Satire Sunday:January 21st

Inaugurated, he did not waste time;
He'd used the months since his election well,
Acquiring land in ev'ry zone and clime
To build his camps. The round-ups, though, were hell
On those he'd deputized to round up brown
And black and pink alike, for they'd all fled.
"Good riddance," his supporters said. A frown,
Though, crossed his face. The simple folk he led
Had taken back their country, yes, but who
Was left to do the work? The lawns, the health,
The scientific breakthroughs? All too few
Who'd chosen to remain created wealth
Enough to build his wall, though that, indeed
Was something for which there was now no need.

Sci Fi Saturday: Poor Replacements

Since Limbco stopped supporting its well-famed
Dependable prosthetics, Shan'd been forced
Into programming them himself. He'd gained
In skill but lost efficiency. The course
They'd offered when the change was first announced
Had covered basics, but he soon grew tired
Of voice commands on each step, so he pounced
The day he found the Limbrary! Required
To register, he did, but would regret
That soon. Tooth brushing packages were great;
Shoe-tying, too, and hair-coming, but let
Us speak not of, er, wiping. Shan, of late,
Is back to step by step commands there, for
He'd rather not graffito anymore.

Fantasy Friday: We're Going to Need a Lot More Goop

The last corpse on the battlefield turned out
To still be living. And per gen'ral rules
All efforts must be made to bring about
A  better outcome yet. "Have you your tools,
Your unguents and ointments, Wisdom Rhee?"
The soldiers did demand. "Of course I do,"
The alchemist replied. "Just bring to me
The weapon that hath made these wounds, and you
Will see them healed. This salve, smeared on it will--"
He stopped. She'd looked a porcupine when found.
Per regs, the arrows in her that were still
Of use were pulled and fired back. "Confound
You fools!" said Rhee. "Go out and bring me all
You find." A pile of missiles soon grew tall.

Throwback Thursday: Sea to Sea, See?

Those little paw prints tracking up the sand
Along the vast Pacific's northern shore
That parallel much larger ones are grand
If none too permanent clues proving lore
That Milo Mudfoot and his hero, Jack
Were first to cross this continent entire.
Arriving on a privateer out back
And east somewhere, then, never did they tire,
They journeyed with a wagon train along
The trail to Oregon. Their masters had
Succumbed to dysentery, but this strong,
Resilient pair of pups, through good and bad,
Had made it. Now they bark at crashing waves
And have all any doggies e'er could crave!

Weird Wednesday: Not in Wonderland, Part XXI

On its advice, our Alice soldiered on
So far across the sand and brush it seemed
She'd left the world behind. One lonely dawn,
However, something out there fiercely gleamed,
Like high-rise window glass, and then a smell
Of water came to Alice, quickening
Her steps. She thought at first, perhaps, a well
Or tiny spring awaited, thickening
The air around it as the desert drank.
What she found when she reached it, though, was not
What she'd expected. Huge, a water tank
Did loom above a lawn of cheatgrass, hot
And raw, and some contraption next it sprayed
A mist into the atmosphere. Man-made!

Terror Tuesday: Thirst

The forest floor was dry. The needles shed
By long-dead evergreens crunched underneath
The hikers' boots 'Twas as if all had fled,
E'en water from the creek beds. No relief,
Save what they'd brought in bottles, could be found.
The air itself seemed it would dessicate
Their flesh. Still up they climbed, the stony ground
A challenge, but all right. Then it grew late.
A likely spot they knew of was the site
They camped at, with no fire, lest they should burn
The region down. They nodded off that night...
Just how it happened we did never learn.
When others found them, at midday, the pair
Were crisp and desiccated, lying there.

Mystery Monday: Lost and Found

July the Fifth, out on the Seventh Green,
Dawned peacefully, until Ms. Johnson brought
Her cart across the grass to play. No scream
As yet, until her friend unhapp'ly sought
An errant ball. She found it, sure, but there
Beside it was -- "Good God, is that a hand??"
It was indeed. But whose? The girls did stare
In shock, regretting their most recent stand
Against on-course libations. When at last
A course employee stopped with them, as one
They screamed and pointed. "Oh!" he said. "That's great!
"Un-handy Andy earned his name. Yeah, fun!"
"What do you mean?" "Oh, see, just after eight
Last night, he ran the fireworks, and he blew--"
"Oh God, don't tell us. Let's all just play through."

-Inspired by Andy Van Tol

Satire Sunday: The Politicians' Plaint

A sign a town is small is seen on days
When towns all over hold parades, as on
July the Fourth. In Togie Town, always
The line up takes more time than e'er does yon
Procession (down four blocks). For yet more fun
The early floats must discharge quickly, that
Someone be there to see the later ones;
Contrariwise, those entries who come at
The end form all the spectators at first,
Then run to line up as their turns approach.
Those in the middle have it much the worst,
Seen not, and seeing no one. None dared broach
The issue 'til this year: all those who sought
Elective office always there were caught.

Sci Fi Saturday: The Scrap Drive

The station was the oldest, and the last
Left orbiting the ruined planet, and
No population policies had passed
In generations. As numbers did expand
So did the station. Now it was a mess
Of modules built in haste, each one less strong
And sturdy than the last. The last address
The council'd given said that they'd been wrong
Last time, and so a panic run on steel
And other metal swept the place. They took
It all, the cooking tools, the weapons, and
Poor Sanger's long life's work. One final look
Was all he was allowed. His sculptor's hand
Runs now along the shoddy wall they made
Of all his art, lest memory now fade.

Fantasy Friday: The Slowest Assassin

As plots go, this one was so devious
No one could hold it in his head entire.
But what took Prince Trew far too soon from us
Began just with some seeds. Released by fire
As lore instructed, they were planted by
His royal hand when he was only four.
The tree grew as he did. At 35
He took the throne. Beneath the tree the score
Of gems were added to his crown. At last,
The final stone set in, a blossom burst
And dusted him with pollen. All too fast
He took his final breath. With that the first
Of his five sisters got the crown instead.
She gloated. 'Twas her gift that left him dead.