There's to be no second presidential debate. Turns out that Trump is chicken shit. He knows how badly he did in the first debate -- and Harris CRUSHED him.
Below is the post we published a few weeks ago after the one and only debate -- and the poems were our "Featured Poems of the Week" for the week starting 9/15/24:
Below is the post we published a few weeks ago after the one and only debate -- and the poems were our "Featured Poems of the Week" for the week starting 9/15/24:
Surely you've heard about the recent Presidential Debate even if you didn't actually get a chance to see it. Trump was a frickin' disaster -- and of course, the highlight of the night began when he started croaking about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, who have been eating people's pets.
BUT -- as expected -- Trump and his sycophants have been desperately spinning the tale that "Trump won" -- just like he won the 2020 election, he won the break dancing competition at the Olympics, and he won 8 MTV VMA awards, a Nobel Prize, and the Bone Spurs Association's Spokesperson of the Year Award.
Anyway, in tribute to the debate, I have posted Emmett Lee Dickinson's poem "This guy is low, his lies are mean" as one of our Featured Poems of the Week. Dickinson's poem inspired third cousin Emily to pen her poem "The sky is low, the clouds are mean," our other Featured Poem.
BUT -- as expected -- Trump and his sycophants have been desperately spinning the tale that "Trump won" -- just like he won the 2020 election, he won the break dancing competition at the Olympics, and he won 8 MTV VMA awards, a Nobel Prize, and the Bone Spurs Association's Spokesperson of the Year Award.
Anyway, in tribute to the debate, I have posted Emmett Lee Dickinson's poem "This guy is low, his lies are mean" as one of our Featured Poems of the Week. Dickinson's poem inspired third cousin Emily to pen her poem "The sky is low, the clouds are mean," our other Featured Poem.
| By Emmett Lee Dickinson: This guy is low, his lies are mean, A travelling fake for show He’s cross and harsh , stuck in a rut Debates his smarter foe His narrow mind complains all night How we all treated him; Triumph, for her, is what we hope But he’ll just lie again. | By Emily Dickinson: The sky is low, the clouds are mean, A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day How some one treated him; Nature, like us, is sometimes caught Without her diadem. |
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