Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Winter's Discontents

December 31, 2014

Now is the winter of our discontent
A ghastly Fall for this child of York;
And all the reddened clouds that lour'd upon the House
Sank deep my Senate hopes, to the ocean buried.
Now our wounds are bound with crepe of black;
Bold placards hung for mocking monuments;
The pachyderm beckons the herd to merry meetings,
A dissonant march shouts out delightful measures.
Grim-visaged electoral war wiped clean South’s last aqua tint;
And now, instead of fearsome Harry Reid
To rile the nature of ambitious adversaries,
Mitch capered nimbly in the august chamber
Nipping bourbon smooth and biting chaw.
What next, for Dems, so harsh the no?
Does Hill look back from mirror’s shine;
Or Warren’s swan to set the heart aflutter?
Poor Joe, a man with teeth agleam,
Half wolf, he says, half lamb, we see;
And what of O, curtailed of height and heft?
Stands alone amidst the rising seas,
A tree deformed, unfinish'd, lamed-ducked
Resign right now? Scarce half made up?
His plans so out of sorts, passé, not new
Barely earn McCain’s bark, or Mitt’s firm pooh;
So who is next, Bush, Cruz or Rand?
Is it Marco’s rage, or Kasich’s bland?
Could Christie’s star shine anew?
Or Perry’s three-shooter aim for true?
Perhaps a budget wonk, Paul Ryan’s mark.
Jindal’s bayou boy, Huck’s pungent pork?
Yet O is shrewd, or so its said
Deformed, perhaps, but not quite dead:
His charms have dimmed, no lover he,
And yet, there he stands for all to see
Villain, they shrieked, what fate you plan for us?
A ruse, they claimed, to drive the elephant mad?
The plots he lays, are quiet, dark, and dangerous,
Sly clubs he pulls fromst’ deep inside tattered bag
Cigars and rum, and save the trees, in silence does he scheme
A migrant’s tale, fresh fruit not meat, a regulator’s dream
And tho’ we feign indifference, the chill we feel is real
What dost thou O be thinking, what bells begin to peal?
Ignore him, say his foes, it’s Congress rules the roost
Impeach him now, it’s only fair, for we are the true and just
Yet prophet warns for all to know,
The omen’s plain and clear
Behead the King, his power grows,
His secret wish draws near.
Not peace, not war, nor greedy hope to tax the rich and fat
Not caliphate, not socialist, but no, not even that.
Tis wary lies the head, that seeks the crown too soon
An eager hand will feels the sting, the serpent leaves a wound
What fate could all befall us, if haste speeds up the end?
Not Jeb, nor Ted, nor Marco, a-packing we can send.
We ask the seer, if not Red but Blue, Hill, or Liz, or Jim?
But darkness clouds her vision, the crystal ball grows dim
We ask O plain, he shakes his head, it’s clear he just won’t tell
Aught-sixteen, he grins, could be The Year of Michelle.

Happy New Year to all, and best wishes for wonderful 2015. 

Michael Liss (Moderate Moderator)