Read our current issue, below. Read Light‘s poems of the week
by Chris O’Carroll
That ship we said was headed north,
A symbol of our strong objection
To Kim Jong-un? It’s really going
In the opposite direction.
The era of fake leadership,
Rabid Fox fake punditry,
And whiny rants about “fake news”
Now brings us fake geography.
by Claudia Gary
Watch April in labor.
Watch Oliver pace.
Watch Missile Tests slide down
to second, third place.
Front hooves have emerged.
What cute little knees!
I don’t want a war,
I want one of these.
While baby’s legs hang,
Mom stops for a snack.
Why can’t that long tongue
give the White House a whack?
When hotheads prevail,
This calf soon will crash-land,
then walk within hours,
upstaging its mom–
but she won’t go ballistic.
She’s caring and calm,
not at all narcissistic.
Is April to blame
for stealing the show?
Let world leaders learn
what giraffe mothers know.
by Robert Schechter
There once was a man named O’Reilly
Who conducted himself rather vilely.
For years he’d harass.
But they fired his ass,
So this limerick concludes with a 🙂
by John Whitworth
Air: The Wiliiam Tell Overture
Come away, come away, we will not stay.
Let us drink to the health of Theresa May:
She’s the lass with the class for this glorious day.
It’s the day that we dreamed would come.
It’s an end to the EU prospect drear.
It’s an end to the lies of Project Fear.
Now we’re out, they must tout for a new career.
It’s the day that they all succumb.
Every boff, every prof, every mandarin,
They all said we were dead, that we could not win,
That we’d have second thoughts when the sky fell in.
How they wish that they’d all kept mum.
Every hireling hack, every goof with a gong,
Every deadbeat repeating the same old song,
Repeat after me, you were just plain wrong
And you’re out on your lefty bum.
by Jerome Betts
Where are the beards of ancient might
From deepest sable to snow-white?
So many egos were once bolstered
By jawlines copiously upholstered.
Fine-spun, or of a rope-like strength,
Neat, shaggy, flowing, navel-length,
The great and good could earn top dollars
With beavers fit for ayatollahs.
Charles Darwin, Alfred Tennyson,
Had growths that seemed to run and run,
While Dr Grace’s chest of matting
Lent awesome force to England’s batting.
One fact that few can dare deny −
Barefaced still collocates with lie.
Would voters find less cause for doubting
Elected members who keep sprouting?
But, sadly, no. Ms. Brex-Crex-Crex
May change her mind, but not her sex
And what the POTUS spreads among us
Can’t be disguised by facial fungus.
by Mae Scanlan
His name is Sean, the “briefing” guy;
He tries to “splain” each White House lie.
But he makes errors on his own;
Some not so bad, some quite fullblown.
With every blunder, every gaffe,
One wonders why he’s on the staff.
But on he goes, day out, day in,
Presenting news with Spicey spin,
And fielding the reporter’s lob;
It’s obvious he hates this job.