These are Trump poems, epigrams and puns that I have written while calling myself "The Loyal Opposition"...
The Ex-Prez Sex
by Michael R. Burch
The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
***
Jim Crow Pie
by Michael R. Burch
There onst wus a prez who et crow,
which is sorta like blackbird, yuh know,
but bein’ a racist
an’ surely the basest,
he basted the beast with white dough!
***
PAC Man I
by Michael R. Burch
and ethereal disembodied spirits seen
from the other side of the woods
said phantasmagorical sound and sight
particularly experienced every Halloween.
Though dog tired
ready for the nocturnal sandman,
but before succumbing to countless winks
namely, quintessentially, telepathically
fictitious mythical character yours truly wired.
No matter five plus weeks
before onset of All Hallows' Eve,
or All Saints' Eve, celebration
(observed in many countries
on thirty first October).
The following adverse scenario unfolded
Thursday, September 22
in Northern Hemisphere 9:03 PM
Eastern Daylight Time
Empyrean découpage citadel
betokens (bespeaks) autumnal arrival
nine oh three post meridian
chariot of fire emblazons telltale signature,
one humble human doth
bid summer and his squandered life adieu.
Already crisp cool mornings
sun kissed mine cheek
refreshing air wafts thru longish hair
trademark characteristic property
aging pencil neck geek
attends brief bathroom charge coffee
exotic brew jolted kidneys leak
urine not kidding water closet doth reek.
Autumn, a time for reflections on reflections
and they are rife, linked to pearly grey sky
lake, puddle, mud strewn path or no,
while each steep cliff face boldly juts its
sheer defiance without concession or a budge
through jagged edge loadstone chipping
as the chilling froth-tipped sea mounts its saline tumult irrespective of an iron cast continuing rebuttal.
One can pass the baton u turn so turbulent
within our mental recess at end of summer phase.
September signpost deigns to whisper
of a scenic telltale hint and tint,
Are you the DISEASE,
Or the CURE?
Are you POLLUTED,
Or PURE?
Are you FREE,
Or in JAIL?
Are you HEAVEN,
Or HELL?
Are you a GIVER,
Or TAKER?
Are you a MOVER,
Or SHAKER.
Are you a LOVER,
Or FIGHTER?
Are you to BED EARLY,
Or an ALL-NIGHTER.
Are you LOUD,
Or QUIET?
Are you the PIE,
Or the DIET.
Are you the LIGHT,
Or DARK?
Are you the BITE,
Or the BARK.
Are you ORGANIZED,
Or SCATTERED?
If I could go back,
Change the past.
I would slow down,
Not go so fast.
I would pay attention
To the older crowd.
I get why, they're
Cocky and proud.
I would do better
In school.
I would play less
Of the fool.
I would adjust,
My attitude.
I would show
More gratitude.
I would speak
less.
I would prepare,
For the test.
I would smile
A lot more.
I no longer would
Keep score.
I would spend more
Time with family.
No stuntman/woman showed up,
albeit intervened in timely fashion
to thwart mishaps experienced
courtesy me I bemoan,
and poet lore re: yet of Perkiomen Valley
Pennsylvania, United States of America
never suffered major illness nor broken bone
(specifically life and death health crisis,
nor compound fracture respectively)
cuz guardian angel intervened,
though aim of mine heretofore
forthwith literary endeavor
merely expressing, exhibiting, examining...
a painfully bodily mishap,
where Lady Luck gussied up as crone