by Dan Campion

“Why is so much of television so bad? … I would like to see television improved.”
—FCC Chairman Newton Minow, in famous 1961 speech

“Shows like ‘Barry’ and ‘Russian Doll’ are trying to re-instill basic lessons in human decency that might have gotten misplaced somewhere.”
—The New York Times, 2019

Where did I place my dignity?
I’ve dropped it, like a key.
No need to search on hand and knee;
I’ll find it on TV!

Now, where’s lost generosity?
Where can that virtue be?
But (short a vow of poverty)
I’ll find it on TV!

Where’s modesty? Where’s chastity?
That great whale, Decency?
O, Newton Minow, pray for me!
I’ll find them on TV!

by Julia Griffin

“Scientists stunned by discovery of ‘semi-identical’ twins:
Boy and girl, now four, are only the second case of ‘sesquizygotic’ twins recorded”
—The Guardian

Memini Gemini
Twins (names unknown to us):
Semi-identical,
Girl next to boy;

Savor the word for them:
Sesquizygotical!
Sesquipedalia—
Always a joy.

by Chris O’Carroll

Though they tortured our guy in their prison,
Kim has said he knew nothing about it.
Ever since our first beautiful summit,
I’m in love with him, so I don’t doubt it.

I believe in the Prince and in Putin
When they say to me strongly, sincerely
That they’re not into bone saws and hacking.
They’re tough leaders and I love them dearly.

By canoodling with Kim for the cameras,
I have proved I should win the Nobel.
He’s still got his nuclear weapons,
But believe me, the deal’s going well.

by Julia Griffin

“A new object has been discovered in the distant reaches of our solar system and given the name FarFarOut, according to a prominent astronomer.”—The Guardian

Time was when space was full of tales:
When Greek was still our mentor,
We had the Virgin and the Scales,
The Hunter and the Centaur;

The clustered moons of Jupiter
Were loves to share his slumbers;
But now astronomers prefer
To name things after numbers;

Alternatively, it appears,
The latest sort of craze is
To fasten on the cosmic spheres
Some well-selected phrases:

When now there swims into our ken
An object never labelled,
We call it not Square Root of Ten
Or Name of Someone Fabled,

But something that admits no doubt—
Not nerdified or silly:
Like, for example, FarFarOut,
Or LonelyLonelyChilly.

by Dan Campion

There was to be a signing,
Then Nobel Prize (a hunch).
But Kim and Don, repining,
Saved ink and canceled lunch.

The papers left unsigned-on,
The napkins left still bunched,
The cukes and nukes declined-on:
How sad. They should’ve lunched.

by Gail White

This is the wall that Trump wants.

This is the country of Mexico
that we were promised three years ago
would pay for the wall that Trump wants.

This is McConnell, who looks like a fish
and swore to fulfill the President’s wish
to raise the money that Mexico
(as everyone knew three years ago)
won’t pay for the wall that Trump wants.

This is Pelosi, canny and wise,
who made a congressional compromise
to thwart McConnell, who looks like a fish
and swore to fulfill the President’s wish
to raise the billions that Mexico
(as everyone knew three years ago)
won’t pay for the wall that Trump wants.

This is Trump, as bold as can be,
declaring a national emergency
to stymie Pelosi, canny and wise,
who made a congressional compromise
to thwart McConnell, who looks like a fish
and swore to fulfill the President’s wish
to raise the billions that Mexico
(as everyone knew three years ago)
won’t pay for the wall that Trump wants.

This is the Army, in discontent
asserting that all the money is spent
that Trump would take for a spending spree
on a bogus national emergency
to stymie Pelosi, canny and wise,
who made a congressional compromise
to thwart McConnell, who looks like a fish
and swore to fulfill the President’s wish
to raise the billions that Mexico
(as everyone knew three years ago)
won’t pay for the wall that Trump wants.

And this is Mueller, who gets to decide
if Russia committed democricide,
and everything else is irrelevant,
including the Army’s discontent,
the cash demanded from you and me
for a bogus national emergency;
Pelosi, McConnell, and all the rest
who’ve had to deal with the strange request
for billions of dollars that, sad to say,
the Mexican government will not pay
for building the wall
that Trump wants.

by Julia Griffin

“Cooking Sunday roast causes indoor pollution ‘worse than Delhi'”
—The Guardian

I’m quite engrossed (in fact out-grossed)
To learn of the pollution
Resulting from the Sunday roast,
That filthy institution.

Think: round the table flock your young,
So innocent and trusting;
And all the while each rosy lung
Is blackening and rusting.

The fumes are killing us by stealth:
It’s worse than central Delhi,
This onslaught on your household’s health,
This greasy casus belly.

The answer’s easy. Stow the stove!
Ban cookers from your kitchen,
Before your children’s cheeks turn mauve
And everything is itchin’.

Act, if you must do, by degrees;
Reduce by hints, or smidgens
These weekly boosts to lung disease:
Let geese give place to pigeons;

Cut these in two, then three—just carve
As long as you can see ’um:
Your house will be, the day you starve,
A spotless mausoleum.

by Dan Campion

“I want to be an apparition.”
—Karl Lagerfeld (1933-2019)

Wish granted. As it had to be;
We’re ghosts of fleeting passions
Who, like designs in organdy,
Slip on, then off, like fashions.

by Julia Griffin

after Kipling

“‘Yanked from the ground’: cactus theft is ravaging the American desert. …
In a scheme that made headlines, park workers began inserting microchips the size of pencil tips into cactus trunks, which could be scanned with an electronic reader.”
—The Guardian

If you wake at midnight, and hear some odd tap-taps,
Don’t go lighting up your tent or pulling back the flaps;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie:
Watch the dunes, my darling, while the Cactusmen go by.

Five and twenty shovels
Digging through the sand:
Cactus for the greenhouse, up in Maryland,
Cactus for Dudinka, cactus for Dubai;
Watch the dunes, my darling, while the Cactusmen go by!

If you see a blemish on a cactus stem,
If you see a Ranger-man (O there’s lots of them!),
If it’s just a teeny mark like a pencil tip,
Leave a sign, my darling—’tis a tricksy micro-chip.

Holes and divots down the trail—engines after dark—
Don’t you start disturbing spadework in the park;
Watch the merry wind farms twirling in the sky:
Praise them to the Rangers while the Cactusmen go by!

If you do as you’ve been told, made yourself some use,
You’ll be give a chollas or pachycereus,
Rattail or espostoa, or a prickly pear:
A present from the Cactusmen, to trade with in Bel Air.

Five and twenty shovels
Digging through the sand:
Cactus for the greenhouse, up in Maryland,
Will it bloom in Oslo? Don’t know till you try—
Watch the dunes, my darling, while the Cactusmen go by!

by Julia Griffin

“The first trailer for ‘Frozen 2’ is here…”—fastcompany.com

Finally! The Frozen teaser—
Let’s denote it just The Freezer—
Lights the screen, deprived so long
Of the femininely strong.
Six whole years now, wigs and crowns,
Books and copyrighted gowns
Have but swelled that thirst for chill
None but Elsa could fulfill;
Now a wave of Disney’s wand
Sweeps her back, the shining blonde,
Tiny-waisted, giant-eyed:
Two parts insect, one part bride.
Also destined for reuse
Are the Redhead, Boyfriend, Moose,
Snowman (made a household star
By his bath toy avatar),
Ice and snow and snow and ice;
But this arctic paradise
Centers round its frost-princess,
Sister, savior, whose success
Thrills transgressive types worldwide,
Charms romantics, and beside
Proves, as human flesh cannot:
Cold, cold girls are hot, hot, hot.

by Jerome Betts

“Speaking in the Rose Garden, Trump said there was
an emergency at the border which could only 
be fixed by building a wall.”—The Guardian

Amid mounting strife over walls, fences, barriers,
And the sound of the parties’ rhetorical arias,
There’s a question to ask, as a matter of urgency−
Is the POTUS himself not a national emergency?

by Brendan Beary

It might just be valid for ninety-some days,
Though few will attain such longevity;
Some come for a moment, and some not at all—
They’re typically known for their brevity.

But maybe, just maybe, your roll of the dice
Surpasses your farthest-out fantasy:
A ninety-day jaunt goes for fifteen more years,
Revealing much more than you’d planned to see.

So play Billie Holiday; let’s serenade
The space exploration community,
And marvel at all that allowed them to make
The most of their one Opportunity.

by Ruth S. Baker

” … concern is mounting about the growing scarcity of many exotic elements that have become utterly critical to the workings of our modern world. … Helium, for example is considered to be under serious threat in the next 100 years.”—The Guardian

Accept our sympathy, but please
(Although we’d not dismantle ’em)
We’ve many more endangerees
Than helium and tantalum;

And something with a tail and snout
(Let this be my exordium)
Is much more fun to care about
Than ruddy rutherfordium.

by Phil Huffy

No hounds need apply
for a White House gig,
the President has stated.
He’s much too involved
with important things
for matters dog related.
But in point of fact
one would have to guess
that any intelligent cur
if offered even part time work
would cautiously demur.

by Michael Calvert

“Officials at Samford University, a Christian college in Alabama, allegedly told an all-female group partaking in a dancing competition to “bind their breasts” … [and] use Ace bandages or wear multiple bras so ‘nothing moves’ while they competed.”—The Daily Beast

Now girls, put on your funky grooves,
But just see to it nothing moves.
We’re asking every dancing beauty,
Shake nothing, least of all your booty.

Although we know you long to be
True daughters of Terpsichore,
Each time we see a bosom sway,
We fear there will be hell to pay.

So keep it clean, avoiding wiggles,
Waggles, jounces, jumps or jiggles—
No dance gives us a bigger thrill
Than one that keeps you standing still.