No Matter How Small

I’m sorry for the tone, of late.
It’s tiring, decrying hate,
And likely tiresome as well
But ever since the hammer fell
And Trump ascended to the throne
I’ve told myself my voice alone
Won’t make a difference, but that I
Should not interpret that: Don’t try.
The Whos that only Horton hears
In Dr. Seuss’ book reached ears
Besides the elephant’s when they
Cried all together, so, okay,
I’ll keep on shouting, We are here!
A waste? Perhaps, but it’s sincere.

Tension On Deck

They swarm aboard the ship of state
Which founders ‘neath their squeaking weight.
Considering by whom it’s helmed,
Who’s shocked the ship is overwhelmed
With rats atop each mast and spar?
This sinking ship won’t wallow far.
We’ll watch the free surface effect
Capsize this rodent crew-elect.
The captain swore the swamp to drain;
If he gets swamped I won’t complain,
Although I wish the nation’s sloop
Weren’t getting so bedecked with poop.
The sooner Captain Queeg’s replaced
The sooner we’ll be undisgraced.
Until that day, stand by all boats!
And hope that tattered pennant floats.


That grinding, scraping sound you hear
Is coming from my inner ear.
Whenever I hear that alarm
It means my inspiration farm
Is in extremis, and the drought
Of clever things to write about
Has found a long term place to live.
I much prefer my brain a sieve
‘Cause then, at least, ideas flow!
In dry times, though, no poems grow.