by Mark Granier

Trump
was always at home on the stump,
while the White House, unfortunately,
is more of a tree.

Bannon,
fired by the looser cannon,
landed with a light heart
at Breitbart.

by Orel Protopopescu

Pinned a flag to my lapel,
said the words I’d practiced well.
Nothing says I’m here to stay
like the order, Bombs away!

Pinko losers can’t erase
my bedazzling, orange face.
I like stars you can’t eclipse,
winners with hot tits and lips.

Jutting out my upper chin,
I tucked mouth and belly in,
looked that camera in the eye
and said terrorists must die.

Ripped that script up. Who needs plans?
Went to rouse my Ku Klux fans.
I don’t need fake gravity
for those folks to orbit me.

Kelly’s cleaning up my house—
He does Windows, will delouse.
With or without his consent,
I’ll eclipse my government.

by James Hamby

No longer for a garden bower
Or for your backyard porch,
There’s nothing that truly says “White Power”
Quite like a tiki torch!

The KKK’s so yesterday,
Come meet the new Alt-Right!
More like a luau or soiree
For everyone who’s white!

by Joanna Bird

Big Ben has rung
its final bong.
(Unless the bung
was put in wrong.)

by Chris O’Carroll

Neo-Nazis weren’t happy to hear
What I said, but there’s nothing to fear.
My staff said I had
To call the Klan bad,
But you know, bro, I wasn’t sincere.

You can tell I’m just faking PC
When I say what’s expected of me
With a nudge and a wink.
When I vent what I think,
I’m the white guy you want me to be.

by Edmund Conti

It’s time to keep calm
(unless you live on Guam).

by Cody Walker

(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

He thought he saw an Allegation
Stop him in his tracks:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hammer? Sickle? Axe?
“The trail leads back to Putin, friends!
The cash! The email hacks!”

He thought he saw a Middleman
Who hadn’t yet been paid:
He looked again, and found it was
Hot Damn! a Predawn Raid.
“We happened by the neighborhood,”
Said Mueller. Huh. Well played.

by Orel Protopopescu

(with apologies to Robert Frost)

Some say the world will end with Trump,
Some say Jong-un.
From ways his brain plaques tend to clump,
I hold with those who favor Trump.
But if he’s not a total loon,
I think I know enough of fear
To say his red-state twin, Jong-un,
Might shoot our sphere
Over the moon.

by Orel Protopopescu

Down dooby doo down down,
Vladdie won’t you please, pretty please come ‘round.
Had to leave this sad town, I’m so blue,
‘Cause breaking up is hard to do.

Don’t take our deal away from me.
Don’t leave my bank account in misery.
They made me sign that bill!
My fingers moved against my will.

I can’t tell Congress what we’ve been through.
Vladdie, darling, we’ll start anew.
Tell me, how can it be?
We started out so well, so tell me where’d you put your love for me?

I beg you, please, please, don’t say goodbye,
So sad you tabbed me “total weakness” guy.
Bad Congress forced my hand.
You must know that you’re still my man!

Down dooby doo down down,
Vladdie won’t you please, pretty please come ‘round. …
Even West Virginia made me blue,
‘Cause breaking up is hard to do.

by Mae Scanlan

Anthony Scaramucci
Is all smoochie
After President Trump hires him,
Talking about how he loves Trump and admires him.

But Anthony Scaramucci
Then becomes a vicious poochie,
Tearing apart the White House staff,
Which shows how quickly the wheat separates from
The chaff.

Anthony Scaramucci
Probably wears garb from Gucci,
But the manner in which a man covers his chassis
Doesn’t make a man classy.

by Edmund Conti

Here lies Donald Trump
All over the place
Campaigning on the stump
On TV in your face.

The lies of Donald Trump
Are they little? Are they white?
They’re big, they’re black, go bump
In the middle of the night.

Here lies Donald Trump
Who’s fallen far from grace
Behold that graceless lump
In his final West Wing place.

by John Ridland

(To the tune of “Glow Worm,” as sung by the Mills Brothers)

Tweet, little Trumpster, twitter, twitter
Tweet us the gold that makes you glitter
Safe in the gilt of Mar-a-Lago
Tweet at the gentleman from Chicago
Twitter all night in your pajamas
Fairytale tweets about the Obamas
Twitter the “fake facts” on which you live
Not any real alternative

Tweet all you want, our little Twitterist
Tweet us the one that makes you bitterest
How a Reality vaudevillean
Lost to a woman by three million
How all the newspapers but two
Came out for her and not for you
Then the Electors kissed your—feet
Tweet, little Tweetster, tweet.

Tweet, little Twitterer, tweet and twitter
Tweet us the laughs that make us titter
Tweet with a roar like a lyin’ lion
Tweet like your presidency is dyin’
Twitter your twitters more and more manic
Twitter goin’ down on your Titanic
Deep on the bottom of the ocean
You can tweet twitters in slow motion

When you are sunk, oh how we’ll miss you,
Still, while the octopussies kiss you,
When you are grabbed in a watery grave
Yours is a life we couldn’t save
You’ll have been trumped by your own twitters,
Runt of the presidential litters
You can stay on in the big White House
As Vladimir Putin’s pet mouse.
Tweet, little twitterer, tweet
Tweet, little twitterer, tweet
Tweet, little twitterer, tweet
Tweet, little twitterer, tweet. Tweet.

by Orel Protopopescu

(From “From Massages to ‘Pawicures,’” New York Times, July 2017)

No need to park your well-bred pet
with friends or sitters or your vet
while you sail off to distant ports.
Now there’s a choice of pet resorts.

Want pawicures and rooms with views
and cams that give you real-time news
of Fido’s facials, hand-plucked hairs?
The gods of commerce heard your prayers.

But could they soothe the fat wolf PACs
whose polished claws fillet our backs?
What spa tames howling demagogues?
Not one? We’re going to the dogs!

by Chris O’Carroll

You Boy Scouts are loyal, unlike my A.G.,
Who skipped out and let them sic Mueller on me.
My crew has to serve with complete loyalty,
From Cabinet minions to wife #3.
The tales I could tell about parties at sea!
You Boy Scouts are trustworthy. You can trust me.

by Mae Scanlan

The briefings (press) are quite a mess
For media geese and ganders,
Since at the dais holding sway is
Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

She’s now preferred to Sean, we’ve heard,
Though both can raise our danders;
This gal is cool and no one’s fool,
Ms. Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

She’s zipper-lipped—she sticks to script,
She’s not one who meanders;
She makes her mark with snippy snark,
Ms. Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

No pix allowed (cuts down the crowd);
She slings the slurs and slanders
With great finesse. How Trump must bless
Ms. Sarah Huckabee Sanders.

She’s crisp and terse, and sometimes worse;
The lady’s no Ann Landers.
But as for now, she’s at the bow:
Ms. Sarah Huckabee Sanders.