by Orel Protopopescu

(To the tune of “Am I Blue?”)

Woke up this morning, long before the dawn…
Without a warning, big tax cuts are on
and you know what’s in store…

Why would they do it
when we all knew it
never worked before?

Are you blue? I am too.
Here they go, one more time,
Whoop-de-doo!

There was a time
some sanity prevailed,
but now I’m
so sad they’d try again,
what has failed
more than once…
Who’s the dunce
in this town
who thinks wealth
trickles down?

Ask the folks gone broke in Kansas,
working poor up in Chicago.
They know better than jet-setters
bending ears in Mar-a-Lago.

Are you blue? I am too.
Here they go, one more time,
Whoop-de-doo!

by Chris O’Carroll

They say you lost your husband,
The father of your kid.
I’m calling now to cheer you up.
Obama never did.

At least your dead guy knew
When he went off to war
What kind of fatal outcome he
Had signed himself up for.

I had no way to know
This job would be so tough.
I didn’t know I’d have to know
About health care and stuff,

And now I don’t get praised
For these great calls I make.
The media reports that say
Obama called are fake.

by Ian Graham

Chipocalypse: Kiwis react to news of nationwide potato shortage—NZ Herald

Yes, climate risk is all too real and
Here’s the proof. From lush New Zealand
Comes a tale to pucker lips:
Dire warnings of Chipocalypse.
So, true or fake? The jury’s out.
Though one thing’s sure—without a doubt,
A shortage of potato slivers
Would be enough to send cold shivers
Along the spine of any nation.
But Kiwis seldom need sedation.
As well as thirty million sheep,
New Zealanders are bound to keep,
With zealous zen
And ne’er a frown,
Their chins up when
The chips are down.

by Mae Scanlan

First it was Harvey the Hurricane;
Harvey the Weinstein came next.
Who’s going to be the next Harvey
To render us vexed and perplexed?

by Michael R. Burch

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Showering gold, a spread-eagled strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
“Mother of Cowards!” From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
allegiance to her pimp’s repulsive game.

“Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!” cries she
With scarlet lips. “Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump’s pleasure by the gilded bowl!”

by Ian Graham

Rocket Man and Dotard
Seek, to settle spat,
Korea diplomat.

by Cody Walker

ESPN
is bein’
uncool with Jemele Hill.
Did she kill
58 concert-goers? Or belittle Bob Corker?
Was she accused of rape in The New Yorker?

by Mae Scanlan

“I hate everybody in the White House;”
That’s the latest quote from You Know Who.
For him it obviously is not the right house,
The one on Pennsylvania Avenue.

He’s flustered and uneasy in the old house
That’s dedicated to the people’s need;
Far better he relocate to his Gold House,
And there resume his life of guile and greed.

by Julia Griffin

When Mr. Harvey Weinstein fell,
The right-wing anchors gloated;
But life was transiently hell
For those whom he’d promoted.

The men at first declined the hook,
Remembering there’d be no
Scream, without him, Sex, Lies, Thief, Cook,
King’s Speech or Tarantino;

But actresses of every age
(Especially the greater)
Quickly assailed with righteous rage
This human alligator.

One’d called him God and one’d tattooed
Her rear with his initials;
This now they vehemently rued
To spokesmen and officials.

His wife, whose every fancy frock
He’d touted from the rafters,
Departed, raising thus her stock
With those who grant the BAFTAs.

Soon Mr. Feig and Mr. Firth
Were crying shock and horror,
Declaring Mr. Weinstein’s berth
Less moral than Gomorrah,

While, through the squawking of the press,
The comics started slanging
(For where the Bee sucks, you may guess
The fruit will be low-hanging),

And all the Internet in flood,
Now one enormous lobby,
Deliriously howled for blood—
None more than brother Bobby.

For all maintain, of Hollywood,
The purest expectations,
Accepting nothing less than good:
Not even allegations.

by Ian Graham

Mariano, he calls Catalonia:
“¡Hey, Carles, I just had to phone ya!
Cos things ain’t quite clear.
¿You’ve seceded, I hear?
¿Or not? ¿Or not yet?
Well, here’s a safe bet:
If you have, then I’m not gonna let ya.
If you haven’t, I’m gonna forget ya.
Either this stops
Or I sail in the cops.”

by Julia Griffin

(pace Kipling)

On the road to Mandalay,
The dawn comes up like static,
Or, alas, a ricochet-
ing semi-automatic.

A killer gets his wishes,
And the mighty NRA
Keep mum as flying fishes,
On the road to Mandalay.

by Chris O’Carroll

If he had been a different color,
We’d get why all those people died.
How can a rich white guy be evil?
Donald Trump is mystified.

by Dan Campion

This policy passed unopposed
Because two letters got transposed.

by Orel Protopopescu

Did someone calculate the cost
of all the rolls that POTUS tossed?
Add flying Air Force One to boot—
a million dollar paper route?

by Mae Scanlan

“Trump is a moron.” The comment was Rex’s;
He soon will be back in his home state of Texas.