Tweet One: Time is running out.
Everyone knows it.
Many people have told me so.
The crowds have been enormous —
largest ever, so much bigger than
before — ever, seriously.
No one has ever drawn such big
crowds.

Tweet Two: It’s documented. There are photos —
photos showing the enormous
response to what is happening.
Nothing like this has ever happened
before and I am so glad to be the
one who made it all the great success
that it is.

Tweet Three: Even the fake news
is honestly reporting it.
I want to thank my cabinet, the House and
Senate, the Special Prosecutor
and especially CNN and MSNBC, most notably
Rachel Maddow, Lawrence O’Donnell
and Joy Reid for cracker jack reporting —
outstanding, such very nice people,
really, honestly, believe me, I’m telling
the truth.

Tweet Four: I’m so glad that this will all be
over soon and all those great, peaceful
demonstrators can go home for a while
before picking up a new and equally
worthy cause
and I’m not the only one.

Tweet Five: All my children
have hated this and
after my prison sentence, which is
truly warranted, I will go to a Roman
Catholic seminary become celibate (as
vociferously demanded by my wonderful
wife)

Tweet Six: and devote the remainder
of my days to non-violent resistance
and promotion of peace, justice,
Jesus’ message of inclusivity
and to helping save the planet
from global warming.

Tweet Seven: I have it from
very reliable sources that
Vladimir Putin has become
a Russian Orthodox priest.
Good luck, Vladie!

Tweet Eight: I love you, Barack.

Tweet Nine: I’m giving all my money
to the Southern Poverty Law Center.

Tweet Ten: Lastly, I’m
giving up Tweeting for Lent
as part of the plea bargaining.

It seems so sad,
Just catching on to nature,
Hiking, backpacking, kayaking,
From a ten-year-old in the forest preserves
To seventy-two, only sixty-two years
And wanting so many more
For everyone,
But the permafrost is melting,
The polar caps are melting,
The sea is rising,
The desert is drying
Out completely.
I’m so sad
And in my old age
And all the pains and aches
I still have a sense of survival
So I’ll hunker down by the fresh water
Great Lakes
And experience short-term
Emotional, physical and spiritual
Revival.

There once was a carnival hustler named Trump
who was always on the political stump.
He colluded with Putin —
a presidential election to ruin.
He vacated the White House “dump” to be a Big House chump.

There was an Irishman from Killarney;
who bragged about all his blarney,
He saw a thousand pound pig
dance the Irish jig.
I just think he is full of malarkey.

There once was a man from Sweden
who said he visited the Garden of Eden
and saw Eve dance
without any pants.
making the man a voyeuristic, antediluvian Scandinavian.

There was a Netherlands’ Dutchman
who visited Holland, Michigan.
He looked up and down
for anyone from that town
with a progressive view on politics or religion.

We had a good conversation about
where we come from but then we

asked, given all the gifts we have
for art and literature, why they

couldn’t have known all that and
helped us along, but they couldn’t

have given us what we have been
given, given where they came from.

The psychopathic puppet now
military-speaks words put into

his mouth by the generals whom
he has gathered around him. He

has been told what to do and what
to say and now does it. His words

are no longer his, but those who
put words in his mouth and who

seek the total militarization of
the nation. The bunting was there.

The only good news: West Michigan
mercenaries will not be there.

Someone referred to George H. W. Bush
as a wimp and the next thing you know
we are in a war.

George W. Bush swore not to nation build
and then after 9/11 he had to show his stuff,
so invaded the wrong country starting another war.

Donald Trump is doing miserable in the polls
so for what only should have been a police action
in 2001, he’s about to up the ante for more war.

We should have elected a woman with ovaries
rather than men with testes
in order not to lose so many lives
over guys with “wimp” complex-ees.

I love musicals; doesn’t that make me Jewish?
I love musicals; isn’t it something for
which you wish?
For this don’t we all wish?
My mother loved musicals
and I was sure she was Jewish
but my DNA showed I was mostly Swedish.
I swoon when I hear all those great songs
written by Jews;
I just want to put on my dancing shoes.
They wrote songs about struggles Jewish
and we never knew which was which —
underdogs — slaves, depression whites, immigrants —
you’ve got to be carefully taught.
If you are all white in America,
you have to be carefully taught .
Who would ever have thought
that the Jews’ diaspora story
would grace the stage in such glory?
I love musicals; doesn’t that make me Jewish?
In my mind I dance across the stage
and wish and wish and wish.
And then there was Fiddler on the Roof,
a specifically designed
musical with only Jews in mind
and “May the Lord protect and defend you,”
and I knew for sure with The Producers
I was white, black, brown, red, yellow,
Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu
straight, LGBTQ
and Jewish through and through and through
and for all the musicals, thank you, thank
you, thank you.

When fired, they don’t go in style;
They don’t go in grace;
They don’t go with a humble smile.
They go swearing vengeance and in haste,
Confirming that there is no true loyalty
Among ne’er-do-wells and thieves,
Those who always have ulterior motives
Up their sleeves.
Ultimately, schemes will come to nought,
And their plans served up on a cutting board.
Though the wrong seems strong and fraught
With danger — virtue, compassion, justice,
Peace and mercy will prevail for the distraught.
For “Vengeance is mine,” says the Lord.

Each year, she tends to the flowers surrounding the pond —
Hasta, all manner of lilies, Sedum and Shasta Daisies.
The deer eat most except they let the daisies go
and do not abscond.
It’s maddening to see the flowers grow lovely and strong
but overnight petal, stamen and pistil are devoured and gone
leaving only the poor, lonely stem,
a peduncle, which in the wind does bend.
Yes, the deer eat most except they let the daisies go
but she’s a pushover at heart —
how can she stay mad at Bambi, the fawn
And his mother, the Great Princess of the Forest
— the lovely doe?
Still…the deer just drive her crazy,
and next year she may plant only the Shasta Daisy.