I am not American. I have used poetic licence for the purpose of this poem. If you are American, today, or possibly tomorrow for you, is an enormously consequential day, perhaps the most important in many of our lifetimes.

I'm talking about the election of course. Those who know me certainly know how I feel about Donald Trump. He is the most repulsive figure to ever disgrace the political stage - an adjudicated rapist and fraudster, currently out on bail awaiting sentencing in a few weeks on dozens of felony convictions. An ignorant man, unable to speak with authority on any matter of substance, he resorts to childish insults and threats to engage his often hateful base and amazingly plays fanboy to the worst tyrants and dictators on the planet, his adulation oviously stemming from his own desire to be like them.
He is a cheat and a conman and he lies like the rest of us breathe. he has already begun his latest campaign of deceit to cast doubt upon the legitimacy of this election, just as he did four years ago, leading to the tragic events at the Capitol on Jan 6

But you know all this! So someone please tell me why he is even in the running to gain the White House again?

Stranded here in New Zealand I have watched almost helplessly as this charade plays out. I have done what I can with my feeble powers on social media and written a few poems to display here. Some of those poems have been humorous and it is easy to laugh at Trump's numerous gaffes, his incessant and blatant lies, his bumbling incompetence at managing the pandemic, his overt narcissism. However, I am deadly serious about the danger Trump poses to the US and therefore to the world.

Here I am reposting my latest poem which details reasons for my admiration of the US due to its storied history and also my concern for recent political events and my earnest wish for a victory for Kamala Harris - an earthshaking and historic result - and the start of a healing phase for your country.

Vote, people, and wisely.

'huddled masses' line 7 is of course a quote from 'The New Colossus,' the wonderful sonnet penned by American poet Emily Lazarus. The poem is inscribed on a brass plaque inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. The words refer to the large number of immigrants pouring into New York in the 1880s and to immigrants in general.

Here is the poem in full:

The New Colossus
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!"

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