We’re still accepting entries to our first Brew poetry contest — write a great poem about this epic trial, win a gift card.
But while we await a finding by the jury in the case, we thought we’d highlight a few of our best so far. The first is an actual sonnet by Jennifer Bishop and the second is some good old doggerel, by “DCMerkle.”  The third is by Usha Nellore, who acknowledges she can’t win a card since she broke the length rule, but doesn’t seem to mind:

Let me not to the court of true minds
Admit guilt. Money is not much
When in the form of gifted plastic finds
Its way to my own pocket as such.
O no! He is easily mistaken
That looks on human nature, knowing
Public servants have often taken
Another’s worth unknown, thereby showing
Shattered values and constituents betrayed.
O! Other vices claim us. Like the shame
Of sex, addiction, or leadership strayed
For embezzlement of greater gain.
But petty theft from children is scandal
Not common sense nor even I can handle.

- Jennifer Bishop

Second poem:

Twinkle, twinkle Baltimore Mayor!
How I wondered how you dare,
Spending gifts cards for the poor,
Spending them as if they were yours.

Ronald Lipscomb was you beau!
Gave you bribes, way to go!
Wanted tax breaks from the city,
Gave you a mink coat, what a pity.

Had the gift cards for the needy.
Your eyes got big and then you got greedy.
Bought raspberries and an X-box,
You thought you were one shifty fox.

After four years of investigation,
You’ve become B’more’s big sensation.
And the defense, you’re too innocent to steal?
Come on people! Let’s get real!

D.O.C. is waiting for you.
You should learn some jailhouse blues.
Come on Dixon, we’re not stupid.
It’s really clear, you obviously blew it!

- DCMerkle

Poem 3

The tale of one city–November 2009

She had beaus aplenty.
When she crooked her finger,
Men galore came ashore for her-
Across the seven seas,
Bearing fur–
and gift cards for the poor-
But alas, too soon, the cookie crumbled-
Where her majesty on stiletto heels,
reigned supreme–
in Baltimore–the courts convened and charged her,
with lowly theft-favors taken-favors given
to lovers and members of her retinue-and as the world observed with furrowed brows,
plotting her retribution–she took on the regal aspect of a woman above the picayune preoccupation of her prosecutor–
(A man insensitive to her mayoral call of duty)
She asked, “How was she to know that the charade of men-
who came and went from her life-one of them with a wife-are such low breeds that they would
give her gifts not meant for her but for others?
Is that a normal mode of gifting? O please!
How insulting to make her a conduit for the poor,
Naturally she concluded, being from a higher pedigree,
That she could purchase for herself an X box and
a camcorder-
(it was a breeze,in and out of Best Buys)
with the cards left in her custody.
Now back with his wife he lies, the low life,
His lips comb the prosecutor’s feet,
He calls her a freeloader, even worse a thief,
beyond belief!
Why is it wrong to give gifts from a lover by one name to a lover by another?
That is not cheap-that is green-an inconvenient truth-
Whosoever says she stole from the poor is a brute without a heart for the poor who love her so,
Are they running away the poor? Where can they go?
They already have their best and biggest gift– no fuss or fanfare,wrap or bow,
They have her–Dixon–their mayor,
Pretty soon she’ll be back at her games and chores,
The city of Baltimore once more hers-to kiss or cuddle, own or spurn,
Trusting less and praying more,
With Anthony her ?loyal? newest beau,
Romance taking backseat to the lord,
No one ever whispering gift or card,
Pretty soon she’ll be back at her games and chores,
When the curtains fall on this curious show,
And the acrobats have all gone home,
It’ll be business as usual in Baltimore!”

Many thoughts kept whirling in her head,
As Rohrbaugh the prosecutor roared,
“To steal from the needy that’s unspeakable!”
In her notebook she jotted her mode of escape,
Hoping Superman would brush her face with his cape,
And Judge Sweeney, he nursed his head in his hand,
Wishing to be banished from that la la land,
The show was vintage Baltimore,
A farce to make the Raven quoth, “Never more!”
And John Waters weep that his very own Divine,
Was nearly normal by a mile!

-Usha Nellore