A big bomb in Beirut, on a big day, to boot.
And California’s burning because of diesel soot.
Isaias will not hit New York in its long passage north.
The TikTok thing is just the king’s distraction (44th).
Coronavirus aid is being transferred to the rich.
Portia had to come out and say Ellen’s not a bitch.
Cops in Colorado put a six-year-old face-down.
This is not the best time to hot air balloon around.
Man rescued from a desert island, wrote out S O S.
To children forced back into school, all we can say’s, god bless.
Jared’s falling deeper into feckless fall guy hole.
The king’s Axios comedy revealed he has no soul.
Senior dog food, Vogue masks, and, bye-bye, Ford CEO.
While feds threaten the Covid bucks aimed for the Navajo.
Juan Carlos is now on the run from Saudi money news.
And tattered tweets seep down dark deep:
The Mail-In Ballot Blues.
During The Gold Rush
Well, I woke to see fed troops
In camo clashing,
in a downtown Portland street.
There were children chanting
and mothers marching
And protestors being beat.
There were blunt munitions
being fired
and tear gas on the breeze.
Look at Law and Order on the loose
In the twenty-first century.
Look at Law and Order on the loose
In the twenty-first century.
I was running from their vicious clubbing;
they had pepper sprayed my eyes.
I was out to seek a sane world,
penetrating all the lies.
This was a land splaying blue and red
And with tension getting high.
I was thinking about what
our leader said
and just knowing it was a lie.
Thinking about what
our leader said,
I was sure that it was a lie.
Well, I saw a number
of my brothers, sisters,
being thrown in unmarked vans.
There were people crying
projectiles flying,
It was all way out of hand.
It’s not a dream, no, not a dream
Op Legend had begun.
They were testing out
a desperate despot’s scheme:
Hide the flag behind the gun.
Overwhelmed by evil Silver greed,
Democracy on the run.
Stamp It Out
Kill the Postal Service with a sycophantic master.
Make sure mail-in-voting is a November disaster.
No need for investigation; A.G.’s got your back.
Paper ballots destroyed by the bundle and the sack.
“I told you that it wouldn’t work,” he’ll gloat with satisfaction,
then sit back to see results of Russian interaction.
The voting process, down in flames, will not last any longer.
He’ll enact laws to make sure that his grip on us is stronger.
He’ll make election day a holiday. He is that bad.
Remind us of his power and the freedom we once had.
Tanks will finally roll upon the streets of Washington.
He’ll now be called Commander and Barr will be his top gun.
The Russians would be dancing in the street, had they emotion,
to celebrate the conquest of their ‘friends’ across the ocean.
App Laws
Grump says he’s banning TikTok.
They pranked him back in Tulsa.
It always starts in China.
They’re giving him an ulcer.
He won’t eat Chinese food.
It’s full of MSG.
They don’t have a great colonel,
like our own KFC.
He may ban Chinese checkers.
They’re marbles, is his claim.
Played on the star of David,
it’s quite an evil game.
And no more China tea cups.
We’re sticking with our mugs.
As with everything they make,
they surely contain bugs.
Seems ever since they sent us flu
and unmasked their aggression,
he’s hinted at cold war renewed
and now it’s an obsession.
China, China, China,
you’ll hear him on repeat.
Behind him are the drums of war.
And TikTok keeps the beat.
The Flattened Curve
The virus, as our leader said
has disappeared like magic.
It took a while, a lot of dread,
and, in the end, was tragic.
As millions died, the countryside
was dotted with mass graves.
There was no place one could hide.
Not even Jesus saves.
Though few remain, they do sustain
and have faith in our leader.
He shows them nothing but disdain,
unless they are a breeder.
He wants to start the world anew,
a populace of Barrons.
And women, he will keep a few,
especially the Karens.
D Day
Delay the election ’til the virus settles down.
Vote count will be easier with so few folks around.
The good folks who elect me will be only the immune.
Perhaps I’ll turn the country into just one big commune.
Not like Easy Rider or the wacky Manson thing,
but just a bunch of rich men who will all my praises sing.
I’ll travel through our great vast land and be put up in castles.
They’ll favor me with fortunes and I’ll get to rape the vassals.
The Isle of Epstein, just one stop on my best pleasures tour;
we’ll have stops in Agra, Baghdad, Kuala Lumpur.
I don’t want to rule the world. I’m not a power slut.
I just want to make sure in the end I get my cut.
Activate the Barr
He’ll protect our federal buildings at all cost.
Without his help a courthouse could be lost.
And when one courthouse goes, they fall like dominoes.
So, that’s why all that tear gas needs be tossed.
He said he doesn’t read his boss’ tweets.
He’s just too busy cleaning up our streets.
ANTIFA’s set their site on violence every night.
But his stormtroopers stop their dire feats.
Whatever Donald asks of Bill, he’ll always heed the call,
whether it means busting heads or guarding that damned wall.
He’s always been a puppet of the man with orange hair.
His twisted sense of justice is it needn’t be all fair.
And, as for the election, he’ll ignore all interference.
So, vote and make sure he’s tossed out in this November’s clearance.
Bumper KKKars
Protestors used as speed bumps has become a current thing.
It’s not just nazi rebels who have gotten in the swing.
Right wingers are now saying run them over with your cars.
It’s something to do of a night while they’ve closed down the bars.
They’ve even made some jokes on line, like being late for work.
Some claim it’s not against the law, even one police force jerk.
In fifty days, there were reported seventy-plus crimes.
In some cases, drivers backed up, tried a few more times.
Some arrested, neo-nazis, klan fans and the like,
can’t be trusted on four wheels, or two wheels, or a trike.
The studies show they come in waves, so beware of tsunami.
As weeks go by, the Constitution’s turned to origami.
Exit, Stage Right
O, hear the multitudes of “Person>Woman>Man>Camera>TV” songs ring across the land.
They should be played over loudspeakers at protests, VERY LOUD, to form background music
for the news blurbs he wants to orchestrate, like a double prism, creating fake reality with false sound.
Demonstrators could bring big blowers to spray fake chemical pot vapors at the secret troops,
countering tear gas and making the bogus forces fear loss of reality. Protestors dressed
in camouflage and helmets, with rubber clubs, should be introduced to further turn it toward dada.
The French wrote the book!
Bring pets ! Will ‘Op Legend’ teargas dogs?? Grandmas? Mayors? (check), children?, Russians?
Bring dolls dressed up to look like real babies and see how many get hit by rubber bullets.
Fauci puppets, people in masks of US legends…John Glenn, Bob Dole, Ronnie, GHW, Ike, Abe, Nixon.
When attacked, cover yourselves with fake blood. Lie down in the streets. Revolution is Theatre !!!!
Act up now!
Poo Poo Platter
He’s got the kung flu fever
and it’s starting to get hot.
You want a war with China ?
I think we’d rather not.
But they killed my great economy!
It never was that great.
They bought my corn and then gave scorn!
Well, there is that debate.
He’s dropping hints like old chopsticks.
We don’t know quite what for.
Munitions makers lick their lips.
It’s called ‘The New Cold War.’
The consulates are closing.
Pompeo’s in a snit.
Our policies today have ‘failed,’
He’s shoveling deep shit.
Spying, hacking, plague producing
territory claimers.
FIRST THE ACCUSATIONS FLY,
THEN WE’RE ALL IN-FLAMERS.
Extra Points
“Person, woman, man, camera, t.v.”
“That’s the way to live successfully.”
How do I know? My big test told me so.
What do I know? The law tells me gung ho.
I’ve got the brain to take down all these anarchists and thugs.
It seems I’m coping better with my new dementia drugs.
I realize now my tie should not be hanging to my knees.
I wipe my nose with my face mask most every time I sneeze.
I’m getting COVID-tested at least several times a week.
At least that’s what they tell me when they stick things up my beak.
They say they don’t know how I keep all these things in my head.
I play them back whenever I get off in Lincoln’s bed.
When at the resolute desk, I’m the absolute king shit.
If I should go, they’ll find my name carved several times in it.
This two-term thing has a bad ring. I’ll sign in an extension.
My royal family says elections suck, pay no attention.
Like F.D.R., I’ll be a czar, borne everywhere on litters.
I’ll bring back sports and execute the kneelers and the quitters.
Our country will ally with Russia, with parades and pomp.
It’s my great dream to turn the whole damned world into the swamp.
Insurrection Protection
Trump’s occupying forces, coming to your city soon.
This is not America, but dark side of the moon.
They’re headed to Chicago, noted home of the “Black Sox.”
His alternative police are way, way outside the box.
Like Tricky Dick, this sicko’s banking on some voters’ fear.
Only he can stop the armageddon that draws near.
Christians who contend coronavirus is a hoax
believe his contention that protesters are bad folks.
He’ll stoke fires to inspire his base into furor,
rage against big cities where the residents are poorer,
then send his camo army to put insurrection down.
Be aware. It’s not a scare. They’re coming to your town.
Lawn Darts
O, welcome back, corona virus briefing,
where T can practice all his oral queefing.
He’ll say again that it will disappear.
And to each question, he’ll turn a blind ear.
He’ll say again tests make the numbers rise,
just like a second-grader in disguise.
When queried if he now will wear a mask,
he’ll answer, “Biden? Thought you’d never ask.”
He’ll talk about his statues and his forts with rebel names.
He’ll skew pandemic numbers and play all his lying games.
Then, bragging how he’ll clear the streets of all the anarchists,
he’ll call enabling Kayleigh who will swoop in with fake lists.
Of course, he’ll denigrate Doc Fauci, that’s his favorite ploy.
And to the COVID vessel, he’ll shrug and say, “Ship ahoy!”
A team of dream fact checkers could not knock him off his horse.
It’s obvious this devil will let virus run its course.
Kiss My Glove
“I will eventually be right.”
Our population might be slight.
Then I can reign them in real tight.
Which is the purpose of my fight.
I’d like to get it down to two percent.
I think that’s what the founding fathers meant.
We’ll build a wall of dead, then pour cement.
To think that people said I was hell-bent!
The midlands decorated with mass graves.
The country back again to rich and slaves.
This is how stable genius behaves.
And what the wise illuminati craves.
We’ll make a profit from the skin compost.
Perhaps a restaurant where I’m the host.
I’d like to party with Jeff Epstein’s ghost.
He was a dude who loved his kids the most.
We’ll hold a party for the sheiks and kings.
They’ll all drink absinthe as prince Yeezy sings.
He’ll sing that tune about what virus brings.
I swear the dude is wearing twelve gold rings.
We’ll have a time of mourning for the dead.
I will repeat some shit that’s in my head.
Maybe I’ll take my daughter queen to bed.
When I shot Jared, that boy really bled.
The new America renamed Trump Land.
I’ll march the street leading an oompah band.
They’ll want to shake my surgically large hand.
My new protector will be Saint Paul, Rand.
Boss Mitch McConnell will help shape the nation.
He’d like to turn it into one plantation.
If they are good, the help may earn vacation.
And they will surely love our work song station.
There’ll be no army ’cause there’ll be no war.
I’ll be dictators’ lover and their whore.
When we’ve divided what we’re looking for.
Our worldwide anthem will be “Steal, Shoot, Score!”
For those who voted my ass into power.
I’m sorry that you’re mostly dead this hour.
I do hope you enjoyed the rocket shower.
Filmed home invasions where I watched you cower.
I like Miami, but New York I love.
Cherish the moment when I hung the gov.
And, then, my holiday, the Mass Grave Shove.
Once weekly, paupers can still kiss my glove.
Bois of Summer
Trump’s secret federal task force is just ‘helping Portland out.’
To stop the anarchists will take an army posse’s clout.
Just faceless men in camo reigning in peaceful protesters,
a helping hand to boost Oregon’s statues and investors.
The mayor doesn’t want them there, they’re only escalating.
But, should the socialists act up, there’s plenty more troops waiting.
The unmarked vans and undisclosed locations where they’re brought
have made the scene a powder keg which no Portlander sought.
The governor as well has said she wants these troops removed.
The policing of one’s own state is not federally behooved.
The threat to our democracy is right here on display.
He’ll send his “task force” to all states who don’t do things his way.
No protester in this land, unless confirmed to violence,
needs be secreted away to insure their side’s silence.
If federal vigilantes are to roam our streets at night,
one can only think Trump sees the ‘Boogaloo’ as right.
Martin and Lewis, Together Again
John Lewis finally crossed that bridge,
he’s on the other side.
He now rests with Reverend King,
and we have one less guide.
They broke his skull in Selma,
as he, protesting, knelt.
Served thirty years in Congress.
His passion was heartfelt.
He always worked for justice,
used non-violence to fight strife.
These last four years, he fought the swamp,
’til cancer took his life.
He was a man whose history
defined a striving nation.
Let’s hope he feels redemption
at the next inauguration.
More News Bleaks
T is still damned steaming mad about his tax returns.
Says he will release them all when San Francisco burns.
Colonel Vindman calls it quits and cites intimidation.
You don’t lie, he blinds your eye. It’s part of the equation.
Jeff Sessions don’t learn lessons. Now he’s lost his primary.
Lost to an Auburn football coach, politically a cherry.
The Oakie Gov., a git named Stitt, went to T’s Tulsa fest,
and just announced he’s positive. He just got back the test.
Ivanka’s pimping Goya as if it were faberge.
Those black beans were the closest thing to funk she’d seen that day.
Lemongrass in cow diets can cut methane emissions.
Who would even think that there were bovine statisticians?
Boston won’t run swan boats on the common pond this year.
Could be swan songs for both boats and Fenway hopes, some fear.
Lastly, pray for RBG, resting with an infection.
Don’t let a doctor with small hands administer injection.
All the News that’s Fit to Drink
Late night federal execution just made its comeback,
opening the door of our despondency a crack.
Body of ‘Glee’ actress finally found, drowned, in a lake.
Tear gas companies are thriving in the protests’ wake.
Black residents of Jacksonville do not want T-bag there.
To nominate him on Axe-handle hate date is not fair.
Black Lives Matter mural defaced in front of his tower.
If inspired, he can do a hate crime every hour.
Pompeo’s sending war boats out to prowl South China Sea.
Meanwhile the pandemic’s blame’s now placed on Doc Fauci.
Roger Stone is running free, but Mueller’s going to court.
If this was a demo world, we all could push ‘abort.’
But it’s our land and it’s our band of vipers in control.
It’s pretty clear our country dear has lost heart, mind and soul.
Night of the Long Mask
A black-masked man in a bright blue tie:
’twas hard to recognize the guy.
He said he’d never wear a mask and stuck by it, indeed,
’til yesterday, when thought it best while touring Walter Reed.
Now just sit back and watch his base react to this new change.
Perhaps he’ll even like the look. It distracts from his mange.
The mask plus dark sunglasses could do wonders for his look.
He and Roger Stone could start a fashion comic book.
Or he and the first lady could have competitions, too.
I see her in one printed “I really don’t care, do u ?”
He could wear new masks each day with names of U.S. dead.
Or just a long one wrapped ten thousand times around his head.
Stars Behind Bars
Stone’s sentence commuted.
Justice again looted.
Principles jack-booted.
Convictions rerouted.
White collar crooks, relax.
The Don has got your backs.
He’ll cover all your tracks,
and shield you to the max.
Feel free to cheat and lie.
No one will blink an eye.
There’ll be no case to try.
No court that he can’t buy.
And no amount of oversight
can fix a system tilted white.
It won’t be fair to black or brown.
We must start over. Tear it down.