
Children held in camps at the US border…
the sultan of spin
in all his orange glory
can’t polish this one.

Children held in camps at the US border…
the sultan of spin
in all his orange glory
can’t polish this one.
A version of this poem appeared with 4 other poems, a little while back in the online magazine Anti-Heroin Chic

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.

Free Associating in New Orleans
The waitress in the restaurant on Frenchmen Street
tells us that the rack of lamb changed her life;
that the flank steak with an ocean sauce of baby shrimps and clams
is to die for.
Surf and turf.
America continues its love affair with protein.
General Bonespur pulls out of the Iran deal.
The first cab driver is from Saudi
his mother is from Pakistan
he tells us that Pakistan
is a better place to party.
No surprises there.
The second cab driver is Egyptian.
We talk a little about Trump’s America
but mostly we talk about Mohammed Salah,
the Egyptian Messi
Egypt’s pride and joy
who is also a good person
gives back to his community
has sponsored seven weddings
in the village he comes from.
Now all of Egypt supports
Liverpool Football Club.
The third cab driver is Jordanian
The fourth cab driver is Algerian
we commiserate, our national teams
did not qualify for the World Cup;
we talk about lack of money
pampered players, poor coaching.
We couldn’t be happier.
Immigrants in cars talking soccer.
The Toddler King Part (2)
5 a.m. 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.

1
I often ask myself the question:
Is James Comey a bit of a wanker
a self-aggrandizing prima donna
who only looks honourable
when compared to Donald Trump?
I often ask myself that question.
2
I often ask myself the question:
can a man
mansplain to a man
or can a man
only mansplain
to a woman, and if so
if one explains something
in a condescending manner
to a member
of one’s own gender
is one, in effect,
cisplaining?
I often ask myself that question.
The Toddler King Part (2)
5 a.m. 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.

The Toddler King Part (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,
no one notices
assault rifles take stock
the second amendment
thinks about making amends
the founding fathers
find themselves wanting.
These poems were originally written as an attempt to provoke. That didn’t happen, and nothing changed as a result of writing them but at least I had some fun doing it. The second poem appeared in the magazine Anti_Heroin Chic

Haiku for Donald
petulant pillock
postcranial curmudgeon
bombastic buffoon.

Trumputin (a romance)
Don loves Vlad
Vlad loves Don
Love as big as
A nuclear bomb.
Front door, back door,
Kremlin, tower
Nuclear love
Nuclear power.
A Very American Problem
In the wake of the recent mass shooting…
in the wake..as if the mass shooting is an ocean liner
and we are sailboats helplessly bobbing.
In the wake of the recent mass shooting
the President will talk about mental health (not his own)
and find someone to blame.
In the wake of the recent mass shooting
Anderson Cooper and his panel discussed how in future
the notification of victims’ families could be speeded up,
the acceptance of the inevitability of mass shootings
inherent in this discussion
saddened me more than anything.
In the wake of the recent mass shooting
thoughts, hearts, prayers will go out,
in a mass exodus of platitudes.
In the wake of the recent mass shooting
no one will ask how someone who can’t legally purchase alcohol
can purchase an assault rifle.
This observation, this juxtaposition
has become so obvious, so commonplace,
it no longer qualifies as an insight.
Lecture (Why Fifty Shades of Grey is a boring title)
a reason
to protest
glass
the
intimate
taste
of
butter
the
intimate
taste
of
glass
a reason
to protest
butter.

The Cartoon President
I watched the new Showtime series “The Cartoon President” on the weekend. It was funny…..sort of, more Simpson’s than South Park. The main problem is the central character, Donald. He comes across as a benign mix of Homer Simpson and Archie Bunker or even Dennis the Menace – a rambunctious, mischievous boy child constantly frustrating the adults tasked with his supervision. He’s almost, and I hate to say this, likeable. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that Donald himself and seven year old boys all over the world will probably enjoy the show.
On the plus side there are very accurate caricatures of General Kelly, Mitch McConnell, Paul Ryan and Donald Trump Jr.
This time last year, at every social event I went to, the subject of Donald Trump could not be avoided. This year? Nothing. The Trump presidency has become a bit like one of those television series that people get tired of watching – no discernible plot, no character development, poorly written dialogue and we still have to suffer through seasons 2, 3 and 4.
These are the Trump posts I had most fun writing in 2017, they rely a bit more (I think) on language rather than straight polemic.
“Agent Orange has a dark Moment” was published in Rat’s Ass Review” and “Donald Trump – On Reflection” was published in “Oddball Magazine“.
it
does
not
augur
well.

Donald’s Early Days
A farrago of fiascos,
banishments and bans;
weekends at Mar-a-Lago
the world in his hands.

Agent Orange has a Dark Moment
Do you know who I miss? Jeb Bush. I miss Jeb Bush. He was my first. When I hit him with that low energy jibe and he fell apart and all the Bush family could not put Humpty together again, I knew I was on to something. Then Little Marco and Lyin’ Ted, I miss them too. But most of all, I miss Hillary, Crooked Hillary. Man, she was tough, had me on the ropes. It took Comey and Vlad, that pointy headed villain, to get me back on my feet. I was nearly out for the count, which might not have been a bad thing. Who needs this shit! I should give Vlad a call, I’m a bit worried -there’s no such thing as a free hack.
Reince Priebus – what kind of fucking name is that? It sounds like bad news from the doctor. “I’m sorry, Donald, you have a Reince Priebus on your rectum and it doesn’t look good”. Ha, I just made myself laugh. And Bannon, I’ve seen sofas on the side of the road in better shape than that rumpled fucker. Spice Box? Hardest job in the world – explaining the unexplainable. That Melissa Mc.Carthy just slays me. How come all the cool people are on the other side? Who have I got? Ryan and Pence? Bland and Blander? Where did Pence come from anyway with his brush cut and his antediluvian politics? The best surgeons in the world couldn’t remove the poker from that guy’s ass. Antediluvian, you didn’t expect that did you?
Talking of cool, I should give Barack a call, ask him down to Florida for a game of golf; check his birth certificate again (Joking! How I miss those days). Man, I hate this fucking White House furniture, is it Friday yet?

Haiku for Donald
petulant pillock
postcranial curmudgeon
bombastic buffoon.

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.

Late at night in the White House
while Donald is 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.
lt’s been a sordid year
a tawdry year
a year of constant sleaze
each new low
trumping the old low
with evangelical zeal
but we’ve finally hit rock bottom
we’ve finally hit the floor
I’m talkin’ about
I’m talkin’ about
I’m talkin’ about Roy Moore.
The Fallen (2017)
1
Goodbye Reince Priebus
no longer will I contemplate
the strange music of your name –
those slender vowels reversing,
no longer will I look for meanings, explanations –
Reince?
A salve to be applied sparingly to a wound?
Put some Reince on that cut, son!
a rinse? a douche? a poultice?
and Priebus?
Latinate portliness – a Shakespearean character,
a writ to slap someone with- Habeas Priebus,
or a complicated skateboard manouevre:
He executed a perfect reverse Priebus!
Reince, it’s been a slice.
2
Scaramucci, Scaramucci,
will you do the fandango?
Anthony, we hardly knew you,
but thanks for letting us know
about Steve Bannon
and his auto-fellatio.
3
Alas, poor Stephen,
abandoned
like a rumpled sofa.
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…
View original post 69 more words
These poems are part of Oddball Magazine’s lead in to the anniversary of Election Day 2016. Versions of the poems have appeared previously on this blog, although the first poem is radically different than the blog poem.
Check them out here.
This poem was written earlier in the year, but it is still , I think, depressingly relevant. It also appeared with 4 other poems in the online magazine Anti-Heroin Chic
(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.
Post Obamacare,
post pussy-gate, post gator aid
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.
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.

There’s something comforting
about Anderson Cooper’s hair
its quietude
its insouciance
its unabashed whiteness
no Paul Manafort chocolate brown
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
Hurricane Harvey
Hurricane Irma
blasts of hot air
from a Trump surrogate’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
that’s comforting
about that.

Goodbye Reince Preibus
I’m sorry you had to go
now we are left with Bannon
and his auto fellatio
Scaramucci, Scaramucci
will you do the fandango.
I have been fascinated by the name “Reince Preibus” since I first heard it, the chainsaw screech of “Reince”, the Latinate portliness of “Preibus”.
Reince: There is something otherworldly, foreign about those slender vowels “ei” before the “nce”. The “ince” part is fairly common – wince, mince, convince- and even the Germanic sounding “ein” is common enough -skein, stein – but “eince” is something else, a chainsaw screech but modified as if heard through ear muffs. There is also something medicinal about it – a salve to be applied sparingly (put some reince on that cut, son).
Then “Priebus” takes the “ei” and reverses them (pronounced to rhyme with “Brie”). It has a Latinate portliness, like a Shakespearean character, or a writ to slap someone with- “Habeas Priebus”; or a complicated skateboard manoeuvre – he executed a perfect reverse Priebus.
Yes, the Trump administration is a treasure trove of assonance, dissonance and onomatopoeia. The man himself sounds like a heavy landing, a cross between “rump” and “triumph”. “Jared Kushner” is the sound of something nasty being squelched underfoot and Melania and Ivanka with their Eastern European aura put the “ass” back in “assonance” (sorry about that one).
Goodbye Reince Preibus
no more will I contemplate
the strange music of your name
those slender vowels reversing
no longer will I look for meanings, explanations
Reince? A salve to be applied
sparingly to a wound?
a rinse? a douche? a poultice?
and Priebus? A complicated procedure?
Last night, doctors performed
an emergency preibus
the patient is doing well.
Goodbye Reince Preibus
I’m sorry to see you go
now we are left with Steve Bannon
and his auto fellatio
Scaramucci, Scaramucci
will you do the fandango.
petulant pillock
curmudgeon with a cudgel
bombastic buffoon.
I was watching Fareed Zakaria and Don Lemon on CNN last Friday night; they were trying to make sense of the ongoing tragic farce that is the Trump White House and Don Lemon posed a question which could be summarised as follows : “Is Donald Trump crazy like a fox or crazy like a fool”. It was clear that Fareed thinks that the needle has been stuck on ‘fool’ for quite some time. At one point, he says to Don something like “look, you have to understand that Donald Trump is a performance artist.” This sounded familiar to me, so I looked back through my blog posts and there it was in a poem I published on Reuben Wooley’s website :’I am not a Silent Poet” back in January 2016. Here’s the poem, but please click on the link above and check out Reuben’s excellent site.
I get it now
Donald T
Is a performance artist
Like that guy in Beijing
Sucking dust out of the air
With a vacuum cleaner
Or maybe he’s
one of those mirrors
In a fairy tale
Reflecting only
The worst in ourselves.
Fareed, I’m waiting to hear from you.
I have a poem (American Carnage) and a prose piece (Agent Orange has a Dark Moment) up at Rat’s Ass Review as part of a collection of poems under the title Such and Ugly Time, related to Trump’s first 100 days. Take a look, I’m the fifth poet as you scroll down – lots of good poetry in the collection.
Also check out the rest of the Review, the submission guidelines alone are worth a visit.
Both pieces appeared previously on this blog.

Do you know who I miss? Jeb Bush. I miss Jeb Bush. He was my first. When I hit him with that low energy jibe and he fell apart and all the Bush family could not put Humpty together again, I knew I was on to something. Then Little Marco and Lyin’ Ted, I miss them too. But most of all, I miss Hillary, Crooked Hillary. Man, she was tough, had me on the ropes. It took Comey and Vlad, that pointy headed villain, to get me back on my feet. I was nearly out for the count, which might not have been a bad thing. Who needs this shit! I should give Vlad a call, I’m a bit worried -there’s no such thing as a free hack.
Reince Priebus – what kind of fucking name is that? It sounds like bad news from the doctor. “I’m sorry, Donald, you have a Reince Priebus on your rectum and it doesn’t look good”. Ha, I just made myself laugh. And Bannon, I’ve seen sofas on the side of the road in better shape than that rumpled fucker. Spice Box? Hardest job in the world – explaining the unexplainable. That Melissa Mc.Carthy just slays me. How come all the cool people are on the other side? Who have I got? Ryan and Pence? Bland and Blander? Where did Pence come from anyway with his brush cut and his antediluvian politics? The best surgeons in the world couldn’t remove the poker from that guy’s ass. Antediluvian, you didn’t expect that did you?
Talking of cool, I should give Barack a call, ask him down to Florida for a game of golf; check his birth certificate again (Joking! How I miss those days). Man, I hate this fucking White House furniture, is it Friday yet?