Trump's Troup of Toadies
(in the "Standard" 14-line Sonnet style)

Obsequious ass-kissers, shameless, smitten,
Trump’s Toadies grovel, genuflect and bow.
Like Pharaoh, Trump says “Let some words be written.
Then get it done.” (someone, something, somehow).
It’s gotten so they can’t tell dog from kitten.
They’ve gone someplace, just not the here and now.
How can a “government” take root in fiction
so disconnected from Reality
and act as though it suffers no affliction
when staffed by any sort of appointee
whose rank incompetence and dereliction
convinces them of Trumps’s divinity.
Such venal vapid vapor, their verbosity
shows not effective judgement but its paucity.

The grandiose superlative, the peerless,
brooks no comparison. It means “unique.”
Attempting to appear tough, bold, and fearless
but coming off as something of a freak
results from repetition of the cheerless
promotion of the self. Translation: weak.
To threaten then retract the threat means “TACO:
Trump Always Chickens Out.” “Wolf!” cried The Boy.
In Middle Eastern lands such as Morocco
Trump plays with lives as if they were his toy.
Or like in European Poland’s Cracow,
where proxy NATO armies can deploy,
for Russia close enough to cause doubts and alarms
about why Trump is selling NATO deadly arms.

So back again we come to “imitation,”
which also means “to flatter.” As we know,
the minion seeks to further his vocation.
The Greasy Pole. How far up can he go?
To stroke Trump’s ego might seem like prostration
but quislings like them play the ebb and flow.
Our loudmouths at the top say “Take it easy.”
“Facts do not matter. Those we call Fake News.”
They’d like us not to know that they feel queasy
when overhearing those with cogent views.
We’re tired of their corruption bald and sleazy.
Way past the time when they should feel the screws.
Trump and his Troup have now our ships at sea betrayed.
Now others must clean up the mess that Trump has made.