[KrisG]

A long time ago, when I was a lad of 10 or 11, there was no internet, cable TV, social media, or any of the other modern wonders. What I did have was the freedom to be a free range kid. I used that freedom to walk across town to the library. It was a sleepy, quiet place, and the librarian was nice and kind. Her name was Mrs B and she was incredibly old, probably 65 or so. She let me take out any book I wanted, even from the adult section, which was supposed to off limits. I read sports, action, adventure, history, geography, and anything else that would appeal to a young boy. Mrs B would tell me that I should read some poetry, that it would be good for me. Any young person knows that when an adult tells you that something is good for you, be very wary. I read a few poetry books, and my young brain was not impressed. In all those years since, I haven’t read much poetry, and until now, I never wrote a poem.

Mrs B has long since checked out her last book and headed for the great library in the sky. This past fall I had the need to drive back east, as I was going through Rapid City, I stopped for gas, and noticed that no one was wearing a mask. As I was leaving the station, I noticed something right across the freeway. A line from one of the all time classic poems, Twas the night before Christmas, written in 1822, popped into my head. That line was: What to my wondering eyes should appear. The whole poem just flowed from that. This is big country, and I had a lot of time to add to the poem as I drove. I didn’t do anything with it, but hauled it out this past week and completed it.

I was thinking about that old saying about a tree falling in the forest, and no one hearing it. If a poem is written and no one reads it does it even exist? This poem might be good, it might be bad. You might like it, you might hate it. It might offend you, you might want to rant and rave, that is your right, but that takes no real skill. Instead you should write a poem that aligns with you world view and let us read it. One more thing: Any poetry expert is going to think this guy knows nothing about poetry. They would be right.

Lots of people in this world think differently than I do. I’m okay with that. Sometimes we forget that as Americans we have more in common than we think we do. Just because the other guy is not like us doesn’t mean he loves this country any less. It would be a better place if we all showed each other a little respect and tolerance. A little humor would help as well. In that spirit please remember it is just a poem that a guy thought up while driving. It helped keep him awake. Don’t take it personal. I generally try to offend all people equally.

At any rate, here it is. Enjoy

 

[KrisG]

The Year that was

Pestilence and grief were hard upon the land
Rancor and discord rode hand in hand
I was leaving that land back east
That land where the liberals are most and the ******** are least
I was headed out west. Back to that place I love the best

I was headed for a town where the ******** never frown
And the few masks that are worn are pulled way down
I was losing all hope, nearing the end of my rope
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
but a giant white tent full of Trump gear

In the spirit of the Donald I was determined to see
If I could find a gift that was all about me.
I was looking for something that could be had for a song
And then I spotted it: the Trump man thong

It was colored a sickly orange red
To match that hair that we’ve all come to dread
But its finest feature it was plain to see
Was that it made your assets appear much bigger than they might be

Now I pride myself on being thrifty
It was priced at seven fifty
That’s what the man paid in tax
Right then and there, I gave that thong the ax
But I must admit, it was nifty

On another day, I found a gift that was heaven sent
Uncle Joe’s adult under gar-ment
Some say it lacks heft
It only works if you lean to the left
Back in days of yore, upon the Supreme Court, it was worn by four
Though they still pee, today it is only worn by three

Now Trump wasn’t that quick
When it came to covid he didn’t give a lick
In the end all he did was get sick
Last time the country voted on a whim
This time we were sick of him

An election was held, the great one lost, but he was cheated
that’s the story he told, and it was oft repeated
Oh how he whined and lied
And his supporters how they wailed and cried

They drank deep from his pitcher of Koolaid
He launched into one last crazy tirade
The only way to save me is a giant riot!
What a Capitol idea! Let’s go and try it!

All good children learn to behave
Adults forget the lessons they should save
The crazies are going to get as good as they gave
The founding fathers just rolled in the grave
It all happened in the land of the free and the home of the brave

As the sun sets slowly in the west
We don’t know if the nation will pass its latest test
Better days may be at hand
Yet pestilence and discord still rule the land

The president wouldn’t leave without a massive fuss
He will be gone, that’s a plus
But maybe, the problem is us

 

[Chop Chop]

At any rate, here it is. Enjoy

OK! I'm stoked. Where is the poem?
P.S. I see I was too quick.

 

[MT4Runner]

I like "cowboy" type poetry.
Well done, and good message.

 

[Salmonite]

Well done. Thanks