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Mass shootings of morality
Guns make the man
Massacre happily
Ignorance leading the blind
Another casualty
Johnny has issues
He’s got an AR15
Arm everyone!
(EUREKA!!!)
Because more guns are just what we need!!!!!
Who gives a **** about Johnny and his mental instability
He’s got a gun!
It’s semi-automatic
That’s all he’ll ever need
Semi-automatic
Everyone will bleed
A few hundred rounds
He kills responsibly
A few hundred rounds
Watch as the children bleed
Just another day in America
How many more guns do we need?
This poem is and attempt at channeling my anger towards guns and the guns rights lobbyists after recent mass shootings, specifically after Uvalde, Texas.
Never get to close at the zoo
A hippopotamus can step on your shoe
You could get bit by a rabid racoon
Become lunch for a lion or get **** on by a loon
the zebras are crazy they'll eat your baby well humming a tune
They’ll  make a dessert out of your lady  
And eat her with a spoon  

YES! You can die when you visit the zoo
So.............
Here’s my advice to you ***** the hippo the lion and the loon stay far away from the dangers that lurk inside of the zoo
 Aug 2023
Where Shelter
<>

”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light

Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,  
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”


~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)

<>

First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,

at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee

it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue

simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul

here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
great appreciation to Vienna B. for the beautiful poem she wrote,
and thanks for the inspiration!
Always be dreaming!
W.S.
46 years
What do you get
Your way past old
Your pants don’t seem to fit
Your always cold
Like day old bread
Your beginning to mold
Broken Hips
Brittle Bones
46 years
**** that’s old
You always got to have a reason to laugh, you’re never too old.
It's just me it's just me come and sit on my knee I'll tell you a story of how the wind blows and where all the bad kids go the boogie man ate em' he snatched them up by the toes spanked them on the bottom and gobbled the boogers from their nose the boogie mans got em' oh mommy and daddy they know off to the boogie man all the bad kids go!
Shane M.  Stoops
May 3,2017
 May 2017
My name is a lie
Rising from the dirt
,surprisingly enough,
     leaves Stains
which, to be truthful,
     are the most
Stain-like stains there are.
     Just a Smudge
        ,a residue,
is left, Disguised
as a nasty faded
          Bruise
which never quite
     disappears
from Line of SIght.
Little Reminders of a time
      when you slept
with Critters of Night
           at home
,yet uncomfortable,
       all the same
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