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 #67 Somebody Else's Babies ...

Somebody Else's Babies ... or a poem for Steve King a Republican
Representative of our esteemed governing classes who recently
came along with another jaw-dropping piece of White Supremacist
bullshit ...

Somebody else's babies
grew up in this green &
pleasant land to go on to
fight & die in the American
War in Vietnam, & the two
unforgivable invasions of Iraq,

which is far more than you
did Steve King,
you draft-dodging,
tough-talking patriot you,

so when you next wake up
calling out 'our destiny' maybe
you'd like to visit some graveyards
& pay some respect,
you empty-headed
Republican fool,

oh & glance back through history
awhile even cheat a bit by using
google quotes & get some sense
of who else in the history of the
20th century crowed about
'our destiny' ... you malignant
fascist you.

Calling it today!

Poems for Trump #67 Tired of All This.

Tired of all this! ... well so am I.

ha! yes!
sure as heck I'm not exactly
jumping for joy in these end
days of dying planetary life,
threatened existences, starving
homeless 5 year old Mustafa's,
engaged Supremacists, murdered
black boys, hillbilly junkies, fading
healthcare, America First & talk
of 'our destiny' & bullshit such,

but what am I to do?
Watch Star Trek re-runs & eat ice-cream?
America calls out to be noticed,
& heck what else can we do
but pay attention.

Poems for Trump #66 Politics is quite simple ...

Politics can be quite simple really.

If you wish the sympathy
of the broad masses, you
must tell them the crudest 
& most stupid things,

& it is quite a special secret
pleasure how the people
around us fail to realize
what is really
happening to them,

& make the lie big,
make it simple,
keep saying it,
and eventually
they will
believe it.

& all propaganda must be
popular and its intellectual
level must be adjusted to
the most limited intelligence
amongst those it is
addressed to,

& history comes around
& many of the tried &
trusted methods for
running things just
keep on making
that eternal return.

Poems for Trump #65 I hate this fucking orange faced bastard.

A poem for Stephanie ...
who calls it.

I hate this fucking orange faced bastard
is a metered late Romantic all rhymes
& gentle allusions & meek symbolism
as of lambs in the fields
& wandering clouds
work of late Elizabethan
whimsy & fancy,
well actually no,
its not!

I hate this fucking orange
faced bastard!
I hate him so much that
it begins to trouble me,
to make me reflect,
ponder on this,
wonder on that.

Is it just the way he looks,
all white, fat & comb-overed?
is it his stupid plastic clownish
expressions of surprise &
ultimate dumbitude?
his Trump steaks, & Trump water,
his big fucking Golden Trump Tower,
like he's still 13 & insecure
about the size of his dick?
His Trump magazines, his Trump University,
his cruel insults, his petty infantile joking,
his golfing?
oh how I loath his golfing.

Is it his hypocrisies,
his secret deals,
hidden handshakes,
trophy wives who have
to pleasure him?
lonely son who he leaves
all alone to swing a golfclub
in a golden room with
Manhattan views?

Is it his racist Birther bullshit?
Could be,
that sealed the deal a while
back now,
his fear-mongering, his endless
endless lying,
his Islamophobia,
(look it up Deplorables
if you're at a a loss here).

Is it his carney con-man
taking all you's for a
ride if only, only you'd
seen it?

Could be all & more, really,
but I hate this fucking orange faced bastard,
that I do know.

Poems for Trump #64 That Stupid Hat!

Just seeing that dumb red hat
gives me the Heebeejeebees,
the Holy Camoleys,
I get the Willies,
the John B. Scrotes,
I feel Ben Carsoned,

as if I've been Rogered in my sleep
by Quasimodo & then been forced
to pleasure the Seven Dwarfs,

I have the shivers,
I plead repugnance,
I share the odium,

I experience that near frenzied disgust
as left by a cold slug traversing one's
naked arm in the dank moonlight,

when that oh so ridiculous red tractor
hat is worn by men who have
chauffeurs & bejeweled
golf carts,
& look like a fat cat's fantasy
of a fat cat,

to Make America Great Again for that matter
maybe you have to go as far back as Sitting Bull,
Red Cloud, the Shawnee, herds of bison,
counting coup, & eagle-feather headdresses,

Making America Great Again does not in any
way involve Leroy from the hills feeling better
about his race or Donald J. Trump coming
forth as some sort of Poor Man's Moses.

I hate that stupid hat!

Poems for Trump #63 Julian Assange Pisses Me Off

He's all smirking with his
secrets that he knows &
we don't but he's going
to bless us with their
presence as if the shit
he's all Wikileaking
wasn't already guessed
at & yes, thanks Assange
for helping elect Trump
you Libetarian-crypto-fascist
you,

with your all-knowing so-called
Liberal airs that have just
helped make the world
worse in actual objective
fact,

well the CIA watch us all!
heck thats news to me,
not as if I didn't know
that as a 14 year old
in England 46 years ago,

& so when you sit in your
comfy chair in your
Embassy exile please
remember that I cannot
for the life of me fathom
how helping elect Trump
is in any way a good thing,

to hell with you Julian Assange,
you pompous self-important
rat.

Poems for Trump #61 Trump Loves his Money ...

Trump has overseas businesses
& assures us he has no conflicts
here, there & everywhere ...

Oh well sure,
we're reassured that you won't
actually be using every angle,
turning every corner, fine-tuning
every legality to bring those dollars
rolling in ...

just as he did with Trump University,
his pitiful bottled water & steak props
at his 'news' conference, his ties made
in China, his Mar A Lago Winter White
House operation, his Trump jet rentals,
your seats next to the President-elect for
close to a cool million ...

his Paul Manafort with his Ukraine deals,
his numerous go-fers all bouncing around
from here to Moscow, his secret deals we'll
all soon know about, his money laundering
Azerbaijan hotel racket, his red fucking hats,
all your Trump makin' a buck wheelin' & dealin'
that continues as we speak ...

& the hell of it is all the poor schmucks who think
you're Daddy Bigbucks & would love the chance
to one day make it just as you, all gold this & big
that & pomp & privilege & trickle-down & screw
the little man, the brown man, the other man &
yes by Jesus he's the man to get it done,
he speaks our language,
feels our pain ...

the only language he speaks is monetary,
the only values he has are green-backed, the only
everyman he looks out for is the mark he's about
to take in Donald Trump's corner store 3 card monte.

Trump sure loves his money, & thanks you all for
this great opportunity to use the Presidency of this
here United States to just plain rake it in like a
chubby, orange Scrooge McDuck in his golden,
tingling, vast & filling basement.

Poems for Trump #61 Let's Make A Deal or Democracy 101.

Come on down
right on down now,
a brand new car,
deluxe washer dryer
brand spankin' new
& all ready to go,
spin that wheel,
turn that square,
answer that question
& gamble that dollar,
Donald J. Trump
has come to town,

the Dealmaker
the Best of the Best,
the All American
gettin' it done
wise & wicked
grinnin' fat cat,
who'll somehow
keep an eye out
for all you smaller
folks as he swings
those roundabouts
& crosses those t's
& cashes his chips,

Donald J. Trump
will make that dollar,
dig that coal &
bury that pipeline,
negotiate that better
ditch that failure,
scrap that law,
watch out for
that business
& surely curb
those watchdogs,

& money will be
made but not by
you or I or Shirl
or Bob but those oh so
connected & Sheldon's
& Coke Brother's &
Investors & Directors
& Oligarchs & Overseas
Accounts & the select
few who always,
always, seem to
do just fine,

& the pitiful irony
if you will of all
this Making Great
Again & victory
for the Little Man
is that the little
man cast his lot
with someone
who never gave
the slightest damn
& Earl & Nancy
once more get
the short stick,
the bad apple,
the cracker
without
the prize,
the pathetic hat
& the broken
fading whistle.

Poems for Trump #60 Ben Carson is an Idiot #2

"They too had a dream that
one day their sons, daughters,
grandsons, granddaughters ... 
might pursue prosperity &
happiness in this land."

Well perhaps not Ben ...
perhaps while 10% of their
chained compatriots died around
them in the dark, shit-filled hull
of this heaving slave-ship they
may well have dreamt of home,
of family, of safety, warmth, of
the basic human right to dignity
& freedom & an ability to simply
walk through life going upon
one's business without the threat
of armed traders carting you off
to other lands ...
perhaps they dreamt of that,

& perhaps upon arrival & unloading
& a brutal harsh sunlight & a reckoning
of those you knew who'd died & been
thrown to the sharks & an examining
of teeth & body as a horse at trade
while upon a block as folks whiter
than you shouted out in strange
tongues & your wife & child were
elsewhere & your whole life was at
that moment in cruel & tragic collapse,
you might have thought of other things
rather than ...
Oh lord, yes, yes, one day I'm going
to be able to make a buck in this Land
of the Free and Home of the Brave ...

Poems for Trump #58 Jesus Would Smack Trump Upside the Head or What would Jesus Do?

Sure as heck wouldn't fall
for that "Oh its my favourite
book & I keep it by my bedside
trick" & gather chubby Christian
flunkeys to pray over & anoint
a fascist idiot child,

Would see right through using
a grieving widow as a prop for
a photo-shoot extravaganza,
& then talk of record applause
lines like this was America's
Most Talented & he was a cheap
ass promoter milking the crowd,

Wouldn't for a second fall for
the Syrian children carry an
infection to the nation & must
be denied entry because you
never know but of course we can
because deranged white folks are
more of a threat,

Sure as shit could tell the difference
between a good apostle & that
scheming White Supremacist
Bannon & the bald dude who
endlessly talks of his overlord
being obeyed or damn sure you'll
all be for it,

Would most definitely not need
a golden crapper to rest his fat
white ass on & a golden stroller
for his special one & lacquered
mirrored sitting room that looks
like a hillbilly wet-dream version of
of 'how rich folks dun live rightly,'

Would most definitely not be seen
wearing that stupid red hat which
more than hints at a long gone
world with shades of whiteness
& exclusion & don't come knocking
on my door you pitiful wretch you,

Would never in a million friggin'
years have voted Republican &
sided with a lying, duplicitous
con-man with all the shades of
darkness that usually are reserved
for the actual Fallen Angels.

Poems for Trump #57 Poem for the brother who leapt.

Poem for the brother who leapt ...

Did you see it?
That brother can do it
oh yes indeed he can,

like a young trout at dusk,
in a sweet still lake,
like a pouncing cheetah,
from many yards out,
like Wille May in the outfield,
for a soaring high ball,
like the most monstrous of great whites
rising from the dark depths & exploding
out of the ocean seal prey all clenched
in its merciless jaws,

like a cobra after transfixing its quietened mark,
like the most glorious of lithe pole vaulters,
like the most dandy of sweet young gymnasts,
like the great bull Magic Johnson springing over all & slam
dunkin' that rocketed ball as the whole court is helpless & the
people rock & its more points on that board,

that brother did it
just tore that Southern Hate right on out
of their White Pride hands,

brother just plain did it.

Poems for Trump #56 William Owens.

Is William Owens happy in heaven?

If William Owens caught sight
of the monstrous tugging at
the heart strings of the Chief
Theatric Officer Trump & the
so cheap & cynical little
throw-away line of "The
Bible teaches us ..."

& saying Owen was likely
happy in heaven because
the chamber "broke a record"
for the length of its ovation,

would he be happy to see
his death & his mother's
desperate suffering used
by a shallow vain opportunist
as backdrop to his coming
out as so presidential?

& whilst orchestrating grief
for the folks at home but then
"They lost Ryan" is thrown
out there because heaven
forbid Trump could take
any responsibility for this
soldiers death,

heaven forbid.

Poems for Trump #55 Success ...

Success ...

After denigrating the Khan family,
dishonoring John McCain,
delaying donation cheques,
gathering dignified Veterans
as a so useful backdrop,
to prove his genuine
love of the people.

This draft-dodging golf playing
lover of 'our brave soldiers'
brings the house down
has mothers weeping
& receives the mighty
acclaim as being "Now,
Now A President!"
even from that rational
critic Mr. Van Jones
of CNN,

one speech tugging at pride,
nation & desperate loss
& he's now the president?
this is all it took,
this cynical
lying theatric,
one crafty move in Congress
can't make up for a history
of bigotry & hate

oh no
Trump
it cannot!

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.