The moon comes up trumps
on fourteenth November, determined to outshine
the golden hair of political aspirants. Man, dress’d in brief authority,
performs fantastic tricks; will May set sail from Europe
on fearful course of political expediency?
Urbane discourse becomes the trolls of social media,
Faraging in their own back yard. And yet the moon
controls the ebb and flow of human fate,
And when the new world order’s long since gone
she will arise to light the ember’d earth.
Living in the future present 
Wow! Very dense, rather bleak.
Should be published
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Bit dystopian but I like it. A lot.
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Dear John, This I really love! I was in Alnmouth at the Friary on Retreat when the Super Moon rose, a wonderful place to view it! How well you have interwoven politics with the natural cycle. And, that name “Trump” !!!!! maybe nature will throw up a hurricane or two or perhaps a “deep freeze” in New York. seeyou before too long Pax et Bonum Love Rita
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