We’re All Soldiers Now

subtitle: The Real Enemy is Time and Gravity


Our regularly scheduled Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown will not be seen today. In it’s place will be an open discussion about the real war on women.


You know, it’s not just the left-leaning liberal progressive Democrats who want to talk  about the private female businesses in public. Am I not a woman? Do I not have private female business? I do. And I’m going to invite you, you right-leaning conservative traditionalist Republicans, to speculate about them now.

OK, left-leaning liberal progressive Democrat readers are always invited to participate. AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I love you guys.  As people, not as political bellwethers. But you know, love is love. Love is all you need. And so on.

Issue #1 Armpit hair I’ve come to accept that my armpit hair is not located where it used to be. Okay. WHATEVER.  Even though I was completely unprepared, I understand now that gravity has done its dirty work and moved my “armpits” (as defined by (1.) the place where the hair grows and (2.) the place where you rub your solid deodorant/antiperspirant onto). But here’s the thing – I happened to be admiring myself  me in the bathroom mirror while I was waiting for the shower water to warm up,  as you do. I was considering lathering up and taking a twin bladed swipe at that goddamned single chin hair when I took a look at my armpits. Guess what? My right armpit has far less hair than my left armpit. What is that? Is it a sign of disease? And lady friends, you know what disease I mean. If you haven’t looked at your armpits lately, please do so now for the benefit of this discussion.

Issue #2 At the moment I forgot what it was but I’m sure it will come back to me. Maybe it was the goddamned single chin hair.

The Trail

UPDATE: I see now why  the readers were holding back. I think with submissions like these, listed after my original post, we could have our own Internet Paraodists Association. Allen Sherman Meet-Up, anyone?

3 submissions his week from wyogranny, schmed and rhoda’s cousin


Good morning, poetry lovers – it’s time for the Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown. We’re picking up steam now – last week we did very well with two reader submissions. As usual, please leave your work in the comments. My offering today is titled “The Candidates”:

Hello Mother! It’s Paul Ryan
Campaign very gratifyin’.
Save the country? Well we’re tryin’!
And they say we’re gonna win not the Hawaiian.

Here’s our drunken uncle Biden:
“On the Amtrak I’ll be ridin
to a hideout ‘cuz I’m appallin’.
When they let me out I’ll get right back to y’all-in’. “

Went to London/Poland’s unknowns
Press corp bellowed like rude trombones.
They’re the lame stream, they’re the bottom
They’ll increase their biased lies once comes the autumn.

My plan’s working! Ask the  bankers!
In my pocket are the anchors.
Got half the country hooked on food stamps
Soon my fuel plan will drive them to kerosene lamps.

Vote them out – get rid of the thugs!
Vote them out – them and their hair plugs!
Otherwise we’re dead – turn the map to red!
I.D. prisoners and the dead.
Vote them out – Biden/Obama!
Vote them out  – reverse the trauma!
Otherwise it’s us run over by that bus.
Getting rid of Reid’s a plus.
Basement dwellers for Obama’s
side will stay home in pajamas.
We can win this behind Romney.
Then we’ll rejoice and  we’ll sing it like a psalm: “Free!”
Reader submissions:


Scary is the word I use to describe
All the feelings I have when I see Obama’s foolish pride
You don’t know how many times I wish Ayre’s never met him
You don’t know how many times I wished the press would vet him
You don’t know how many times I wish that I could
Let him sink into the past where
Scary is a memory far and dim

Oh, I’m beginning to think progressives lost their grip
When this empty suit came up for a vote
Hope and change falling seas from his mighty kingship
They thought he was God, he was our dreamboat
They were freakin’ out of their minds.

I’d say Obamacare, and all of it’s what’s where’s and whys
I’d line up Palosi, Rangel, Reid and a thousand other guys
You said they’d take care of me and all those other lies
When all they wanted was to take my cash, my job
And hasten my demise.

Perish is the word that more than applies
To the hope in my heart each time I realize
That I am not gonna be the one who built my business
That I am not gonna be the one who gets the profits
That I am not gonna be the one who gets to
Choose the way I get my healthcare it’s as
Scary as your Socialist mentors.

Scary is the word I use to describe
All the groveling fashionistas kissing Michelle’s backside
You don’t know how many times I wish I could demote you
There just isn’t any way to sugarcoat you
Even Ayers is sorry he ever ghostwrote you
Into someone who could
Scare everyone as much as you scare me

And we’ll vote you out too
And we’ll vote you out too

Scary is the word



For you! For you! The One is most sincere.
The Fundamental Change he wrought is here!

A polling held four dozen moons ago here
Installed the most benevolent despot.
The hopey-change in place has got a name here:

Tough questions are forbidden ‘till November.
The fawning press lines up to kiss his rear
No sterner tone will show up come December
In Obamalot.

Obamalot! OBAMALOT!
We bought a bright hypnotic star
But in ‘Bamalot, Barakalot!
Charisma’s gone too far.

It seems the jobless rate may never come down
But weekly checks will never disappear
His record reeks of rot.
He’s all they’ve really got
To mesmerize the masses till they cheer Obamalot

Obamalot! OBAMALOT!
The pundits won’t explore his flaws
But in ‘Bamalot, Barakalot!
Their blindness serves the cause

The deficit was caused by the supply-side
The taxes on the rich must be severe.
If we have all forgot
The war our Founders fought
Our kids are doomed to work for China
In Obamalot

[alternate verse that didn’t fit into the screenplay…] The aura of Jack Kennedy is sought here.
We fondly think of him upon his yacht.
A cheap façade is clearly all we’ve got here:


Buttercup Morgenstern

Oh tell me tell me, tell me do
Oh gorgeous man with eyes of blue,
Is 1 + 1 really always 2?
Does math work in DC like it does in school?

When I spend more than I could ever earn,
My creditors tell me I’m going to get burned.
But when times are tough in Washington,
Biden says to spend money by the ton!

You’ve got to spend money to keep from going broke,
He tells us straight-faced, no hint of a joke.
Now the rest of the Dems say we can’t stop spending
Or you’ll be cliff-side, dear Ryan, Grandma’s wheelchair upending.

The whole thing’s confusing for one stupid as I
Because I always believed that numbers don’t lie.
But it appears that on this someone’s stretching the truth.
Perhaps the right numbers will add up in the voting booth!

This Might Be My Magnum Opus

Welcome back to the Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown. FYI –  there were no reader submission for last week’s throwdown. I am only mildly disappointed but I thought it worth mentioning because I am confident that I will wear you down sooner or later. This isn’t going to stop.

Today’s throwdown category is Current Events. Please show your work in the comments. Here’s my submission. I call it Election Strategy“.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat stood by the sea
Near a beautiful drab gray boat.
They looked like honey, and talked about money,
And wrapped up the country’s vote.
The Owl spoke much like a nerd/rock star
And said what lifted our hearts:

‘O lovely Country! O Country we love,
What a beautiful Country you are,
Hey girl!
Hey girl!
What a beautiful Country you are!’

Cow said to the Hog, ‘Better order the dog
While we still have Sam Kass.
O let us vacation on the tab of the nation
Before they throw you out on your ass!’
They’ll jabber away, for three months and a day,
But he already knew he was done.

         Lo! There with fresh wood David Axelrod stood
And asked “Got an ailing loved one?
Like Ann?
Or Gran?
We can plant them before morning sun.”


Reader submissions:


There is a rare blog: Cripes Suzette
It’s the finest on all of the internet
Once Suzette decreed a throw-down
Like a poetry “ho down”
“Ho” down? Can’t Moochelle get up yet?


You’re just a tough act to follow.
Slow Joe Biden, bangers and mash
Gave a speech and made us laugh
When Paul Ryan came to play
Slow Joe kept talking anyway

And Now For Something Partially Different

Welcome to the Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown. I’m just going to keep on doing these so you might as well participate. There’s no escape for you.

Preamble: I had to do some research on vintage C&W music this week for a birthday present. Before I settled on Dim Lights, Thick Smoke & Hillbilly Music: Country & Western Hit Parade 1962, I watched a lot of 50s-60s era C&W/Hillbilly stars performing on YouTube. I’ve been cracked up by the comment oneupsmanship on that site before when looking at R&R videos. Apparently, ignorance know no genre.

One of my favorite features in the comments is the “that’s my grandfather” claims. The C&W crowd is the best. Sometimes  a dozen people claim that kinship on a single video clip. I’ve wished that I was a trained epidemiologist before but today I would like to be an epidemiologist to trace the path of Hank Snow’s tour bus in 1958 and compare the geography to today’s YouTube grandchildren. Because I get his appeal. The more I look at the following video, the more I think I might go for him and his skinny litte behind.  Here he is doing I’ve Been Everywhere. It took me all of 2 views to completely forget about Johnny Cash and declare that Hank Snow did it better.

And so in homage to Hank Snow, for today only the today throwdown will be The Sunday Morning Song Lyrics Throwdown. Here’s my offering:

I was totin’ my butt along the law firm hallway hangs,
When along came a cool guy with his own choom gangs.
“If you want to be a beard, Meesh, with me you can ride.”
And so I climbed on board and I settled in as his fashion-forward bride.
He asked me if I wanted to visit some resorts and all the nations
And I said  Sure! but only if you can swing some free vacations.

I’ve been everywhere, man.
I’ve been everywhere, man.
Showed my armpits bare, man.
Clipped on extra hair, man.
Expenses? I don’t care, man.
I’ve been everywhere.

I’ve been to:
Maine, Chicago, Aspen Colorado,
Kailua, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone,
Panama City Beach, Botswana,  Africa,
London, Vatican, Martha’s Vineyard, Shake Shack,
Oak Bluffs, Hyde Park, Camp David, Broadway,
Paris, New York City , Barcelona,  Arizona.

I’ve been everywhere, man.
I’ve been everywhere, man.
Packed a lot to wear, man.
Brought Mother to au pair, man.
So what if it’s “not fair”, man?
I’ve been everywhere.

Couldn’t Wait

My Sunday Poetry Throwdown “O Weiner your Weiner” is turning into a big damned opus  longer than the original source material but I got this message from myself today that just couldn’t wait until next Sunday.

Redistribution (a poem)

The mills of GOP grind slowly;

Yet they grind exceeding small

Though with patience we stand waiting

To crush your ass in the fall.

That’s it but it’s enough to keep me amused by myself all day long.

(Should I be linking the original poems for this series, or is it obvious which poems I’m paraphrasing?)