stealing American birds for too long and now it’s payback time!
Wait…..this just in….Donald has now banned the use of Latin to name animals, plants and flowers. He says “For too long , we have kowtowed to the Romans, but no more, from now on the only empire is the American Empire!”
If you’re reading this message I recommend you join TOT, Turn Off Trump. You’ll find that both your mental health and your relationship with the truth will vastly improve (clinical studies have shown).
The Editor, Vapid Magazine

Muskerberg and The Toddler King
The rough beast is leaving Bethlehem
Musk Ox and Meta Morf
joined at the hip
their android stares
fixed on the horizon
slouching into twenty twenty five.
And all across the world
lonely men light up their lap tops
and search for unverified facts
formerly known as “lies”.
Meanwhile the Toddler King sleeps soundly
dreaming that he’s on an ice floe
off the coast of Greenland.
In the dream he owns that ice floe
and seals honk
in what he interprets to be approval.
Taking part in OpenLink over at dverse

The Second Coming of Donald
The rumors started just after he won the election
strange happenings at his rallies
the blind seeing
the deaf hearing
the lame walking
the mute talking
he began to take credit for the sun coming up.
Then those stories out of Mar A Lago
how at one banquet
he turned bread rolls into fried chicken
and at another
he turned water into Coca Cola
then there was the time
he walked across a pond
to retrieve his golf ball
and fishing..
don’t talk to me about fishing
the people of Florida
are lining up to go fishing with Donald.

Musk and Ramaswamy
(Department Of Giant Egos)
This just in from the Dow (Department of Wordplay).
Lately I’m seeing anagrams everywhere
DOGE
E god
E dog
Elon
NoEl , NoEl
LEon
Leon Musk and the Musk Rats
Tesla
stale
stale Musk
Musk Oil
Apply daily to improve your efficiency
but not your dance moves
and then there’s Ramaswamy
almost an anagram for
“warm yams”
almost but not quite
Vivek…sur le K vive?
how about
yr mama saw?
Nope it’s not happening
he’s outta here
Besides there’s only room for one giant ego in any department anywhere
yes look out Donald Don Lad
Elon is a LonE Musketeer.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.


This poem was written back in the first reign of King Donald and now that he is naming a new collection of fall guys I thought it would be worth one more revival.
The Fallen
Today I thought about Reince Priebus
not so much the man,
more the strange music of his name;
those slender vowels reversing
that echo of wince
the possible meanings
a salve, an ointment
put some Reince on that cut, son;
the Latinate portliness of Priebus
a writ to slap someone with – Habeas Priebus
a complicated skateboard manoeuvre
he executed a perfect reverse Priebus;
then I thought of Anthony, dear Anthony,
Scaramucci, Scaramucci
will you do the fandango,
you were not long with us
but still the smell of aftershave lingers
and it was you who let us know
about Steve Bannon’s auto fellatio,
alas, poor Steve
abandoned on the side of the road
like a rumpled sofa
a rumpled sofa smelling of yesterday’s sweat
and stale doctrine;
and what about Spicer and Huckabee
cartoon characters
Plucky and Angry
your souls will be in the repair shop
for some time to come.
They appear in waves,
the arrested –
Flynn, Cohen and Stone,
the ones who once were serious people –
McMaster, Kelly, Bolton.
In years to come when men and women gather
to talk of greatness
your names will be long forgotten.
The list of the fallen goes on and on
and now against all odds
another crew is climbing aboard Starship Donald.
A different version of this poem appeared in Oddball Magazine

Post –Election Riddle
If a democracy elects
a threat to democracy
is that self-harm?
The Trickle Down
Donald wins
and the Dow goes priapic
more money in the pockets of the working man
NOT
at best a trickle down
a leakage
from the anus of capitalism.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.

Election Night
xenophobia
hums in the background
like a cheap fridge

Will Trumpty Get Back on the Wall?
Will Trumpty, will Trumpty
get back on the wall?
Less than 3 months to go
and it’s too close to call.
There are those who know
he’s a felon, a fake
but others just like
the noises he makes.
The grunts , the growls
of the alpha male
the postures, the pouting
the lies and tall tales.
Taking part in OpenLink over a dverse.

A Tanka for Donald Trump
morning has broken
Donald is talking bollocks,
the sun’s going down
Donald is talking bollocks,
sun comes up, yep, you guessed it.
This was originally titled ” A Tanka for Boris Johnson” but I realized that I could substitute any populist leader with a two syllable first name.