THE DAMP HENS: "Some hens are born damp..."

 

Is He Dead Yet...?

 

Tears for the Red, White & Blue (Plus Two)

His MAGA baseball cap is red. 

Or else just hair sits there instead:

there's rarely nothing ON his head, 

tho' often nothing IN it.      -- ed. 

All cred he MAY have had has fled. 

His vices stretch from A to Zed. 

Most ev'rything around him's dead. 

How sad 'twas just his ear that bled.

He's sev'ral blondine bimbos wed. 

(I discount those beneath his bed.) 

"I say," says he, "stuff Hitler said." 

(At least Herr Hitler's said to've read.)

His endless ties are red as well. 

He lathers up with tanning gel

then tweets, "I EARNED THAT  PEACE NOBELL." 

(He, sadly, never learn'd to spell.) 

He'll presidential pardons sell. 

The Gettysburg Address as well... 

...and try to pawn the Liberty Bell.

No guard rails slow his march to hell. 

The business suits he dons are blue. 

His go-to...? "What would Putin do...?" 

Plus ditto Netanyahu, nu...? 
(He's also awf'lly quick to sue.) 

He blathers how his blood's blue, too. 

superior to "you-know-who." 

He takes Mohammed Salman's cue, 

and mimics stuff Roy Cohn would do.

The house he occupies is white. 

He'll leave it in a woeful sight.

He says stuff Mussolini might.

He really isn't very bright. 

His Pampers, large, are likewise white. 

He soils 'em, spoils a few each night 

while posting such outrageous shite
and sliding ever further right.  

   CODA 

Once white, the house now's gilded  gold. 

His lies approach ten-thousand-fold. 

His mind's made up; he won't be told.

I fear the center cannot hold. 

His Pentel -- like his soul -- is black, 

miswielded by the maniac 

who thinks Iran is call'd "Iraq"

and craves an ever-Bigger Mac. 

So: how'll we take our country back...?

"STOP ICE!" Protest Poster as suggested by EAH

  

 

I, Grimmlin

I know no shame. 
My kids...? The same. 

I others blame. 
I friends defame. 

     I king became. 

 Misrule's my aim. 

My hair I'd tame.

The con's my game. 

     I "Hoax!" exclaim.
I cherish fame. 

"I'm God"'s my claim. 

I'd douse the flame.

     My brain is lame. 

The world's aflame.

But Trumpleswilltskin 

is my name. 

Limn'd as Limerick: a "Lim"ited Dictionary

Lima        noun       /leé - muh/ 

There's this city, thought named for a bean, 

whose true namesake's now (finally!) seen. 

Lima's named for an oracle -- 

Incan, historical: 

Limaq -- a god-in-machine.

limation     noun       /lim - máy - shun/ 

limb           noun       /lim/ 

That branch of a tree we call limb 
begins thick at the trunk, then grows slim. 
If you're perch'd at its end, 
my advice to you, friend, 
is, "Do NOT saw it off on a whim." 

limbo         verb       /lim - boh/

     (More words and definitions coming: a work in progress)

"THIS TOOL SHALL PASS" Protest Poster

 

Patience; or, Of Late I've Heard

Of late I've heard 

the word "assass-..." 
My greatest hope...? 

This tool shall pass... 
...before my pound 

of powder'd glass 
gets stirr'd into his Coke. 

      (Composure, please!)

     I've heard, 

"Let's put him out to grass 
before his muster'd

mustard gas 
assassinates

the working class." 
He passes gas -- no joke. 

      (Let me reprise.)

     This misanthrope -- 

this ghoul -- shall pass. 

This dick, this dope, 

this stool shall pass.

Stay cool! Don't mope!

This fool shall pass. 

I hope I've not misspoke.

     (No guarantees.)

OUR Road to Damascus...? Don't Dawdle: Just ASK Us!

As a student of 
western polyphonies, 
I compos'd sev'ral 
well-receiv'd symphonies. 
which caus'd not even
minor epiphanies 
'til my wife book'd our 
breakfasts at Tiffany's.

ER: Two Varia

In Khartoum, as in Kalamazoo, 
lie emergency rooms, with a view 
letting patients observe 
(if they've requisite nerve) 
deeds disorderly orderlies do. 
     Both in Kalamazoo and Khartoum 
looms, on cue, deja vu. View'd's a room 
letting sufferers see, for a nominal fee, 
who performs -- how, where, why...and on whom. 

Observation Re: a Certain Octogenarian

Why does Drumpf not sleep late...?

Drumpf's near eighty! His fate 

is to pee in his 

3 a.m. toilet. 
Were he urge to ignore 
and continue to snore, 
Drumpf's white linen would suffer: 
he'd soil it. 
Its Spring freshness to save 
would take more than a lave: 

Drumpf's top need...? To proceed 
to parboil it. 
Would it e'er be the same...? 
Are Drumpf's kidneys to blame...? 
Either way, aides will say, 
"Sir, don't spoil it."