There’s an attic room inside my mind For all the things I wish undone And all the ways I’ve been unkind And fights I should not have begun. I enter it from time to time And let my angry ghosts complain About my life of thoughtless crime And then I lock it up again.
Michael Richard Pence Will re-enter current events When The Donald goes to jail And Mike won’t pay his bail
African Americans Must now be known as Black. Don’t forget the capital B. Are Native Americans Red? Well, anyone can see They’re also tan – use a capital T? Should Hispanics be Brown? In Spanish it’s Marron, And comes in many hues. Folks from East Asia Aren’t Yellow, they are Beige. Should Caucasians like me
Petals shredded from the lilies by the wind’s fist snow down the valley
McConnell, Mitch Sucked up to Trumpster. Don’s in the dumpster, But Mitch is rich.
A Trumpeter stalwart named Sam Thought that Covid-19 was a scam. He turned down vaccination With great indignation, And that was the end of the man.
First leaves are turning. My birthday is tomorrow. A hawk cries, “Late! Late!”
Religion I spent a good many of my childhood mornings squirming in Protestant pews. My parents were WASPs, and church attendance was part of the WASPian routine.. Dad just went to church for weddings and funerals; he was a gambler, and believed only in Lady Luck, who sometimes even behaved like a lady for him.
The Whangdoodle 1. An imaginary creature of undefined character; a bugbear. 2. One that whangs excessively, loudly and angrily complaining about stuff and nonsense, poppycock, and frippery. 3. A person one does not wish to mention. 4. A wingnut Republican politician.