Two Saviors In Two Weeks: First Obama, and Now Christ Returns - A Political Poem
Of Trump ‘tis said he lacks proper grammar;
Of Biden, he suffers an inborn stammer.
With his words, the first is carelessly loose—
Committing great crimes of verbal abuse.
And I don’t just mean insults at foes launched
Landing on Rosie O’Donnell’s large paunch.
Nor barbs aimed at Gov’nor Christie’s wide girth
Nor questions concerning Obama’s birth.
Syntax is no skill of which he can boast
Unlike his inveterate penchant to roast.
To our fair language, if Trump does great harm,
That done by Biden is more cause for alarm.
The one wounds the flesh, mere scrapes on the skin
But there’s no salve for the assaults of Biden.
To what low depths has our high language sunk?
When ‘Geriatric Joe’ slurs like a drunk,
Failing to string one frayed sentence along
Please!—can his next address be his swan song?
“Chastise not!” bellow friends of the old goose,
“’Tis not Biden’s fault, his lips are obtuse
That his brain is smooth, his hoary dull wit
Drained of what little once occupied it”.
Sadly, I fear, this is no good defense
Of a man ungifted with eloquence
To whom, in this damaged democracy
We gave the chair of the presidency.
Who knows what’ll happen some seven months hence,
He might be declared Non compos mentis:
Relieved of his post, from his chair removed
Of his power stripped, by his party reproved.
And then, as our Constitution avers
On the Vice President, the power confers.
Like a springbok poked, a roused impala
Up will leap an excited Kamala!
But dampen your hopes, for soon you shall see
She too lacks intelligibility.
Each time that she speaks, it sounds like her first
Like a flightless fledgling pushed from its perch.
On oratory’s wings she attempts to fly
Her pinions ablaze as she gilds the sky.
But down she falls! Like Daedalus’ son,
By ambition’s hot flame, quickly undone.
Under the weight of pretend gravity
She talks to us with faux sincerity—
Inflating her lines with meaningless cant
Empty of reason, of eloquence scant.
With pablum and pomp, her speeches are filled
And, by her cackling, a listener’s chilled.
A laugh shriller than the squawk of a crow,
And Yet—we’re told she’s a black Cicero.
By whom? Those who’d deliberately sully
The spotless name of Rome’s lustrous Tully.
One can’t but cringe when he hears her guffaws
And withhold from her his liberal applause—
Having now become painfully aware
That her intellectual forest is bare.
It’s at this point he begins to wonder:
How we’ve a woman so prone to blunder?—
So void of reason, unpossessed of thought
That each word’s value is equal to naught?
Draped in the right genitalia and skin
The clothes by which our leaders are chosen.
In swarthy brown clad, a tan radiant hue
And yes! what’s more!—her “X” chrom’somes are two!
Fine features, no doubt, in modernity
When we’ve made an idol of diversity.
But what of her talent to communicate?—
To flesh and fair sex, this skill’s second-rate.
A surface pleasing to progressive eyes
Is merit’s concealment, and talent’s disguise.
Preference for the shade of a favored “race”
Is what an unwell nation will embrace.
And thus, we suffer Miss Harris’ blabber
From intersectionality’s ladder—
(Indeed, from its height, its uppermost rung
The tallest peak from which nonsense is sung).
Between Trump, Biden, and brainless Miss Harris,
We’ve quite enough tongues, by which to embarrass
A country asking for nothing so great
As one leader who can communicate.
As I start, so I end, with irreverence:
To English, Trump shows bestial indifference.
From Biden, the language has taken its leave.
As for Kamala, youngest of the three,
Her tongue most resembles dumb infancy.
At last! It seems I’ve exhausted myself
Emptied the contents of poetry’s shelf.
This, I will say, and not a word further:
Let not our gentle language be murdered!