Not I, not me, uh uh, not true,
I own no Sharpies in black nor blue,
I’m sure I’m right, the chart was clear,
Dorian’s path to Alabama’s near.

The media cries I made it up,
I drew the lines right on the map;
How dare they say such lies so mean,
My words are gold, my conscience clean.

These folks do whine, they rant and rave,
To score some points they sorely crave,
Yet all they do time and again,
So well reminds of a cackling hen.

If there’s an expert that’s so me,
No-one quite sees the things I see,
Wind direction that’s my hat,
Great golfers know precisely that.

And if the storm went up the coast,
That too should earn me one loud toast,
I channeled prayers from all around,
To have it miss that Rebel ground.

The South’s my turf, I like those folks,
A land of dreamers full of hopes,
I have their vote, undying love,
Hence why I gave this thing a shove.

Towards New York, that den of thieves,
Spreading untruths like falling leaves,
Let them delight in Natures wrath,
Rewarding me with one great laugh.

They say sixty is just a state of mind
Those who claim that must be blind,
Furrowed brows and bulging nose
Eyesight failing, even close.

Conversations turned to health
Soaring bills, dwindling wealth,
Simple tasks ever harder
Working out now a non-starter.

Yet the mind as sharp as ever
All those years makes one so clever,
Entrenched Opinions by the score
Others’ views an awful bore.

On the bright side life is freer
Gone the children, free to swear,
Drink more beer, lush on wine
Sleep it off in your own time.

Just enjoy this phase of life
yes more painful, but less strife,
Silver hair is now great fashion
Making up for that lost passion.

Read more books, drink that wine
Savor life, don’t youth pine,
What has been is but a blur,
What’s to come will your heart stir.

Twenty politicians standing on a wall  
Oh what fun to see some fall,
Blabber, blabber, rue the day
They talk and talk but little say.

Yet they shout and argue too
About what I challenge you
To then repeat what they have said,
The mere thought just blows my head.

Each loves the sound of their own voice
And stand before us all by choice,
To have us judge who it shall be
With each one saying, me me me.

But like Pied Piper with his flute
The call to watch we can’t refute,
We sit and stare, comment and whine
As some just flounder past the line.

Yet for one the end is sweet
The entire cake they’ll get to eat,
Battered, bruised and mighty sore
Now almost at that White House door.

Give me Greenland, make it mine
Let me buy it just in time,
For Thanksgiving so we can
Induct these folks into our clan.

Why waste time debating ‘why’
This proposal shouldn’t fly,
Surely Denmark needs the cash
Here’s your chance if you just rush.

Putin took Crimea by force
Not a penny paid of course,
I instead will meet your price
For this island full of ice.

Think it over, but think fast,
As my offer won’t long last,
Let’s get on and make this deal,
With a pen stroke this thing seal.

Since I’ve got some Nordic genes
And as a man of copious means,
I can make this work all round
With results that will astound.

We almost bought it once before,
Why not this process now re-store;
You get the green, we the land,
On me the burgers and the band.

A little known fact
That may not scream real tact,
But the truth nonetheless
A gift I possess.

I’m a genius all-right,
My star always bright,
From birth until now
Always destined to WOW.

Some call me quite mad,
But in truth they’re just sad,
That they cannot be
A star just like me.

I’m one in a billion
America’s pillion,
The man of the hour,
The seat of all power.

Each word that I utter
Causes records to shatter,
Opponents to swoon
Crying world ending doom.

Yet the markets are up,
World leaders pile up
To knock on my door
Beseeching for more.

My supporters all know
The effect of my glow,
While the rest shall soon feel,
My art of the deal.

I’ve only just started, you’ve seen nothing yet,
I’m the one you should follow and not that great threat,
I’ll make us all rich, of that there’s no doubt
Let’s bring in the sunshine, enough of the drought.

Where is the anger, wrath untold
For these young men that go to die,
In foreign fields where we behold,
Bright plumes of poppies where they lie.

Words can’t explain the tears that well,
For sons and brothers lost to life,
Too soon the ringing of that bell,
The rousing epitaph, the doleful fife.

And yet in youth there is no fear,
To follow bugles sounding proud,
The thought that death be quite so near
Drowned out by voices shouting loud.

Forward they go brothers in arms,
As if a wave breaking on shore,
Courage undoubted, impervious to harm,
They follow destiny to history’s lore.

For those that lived beyond the slaughter,
Their lives now changed for evermore,
Gone is the youth, the raucous laughter,
In a recurring nightmare of blood and gore.

Award posterity the wrongs of war,
Our solemn duty merely to remember,
All those brave souls that went before,
Their memory a bright everlasting ember.

Cohen’s a snitch, an eel,
A despicable squeal,
Why I once trusted this horrible man,
This sniveling lawyer whose life is a sham,
Is simply beyond me a momentary lapse,
Yet one more sharp pain that my energy saps.
And while this all irks, stealing my time,
I revel in knowing the payback’s sublime.
His next stop a cell, depressing and cramped,
The perfect abode for this creep to be dumped.
As for these democrats digging for dirt
Little they realize their pistols just squirt,
I’ve the bazooka loaded and primed
Waiting to fire at the moment best timed,
So let them all revel while they still can
For I am the gale force to their puny fan.