Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!

Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!

She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!

Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!

Sunlight slants at crazy angles
Gold light flooding
Through windows
Winter‘s herald

It’s a cold beauty this
First deep frost a
Jagged white carpet
On the green and brown lawn

Autumnal peace
Blankets the valley
As we reflect
And give thanks

And yet she moves, silently,
spinning and swirling endlessly
revolving, around a rousing star,
elegant ballet stealing radiance

indulging in warmth, in glacial
space unfathomable sphere
of incandescence, fluid rubicund
lava leisurely turning into blue

water, mystifying evolution
randomly combining hydrogen
and oxygen elements to unfold,
a liquid carpet englobing

all, to the mercy of a pale
faced moon, meticulously keeping
a distance so perfect and rare
to bear, mutating molecules

spontaneously deciding to form
cells, eager to evolve slowly
birthing life in its depths, breathing
to ensure, generous exchange

a fair give and take, a cycle where
harmonic balance is
the orchestrated oeuvre
of an omnificent composer

inventing notes of gravity,
creating abstruse species
out of fantasy, only to craft
itself a witness, capable

of understanding the amazing
wonders it ceaselessly unfurls.

...words,  at times,      f
                                       a                    
                                   l
                               l

                          in   a    

                        c
                      r
                        o
                             o
                                  k
                                e
                            d
                                  row...


when gathering thoughts
when establishing a message
when trying to put words
in their right places
...they sometimes end up
............in   w e i r d    spaces

..................r h y t h m    
is messed...it's neither a poem nor a hymn
.....falling backward
..........it sounds   a
                                    w
                                k
                                     w a r d

......everything else doesn't     j i b e ...
...........time is not ripe....
the poem's moment...is yet to arrive...


        Sally

Copyright November  5, 2017              
rrab