Poems for Trump #54 Winning.

We have to start winning wars again ...

"We never lost a war,
America never lost,
We never win a war
... & we don't fight to win,"

Bone-spur golf-playing draft dodger
Donald Trump offering forth
more words of wisdom
& his master plan
for America's future
& military might
& winning,

& what this actually means
a $54 billion military budget
with all the cuts that entails
& a possible use of 'all'
available weapons in
an effort to prove
this fighting
to win,

& perhaps we should
never underestimate
just what exactly
this man will do
& just how exactly
he will do it to
prove this point
& be the winner

& perhaps we should
tremble a little
at this point,
because ...
as usual,
its all about
... winning.

Poems for Trump #53 My Doctor tells me

My Doctor Tells Me ...

My doctor tells me I spend far
too much of my waking life on
The Great Orange One & she 
may be right but then again
what can I do when day to day
life seems to mirror his surly
& desperate antics.

There's my neighbour Luis & his
family who I need to wonder if
one of these days they'll just no
longer be there but driven over
bumpy roads to an old life in
a destitute village or strife-ridden
Central American landscape.

There's my son's friend Mustava,
absorbing sponge-like the daily
briefing of hate & ignorance which
depict his family & their religion as
a direct threat to all we hold dear
& we'd better look out & take special
care where those oh so alien folks
are concerned.

There's newsreel, oh newsreel, of
desecrated grave-stones, saluting
fascists, oh so empowered & brutal
thinking supremacists & simple
vicious country boys.

There's chants & adulation fit
for a French Sun-King of the late
17th Century & visions of gold bidets
marble faucets, designer dresses &
portly men swinging clubs over
manicured flag-bedecked greens,
while lonely sons stay home &
wonder.

There's 'enemy of the people' &
bigger, mightier, number one again
& us first & oh yes you'd better pay
attention because we're after you
no matter how or why or what.

Everyday life is a fog of orange
vanity & thuggery & me trying to
pretend otherwise just won't cut
it at all & thats what I told her &
she reluctantly agrees & so life
goes on ... Dense, Orange &
Flickering Dubious Headlined.

Poems for Trump #52 Simple Kindness

Simple kindness ...

"I think if this country gets any kinder or gentler, 

it’s literally going to cease to exist."

Trump chatting it up with

Playboy gave us that sweet

gem of philosophical & 

political wisdom,

Oh kindness ..

that communist conspiracy

cooked up by that bearded longhair

Leon Trotsky & close to a bacillus

that threatens the goodness

of the nation & thus simply 

treating each other nicely

becomes the equivalent

of Red Guard fanaticism,

as if niceness was a Leninist 

conspiracy & looking out for 

strangers was an underhand 

ruse & the first station on the 

way to the Siberian Gulag

& children informing on 

their mama & papa,

as if gentleness was a sin

close to murder & a defect

solved by drastic measures

somewhat akin to re-education
camps in the steamy jungle
morning,

as if looking out for one

another came with a 

guaranteed negative 

for the giver & thus 

wasn't at all a good

deal & heck isn't a

thing I'd sign off

on thats for damn

sure,

as if brotherly love & simple

common solidarity in the 

face of life's trials & harsh

tribulations was anathema

to the 'real' man who sure

as heck won't give an inch

if he thinks the other dudes

gettin' one over on him,

as if compassion was an

elitist liberal virtue & caring

for one another was mirrored

by the Manson Family & sure

by golly gee we're not taking

that road you must be kidding

seriously now,

as if love was not a Christian virtue

& as if trust revealed you as a 

taken rube & as if letting your

guard down & giving a fuck

meant Satan had taken hold

in your heart & you were now

a direct threat to all we hold

near & dear & sacred.

Just be nice ... 

Its not so much to ask.

Poems for Trump #51 Who Needs Milo

Who Needs Milo.

With vaunted luminaries of rational
objective & considered thought
verging on complete idiot hysteria
& unarguable mental breakdown
as Trevor " Obama has been mentored
and guided by hardcore communists,
anti-American Islamic radicals ... " Loudon,
a Londoner, so sure, that should help
his credentials in getting a handle
on US politics,

& Sheriff David "[Black Lives Matter] are black slime
and must be eradicated" Clarke,
the guy loved by Fox News because
of his darker skin, cold eyes, cop uniform & near
hysterical approach to America's pressing
social questions,
oh & did I mention "Obama is a heartless, souless
bastard" & called for anti-Trump protests to
"be quelled"?
well there's that too,

& Clare "the Muslim Brotherhood has infiltrated
the Obama administration" Clarke,
who also warned of a co-ordinated effort
to involve Muslims in the electoral process
by the ... oh yes, Muslim Brotherhood.
So she was there too, that acutely aware
political scientist,

& let us not forget Frank 'conspiracy nut' Gaffney,
Frank 'U2 singer Bono is aiding an islamic plot
to ... etc etc " Gaffney,
yes, Frank 'Birther' Gaffney because well, our
black so-called American President does have
 a strange name foreign doesn't he.

Milo got cancelled because of his Catholic priest
blow-job banter which apparently crossed a line
but sheeooot, who needs him when you've such
a wealth of inspiring speakers to raise the roof
& stir the melting pot till it hardens.

Who needs Milo.

Poems for Trump #50 Cousin Donald ...

Cousin Donald Comes to Town ...

Elroy was all cock-a-hoop cos
cousin Donald was a-comin'
a visiting & they were so darn
chuffed & tremblin' in anticipation
that friday night the seven of them
in the one bed had a real problem
actually sleeping.

Ma got out the best crockery
& had it laid out on the flag
hoisted down from the old
post by the front door &
Jebediah had just come back
from huntin' with some real
dandy lookin' coons.

As Eula was busy a-skinnin'
& all the clan was gatherin'
in their finest quilted smocks
& threadbare suits usually
kept for best & courtin' on
Saturday afternoons.

Cousin Donald's limousine
had a problem gettin' up
the windy road so Sam &
old Benjamin were carrying
him along in a sort-of-home-made
palanquin constructed from
pine poles and a large
crate that mama usually
reserved for storing the
winter jams & pickles,

All the boys started a-hollerin'
& a-whoopin' as Cousin
Donald turned the corner
& his loud Orange face
broke into a broad slightly
deranged grin for he knew
that the moment would soon
come when the shine would
flow & they'd get down to
some serious jigging &
fiddlin' but of course he'd
not be the fiddler on account
of his tiny fingers & innate
inability to be able to learn
one damn thing at all.

Cousin Donald restored in them
that pure American ideal of being
able to make it big in this world
& they all told themselves that
if Cousin Donald could do it they
could too meaning a golden
crapper & shiny brocaded
curtains & silver toothbrushes
& diamond watches & silk
drawers & leopard skin pill
box hats.

Oh Cousin Donald inspired them
just so oh yes he surely did & this
day would be re-told over camp
fires and cross-burnings for months
no, years to come,

... the day Cousin Donald came a
visiting.
Oh so blessed, blessed day
& thankyou Sweet Lord Jesus,
thankyou.

Poems for Trump #49 Contempt ...

Contempt ...

At times my thoughts
and words just plain
shout an unqualified
contempt for folks
who have faith
in a two-bit hustler
& want to spend
billions on a wall
across this land
to keep out brown
folks called Jose
& aren't too keen
on Muslim folks
either & are quite
happy leaving refugee
children to die alone
in storm-wrecked seas
& talk about Jesus
but reek of sulphur
damn right I feel
contempt so don't
try to make me
feel guilty about
it cos thats just
how I see it
that day.

Poems for Trump #48 Independents ...

Independents ... gotta love 'em.

Independents have it hard as

its tough to choose between

a democrat and a raving

fascist idiot I know that I do &

the nights they must have

spent tossing & turning over

this near unfathomable

question of Trump or Clinton

as President elicits the deepest

sympathy on my part for this

near unanswerable dilemma

of Trump or a Democrat & I see

I do, how tough it is to be an

Independent these days, just
so very, very hard.

Poems for Trump #47 Bannon & Miller

Bannon & Miller do the high-steppin' toodle-oo

Breitabart was permitted entry of course, you know
'Expel All Muslims' Breitbart, & CNN NYT, & LAT were all
held back by some panting freshly-minted Republican staffer & had
to wait all shocked & chagrined at the closed door as one blank dead
eyed maniacally grinning young newly promoted Lieutenant Miller and 
one bull-heavy Bannon strutted like obscene vulture marionettes in their
favourite special-wear searingly shiny knee-high Wehrmacht boots which
had just been licked mirror clean & furiously polished with their very sweat
by a heaving gaggle of simpering craven Republican lackeys who had come
comically dancing & prancing when summoned from the floor of the so-called
People's House with a "yes sir, no sir ... what can I do next sir" to grease the skids
on the Fascist Express with the their very blood & the tears of the innocents gathered
so fresh that very dawn with no stops till the sun rises on your New World.
.... oh yes indeed.

Poems for Trump #46 Victory Lap ...

Victory Lap …

It’s a riding of the golden enthroning chariot 

around  the tumultuous roaring coliseum as of 

ancient & fast declining Rome,  

all amidst a clamoring sea

of simple red-hatted whiteness,

as he absorbs, just soaks right on in, 

that honest folks love.

All the while smiling 

like Vinnie in a bar in Queens

chuckling over his latest conquest story, 

as he shares weak Martini’s with his 

drunken & besotted lieutenants.

His time to gloat & sneer at the weak & fallen,

the small boy’s big day out,

riding in papas fancy car  

while tossing out empty favors 

& a smirking Royal glance at the limping

trembling, so victorious 

hopeful rubes.

No, it’s not a thankyou tour,

it’s a Victory lap.

Poems for Trump #44 Republican Jesus is summoned ...

Republican Jesus is summoned to Trump Tower, part 1.

The message was plain
'Be There!'
& Republican Jesus
knowing quite well
which side of the bread
his butter was on sprang
abjectly into action,
calling up young Fitzroy
his at-home, on-call & quite
the dandy fancy man,
so splendidly liveried
& be-ribboned chauffeur,

Republican Jesus donned his
favourite gold lame cape,
an assumed nod to Joseph
& his many-colored coat,
but more to the fawning Liberace
& the empty husk that was old Elvis,
he of super dazzling & oh so mighty
US cultural fame.

Republican Jesus's limousine
had tinted windows & hanging
pine-forest scent,
a shield of sorts from the world outside,
for that world vexed & troubled him,
but fear not,
only mildly,
to be truly,
truly,
honest.

His soft & oh so precious behind
rested gently on the finest
of crushed velvet cushions,
his delicate manicured hand
lay poised by the window,
for though he abhorred
the hoi-polloi of New York's
teeming dirty streets
he would on occasion
raise a weary limp wrist
to random passers-by
in the style preferred
by the older Queen of England,
slightly touching but yet
oh so very distant.

He wondered to himself
as he neared that place,
that mighty Tower,
that huge & glittering
so utterly glorious edifice
that just simply radiated
& desperately oozed
veritably discharged
rank wealth, indecency,
& the emptiness of death in
life's dull yet seemingly comforting
sweet ice cold embrace.

Why oh why had he been summoned?
For what?
Oh how he tingled & shivered,
& by God how was he so deserving?
& he wondered just why
& how could he be so blessed
this very day & so ...
how shall I say
... privileged.

Poems for Trump #44 The Jewish People ...

The Jewish People ... wonderful, just wonderful.

48 Jewish Community 
Centers in 26 states
received nearly 60
bomb threats in
January 2017
alone.

"It's horrible and
it has to stop."
he finally said,
about a week
after he was first
asked about it
and replied,
"It's not a fair question."

What is a fair question Trump?
Your answer to whether
you'd condemn the KKK,
"I don't know anything
about David Duke, Ok?"
followed by ...
"I don't know anything
about white supremacy"
really Trump,
is that so?

Yet you read their twitter
feeds & pass-on their
statistics & such from
the likes of JewAmerica
& White Genocide.

Too of course there's
Breitbart News,
'Deport All Muslims'
& 'Hoist it High & Proud,
the Confederate flag'
that Breitbart News,
Bannon's
Breitbart News.

& "Hail Trump, Hail Victory."
came the call that day,
from the cream of
the supremacist
crop that you nodded
at, whistled so softly
to, courted really,
truth be told.

Anti-semitism?
"One of my favourite
daughters is Jewish."
She is.
So I love
those Jews,
I really, really do.

The State Department drafted its own statement last month marking International Holocaust Remembrance Day that explicitly included a mention of Jewish victims, according to people familiar with the matter, but President Donald Trump’s White House blocked its release. Politico, 2/02/17. 

Poems for Trump #43 Quantify

Quantify

Its hard for me
to quantify
my loathing
of the NRA,

but one example
comes to me
like Sherlock
and his enemy,

at Reichenbach Falls,
Lapierre and I
would tumble
into waters raging
foamy white
& crashing angry,

& in his ear
I would whisper,
as my clutch
it grows yet tighter,

the names of all
the fallen children,
sisters
brothers
sons
& daughters,

Jenny,
Patrick,
little Michael,
Darnell,
Malcolm,
Sophie,
small Tyrell,

and when I'd
reach the very end,
I'd begin again
my tragic list,
all interspersed
with curses true
with damn
and damn
and goddam
you!

Poems for Trump #42 ... the trumpets trumpet for Trump

Hark … the trumpets trumpet for Trump … a premature, wishful prose poem from oh, last year.

Well, finally,
we can breathe out …
& one of the joys 
of this failure
securing the job
of the most powerful man on earth,
will be the that his surrogates,
his lap dogs,
his cheerleaders,
in all their bitter, cynical,
mean-hearted selves
will be just plain
downright pissed.

Anne ’30 million illegals’ Coulter,
Rudy ‘dark pitiless soul’ Giulani,
Roger ‘the harasser’ Ailes,
Chris ‘vicious’ Christie,
a host of seriously,
seriously minor TV stars from the sixties,
that terrible Breitbart guy,
the 5 on Fox,

that horrendously horrible Fox business guy with the British accent,
Doucy & Kilmeade,
you know
those dense ones who chat on Fox,
Sean ‘heart of darkness’ Hannity,
Bill ‘fuck it we’ll do it live’ O’Reilly
(look it up, its a hoot),
oh, myriad, myriad others at that
reeking swamp
of misinformation
… and Sarah ‘times up’ Palin,
the black sheriff dude with the cowboy hat.

Ben ‘I was thug when younger, really’ Carson,
… and of course David ‘KKK’ Duke,
all the nazis and supremacists
& white pride people
who’ve been empowered
& buoyed up
& re-tweeted
during these awful days.

And Merle and Babs from the backwoods
who want a return to ‘greater’ days
& that ‘edgy’ gay guy who pops up now and again,
and Sheriff Arpaio,
the NRA,
‘camouflaged open carry’ dudes
who parade themselves in the city streets,
& climate change deniers,
& bigots, and racists,
& all those who believe Obama is the actual anti-Christ,
& all those who would outlaw homosexuality,
ban Muslims,
& cheered on that awful ‘bullshit racism’ Birther crap.
all of you all …

I’m so very, very happy that things likely won’t turn out the way you wanted … oh so very happy.

Poems for Trump #41 Surreal ... but no.

Surreal ... but no.

Its surreal
the news these days,
with Donald J. Trump
lighting up the color toning,
slouching toward Bethlehem,
all orange & comb-overed,

feeling important,
as he theatrically
signs off,
on one pledge
after another.

Oh but lord no
its the real world,
& lord yes
it hurts the eyes
& the heart,

oh dearie me
it surely does.

Poems for Trump #40 God's Chosen.

A study, conducted by the non-partisan Public Religion Research Institute, surveyed Americans by party lines and religious beliefs and asked them what role, if any, God played in the election.
... 45% of Republicans believe God wanted to "Make America Great Again."

God's Chosen ...

God's Chosen ...
Young Donald,
God's Main Man,
His Voice on Earth,
... Donald J. Trump.

Picture him all robed
& be-sandelled,
casting his miracles
amongst the lame
& the destitute,
calming the weary,
offering hope,
salvation,
a new world,
a better life.

His 12 disciples
followed his
holy steps,
Rudy,
Newt,
Steve,
yes ...
several fallen angels,
striding darkly
there.

Bread
Wine
& Fishes
to the poor
were only
for the deserving,
& drug, means
& nationality-tested
at that.

Mary Magdalene
was a fading
drag-queen
from Harlem,
there for the prestige
& the kickback,
& the occasional
kinky joys
of a seduced
Republican.

Donald J. Trump,
God's Chosen,
God's Light,
God's Vessel,
right here,
right now,
& Heaven forbid,
for four more
long,
long,
years.

Poems for Trump #39 America Shops.

America shops ... & then goes home.

America ... your soul is green. your fingers mint currency, your feet forge false ingots, your eyes see empty horizons, your legs march towards false dawns ...

America ... you've got your cheap tv, you've captured joy & containment, you've cornered the market, you've found all lost prophets, you've made sure of the final episodes ...

America ... you surely contain me, you ever so definitely horrify me, you each & every day lessen me, you overwhelm me, you reduce me ...

America ... the world becomes you, the people love you, the children envy you, the papas imitate you, the mamas just hope you ...

America ... your dollar excludes me, your banks deny me, your corporations just overlook me, your industries may soon destroy me ...

America ... your future awaits you, your poor folk haunt you, your rich folk dazzle you, your news just smokes & mirrors you, your understanding ... is beyond me.

America ...your closets are never too full, your wallets call you, your purses cry out to you, your credit cards whisper to you, & in secret your dollar bills make love to you ...

America ... your karma dooms you, your Kissinger is not funny, your Reagan dines with Satan, your preachers preach with poison, your Christians destroy you ...

America ... can you hear me? you don't answer my calls, do I have the wrong number? are you just plain avoiding me?

America ... you think I'm kidding? you think you can out-wait me? you think I'm all mouth & no trousers? you think your days aren't numbered? ...

America ... I'm tired of waiting, I'm now on a mission, I'll recruit my soldiers, I'll destroy your temples, I'll overturn your tables, I'll tell the end of your stories, I'll just plain overcome you ...

America ... you think I'm joking?

(With a nod to young Allen of course)

Poems for Trump #38 Dreams.

In my dreams ...

I've wrestled great whites,
plucked tail feathers
from swooping eagles,
stared down a Sumatran tiger,
laughed at black bears,
& with one punch
decked an angry hippo,

caressed to exhaustion
writhing boas,
pleased to punch
deadly black widows,
& overcome with smiles
protective lion mothers,

to spend the next four years
facing off
with that
deluded idiot-child
the great orange one,
will be
an
utter
breeze.

Poems for Trump #37 The Leopard.

The leopard

The leopard ...
shining so brightly
as one of the earth's
truly
most truly ...
utterly beautiful
animal
creatures,

which here we see
held aloft,
stone dead,
after being hunted
by two of
the earth's
bravest ...
oh so brave
human beings,
the mighty ...
oh so mighty,
Trump
sons,

here smiling
& self-satisfied,
holding the body
for a picture,
this once living
breathing
& utterly
beautiful
creature,
a once radiant
but now dead
leopard.

Poems for Trump #36 White Knights ... for the anti-fascists.

White Knights ... a poem for the anti-fascists.

White Knights
like to dress up
all hooded & shit
with slit-eyes and
pointy tops
to their
sheet-thing

& they come out
when its real dark
& burn stuff
& parade all around
shadowed bonfire-lit
in secluded fields
like lost
& deluded
drooling idiots,

they think they
walk the walk
& feel real fine
& fancy
with their grand wizard
lord of this & that
& pathetic hokey redneck
power-tripping
bullshit,

but lord no!
white knights
ride no gallant steeds
possess no magic
potions
have nothing
but a desperation
born of impotence
& sullen
bitter & imagined
loss.

white folks grandeur!
oh spare me so,
from evil
in its many disguises
& from very real
& dangerous men
hood-less
brazen
& right there
in front of us.

Poems for Trump #35 Star-spangled Heaven.

Gods Star-Spangled heaven

In God's American heaven
all the Krishnas,
Ivans & Nadias,
get to wait in line
like sorry-ass out-of-towners
hoping for a good night out,

while the Americans,
granted extra
special consideration
by right of birth
& all that is great
& mighty about
this unique land,

just get waved on through
by God's golden bouncers,
straight on in
like hot girls
& dazzling boys
at the club
of the
moment
in the dazzling
L.A. night.

Poems for Trump #34 Victory.

Victory ...

Victory for the forgotten people
the small people
the bitter people
those never quite happy people,

those deeply racist people,
those defensive folks
never really happy
with the black man,

the old white people,
the red-hat wearing
ignorant people,
the hill people,
the simple people

who long for

the old days
of oh around
1954 I guess,

the scared people,
of what?
well near everything
that is not them people,
of darker people
of foreign people
of just plain not us people,

of the monied people,
the make more money people,
the prosperity people,
the god people,
the twisted & vicious people,
the taken people
the scammed &
fooled people.

Victory!

Poems for Trump #33 The Great Orange Clown.

The Great Orange Clown part 2

The Great Orange Clown
has a golden crapper
quite why,
who knows?

does he shit gold ingots
diamonds
rubies
& pearls,

is he oh so fragrant
with sandalwood
jasmine
& myrrh,

he strolled his baby
in a carriage
of gold,
upon real fine
golden blankets too
I suppose,

this saviour,
this man of the people,
this understanding
plain folks
'one of us'
man.

Poems for Trump #32 Republican Jesus.

A Poem for The Lord's Day.

Republican Jesus.

Republican Jesus is not all that keen 
on feeding the poor
to tell the truth
food-stamps lead to dependence
don't they,

Republican Jesus winks & nods
at wives on the side
third wives
& trophy wives
oh good luck to you son
on that one,

Republican Jesus hates softness
& gentleness
& just plain kindness
it reeks of communism
& caring
& sharing,

Republican Jesus will kill for Christ,
sleep with his guns,
caress his ammo
his lock, stock & barrel,
tongue bullets
not wafers,

Republican Jesus loves money
loves money a whole bunch
gets excited
over money,
caresses himself
while watching
Lives of the Rich and Famous,

Republican Jesus has a private jet
with gold commode
& caviar,
sips the very best
of everything,
& feels no pain.

Republican Jesus has flipped it all around,
all the love for the destitute,
the feeding of the five thousand,
the humility,
the simple loaves & fishes,

Republican Jesus has the ethics of
a hyena
& the honesty of
the cuckoo bird,
the warm-heartedness
of a hungry great white,
the vision of a mole,
& the promise
of a golden future
built upon the backs
of the less
fortunate.

Republican Jesus is the real deal
isn't he!

Poems for Trump #31 For Gianni.

For Gianni Rage

Gianni ...
I like you because I'm sure you mean it
& don't seem to be kidding
& you do choose sides
& you would shelter a comrade
& you do call it out
& your anger is real
& politeness is out the window
& a spade is a spade
& you'd willingly dig their graves
& stamp up & down ...
while smiling.

Gianni is a master wordsmith at work on Facebook, 
visit awhile why not.

Poems for Trump #30 Salaam.

Salaam.

Anybody knocks on my door,
calls me at home,
sends me a form to fill in, 
to ask if I follow
the word of Allah,
practice the Muslim faith,
don't eat pork,
feel myself part of a fellowship
of 1.6 billion folks
on this planet,

or am a believer in a religion
which also preaches charity,
& as a matter of fact
as we speak
has followers of said religion
fighting & dying
in opposition
to a perverted political strain
of that religion ...

I will answer "Hell Yes I Am."

Poems for Trump #29 Suddenly.

Suddenly!

Suddenly when brushing my teeth
walking the dog,
bending down
to pick up trash,
it hits me
all over again,
"He's! the President."

It sneaks up on me sometimes
when dozing,
or gazing
lazily
out the window,
buttering toast,
tying laces,
"He's! the President."

At moments of stillness
warmth & some
supposed secure
sweet sweet happiness,
I'll be jolted right back,
like on a bunjee-cord
kinda ...
pulled right back
to that awful,
truly awful
realization,
"Good God!
He's! the President!"

Poems for Trump #28 The Hills Have Eyes

The Hills have Eyes Too.

Trump supporters ...
we're supposed to be nice
& understanding
& not suggest
they all chew straw,
play banjos on porches,
or gnaw dogs legs
on rocks in the
desert sun,

that they don't
talk of Yankee money,
the good old days,
& shoot possums
& squirrels
on Saturdays
for fun,

that they actually
don't go courting
with their cousins,
are sure Barack was
a Kenyan Communist,
or think that the earth
is oh 4,000
years old or so,
cos The Good Book
dun told them so,

we're supposed to
be kind,
sympathetic,
walk a day
in their shoes,
feel their plight,

but its hard
its hard,
so hard,
when in actuality
they cast their lot
with a lying ignorant racist
just right out of
central casting,
in a Hillbilly remake
of The Last Days of Rome,
Richie Rich Goes to Washington,
or The Devil Rides Out Bigly.

Poems for Trump #27 America Pretends

America pretends ... & then has another drink & goes home.

America pretends today
that it didn't actually
put an unqualified
narcissistic bully
in the position
of the most
powerful man
in the whole known universe,

America pretends today
that somehow
this lying
two-faced con-man
can best represent
their interests
& actually givea damn,

America pretends today
that its o.k.
that the office
of the President
is now run by a
scamming tycoon
real-estate developer
whose claim to fame
is really just
his name,

America pretends today,
that mocking the broken,
denigrating tortured prisoners,
sexual-assault,
bigotry & racism
are all forgivable
in their newly
minted Chief,

America pretends today,
that this choice
is not a reflection
of the darkness
in its people,
of the false promise
of a Great America,
and the bitter poison
that is white folks
fear & dread.

America has another drink
& then
goes home.

(With thanks to the late great Francis Vincent Zappa)

Poems for Trump #26 Bring Me The Head ...

Bring Me the Head of Donaldo Trumpo.

Bring me his head,
that flaming
orange ball
that orbits
around itself,

bring me his head,
for his short
stubby fingers
won't suffice,

bring me his head,
with its face
so grotesque,
its ears full
of cotton
its eyes
tight shut,

bring me his head,
and just leave it
on the porch
if I'm out,
no signature
required.

Poems for Trump #25 We Did It!

We did it! ...

Congratulations Donald J. Trump
President of the United States of America!
came the telegram
from the one,
the only ...
David Duke,

late of that austere organization
forever branded in the
history of America
& its black citizens,
the K.K.K.

David Duke
the former grandiose
Imperial Grand Wizard,
Holocaust Denier,
White Nationalist,
Yes ...
that ... David Duke,

sending congratulations
the day after
Donald Trump
became President
of this here
United States
of America.

Poems for Trump #24 The Great Orange Clown.

The Great Orange Clown

The Great Orange Clown
has a golden crapper
quite why
who knows?

& this fact alone,
this alone,
makes me hate him,

hate him
with such a deep
& unrelenting passion,

that I don't,
really don't know,
if the next
four years,
are even
anywhere
near
tolerable.