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ConnectHook Apr 2016
It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Align your chakras, hold your breath.
Let poetry flood your living spirit;
free your mind from lyrical death !

Let go the appallingly unpoetic:
meditate.  Assume the position.
Adore your muse in rhythmic wonder;
write in automatic transmission.

Chant the mantra: NaPoWriMo
Let it hum like raw electricity.
Find your center… focus inward
¡ And thus behold sublime diversity !
OMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.............. . . . .. .. .... .
I am posting my NaPoWriMo2016  poems here at HP
after I post at
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Easy on the Emo
It's NaPoWriMo
Cut fellow poets some slack
Until April empowers
Fresh lyrical showers
And muses prepare for attack
A poem a day for April
National Poetry Writing Month 2016
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
  Mar 2016 ConnectHook
Torin
No glasses
No rings
No tattoos
Just my skin
The skin god gave me
And if you know how to look

You'll see divine art

No glasses
I can see clearly
My contacts
Are the souls I reach
The love I give
And receive

No rings
My hands are strong
They hold the frets
And make a song
A song that god gave me
I have to sing

No tattoos
Because the scars are my art
And scars on my heart
Tell a story
About a life I used to live
And the time I died
I wanted a tattoo when I was younger, I couldn't afford it, every dime to ******,, now I'm clean, I can see clearly. I'm perfect as I am
ConnectHook Mar 2016
Is risen from the dead
(every ****** day)
HALLELUJAH !

now back to poetry...
ConnectHook Mar 2016
Tap out Easter inanities
space it like a bunny-hop
throw in a pastel glottal stop.
Keep it short; digestible
and let it roll: comestible.
See then if they like the dish,
and grant them every starry wish.
Jesus is indeed LORD.
ConnectHook Mar 2016
Rise from your grave. It's Easter Sunday
two-thousand sixteen years A.D.
Save the West with hashtag child's play
Post on FaceBook, fancy-free.

Easter pinks and chick-yellow highlights
Nestléd eggs and pastel notes
fail to charm our friends the Ishmaelites
poised to slit our kuffar throats.

Love your rabbit; keep on shopping.
Watch the game and charge your phone.
Allah's bunnies won't stop hopping
Till they make your land their own.
*Dhimmi*: a person who is a non-Muslim in a Muslim dominated society.  Dhimmi is the subordinate legal status given to the ***** to "protect" him.   Why is protection needed?  Because Muslims are called upon to **** infidels as the general rule.

******* (Arabic: كافر‎ kāfir; plural كفّار *kuffār*; feminine كافرة kāfirah) is an Arabic term "unbeliever", "disbeliever", or "infidel". It is used as a derogatory term
ConnectHook Mar 2016
It's Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:

"Why bother with worship—in church or the zoo—
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?"
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.

You've bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic—

while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchen of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.

Those simple plebeians:  you'd love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.

Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let's read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you—not whether but when.

The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.

The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner—there's something amiss:

The crypts of Marib and the tombs of the Axumites
shudder and groan while you're reading the Times...
(immune to the words that some Christarded  poet writes
mixing psychosis with rhymes.)

Royal Sheba will chastise your erudite unbelief,
smug self-importance and cynical squawk.
Then she'll sigh with immense Ethiopian grief
and her Highness Queen Bilqis will talk.

It is Sunday in Babylon.  What if your sunlight ends...
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast—or calculate dividends...
what would you pay for salvation?
The men of Nineveh shall rise in judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it: because they repented at the preaching of Jonas; and, behold, a greater than Jonas is here.
The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgment with this generation,and shall condemn it: for she came from the uttermost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and, behold, a greater than Solomon is here.

[Christ's words from Matthew 12:41,42]
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