somewhere between
mundane and insane
I'm comfortable there

Trump sat in his tower, supreme in every way
Whatever he wanted, he only had to say
The President to the press corps, of him, one day made fun
I’m gonna replace you bud, when your term is done

He started his campaign, they said he was a joke
But he became popular with all the common folk
The stuff that he spouted, was more and more absurd
But the stupid morons, swallowed his every word

He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus

There's no such thing as climate change, everything is fine
Burning coal and shale oil is perfectly divine
Those lefty enviornmentalists love to yell and shout
(making lots of money is what I'm all about)

The Mexicans are gonna pay when I build the wall
And I’ll lock you up Clinton, guaranteed next fall
No one could believe it, when the count was done
The blonde haired, orange faced, nitwit, actually had won

He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus

It’s just that he was used to, always getting his way
He signed executive orders, on his very first day
The Judges over ruled him, and put him in his place
They threw the executive orders, right back in his face

He’s having lot’s of problems, with the phoney press
And though he tweets daily, it’s still causing distress
If he bombed the Syrians, maybe it would make amends
But all he succeeded in doing, was ******* his Russian friends

He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus

The FBI investigate, so he fired their chief
The replacement just carried on, Trump got no relief
Congress is thinking, let's put Trump against the wall
Pence is in the wings, just waiting for their call

He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus

It was a good Idea
For our hol's why don't we camp
Our home shall be a tent
So what if we get damp

At one with the outdoors
Nature shall be our host
(You just forgot to mention...
When the sun shines, we would roast)

Torrential rains, gale force winds
The tent shudders with each gust
A warm fire and a pint
In a pub is all I lust

Late at night, getting dressed
Running to the loo's for a ***
If I went instead in the hedge
Do you think anyone would see?

We could be on a beach
In the south of Spain
Instead we're in a farmers field
Getting drenched in the rain

We climb the rugged mountain
Each step my breath gasps loud
The views on top are fantastic...
From the inside of a cloud

Forget the soak in a hot bath
A lukewarm shower, then dressed still damp
Dinner cooked on a camping stove
A one pan meal eaten hunched and cramp

But as time goes by...
The memories, away  they fade
It really wasn't all that bad
Good times a plenty we had made

Now we plan for next summer
How should our time be spent?
I find myself shouting out
Why don't we go camping in a tent!

:-(

Creating a poem was hard to do
It had to rhyme all the way through
Choosing what you want to say
The words must fit in the right way
You must be wise, and of course clever
To succeed in this endeavour
The special thing about a poem
The rhyme of verse, that alone
It makes you think, touches the heart
You cannot but help to love this art
The thoughts they flow, images race
Everything falls into place
It matters not if you're unknown or have fame
As long as the last words all sound the same
It's the rhyme, that made me
Fall in love with poetry
But now poetry is high brow
Stilted words
Fragmented sentence
Fill the spaces with thought
To find the meaning
RIP the poor rhyme

2)  the trick of words ten...
       rhyming verse at the end

1) A poem is a story
            written with just ten words

I slip the mail through the door
the looks they give
             show they abhor
What junk now.... Bills you can keep
I just want to go home and weep
As I walk by
            the only ones pleased to see
Are the dogs, looking for a bone to gnaw
               or a meal for free
Once the van in red
was greeted like a friend.... a father
Now I sometimes wonder
        Why I even bother.