Posted at 5:24 PM on September 8, 2008
by Sanden Totten
Was it the surreal theatrics? Was it the triumphant speeches? Was it the faint hint of teargas on the breeze? What ever it was, something about the RNC inspired our listeners to send in some poems about the past week.
The first comes from Guthrie Horgan of Chaska:
Tear gas and bottles
and maybe some feces?
eight hundred charges
as RNC ceases.
Bloggers and anarchists
rubbed shoulders with rioteers,
and muddied the waters
of two dueling pioneers.
St. Paul rests quiet
and gives a small sigh
as frenzy abates
over some old guy.
And Carol Pearce Bjorlie of St. Paul sent us this verse:
Whose cafe this is, I think I know,
the streets are all so different, though
they're clean, and fenced, right up to here,
let's pray for Gustave, ice or snow.
The RNC must think it queer
to have the Democrats so near
between the river and the lake
the darkest evening of their year.
The old Black Dog gives a shake
and asks, "Could this be some huge mistake?"
The only other sounds the sweep
of lying lies from the biggest flake.
Our Cafe is lovely, dark and deep
but Democrats have promises to keep
and sixty five days before we sleep,
and sixty five days before we sleep.
Got your own take on the RNC? Posted it below. Also, if something in the news sets your imagination ablaze, write us a poem and send it to our show. Click here for details.