Plot twists: Trump is now Veruca with
Congress and Judiciary as parents
Peace and harmony was the theme
Turns out he was just a bad egg
McConnell’s head Umpa Lumpa
Drank all the Fizzy Lifting Drinks
That Donnie replaced with bleach
The Grim Reaper’s fatally flawed
Giuliani ate Everlasting Gob-stoppers
And turned his hair shoe polish black
Pence clung to his virus homework folder
Mumbled,”Let us bow our heads and pray”
These black slippers
Bear witness to their age
Backs caved in
Fuzzy part’s gone
Old reliable must be worn
Bottoms wearing through
No traction when I walk
Longevity’s still valued
Like Willy Loman
Attention must be paid
A tortuous circle.
Frolicking in a rigmarolic situation.
Tested and bested, the tape never breasted.
Impaired by the conquistadors and conquerors, hapless is the helpless.
Tactless is the detested.
Wasted is the fertile land by the disdainfully wasteful.
Emotions running high, just going through the motions, a noxious notion endear nothing but commotion given a potion;
a supposed elixir turned poison, a seasoning that confused our good sense of reasoning.
This queer system is beyond reasoning.
Maddening and bembalming is this contraption, swayed away from earlier traditions, so many contradictions.
In every prayer house is said a benediction, chicken-heartedly said, without much conviction.
By hook by crook the end justifies the means, brute force being used to the fullest, the gullible being lead by the enfant terrible to the gallows.
A tot’s thoughts that is so shallow, minds so narrow will definitely get hurt to the marrow, standing in line like goods being rolled out from the factory line, under the scorching sun or the drenching rain.
Acting bullish and at the same time foolishly, wishfully wishing on a fallen star.
Poetry and politics
Don’t seem to rhyme
In revolutionary times,
Spitting words of anger
Slam reflection,
“I can’t get no satisfaction,”
Until you live inside a poem
Threading words with tears
That will never evaporate
An ink well of thought,
These visions that live
In the pages of our minds
Somehow find their way,
A chain link
To the written word,
The dress code for
The underclass
Marching to the same song
Unheard,
Nothing has changed
And the beat goes on.