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Acceptable Political Poetry
Acceptable Political Poetry
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Listen, my children, don't dare ignore,
The midnight actions of Bush and Gore
In early November, the year ought-ought,
Hard to believe the mess they wrought.
Two billion bucks of campaign bounty
All came down to Palm Beach County.
What result cold have been horrider
Than the situation we found in Florider?
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Edgar Allen Poe:
Once upon a campaign dreary, one which left us weak and weary
O'er many a quaint and curious promise of political lore
While we nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,
As of some votes overlapping, energy zapping to the core
"Tis a mess here," we all muttered, as the network anchors stuttered,
Stuttered over Bush and Gore.
Could there be another election with such a case of misdirection, yet
fraught with tension to the core? Quoth the ravers, "Nevermore."
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Britain's Edward Lear's limerick
There once was a U. S. election
That called for some expert detection:
How thousands of pollers
Could become two holers
Like outhouses of recollection
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Ogden Nash:
I regret to admit that all my knowledge is
What I learned at Electoral Colleges,
So tell me please, though I hate to troubya,
Will the winner be Al, or will it be Dubya?
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Joyce Kilmer:
I thought that I would never see
The networks all so up a tree.
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Walt Whitman
O' Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip's not done
The ship has weather'd every rack, but nobody knows who's
won.
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Ernest Thayer:
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville-- mighty Casey's chad's not out.
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Dr. Seuss
I cannot count them in a box
I cannot count them with a fox
I cannot count them by computer
I will not with a Roto-Rooter
I cannot count them card-by-card
I will not 'cause it's way too hard
I cannot count them on my fingers,
I will not while suspicion lingers.
I'll leave the country in a jam--
I can't count ballots, Sam-I-Am.
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Clement Moore
'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the courts,
all the plaintiffs made stirring bad ballot reports.
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Carl Sandburg
The political fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent dimpled chads
and then moves on.
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Anon.
Perhaps the best way to stop complaints that are raucous is
Start over again, with the Iowa caucuses.
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