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What an awesome duty you have on Jan 5.


Your election is not really about the incumbents and challengers.  It is about Mitch McConnell. Your election will decide if this one man, elected by one small state, will retain the power to keep legislation             he happens to dislike from ever coming to an open vote on the Senate floor. It will give him the continued power to ignore bills passed by the House of Representatives and lock them away in his desk, never to be debated, discussed or passed by the Senate.

Voting for your incumbents will keep the makeup of the Senate as it is, and give McConnell his power for another four years, so he can hamper progress for Joe Biden, just as he did for Barak Obama.  His Goal once again will be to stymie the President YOU just elected, and limit him to only one term by keeping him from enacting any of his agenda so he appears to be a failure.

If instead, you vote for the challengers, it will realign the Senate. It will  take away the kingly powers of Mitch McConnell, and give it back to the Senate as a whole. You will  give the President YOU elected a chance to enact some of the legislation that will heal our country, save the environment, grow the economy, work toward justice for all, and put an end to our being outcasts in the eyes of the rest of the world

It doesn’t matter which party you are in - if you want any progress to be made in the next four years - If you want to see the programs and ideals that caused you to vote for President Biden come true - you need to vote for both of the challengers in this election.

The whole world is watching.
Sticking. my neck out here.
I  had  to  delete  this  poem  because  the  algorithm  that controls posts won't  let  it  post  in  the  layout  I  designed  for  it.  I couldn't find  a  hack  to  get  around  it  puting  up  a  looong  string­ of  lines,  one directly  below  the  other.  The  way  it  appeared  was  o­ff-putting  and  I'm  not  surprised  no  one  read  it.   This  is  not  the  first  time  this  has  happened  to  a  shap­ed  write  
of  mine.  Yet  I see other  writes in all sorts of wonderful shapes.   What am  I  doing  wrong?
I sip joy from the tiny crevices
Of a colorless existence.
I search out small pockets
Of contentment in the dolor, and
I patch together ragged moments
Of almost fulfillment
To create an existance
That might resemble happiness.

I wear the smile that says I am OK
And speak the words of fabrication.
I do the things that ape a life worthwhile
And go to the places that back up the lie.
I tear the pages from my calendar
And wonder that there are so many more.
Still able to lift a heavy load,
I guess there’s nothing else for me
To do but carry on, so that is what I must.
Some days you just wonder what it's all for.  Then the sun comes out and life is good. But the weatherman predicts rain tomorrow.
He chopped my head off.
He wanted a son and I gave him a girl
I miscarried twice and one was a boy
It was an unforgivable sin.
So desperate for an heir was he
He evicted the Pope from England
And created his own kind of church
So he could get rid of Catherine,
The mother of his daughter,
And have me, against my own will.
My sister was not enough for him-
A mistress can not be a queen -
And the successor he so keenly longed for
Must be the issue of a queen.

With 2 daughters, Henry needed a son.
Catherine gave him Mary
And I bore him Elizabeth.
He didn’t know - nobody could know
How that rivalry would one day end.
When Henry looked to Jane Seymour,
Something told me I would die.
Hoping for kindness, it was brutality instead,
And Henry fell into a chain of desperation.
With seven murdered wives as links.

He chopped off my head to clear the way
For marriage number three
And buried me in a leaden box
In his ongoing quest for sons.
He thought that was the end of me
But my daughter was made of my same stuff
And through her battles over time
She claimed the throne that once was mine
And the Elizabethan era came to be.
Another BLT and Thomas W Case challenge.  Best I could do on short notice.
Crying will not help.
  It only nourishes the weeds
    That block the entrance to your goals.

Crying never helps.
  It only muddies up the path
    That takes you you to a better place.

Crying is a waste of time.
  It just delays the work it takes
    To get around the obstacles in life.
More nit-picky health problems.  Never seem to end.
I pass a bush on my morning walk
A big round bush with dark green leaves
Trimmed to be symmetrical.

Today it called as I walked by
Demanding that I turn and see
The first red blossom of the Fall.
The bravest and the quickest one-
Point-bloom for the rest to follow.

As richly red as burgundy,
It seemed to shout “I’m here!
And you can take a moment from
Your busyness to savor
This free gift I’ve made for you.”

Humbled, I stood very still,
Accepting beauty for my soul.
In Nevada flowers bloom in the fall too.  Too hot to bloom in the summer.
This is obviously a challenge poem.
I hope to obtain a prize.
It’ll be an obligato tome,
A bit oblong in size

I won’t object if you become
Obdurate in your view
Of my obsequious pandering,
Introducing words brand new.

I must admit that I obsess
On words that start o-b
Considering them obnoxious
And obscure as they can be,

But looking at the obverse side
I do not want to obligate
Your absolute attention
To my somewhat obstinate
Desire for intervention.

They tell me I’m obstreperous
But they are all obese.
Their aim is to obtain my skill
And obligate release.

But I am not oblivious,
I’m observant of their ploys
So I’ll oppose this silly game
And not join with their toys.
This one was a struggle and it didn't turn out at all well- but if I don't put it here, my numbering will go all wrong. So please accept my apologies and thank you for slogging through it.
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