Yeats’ s Second Coming, the 2016 Election Edition


Turning and turning in the never-ending news cycle

The primary voter cannot hear the RNC;

Coalitions fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Donald Trump is loosed upon the world.

The slime-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of commonsense is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.


Surely some revolution is at hand;

Surely another revolution is at hand.

Another revolution! Hardly are those words out

When a vaunting image out of black-and-white newsreels

Troubles my sight: raised hands at rallies where

A shape with a man’s body and the hair of a troll,

A face with stunted gaze and a sphincter-like mouth,

Spews feces of hate while all about him

Swarm legions of lemming-like whites,

Shouting curses and slugging protesters!

It looks as if a half-century of stony sleep has been

vexed into nightmare by yet another authoritarian,

who now that his hour has come round again

slouches towards Washington to be sworn.

donald sphinx

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