Sunday, November 6, 2016

Famous poems parodied for this election year

This election cycle is almost over, and to celebrate I took several famous poems, pulled their pants around their ankles, and painted their hineys red, white and blue. I hope you will enjoy them with the laughter and relief which usually only comes at the end of a very long bout with the flu. Viva democracy!


"O Clinton! my Clinton!" (With a nod to Walt Whitman)

O Clinton! my Clinton! your fearful trip is done,
the campaign's survived all attacks, the White House almost won,
Some people jeer, some others sneer, the pillories insulting,
But despite calls for jail (or worse), ol' Hillary's exulting;
But O Bill! Bill! Bill!
O the email server woe,
Whitewater and Vince Foster, they
just won't let it go.

O Clinton! my Clinton! They say you have your foes
outfitted for new cement shoes, they drop like dominoes.
Is it not true you'll push right through a shift to Sharia Law?
Wasn't it you, back in the day, smuggled coke in Arkansas?
Troopergate, Benghazi!
Infractions e'en more dire!
Can you blame those who think
that where there's smoke, there's fire?

. . .

"Stopping by Showy Woods" (With a nod to Robert Frost)

Whose woods these are I think I know / His hotel sets the trees aglow / He'll surely see me stopping here, from a penthouse on the 100th flo'.

The woods are lovely, every tree / has his initials carved, you see / the bark embossed in letters, gold / Each one says "T-R-U-M-P."

For TV work he is hard-wired / He had more fun saying "You're fired" / Campaigning's thankless; TV pays / By April, Fox will have him hired.

"The polls are rigged, the pundits conned / Trump Nation surely will respond!" / But if he's wrong, his backup plan? Three words for you—Trump Walden Pond.

. . .

"Where the Polling Ends" (With a nod to Shel Silverstein)

There is a place where the polling ends, and before the vote begins,
And there the mood glows hot and white,
And there is fought the Facebook fight,
And there the nonsense claims take flight,
then pool where our brain cells have thinned.

Let us leave this place where the hucksters flack
and our dark mood costs us friends.
Past these fits where our fear and anger grows
we must walk our way back off the ledge on tiptoes
and try to have empathy for our "foes,"
to the place this insanity ends.






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