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Trumpbiden 2020

There was this time
With a younger face
And in a better place
I loved all the right stars
Trolled all the best bars
But you have left the scene
And so I lonely keen
Alone I grace the dawn
As a back spasm allows
And search for smarter cows
With no reason to lurk behind
Trying always to be kind
And the road goes on
While I linger in the time share
As if I should care
A president elected next week
They’re all such freak
Make a life for better horizons
Give me a hundred reasons
To listen to the heads on tv
Ought to be like me
65 and so totally alone
No longer rings a phone
A text for you to ponder
Its not getting better and over yonder
Turn to stone

Another Poet’s Power Trip

7pm Friday evening:
The loner ponders a new blank page;
You’d think he’d have better
At his now advanced presenile age.
But no prospects permit,
And no leads present,
All in all
He remained a proper gent.

7:08pm Friday evening:
Some words managed to flow
Out of prompt sinus gyrae
And across the page, to and fro.
The rhyme lofted well,
The context sufficiently obtuse,
Pondering current lost lovers
[As usual TV fare was of no use].
But no prospects permit,
And no leads present,
All in all
He remained a proper gent.

9:30 Friday evening:
The night’s offering to WordPress Publish—
He’d not edited much,
Twas all a spot of heartache and sly rubbish.

10pm Friday night:
Off went the power strip.
Another headache for morning,
But for now: another poet’s power trip.
But no prospects permit,
And no leads present,
All in all
He remained a proper gent.