A Poem Can Be About Anything

I wonder if…

     A Poem Can Be About Anything

What shall I share today of me;

the shades that sleep under my tree?

The wild dogs of the night who drool,

or getting an A while yet in school?

 

Poems mirror the mind, you know.

What’re the parts we’re willing to show?

Blood from a refugee’s eyeball

pooling on the floor at the mall?

 

Or perchance Paul, my sixth grade crush

forgot later in life’s mad rush;

the spear point found atop the soil

speaking  loud as any gargoyle.

 

The soft fur of Gracie, my love

who looks after me from above;

we oft don’t speak full truth in here,

hoping instead to spread good cheer,

 

leaving old timbers to shake–

from an underground earthquake,

echoing the ocean’s great roar

contained yet by the shore.

 

Careful not to rip the bridal veil,

crawling along the moth-eaten trail

we sing out long our private song

which from Darwin’s book we took.

 

 

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TOO BIG A COINCIDENCE?

I have yet t hear the suggestion question that perhaps Trump is behind the “caravan.”  What perfect timing!

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Witch One?

WITCH ONE?

Witches have been given a bad name, compared to warlocks, which are men.  Whoever heard of a warlock?   See, they’re kept secret, while females get all the blame.  (“She’s a nasty old witch.”)

Witches are often called hag, crone, harpy, harridan, she-devil and battle-ax.  Warlocks are sometimes called wizards.

If someone with a red cap riding on a broomstick asks for candy on Halloween,  notice if she’s a he or not, and if he’s old and red-headed.  Then you can get ready to run,  but be civil!

Written in response to a blogger’s request for 99-word Halloween stories but not submitted for fear of messing with young minds.

 

99 words plus title

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For Our Information

Curious: Women versus men?

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Snippet from Jill Dennison

Filosofa’s Word:
 Trump has now declared that he is against globalism and is a nationalist, yet the majority of the people in this nation do not want to be an isolationist nation for we see the very real dangers.  We need our friends around the globe, just as they need us, and Mr. Trump has it all wrong … ALL WRONG … if he thinks that shunning other nations makes us safer, for in every sense of the word, it endangers our lives.
       Further, Mr. Trump seems to be playing to the white supremacist arm of nationalists who eschew any who are not white, Christian, and of European descent.  Hence, his desire for a wall to keep Hispanics from Mexico, Central and South America out of our country.  Hence, his stepped-up deportations of even legal immigrants.  Hence, his aversion to immigrants from the Middle East.
       The United States will not survive as an independent nation if we shut ourselves off from international affairs.  Technology has made the planet smaller and in today’s world, no nation can thrive without the help of others….
See Jill’s site for more….
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A Katha Upanishad for Millennials and Ranchers – reblog from waltbox

Excellent writing style!

waltbox

The home of Yama, King of Death, was a craftsman bungalow near an urban area revitalized for Millenials. The plots in this neighborhood were tiny, the homes half the size of those in newer neighborhoods but twice the cost. Most had seen a non-load bearing wall removed to achieve an open floor concept. Owners of these homes owned vehicles with deluxe emblems on their trunks, and though the main road through the neighborhood was paved with brick, and walking for groceries or to a restaurant was encouraged, vehicles such as these needed to be driven, or rather paraded, often, if not daily. Otherwise what would be the point of anything.

Wet leaves dampened the thud of Nacho’s boot heels on the wooden steps leading to Death’s door. The steps smelled of fresh pine, and fresh paint. The potted mums of fresh soil. The curb appeal was to die for.

Nacho removed…

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HALLOWEEN IN ATHENS OHIO

Wasn’t what we expected, was it.

Cold rain and hate murders on the telly.

Those Pittsburgh folk grieving

in the rain.

Only my feelings got hurt, not my

loved ones.

My emotions, miniscule in the presence of

blood and guts grief.  Bitterness

has no place, is too much. Reality

is the name of the day. I can only imagine.

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