Here's a poem he directed at a rival (all translations are from Brooks Haxton's book Dances for Flute and Thunder from Viking Press):

Swept overboard, unconscious in the breakers,

strangled with seaweed, may you wake up in a gelid

surf, your teeth, already cracked into the shingle,

now set rattling by the wind, while facedown,

helpless as a poisoned cur, on all fours you puke

brine reeking of dead fish. May those you meet,

barbarians as ugly as their souls are hateful,

treat you to the moldy wooden bread of slaves.

And may you, with your split teeth sunk in that,

smile, then, the way you did when speaking as my friend.

How might the old attack poem look today? Here's my best shot (by the article author):

Barack--who kept me from my rightful nomination,

who would not wear flag pins, and called many men

bitter--long ago he crossed paths with scum and losers:

a thief, a former Weatherman and a crazed preacher

who said "God Damn America." He's also Muslim,

some say, though I take him at his word.

And, of course, the responding epitaph:

Having spent much, won...not so much, and said much ill

of one man, here lies Hillary's campaign.

Here's hoping we can use that last one soon.

Or:

"Barrack is black. Barrack is black.
On Day One he would be far too slack.
No experience has he.
He want's to see Israel driven into the sea.

A Muslim he might be. Anti-American too
Worships in a church that sounds like a zoo.
Has an elitist air, doesn't really care.
Can't seal the deal; isn't real.

It's not over till the fat lady sings.

Very clever.