unprincipled

Joe Manchin holds his president in thrall
and he--in turn's--enthralled to Old King Coal.
'Til Biden's "time for boldness" grows some balls
The other Joe's the Joe who's in control.
Obama'd brought him on to soothe the nerves
of mandarins afraid that CHANGE might come
Content with one more empty show of verve;
as long as all his plans would die, undone.
McConnell's useful fool's content to block
all progress 'til the midterms roll around.
Presuming that just running out the clock
will stash such pipe-dreams six feet in the ground.
For decades, Manchin's threatened he might switch
but still, he's loath to be McConnell's bitch.

impediment

Joe Manchin holds his party by the throat;
without him, Democrats can't claim control.
Regardless how them out-of-staters vote
his personal portfolio's all Coal.
More Green alternatives are all around
and many are already in the field.
Like coal, Joes best when six feet underground
'Til then, he'll dance, but never sign a deal.
This Dickens-era fuel we subsidize
sequesters Carbon since the Earth was young.
Joe Biden--in the name of "compromise"
shows no intent to do what must be done.
The midterms loom, the balance could swing back
still, Biden shows no stomach for attack.

changing fortunes

Great Hector did his best, then turned and ran,
confronting Achilleos in his rage.
Enflamed with grief, he's no mere mortal man;
this demigod's the terror of his age.
This Trojan king's a very Zeus-on-Earth
no less than Agamemnon for the Greeks.
But any soul of wholly mortal birth
against Peleides, is up a creek.
Andromache looks on, atop the wall
and understands that for their toddler son
should he survive at all, it's as a thrall.
One blow means Priam's dynasty's undone.
Her sister-in-law shakes her empty head;
her cuckold king still wants her back in bed.

balcony scene

Young Montague addressed his favorite hand
that soothed his lonesome adolescent nights.
Alone on stage, he's dimly seen to stand
and must exclaim to someone on this light.
Fair Juliet's his winsome second love
although--so far--they hadn't even kissed.
She fit him like his digits fit his glove.
'Til now--like Enkidu--he'd loved his fist.
Doomed liaison across divides of tribe,
or politics, or economic rank
left neither House to boast an heir alive;
twin dynasties as sterile as a wank.
"Butt-soft!" coy cutesy coinage by the Bard
for Romeo's best friend when times were hard.

slipping away

Old moon's on point of getting overrun;
Her orbit's nothing like our spinning pace.
She's barely up when bleached out by the Sun;
We strain to glimpse her unillumined face.
A generation dazzled by bright lights
buys smart-phone apps to track elapsing days.
What had been patent any starry night,
now lies obscured in urban photo-haze.
Celestial clock displays both time, and date,
for those with opportunity to look.
Precise enough that one could navigate;
the heavens were sea-Captain's open book.
One's free to question if it's worth the cost
when so much had been gained, and so much lost.