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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.

He would treat being nice

As a nasty vice

And delight in seismic shocks.

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There's something rather tragic

In that wounded air he bore.

Whenever he perceived a slight

He would angrily tweet more.

Crass T, the showman,

Doesn't care for consequence.

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He can sink so low

'Cause he knows they know

If he leaves, they get Mike Pence.

* * * * *

Go wrest ye, far from gentle man,

All Hollywood's incensed.

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They knew for years of Weinstein's sins

Which now they rail against.

Enablers turned the blindest eye

For they were recompensed.

Oh, floodgates have opened at last.

Roll call is vast

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Of those who set a high cost when they cast.

* * * * *

Jumbo sales.

Jumbo sales.

Cheap'll get us there.

Buy a used CF-18

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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.


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,


Tune out the press,

In a parlous state of polity.

– Warren Clements

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