WUTCHUGONNADO
A fable of the noble savage
Listen to Lewis Turco read his poem "Wutchugonnado"
Wutchugonnado by the brookside,
Squaw at his side,
Crow caw overhead,
Speckled fish on the speckled riverbed,
Sat in the painted sun,
Thoughts on Wutsicumminto,
Wutsicumminto, his son.
Dappled ripples lap-lapped
At the mottled clay bank,
Shadows sank floating logs;
Thoughts were driftwood,
Little good;
Thoughts were braveness muscled in
Bronze skin;
Thoughts were stone-tipped,
Ice-nipped,
Birch-bark wilderness;
Thoughts were crushed dreams,
Dead schemes, sere themes
In the painted sun.
Wutchugonnado dreamt of
Savage hunt love,
Land of moccasin's pad-pad
On the forest trail;
Dreamt of clear eye,
Night cry,
Glowing-coal smoke, starlit night cloak,
Solemn peace pipe, flame on cheek bones —
Dreamt of these and many more things:
Of his offspring Wutsicumminto,
Of his son, his warrior son,
Bronzed and free
In the white man's factory.
From The Collected Lyrics of Lewis Turco / Wesli Court 1953-2004, Scottsdale, AZ: www.StarCloudPress.com, 2004, 460 pp., ISBN 1-932842-00-4, jacketed cloth; ISBN 1-932842-01-2, trade paperback. Also available from Amazon.com in a Kindle edition.
Miss Pussy's Parlor Songs, Part One
Claudette McFang
MISS PUSSY'S PARLOR SONGS
Trumpty Dumpty sat on his wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
He climbed up his wall and fell down again
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Wee Donald Trumpkin runs through the town,
Peeing on the hookers in his nightgown,
Peering through the windows, crying through the locks,
"Are the johns all in their beds and turning on their cocks?"
I had a little nut tree --
Nothing would it bear
But a Donald Trumpkin
And some pubic hair.
The President of Russia
Hacked Hillary and me,
And all for the sake
Of my little nut tree.
Bumpity, bumpity, bump,
My name is Twittery Trump,
I eat out of pans and old tin cans
Because my mind is a dump, a dump,
Because my mind is a dump.
Bah! Bah! Donald,
Have you any hair?
"Yes sir, yes sir --
You had best beware,
For I have no master:
I will maul any dame,
Because the mighty lion
Has an orange mane."
An owl flew onto Donald's hair.
It bent and pecked his pate's scalp bare
So it would have space for a turd --
I wish I were that wise old bird.
Donald had a little ram,
It's fleece was black as ink,
And everywhere that Donald went
The ram was sure to slink.
It followed him to work one day
And caught Monica's scent.
From that point on that is the room
Where all their time was spent
January 14, 2017 in Commentary, Current Affairs, Epigrams, Folklore, Humor & Satire, Legends, Literature, Nursery Rhymes, Poems, Poetry, Politics, Satire, Song lyrics | Permalink | Comments (0)
Tags: commentary, Donald Trump, nursery rhymes, politics, Presidential election 2016, satire