President Trump, Our Beleaguered POTUS

Beset with difficulties
Not diffident
Nor remorseful
He traipses across the vast clay territory
Not quite judicious
Not exactly seeking redemption

Our Beleaguered POTUS pens a letter
The ink a never-ending supply of reprisal
What is a man to do when the plain folds up and turns to the sky?

Loyalty is trending now
A mighty royal word only used in the worst of cases
Redefined constantly by a blue-blooded bastard*

*But trump (with a lowercase “t”) isn’t royalty. Has it ever occurred to “the people” that such historical analogies fuel the narrative of being untouchable, superior, and above it all? An abusive, inconsistent, dunderhead of a king is still a king, right? And sometimes, we tend to respect authority when it is consistently and severely abused.

Is trump (again, with a lowercase “t”) a king? Hardly. But you never know, his vice-laden successor might become one.

The quiet threat always seems less important than the most colorful one. Mike Pence is the grey, lifeless soldier. trump, the not exactly charismatic but hard to ignore former real estate mogul with a mysterious past that is always up for reinterpretation.

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Ted Cruz, A Lovecraftian Menace

He floats across a grand hall
His robe aflutter

Not exactly an angel
Not quite the devil either
No, merely a man
Walking flesh using earthly laws
For heavenly gain

A lich spins like god’s chosen orb
Dripping ink of the most opportune color
But ink can’t shake hands
It must foster an illusion
That hands were shook

 

Scarcity is a Virtue

Hey all, sorry I’ve been AWOL the last several days. I’ve been visiting my ancestral estate (and by “ancestral” I mean purchased a few months ago). It’s incredibly serene here, with the trees, the silvery sky, the lush grass, and even turkeys who’ll be joyous until November.

There have been so many events lately to drape a surreal curtain over, the G-20 summit, Trump Jr, Bernie Sanders and the hidden, seedy underbelly of Vermont. 74 words in and I’m already feeling intimidated!

I haven’t even mentioned James Comey yet, oh wait I just did. He’s emerging again from his pile of memos, that great full-breasted matyr of democracy.

Anyway, all that being said, I’ll be back on the 12th, ready to put finger to key.

*waves like the Queen of England, then majestically disappears being a rock*

Isolation

That one word started to sound funny
And his magic number floated out to sea
Causing uncertainty to settle on a dark mass

Change set down roots
Permeating the vile dirt
Growing inside while burgeoning on the outside
Peacocking its skeletal limbs
Still obscuring the night sky with an oak ribcage

The finest wood must’ve been imported from somewhere
From where it didn’t matter
But influence came from inscrutable craftsmanship with an american stamp

 

Thanks, thedrabble

I was just published in thedrabble on July 4th. My first publication! The photo they provided captured the feeling I had in mind while writing it, so I’d like to extend a “great job” to the person responsible for that. Anyway, before the sanctimonious long-windedness of the writer kicks in, I’ll end this message on a high note.

Thanks, thedrabble!

Opioids, A Fever Dream

Lo, a fever dream had taken hold
In midday Maine
The heavenly disk shot across a mind’s horizon
Leaving nothing but streaks of color
They weren’t hope
But momentary entertainment

Little caskets
Shaking darlings
Cackling statesmen
All those collided in an endless galaxy
Waiting for reprieve

But supposedly nature didn’t give second chances
Only brief rainbow rays of fortune
Maybe the statesmen were right
Under the new laws
However unwritten or pushed into the future
That children were just passengers
Waiting for their caskets to slow down or speed up

Passenger

Mitch McConnell/Trump Dance of Death

A Rex Walketh about
Like a roaring lion
Devouring the Capitol
Causing disgrace

Swinging among tweets
Hopscotching over a turtle
The Rex comments on its own
Gigantic head
Woefully short arms
Ineffectual hunting skills
Beady dead eyes waiting for the end of the world

The turtle’s shadow dwarfs a now mighty carcass
Waiting to be unseen
For the inevitable to transpire

Everything seemed cleansed already
As scalpels were removed and stethoscopes sheathed
The turtle smiled in satisfaction as its green skin
Flowed from cavity to cavity
Hidden by fiscal grace
And messages from eternal fire

Snack