The principal in a cool cartoon tee
His fashion sneakers squeaking across the floor
Sets out candy, pizzas, and canned sodas
Arranges a door prize, and assembles the faculty

Requires them to sign in so he can check on them
Orders them to hold hands and sing the school song
Reminds them they are all one big family
As a preface to his primary agenda:

To tell them to be more professional
The principal in a cool cartoon tee

Avuncular in his style, jolly and loud
An epiphany with an entourage
Of functionaries who survey the crowd
For any lack of enthusiasm

Applaud they must, wearing upon command
Cheap slogan tees averring that their school
Is like totally awesome and ‘way cool
They leap and bounce and cheer as they are told

Chanting a theme, this year’s predictable theme
Desperately cute, a motivational meme -
Oh, those childish, subservient creatures!
The worst part is that they are the
                                                             ­      teachers

You are a poem; your stanzas are your life:
A prologue written in the long ago
(with some few emendations here and there)                   (ahem!)
A closure and an afterword await                

But now about this part of your life:

The iambs of your footfalls dance in time
While    
           anapests
                           leap in search
                                                   of a rhyme
Stiff-built trochees stumble clunkily (ouch)
And alexandrines mourn the sometime sorrows of age

And when writing your poem, remember…

Your poetry of life will be truly true
If you almost never write about
                                                          you

I couldn’t put this must-read down, nor yet
Its many woven layers of tapestry
(Or maybe layered weavings of mystery?) -
This book seethes with passion; much blood is let

Beautifully crafted in the tradition of
A riveting re-telling all gritty
Wild, bold, and haunting, nuanced and witty
A daring, different tour-de-force of love

Lyrical, satirical, and compelling
And when the heroine’s not whispering
                                     she’s yelling

Every daughter is born of royalty
To rule and serve in lineal descent from God
But Claudia from her island of mist
Was borne away to Rome in captive shame

With her father in chains, herself in chains
To speak for their people, to speak for peace
Before the emperor, who in hearing them
Gave freedom to himself, and a crown to her

Though hostage far away from her girlhood home
With love she captured imperial Rome

That clockwork school! If it’s not gearing up
Then it's winding down, except in the fall
Which then is when it’s gearing up again
But not in the spring, when it is winding down

Sometimes it’s just around the corner where
Presumably it is still gearing up
But maybe winding down, somewhere in town
Waiting for the fall to come back around

Then winding down, having worn out its spring
But back in the fall, you see; that’s the thing!

The Peace of Leader Maduro

Yes, Leader Maduro, that is a bomb
And you and your Ken-doll generals flinch
And all your medals and chains of office
Rattle like the bones of the Revolution

Look at your soldiers fleeing through the streets
Yes, look - they have no wish to die for you
“Justice!” you scream, “Maximum punishment!”
“And there will be no forgiveness!”

                                                              F­or whom?

The people and the priests you have murdered

Will pray for you

Absolution from the lips of the dead