Three Meter Zone | JD's Bunker | Poetry | Chapel | American Journal


The Stars Made Me Do It


© J. D. Pendry


My horoscope suggested that I write poetry today,

Since President Reagan used astrology,

I figured this once might be OK.

When Bill’s internal affairs got messy,

He received spiritual guidance from the Reverend Jesse.

When the same distraction broke Jesse's will,

Do you reckon he got guidance from Bill?

A Presidential election we had,

We learned about dimpled, hanging and pregnant chads.

Selected not elected the democrats say.

It’s too bad for them ‘cause,

The constitution doesn’t quite see it that way.

September 11, America’s dark day,

By American resolve the terrorists pay.

Somewhere in an Afghan hole,

bin Laden burrows like a mole.

He’ll make a mistake one day

Then a meeting with his maker will be on the way.

From the Butcher of Baghdad,

The Iraqi people are free,

But, not in our name said Hollywood’s elite.

And on that point, we certainly agree.

From Iraqi prison, little boys are freed.

About mass murder, rape and torture we’re all agreed

But, where are the weapons of mass destruction they cry

Did your President tell us a lie?

Martha sold some stock we hear,

And could end up modeling prison gear.

Maybe she could decorate Bubba’s cell,

And host a cooking show right from jail.

A book from her is likely soon,

About food soothing for a jailhouse goon.

There was cork in one bat of 76,

Sammy picked that one to take his game licks.

Hillary’s book came out the other day,

For 8 million bucks, she found something to say.

“I gasped for air, I couldn’t breathe”,

Imagining Monica there on her knees.

A hyperventilating Hillary is hard to accept,

Do you reckon she thinks us all inept?

Fortunately most of us are smarter,

That’s why we bought that other nonfiction – Harry Potter.

General Shinseki made it to his retirement day,

Transformation and sticking to his guns his forte.

Unfortunately, he’ll mostly be remembered,

For that little black beret.

To replace him, a new Chief Mr. Rumsfeld picked,

From the ranks of the retired no less.

That’s one way I guess,

To ensure that your man will say yes.

From what I hear, a yes man this General is not,

In a fix could be Mr. R himself has got.

In my e-mailbox is much spam,

Offering things about which I don’t much give a damn.

Each day they offer to make one part of me bigger

As to why I get this stuff, I just can’t figure.

They also promise me a smaller belly,

If I apply some overnite miracle jelly.

A pill offered to grow me some hair,

How did they know my head is bare?

Prescription not needed Viagra for sale,

You got it wrong this time guys,

Cause everything here works quite well.

I bought myself a new truck this week,

Dark green, crew cab, shiny, sleek.

All the radio stations I’ve tuned,

Oldies, Country and talk radio news.

I commute 400 miles each week,

In a gas guzzling, V8, American SUV.

I like making nonsensical rhymes.

It’s a therapeutic way to spend my time.

The old poet masters could make their words sing,

But, my problem is,

I don’t know how to end the damn things.






Copyright J. D. Pendry