“Christmas at Mar A Lago – A Paean to Greatness”
by Deacon Buck Close
’Twas the night before Christmas in posh Mar a Lago,
The fat cats assembled made quite a farrago
Of hustlers, con men, buffoons and half wits
All dressed to the nines as custom befits.
The simpering masses, devoid of contrition,
Awaited with joy the orange apparition
Whose presence they craved with desire quite sensual
As if they approached a dalliance consensual.
Republican royalty was all in a twitter,
’Midst all the trimmings of gold, glitz and glitter,
When all of a sudden in movement quite frantic
Appeared Michael Pence in mood sycophantic.
He rushed to the dais in breathtaking fashion
To breathlessly welcome his object of passion.
And there at the curtain, the great crowd espies
Their host of the year and master of lies.
His face is quite flushed from the lamp he just left,
But his eyes remain white, of tan they’re bereft.
His hair is all poofy, fluffed up and blown dry
To appeal to the female Republican eye,
Of which there are several ’mongst all the white men
Like Sarah, Kellyanne and babes from the Fox den.
This glorious assemblage, the best in the nation
Is gathered together with one inclination:
To worship as one at the altar of power
Where Muslims must hide and Latinos do cower.
As might makes right and the rich all get richer
They toast their leader with glasses and pitcher.
At last from the dais, aloud to the nation
The liar in chief begins his oration.
He’s saying some things that delight his attendants
Who hang on his words like jewels on pendants.
His subject is Christmas — ‘Twas barely surviving
The onslaught of Obama’s Islamic conniving
Until Trump arrived in glory celestial,
To save Baby Jesus from fate pestilential.
The crowd is now roaring as toadies will do
They savor the moment, acting on cue.
The love that they feel for the liar in residence
Sustains him in office despite all the evidence.
Deacon Buck Close serves on the staff of the Church of St. John the Evangelist in Newport, RI. He was born in South Carolina, graduated from Tulane University in 1972 with a BA in Economics and Latin American Studies.
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L 0VE IT………LOVE IT………LOVE IT ! ! !
P.S. LOVE IT
WelI, thank you Ruth. I wrote it on a whim on the spur of the moment a couple of evenings ago. I know it is doggerel but what does one expect from a non-poet?
Well done Clement Clarke Close??
Who is Clement Clarke?
Clement Clarke Moore claimed he wrote Twas the night before Christmas.
Forget my question Jerry. I googled him. And he lived in Newport.
Great, Buck, on a whim? It is so pitch perfect I thought that you must have worked on it for weeks! A new medium for you?
More, Buck, more!! Just brilliant— I was crushed when the end came. Who else but YOU could match farrago and Mar-A-lago??
Just when I thought they rhyme and rhythm had disappeared from the holiday, ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer’ notwithstanding, there you go, proving me delightfully wrong. Thank you. I needed that.
Good job, Buck! Another new calling?
I’d really enjoy hearing you read your poetry!
A truly peaceful way to get rid of anger. Well done diaconate poet!
It’s Christmas, what about something to lift spirits. With your poetic abilities and “Ordainismdome” you could do this! hmmm, WWJW
Merry Christmas Buck and Lucy!
I like your poem! Let’s face it, he’s a symptom of the times?
A rather extreme symptom I would say.
Ok started to read. I should stop now because you can’t beat this. I bet the New Yorker would’ve printed it.