By Bob Dorn
Photo credit; Erik Drost, Flickr, cc2.0
The Old Fascist
Not unlike the maddened men of German infamy
Sending millions to death chambers of Zyclon B
Our own Mad King reaches out with fattened arms
And declares all the desperate invading swarms.
Here at our sun-washed and hurricaned shores
Stands Lady Liberty with mighty torch unflamed
Mother of Exiles until the Mad King came,
To extinguish the lightning of her eternal flame.
And extinguish the good will we earned in her name.
And yet she stands atop these words
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Words the Mad King never will declaim.
This man whose mind has lost its aim.
*****
The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Bob Dorn
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good parody, Mr. Dorn.
did you know that tomorrow, Father’s Day, is also the anniversary of the actual delivery on the statue in New York City from France. 1885.