‘Twere Well It Were Done Quickly

It’s been a week, I know, but take a breath.
Just three more days remain ’til dusty death!
If you’re depressed about the mess
The country’s in, take heart: It’s less
Than Scotland suffered under King Macbeth!


Sonnet 45

My president is nothing like the sun:
He’s far from bright, though shadows does he cast;
If truth is beauty, he’s an ugly one;
If beards be lies, he wears out razors fast.
I have seen some whom I with pride called chief,
But all the Sins he’s so monopolized
That one who would offend must be a thief;
If there be Pride to spare, I’d be surprised.
I need not read his tweets, for well I know
That talking heads will tell me what I’ve missed;
I grant I’ve never seen a tyrant go
Without a push; ergo, I shall resist.
I don’t despair for where my country went;
I know it’s there, behind my president.

Thoughts Executed

Winter weather threatens leaks
In unprotected frozen plumbing;
Also poem-posting streaks
If wi-fi fails. In case that’s coming
I’ll pend this for just before
The stroke of twelve tomorrow night.
I may be weak, infirm and poor
As Lear, yet hear me, storm: I’ll write!

Postscript: Nothing went awry
Inside, as far as I can tell.
The snowy roofs blend into sky
But kept the cold out fairly well.
No ice collapsed our power grid,
No fallen limbs eclipsed our light.
I can’t recall when last we did
Less everything through Sunday night!
We’re safe and warm, so that’s all right.