Enlist the Russians

This post's article was far too good to be covered in one poem.

Trump indirectly called upon the Russian government to hack his opponent's emails, in the hopes of revealing more scandals that might help his campaign.

While I'm a big fan of secrets being exposed, asking for a foreign government's help in destroying a rival politician has never..._ever_...produced good results. Ask Lebanon; they're still fighting each other over the fallout on a similar maneuver, and for several decades.

Anyway, this story deserved multiple poems. I took one, and challenged friends to take the others. Updates pending.

Haiku:

This week: Russian hack.
Next month, brunch with Kim Jong Un.
Tremendous headlines.

Sonnet:

Whatever you are thinking, think of me.
I win in being lonely in a space
That satisfies attention, guarantee
That I’ll avoid discretion and disgrace
That rises in an audience. Alas,
The world had never cared if it had died,
Provided that the show was kicking ass,
And all that I’d suggested was implied
To be the very truth, and nothing more.
I’ve made a living yelling for a show,
And causing controversy, heretofore
Employment for a fresh politico,
And for a gifted leader, bearing down
‘Till Russian voices wake us, and we drown.

Limerick pending.

Dear Mr. Root:

A friend suggested the following article for a new sonnet. Best read with a shot of whiskey.

Townhall, Wayne Allyn Root

I'm little time at the moment, but the idea that "strong" = "good" is a really disturbing one, and one that I'd like to revisit in the future.

For now, enjoy. The background here is Trump's interview with Playboy nearly 25 years ago, in which he excoriated Gorbachev for poor leadership, while praising China for strong leadership. Gorbachev, mind you, was leading his country out of the Cold War, hand in hand with Reagan. China was cracking down on pro-democracy protesters with soldiers and tanks.

Tiananmen’s embarrassing as hell.
The government of China has a hold
On any phrase or number, name or knell
Associated with it, has controlled
All knowledge of the women in the ranks,
Of Gorbachev traversing round the back,
And men, and statues, squished beneath the tanks.
The Donald thought it better to attack
The Russian, for his weakness in the way
He led his country out beneath the Cold.
But China got his praise for the display
That bloodied off democracy, the old
And Reddish rule remaining. I am lost.
The businessman has missed the total cost.

Donald Trump accepted the Republican nomination for President last night.

I spent the better part of a year breaking the world record for number of sonnets written some four years ago. I really chose the wrong year. Better late than never to return to the party.

The slow takeover of news by entertainment, and the business models that made it possible, probably make a Trump inevitable. Eventually. It's all our faults.


I penned a few pentameter and verse
A while back, to shake away the hours.
Few among the lot, and interspers-ed
In the hum and dulldrum of the powers
Fighting in the house and senate, court,
Demanding satisfaction for offenses
Petty, tiny, trivial, and tort,
Are warnings that we all have lost our senses.
Glenn and Matt, Huff, MSNBC,
And CNN, and Breitbart, all survive
By shouting out the lot who disagree,
And orchestrating yelling matches, live,
To round up all the viewers, and the ads.
A pity, now, our nominee is Vlad's.

Last One

Another year of sonnets is a pain.
The stories all contain a common thread,
An Armageddon, threat, a certain dread
In how the opposition isn’t plain
In all its very evil.  It’s enough
To make a reader tired of the news,
Before a second reading, make his views
Deem everybody idiots.  The rough
Of all the further reading I endure
Is simply that I cannot keep away
From arguing with others; any day
Of far too much agreement, and a cure
Of arguing the premises is all
That’s necessary here to stay a fall.

Death Before Deadline

Supposing it is feasible to save
A good amount of money that is due
The government, in passing on and through
This very mortal coil, we’d behave,
Perhaps, a bit immorally, at best,
When hoping for the passing of a dear
And very elder head of any sheer
And sizeable estate.  I wouldn’t rest
If I could have the money I had made
Through many years of toil; if at all
I felt that I were able to befall
Myself with any perishing, the blade,
Or weaker methods of untimely death
Would fall because psychosis took a breath.

Dishonesty is a Human Trait

The headline isn't completely honest. Nothing about the gun control debate is completely honest. Except that.

It’s better by a mile to ignore
The summaries presented by opposed
And irritating passion, being closed
To any other summary – the core
Of all the main debate about control.
The Drudge Report is spreading here the fear
That all the guns will quickly disappear
If this, the bill in question, isn’t wholly
Flattened and opposed.  But if it’s read,
It’s less an Armageddon than it was
Suggested by the lede, and that because
The Drudge Report is kept within the red
By many on the Right – the very same
Deceitful way the Left assigns the blame.

I Don't Care

The issue isn’t one I’d really care
Discussing here with anyone, the theme
Importing all the snark of any meme
And all the understanding.  Unaware,
Or well-aware, of any law in place
Prohibiting a weapon, or a part
Of any weapon fluent in the art
Of killing very quickly, or apace
With military usage, it is clear,
Though any bad intention isn’t there,
The law is to intention unaware.
It’s really very simple; but the sheer
And certain way he renders one irate
Will make the matter very poor debate.