by Dan Campion

It’s fifty years since billy clubs
Cracked random back and head:
Throughout the land, steins raise in pubs
That no one fell down dead.

A half a century since Da Mare
Cursed Ribicoff! The Hump,
Predictably, got drubbed. From there,
The road led straight to Trump.

You think I’m daft, it’s just cold draft
That says the world’s that shallow?
Drink up, friends. Feel the tear gas waft
From Michigan and Balbo.

by Chris O’Carroll

Red stripe, blue stripe, wacky new stripe,
Demagogue without a clue stripe.

Living free game, take a knee game,
“Sons of bitches” Twitter spree game.

Demagogue on the attack,
Not pro-flag, just anti-black.

by Julia Griffin

“No, it isn’t truth!” Giuliani roared. “Truth isn’t truth.”—The Guardian

Better not match the things I say are true
With what I said I meant: truth is not truth
That doesn’t change when situations do,
But keeps recording like a photo booth.
Jeez no, it is an ever-spreading mark,
That looks on Daniels and is never shaken:
It is the sound of Giuliani’s bark,
Which is so loud you know he’s not mistaken.
Truth’s not truth’s fool, though failing NBC
May try to sabotage its wiggle-room;
What sets you free, why wouldn’t that be free?
Just bear me out, or watch me fire you, boom!
If this be error, and upon me proved,
Some low-life DOG is going to be removed.

by Marshall Cobb

“If 1967 was the Summer of Love, well, 2018 is starting to feel like the Summer of Food Poisoning. Oh how times change.”—The Boston Globe

“Eat salad,” they said. “It’s terrific for you.”
So I thought, “Why not give it a try?”
But later I turned a sick, yellowish hue,
So I’m sticking with stuff that they fry.

by Julia Griffin

“Man injures himself falling into a black hole art installation that doesn’t look like a hole at all
… The 1992 installation, a creation by Indian sculptor Anish Kapoor named ‘Descent into Limbo,’ appears to have no depth due to the extremely black paint it is coated in.”—ABC News

Don’t think a hole is just a lack;
Kapoor has painted this one black:
The sort of paradox that floors
Art less capacious than Kapoor’s.
Although it gleams like solid paint,
Experience reveals it ain’t;
So careful where you put your foot!
Don’t blame Kapoor when it’s kaput.

by Ruth S. Baker

“A Tennessee Man Is Accused of Hitting His Ex-Girlfriend in the Face With a Biscuit”
—The Associated Press

A-taskit, a-tiskit,
He hit her with a biscuit;
Please understand
He’d pledged his hand:
She never thought to frisk it;

A-tiskit, a-taskit,
What did she then? Don’t ask it:
Though some, they say,
Did whiff flambé
Of brisket through his casket.

by Dan Campion

She rendered hymns vernacular
In tones till then unheard,
Achieved effects spectacular
Just spelling out a word,

And in melisma had no peer
Throughout the earthly choir.
Aretha, in a lofty sphere,
Will lead the chorus higher.

by Edmund Conti

Trump revokes Brennan’s clearance

I cannot brook
Your interference,
Though you killed off Osama,
And so I took
Your secret clearance.
And I pissed off Obama.

by Orel Protopopescu

Hush, Omarosa, don’t say a word,
Papa’s gonna buy you a Thunderbird.
But if a vintage car won’t do,
Papa’s got a slush fund to see you through.

Did I scream Fired? Just stand the heat,
and then you can live on Easy Street.
But if you dare to let me down,
you won’t be the sweetest little flunky in town.

by Julia Griffin

“Prominent white supremacist scolded on video by his father”—The Guardian

Heil, guys! Are you up for some news
Not faked by those commies and Jews
Out plotting our doom?
Will you look at this room!
You have got to start wiping your shoes.

You know what George Soros adores?
Non-Aryans flooding our shores,
And spoiling Jim Crow.
Plus your mom wants to know
If the socks in the bathroom are yours.

Let’s make those old liberals cower,
As we march down the street in our power!
Bring it all to a head!
Did you hear what I said?
It’s your very last chance for a shower.

The Master Race needs to unite!
Remember: be proud that you’re white,
Non-Muslim, and men.
It is ten after ten,
And I’m switching the lights out. Goodnight.

by Edmund Conti

Melania Trump’s parents become citizens.

Chain migration is such a mistake.
The concept is evil and bad,
and it gives me a huge stomachache.
I now have the in-laws. So sad!

by Julia Griffin

“Hamza bin Laden, the son of the late al-Qaida leader, has married the daughter of Mohammed Atta, the lead hijacker in the 9/11 terror attacks, according to his family.” — The Guardian

Gather blooms from every garden!
Let the vests be richly styled!
For the offspring of bin Laden
Weds Mohammed Atta’s child.

Toast the harmony symbolic
Of the vessel and the heir!
Raise a glass (non-alcoholic)
To this devastating pair:

Handsome Hamza, glowing gently
With his father’s scarlet fame,
And a girl (who consequently
Has no reason for a name).

Lads are cheering, lasses swooning,
Eager all to ascertain
Where they’re going honeymooning,
And the details of the ’plane:

But today there’ll be no crashers,
As the sable flags unfurl,
Hailing those united smashers,
Hamza Bin and Atta-Girl.

by Marshall Cobb

“Dozens of goats broke loose and invaded a neighborhood in Boise, Idaho…”—CNN

You’ll seldom see a goat invasion,
But when it comes there’s devastation.
You’ll lose your lilacs, so long shrubs,
They’ll gnaw your roses down to nubs.

Don’t try to stop them, else the nanny
Is prone to butt you in the fanny.
And then the he-goat, known as Billy,
Will likely knock you willy-nilly.

On top of that, they’re very noisy.
Just ask the folks who live in Boise.

by David Hedges

When Rudy Giuliani served
As mayor of New York,
His high esteem was undeserved.
In sum, he was a dork.

He brought his mistress home one day
To live at Gracie Mansion,
Much to his second wife’s dismay.
He oversaw expansion

Of a half-baked war on crime.
You didn’t spit for fear
You’d wind up fined and doing time,
Or sneeze if you were queer.

When 9/11 hit, he seized
The podium and basked
In lavish praise. He acted pleased
No matter what was asked

Because it meant another chance
To hog the microphone,
And do his little song and dance
Before the facts were known.

This latter trick he’s maximized
As mouthpiece for The Don.
His viewers sit there mesmerized
By how he chatters on.

Integrity’s put through the mill
Or blasted into space,
But yet again we get our fill
Of Giuliani’s face.

by Phil Huffy

“American Airlines flier removed from flight despite buying separate seat for her cello.”—USA Today

There is always room for Jell-o,
advertisements used to say.
In the case of someone’s cello,
it turned out the other way.

While its ride most calmly ended
when the flight went outward bound,
a return trip was suspended
and it never left the ground.

For the promised seat was taken
and its passage then refused
while its owner stood, forsaken,
with her dignity abused.

Does the airline merit censure?
Did the pilot act alone?
I’ll find out next time I venture
to transport my bass trombone.