A
State
We’ve
Gotten
In,
Prejudices
Worn
Like
Skin,
Compromises
Fitted
In,
Not
A
Crevice
To
Begin
To
Pry
Out
Hate,
That
Without
Doubt,
Will
Negate
Any
Chance
For
Those
Shut
Out
To
Find
A
Space
To
Live,
Here
Or
Anyplace.
What
A State We’ve Gotten In, Prejudices Worn Like Skin, Compromises Fitted In, Not A Crevice To Begin To Pry Out Hate, That Without Doubt, Will Negate Any Chance For Those Shut Out To Find A Space To Live, Here Or Anyplace.
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A
Life Of Study Was My Wish, But That Burned Up In A Petry Dish So Long Ago I’ll Never Know If I went The Way I was Supposed To Go. I danced While Others Toiled, My Life’s Romance Was Never Soiled With Trade, Surrounded By The Things I made. Useful Work, Or Reckless Play? I cannot Say, But All Those Others Have Passed Away. Graven
Woman, Female Gender, Combination Tough And Tender, Layered Nose To Knees To Toes With Poetry And Lofty Prose. Thwarted, Hemmed In, Molded To The Given Means And End, Here She Stands Upon Her Shelf, Holding Fast Onto Her Self. Allow
Me To Say, In A Canine Way, That People Get Crazier Every Day. My Master For One, Carries A Gun And Is So Full Of Fear, He Exists On Light Beer. Villains Approach In A Horrible Mob, Coming, He Thinks, To Steal His Job, So The Poor Slob Drinks. Myself, I leave It All Alone, Content With An Occasional Bone, And I’m Not Alone. Other Breeds Serve Human Needs, Teaching Them Love And Joy, Yet All They Want Is To Forget, And Throw The Latest Squeaky Toy. Too
Many People, The Pundits Say, Voters Want Migrants To Go Away. They Must Not Stay To Rob Us Of Our Way Of Life With Endless Demands Fomenting Strife. They Bring No Skill And Will Steal Our Space, Go Some Other Place, They Wail, Or Sit In Jail, Go Home And Wait To Die. All This From Leaders (That’s Their Job) And The Angry Mob Who Have No Tears, And It All Goes On For Years. Some Raise A Righteous Shout, But For Now, There Seems No Way Out. Miss
Adelaide McFee, As Nice A Lady As Could Be, Took It Into Her Pretty Head That She Wanted Her Feline Neighbor Dead. Adelaide Nurtured A Champion Rose, And One Can Imagine Her Distress To Discover Beneath It A Hideous Mess Of Enormous Turds Beyond Description In Civilized Words, The Scat Of Mr. Murchison’s Horrible Cat. This Gigantic Orange Tabby, Two Feet High, Lean And Shabby, Sunned Itself On Murchison’s Lawn, Licking It’s Paws With A Satisfied Yawn. Adelaide Wanted It Permanently Gone. At The Hardware Store, Her Emotions Fraught, She Bought A Mix Designed To Fix Rats, But Would Do Just Fine To Eliminate Cats. She Hurried Home And Found To Her Shock, The Cops Were Swarming Over The Block. Murchison, A Convicted Thief, Was Taken Away, Shouting His Grief. In Less Than An Hour, Animal Control Captured The Cat, Saving The Glory Of Adelaide’s Flower, End Of Story. Beguiling
Orpheus Bid The Sun Rise With His Song, But Every Single Thing Went Wrong. His Beloved Wife, Eurydice, Lost Her Life Above The Void, And Fell Straight Down To Hell. Our Hero, Much Annoyed, Played His Lyre Like Mad, And Rendered Even The Devil Sad. Setting Eurydice Free, Hades Imposed One Vital Fee. Orpheus Must Look Back Or Lose Her On Their Fateful Track, But Anxious Orpheus Could Not Wait, Glanced Back And Sealed His Lover’s Fate. Zeus Lightning Took Orpheus, Too, But Music Can Never Truly Be Dead, So The Muses Saved His Glorious Head. Gray
Summer Wednesday, The Sun Tucked Away Behind A Gauze, To Pause The Heat And Allow A Brief Retreat Into April Or Perhaps Early May, Only For This One Day. The
Colors Of Your Shadow Range From Rose To A Delicate Hue Of Blue. When You Walk, Rainbows Follow Where You Go, And Your Step Bids Flowers Grow To Bless The Land Where You Stand. Gentle Spirit, You Are Too Good To Scold The World As You Should For Hourly Betrayals Of The Faith And Promise We All Bear, But Humans Do Not Stop To Care Or Share Your Generous Way To Be, And Struggle On, Blind, Deaf, And Bereft. Certain War And Strife Constitute Life, They Cannot Hear Your Quiet Song, Never Knowing They Are Entirely Wrong. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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