“Circus Camp”

“Circus Camp”

There’s circus camp in USA, today.
The animals erupt as Nadler roars!
They’re munching at the bone, their hunger stays.
The ravenous appear as John Dean soars.

This dog and pony show with Dems in tent;
a tiny motor car moves center stage.
Out pops Obama with ten clown’s consent
as Bill and Hillary with song engage.

Pelosi’s pink upon her bareback horse
and struggles just to keep her balance, true
while needs of Border a forgotten course
as Dems dance in disgrace with sickly hue.

The circus lights ablaze with Congress spoof;
The Dems are desperate and Dean’s the proof!

Fake News

AmericaFlag“Fake News”

The educated voter hears both sides.
Unfortunate, our citizen can’t split
his time or work to find where Truth resides;
where Nervous Nancy’s lying Left might sit.

The Left has left our borders open wide
yet still need magic pill to beat our Trump.
Let Tyranny’s Majority decide
and give beloved nation final slump?

Our Citizens, as listeners, less intent
to hear the newsy pieces of their ‘act’.
Our babies must come first and then the rent
and so we miss a part of all their ‘fact’.

Ah, longing for the good old days of news
when all we had was simple radio.
Let Orson Welles warn, cause a panic, too
who shows us evil winds about to blow!

The proof, they say, found in the final taste.
Lies found in politics, a dangerous place!

The Birth of a Hurricane

Hurricane season coming in South Florida

jacquelinecaseypoetry.com

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“The Birth of a Hurricane”

It’s steamy in the southern Keys tonight.
Her air is thick. She tastes of salty fog.
A quiet’s fallen with no birds in sight.
Her ocean swells; she’s pregnant with resolve.

Her palms now twist and spin and wave their skirt
and fall too quick from fluttered warmth beneath.
She waits; that stronger flash begins to flirt
as light’ning promises some stiffer teeth.

Expectant, gray light pushes down this beach:
a rising, higher tide begins to form
of something coming just before the breach.
Still hesitant, she wavers in the storm.

She’s here! She’s pushed a new-born screaming style;
she’s grown a full-blown wind to squall awhile !

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For All The Beautiful, Young Men

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“For All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the courage in their brave-lit eyes

as Omaha becomes their shining hour.

The camera’s caught the morning’s gray, dull skies.

Men wait; committed with the bravest power.

The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of morn.

There is no turning back; no time to pause.

Momentum made and like a muscle torn_ 

yanked from its place_ they move for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! we’ve been born across the sea.

We’ve given you our soul and then our heart. 

We’ve nothing more to offer in this hell.

As water takes our forces, we depart.”

Our beautiful young men with bravest smile;

our heroes lost in such a little while.

 

(4,000 lost at Omaha landing that day!)

The Flowers of the Field

Photo by Priceless Times PhotographySiyah with Dad

“The Flowers of the Field”

The reach within your baby hands so sweet

make father want to hold back ticking time

but even you, my child , are forced to meet

a different kind of father in this rhyme.

He’s called old Time and steals your innocence

Allows your golden play be thrown away.

You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.

Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.

For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.

For now, your world is safe within his arms.

Within this moment is the safest place.

A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.

Yet, all the flowers of the field we know

must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.