Poems for Trump #71 The Core of the Donald.

The pure core of The Donald,
that is when he's stripped down
to his essential essence much like
the very last doll in the Russian doll
set-up where one reveals another is 
colored green & has pictures of
Washington, Hamilton, & Jackson
includes a religious proclamation
together with some esoteric Masonic
or such magic pyramid with an all-seeing
floating eye & an eagle grasping vegetation
in its claws as curious almost tantric circles
overhead & Latin sayings abound all tattooed
& water-marked to stop counterfeiters 
& numbered & in series & signatures 
& bold, bold numbers ...

the core of The Donald is denominated & in 
the very greenest of greens.

Poems for Trump #70 Donald is Moved.

Donald is moved ...

Donald found it quite the final & totally
last straw that little children were being
gassed & slaughtered horribly in Syria
& so sent over some missiles at $1 million
a pop but before doing so let the Russkies
& Assad know they were coming & even
then deliberately managed to avoid actually
hitting the runways which if you were not
aware are actually a vital component of a
runway & so today said airport is back in
operation,

so Donald was so deeply moved by dying
children that he put aside his refugee ban
& his muslim ban & his overseas aid cuts
& his previous dismissal of Obama's attempts
to act & sent off a few missiles but first let
the bad guys know they were coming.
Donald is moved,

oh yes indeed
so moved.

Poems for Trump #69 Come Back Barack ... The Unexpurgated Version.

Come back Barack ... the unexpurgated version.

Come back Barack,
we miss you so,

you weren't perfect for sure,
but good god you are not Him!

that slithering denizen of the darker realms
who always gives the impression of just having
returned from some sort of vile monetary orgy
that involves rolling around stark naked in piles
of dollar bills while midget Russian hookers threaten
& tease with whips of essence of distilled cold dark
great-white eye peering awfully as it lunges from
a cold, cold darkness while poor & humble Hispanic
crop workers are herded into stumbling mumbling
groups & forced to recite a sort of incantation of greatness
to a fat comb-overed oranged white man who really just
makes his dollars by gaming the system & somehow grabbed
the heart strings of those left behind & those out for a sweet,
sweet taste of revenge & just plain mean vindictiveness &
Akbar's & Leilas were brought in for his pleasure & amusement
as he sat all chubby, naked & sated on his golden fucken crapper
as they pleaded for a home for their cold & starving children as
he took a certain pleasure in waving his hand no! as henchmen
from the reinvigorated KKK all idiot grinning showed them the
back door & returned them to the horrors of war as so-called
Christian preachers & smart shirted fancy-ass prosperity gospel
ministers all prayed and hallelujahed around him whilst getting
relief from desperate Vegas hookers & rent-boys as they placed
their manicured hands atop his sizzled orange head ...

Goddamn!

Poems for trump #68 Come Back Barack ...

Come back Barack ...

Come back Barack ...
oh my how we miss
you so,

I know you weren't perfect
in that Commander in Chief
bombing innocent folks overseas
sort of way,

but Sweet Jesus at least
you are not Trump,

you had some natural dignity
as a decent man with his heart
in the right place for most of
the time & you tried, at least
you tried to make things better
for all folks,

& you could shed a tear for the
children & you could take a joke
& you could chuckle with the
best of them & you did have
good dance moves & your
hair wasn't some sort of
freeze-dried candy floss
sort of thing,

& you didn't re-tweet Fascists,
& didn't scapegoat, & lie, & work
every single angle possible to
put a few more dollars in your
bank account,

& you had a keen intelligence for
important things such as the health
of your citizens & the world they live
in & you wouldn't say Islamic terrorism
because you knew it was a dangerous
& short-sighted & in the end truly awful
way to play into the hands of the enemy,

& you kneeled down to talk to kids in
mini-pope mobiles, & you had an honesty
& a calm reasoned approach that even
if that was too much at times at least
you didn't jump into the fire and wade
in the dark morass of prejudice & ignorance,

& you didn't appoint all your family to
powerful positions so they too could work
that dollar angle & you didn't promise
idiocies to gullible desperate idiots &
you at least weren't a sexual predator
& a two-bit snake-oil salesman who
worked a three-card monte with a
'University' so as to fleece the believers,

& you weren't called Donald Trump &
you were at least a Democrat & son of
a gun look at us now!