Wherever The Wind Blows.
The great state of Texas has had the odd spot of rain,
So Don drops in, winging in on his Presidential plane,
He’s here to hear and feel those poor Texan’s pain;
What’s Washington’s loss is the Lone Stars gain.
Once the news cameras switch off his interest wanes-
The great man can’t play golf in 100-mile an hour hurricanes-
So away he flies, spouting hogwash ’bout swamping the drains,
Don’s poured oil on the waters, but that whiff of sewerage remains.
So, Dons gone and pardoned Sheriff Joe,
Old man Arpaio has come out smiling,
For old white Republicans it just goes to show
Don sees no guilt in racial profiling.
Don and Joe don’t mind ignoring Law and Order
Because friends must look out for friends,
But if you’re a poor illegal on the wrong side of the border
You know exactly where Don and Joes rule-bending ends.
Shrinking From The Light.
Don stood out in the noonday sun
On the occasion of the lunar eclipse,
As the darkness fell on our chosen one
It felt like a foretaste of the Apocalypse.
Dark glasses at his side, up he gazed,
In those dark eyes how the power shines,
In the suns red reflection how his eyes blazed;
Was I alone in feeling a coiling of the intestines?
Standing bathed in an eerie light
His thoughts take on a darker vein,
Since Don sees it all in black and white
What bright thoughts dance in that grey brain?
The Ballad Of Steve Bannon.
‘Welcome to the White House, Steve,
We love the work you did at Breitbart,
Theres so much we hope you can achieve,
Putting the Alt Right to the centre is a start.’
What a bond you and Don are bound to cleave,
Why, that supremely superior right view you impart-
And your journalistic integrity makes it hard to believe
Your tete-a-tetes won’t be a meeting of like mind and heart.
Alas, poor Steve, Don must ask you to leave,
You’re a done deal to Don, and ’tis time to depart,
Dons vision of his ‘Merica even Steve couldn’t conceive,
After Charlottesville Steve knows Don’s mastered his dark art.
Love ‘Em Tender.
40 years ago today
Elvis Presley passed away,
The King was on his throne,
Aged 42, weighing twenty stone.
42 was far too young for him to depart,
Was strain the cause- or a broken heart?
The Coroner can be sure of one sure thing
Laying blame squarely at the door of Burger King.
Nothing But White Noise, Part Two.
After two days of using a lame ‘blame lies on many sides’ defence
After the denouncing of White Racism by the likes of Mike Pence,
After a st- stuttering start Don is giving ’em a piece of his mind.
After a great deal of thought he’ll leave their KK-kind behind.
He says it, it must be said, with deep regret,
They’re core voters and he owes ’em a debt,
Will his hurtful words hurt the Alt Right?
Will their torch for Don burn as bright?
Without relish he mouths the words some lackey wrote,
Speaking loud enough, yet his voice retains a baffled note,
Recited without so much as an apology for it being ever so late,
Don, dragging ’em through gritted teeth does make Americans grate.
Nothing But White Noise.
Whatever happened to our tweeting blue-eyed boy?
The guy who blasted Barack for not saying ‘Islamic Terrorists?’
Now our all-too-ready to send the message guy has turned coy,
Searching for any colorful way of not saying ‘White Supremacists.’
It’s odd how strained his silence has become
Considering how many ears he’s wrung,
And how once words tripped from his tweeting thumb
And unthinking from his tongue.
Teed Off On Vacation
When he was polishing his ball out on his course
Don found he had the the time to talk of applying force,
Off on vacation, still chipping away, Don began to ponder
On launching things other than balls into the wild blue yonder.
Part of Dons game is matching fire with fire
But when Kim hears Dons voice his rises higher,
To Donald it’s merely vainglorious sabre rattling,
More obnoxious oafish juvenile bully-boy prattling.
Dons crazy talk is reciprocated by Kim Jong Uns,
Anyone listening knows they’re both Loony Tunes,
And so Donalds words, so lacking in diplomatic grace,
Fulsome words full of braggadocio, blow up in his face.
Do Dons thoughts turn to Melania and Ivanka
As he self-pityingly putters around in his bunker?
Seems Kim had found Dons gentle joshing… annoying;
The anger from their fallout is more than Seoul destroying.
The Revolving Door.
Michael Flynn strode through Dons welcoming door
Little knowing the rapid turnaround he had in store.
Gone, thanks to Russian lies,
Don could only sympathise.
James Comey said his FBI would find more, much more;
Then, ignominiously HE was fired, a sort of Flynn encore.
I guess to James this came as no surprise,
He wouldn’t stop his his ears or avert his eyes.
In January we’d heard Spicers Trumpian oratory loftily soar,
By July he’s silently tumbling down a white House corridor.
For someone who’d praised Don to the skies
His departure didn’t move Don to eulogise.
Reince Priebus was looking down the barrel to be number four-
Now he’s gone and followed the footsteps of those gone before.
Amongst the few muted old guard GOP cries
Scaramucci’s howl of delight was hard to disguise.
Then a measly ten days after Don had unleashed his dog of war
The Mooch was torn from Dons side, despite the oath he swore.
Privately, Don admits his own picks seem unwise;
Who to trust to keep away prying eyes, and the FBI’s?
On which trusty loyal loyal pool of sycophantic fawning foo- fans to draw?
Don knows a Great deal as it dawns on him- THAT’S what family’s for.
Teary-eyed and terminated, a tragic figure slipped into the bar,
Sadly spent the night dripping tears straight into the whiskey jar,
‘A stellar career, up in the stratosphere- now another falling star,’
The spirit might erase the painful memory but not the mental scar.
A fellow fallen angel appears mutely by the table, standing a round,
The sorry bemused look on his face speaks volumes without the sound,
Undoubtedly, soberly the twain never would have reached common ground;
Reince, Mooch and misery love company if there are sorrows to be drowned.