I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.

Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.

There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.

There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.

The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.

From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.

As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.

The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.

Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.

A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.

But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.

Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.

How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.

The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.

So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.

Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.

Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.

Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.

So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.

Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,

No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?

Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.

Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.

America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.

So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.

Some say I'm soulful,
Others the Devils tool,
One minute I might find you doleful,
The other acting quite the fool.

Yet that's patently unfair,
One aspect that I can't abide,
For I'm as pure as the morning air,
A child of the gentle ocean tide.

You may not think I live, but live I do,
Spawned in my cocoon of flames,
I thrive, but then die too,
Often amongst angst and conflicting claims.

My pedigree is strong,
Admired and always wanted,
With me you simply can't go wrong,
At times even something to be flaunted.

Your forebears held me close,
I'm privy to their secrets,
Through me their lifeline flows,
Despite them lying with the crickets.

I'm a chameleon, color is my muse,
I change according to my company,
Treat me well, never abuse,
For at my core a fragile symphony.

Where I came from no one knows,
But the world is my own oyster,
Having neither friends nor foes,
Life itself is what I foster.

Now you ask, who can I be
Someone quite so clearly needed,
Look around and you might see,
Generations that preceded.

What am I?

I’m great fun and sometimes crazy,
Loud or soft with moods quite hazy,
Full of love, sorrow, unrequited loss,
One minute happy another sullen, cross.
I see the world in shades of neon gray,
Rarely do I care or anyone obey,
My vibes are epic, they constantly perplex,
Full of contradictions, invariably complex.
I can praise the Lord, drink myself into a stupor,
Stalking the room with unrequited humor.
*** is my go-to, gentle or pulsating,
Not always happy, at times tearfully heartbreaking.
I know the secret to capture every heart,
Life would be intolerable by keeping me apart.
Whatever you may think this is no passing phase,
I'm known to be pervasive and hound your mind for days.
My moods are epic, a journey to discover,
Your friend to soothe you or belatedly recover.

Come on - What am I?

I have a plan
Yes it may be unconventional,
But as a fan
I assure you its success will be intentional.

Most of you may know me
My talent feted shore to shore,
With puppets real as all can see
Talking, singing and much more.

I know I have a skill
And the will to use it right,
Some may say a magic pill
A potent weapon that can bite.

Now that I'm finally a Star
I need embrace the social causes,
No longer propping up the bar
I'm great at mimicking the poses.

One such thought that came my way
To help the old man pull it off,
It's for me to do and say
While he covers with a cough.

I can crouch behind the stand
Prop him up as best I must,
Work his head with my free hand
With experience I'll adjust.

All dear Joe needs do is focus
Read the screen and move his lips,
They won't know that's it's all bogus
That I've written all the scripts.

Only this way can he win
As my famous mates all say,
A little magic is no sin
If I get him through each day.

Should he stray I've got a treat
An ice cream cone well in his sight,
Only once his tasks complete
Will I let him take a bite.

I'm a patriot as all can see
I'll move mountains to beat Trump,
If Joe's to win it’s up to me
And if he flags I've got the pump.