Don't you admire his ringwork;
His footwork and speed?
Dance. Jab. Dance.
Did you see Rambonehead snap?
Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering
Like the bloated incumbent.
Jab. Dance. Jab.
The Dope's been roped.
The final count's on.
Obama only has to say a few words to stagger the Rambonehead.
He floats and stings.
As in all Partici-Poems,
You're invited to add your own.
Based on Fake News and False Hope,
There's nothing here to help you cope.
Covid-19 is China's Beta version.
The real pandemic is yet to come.
They now have a one year head start.
They've proved they can isolate and destroy
Without leaving their country.
The Sleeping Giant has opened its eyes.
It's the Real Rich people's way of getting Really Richer.
It's a deal maker.
It's all about Government Opportunity.
Remember Get Smart and the CONTROL Organization
For whom he worked.
If the shoe fits, GPS someone.
If we send young healthy Jimmy (who tested positive)
In to see all the Grandmas and Grandpas,
Think of the resources we'll free up.
Manipulate the markets.
Tell people Russia and the Saudis are friends.
But tell your family first.
Not only will it cure you, but it promotes
Natural skin color, whether black, white, brown or orange.
This is supported by the WH Medical Dream Team.
It's a miracle. Deus ex machina.
Will also give you blue eyes and blonde hair.
And please use a clean syringe when injecting disinfectant.
You're supposed to add your own conspiracy.
The White House is an inverse reflection
Of the matter/anti-matter chamber:
It's Not, The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
No. It's, The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.
What matters matters.
Trekkies will get the full allusion.
I won't come up short again,
Falling for clichés and praise,
Not now nor till the end of days.
I will not roll my weary eyes,
Shut ringing ears to truth-based lies;
Click my tongue or act surprised,
To the shenanigans of home-grown spies.
I will not throw up my hands,
But step close to the deathbed rant,
And hear the confessions
Of the Select's election;
The psalms of prophets
Who turned sour,
Who get ****** for their greed for power.
I am he for whom you search,
my manicure suits the crown.
I'm not worthy for such honour,
To be a prince or harlequin clown.
You'll pardon me,
If I misspoke,
But you missed the punchline:
I'm the joke.
Whistle while at work,
Donald is a ****;
Giuliani strokes their egos
All the way to court.
Adapted from an old rhyme about the Axis leaders during WWII
We've numbers in distress;
We've villains and scoundrels
In need of redress;
Choose any one of one thousand quests -
We're in desperate need of a Hero.
No call for a cape or cowl,
Hidden rings or magic swords;
We need action,
Not placating words -
From a righteous Hero.
Greece or Rome won't be the origin,
There may well be one in Oregon;
At this juncture we'll take anyone -
A home grown or welcome Hero.
We'll have truth without hyperbole,
Not disdain, but hearing dignity;
One to rise up, reach out, lift us
From the swamp of vanity.
We don't need Deus ex machina,
Or anything supernatural;
A woman or man,
Natural or choice,
A sister or brother,
To call us home;
To hear a voice say,
You're not alone.
Are you ever so full of it
That you need to flush
Halfway through a dump?
That's where we are with Trump.
Two more years of BS.
— The End —