Somewhere, a band rehearses ‘Nearer My God to Thee’.

Sean Spicer, in his unenviable role as Press Secretary to the failed Drumpf Administration excoriated the Corrupt Press for their reporting on the Comb-over-in Chief.
“Mr. Donald”, he maintained, “was misquoted as saying ‘honered -sic-‘. In fact, he cleverly twitted: ‘I wuz ‘Hohnered’…, a reference to the gift harmonica he received from the German firm noted for their fine quality musical instruments.”
Wags in the press corps wasted not a beat in retorting:
‘Great, playing the blues is a skill we fervently hope he will need shortly.’
Drumpf, not to be ‘trumped’ twat back: ‘Evil Bill Clinton can have his-monica and a sax and that’s just fine? Sad’
Music lovers are now hoping, in the words of one I contacted, that “he sticks to the white notes, as is likely, and avoids over-blowing, and the resultant out-of-tune cacaphony typical of neophytes.” I’ll add that neither of us were over-optimistic on that score.

And speaking of the arts; a few short poems. (I apologize for the varying meters/line lengths among them. They hang separately, but not as an ensemble.
Let us deal with this faux Yamamoto
But wisely at first, take a photo
It’ll capture his Soul
Which we’ll pour in a hole
Stomp it down; less than 1 gram ‘in toto’

So the US is ‘Tombstones’ un-varnished?
And the shvartzes live in hovels, with ‘gor-nisht’
Not to worry, comes a Hero
With Experience: zero
He can sweeten all the carnage.. with garnish

I am ‘honered’ to ‘recieve’ this recent mention
It’s ‘Un-presidented’; got my short attention
In the latest Strunk & White
Where they deal with ‘speling rite’…still-
On my toilet, I’m a Master of Invention

And for presumptive Sec of Education Devos:

To preserve our academic might:
Yes, a twit; can’t right a sentence wright(!)
In an earlier day
They’d have shown her the (am)-way
To ‘remedial’, somewhere out of site

ADD: I just knew there wuz one Poem, forgot to include:
On the question of tactics to battle this crude
aberration; this consummate dud of a dude;
the political version of Automat-food
We search through the tool-bag: ‘Try Zen?’
Remember that once, way back when:

The Truth was an admirable weapon of choice:
You just stated the Facts in a confident voice.
But lately that gun seems to jam in the barrel
Silver bullets un-shot, while delusions go viral

So yeah, we’ll try ‘No mind’, chant ‘Wu!‘, clap one hand.
Warm bodies, in place of The Pen.

Oy, can’t seem to stop; mebbe one of these will hit a nerve?

On the ‘Great-again’ menu, for White House occasions
For shame-less Europeans and envious Asians:
It’s Velveta cheese-balls in fake-orange Jello
Topped with plenty of Dream-Whip, for the gourmet-type fellow

No more Julia Child here; this is Father Know’s Best
All the entrees are styled, at the Master’s request
Sing a swan-song for Swanson’s; here’s yer new Twitter-Dinner
‘N if it falls in the toilet-bowl, you’ll be that much thinner

So get over it, diplomats, sad Heads of State
We won, I’m in charge now; oh and ‘finish your plate!

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