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Found among Dad's things while cleaning out his condo. He died at the end of December:

EXHORTATION TO A TROPICAL FRUIT

Go
Mango!

AT THE HEALTH SPA

Virginia slims
Virginia's limbs

THE ULTIMATE CHALLENGE

The daredevil
Dared evil.

LEBANON

Malicious
Militias

THE HOSTESS AND THE BASKETBALL PLAYER

Julia serving
Julius Erving
Don’t nobody mess with Snow White.
I’m the Queen of the ‘hood, don’t give me a fight.
I’ve got Grumpy and his Kalshnikov.
Sneezy and his crew did the bank job.
***** meets the plane, coming in at JFK,
with its cargo of smack, to bag and weigh.
Sleepy got busted, he’s doing time--
but he ain’t no snitch, so we’ll all be fine.
Happy’s my honey, as long as I got money--
I feed him some coke and he keeps my mood sunny.
Bashful’s the lookout, he stands on the corner.
Doc sews them up, saves them from the coroner.
I ain’t got no evil stepmother,
and if you mess with my crew you’re a stupid *******.
I wrote this 10 years ago for a contest on PoetFreak.
जय् हिन्द्

Inhale her blowing piles of mounting trash
Where fragrant winds of change bear human ash.
Eternal allure of the mystic East;
A six-armed goddess beckons to the feast:
Prasadam, chutney, consecrated dhal
And other dishes from the land of Baal.
Sandalwood incense, sickly-smoldering dhoop:
Exhaust from a rocket powered by **** . . .
INDIA! Soon, earth's next superpower—
To wonder when is to need a shower.

Blue-skinned idols bow in superstition,
Third eyes blinded by this apparition;
Your sacred rivers: filth and pollution
Flowing freely, a ***** solution
To your failed nation's shameful backward plight—
True brain-drain as your best minds flee the night
To seek prosperity in Western light.

And so, you've no excuse for arrogance
Amidst the ruins of your temple-dance.
Britain's structures have all long since crumbled;
Your many idols beg to be tumbled
Into the depths of your deathly rivers,
To lie in the muck while God delivers
Your people from their false life-givers . . .

Can Jesus bless, as you go on this way
Benighted—while the West inhabits day?
Will Christ facilitate development
And lift you from your pit of excrement,
Your multitudes freed from ignorant ways?
Jai Hind! And here's to hope of better days.

I'd call it Eastern Wisdom—but it's not.
Bow down in piles of human dung, Bharat;
Worship your cow, while washing in her ****.
My poem's close has finally come to this,
As I my guru's bovine backside kiss.
Inspired by Youtube vids about the Ganges and Yamuna rivers, as well as public defecation problems in India.
ConnectHook Jul 12
Godless patricians wring their hands
In their suburban country manors.
Guilty America changes brands,
plays with pronouns. Rainbow banners
Prideful, float on summer breezes.
Faith grows cold, congeals, and freezes.

Clueless worldlings cluck and scold;
Display their plumage, signal virtue.
Preening fowl are waxing bold.
(Could such flightless creatures hurt you?–
Force you to conform, bow down
before their god—a circus clown?)

Here’s to data-driven tyrants
Professional managerial trash;
Narcissism’s dull aspirants
Human resources: their cash.
Shilling out for ***-confusion,
Corporate wokeness, and delusion.
ConnectHook Jun 29
Leave your hair the way God made it.
Keep it natural. Why try to
Straighten, curl, dye, tint or fade it
As if your Lord were one to lie to—
While you copy that silly look
From someone else's beauty book.

If your tresses, dark by nature
You decide to bleach to gold,
Oh dear vain and fickle creature,
You've believed the lies you're sold.
Low on info, you lost the plot
By not esteeming what you've got.

Cut it any way you please to.
Braid it, if you're so inclined;
But do refrain from paying fees to
Color-tinters fit to blind:
Day-glo green, fake blonde, bright blues
Are strange and nauseating hues.
Music "in a dying fall" .
Shout-out to John Dowland...
What could I do to take your pain away?
You counsel others, but it’s yourself you’re talking to.
I see you nervously fiddle with your wristband--
I’m pretty sure I know what you once tried to do.

I wish I could share my healing skills--
there’s no one whom I want to help more.
But we’re far apart. It’s me who is helped by you.
Someone else must unlock your secret door.

Freud once said: It is love that cures the patient.
But can we love at will?
Take the love that’s freely given,
and banish what has made you ill.
For J.
  Jun 20 ConnectHook
sandra wyllie
dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.
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