The Tea Party toddlers threw the US in the sea --
they had a tantrum -- stamped their little feet with glee
but while they were sucking their thumbs with their blankies
their parents were squabbling until they were cranky.

First came the Cantor, a wild shooter on his horse
and then came Boehner hoping he could get a divorce --
but the Tea Party todds kept on wanting the treats
they’d been promised if they ate up all of their meat.

Yep, the TPs as candidates had eaten rubber chicken
and bathed in PAC money till their hearts were quickened –
so they used divide and rule, and McConnell’s bullying glee
and invited the Cripps and the Bloods over to tea.

So now the boat is sinking and they are too little to swim
and at least one of their parents is sick of their whims.
Meanwhile, the dollar is burning, the lifeguards gone home
and everyone had hoped that September was a new dawn.

But, now the super committee comes armed with its spears
to throw at the White House and the man they can’t cheer.
Still, the TPs want to get behind those old wooden desks,
remember?  - they once held congressmen we could respect.

Meanwhile jobs are going overboard, just watch them gone
‘cos states must fire civil servants  – oh, but the lobbyists fawn
since the TPs want low taxes for the increasingly rich
who still haven’t created jobs for the lower class – a glitch.

So, here comes the GOP – who made deficits and wars -
looking for WMDs behind every door,
and while candidates postulate that the tea plants did not evolve,
they have sprinted to create more problems than they can solve.

© Lavinia Kumar

Returning From Recess to a Full Plate
----------------------------------------------
Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her family includes a variety of cultures and immigrants. Her poetry has appeared in Waterways, Thatchwork (Delaware Valley Poets), Orbis, US1 Worksheets, and more.

He ripped a record
out of the blue,
and pinned it
with his FD2.

A Fairey tale
of derring do,
in delta form,
his FD2.

Now on his way
beyond the blue,
Tally-ho! Peter,
1,132.

© Martin Hodges

Air speed record pilot Peter Twiss dies
-----------------------------------------------
Martin is a writer, and former columnist. He has twice been editor of Viewpoint (a forum for INDEPENDENT internal comment within the University of Southampton), and is co-founder of Poetry24.

If you are going, go now; let's not prolong the pain
or pretend that the past means nothing at all.
Oh, I know – go back fifty years and MacMillan
could count on fifty percent, even up there.
But then came the oil, that all too English woman
branding herself British while handbagging the North
and the Left wherever they raised their ruddy heads.
Even I realised you'd had enough by then.
So go with my blessing and I'll reclaim the baggage;
you know it won't go to waste. We'll recycle it down here
where they still fall for it each time in our leafy shires,
so prime for development – but that's another tale.

© David Francis Barker

Scottish Tory leadership favourite 'to split party'
----------------------------------------------------------
David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'

Oh Harrogate, my Harrogate
(tis where I live in grand estate).
The game is up,
the deed almost done,
Harrogate has lost,
big business won,
no more shall we
in peace
dine alfresco,
for we shall
have to abide
the noise from
Tesco.

© 'Anna'

The only postcode without a Tesco – but for how much longer?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anna is passionate about her world and writes about her feelings in both poetry and prose.  She lives in the UK and for personal reasons, prefers to remain just 'Anna.'

"What shall we do today?"

If reason were not enough to stay inside
encased in the blue moon chill
of what weekend remains,
the expression on her face
said we will be joining them
not would, or could or maybe.

The cat stole its way from the void,
that endless repetitive space which
existed when we never could agree;
When the hunter gatherer required more than
an interest rate for barter and exchange;
When the science of numerology
meant more than a new car every three years;
When two houses meant two mortgages
but then two is supposed to be prime.

And besides we didn't need a new sofa
or fridge, or freezer, video, DVD or telly.

"What about... words and archers?"

The blowpipe's dart hit dead wood
the vine of silence tightening
until isolated thud of the letter box
and loud protestations from the cyclist
interrupted my wishful thinking.

"What about the new bells?"

Cat, unable to sheath the claw
during the high brunch stand-off
softened, playing heedlessly
with last nights accompaniments.
Red-faced negligence -
a decision not long in the making.

"Ready in five?"

© Shaun Parrin

Old St Martin’s gets its new ring of bells
Editor's note: We rarely receive a 'Sunday' poem, so this week's Review is making way. Normal Sunday service will be resumed next weekend.
-------------------------------------------------
Shaun is a non-professional award winning photographer and published writer.

We were not like those criminals at all.
To say so is offensive and inane.
Our gang was most exclusive and quite small -
When we got drunk, we did it on champagne.

One can't compare with Bullingdons and banks:
These rioters, I think, were simpler folk.
We had few coloured people in our ranks,
And rarely had to pay for what we broke.

Our antics were mere foolishness and fun:
No symptoms there of morals in collapse.
We all commit some follies when we're young,
But only some of us need take the raps.

Above all, we grew up to give our names
To propaganda sprogs and trophy wives;
And now we have our stake in greater games,
And play Monopoly with smaller lives.

© Philip Challinor

Bullingdon Club antics were nothing like the riots, says Cameron
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Philip blogs at 'The Curmudgeon' - He insists, "You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry." Philip is the author of a number of books.

All that is asked
is that you not go mad.
Which is not such
a tough request,
surely?
But they will not be coming around
to see how we are doing.
There is important work to be done
to mend the damaged economy
and broken businesses,
who line the streets
piteously
asking for help.
And there are major
circuses to stage
but no bread for you.
Yet they are all
that stand between
us and the devils
who would overwhelm us
and steal our things.
Yes, be scared citizens
but DO NOT ask for help.
Just do not go mad
there's a good chap.

© Hamish Mack

Uncertainty for public servants as job cuts loom
----------------------------------------------------------
Hamish is a 51 year old New Zealander. He has been writing poetry for a couple of years.