by Dan Campion
The Democrats now have a score
Who’d tangle with the Don.
They fear an internecine war,
Where allies fall upon
Each other, not the rival band.
They’re right to share those fears.
If open taps dilute the brand,
The Don gets four more years.
But in the other camp, the tents
Are haunted by defeat.
A specter stalks their occupants:
Some single fatal tweet.
by Edmund Conti
“Franklin Graham attacks Pete Buttigieg for being gay, says he should repent”
—ABC News
He thinks that Mayor Pete is a sinner
And what Trump does is none of our biz.
Says Franklin, “I’m riding a winner
And that is the way that it is.”
by Orel Protopopescu
Enraged by your mob never doing its job,
by the fools who refused to be tools?
Exult in the end, though not one is a friend,
few would do what you wanted them to.
by Julia Griffin
“The world’s rarest turtle has moved closer to extinction after a female died in a Chinese zoo, leaving just three known members of the species.
The Yangtze giant softshell turtle, believed to be more than 90 years old, died in Suzhou zoo on Saturday, according to the Suzhou Daily.
Its death came a day after staff at the facility attempted to artificially inseminate the animal using semen from a male more than 10 years her senior, the newspaper reported.”—The Guardian
One of our rarest, oldest turtles
Died in a Chinese zoo this week;
Thus yet another species hurtles
Into extinction, so to speak.
After some medical kerfuffle,
This one of four, this Turtle Royal,
Started a softshell softshoe shuffle
Issueless off this mortal coil.
Well may we all be sad and angsty,
Uttering vainly words like these:
“Why, Not-So-Youngster of the Yangtse,
Were you so very hard to please?”
Maybe a spiritual vocation
Made you determined to be chaste;
Maybe the word “insemination”
Struck you as in appalling taste;
Maybe; but I have also wondered
Why we should be surprised you thus
Spurned a co-parent of one hundred,
Being a sprightly ninety (plus).
—Los Angeles Times
by Frank Osen
“I want the right to say I’m FUCT,”
A clothier claimed; it went to SCOTUS,
Who promptly had the lawsuit chucked:
“Henceforth, that phrase belongs to POTUS.”
by Chris O’Carroll
It’s true the Church has harbored many a rapist,
Says Benedict Sixteen, onetime top papist,
But all those predatory priestly crimes
Were products of tradition-flouting times.
No need to look within for moral ills;
Blame miniskirts and contraceptive pills.
by Julia Griffin
On the red smoke, we saw the form embossed
Of what we had forgotten might be lost;
Inside, laid open to the light of day,
The heart that burned but did not burn away,
Holding the furnace as the walls turned black;
The fragile rose that glowed but did not crack;
The candles in the nave, still burning there,
As if to prove that fire is also prayer.
Perhaps we need such suffering to prove
The wonderful resilience of love;
This is the feast day of the risen Lamb.
Joyeuses Pâques, Madame, Notre Dame.
by Brendan Beary
“Coffee beans not vital for human survival, Switzerland decides”
—The Guardian
Though Switzerland’s a lovely place,
The Swiss are a barbaric race;
Just like their cheese, they’ve got big holes
Inhabiting their hearts and souls.
For Switzerland has now decreed
That coffee’s not a thing they need.
Where once they hoarded vast reserves,
They said they’d stop—and Oh, my nerves!
A model of efficiency
And clocklike punctuality—
Let’s see how long all that’ll last
When they have been de-demitassed!
Their downfall will be swift and total;
They’ll barely have the strength to yodel!
Too late, I fear, they’ll live and learn.
Too bad, Dummkopfen—let it Bern.
by Dan Campion
A black hole’s image has been caught,
The jet-black headlines say,
But what escapes a black hole? Naught.
So what’s up on display?
by Julia Griffin
“Doctors discover four live bees feeding on tears inside woman’s eye”
—The Guardian
Peerless insects! How have ye
Merited so blest to be?
You have broach’d those starry spheres
Whence descend my lady’s tears:
There you lodge and proudly feed
On this world’s divinest mead.
O had she once rubb’d that lid!
You had died where you were hid;
Happy your escape: though I
Gladly there would choose to die.
by Robert Schechter
“I don’t envy the editors about to get an onslaught of . . . bees in eyes living on tears poems.”
—A.E. Stallings on Twitter
There’s a bee in my eye.
It makes me good money.
I bottle my teardrops
and sell them as honey.
There’s a bee in my eye.
My troubles are many.
My retina’s tickled
by twitching antennae.
There’s a bee in my eye.
There may be a dozen.
And that explains why
my cornea’s buzzin’.
There’s a bee in my eye.
If I had a scruple
I’d have them evict
the bee from my pupil.
There’s a bee in my eye,
and I say, “Doggone it!
This bee in my eye
is a bee in my bonnet!”
by Charlie Boyes
“One by one, the leaders of seven of the country’s largest banks told skeptical House Democrats on Wednesday that a decade after the global financial crisis, the industry is financially healthier and less risky.”—The Washington Post
Austere, banks collateralize debt ere
financial gurus hazard
immiseration. Jubilance keenly leveraged.
Money naturalizes. Oligarchs
profit, queue reserves.
Secure tranches.
Use values want. Xaipe.
Yen, zen.
by Bruce Bennett
The sidewalks fill with stranded worms
inveigled out by rain.
I cannot watch poor creatures die.
It’s rescue time again!
Yet I must watch how I proceed,
disguising my display
of care through surreptitious means,
lest I be put away.
by Julia Griffin
“Is Stephen Miller in charge?”—CNN
How do we judge between Mueller and Miller?
Miller is shriller and looks like a killer;
After the hopes, though, excited by Mueller,
Some are reporting that Mueller is crueller.
by Nora Jay
“Kirstjen Nielsen resigns as Trump homeland security secretary”
—The Guardian
We thought she was earning her wages:
Promoting the President’s views,
Disputing that kids were in cages
Despite what we saw on the news—
But Trump thought her bullying toothless,
And brushed her from office like fluff.
Take note: if you mean to be ruthless,
Make sure you are ruthless enough.