Tag Archives: napowrimo

06/30 – Solomon

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Nicolas Poussin’s “The Judgement of Solomon.”

Pray for a change in the way that the game is played and won,
but alas,
“There is nothing new under the sun.”
Serpent’s tongues still tempt forbidden fruit,
distort the truth, distract you with some other proof,
and unastute,
we drop hook, line, and sinker,
as unscrupulous demagogues push us to the brink of war,
humanity’s sores,
for all our achievements, how many’re for gore?

This abhorrent, warrantless debasement of life,
pawns pressed into service of some politician’s knife,
flashed fangs, rattled sabers,
the blatant fanning of the conflagration for capitalist wagers,
history’s pages are littered with these maniacal crooks,
but who’s reading about the past in their books today?

Patents protected better than patients are,
where a scare can become a scar,
Land of the wage slave, home of the meek sheep that bleat,
corporate owners have us beat.

This does sound┬ábleak, so don’t keep your seat,
stand for Life, Liberty, and the pursuit to seek
Happiness,
a standard, not just sappiness,
our Freedoms must be stressed into practice, yet remain,
despite 45th reign being profane,
the blame laying on Electoral College,
which should have protected, instead a shiny turd polished,
should be abolished, what good’s it for,
except for insuring racists get a place on the floor?

03/30 – Details

***Adult Content – viewer discretion advised ***

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1/30 – Ketchup

In a hurry on the highway,
(and late, if I had it my way, wouldn’t be venturing at all,
answering a call for clarity,)
speed approaching “harrowing,”
down the pavement barrelling,
passing a pristine off-brown brand-new Nissan Maxima with vanity plates that read,
“666-S4T4N”.

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Gardener

Cutting through the soil,
Bent blades breaking dirt,
Opening up the earth,
Cracked and dry, brown,
Giving up the rocks,
The clay-like blackness beneath.

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Luna(r)

He never asked she change
Her coloration,
She was the moon and white and always would be,
Or her phases,
He knew she would wax and she’d wane, it was plain,
He didn’t even ask she be faithful,
Just that she’d
Always be
True.

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Stereo

Serpent,
Messenger,
Malice,
Serenity,
One speaks serptitiously,
One says not enough,
Warring on the battlefield
Of egos and shoulders,
Arms or armistice,
Art or artifice,
Bliss or trouble,
The message confused.

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Hands

These hands are
Calloused,
Cut,
From handling the thorns
In your rosebush,
Too big for the
False yellow petals
Protuding from your
Thin stems,
Breakable by a breeze,
Stained red with my blood
From the promises you made,
That your thorns would never
Prick me again.

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