Trump’s latest guests, somewhere in the logs,
Mocking a recent opponent. Guess who!
Another controversy, another clog.
Would they do this to Melania too?
In 2012, something similar came about.
This behavior is wrong. Yet their guide,
Trump himself, let them go all-out, throughout.
Will Spicey be insensitive, or just hide?
What’d they eat? Baked Alaska, of course.
Palin can see Russia from Alaska,
Maybe Trump’s advisors met there, and outsourced.
Keep watching ’em (this time, try Nebraska)!
It’s time for you to stand up and listen.
Condemn this awfulness, that’s your mission.


A bomb blast brightens prospects for Gorsuch;
Dropped on bitter, ungarlanded liberals.
This catastrophic nuke serves to debauch
The Senate, and its check on force imperial.
The marble-columned Capitol’s eroded,
By winds of change and shifting sands beneath,
By filibusters’ busted wills imploded
Till courtly cloture on the Court’s deceased.
With options nuclear, we self-destruct;
Partisans of the enemy rush in.
Our Cold War language has become unstuck,
Applied now to Blue and Red, not Russians.
Had filibuster’s compromise endured,
Our rights might mutually be assured.


The child can only trip so hard on matter
Before it breaks, force turned to energy.
Bits and pieces fall with unset clatter,
It’s failure met only with lethargy.
The object’s owner glares from eye to eye,
Looking for someone else to put to shame.
His gaze falls down; it was his own untying;
Surrounders cringe; there’s only one to blame.
In silence, a new accusation grows;
Relations are to weaken further now;
Because there’s new proof—everybody knows—
Now who’s Russian to get out of the door?
Whether the clay is gray or red, there’s shoving,
To duck the blame ‘fore someone gets the oven.


Last evening nightmares opened up my eyes—
I dreamt of politics subject to lament—
And, hands still shaking, I met a surprise
When late-night news streamed “Madam President!
Still stupefied, I searched, opened the blinds—
Looked out upon a world I saw anew!
Without Twitter tirades or fear-plagued minds,
This universe was too good to be true!
Walls crushed, bans gone, no “alternative facts,”
Gone Ryancare, and Russia, Dreadful Sound
Mike Pence is past, and Spicer can RELAX,
‘Cause big old baby Donald’s not around…
Yet when I saw no one had been offended,
Reality returned and daydreams ended.


“You’re fired,” Trump declared, with certain pomp,
And 46 attorneys then resigned
Including those to probity inclined.
Is this what Donald meant by “drain the swamp”?
We do not hear his reasons, not by tweet,
Though usually he shares his full subconscious;
Perhaps he’s finally listening to Congress
Who’ve warned that he must not his tweets delete.
The trouble with our new incumbent man
Is not quite that we don’t know his true motives
Nor even that he didn’t win the voters,
But that he doesn’t ever have a plan.
And if his mind, if mind, we’ll never know,
There’s just no telling where this term will go.


“Have you no sense of decency?” demand
Those called, accused upon the witness stand,
Presumed guilty of suspect, hearsaid crimes.
A trial closed by charge reflects tense times;
Ex-president to migrant—all are victim
To unjust claims by paranoia’s dictum,
Which convicts not by jury’s best ruling,
But by a faithfulness to factions’ dueling.
Indictments spread like cracks, a sneaking fear
Of loyalties below common veneer—
To terrorism, Russia, Democrats—
If all are spies, then none are diplomats.
It’s trumped-up charges of conspiracy,
And not wiretaps, that recall McCarthy.



Just yesterday, a predecessor framed:
Trump tried the notion that his phone was tapped.
His finances are secret yet, for shame,
But not his crackpot slander via app.
Obama’s standard-bearer shouted, “False!”
Trump’s aides denied concurrence with his claim.
And, wielding typo-riddled tweets, Trump waltzed
Right on, to make a federal case—insane!
The waxing gyre of fake news cycles spins,
He lobs new propositions sans citation,
Dismisses press with that “You’re fired!” and grins—
The unreality show that is our nation!
And though tweets are not yet state’s evidence,
His fabricated lies spread pestilence.
— OS, NN, JD


There’s something wrong; it’s in the wires; my head
Is throbbing, and I’m sure if we could speak
More freely I could find out what was said
In secret airports, globally, then leak
It to the media, but then, they too
Are enemies of ours, like Jesuits,
Illuminatoes, Masons, Russkies, Jews…
The evidence is there for all of it,
I know they ruined all my shows, or sent
Through airwaves frequencies designed to tune
My teeth on edge, the calls, the billions spent
To scan the messages in selfies, fake the moon–
It’s all connected at the source, I bet–
The brain, the coin, the talk, the bank, the net.


The Truth: where does it live now? Twitter? Press?
Can it make “FAKE NEWS” from “illegal leaks
(Which must be true to be illegal)? Stress
Is making Logic, friend to Truth, feel weak.
Next step: to make America so great
Again that we can all be in the room
With Truth, instead of only those who hate
Our immigrants, but hum a Russian tune.
And now we hear the president will skip
The rubber-chicken roast that counts as dinner
For journalists who love a winning quip
That wields the facts against their favorite “winner.”
Trump won’t attend their party–too uncouth;
He’s fairly safe from Humor, with his Truth.


Inherited a mess,” Trump says, for lack
Of competent administrations past.
Unmerited, on press Trump lays attacks,
For pointing out the mess of actions fast.
To question after question, Trump retorted
That he won votes, or doesn’t trust bad news,
And when the facts were to his face reported,
He blamed his staff, who gave him stuff to use.
This “finely tuned machine” has now been blocked
By courts, the voters, and internal leaks.
From “fine” (but fired) Flynn to borders locked,
From this “drained swamp,” an old corruption reeks.
And though the White House never makes mistakes,
From it, the leaks are real, but news is fake.
— OS, NN, JD