Poetry from Pat Doyne (one of two)

THERE IS NO JOY IN MUDVILLE

This sad election—Damn! What can we say?

I’d like to scribble words to heal the gash,

blunt the axe that hacks away at roots

of law, equality, free speech, free press;

shreds decency and truth, ends founders’ hopes.

Yes, some of these ideals are purely bilge–

all men created equal, high-toned words

that never matched the acts of men and courts:

tribal treaties broken; Jim Crow laws;

subject territories stripped of rights.

But who’d foresee our people would acclaim

a fat old man who led an insurrection;

a rapist, fraudster– jury-tried, convicted;

a leader who pooh-poohed a deadly plague

that took millions of lives; a sycophant

of Putin, Kim Jong Un, and Hitler’s Reich;

a racist who hates immigrants of color.

Once Epstein’s bosom buddy, now a pal

of Elon Musk. A man who owes big bucks

for court fines, so his favor can be bought.

The voting public hails this man their hero.

Gives him power, approves immunity

from oversight. His cronies make the laws.

His judges make him king, with unchecked rule.

He said we’ll never vote again. He means it.

These lines have gotten dark, depressing, grim.

No joy in Mudville- our democracy

swung again and missed—and that’s strike three.

All I see ahead is blighted, bleak.

Some say, “Shut up!” It’s dangerous to speak.

SYNCHRONIZED CHAOS