Oh, come all my friends, pray gather round me;

I’ll sing you a song of a man called Willard Mitt Romney.

Oh, Willard Mitt Romney had millions of bucks.

He cut a fine figure in a well-tailored tux.

He was groomed from the first to become President.

He  looked Presidential wherever he went.

He came from fam’ly distinguished and famed,

And his policies in Massachusetts were highly acclaimed.

But there was one problem besetting this man;

A problem that threw a wrench in his Executive plan;

A problem which many a comic did often exploit:

‘Twas that he was a complete social maladroit!

Everyone stood in silence whene’er he cracked jokes,

With his horses and jets, he didn’t fit in with common folks.

He once bet 10,000 American on a light little whim,

And he couldn’t tell why all the voters couldn’t relate to him.

And as for his healthcare plan, well, it’s sad to tell;

It turned out it had succeeded entirely too well!

But ‘midst all these clouds, Mitt glimpsed some silver lining them:

He’d got lots of cash from the rich by wining and dining them!

It all boiled down, (as it always does), to the issue of money

Would it be a curse or a blessing to Willard Mitt Romney?

The Republican Party

Cut tax and spend less.

And Heed the Word of the Lord.

But mostly, cut tax.

The Democratic Party

We must tax the rich.

Unless they’re in Hollywood.

Then we’re conflicted.


Cut Government Waste!

Like useless departments that

Monitor spending.

The Tea Party

We hate government

Unless it does what we want.

So… basically… yeah.

Moderate Democrats

We can disagree

On Reagan’s policies, but

His hair was perfect!*


Globalism good.

If there’s more to it than that,

We don’t want to know.

Liberal Progressivism

We’re disappointed.

We won’t vote for Obama.

Kucinich ’16!

Moderate Republicans

We’re not Democrats.

No, really, we promise you!

Not the same at all!

The Alt-Right/”Manosphere”

We strongly believe

We’re slaves to biology.

Go build some robots.


We are all selfish.

It worked great in the novel.

Check your premises.


Why do we have to adhere to this stupid form? We will use however many freakin’ syllables we damn well please!

*Apologies to the late, great Warren Zevon for stealing this line.

I stood there alone

As I pondered the sun.

I had wandered since gloam,

Traces of life I saw none.

I was lost in the sand,

My body was dirty and smelly;

“Lone and level”, by damn,

Was the scene, as would say Shelley.

I shouldn’t have gone on this trip;

I’d be better off home.

I hated the sand and its grit,

But lost, I continued to roam.

At length, I discovered some shade,

An oasis and system of caves.

I sat me down there to wait

And gazed at the pond and the waves.

I fancied I saw in that pool

A vista of planets and stars,

A whole galaxy, and nebulae too,

And centaurs and globules and quasars.

I fell from the hot desert clime

Into that abyss of icy infinity.

Where the stardust twisted like vine

Amidst lights that danced like divinity.

I fell like a rock into space

And sometimes I believe I fall still.

For I am only a body displaced,

And I go where the Universe will.

So, as usual, there’s a lot of Lovecraftian Cosmicism in this. I did do something I’ve been wanting to try for a while in this poem, though. You’ll notice it’s in a typical ABAB rhyme scheme, but all the “As” are not rhymes but rather assonances. They don’t end on the same sound, but they contain similar sounds.

What should I write a poem about?

That is something I would like to figure out.

There’s lots of folks who could write a decent poem,

And what is more, I’m pleased to say I know ’em:

There’s Shelley and there’s Yeats and there’s Edgar Allan Poe,

But how they wrote their poems is something I don’t know.

What should I write a poem about?

I feel that I’ve attempted ev’ry route.

I tried to write some poems without a form or rhyme

And it came out as pure nonsense ev’ry single time!

I even tried to write in other than my native tongue,

And bless me, what a Götterdämmerung!

What should I write a poem about?

That is something I can’t seem to figure out.

Them who read legendes may read of a moor

Where there is ſaid to be a ghoſtly figure around.

Wher he paces about while ſtars all roll o’er;

 ‘Tis ſaid he won’t leave till what he hunts for is found.

My fellowes and I knewe when we drewe nigh

That Forces Unholie had dwelt in this Terrible Place.

We ſet up our camp beneathe the grey ſky

And ſhivered at darkneſs encroaching apace.

We clutch’d at our muſkets, too frightened to reſt;

Each fearing ye Evil embrace of the breeze.

We watch’d as our ſun fell low in ye Weſt

Sinking behind the ſkeletal arms of the trees.

Our fire went out, and we took turns stand’g guard

But nothing at all came to paſs on that night.

For a week this went on, and though it was hard

Our courage was ſtrengthened as we grew uſed to ye ſite.

On one morn, I was ſent out for ſupplies

As I walked down ye road into towne in ye gloom

I felt meſelf gazed at by many inhuman eyes

And ſaw a ſtone pile that I thought a Druidical tomb.

When I reach’d yonder towne I reſolved I’d inquire

About the hiſtory and the tales of the place.

But on creſting ye hill, I ſaw ye entire

Towne was gone, in its stead was ye face

Of a great, grey impoſsible City,

Made of Metals and of Lights and of Glaſs.

And from ſoulleſs windows, drained of pity,

Ye Denizens mov’d about in a maſs.

I ran madly afeard back, then, to my camp,

But though I looked, I found no trace of it there!

Every man, every gun, every tent, every lamp

Had vaniſh’d as if into air!

There’s ſtill legends told of a ghoſt on a moor

That ye Folk in ye City nearby think they can ſee.

But ev’ry inch of this place have I ſcour’d o’er,

And I’ve yet to ſee anybody but me!


It was suggested in the forum by a person named Santorum

That the people would vote for ‘im if on the Bible he would run.

Another sought to bring rich people’s cash, and having which,

This man called Gingrich had once thought he’d all but won.

And at this time the call for “revolution” went up all

Among supporters of Ron Paul who were so sure they had struck gold.

And all the time was omnipresent the suspicion that Mitt Romney

Only could keep folks from needing their misery and poverty consoled.