Of Debatable Importance

Italic drumroll…
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised;



Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters: attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire;

the Anti H-Rod:  Donald  J.  TRUMP !

(Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)

And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God 
also bless his worthy opponent and adversary:

HILLARY (a.k.a H-Rod )

(Patricians murmur, nod and whistle; a few salute…)

Hillary art by Sarah Sole @ rollingstone.com

Imperial Limerick

Hillary Gun

The Empress now waxes delirious.
With her legions in tow, she’s nefarious.
While they major on minors
she pitches one-liners;
the media’s hers. It’s hilarious.

IMAGE CREDITS: Sarah Sole @ rollingstone.com

Inspired by fellow limerick enthusiasts
Flammeus Gladius , Dennis Lange and D.N. O’Brien

Go read their fantastic poetry !

I Made the New Yorker TWICE!

No joke. I am elated.
I only found out today.
From the August 29 article
Donald Trump, Poetic Muse:

While some poets are tentatively positive (“Call me a chump / But I’m with Trump”), the vast majority register negative reactions to Trump and his candidacy. These include shock (“Today I woke up and smoked / A cigarette of something illegal / And I freaked out / Because / Donald Trump is running for president”); scatological disdain (“Trump dumped on his rump / Hair lumped in a clump”); determined opposition (“We must now thwart the hatred”); escapism (“If Trump wins / I’m moving to Iceland / While he wreaks havoc on the states / I’ll be in Reykjavik eating steak”); and cleverly rhymed condescension (“The mallard was rebuked by Mitt; / adversaries began to bray. / The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit / to be elected anyway”). 

The article continues, and quoted me again here:

Not all the poems about the Presidential candidates pick a side. One, called “Dual Airbags,” simply bemoans the choice at hand:
“It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried) / So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?”

The first poem was from that period when Trump was attacking Cruz and Rubio:

🎼Música Cubana ♪ ♬

Donald quacks. We better duck.
Tell the Cubans to mute that trumpet
While we, together, improve our luck
(or end up ruled by a Socialist Strumpet.)

The mallard was rebuked by Mitt;
adversaries began to bray.
The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit
to be elected anyway...

The second was written later, as I tried to decide, and lyrically deride, my electoral suicide:

 Dual Airbags

Give him a skinhead, insignia, boots

Less scruples, a swagger-stick, crowds, money.

No black shirts visible. Just business suits,

and pride is restored: tragic but funny.

Proud like a skyscraper, godless as sin

Babylonian promises, towering lies

Reality shows when plutocrats win,

Their rhetoric raining from empty skies.

She-wolves, elected by uninformed sheep

behave predictably, eyeing the flock

Their wool (and the lamb-chops) are hers to keep

Grazing voter—this should come as no shock.

It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried)

So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?


Both poem quotes were taken from my Hello Poetry site.