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 Feb 2018 ConnectHook
Pagan Paul
.
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.
.

© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
.
Old poem I found in a notebook, previously unpublished.
I think I wrote it for another site where there were
a lot of snobbish 'academic' poets.
.
 Feb 2018 ConnectHook
Jared Eli
Up and down the alleyway
The street art reeks of ****
And up and down I walk until
I cast my eyes on this:

An image of a girl aflame
Balloons in either hand
The rosy-red wrapped 'round her wrist
Her eyes fixed on the sand.

And painted waves lap painted feet
Extinguishing their flame
But water works with cyclic rolls
And feet in flame remain.

The latex melts and burns her hands
Her hair curls up in ash
And I walk on, untouched, unscathed
For art will fade and pass.
I woke up by sadness that I couldn't explain
I didn't want to get rid of the surrounded pain
Sudden crying in the morning
Feel lonley, Nah it's not boring
God brought my soul from superficial 
Guided to his world that is called official
To the Queen of hearts
Is the Ace of sorrow
He's here today
He's gone tomorrow

Young men are plenty
But sweehearts few
If my love leaves me
What shall I do

And I have a story
In yonder mountain
Where gold and silver
Is there for the counting

I could not count
For thought of thee
My eyes so full
I could not see

I love my father
I love my mother
I love my sister
I love my brother

I love my friends
And relatives too
I'll forsake them all
And go with you
Nana mouskouri
So you got robbed. Don't think of yourself as a victim. Look at it as an expression of the robber's occupational and social deficits. Don't let it traumatize you for life. After all, can you compare it to being murdered? We need to have some appreciation for scale here. We don't want to go back to the Victorian notion that people are fragile flowers who can't handle  having a gun pointed at them and losing a few dollars. That's a form of condescension, after all.

You're complaining about a burglary? Some men see a mere doorknob lock as a flirtation. And surely we don't want to see the end of flirtations and seductions!  Must we all now install deadbolts and security systems? What's next--chastity belts? What happened to joie de vivre and devil-may-care?

So a drunk driver hit your car. Do you really want to have him arrested? It was a misunderstanding; he didn't realize that four cocktails and driving are technically illegal. And should they be? Do we want to criminalize ordinary reckless behavior? Haven't we all done something a bit foolish or clumsy in our younger days? Do we want a society in which everyone has to be careful what they do, all the time? A society in which people must count their drinks before getting behind the wheel? We are moving away from the ideals of a liberal democracy and toward totalitarianism! 

So you were murdered. You can look at is as an opportunity to learn more about what happens after death. Your career was ended and your earthly form deteriorated, but that's not the end of the world. Now you live as a memory, and people appreciate you more. What doesn't **** you makes you stronger, and what kills you enshrines. There is honor in being dead. It is time we brought back the old virtues!
The Grammys Celebrate Workers

“A forklift carrying barricades held up a crowd of commuters…”

-Los Angeles Times

With frosted breath, hands gloved against the cold
A working man forklifts the barricades
Into the streets, that he may block himself
From musical celebrations of work

Inside the temporary Palace of Culture
Musicians are being told what to wear
What they are for, and what they are against
Their speeches scrolled on discreet telescreens

The workers barred from work shiver and wait
For artists great, who never pay the freight
 Jan 2018 ConnectHook
Iska
to me you are a star of gold
a glowing asterisk
I wish I could hold
though you seem so far away
I truly wish we could meet some day
but alas we shall only meet
through our words,
spilling and falling across this page.
we are the unseen family
bound by art
which is better
because we dwell in the heart
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