Here are a few of my political poems…
One can easily imagine Eric Cantor, the Tea Party’s man in the House, singing this karaoke in the style of Frank Sinatra…
They’ll Do It My Way
And now, though defaults loom,
I hold one steadfast notion;
It’s that, tax hikes mean doom,
To this I swear, my full devotion;
For me, negotiate,
A lesser rich folks exalted payday;
That game, I’ll never play,
They’ll do it my way.
Some doubts, others may hold,
But doubt for me, a lib trait silly;
I’m sold, deep in the mold,
That says to help, the poor’s too frilly;
Today, I man the gate,
I need not make, just compromises;
The base I gotta sate,
Don’t like surprises.
For what is a pol, what’s his to sell,
That keeps him feeding at the well?
You spending tweeze, Tea Party please,
Debt limit freeze, Obama squeeze;
It hits the wall, his numbers fall,
They’ll do it my way.
Not so long ago, when some progressives dared express public disappointment about President Obama’s governance, the White House labeled these complainers “sanctimonious.” This may have been a mistake…
Revenge Of The Sanctimonious
Our president’s rap was euphonious,
With us he appeared quite harmonious,
Now he rails we’re sanctimonious,
Seems pleased to be verbally stonin’ us.
Soon again he’ll be seeking our backing,
To prevent an election time sacking,
He’ll try tacking with left-sounding quacking,
Be surprised when our backing is lacking.
Progressives At The Bat
It looked extremely rocky for progressives in D.C.
The folks they’d long depended on to others bent a knee
The White House rarely answered calls, the Senate had been cowed
Tea party members ran the House, “We’ll make the rules,” they vowed.
But out there where the Beltway gang is rarely ever seen
In countless places o’er the land where the living had gone mean
The days of settling for a phrase, for promises unmet
A spirit craving real change, these bad times did beget.
It flared up in Wisconsin, first with protests then recalls
In inner cities gone to seed, in PA union halls
Workers lacking any pay boosts as their bosses comps got waxed
Saw their benefits get chopped up, while the rich were under-taxed.
Yes, in our nation’s capital they still ain’t yet caught on
They still to Wall Street genuflect, buy the right’s self-serving yarn
They don’t sense the awakening, ain’t twigged to where it’s at
That progressives next election day will swing the big vote bat.
A water carrier was the hero of Kipling’s poem, ‘Gunga Din.’ These days Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke has been carrying the water for Wall Streeters. Here, then, I offer this Kipling knockoff— Gunga Ben.
You may praise free market’s power
With stocks in endless flower
And home prices looking like they’ll never top;
But comes the sound of crashing
There’s just one place you’ll be looking
And a’begging for the horrid drop to stop.
Sure you spend your working time
In that well-paid Wall Street clime
Claimin’ you’re a master of the universe;
And the crew you bring together
Swears you need no outside fetter
‘Til your arrogance brings down that crashing curse.
Then its “Ben! Ben! Ben!
We need a huge Fed handout once again;”
Though all others he’s ignorin’
For you guys Ben is adorin’
Always saving The Street’s bacon, Gunga Ben.
With one, and maybe both 2012 presidential candidates shooting for billion dollar war chests, a certain kind of campaign characters become ever more important. The Bundlers.
With TV ads they bloat us,
At election time for POTUS,
And to buy these aired infusions,
They need hefty contributions.
The efficient way to get them,
Ain’t via piddling dribbles,
Instead they turn to bundlers
Who can package bigger nibbles.
A bundler taps his work mates.
His friends for these cash packets,
These givers almost always are
In upper income brackets.
A bundler’s motives may be pure,
For the publc good he’s caring,
But down the road should he need help,
He’ll get a friendly hearing.
Shared Sacrifice — American Style
There’s a clear need now for sacrifice
To advance a greater good;
It’s not a pleasant prospect
But this need’s well understood.
The poor will make this sacrifice,
They’ll feel its pain and cuss;
While the rich assure each other
That the greater good — is us.
A Haiku Review Of The 2011 Political Season
When it becomes clear
You’re a failing president
Blame your supporters
Though he’s very smart
Newt speaks far too much and ends
With both feet in mouth
Harken to Romney
Pay close attention and hear
The sound of silence
The Texas model
Lots and lots of low wage jobs
Wonder what still thrives
In this dour economy
Wall street bonuses
Tax cuts for the rich
Why will new ones create jobs
When old ones didn’t
Governments spend less
Consumers, businesses, too
So who will spend more
Congress in recess
Nothing’s done in Washington
So what else is new
Both parties now claim
The other lacks new ideas
Perhaps both are right
Tell the analyst
Who sees no ‘double dip’ to
What about all the
Unindicted market crooks
Who won’t go to jail
Seemed like a good idea but
So did the Edsel