The water in the background is a sign. Paul Ryan is about to make a speech, And though the parallel is overreach-/ing, Weather and the GOP align To claim the very nation is aground, About to be submerged if any break Within the moral levees might awake The Devil, and his minions, for to sound The depths of our depravity and fall. It’s always quite a contrast. We forsee The end, and fast approaching, in a plea For keeping any leadership around That we believe is running us aground.
The city’s full of flooding, and of rain, And memories of rougher times before, When water flooded city blocks, or bore A muddied path, and left behind a plain, Through buildings, homes, and gardens. Not again. Misfortune falls on rich and poor alike, Unless the water pushes through the dike, When all the many children, women, men, And tourists flee the waves. I’d say a prayer, And hope that God would step into the sea, And quiet down the wind, before the plea Of Pete and clarinet are buried there, Within the big and easy. Never fear. It cannot make the music disappear.
The fear is that the storm is getting big, And big enough to match the one before, That sent the big and easy to the floor, Unsettled when the wreckage from the rig Had reached the weary suffering ashore. At least the Florida coast is better built, Not having several incidents to wilt The will to keep resisting anymore. I’m hoping that it turns, and fizzles out, Enough to give us rain, we here within The heart of barren Texas, where a thin, Evaporating line is keeping drought Away from us. Their danger is our gain. A shame it takes a storm to give us rain.
The fear was that the hurricane would end The GOP convention, ere a cure For government and spending would assure That Romney could, as curing does, amend The shorts and the mistakes we have amassed Within Barack Obama’s term. The rain Has gotten worse. It’s growing very plain That any hope of riding it is passed. I fear it’s never wise to sit a storm. Alas, the GOP will have to wait, And people coastal there, evacuate, Lest all the party faithful misinform The voters they can bar the hatches down And weather trouble spots, before they drown.
I thought a while back he wasn’t nice, For, given that he quickly had returned To hosting late at night when Conan earned A far diminished audience, a price Appeared a thing he had at any time, No matter the scenario. Alas, I may have been too very quick to pass Conviction on the man; the very climb Providing him his salary is all That’s keeping some employees well-employed. I’ll still admire someone who’ll avoid Consigning someone else to take a fall When he has got the means to keep around Who otherwise the world had run aground.
I’d like to see his tax returns; agreed. I’d like to see Obama’s grades as well. I’d like to see them fighting, ere the bell Declares eleven rounds, before they bleed, Demanding that the judges count again, Determining the match. We all would miss Elections, in their bloody, vicious, bliss, The shots of angry faces of the men We’re painting as an evil to beware, The images of titans, out of touch, We’re sketching as a leech. We’re very much Addicted to debating what is fair, And all of our analysis, surprise, Is logical, and fair, and full of lies.
Iran declared the Holocaust a hoax. And Mahmoud Achmadinejad agreed To voice the racial hatred that is bleeding Israel and civilians, for to coax The Jewish state to make a call to war. And Israel tried to make an ancient case For Persian sin and hatred, to erase With hitting hard the nation that before Attacking, had declared that they’d attack. Preemptive war is like a game of chess – Declaring war, and letting others guess That Bibi, Achmadinejad, Barack, Or any other player will reveal Their bluff before the betting will appeal. While all Israeli children terror feel.
A pity Joe had spoken, anytime At all, or anywhere, to anyone. It’s not that anything that he has done Is worthless, nor that any reason, rhyme, Or logic never lies behind his phrases, But only that they overstate his case By roughly half a billion yards, a pace That far outstrips the viewers he amaz-/es When he speaks his poor, divided mind. It’s better not to give the other guy A reason to belittle you, belie Your every deed and record, have aligned Your leadership to paddles and a creek. We’d all prefer that Joe should never speak.
Republicans will put us all in chains. The Left will take away your freedom. Hell, I think the country isn’t doing well. I wish, for all our sakes, that any pains The men in power take to there remain, Or be elected there, be given grief. We use the people fighting for relief, The fear of loss of freedom, or the slain Upon a foreign battlefield, the cash That’s donated to candidates – and each And every one of them – the reach That lobbyists are given, for to hash The many issues out that will decide From whom the Union soon will run and hide.
The people are excited at the pick. I’m still a bit uncertain how the news Is relegated to the many views Of voters, each agreed to thin and thick In sticking out the race for Mitt and Paul. And though I’m very proud that we have made The budget as the issue we’ve arrayed Atop all other issues, there’s a fall That might occur in Ryan’s view of war. Alas, the pessimism takes ahold With any future worry. Still, the polled Are all proclaiming Mitt, and though before The race is up, I would expect a fight, It’s nice to bask in victory tonight.
We’re still a bit excited. It’s a match; A businessman, whose tax returns are hid, Is coupled with an auditor, to bid For running these United States. The hatch Is buckled by a law professor, who, In honor of his training, had forgot The nature of judicial process (not- Withstanding any ruling), bid adieu To long-awaited budgets, and allowed His men to carry weapons out of town. His partner’s phrases often bring him down. And neither set of men is being cowed By any honest effort here to seek The truth, in mud and slinging, so to speak.
So, Mitt has chosen Ryan for the race. I’m certain that I do not know enough About the man to judge him off the cuff, Nor quite enough for keeping well apace With all the fine laudation from the Right And sharp, condemning vitriol the Left Is bound to offer Ryan; any deft And able commentary will alight Upon a simple truth: the man is not An awful choice, nor one that may ignite The soul of true conservatives to fight Incumbency with any will they’ve got The way that others might. He’s middle ground, Which leaves him up when none else is around.
Usain has won again. It’s very odd – Attempting to superlatize a man Who quickly stretches space amid the span Between the deed we readily applaud And any poor attempt to summarize How big and unbelievable it is That he has set the records that are his Is rather like his racing, in the size And spanning of the distance in between Usain and other runners. Holy crap; It’s like he has a turbine for a lap While all the other runners share a scene Appearing after all applause has passed. He’s really, really, really, really fast.
Pawlenty’s giving promises to know An answer in a while. This is great. For though the question isn’t one of late Surrounded in a controversy (though The picking of Petraeus did arouse A presidential scoffing), such a phrase Is politicking in its early phase, And middle phase, and later. I’d espouse An equally inspiring and vague And apropos response to queries, all, For any politician. For the fall For sticking to your word, when any plague Of voter disapproval is around, Is quite enough to put you in the ground.
I’m grown a bigger liberal of late – Not quite enough to take away the means To make the wealthy French the many liens For paying back the Eurozone, or hate My taxes, when returned, but quite enough To be a tad mistrustful of the press When giving us a headline hardly less Affirming of our pride, or a rebuff To anyone we’re used to putting down. We’ve been at odds some decade, ever since We went to war in Baghdad, and we’d mince No kinder words amid the general drown-ing Out of voices. Though, I do admit, This seems too dumb to function but a whit.
I well imagine rumor is a way To get attention on, or off, a matter, Making any journalist to flatter He has got a scoop, or made a day, Or done a thing far better than he’s done, Which may, in many cases, be a pawn. Ignore all speeches from the White House lawn, And any whispered secrets from the one Competing for the White House. That is all You need to know when voting comes around. The keeping up will put you in the ground, And make too personal the very fall From grace that’s unavoidable amid So many using promises to bid.
The FBI had heard of Michael Page, Who, at the time, had never given cause To open an investigation, pause To question if his hate would beckon rage, Or reason to assume he’d open fire. I wonder how the law can make amends For letting go suspicion, if it tends To blur the very freedom we desi-/re, Putting Bigger Brother on alert, But also giving leave for any hate To slaughter innocence. So very late Is hindsight, and I’m guessing, were I hurt By murder – racist murdering – alas, I’d gladly give the government a pass To give its watching power bigger mass.
I wish I had a kinder set of words. I wish a sudden heaving of the chest Would set aside emotion to invest In this traumatic scene, wherein two thirds Of any who may look upon it see, If only briefly, other scenes – alas, Too many others that have come to pass – Too similar to this. We mightn’t be Accustomed here to seeing many dead, But our reactions here reveal a rule (A theater again? Another school): The many tears in pity we have shed Are not a whit surprising anymore. Put all the Sikh and grieving to the fore.
So politicking’s easy. Do observe: Barack Obama’s popular within The epicenter of our nation’s sin, Or of its hope, depending on the nerve That’s hit, or isn’t hit, upon the news That here Obama’s popular. The Right, Proclaiming all the area a blight Will herald common sense, and any views That vindicate Obama on the Left Will suffer ridicule. The Left, of course, Will call him yet a beacon and a force Of honesty and power. We’re bereft Of all remaining logic, and are prone To reading all in nothing on its own.
If Cathy had declared that any vet, Returning, decorated, from Iraq, Was symbolizing arrogance, attack-/ing Family and country, we’d have let Our own collective vengeance put him down. If he had said that Christians are the bane Of tolerant existence, and the gain Of any decent nation is to crown The atheists, the Left’d give him cheer. The truth is very simple – we are dumb. To thoughts we like are given any sum Of efforts at protecting; those we fear Are hit with cries of bigotry and hate – Ironic, when our shouting won’t abate.
The money isn’t coming to the fore. I could have told you people never click On ads that aren’t intrusive, aren’t quick To visit other sites they can ignore When only the survival of the thing They’re getting free already is at stake. We’d rather have and eat the very cake We’re betting on to many millions bring. The problem here is simple – we are bored With ads, and that especially when all The topics put before us heed a call Of self-assured importance. Money toward Convincing me to stop discussing me Has no return at all that I forsee.
I’d rather not consider any facts Pertaining to the hole we’re digging in. It’s better as a way to get a win, Or, winning, smear a loser. Any acts That put the bigger deficit to use Recruiting any voters that remain Without a certain choice, who may abstain, Who frighten easily at the abuse Of money won with years of bitter toil, Or live in fear of debtors, are a shame We’re better off decrying. Any name That promises expenditures to fo-/il Isn’t one whose promises are kept, When debt is but a weapon we accept.
