Sunday, September 17, 2017

Twitter Poems



(Editor's Note: It's hard to fit a poem on Twitter without crunching it beyond recognition -- unless you remember how to do the old Burma Shave jingles. Anywho -- here's a few I've shared recently with reporters who either piqued my interest or got my goat with their stories)


Crushing heads is football’s glory/but it is a diff’rent story/when the players lose control/becoming blanks by Superbowl



Trump may draw a crowd today/but in future his dismay/will increase as empty seats/greet his bombast and his bleats.



Lady Linton and her tweets/read like mindless parakeets/if I were her husband I/would banish her to Uruguay.



English is about to vanish/ousted by pervasive Spanish/if you want a bigger role/you must habla Espanol.



Permafrost is on the wane/so Fairbanks will go down the drain/soon no one will dare to stomp/cuz the place will be a swamp!



Trump is Jekyll; then he’s Hyde/I guess the guy cannot decide/is he good or is he vile/or is it all an act of guile?


Sheriff Joe does still remain/a symbol of both hate and pain/when the Prez invokes his name/he has played a thoughtless game.



Getting by on wages low/means you have to eat some crow/when the bills come falling due/a second job you’d better woo.



Reporters like to sermonize/in a journalistic guise/they should really stick to facts/cuz no one wants to read their tracts.

Haberman

Mr. Kelly is so tough/he will all the newsmen cuff/if they bypass his defense/and to Trump some news dispense.



Hotel Trump is doing fine/toadies come there oft to dine/there is plenty in the trough/and the piggies like to boff.



Republicans and regulation/rub each other to negation/laissez faire is all the rage/in this babbiting new age.



Scientists have been at pains/to warn us that our hurricanes/will become the reason we/swim to work consistently.


Trump will pardon anyone/it’s his attempt at an end run/to show that as the president/he follows no damn precedent.



Chechnya now takes divorce/and solves it with a gentle force/they don’t show the couples who/punch each other black and blue.


Pity Sarah Huckabee/she hasn’t credibility/with reporters who know well/she’ll stall them till it snows in hell.



The South is grits and gator farms/its history sets off alarms/when pulling down the past beware/it doesn’t trap you in a snare



The turkeys that Hollywood produces/are juicier than any fat gooses/their servings of schmaltz/from musty old vaults/attract viewers like brand new nooses.

Hollywood cannot produce/anything with any juice/retreads are their bread & butter/they’re playing sand traps with a putter.



Making milk from oats I deem/a sacrilegious kind of dream/I’d rather kiss a dromedary/than give up my darling dairy!



Hookworms are a friendly bunch/into your bowels they come for lunch/No longer Third World company/they’re right at home with you and me.



Witches don’t wear peaky hats/nor consort with nasty bats/and if you would not be stricken/you better call ‘em only wiccan!



Trash is art and art is trash/either way there’s lot’s of cash/if your work is on display/anywhere  near New York Bay.


Fake accounts on Facebook chant/mantras where the truth is scant/Twitter also has its share/of accounts full of hot air.



A border wall (of all dumb things)/will go up when pigs have got wings/when birds hitch hike south/Trump loses his mouth/and banks give out loans w/o strings


Corey kilgannon

The hot dog was meant to be cheap;
The populist food of The Peep.
Just put on some kraut
And there ain’t no doubt
Twould make Honest Abe start to weep.



Chris mele

Old age clasped unto my breast/doesn’t sound in my int’rest/ rather a more youthful fling/with a blonde and toothsome thing!



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