Posts Tagged ‘Trump’

THANKS, NO THANKS

Posted: November 22, 2019 in Poetry
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THANKS, NO THANKS
By David Allen

It’s late November again
Thanksgiving’s at hand
A time to feast with family and friends;
Time to reflect and to give thanks.

I’m giving thanks that my spine
Survived another knifeless year,
Though my back, racked by rods
And pins, bent my back a bit
and stole inches from my height. 

I am thankful for my muse, my wife,
We’ve survived another year –
Twenty-nine more than the two she promised
When we first exchanged our vows.

“I’ll give you two years, Allen, “she said
The day she agreed to marry me.
“So you better straighten up!” she warned.”
I never did and yet, she still stands by my side.

And let’s not forget to thank
My Hoosier poet friends
For giving me an outlet for 
My observations on life. 
Open mics and scribe gatherings 
Fill my nights, hopefully
Encouraging new poets 
To follow this path.

But this season also leaves me
Thinking of things I am not thankful for.
Mass deaths in shootings in schools and churches,
The rise of White Nationalism.
And attacks on our rights
In “The Land of the Free.”
Children torn from their parents
And thrown in cages because
They were born in some other country.
Soldiers and sailors discharged 
And flown to exile in countries
Even though they served us honorably.
A presidential liar whose graft knows no limits
Who daily commits crimes
His followers just brush away.

But I’m hopeful next year
Will overflow with thanks
To new faces who erase
Trump and his thugs from our ranks.

House of Lies

Angry

Posted: June 22, 2018 in Poetry
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ANGRY
By David Allen

I’m white
And I’m not proud.
I’m an American
And I’m embarrassed.

This country’s tilted
Far to the Right
And I’m rolling off
Into the abyss
Of what Trump
Has wrought.
I don’t feel safe
I’m worried blue.

The Trumpists blare
And I feel scared.
But not as much
As a Guatemalan Mom
Whose arms are empty
Her children gone
And placed in cages
In internment towns.

It’s a replay
Of the ugly days
When we chose
To lock up folks
With yellow skin.
Now the skin’s brown,
But it’s still a sin
We commit today
Against the folks
Who chose to run away
From terror at home.

Whatif

WHATIF (Updated)
By David Allen

Last night, while I lay thinking here
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
And pranced and partied all night long
And sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I don’t wake tomorrow?
Whatif my joy’s less than my sorrow?
Whatif my novel remains unwrote?
Whatif Trump gets all the votes?
Whatif the IRS audits my return?
Whatif I forget what I’ve learned?
Whatif climate change is real?
Whatif I ate my last meal?
Whatif there really is no God?
Whatif there is and he’s a clod?
Whatif thinking was a crime?
Whatif my poems failed to rhyme?
Whatif I should arrive too late?
Whatif a psychic knows my fate?
Whatif my car should fail to start?
Whatif mowing strains my heart?
Whatif my inner voice goes mum?
Whatif I take up chewing gum?
Whatif my identity gets stolen?
Whatif my senior years aren’t golden?
Whatif a twister takes my house?
Whatif I die before my spouse?
What if my chocolate milk goes sour?
Whatif my computer loses power?
Whatif my basement floods again?
Whatif the ink dries up inside this pen?
And then I smiled and cleared my mind
And the whatifs fled, calling me unkind.

 

This was a challenge from the Last Stanza Poetry Association, which meets twice a month in  Elwood, Indiana.  We were to write a poem based on one of our favorites. I chose to update Shel Silverstein’s “Whatif,” which I used to read to my kids and grandkids.