Those ghosts and goblins

haunting our nation cage young

children, deport decency.

~

Yet the real evil

lurking in those heartless men

remains concealed in shadow

It’s not the weather

that’s the source of Congress’s

sudden horripilation.

~

Let’s let those cold creeps

get screaming heebie-jeebies

from their daunting task at hand.

Don’t you sometimes wish

we could be as wonderful

and wise as we were at three?

~

Some folk still believe,

even though they’re not still three,

 that they’re wise and wonderful.

Ahh! Sunday at last!

Our momentary reprieve

from the instant news cycle.

~

We all need to pause,

recenter, find our place in

the natural order of things.

These autumn mornings

shrouded in luminous veils…

alabaster radiance!

~

Such beauty catches

the eye, transports mind and heart

to another realm.

When some congressmen

behave like storming morons,

we need better lightning rods.

~

If we could convince

the electorate to strike,

we’d shock’em back under par.

If they’d spend just half

the energy listening

spent planning their rebuttal…

~

Sadly, this is true

of all of us. As the song 

goes, “When will we ever learn?”.

When nobody’s home,

why keep knocking? Some doors will

stay forever closed.

~

Persistent pounding

on doors long since painted shut,

still supplies satisfaction.

Why paste a smile

on a sad face? Isn’t that

what circus clowns do?

~

Incongruity

between mood and affect

is often diagnostic.

When did the Little

Engine that Wouldn’t replace 

The Little Engine that Could?

~

An Engine that won’t

run even though capable

surely NEEDS to be replaced.

Despite desires

to become a timely scribe,

still the pen falters…

~

 All poets falter

from time to time. Scribing is

easy but it’s hard to rhyme.

Busy days make for

poemless nights, but still we’ll

never write it off.

~

In these crazy times,

how can we tell write from wrong

or distinguish fiend from foe?

Sunlight still breaks through

though you can’t escape the grey

on this cloud-filled day.

~

Long awaited rain

brings the promise of relief

to parched pasture and meadow.

Don can rest assured;

History will regard him a

“Superlative President”.

~

Extraordinary

to be sure as a heartless

wonder and a Russian tool.

If there were a prize

for temper tantrum throwing

who would be some nominees?

~

No Caucus needed!

There will be one clear winner

by the most bigly landslide.

Some say anything

to get their heart’s desire

yet find no satisfaction.

~

When integrity

and desire intersect,

satisfaction can be found.

Circle the wagons!

The bourgeois are revolting!

All peasants man the towers!

~

Royalty, of course,

will collect the benefits.

The peasants will never know.

Just a pile of

manure and a pitchfork is

all he needs to keep his base.

~

Is this what they mean

when they say mushroom farmers

must be great pitchmen?

I thought I saw him,

my fellow poet, but he

took his words and flew away.

~

Again time escapes!

It’s like nailing down jello…

or some other orange fellow.

Need a whisperer

to calm this presidential

bucking bronco down.

~

There is not enough

Xylazine on any farm

to put that nag off his feed!

Stuttering along,

singing off key, Orange Clown

makes a mockery.

~

How foolish must a

Jester be, to misconstrue

ridicule as mirth?

This little piggy

might have to eat crow and cry

on Fox News all the way home.

~

But in his own mind

he fancies he’s Jack Horner

and our nation is his plum.

This rising tide won’t

lift all boats; it’s likely to

sink one leaky ship of state.

~

What hopefully sinks

is this ship of fools disguised

as a ship of state.