The Laureate-The Sunday Arizona Daily Star

Each section starts with merchant’s ad,

a page and a half...soon turned to chad.

I buy the paper for the news,

and it alone should make me mad.

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The Laureate-Death Valley’s Moving Stones

Stones there move mysteriously.

boffins took it seriously...

found Nature can do anything...

when heat, wet, cold and wind sally.

(What wins is best at bullying.).

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The Laureate-Think!

Near twelve score years our Constitution

provided pols the fair solution.

Of late, it seems it is the Prez

who tells the judge what the book says.

(and he selected them.)

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The Laureate-The Retired

It is such a crying shame

when we let our skills go lame...

for talents atrophy when we retire.

But, know you not your aptitude

retreats for but an interlude...

when reaching for the goal that you aspire.

So hone your skills, on pleasant tasks,

help your neighbor when he asks...

you’ll find your charity may both inspire.

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The Laureate-Sanctuary

If perps now claim asylum,

because we could not find ‘em,

Prez, do not give them sanctuary...

such precedent bodes not wisdom.

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The Laureate-Keep Chi Free

Through seven years some teens now choose

drugs, or glues, or demon booze.

Naiveté lets them queue like rats,

and pay the Piper for his ruse.

Choices throughout life abound,

though young or old some tests dumbfound...

but each must weigh alternatives

to ensure chi’s left unbound.

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The Laureate-Ferguson, MO

A grievous error made.

We heard your anger bayed.

But riots that destroy your hood...

a frenzied mob displayed.

(Your cause you but degrade.)

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The Laureate-To Robin Williams

(From my poem, “Humor..)

Something said with humor

can pale the darkest night.

The heaviest of burdens

can swiftly become light.

For each unraveled yarn

that humor weaves with wit,

reveals that if you laugh at Fear

he’ll loose his hold a bit

{Would you could have lifted yours.}

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The Laureate-To Congress

TV ads with din resound.

On “No Call” list still perps unbound.

Illegals freely snub our laws...

the Ship of State has run aground.

(‘Tis time the voters weigh your flaws.)

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The Laureate-The Rosetta Probe

Four billion miles to find some ice?

I know a frost- cooled slurpee’s nice,

but 7-Eleven is down my street...

you should have asked for my advice.

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The Laureate-Power Corrupts

Power corrupts, Lord Acton said...

like weapons that those without them dread.

If pols used their power to feather their nest,

let your potent vote confine them to bed.

(They're absolutely wrong.)

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The Laureate-No Bon Voyage

The pols now leave and we should note,

 when they ask us for our vote,

to date they've solved few nation ills...

seems only on themselves they dote.

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