Goodbye to society civil
It can’t coexist with this drivel
I know I’ve been played
Real work’s been DeLayed
Lord help me, I love that hip swivel

Jim Graham’s had a pretty tough year
As wrongdoing draws ever near
Though charges describe
the Chief of Staff’s bribe
The Councilman stays in the clear

The manager locked up the grate
Not knowing the next train was late
We’d all be forlorn
If trapped at Van Dorn
But jeepers, these folks are irate

On Sunday Fiesta DC
Brought cultures together with glee
My neighbors said Hola
And chugged Inca Kola
Depositing tons of debris



In need of a real resurrection
The gallery got some affection
Gross gave many pennies
Four “Inverted Jennys
To better the nation’s collection


His website now lingually dual
Newt Gingrich thinks you are a fool
A comment so rotten
Is not soon forgotten
Oh man, what a vote-grubbing tool


The mood was quite sad and serene
‘Til “shots” did appear on the scene
The Guard that is Costal
Made newsmen go postal
With drills that they say are routine

They gathered en masse Saturday
A bonafide right wing buffet
Beck sure is verbose
But not even close
To something worthwhile to say

Congrats to the great PoP
Who just quit his job with such glee
Goodbye to commuting
In sweats he’s computing
He’ll Blog with a capital ‘B’


Hyper-local aesthetic rant:

September 10, 2009

This poet supports public arts
But what’s with new stuff in these parts?
I like my trees real
Not made out of steel
I won’t even start on those hearts


Joe Wilson last night was That Guy
A fact he won’t try to deny
It seems that he gets it
He says he regrets it
He shouldn’t have shouted “you lie”


There’s one resident of our city
Deserving a lot of our pity
To be hit by a bus
Cannot be a plus
In fact, it seems totally shitty

Mount P’s always been number one
But recently they have begun
To be a bit greener
With energy cleaner
By harnessing rays of the sun

A testing result abberation
Has prompted an investigation
Wrong answers erased
With rights ones, replaced
So far, not a good explanation

Since recess is always a snooze
It’s rough on the limerick muse
Your rhymer can’t wait
September, day eight
Yeah Congress, please make me some news!