The Little People Speak.


They’ve brands for men and women, and for children of all ages –

For big & tall – but not the small adults; just check the Yellow Pages!

O, you can go to Target and you’ll find a blouse that fits you;

But if you are a midget it is either loose or splits you!


We little people want a Billy Barty line of togs,

For hats and coats and pants and skirts and even wooden clogs.

We are not freaks like Michu, who at Ringling Brothers worked;

But hold down jobs like ev’ryone; and taxes have not shirked.


We oughta have a lobbyist in Washington D.C.

To get us treated like the taller voting polity.

Don’t think of us as Munchkins, with a treble that is speeded;

Just give us clothes that do not make us look like we’ve been weeded!  

Indiana Governor Mike Pence Speaks.


“As Governor of this great state I think that it behooves me

To say I am the boss until the populace removes me.

The jackals in the media can chomp all that they want;

They will not get straight answers, no matter how they taunt.


Indiana is a godly place where folks demand

That ev’rything off kilter be immediately banned.

Vow populi is how I rule this commonwealth of love

(NOT the love that ain’t approved by Mr. Big above!)


LGBT stands for nothing but a passing whim;

It is offensive and disgusting petty acronym.

Excluding people is the right of ev’ry sect and creed,

And I’ll protect that privilege in word and thought and deed!” 

Based on a story in Huffington Post 

The Dollar and the Euro (and the Kip and the Yen).


The euro and the dollar have been scuffling for years;

The euro has been winning while the dollar’s been in tears.

Considered such a weakling that it fell below the kip,

It was scorned as nothing more than innocuous bean dip.


Financial experts ev’rywhere said dollars were declining

At such a rate that there could never be a silver lining.

The Chinese bought Manhattan with some paltry yuan bills,

And started building mansions in New Hampshire’s rolling hills.


But greenbacks are a stubborn tribe, and do not give up easy;

They waited till the Forex market stumbled and went queasy.

Then they beat the snot out of the euro and the yen,

And now the dollar’s pouring gold, and no one’s saying “when”.


So take your dollar bills and wave them with your head held high;

There’s nothing in the whole wide world that you cannot now buy.

Go to Europe or Bangkok and let the natives freshen

Up your drink until the next time there’s a steep recession.


suggested by a story in BuzzFeed

Ellen Pao


Now it’s time for me to go back to my fam’ly, friends;

To work at my career and hope the brutal saga ends.

The court has rendered verdict and I choose not to appeal;

I think it is undignified to continue with this spiel.


Do I think the jury made the right decision – no!

I had cause for action (as the jury sure did know).

I was treated shabby after ending an affair

With a fellow worker who was too much of a square.


Silence, now, is golden, and I will no longer litter

The media with my thoughts (excepting maybe Twitter).

I will greet all queries with an oriental smile

(since my husband Buddy is now scheduled for trial).

from a story in the LA Times 

To Laugh.

Where, oh where, have the little clowns gone?

(Dedicated to the memory of Buster Keaton)

A laugh is but a bubble on the ceaseless tide of care

That washes all around us underneath the sun’s blank glare.

A froth or foamy nothing that is gone before we know

that it came to help us fight the mortal undertow.


The jester in the palace and the circus clown do feel

That laughter is as thin and welcome as an onion peel.

The writer who is trifling with words meant to amuse

Scribbles with a pallid heart his unimportant views.


 The universe and galaxies possess no spark of whimsy;

To laugh up at the darkness is of gambits the most flimsy.

Yet I hope the last sound by the last soul here on earth

Will not be whimpered groaning but the roar of ardent mirth.

Andreas Lubitz of Germanwings; a Poetic Post Mortem.


My mother raised me to respect the rules and regulations

Of all the many branches of the sciences and nations.

The pattern and the symmetry of rote and standards thrilled me.

(But in the end this fetish is what finally did kill me.)


I had my girlfriend beat me when I breached our staid decorum,

Or whip me with a leather thong that I had tipped with aurum.

Correlating ev’ry aspect of my time and leisure

Was to me a scintillating, enervating pleasure.


But when I reached my 27th year I noted with acuity

That my life was nothing more than existential vacuity.

Using winged technology to end my null existence

Required nothing more than pilot’s license and persistence.



The Friendly Folks of Ferguson


The friendly folks of Ferguson make welcome ev’ry guest.

One and all are treated with a gratifying zest.

If you are a black man you’ll be targeted each night

For a special greeting (that might give you quite a fright).


You will find that officers and city workers, too,

Want you to be carefree (and may lock you in the zoo).

Shootings are prodigious, but it’s all in merry fun,

With ev’rybody looking down the barrel of a gun!


Won’t you come and see us? We’re as friendly as can be.

The town administration changes very frequently.

And if you do behave yourself when you do first arrive

You’ll have a jolly time of it (and might get out alive).

The Little Free Library.


I may be small and made of wood leftover from a door;

But I contain potential that will last forevermore.

An entertaining novel or a tome of sober fact;

Biography, geography, or strange religious tract.


No barriers or bar codes keep you from my grand largesse;

I freely offer up the wine of ev’ry printing press.

The heft of solid book in hand was never meant to dwindle

In this age of iPads and the apathetic Kindle.


Small graces in this life of toil can speed us on our way

To better understanding and a more contented day.

So open up my shutters, made of glass or plastic sheet,

And tarry with my wares that are sustaining and so sweet! 

 Based on a story from MPR 

Mitt Romney

Mitt Romney

I met a man who wasn’t there, with clear blue eyes, brown wavy hair.

I asked him was he gonna run for President – he said “What fun!”

And furthermore, his eyebrows knit, he said “I am the man called Mitt.”

Was I to worship at his feet, or write a check or post a tweet?


I met a man who wasn’t there – his halo tilted in the air.

I asked him “Mr. Romney, sir; will your ambition long endure?”

He gazed into a crystal ball – then said “I’ll let you know this fall.”

Upon the stairs, his footsteps light, he disappeared into the night.


I met a man who wasn’t there – and never IS found anywhere.

Except where fat cat donors snooze; he likes to visit them and schmooze.

He’s running – yes he is, by gum! But is he running TO or FROM?

I hope when he makes up his mind I am not old and going blind.

from an article in Political Insider 

A Soldier Defrauded.


My duty took me from my home and fam’ly frequently;

While I was gone the bank foreclosed on all my property.

They also took the car and my retirement account.

(I don’t believe they know about the Sermon on the Mount.)


I was on active duty, being shot at and assailed –

Meanwhile when my wife protested, she was nearly jailed.

It seems the laws in place protecting soldier’s basic rights

Are just about as potent as wee mosquito bites.


Just WHAT have I been fighting for, if ev’ry snotty banker

Can barge into my home at will to tell them to weigh anchor?

The next time Uncle Sam requires militant defenders,

I am staying home — and they can draft the money lenders!


Based on a New York Times Story