Father Bragg
he was a humble priest
until his altar ego
took over.
Herd Impunity
what the Republicans lost
when Donald Trump lost.
Aesop gets the call
Aesop!
Get your ass over here!
We need a fable
ASAP!
Me, Mike Pence and the Magaleptic Mob
the only one between me and the magaleptic mob,
a zaftig army in dollar store camouflage,
is Mike Pence
their fists are raised to the spacious skies
there’s spittle on their lips
anger and atavism in their eyes
this does not bother me
a rock hits the wrought iron gate behind me
this also does not bother me
I’m staring into an open cooler
containing ten tall cans of craft pale ale
and a bag of frozen shrimp
and I can see that the ice is melting
way faster than I expected
this bothers me
Go through the gate, Mike yells
Go through the gate
But Mike, I reply, I need more ice for the shrimp!
Forget the fucking shrimp, Mike yells
Go through the gate
and I’m thinking,
Mrs. Pence would not like that kind of language
I look down at the shrimp
and imagine them curled and pink on my plate
with a dash of soy
a dash of sriracha
another rock hits the wrought iron gates
they swing open onto a long driveway
that leads up to a large mansion
which I know in the strange logic of dreams
is a house of consequence
I know this is the house of Richard Nixon
I turn to Mike who is bleeding from the forehead
and clutching the nuclear football
like a quarterback waiting for someone to run a pattern
and I say
Hey Mike, I wonder if Mr. Nixon has a freezer.
Taking part in Open Link over at dverse
Make America Serious Again
make America serious again, Joe
it’s time
it’s time
all those rabble forming
Capitol storming
sons and daughters
of Fox News
and The National Enquirer
with their MAGA hats
and their saturated fats
and their uniforms from Costco
kick them to the curb, Joe
kick them to the curb
those blond surrogates
with their perfect teeth
and their android eyes
those slick grifters
those cocaine sniffers
those arse lickers
with their Bannon leers
and their licorice souls
kick them to the curb, Joe
kick them to the curb
It’s time , Joe
the world needs
a man on a white horse
at least for a while,
it’s high noon, Joe
the orange buffoon, Joe
kick him to the curb
kick him to the curb
it’s time, Joe
it’s time.
Taking part in the Open Link Weekend over at earthweal, check them out …one of the most interesting poetry websites and Brendan’s editorials and challenges are always fascinating.
The Toddler King Part 5
5 a.m.
the toddler king
checks his twitter feed
access denied
it’s quiet now
but all last night
all he could hear
was the squeak and rustle
of rats leaving the ship
he stares out into the murky depths
Mitch McConnell swims by
an oxygen tank strapped to his back,
his lugubrious visage
fills the porthole
he removes his oxygen mask
a bubble escapes from his mouth
and floats upwards
his wattles sway like kelp
in the shifting currents
he has the detached look
of a man examining a museum exhibit
another bubble escapes upwards
he turns and kicks for the surface
his sagging buttocks
pale but somehow luminous
Am I dead?
The toddler king wonders
I can’t be dead
I’m absolutely not dead
If I say I’m not dead
I’m not dead.
Hey, what’s Ted Cruz doing out there
I thought this was a Cruz ship!
See, I made a joke
I can’t be dead!
Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal
PRES(B)IDENT
The Dryer Vent Invasion
Last night I dreamt
that Jared Kushner and Stephen Miller
had entered my basement
through the dryer vent,
maybe “entered” is the wrong word
it was more an “insinuation”,
a slithering, under the vent flap
down the plastic vent hose
and into the dryer drum
where they paused briefly
to cough up some lint
before pushing open the dryer door
and oozing out onto the basement floor.
In the morning I went down to check the basement
feeling more than a little anxious.
it was empty, nothing had changed.
I sensed movement
out of the corner of my right eye
I turned, but there was no one there.
I sensed movement
out of the corner of my left eye
I turned, again there was no one there
but there was a smell
not the usual one, from that sock
abandoned at the bottom of my gym bag
this was rancid, pungent, acrid, fetid, halitotic
with a hint of damp weasel
the smell of venal ambition
the smell of distilled evil
one hundred per cent proof.
Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal
Late at night in the White House
while Donald’s in bed asleep,
the dead presidents
one and all
leave their places
on the wall
to dance their dance
to sing their song
of presidential grief.
The Return of Agent Orange
once again, the muddled masses gather
once again, the anxious flag flutters
in the magaleptic breeze.
Vice-Presidential Boogie
Things are slow now
But I won’t be watching the vice-presidential debate
Things are slow now
But I won’t be watching the vice-presidential debate
Nothing against Kamala Harris
It’s Mike Pence, I can’t tolerate
Vice-presidential boogie
Do that vice-presidential thing
Vice-presidential boogie
Do that vice-presidential thing
You’re not part of history
But you’re waiting in the wings.
Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal
Is Joe
the rainbow
after the storm
the light
at the end of
the tunnel
the bar man
who will create
a cocktail
that is better
than the current mix
of braggadocio and bile,
garnished with a licorice stick
of lies, the Orange Russian?
Is he the man
to drive the sedan of democracy
straight down the middle of the road
to remind us of what
we used to regard as order?
Or does he have to be that?
It would be enough to be
the ornament on the hood
of that sedan,
because the thing is
he doesn’t have to be the thing
others can take care of the thing
he just needs to be
a symbol of the thing.
Is Joe
the rainbow
after the storm
the light
at the end of
the tunnel?
Jesus, I hope so.
The challenge from Brendan over at earthweal is “Write about storms and rainbows from whatever vantage seems most appropriate to you.”
The Arc of the Denier
it’s all fun and games
until one morning you wake up
with a bad case of the hoax.
The Fallen (2020)
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 still Humpty sits on his wall
and still we wait for Humpty’s Great Fall.
A different version of this poem appeared in Oddball Magazine
Taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal . https://earthweal.com/2020/07/03/earthweal-open-link-weekend-27/
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. Taking Part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal.
earthweal open link weekend #26
Executive Order from the White House Bunker
a bucket of wings
three burgers, with bacon, cheese,
slice of apple pie,
a bible, and some Advil,
my bone spur is killing me.
The Path Forward
no dumbass in a MAGA hat
is going to solve this one
all the bluster you can muster
will do nothing at all,
remember that guy
who got first in the class
the one wearing glasses
who never got the girl
he’s the one who will save our asses
so get out of the way
you won’t be missed
this one will be solved by scientists.
The challenge over at earthweal is to write a poem about The Crossroad we are at. Well, this is possibly not the subtlest poem ever written but hey…..these are not subtle times.
The Toddler King Part 4
5 am. in America
the toddler king
checks his Twitter feed
and wonders how to spin this one
how to make this one a win
in the empty parking lot of a big box store
a plastic glove pirouettes on the viral breeze
the toddler king thumbs through
The Totalitarian Dictators Hand Book
a present from that rascal, Stephen Miller
“hmmmmm….cull the herd
leave the old and weak to die
already got that one going!
banish the teachers, scientists and intellectuals
send them to the countryside to work on a farm
hey, that might work!”
but then he becomes a little wan, a little wistful
he wonders why he’s always the guy
standing on someone’s front lawn, shouting
“Look over here, look over here!”
while Miller and his gang ransack the house
and leave by the backdoor with the television
and the jewelry
he stares out at the White House lawn
and the suffering, beleaguered nation beyond
and thinks:
“Hey, I just realized the ‘Caps’ in Caps Lock stands for CAPITALS!!
I wonder how many people know that!!”
Taking part in OPen Link over at dverse.
Also taking part in Open Link Weekend over at earthweal.
Stable Genius
O stable genius
keeper of the keys
the stable door hangs open
the horses are running free.
Taking part in open link over at earthweal.
It’s Open Link Weekend over at earthweal and editor in chief , Brendan, is feeling a little down in an eloquent, acerbic and humorous way, so head on over there, check out his post and link one of your poems.
Here’s one from 2018, which is surprisingly current and is either cheerful or depressing depending on your politics.
The Toddler King
1
5 am. in America
the toddler king
checks his Twitter feed
a five hundred pound ball
of carbohydrate and grease
rolls across the parking lot
of a big box store
assault rifles take stock
the second amendment
thinks about making amends
the founding fathers
find themselves wanting.
2
5 am. in America
the toddler king
checks his Twitter feed
in the empty parking lot
of a big box store
a plastic bag pirouettes
on the halitotic breeze
national monuments
fear for their lives
the adjectives – good, bad, great-
drop in value again
the toddler king
picks a fight with himself.
3
5 am. in America
the toddler king
checks his Twitter feed
an empty shopping cart
rolls across the parking lot
of a big box store
and wishes it was
a metaphor for something
rivers say goodbye
to their banks
the ocean
eyes the shore
the toddler king pardons
those great American dioxides
sulphur, nitric, carbon
they are quickly released.
Water (off a duck’s back)
What’s that?…….no, no, it’s all rubbish,
climate change is a Deep State hoax.
By the way, forgot to mention
I have some ocean front for sale in Florida,
are you interested?
I hear you’re a good swimmer.
Ha, that’s just a joke,
God controls the climate
the rivers, lakes and seas.
Look what he did for Moses.
Our local preacher has a direct line,
just send a donation
before he gets arrested.
Joking again! Those rumours
are just not true.
Besides, our supreme leader, Donald, says
we are going to have a great climate
the best climate ever.
Do you know any Dutch people?
They’re good at handling all this water stuff.
Another thing, does anyone else
really miss the dinosaurs?
I had this rubber brontosaurus
when I was kid, I kind of liked it,
a velociraptor too…where was I?
Yes, this oceanfront property in Florida
it comes with a row boat.
The word of the week over at earthweal is water. Got the idea for this poem while reading Sarahsouthwest’s poem “Water Again”.
Also participating in open link night over at dverse.
Four Expressions Using The Word “Hell”
that’s one hell of an expression
it’s all going to hell in a hand basket
they were scattered all over hell’s half acre
hell hath no fury like a president impeached.
When the Twittering Stops
it’s all fun
and games ’til
the body
bags come home.
Late at night in the White House
while Donald’s in bed asleep,
the dead presidents
one and all
leave their places
on the wall
to dance their dance
to sing their song
of presidential grief.
A version of this poem appeared with 4 other poems, a little while back in the online magazine Anti-Heroin Chic
The subject over at dverse today is “Smoke and Mirrors”, so I thought I would give the poem another outing.
Drain The Swamp Rag
(Walk that back
walk that back
I know I said it
but I walked that back.)
Attack dog surrogates
inveterate invertebrates
re-stock the swamp
with old white males.
Post logic, post truth,
snake oil and kool-aid
re-stock the swamp
with old white males.
Mike Pence, John Bolton
Rudy Giuliani
re-stock the swamp
with old white males
Inveterate surrogates
attack dog invertebrates
re-mail the stock
to the old white swamp
re-stock the swamp
with old white males.
