by Nora Jay

Judge Roberts came through
With a temperate view:
Confess it;
So too did Judge Gorsuch,
But will there be more such?
Don’t press it.

by David Hedges

John Bolton’s takedown offers proof
That nothing’s ever as it seems
With Dippy Don—it’s all a spoof,
A takeoff on his wildest dreams.

Since nothing’s going on upstairs,
He puts faith in his trusty gut
To weigh what’s best for billionaires,
And jumps on Fox News scuttlebutt.

When he learned how a quid pro quo
Could be of use in his campaign
To dig some dirt on Sleepy Joe,
He turned to China and Ukraine,

And Turkey, too—it’s in the book,
Along with other sleazy details:
Why did reporters overlook
Ivanka’s use of private emails?

He sidetracked them with poppycock,
Absolving Crown Prince MBS
Of murder—not much of a shock,
The way he messes with the press.

He doesn’t do much else but tweet
Invectives at his foes, with John
His latest target—oh, and cheat
At golf, with people looking on!

by Susan McLean

The people from planet Jerk
don’t get why you’re offended.
To shill for a product’s a perk!
To appear on a logo is splendid!

They can’t see a thing that’s unfair,
no matter how closely they scan it.
They can’t be expected to care:
they come from another planet.

by Chris O’Carroll

“Any protesters, anarchists, agitators, looters or lowlifes who are going to Oklahoma
please understand, you will not be treated like you have been in New York, Seattle,
or Minneapolis. It will be a much different scene!”
—A contemporary world leader

The cops in those other towns don’t have a clue.
They didn’t wage war like I said they should do.

I told them to dominate. They couldn’t cut it.
If BLM opens its mouth here, we’ll shut it!

I saw cops in action and I was disgusted
How little they roughed up the people they busted.

When anarchist lowlifes show up in this town,
Their asses are grass! We’ll be mowing them down.

You think you’ve seen tear gas and wounded and dead
In your city? Come see how much blood we can shed!

We’ll give you a much different scene to expect
When we’re locked and we’re loaded to serve and protect.

by Philip Kitcher

(With thanks to Rupert Brooke)

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a Tulsa street
That is forever Trumpland. There shall be,
Lying beneath, a true Red heart, whose beat
Proclaims his glory; one that would agree
Not to disclose, never complain or sue;
But work undaunted for his victory,
Striving to stem the sinful surge of Blue.

And think this heart, transformed to higher state,
Its pulses quickened by the wondrous rays
Shed by his maskless Presence who once trod
These streets, throbs still to make our country great;
To lower taxes, purge the Dems and gays,
Ever to fight for Trump, for guns, for God.

by Dan Campion

“Jerome Powell Has The Most Humiliating Job In America”
—NPR

To say the chairman of the Fed
Gets least respect has no street cred:
He wears a suit and rep stripe tie,
And works inside—and gets to try
The patience of the Big Galoot
(In blue tie and Brioni suit)
Who’s perfectly obsessed with loot.
Our own affairs grown ticklish,
The rest of us can only wish
For Jay Powell’s access to the nerves
Of that Great Bundle whom he serves.

by Stephen Pisani

“Trump Boasts of Successful Walk Down Shallow Ramp Without Tripping”
—New York Magazine

The ramp says, “Ouch.”
Don barely moves.
He tries a crouch,
implants his hooves.
With one last slouch,
his gait improves.
The ramp exhales;
says, “Happy trails.”

by Dan Campion

“Buffalo protester shoved by Police could be an ANTIFA provocateur.”
—@realDonaldTrump

The Cheshire cat could be a plant.
A squid could be a Douglas fir.
A Buffalo could be my aunt.
But Martin, a provocateur?

The cops could be space aliens.
The President could be a cur.
Yahoos could be Pygmalions.
Gugino, though: provocateur?

Could be you’re proud you learned a word
That could be used to cause a stir.
Could be, though flipping France the bird,
You’re smitten with provocateur.

A tweet could be a senseless rant,
Brown dreck could be a gift of myrrh,
Your pet could be Nast’s elephant,
But spare us, boss, provocateur.

by Julia Griffin

“A towering statue of Confederate General Robert E Lee will be removed
as soon as possible from downtown Richmond…”
—The Guardian

“Belgians want statue of genocidal King Leopold II removed”
—Reuters

Lightly with Leopold, lightly with Lee;
Rope the high horses, let sunlight fall free:
See how they darken the heart of a town.
Take them down.

Lee fought a war for the right to keep slaves;
Leopold battened on Africa’s graves;
Blood’s on the stirrup and blood’s on the crown.
Take them down.

by Jerome Betts

“Thousands of people have gathered outside an Oxford college to demand the removal of a statue of imperialist Cecil Rhodes.”
—BBC News

The dons of a college called Oriel
With a statue of Rhodes as memorial
To his monetary gifts
Find it deepening rifts
Over issues much more than sculptorial.

by Brian Allgar

“Fake News! They say I’ve never read the Bible!
I’m gonna sue those journalists for libel.
That book is right beside me when I pray;
I read its name, ‘The Bible,’ every day.”

by Eddie Aderne

“‘She still lives!’ Famed Yellowstone bear emerges from winter—with cubs
A few weeks ago, a nature photographer who lives near Yellowstone national park
sent a four-word text message to Dr Jane Goodall, the British primatologist.
“Miraculously, she still lives!”
The photographer, Thomas Mangelsen, was referring to a grizzly bear known as “399”
[…]. At 24, not only is she one of the oldest grizzlies living outside a zoo, she has also
continued having cubs to a venerable age…”
—The Guardian

“The affair is over. Clarissa lives.” 
—Samuel Richardson, Clarissa

She lives! The world of Yellowstone
Rejoices rightly in its own:
399, grand matriarch,
The grizzly glory of the Park,
Has reappeared, aged 24,
With one delightful litter more.
No wonder primatologists
Are waving flags and bumping fists
In honour of 399—
Though honestly, how anodyne
A name that is, and quite unfair
For such a venerable bear!
Let’s therefore try to celebrate
More fittingly. Though mortal Fate
So often takes, it sometimes gives;
Be thankful: Grizzalissa lives.

by Ruth S. Baker

“Saturn’s moon Titan is zooming away from its ringed parent 100 times faster than scientists
expected. … Previous research has suggested that the moon should be moving away from Saturn
at just 0.04 inches (0.1 cm) per year. But this new work suggests that Titan is actually moving
away from its planet at a whopping 4.3 inches (11 cm) every year.”
—Space.com

Saturn’s moon Titan is zooming away,
Responding to nothing his father can say.
Saturn sits wretchedly wringing his rings.
“Well,” rumbles Neptune, “it’s one of those things;
Titan’s a teen (in billennial terms);
One word of rotation, he fidgets and squirms;
Helium bores him, he wanes all he can—
Just try to remember, a moon’s his own man.
Children today—there’s not much to be done,
But back them, and hope they’re not rude to the Sun;
Pull all you like, you can’t hold him, my dear.
He’s leaving, at 4.3 inches per year.”

by Nora Jay

“Seattle protesters take over city blocks to create police-free… ‘Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone,’ or ‘Chaz’…”
—The Guardian

They’ve nixed the old rules in Seattle,
And long may true justice be done!
Yet shaking around in my head, like a rattle,
Is Animal Farm—chapter 1.

by Catherine Chandler

Here are five clerihews
Based on the news
Of this past week
Which was dark and depressing and scary and bleak:

1.
Trump tweeted: “Sleepy Joe” Biden
Is in a basement room hidin’!
But guess who rushed like hell to hunker
Down in the White House bunker?

2.
Trump put up an 8-foot fence
When the protests got intense.
I call this the politics
Of shitting bricks.

3.
Melania is the paragon of style.
But when Donald commanded her to smile
At the Shrine to Pope John Paul
Her grin went AWOL.

4.
Justin Trudeau . . .
Twenty-one seconds too slow—
Reluctant to dump
On Donald J. Trump.

5.
Ivanka’s Bible-toting Max Mara purse
Is the subject of scorn and nonsense verse.
But her daddy’s faux-righteous pose
Speaks louder than volumes of prose.