Whoosh

Now UPDATED with reader submissions from:
  • Joan Of Arrgghh x 2
  • Buttercup Morgenstern
  • honorable mention: terimwal
Hey everybody – it’s the Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown. Last week readers checked in with an all-time high volume of 3 submissions. Let’s keep it rolling.
…………………………………………

So much fodder this week – it’s hard to choose, isn’t it?  The Dancing Vaginas, Chris Matthews completely losing it in a restaurant, a president who doesn’t watch the opposition convention but has to stomp his cyber foot and tweet a rebuttal, dog whistles, the icon of Obama eroding from the base.  I took the easy way out and went with the most obvious candidate for News Item of the Week Century:

Who has seen the president?
Neither I nor you:
But when the economy hangs trembling,
Obama is passing through.
Who has seen the chair?
All of us – you and I:
But when Obama bows down to kings
must we turn a blind eye?
…………………………………………
Reader Submissions
Joan Of Argghh
I happen to be tired of being a President.
I happen to enter golf shops and ale houses
punchy, incoherent, like a choomer,
navigating in a water of politics and asses.
The smell of Michelle makes me wail.
I want only a respite of weed or meade.
I want only not to see capitalism or self-reliance,
or merchandise, or coal mines, or oil derricks.
I happen to be tired of my friends and my 23 handicap
and my wife and my shadow.
I happen to be tired of being a President.
Buttercup Morgenstern
Who has seen such greatness
Created from sand?
Who has seen such power
That rules now our land?Who has seen a dictator
Who does as he wishes?
Who has seen a VP
Who plays “Go Fishes”?Who has seen a pResident,
None too nice and none to sharp.
A guy with a smile
Who only seems to harp.Who has seen the intellect
Of the Democrat party?
An empty grin on a head
That’s none too smarty.Dirty Harry, that’s who.
His observations were clever.
He draws a bead on an empty chair,
And asks us to think when we pull that lever.
Joan Of Argghh

Home Run

The RNC, awash in cash
and saved by Private Ryan
major-leagued a boring bash
for insiders who were buying.

From mom n’ pop to Taylor Hicks
the Party lineup paraded there
the gray and oldest of their tricks
with power grabs and helmet-hair

The teleprompted floor rules bagged
the designated hitters
The Paul-bots routed, tongues were wagged:
No delegated splitters!

Bold speeches followed head-to-tail
Like three-ringed pachydermia
Their tones and drones our ears assailed
 to a state of hypnothermia

A mystery guest! Who could it be?
I rouse my sleepy senses
It’s HarryPhiloBillyWales
He’s aiming for the fences!

He swings, he hits, he scores at-bat
the Party now to life returns
A simple hit, a sturdy thwack
Is all it takes to turn the worm.

An empty chair,
An old man’s dare.
A simple twist. . .
. . .all in the wrist.

-Joan Varga

16 thoughts on “Whoosh”

  1. With apologies to Neruda:

    I happen to be tired of being a President.
    I happen to enter golf shops and ale houses
    punchy, incoherent, like a choomer,
    navigating in a water of politics and asses.
    The smell of Michelle makes me wail.
    I want only a respite of weed or meade.
    I want only not to see capitalism or self-reliance,
    or merchandise, or coal mines, or oil derricks.
    I happen to be tired of my friends and my 23 handicap
    and my wife and my shadow.
    I happen to be tired of being a President.

    (Yeah, I can do better, but this just needed a bit of tweaking from Neruda’s original. It’s Sunday and I’m lazy. Later, I’ll do Auden’s September 1, 1939 just to cheer the place up.)

  2. Who has seen such greatness
    Created from sand?
    Who has seen such power
    That rules now our land?

    Who has seen a dictator
    Who does as he wishes?
    Who has seen a VP
    Who plays “Go Fishes”?

    Who has seen a pResident,
    None too nice and none to sharp.
    A guy with a smile
    Who only seems to harp.

    Who has seen the intellect
    Of the Democrat party?
    An empty grin on a head
    That’s none too smarty.

    Dirty Harry, that’s who.
    His observations were clever.
    He draws a bead on an empty chair,
    And asks us to think when we pull that lever.

      1. Oh, I was pissed when I saw you picked the sand castle! Grrr! I wanted that one pretty bad.

        I loved the last two lines of yours. The last two lines are always the sale-maker. Brought it home, you did!

  3. Back in the day, a toke or two made all poetry sound profound. Now that I’m a serious, law-abiding person, I find that a nice cup of tea with a splash of Jack does the same thing.
    Kudos to all the poets. I have a fav, but I’m not telling, none too smarty.

    1. But you wrote that before Joan delivered the slam! dunk.

      A mystery guest! Who could it be?
      I rouse my sleepy senses
      It’s HarryPhiloBillyWales
      He’s aiming for the fences!

      He swings, he hits, he scores at-bat
      the Party now to life returns
      A simple hit, a sturdy thwack
      Is all it takes to turn the worm.

      An empty chair,
      An old man’s dare.
      A simple twist. . .
      . . .all in the wrist.

      That’s good stuff right there.

      1. I’m in no condition to judge any more poetry after a second cup of tea.
        Besides, I’m still stunned after watching a promo for a new series on a cable channel about a young girl with two heads. I think she had two heads because she only had one neck and both heads were talking.

        I’m going to switch to herbal tea now.

  4. Home Run

    The RNC, awash in cash
    and saved by Private Ryan
    major-leagued a boring bash
    for insiders who were buying.

    From mom n’ pop to Taylor Hicks
    the Party lineup paraded there
    the gray and oldest of their tricks
    with power grabs and helmet-hair

    The teleprompted floor rules bagged
    the designated hitters
    The Paul-bots routed, tongues were wagged:
    No delegated splitters!

    Bold speeches followed head-to-tail
    Like three-ringed pachydermia
    Their tones and drones our ears assailed
    to a state of hypnothermia

    A mystery guest! Who could it be?
    I rouse my sleepy senses
    It’s HarryPhiloBillyWales
    He’s aiming for the fences!

    He swings, he hits, he scores at-bat
    the Party now to life returns
    A simple hit, a sturdy thwack
    Is all it takes to turn the worm.

    An empty chair,
    An old man’s dare.
    A simple twist. . .
    . . .all in the wrist.

    -Joan Varga

      1. For your many kind words, I thank thee. Does Eastwood really have a baseball movie coming out? That’s awesome. The MSM crowd has him with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, but he’s been working all this time. Ha!

          1. Actually, it turned into baseball after I was noodling out a rhyme for “senses.” I went back and reworked some other lines for continuity and direction toward that end. But I still loved the coinage of hypnothermia so I kept that much.

            The rhyme threw me a curve, if you will.

            Poetry is funny like that.

  5. Throwdown haiku:

    All poets speak truth
    To tyrants with feet of clay
    Who wilt with chagrin.

    Well done, folks.

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