Donald Trump has a commanding lead, though it is early yet, in the polls among Republican primary voters, particularly in the critical swing states of Ohio and Florida, despite his raving rants against Fox News and Megyn Kelly. Trump, a long-time registered Democrat, a man who espouses every article of the Progressive agenda, supports Obamacare, hires thousands of illegal aliens for their cheap labor, and who has contributed to Hillary’s campaigns, is now running for the Republican nomination for president and who threatens a Third Party run if not nominated. Has Trump recently traveled the Damascus Road and now sees the light? Has he done a complete pirouette and has now renounced his progressive past, or is this a planned Perotette. a rerun of the Ross Perot campaign in 1992 that delivered the presidency to Hillary’s husband. If Trump gets Hillary elected president, then the country is doomed to Third World status and one party Socialist utopian rule far into the future.

The Donald, now, leads in the polls
The darling of the downtrod proles
For Hillary he’ll grease the skids
With votes from those with closed eyelids
A Clinton White House, oh what joy
The country the Dem Party’s toy
The health care system bites the dust
Death panels economic must
With Huma the First Lady now
And all the crazies yelling WOW!

She lay in her coffin, unmoving and unseeing, the smell of bronze and silk strong in the closed, tiny space, the sounds of the receding drums growing dimmer, until finally she could hear them no more. In their stead, she heard a bird, calling to someone, instantly answered, heard the sound of everyday traffic on the nearby road. She would wait, for what, she did not know, but she would wait. She settled in, comfortable in her cramped surroundings, aware of life outside her bronze home, life above and beneath the surface of the earth. She marveled at the industrious sound of burrowing earthworms, intent on going only they knew where, of winged insects delicately making love to willing flowers, of gentle rain lightly brushing the cool, green grass. Yes, she thought, I shall wait.

Who was she, the young man asked
Who indeed, the old man said
I knew her well in my own youth
‘Tis Lady Liberty who is now dead
What is Liberty, the young man frowned
I do recall I’ve heard the word
But that was oh so long ago
But much since then must have occurred
The people changed, the old man sighed
Who took the checks gave up his soul
And grievance came to rule the land
And now She’s lying in that hole
Well, said the young man, Liberty
Could not have meant so very much
To give it up for circus bread
At the first brush of tyrant’s touch
So slow it came, the old man sighed
We never saw the moment when
And now She’s gone, by our own hand
Perhaps in time She’ll live again

People are wondering how the presidential election will turn out, wondering how the Hispanics will vote, and wondering if the Dems will bus massive numbers of illegal alien non-citizens to the polls like they always do. I spoke to an illegal alien just arrived from Mexico the other day and asked how he was going to vote and he said it was always well to rely on how other undocumented illegal alien non-citizens were voting.

He said he likes the stronger horse
Just like in Mexico
An open question though of course
Depending on the show
He thought the Donald spiteful, mean
Though otherwise all right
The choices though must all be seen
To quite enjoy the fight
He heard of Jeb who married well
A Latin girl he heard
But Rubio he could not tell
He’s Cuban is the word
Now Walker seemingly enjoys
A tussle now and then
And so I’d say of those four boys
They’re good but I like Ben
He paused and looked me in the eye
And said in muted voice
You fellows really really try
And think you have a choice
It matters not on whom you dote
The vote’s already in
In Mexico I cast my vote
For Hillary to win

Venezuela, one of the ten most oil rich countries in the world, is about to implode. The disastrous Socialist and virulent anti-American policies imposed by Hugo Chavez and continued by President Maduro has resulted in hyper-inflation, hyper-unemployment, starvation and bankruptcy. Venezuela’s currency, the Bolivar, is now worth next to nothing, and growing more worthless by the hour. The United States, the country Chavez and Maduro both have called the Devil that must be destroyed, will be expected to come to the rescue. Secretary of State John Kerry reveals the Administration plan to save another America-hating Marxist dictator.

The Sec of State, with lordly brow
Set in a frozen frown
Said help is needed and right now
We cannot let him down
Maduro has the right approach
His people know he cares
He lives a life beyond reproach
He does what’s right, he dares
And so this crisis must be solved
Before it goes too far
And so our plan, as it’s evolved
Is save the Bolivar
The President has set the tone
The Treasury will print
Ten dollar bills that we shall loan
To Venezuela’s mint
Inflation makes each of those tens
A million dollar bill
If needed we will send some Bens
Each ATM to fill
The kicker is Maduro’s smile
Will grace each of the notes
And so we go the extra mile
To see he gets the votes

We are privileged to live in the time of Barack Obama, the greatest Chessmaster of all time, a man who looks so many moves ahead he is already playing the end game while his opponents are considering the move king’s pawn to king 4.

From Karpov to Capablanca
From Teheran to Casablanca
There’s a Sunni Shia fissure
That’s too wide for Bobby Fischer
But Obama’s on his game now
Putting lesser minds to shame now
With his black knights fast advancing
And his bishops nimbly dancing
Center files his rooks controlling
And his sec of state cajoling
The queen strikes and the trap sprang
But it’s just another zugzwang

Planned Parenthood removes viable, living babies from their mothers’ wombs, dismembers them and sells their body parts. Leftist power always leads to Leftist tyranny and barbarism, and barbarism always leads to decay and destruction.

At 23 weeks
She knew her mother’s voice
She woke and slept
In rhythm with the constancy
And comfort
Of her mother’s heartbeat
She was aware of herself
Aware of her surroundings
Content
Unknowing of the future
She was unafraid
Until
Until
A sudden spasm
Something tearing at her
Pulling her apart
She screamed
MOMMY! MOMMY!
Terribly afraid
Aware of the searing pain
Aware of the encroaching silence
She longed above all else
To hear the beating of her mother’s heart
In the briefest of moments she had left
She thought of her mother
And how she loved her

President Obama’s lovable friend, Dr. Zeke (Mengele) Emmanuel, the leading proponent of death panels for Obamacare, says he has voluntarily decided to die at age 75, and proposes that everyone else also die at 75 so as not to become a burden on the family and the health care system. He does not say if universal death at 75 is to be voluntary or government aided, but I have my suspicions. I’m 85, with no observable expiration date, and intend to continue to bore my grandchildren and great-grandchildren for another thirty years with how much better it was in the good old days.

I don’t want to be a burden
Said the spider to the fly
Come sit with me and listen to me well
I’ve set the date that I shall say
Goodbye to all and die
For it is I who strikes the mourning bell
But think thee said the little fly
What surely you will miss
The beauty of your web in dew specked sun
Bejeweled with gleaming diamonds from
The sun’s sweet gentle kiss
All gone as soon as life is truly done
The spider, weeping, gave a sigh
And said I know you’re right
But I am tired of seizing such as you
Depriving you of your short days
And wrapping you up tight
For you’re entitled to your lifetime too
So saying then, the spider leaped
The fly was quick and bold
And hovered as he watched the web still sway
It sorrows me, the small fly said
To see you’re getting old
The date you’ve set must surely be today

The radical left wing of the Democratic Party has labored for seventy years to attain their dream of a socialist utopia in the United States, and seem on the verge of accomplishing it. To dream is but to live, to live is but to dream and it matters not the dream be unfulfilled, it matters not the dream be unreachable, it matters only that the dream be dreamed. At the height of the Black Death, with half their populations dead, Venice and Genoa continued to fight for control of the Bosporus and the trade of the Black Sea, for only the dream of commercial dominance was real. And so we leave Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders and the rest of the Radical Left to their dreams, for nothing will persuade the dreamers that their dreams are not to be realized, and that, should one foolishly attempt to enter the dream, there lies only future catastrophe and generational misery.

A dream is like a river in its ceaseless flow
The dreamer carried on past flowered banks
Through deep gorged mountain passes filled with drifting snow
While smiling zealots cheer in serried ranks
Few dreamers ever reach the delta and the sea
And those who do in history have a name
They left a legacy of death and misery
And shattered nations burdened with their shame
And so we leave to all of them their fervid dreams
Of socialist ice cream and apple pie
Their dream boat taking water with its open seams
In spite of which the dream will never die

I am weary unto death of the Turks, the Middle East, and Obama, and prefer to turn my attention to loftier matters, namely the Great Game. The Great Game is not politics, nor business, nor is it the struggle between Britain and Russia for control of Central Asia and the riches of the Orient. No, the Great Game is football, and the struggle for control of the Lombardi Trophy. Let us forget the troubles and travails of the world and rejoice, for NFL training camps open Sunday

The summer wends its weary way
Toward Autumn when some large men play
A game that captivates us all
Who cannot wait till it is Fall
When leaves turn golden red with flame
And teams line up to play The Game
The tempo of the season goes
From first game sun to late game snows
From Autumn heat to Winter cold
Each Sunday sees the story told
We laugh and cheer and often cry
Giants, Boys, Fly Eagles Fly

Now that Obama has given Iran permission to build nuclear weapons and has given them 100 billion dollars to immediately buy any conventional weapons they choose from whoever they choose to buy them from, there will be a boom in arms sales to Iran, and then there will be a Boom. Obama has his own hidden reasons for doing what he does, and Putin and Xi expect Russia and China to profit greatly. Obama and Putin and Xi remind me of caterpillars racing along the top of a fence, looking for the pot of gold at the end of it. But being lepidoptera they do not realize that when they reach the end of the fence that will indeed be the end of it.

I watched them running fast atop the fence
Three caterpillars racing neck and neck
Assuming that to them the race made sense
They reached the end and dropped down to the deck
The decking had a gap between each plank
And down they went below the pine plank floor
To come out later by the water tank
And climb the fence and race along once more
I asked them why they raced each other so
They said a hundred billion was at stake
They said they saw the prism colored bow
Said the thought of all that gold just made them shake
I said Iran will shortly have the bomb
And infidels like you will be at risk
They smiled a cheerful smile with great aplomb
Said only dirty Jews will feel the whisk
I left them sitting calmly, breathing hard
As hungry birds began to circle ‘round
The shadows creeping slowly ‘cross the yard
The silent stillness making not a sound
I envied them their vigor and their youth
I knew not were they moth or butterfly
They did not sense the danger, more’s the truth
Not even with the bird wings ‘gainst the sky