Trump Funk Blues


Election done
Chaos won
Reality dawns
Fantasy gone
Awe erased
Shock in place

Funk—Funk—Trump Funk

Nation united
Stands divided
Half elated
Half deflated
Emotion run rife
World pays the price
Facing our sentence
Four years penance

Funk—Funk—Trump Funk

Donald throned
Democrats moan
Rhetoric vile
Now fake smiles
Hillary concedes
Platitudes weaves
Obama genteel
Ire concealed

Funk—Funk—Trump Funk

Enough reeling
Time for healing

Through foul weather
Come together

End derision
Find clear vision

Create a new day
The American way

Ball in Trump’s court
Time clock starts


Remember our veterans today and thank them for their service!

Mud Fest 2016


Considering the raucous tenor of
the 2016 Presidential campaign
and the first Presidential debate,
perhaps the traditional format
whereby candidates seek cover behind
their respective podiums and
sling rhetorical mud at each other,
should be modified accordingly.

In that all borders of civility
have long ago been breached, it
might be more apropos to dispense
with the pomp and circumstance
and dive right into the slimy muck
head first, with a ‘get down and dirty’
mud wrestling match.

I can see the headline now:
‘Don The Dominator vs Hil The Hellcat’

The media would eat it up, providing
blow-by-blow coverage and 24/7 replays.

Sponsors would scramble to get
a piece of the action.

And, it would lend that reality show
flavor to the proceedings to which the
American public has become accustomed.

Which would survive the fracas,
Donald’s hair or Hillary’s pantsuit?

Whether you choose to tune in or tune out,
be sure to cast your vote come November!

Inspired by Daily Prompt: Border

Reality TV Gone Awry


So far, the 2016 Amazing Presidential Race
has been the most raucous, contentious,
perplexing, ludicrous event in recent history.

With Republican contenders’ Animal House
antics, they have barely stopped short of
hurling spit wads along with the barrage
of sophomoric insults.

On the other side of the political aisle,
Big Brother continues to investigate
Hillary’s e-mails, while Bernie dreams
of building a socialist utopia on the island.

Seriously people, it doesn’t take an
Undercover Boss to surmise there isn’t
a viable Presidential Apprentice among the lot.

Or even a plausible contestant to appear on
Dancing With the Stars, as it is painfully
clear they are unable to refrain from
stomping all over each other’s toes.

The burning question is, “Does America still
Have Talent?”

Maybe the fair citizens of our great nation
should consider launching a write-in
campaign. If only Charlie Brown was
available to run and would accept the bid.

After all, he is a true American Idol.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but
as I examine the roster of choices and
contemplate who might be the sole Survivor
still standing after election day,
I’m beginning to feel Naked and Afraid.