Tuesday, December 29, 2020

The 2020 Annual Ditty: The Donald

We Are Glad 

(with profuse apologies to Shakespeare and King Henry V)

We are sad The Donald is so unpleasant with us;

His presence a double bogey we won’t say thanks for:

When we marched our voters to the polls,

We did, perchance, escape the sand, take the match

And strike his bilious frown as just the hazard.

Told him he hath offended both friend and stranger

Packed all the courts so rule of law will be disturb'd

Ah, Censorious faces. Now we understand him well,

How he lorded o'er us and denied his wilder days,

Admitting not what sore use he made of them.

We ne’re before deeply valued this poor seat of POTUS;

And therefore, in ’16 took the chance, and gave ourselves

To trust in process; as 'tis ever common

That men are elevated when in The People’s House.

But tell the Donald we will keep our States,

We won them true and will spurn his tweetings

We need not rouse ourselves so chance begins anew

Or plod like duffers unable to make the shot  

Yea, show the Donald bold to look on us.

And tell the putrid prince this mock of his

Hath turn'd his hopes to rubble; and his soul

Be held sore charged for his wasteful vengeance

That shall fly with them: for many a thousand victims

Shall this his mock mock out of dear husbands and wives;

Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;

And even some yet ungotten and unborn

That shall have cause to curse the Donald's scorn.

But this lies all within the Founders’ will,

To whom we do appeal; and in whose name

Tell you the Donald, we are coming on,

To cleanse the ground as we may and to put forth

A rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.

So get you now to Pence, and tell the Donald

His jest will savor those but of shallow wit,

When thousands jeer more than did laugh at it.

We give you now safe conduct. Convey it well.

Let's hope for a better 2021


Wednesday, December 23, 2020

The Night Several Days After Christmas

 Twas the night before New Years, when outside my flat

The Pols were stirring, but I said “no, no, not that.”

Screens were a’ flicker, with cheer and not Fox,

In hopes that the ball would shimmy, and glisten, and drop.

The children were rolling their eyes as I peek,

Just a few surveys, and op-eds that I seek

And M in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

With Iowa’s numbers tucked in the nap.

When out from the street there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Newspaper truck with deliveries, perchance?

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Reflected the pale visage of Michelle B. below.

I rubbed my eyes, when what should appear,

Michelle became Sarah, and eight tiny reindeer.

Ah, I cried, not her, I pled,

McCain, you idiot, go back to bed.

More rapid than sled dogs his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Perry! Now, RonPaul! Now, Rickster and Mitten!

On, Huntsman! On, Newter! On, T-Paw and Hermen!

You’ve had your fun; you’ve run your race!

Now dash away! Dash away! Save your face!"

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pounding of a rather large hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Out the elevator came Christie came with a bound.

He was dressed in a suit, red tie with a flag

And his shoes were bright polished, he carried a bag.

A bundle of stickers he had on his back,

And he looked like a lawyer, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

He said, not to worry, it won’t be Perry!

I said, “how ‘bout Newt?” He gave me a grin

“Not Newt, and not Ron, after I begin.”

“You picked Mitt, I replied, endorsed him well.”

“So I did,” said he, “It made him feel swell.”

He had a broad face and quite a big belly,

That shook when he giggled, like a bowlful of jelly!

Chris spoke no more words, but went straight to his work,

Pasting stickers on doorways then turned with a jerk.

And emptying the bag of his precious load,

And giving a nod, down, down the elevator he rode!

My kids, hearing sounds, called out my name.

“Dad, please come back, have you no shame?

I turned on my heel, Mitt’s up by three I declare

D, stop that, they beg, you’ll go mad, we don’t care.

Watch football, they said, not the Jets, they will lose.

Pick college, Northwestern, something to soothe.

So I turned my thoughts to the upcoming bowls

Hawkeyes and Gamecocks? What are the polls?

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