Poems of the Week

Cookie Monster Rock

by Chris O’Carroll

G is for geode
That look a lot like me.
Googly-eyed and grinning,
It look a lot like me.

Me like eating cookie,
And cookie start with C,
But Cookie Monster geode start with G.
Oh, Cookie Monster geode start with G.

Lurk, Lurk

by Julia Griffin

for Tam

“Goat Attacks Man, Lurks in Background As Paramedics Help Victim in Video
Footage of the incident … showed ambulance staff attempting to get the man
onto a stretcher, as the goat quietly lurked in the background. …
It remains unclear whether the goat was provoked.”
—Newsweek

I find, when human beings irk,
It’s best to lunge and then to lurk.
I butt them, yes; don’t think I shirk;
But lurking too is vital work.
So was this incident a quirk,
Or automatic fetlock-jerk?
Was I provoked, or just berserk?
Here’s all you need to know: I lurk.

His Time

by Alex Steelsmith

Biggledy-wiggledy
Biden the President
finally, after a
50-year climb,

summits, though nearly an
octogenarian.
Was he, till now, only
Biden his time?

No-Pittance Mittens

by Ruth S. Baker

“Crochet artist turns viral Bernie Sanders image into a doll that sells for $20,000”
—The Guardian

Since the viewing public loves
Bernie Sanders’ woolly gloves,
Surely more than mere glad-handers
Would enjoy a woolly Sanders?
It’s the finest gift purveyed:
Crotchety Old Man, Crocheted.

Wrong, Sport

by Dan Campion

“Boost for Trump as 45 Republican senators vote to dismiss impeachment”
—The Guardian

The GOP appears to think
Their Don is in the clear
Because he skated from the rink
Before the final cheer.

Ice hockey, though, is not his sport;
His time’s spent on the links.
The sacred rules of golf comport
With dings for late hijinks.

It seems unlikely, though, he’ll pay
For teeing off on Mike
And interrupting others’ play
Like a pee-wee-golfing tyke.

Ah, well, it’s just a game. Why fret?
He might have shouted “Fore!”
But fans have never sanctioned yet
A rascal they adore.

Getting Warm

by Nora Jay

“A man photographed wearing face paint and a horned headdress during the Jan. 6 insurrection at the U.S. Capitol said he would be willing to testify at former President Trump’s impeachment trial”
—The Hill, January 28th

“A young, woolly rhino has been thawed whole after as much as 40,000 years frozen in Siberian permafrost.”
—New York Post, January 26th

After what seems like 40,000 years,
A horned and hairy beast has been unfrozen,
And means to testify, it now appears,
Against the alpha-beast it has unchosen.
Reclaimed from QAnon and permafrost,
The woolly one concedes that Trump has lost.

Greene Party

by Chris O’Carroll

I’m coming to Congress to carry a gun;
If somebody murdered your daughter or son
At school, that’s a hoax and I’m calling it one.
I’m a heat-packing, Trump-loving QAnon queen.
I’m Marjorie Taylor Greene.

I hate Muslims and Hillary Clinton and Jews;
I know Fake News lies, I know Trump didn’t lose;
On Facebook, I like kill-the-Democrats views.
I’m a star on the race-baiting, truth-hating scene.
I’m Marjorie Taylor Greene

The Second Come-On

by Stephen Gold

The crowd adored Him bigly,
And love was all He preached,
So frankly, it’s just niggly,
To have the guy impeached.

For years we had a diet
Of crap from the elite.
So what’s a little riot?
Let’s make ‘em feel the heat!

We’re heading ever higher,
For truth knows no embargo.
Though our adored Messiah
Is beached in Mar-a-Lago,

We’re on the side of history.
Our day is gonna come.
You say His fame’s a mystery?
You say He’s just a bum?

Be sure that He’ll prevail.
Beware His righteous rancor.
(And should He land in jail,
By God, we’ve got Ivanka!)

Oy Dude!

by Hank Greenspan

“Hawaiian-Jewish surfer Makua Rothman may have ridden the largest wave of all time”
—Jewish Telegraphic Agency

Oy Dude, it’s such a mitzvah
to ride a moving mikva.
Not since Moses dunked Yul Brynna
has the tribe spritzed such a winna!

Drake’s Chum

by Julia Griffin

After Newbolt

“Facebook apologises for flagging Plymouth Hoe as offensive term”
—The Guardian

Drake he’s in his hammock, or so his agents say,
(Capten, art thou trendin’ there below?)
No one’s goin’ to answer, though you mob the house all day
An’ try to get a quote on Plymouth Hoe:
Did they meet through Stormy? Did she work for Bill?
Was she friends with Paris, Kim, and co?
Were there bedsprings smashin’ with #passion?
But Drake his only comment is a legalistic No.

Drake he’s at his lawyer’s now, a-signin’ of his writs
(Capten, folk are talkin’ even so!)
Bein’ used to pirates, he is hirin’ Dershowitz,
Who charges even more than Plymouth Hoe:
Call him on his cell phone, call him over Zoom,
Call him on the newest apps you know;
Where the old trade’s flyin’, old Facebook’s spyin’,
And you’ll find him dumb and mute as any big-shot married beau.

French Cocks

by Bruce Bennett

“… Perhaps the most prominent of these noisy animals was Maurice, a rooster in Saint-Pierre-d’Oléron… His owner had been sued by neighbors—regular vacationers in the area—because he crowed too loudly. … In one of the more tragic cases, over 100,000 petitioners clamored for justice last year after Marcel, a rooster in Ardèche… was shot and beaten to death by a neighbor infuriated by its crowing.”
—The New York Times

Let’s hear it for Maurice,
Who galled some with his crow.
They could not make him cease,
That bold—and loud—Maurice.
Although he’s now at peace,
The world at large should know:
French Law supports Maurice,
That rude bird with his crow,

Which did not help Marcel,
Poor martyr who was shot
And beaten. Oh, too well
They silenced you, Marcel.
What story does that tell?
Some luck out, some do not.
Luck did not help Marcel,
Poor martyr who got shot.

The moral? Cocks will crow,
And some of them will thrive.
The lucky ones will go
On crowing as they crow,
And all the world will know!
The rest won’t stay alive.
The moral? Cocks will crow,
Yet only some will thrive.

Still, everyone should know:

Cocks crow, and they will crow.

Curtus Interruptus

by Thomas DeFreitas

“On Tuesday, former pitcher Curt Schilling narrowly missed out on being voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, a snub he suggested was about the voters—the Baseball Writers Association of America—being opposed to his personal conservative politics and past controversial statements.”
—CNN

In the latest Hall of Fame vote,
Schill’s just shy of getting in:
I’ll salute this trumpish hurler
With my smallest violin.

Big fan of the Toxic Tribble,
Cool with 1/6 mutiny,
Curt and his ideas have fallen
Under hostile scrutiny.

Number 38’s complaining:
“Lefty writers! It’s a fix!
They can’t take my patriotic
Brand of hardball politics!”

Truth is, Curtis, as you righties
Have observed for many years:
Values matter. Your exclusion
Won’t bring me (for one) to tears.

Brahms and Liszt*

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

Britannia does not rule the waves these days.
Raj India’s been gone near eighty years.
And Brexit has left Brits in deep malaise.
However, they take solace in their beers!
Much Tory talk of taking back control,
Securing major trade deals planet-wide
And winning big has scored a huge own goal—
No wonder Brits carouse till bleary-eyed!
Diminished greatness sobers no one’s brain:
League tables show that Britons now are low
In world prestige. They drink to ease their pain:
Scotch numbs the shock of letting status go …
Zonked Brits, though, top their league—in their blue funk,
The Brits are Number One at getting drunk!

*Which means, in Cockney rhyming slang…

Celebrating The Fifty-Ninth Inauguration