A New Auld Lang Syne

(This poem can be sung to the melody of "Auld Lang Syne.")

 

It's been a year from hell--one that

We might choose to forget.

Our routine and our very lives

Have been under constant threat.

 

Let’s raise a glass and give a toast,

For we have reached the end

Of 2020. Will good things

Await us 'round the bend?

 

A deadly virus spread and still

It takes a heavy toll.

Let's hope the vaccines wipe it out;

That will be the New Year's goal.

 

Let’s raise a glass and give a toast,

For we have reached the end

Of 2020. Will good things

Await us 'round the bend?

 

The votes were cast; the people spoke.

Now let's shout out three cheers,

For gone will be the one who gave

Us four nightmarish years.

 

Let’s raise a glass and give a toast,

For we have reached the end

Of 2020. Will good things

Await us 'round the bend?

-by Bob B (12-31-20)

The Twelve Days of Christmas 2020

On the first day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

An alternate reality.

 

On the second day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Two NDAs and an alternate reality.

 

On the third day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the fourth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality

 

On the sixth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the ninth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the tenth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Eleven lawyers losing, ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:

Twelve new indictments, eleven lawyers losing, ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.

-by Bob B (12-18-20)

Tiptoe Through My Tantrums

(This poem can be sung to the melody of "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" by Al Dubin and Joseph Burke.)

 

D.T.:

Tiptoe through my tantrums,

Through my tantrums--my reality.

Come tiptoe through my tantrums with me.

 

Tiptoe through my chaos,

For my chaos is a guarantee

If you stroll through my chaos with me.

 

If things do not go my way,

I'll try to ruin your day.

Don't try to boss me, double-cross me

Or defy me, if YOU do you'll be

Wrapped up in my chaos with me.

 

If you don't like what you hear,

That's tough 'cause I won this year!

Do what I tell you

If you don't you'll be up a tree.

So tiptoe through my tantrums with me.

-by Bob B (12-17-20)

Advice from Mrs. Claus

The time had arrived; the sleigh was packed

With toys, toys, toys galore.

The first of many trips for Santa.

(He knew he'd have to go back for more.)

 

"Time to go," said Santa to all

The reindeer that were hitched to the sleigh.

"We have a lot of work to do,

So we had best be on our way."

 

Santa met with resistance, however;

Red-nosed Rudolph refused to budge.

Santa thought to himself, "Humph!

I guess they'll need a little nudge."

 

Suddenly, Mrs. Claus appeared

With Santa's COVID mask in hand.

Santa mumbled quietly,

"Here comes my reprimand."

 

"You forgot your mask, my dear,"

Said Mrs. Claus. "Wear it now.

I know you think it is inconvenient,

But carelessness I won't allow."

 

"Dear," said Santa, "it's just one night.

The mask muffles my 'Ho, ho, ho.'"

"I don't care if it's ONE minute;

Put it on before you go,"

 

Said Mrs. Claus, growing impatient.

"You wear your mask not just for you;

You also protect others. It's

A wise and considerate thing to do.

 

"And, Rudolph, make sure he leaves it on.

For if he removes it, there will be

Some trouble here when he comes home,

For he will have to reckon with me."

 

So Santa kissed his wife good-bye,

Put on his mask, and off he went,

Knowing that in life there were

Precautions one shouldn't circumvent.

-by Bob B (12-16-20)

The Jig Is Up

Poor Trump is trying hard

To cover up his deep dejection.

He's attempting to overturn

The results of the presidential election.

 

Strange, bizarre conspiracy theories

Perpetuated by the Trumps

Are being spread like wildfire

And talk of massive ballot dumps.

 

Trump sounds like a mad King George

Or a crazed King Lear, losing his mind.

Any semblance of rational thought

In him is getting harder to find.

 

Frivolous lawsuits of voter fraud

From Giuliani's bag of tricks

Show that they're throwing whatever they can

At the wall in hopes that something sticks.

 

Sadly, they are undermining

Democracy with such crazy schemes.

They look even more pathetic

By going to such outrageous extremes.

 

Americans have voted and now

Await with hope a bright new dawn.

The jig is up. The game is over.

Mr. Trump, it's time to move on.

-by Bob B (12-1-20)