Tryptych of Limerick

Hilarioustrumpet

Deplorable: that’s her election
as it veers in a vulgar direction.
Though some mention Lewinsky,
it’s really Alinsky
revealed as her true predilection.

We chafe at the future event
with a murmur of futile dissent.
While her media trumpeted,
candidates plummeted
down to a depth we resent.

I mourn for our empire’s decadence
descending to realms of irrelevance;
into bloated bureaucracies:
data dumb-ocracy’s
dearly departed preeminence.

Inspired by 3 limerick enthusiasts and fellow poetry-bloggers:
Flammeus Gladius, Dennis Lange and D.N. O’Brien

Go read their fantastic poetry !

I Made the New Yorker TWICE!

No joke. I am elated.

I only found out today.
From the August 29 article
Donald Trump, Poetic Muse:

While some poets are tentatively positive (“Call me a chump / But I’m with Trump”), the vast majority register negative reactions to Trump and his candidacy. These include shock (“Today I woke up and smoked / A cigarette of something illegal / And I freaked out / Because / Donald Trump is running for president”); scatological disdain (“Trump dumped on his rump / Hair lumped in a clump”); determined opposition (“We must now thwart the hatred”); escapism (“If Trump wins / I’m moving to Iceland / While he wreaks havoc on the states / I’ll be in Reykjavik eating steak”); and cleverly rhymed condescension (“The mallard was rebuked by Mitt; / adversaries began to bray. / The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit / to be elected anyway”). 

The article continues, and quoted me again here:

Not all the poems about the Presidential candidates pick a side.
One, called “Dual Airbags,” simply bemoans the choice at hand:
“It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried) / So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?”

The first poem was from that period when Trump was attacking Cruz and Rubio:

🎼Música Cubana ♪ ♬

Donald quacks. We better duck.
Tell the Cubans to mute that trumpet
While we, together, improve our luck
(or end up ruled by a Socialist Strumpet.)

The mallard was rebuked by Mitt;
adversaries began to bray.
The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit
to be elected anyway...

The second was written later, as I tried to decide, and lyrically deride, my electoral suicide:

 Dual Airbags

Give him a skinhead, insignia, boots

Less scruples, a swagger-stick, crowds, money.

No black shirts visible. Just business suits,

and pride is restored: tragic but funny.

Proud like a skyscraper, godless as sin

Babylonian promises, towering lies

Reality shows when plutocrats win,

Their rhetoric raining from empty skies.

She-wolves, elected by uninformed sheep

behave predictably, eyeing the flock

Their wool (and the lamb-chops) are hers to keep

Grazing voter—this should come as no shock.

It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried)

So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?

Hilarioustrumpet

Both poem quotes were taken from my Hello Poetry site.