Crass T, the showman,
Spent a busy year in power.
He would send a tweet,
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Then he'd pause, repeat,
Trolling critics by the hour.
Frosty the welcome
He would get from all but Fox.
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He would treat being nice
As a nasty vice
And delight in seismic shocks.
There's something rather tragic
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In that wounded air he bore.
Whenever he perceived a slight
He would angrily tweet more.
Crass T, the showman,
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Doesn't care for consequence.
He can sink so low
'Cause he knows they know
If he leaves, they get Mike Pence.
* * * * *
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Go wrest ye, far from gentle man,
All Hollywood's incensed.
They knew for years of Weinstein's sins
Which now they rail against.
Enablers turned the blindest eye
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For they were recompensed.
Oh, floodgates have opened at last.
Roll call is vast
Of those who set a high cost when they cast.
* * * * *
Jumbo sales.
Jumbo sales.
Cheap'll get us there.
Buy a used CF-18
To keep us in the air – hey!
We find Boeing
So annoying
With its trade complaint,
We won't buy a plane that's new.
We'll spring for one that ain't.
Aussies let us know
If we ponied up the dough,
We could buy the planes
They had marked to go.
What a super deal –
Opt for second-hand.
If we're lucky they will fly,
And luckier, they'll land.
* * * * *
Oh, little pawn, Jerusalem,
How ill we see thee used.
Once more hopes cease for Mideast peace,
By Trump's grand stunt abused.
It's not as though we counted
On peace arriving soon,
But why must Trump be such a chump,
Erratic and jejune?
* * * * *
Dock the hauls of pension folly.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Bill Morneau paid up, by golly.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I did nothing wrong, he hollers.
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
But I'll pay five million dollars.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Meanwhile, Lib'rals had an inkling
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Best soft-pedal income sprinkling.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Dang, we need a course correction.
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Else we face a rough election.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * * * *
Ms. May in a wringer,
No room to squeeze free.
The Parliament voted
For transparency.
The stars aren't aligning
For May's final say.
Said Parliament, Brexit
Will happen our way.
* * * * *
The Harry and the lady
Who had a role on Suits
Are planning to be man and wife
And put down royal roots.
For Meghan and Prince Harry
The spotlight's de rigueur.
She's spent so long in Canada,
The eh-list is for her.
* * * * *
We'll whisk you some marijuana –
The flora without the fauna.
It's fit for a prima donna.
We know you'll be stoked.
We used to lock up
The people who toked.
Now we get a cut of retail,
So make sure it's smoked.
The crime bosses were in clover
But now we are taking over.
We'll guide clients like a drover
To our spliff supply.
The packs may be plain.
The tax may be high.
But never as high as you'll be –
Nirvana is nigh.
* * * * *
We flee things that horrible are.
Bombs and terror striking afar.
If you please, we're refugees here
Hoping your door's ajar.
Oh-ohh…
Lives uprooted, neighbours gone,
Homes in ruins, hope withdrawn.
Global waifs, we just want safety.
Guide us to a better dawn.
* * * * *
Leaked, the harried agents moan,
Now our clients' cover's blown.
Billionaires avoiding tax
May be in for hefty smacks.
Governments that promise fairness
Help their wealthy friends to share less.
Glad light's shed on this device.
Ain't what we'd call "paradise."
Please, the harried agents ache:
Let us be, for havens' sake.
* * * * *
Away with Mugabe.
No tears will be shed.
Zimbabwe was ruined
With him at its head.
The future's uncertain,
But this we can guess.
Mugabe's departure
Means one problem less.
* * * * *
The first "no bell"
That Londoners knew
Was when Big Ben's great chimes
Were shut down by a crew –
A crew that said
The repairs will take years.
Cue the shock and the outrage
And Tourist Board tears.
No bell, no bell, no bell, no bell.
London is timeless, now chimeless as well.
* * * * *
Silent? Not.
Wholly caught.
For Mike Flynn,
Things got hot.
Rend'ring versions
We've not yet heard,
Seems he bargained
And sang like a bird.
Ties to Russia, et cet'ra.
Trump may be hanged on each word.
* * * * *
Oh little coin of Bet-the-Farm,
How still we see thee rise.
For in a trice, the bitcoin's price
Has soared before our eyes.
No, wait, it's fallen sharply –
An e-coin in free flight.
Madames, messieurs, please faîtes vos jeux.
Why are your knuckles white?
* * * * *
By the twelfth month of crassness,
Marauding Trump decreed:
Tell Puerto Rico
Leaders there are turkeys.
Tend to extremists.
Nein, they're good people.
Hate CNN feeds,
Sever the Iran deal,
Sink pacts on climate,
Fi-i-ight Kim Jong-un.
Forge callous words,
Knee NAFTA,
Tune out the press,
In a parlous state of polity.
– Warren Clements