by Mae Scanlan
Bad news everywhere you turn,
Icebergs melt and cities burn.
Madman causes loss of life,
Puerto Rico still has strife.
Three key operatives indicted,
Five more male molesters cited.
Yet, one bit of GOOD news, dearies:
Astros win their first World Series!
by Julia Griffin
Yellow-crested cockatoos have already caused $80,000 in damage to Australia’s national broadband network wiring.—The Guardian
That bugaboo
The cockatoo
Delights to chew
The network through.
An out(r)age, yup,
To think a sup-
Ping cockatoo
Can cock it up.
by Bruce Bennett
One of the most buzzed-about inventions has been the sex robot.
The first one, Harmony,… can connect with virtual reality so the user
can interact with her in that space. … —New York Times
That headset, quick! I can’t wait to begin it.
O Brave New World, that has such robots in it!
by Chris O’Carroll
The White House tells itself, George Papadopoulos
Is much too insignificant to topple us,
But discontent is mounting in the populace.
by Julia Griffin
@RealDonaldTrump does not exist.
Tap to retry, determined masochist.
by Mae Scanlan
Somehow, there should be a ban on Bannon;
No one needs the views of this loose cannon.
Bannon holds no government position;
Sowing seeds of chaos is his mission.
Trump et al is quite enough to cope with;
We don’t need the rants of Steve to grope with.
He’s a happenstance we didn’t plan on;
Somehow, there should be a ban on Bannon.
by Ed Shacklee
They skulk about the premises philosophers debunk:
cousins to the crocodile and scions of the skunk,
somnolent if sober, somewhat flammable while drunk,
waging war with common sense to win a hill of beans,
their thoughts are tanks; their words are gas; their motives, submarines;
their motto is a winking hint, but none know what it means.
They’re wearing clownish masks above their chalky painted faces.
Their comedies are tragedies; their poison pen erases.
They bare their asses to the wind while covering the bases.
They’re plotting like the Borgias, eating clotted cream on toast
with devils down in Georgia and the pirates on the coast,
and sweat and strain to forge a chain to drag like Marley’s ghost.
Their truths are lies with faces bared, their jobs are holidays—
they golf while Rome’s engulfed within a fuel-assisted blaze,
then later feast on barbecue for which the victim pays.
They’re dancing past us naked with their patterns recognizable.
Their pickled minds are mousetrap quick, their toothy smiles are sizable,
and children like to shake their hands, but this is not advisable.
by Edmund Conti
Of all the recent drivel
From the President (our nation’s),
The worst is that he’s “civil.”
This guy does try our patience.
He is treated so unfairly.
The problem is the media’s.
Can we tolerate him? Barely.
The man is getting tedious.
by Orel Protopopescu
Blood and Beauty on a Texas Exotic Game Ranch—The New York Times
Seems that Texas is a nexus
of endangered species fans.
No narcotic’s like exotics
shot from tanks or armored vans.
You will pay just fifteen K
to shoot a wildebeest. (A bongo
sets you back a bigger stack,
but you will feel you’re in the Congo.)
It’s high tech, the chief exec
says of his hunting operation.
Take note of the burning love
we give the beasts, for conservation.
They can run, enjoy the sun,
on eighteen thousand wild acres.
Numbers grow because we show
that captive herds are moneymakers.
by Mae Scanlan
The senators Corker and Flake
Had a weighty decision to make,
For they found the regime
Of their leader and team
Was increasingly painful to take.
To avoid this bizarre can of worms,
They will quit at the end of their terms.
For the nonce, they decry
Ship of state gone awry,
While their GOP coterie squirms.
Though Corker and Flake have defected,
Their pals want to get re-elected,
So they grovel and fawn
While the anguish goes on,
And the problems remain uncorrected.
You’d think there’d be some with the pluck
To rise and denounce all this yuck.
If they don’t find a way,
The besieged USA
With Trump and his team will stay stuck.
by Catherine Chandler
Said The Donald to Mr. Jeff Flake:
You’re a loser! Sad! Gimme a break!
I’m Ivy-League gracious,
the news I’m salacious
and crazy and stupid is FAKE!!!
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?