Our reputation never had a chance
Since the fat boy did his dance.
Here he is to ruin the land!
Mighty Mouth's underhand!
He has never had a single clue
Not a thought for me or you.

He stays surrounded by some total jerks
Who always nod “okay”
No matter what he says he wants to do
No matter what he’ll say.

We should be shivering in our bikinis
He’s nothing but a modern Mussolini.

Yessir, everything he does is for cash
And his family is a bunch of trash.
Our country will be great again
But not if Mighty Mouth stays in.

How do you dislike me?  Let me count the ways.
At least half of what I do and half of what I say
Seems to irritate and frustrate you.  
My deeds mistrusted and misunderstood
As something other than selfless good.
Your suspicion steals a narrow view
Of how I would prefer to spend my time.
So the sentence precedes the crime
And love is shackled in its gaol,
A prisoner with no parole,
Once found guilty, condemned for all,
And nothing can now avail.
Imagined crimes will never fade
And penance be ne’er truly paid.

(Inspired by This Is the House That Jack Built)

Crack House

This is the house that police raided.
This is the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

This is the cardboard sign and clothes all torn,
That belonged to the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****,
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****,
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.

All cash must flow in only one direction.
All  must go to those who have a lot.
Alll POTUS tweets are used as misdirection
In Blame-a-lot!
The cabinet must all be legal morons
So they don’t see what POTUS has wrought.
Then they cannot be blamed for what goes on
In Blame-a-lot!

Blame-a-lot! Blame-a-lot.
It’s really much more than bizarre.
But in Blame-a-lot; Blame-a-lot!
That’s how conditions are.
In short there’s simply not
A much more likely spot
For shame and true chicanery
Than here in
Blame-a-lot!

The Devil went down to Georgia,
He knew right where he wanted to go,
He’d built a golf course down in Hades, and
He needed a Head Pro.
So he snuck in to Augusta,
Up to the practice tee,
A guy was hittin’ range ***** there
Just as far as you could see.
The Devil said, “Hey Mister,
You want to have a game?
I bet that I can beat you, and
I don’t even know your name.”
The guy said, “My name’s Johnny,
But they call me ‘Long John’
Never met a bet or bottle
That I would back down on.
Guess you could say that some of them
Might have been mistakes,
But, Hell, this life’s for livin’,
So Devil, what’s the stakes?”
The Devil smiled, and said, “Hey, John,
Looks like you’re pretty good,
But that driver you are pounding
Is an old one made of wood,
So if you win, you get this golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose I take your sorry *** straight down to Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

So they threw a tee up in the air,
It pointed straight at John,
He said, “I guess that means I’m up”,
And the Devil said, “Game on!”
Long John teed his ball up, then asked,
“So, Devil, what’s the game?  
We playing match or medal?
To me it’s all the same.”
By now a crowd had gathered ‘round, and
They all held their breath,
So everyone was quiet when,
The Devil hissed, “Sudden Death;
First one of us to win a hole,
Wins the bet as well,
Better save the ice from your last drink,
Cuz, it’s mighty hot in Hell!”
Long John said, “That’s fine with me,
We got the stakes, we got the bet”,
Then he pulled his driver from the bag, and
Lit a cigarette,
He hit a rocket down the fairway
With a mighty long John swing,
Blew some smoke the Devil’s way,
And said, “Just one more thing,
I’ve won a bunch of money, and I’ve lost a bunch as well,
If I should lose to you today we’ll have a rematch down in Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil looked amused and asked,
“Is that all you got?”
Took a six iron from his golf bag
And matched John’s giant shot.
“You have a disadvantage, John,
‘Cuz you play by the rules,
Bettin’ with the Devil
Is a game for mortal fools
I have a few tricks in my bag,
I’ll use’em if need be.
And Long John, on that first par four,
I think we both made three.”
On the next hole, John said, “You go first,
I’m gonna have a smoke”,
Took a bottle from his golf bag,
Mixed a Jack and Coke,
The Devil took his magic six, hit his ball
Right towards a tree; It bounced left,
Skipped across a stream, and
Landed on the green.
Long John watched with interest,
But he didn’t seem concerned,
Said, “If you play with matches,
You’re liable to get burned.”
He hit his old wood driver, 300 yards and watched it role,
Down the fairway, right onto the green, and straight into the hole!

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil handed John the driver,
‘Cuz he knew that he’d been beat,
And John said, “Man I’m hungry,
Let’s grab a bite to eat.
There’s a steak place down the road,
Not too far from here,
You look like you could use a drink,
So I’ll buy you a beer!
You hit that six iron pretty well,
I’ll give you a hand,
But I told you once you *******,
This is Long John Land!”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

How many ****** Valentine's poems will I
be forced to endure -
young love
lost love
ill-begotten love -
likened to that of a blooming red rose
thorns and all -
"Oh! my passion burns bright
like the flames in my *****!"

Much too cliche, I think
as I sit down to write my own
and sign it
"Yours Always".

I pass my heart into the nebula  
Expectant --- but of what?
The password is too easily guessed.
Afraid, I clutch my hands

Does the traveler have the privilege of entry?
Does the bee have sojourn
In the inn of the flower?

I ask.