Every time the bar is lowered with respect to decency, dignity and decorum, I think that Donald Trump can go no lower. However, he surprises me every time. How low can this man go? There seems to be no limit.
I'm sure by now you've seen yesterday's tweets about Mika Brzezinski and Joe Scarborough.
I'm sure by now you've also heard the White House staff's attempts to justify Trump’s disturbing behavior: “This is who America elected and we knew what we were getting”; “Trump fights fire with fire”; “You have to remember, he's new to this job.”
Disgusting. Despicable. Disturbing.
The reactions on “Morning Joe” this morning were spot on and appropriate. The man is unfit to be president.
Trump is a fake president. I cannot believe that even Trump voters wanted this in the Oval Office. (On a separate note, I wonder how Melania's anti-cyber-bullying campaign is going?)
There is a poem by Emmett Lee Dickinson from the late 1800s that accurately captures all of this. The poem is called “The Man keeps stooping – stooping – low!”
I'm not sure about whom Dickinson was writing, but the poem accurately depicts Trump’s despicable demeanor and the events and responses from yesterday's headlines.
Dickinson’s poem (below on the left) later inspired third cousin Emily to pen her poem “The Sun kept stooping – stooping – low!” (below on the right).
By Emmett Lee Dickinson:
The Man keeps stooping – stooping – low!
The Press to meet him rose!
On his side, what Infraction!
On their side, must Oppose!
Deeper and deeper grows the stain
Upon our character –
Quicker and quicker come the tweets
That's clouded dense with Venom –
So dark, so Outrageous –
That I felt anger stirring
For this Hollow soul –
Check in the Oval Office –
For Nobody is there!
By Emily Dickinson:
The Sun kept stooping – stooping – low!
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!
Deeper and deeper grew the stain
Upon the window pane –
Thicker and thicker stood the feet
Until the Tyrian
Was crowded dense with Armies –
So gay, so Brigadier –
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore –
Charged from my chimney corner --
But Nobody was there!