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ConnectHook Feb 9
Oh chica of New England snows!
Fair tropical Latina rose;
Green palms, of some warm distant clime
Shine from your eyes in wintertime.

Thy childhood in that tropic place,
Hath blessed thee with a dusky grace;
And all your pre-Columbian past
Must winter’s slushy chill outlast.

The rushing cars who make their way
Insult you with a frigid spray;
As from some humble task you wait
To catch the bus and change your fate.

Thy beauty, late transplanted, glows
To melt these white midwinter snows;
And cumbias from some southern zone
Sound from your soul with pulsing tone.

Your Christian heart, in solitude,
Has all our frozen land imbued;
America’s own breadth and length—
With campesina faith and strength.
I wanted to rewrite a favorite poem:

Oh fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,
Were all that met thine infant eye.

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,
Were even in the sylvan wild;
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.

The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks;
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen;
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.

The forest depths, by foot unpressed,
Are not more sinless than thy breast;
The holy peace, that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes, is there.

                     William Cullen Bryant (1794—1878)
From fascism to fascism,
Through a softer, sly disguise,
Under Satan’s dark baptism,
Tiny worlds meet their demise.

Genocide and degradation,
Artificial to the core,
Spirit’s death and mind’s stagnation—
Drowning deep in filth and gore.

Fear and blind submission lead us,
All foundations cast aside.
From fake plagues to beasts they breed us,
Till the herds are stupefied.

Fools don’t set the night in motion—
They need sheep, not hell unleashed.
Empty heads find full devotion
If their coats are soft and sleek.

But what path is left for moving?
Hell is here, it’s not ahead.
Hellspawn rule us, all-consuming,
Feasting on the souls they bled.

Politics is just a circus,
Where the clowns obey commands.
Truth is drowned in lies on purpose—
Crowds don't bite the guiding hands.

So, they earn their fate in measure,
For the madness owns their breath.
Not for years, but times unmeasured
They have worshipped lies to death.
ConnectHook Feb 6
Loud low-info everywhere.

Think I’m racist? I don’t care.

****** psychos causing drama?

Love them as hard as I love your momma.

Zionists out to **** the poor;

Call me a ****. I’ll endure.

Pentagon war-lords making good?

As long as it’s not MY neighborhood…

All our taxes straight to Ukraine?

Truth is lies, but I feel your pain.
☻☺♥
ConnectHook Jan 20
Will the Donald kiss Zionist ***
As the crises reach critical mass?
A result that I fear:
It could start a war here.
But I voted for Stein, so I pass...
Best wishes to our new prez
ConnectHook Jan 6
Paul as an antichrist—
Jesus as dead:
The devil's deceptions
Can mess with your head.

Church as the enemy:
Lucifer's light
Makes Babylon blacker
Than Egypt's own night.

But God is outside us:
Externally true—
An anchor; a reference point
Greater than YOU.
[...] if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.    
(Romans 10:8,9)
  Jan 5 ConnectHook
Mike Hauser
There's soon to come a day where this
And all else cease to exist
Where every line and stich in time
Will make its way into the light

All the saints that have been called
From daily battles they have fought
To rightly claim their reward
Eternity with their Sweet Lord

Without its sting, death lost its curse
Where first is last and last is first
Every plan once made by man
Will reach its final bitter end

Every tear that ever wept
All dried eyed in a flash
A promise made a promise kept
On the day the Lord comes back

And on that day, all this you see
Including sin, will cease to be
When every line and stich in time
Makes its way into the glorious light
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