With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe . . . Politics, corrupt and dreary, left me discouraged and weary, Pondering a faltering nation none seemed willing to restore. While I mused upon our Founding, suddenly there came a pounding, Frantic, echoing, resounding—sounding at my chamber door. “ ’Tis some idiot,” I muttered, “pounding
Tell me, have you picked a costume for your campus Trick-or-Treating? Nowadays, it bears repeating, you had best take special care. The occasion may be festive, but the “crybullies” are restive, And they’re utterly obsessed; witch-hunts might happen anywhere. So, no sarongs, no kimonos; no sombreros—those are no-no’s. In fact, if you’d avoid
In the reign of Barack the Anointed, Him whom they called “the Transparent One,” His SecState got a half-a-mil kickback For the sale of Uranium One. In the context of a “Russia reset” (Which was over 'ere it had begun) It appears He-Who-Led-From-Behind didn’t mind Her “baksheesh” for Uranium One. “What thou dost,
She didn’t know what she signed up for,She does not understand it at all—Why not use, for political ambush,A Gold Star family’s condolence call?She didn’t know what she signed up for,When she launched her preemptive attack—She’d assumed that the rules of engagementSpecified that no one could fight back.She didn’t know what she signed up
Ben Arnold tried to sell West Point— Attempting, in his spite To hand over a fortress To our foes, without a fight. The fort became a school; a place Of trial and misery— And that “hell upon the Hudson” Forged a nation’s chivalry. The uniforms were grey, The honor code was black and
The action-movie heroine,(Stance dramatic, costume tight)Defeats predatory villainsWith her righteous wrath and might.They’re heavier by thirty pounds,Most of it’s muscle mass—She lines ‘em up and knocks ‘em down.(An expert choreographs.)The lady never loses—That would be no fun to see;The audience revels in herInvincibility.She needs no rescuer.She gives no damsel’s distress call—A suggestion that she’s
Jimmy Kimmel, you dissimul- -late so poorly, that it’s crim’nal - Cloaking activism in A disguise supremely thin. “A sounding brass, a tinkling cymbal” Singing from the lib’ral hymnal - Weeping your tears crocodilian - Can that truly be fulfillin’? Are your viewers’ lives so grim, they’ll Applaud those tears, Mr. Kimmel? Is that what
A Southern summer fades to Fall, And ‘Bama’s voters made a call Which wasn’t Strange. We might say Moore: It’s no longer safe to ignore The voice of ordinary folks (The butt of all those late-night jokes.) Yes, we like our Bibles, and guns; Ladylike daughters, manly sons; “Faith, hope and love” (which
In case you haven't heard, Saturday (according to a newly released YouTube video) is supposed to be the date of "the Rapture." Resident Poet, Joe Long, has a few words of caution . . . 'Tis the night ere the Rapture, says some guy named Meade—It's numerologically guaranteed!But me in my cap,
No aristocratic titles Are attached to presidents… But after that awards show? Well, call Trump “His Emmy-nence”. He’s their unifying figure, And the sum of all their fears; He’s the drabness of their comedy. The punchline to their tears. Though not quite every moment Was about him, I suppose; I hear some “Handmaidens”
