http://classroom.synonym.com/rules-terza-rima-poetry-19541.html

 

http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2016/11/andrew-sullivan-trump-america-and-the-abyss.html

Quote:

This is what we now know. Donald Trump is the first candidate for president who seems to have little understanding of or reverence for constitutional democracy and presents himself as a future strongman. This begins with his character — if that word could possibly be ascribed to his disturbed, unstable, and uncontrollable psyche. He has revealed himself incapable of treating other people as anything but instruments to his will. He seems to have no close friends, because he can tolerate no equals. He never appears to laugh, because that would cede a recognition to another’s fleeting power over him. He treats his wives and his children as mere extensions of his power, and those who have resisted the patriarch have been exiled, humiliated, or bought off.

 

I had a new doctor who pricked me
In the hand with a syringe,he stuck in me
But  when he pressed  on the dressing
I found it oppressing
So in a rage ,I cried out, why not just  kick me?

However, the blood formed a clot
Kn my brain where the  neurons were hot
Some fault in design
Took away my old mind
Now I’m about to be shot

He said kicking patients was bad
Though it might give some speed to the sad.
So I placed my forefinger
In a socket   and bingo
I was shocked until I felt  almost glad.

So now every morning at eight
I measure wy height and my weight
I eat the cat’s whiskers
And all of my sister’s
After that,I ‘m  real thrilled to go straight

 

 

For those  souls who missed  out in Vienna..
Crystal Nacht, the  blood lust and its terror
Catherine wheels  going round wild in  Sienna:
What Europe did ,hits  America tomorrow.

Tomorrow has arrived yesterday for the tenor
Leonard Cohen was  already fey  before dinner
We feel sad and  confused by the sinners
Who repent prior to voting  to bin us.

 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2010/dec/15/poetry-protest-politics

“The Peterloo massacre in 1819, where magistrates sent in cavalry to disperse a crowd of over 60,000 who had gathered to protest for political reform.

Shortly after the massacre, in which several were killed and several hundred injured, Thomas Love Peacock wrote of it to his friend Percy Bysshe Shelley in Italy. Shelley was so moved by Peacock’s description of the events that he responded by penning The Masque of Anarchy, a poem that advocates both radical social action and non-violent resistance: “Shake your chains to earth like dew / Which in sleep had fallen on you- / Ye are many — they are few”.

At times of upheaval and unrest, is poetry’s role to fan the flames or cool tempers? Down the centuries it has proved remarkably effective at both. Against a background of civil unrest in 1970s America, Gil Scott-Heron told the world “you will not be able to stay home, brother”. In his searing, satirical masterpiece “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” on the album Small Talk at 125th and Lennox. Scott-Heron offers a line in tightly-wrought comic surrealism; “The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.” But it is as much his delivery, his voice impassioned but not quite righteous, that electrifies the poem.”