A Donald Trump Clerihew and Other Poetry by Dave Martin The Society June 28, 2016 Culture, Humor, Poetry 2 Comments Related Content ‘Trump’ Presidential Prophecy Poem by Nostradamus Donald Trump (A Clerihew*) Donald “The Donald” Trump Surprisingly took to the political stump What is, perhaps, not as great a surprise Is that he should thrive in a realm ruled by lies. *A clerihew is a whimsical 4-line verse about a famous person. It is named after Edmund Clerihew Bently, a friend of G.K. Chesterton. Presidential Race The typical Greek city state Had more men of substance and weight. Where they had their Socrates, We have mediocrities. No wonder we’re no longer great. New Road to Damascus A response to a poetical Washington Post column by Gene Weingarten A smart young Jewish couple Was strolling by a church When a sign they saw out front Stopped them in a lurch. “Come in and be baptized, And we won’t make you rich, But we’ll give you a hundred dollars.” Read the enticing pitch. The man dropped all resistance, And was forthwith drawn inside Against the grave forebodings Of his much more prudent bride. Snapped she upon his emergence, “Did you get your hundred, honey?” Asked he, “What’s with you people That you only think of money?” David Martin is a Washington economist and political commentator. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 2 Responses 绿山从 From Green Mountain (Cong Lu Shan) July 14, 2016 ahhhh…. not to comment. that’s the thing! so here, a comment for another poem, to solve the riddle of “political analysis” commentary can rot in its Solving a Riddle In response to Son of Europa The poem of Europe Leaves my mind awake. From dreary slumber To the heights of Athens. For now I see that all those temple gates Upon the mountains truly did bear witness. To gods who watched and cared for mortal man. And in return man honored heaven’s will. This solves to me the riddle of the lock. As to why hearts today are left so cold. To the grand mercy left at heaven’s gate That is left open still to all all who breathe. Yet I as well have grown old and callous. No longer do I spry with joy for beauty. The senses, dulled by mundane stupid clamor I’m left with this, my only one sense: duty. Reply 绿山从 From Green Mountain (Cong Lu Shan) July 14, 2016 halitosis. can rot in its halitosis. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.