Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
4d · 120
Woke-ass Haiku
Fake celebration
More forced blackification
A dumbed-down nation
todayz google page
4d · 34
I Uncle Joe
and Kamala la mala
They are make us great again
Just like Trumpy
So now Amerika is so great
Raise that flag!

No. Not rainbow...
The OTHER one.

You know the one with starz on it
now we am ready to monitors other country elections voting
Jun 15 · 142
Arkancide Template
ConnectHook Jun 15
_________  didn't **** himself
insert name

b e c a u s e   Q-ANON.
Jun 7 · 112
MJ Haiku
ConnectHook Jun 7
To pop-god Jacko:
Squealing, chirping, moonwalking,
Flinging that forelock...
they alway play Jacko songs
at the thrift store.
Can't STAND that squeak.
Jun 4 · 148
Haiku of Haikus
ConnectHook Jun 4
Your cold rigid corpse
Face in a stupid grimace:
My greatest haiku.
I will CRUSH you.

May 26 · 70
Ley de la jungla
ConnectHook May 26
Un monopolio:
cuando los monos
consolidan el poder y el control.
hay que pagar con bananos
en monomundo . . .
May 2 · 36
Last Exit: Gehenna
ConnectHook May 2
1) Be very broad-minded. Take the Broad Road.
(It is paved with good intentions and says Fool’s Gold, can’t miss it)

2) When you see the signs for salvation, declare loudly that you are tolerant and loving and that sin is an outmoded relic of patriarchal religion.

3) Follow the virtue-signals away from the true light towards your own sinful conceit.

4) Deny absolute truth when you get to Philosophy and take the exit toward Esthetics.

5) Stay on the path of least resistance. Celebrate ANYTHING except the God of Scripture.

6) When the road diverges, revile the nationalist R., along with tradition.
Hatefully label your fellow citizens as Racist Nazis until you merge onto Interfaith 666 at Hypocrisyville.

7) Turn repeatedly L. while flattering  yourself that you are progressive and enlightened.

8) Follow the exact same agenda and antichrist values as that of trans-national corporations while telling yourself you are a bold free-thinker “resisting fascism”.

9) Follow the bumper-stickers of the tenured professor in front of you for 59 miles.

10) Your destination is on the Left, but there’s still time to change the road you’re on
(if the Led Zeppelin song ends and you see the people leaving church as reactionary rubes, you have gone too far.)

Approx. time to arrive in Hell = 1 lifetime
a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.
May 2 · 35
Locust-eaten Lines
ConnectHook May 2
Paupers may ask the Lord for wealth
(The Gospel might inflate their hopes)
Protection, blessings, mental health
Beyond what mullahs, rabbis, popes
Offer as guidance through the strife
Within this filthy maze of life.

Others hope He’ll stack their deck:
Bring in those thousand years of peace
One king short of Melchizedek
When nations merge and borders cease:
a prolonged global swoon, like Babel--
Partying with ******’s rabble.

Poets ask for Inspiration
Or just a spike in reader-stats;
Gold paid out in revelation
And sudden-death for bureaucrats—
Even the fleeting hope that wit
Might pay for some or all of it.

To sharpen dull poetic gifts
A mustard-seed might be enough,
Until the veil of Maya lifts
exposing the Satanic stuff.
I’d be content with what He brings:
The Restoration of All Things
Joel 2:25
May 2 · 42
Heaven + You = YES
ConnectHook May 2
I want to see you there because

I want to walk with you to the river . . .

where friendship resumes forever

and conversation flows on, after a pause

of decades, flowing on as light appears . . .

In eternity, a short space of lifetimes or years

is reason to laugh

because it means nothing.

If you are not in heaven

when time ends

Heaven will be the less for it.

Please be there with me

to resume all things.

n. a friendship that can lie dormant for years only to pick right back up instantly,
as if no time had passed since you last saw each other.
ConnectHook Apr 26
The flower of Hermes is a risible thing,
Furtive, uncircumcised in flesh and race;
But who the petals of that flower shall trace
Which a bright People in darkness can bring
Or smell, at will,—for freedom in sniffing
By just revenge inhaled? No nose can face,
No pig can wallow, to a miry space
That flower, you dig it, whether hung with bling
Like insect, pinned, or farting like the wind
Outside its awful caves.—From rear to ear
Springs this pestiferous product dull and drear;
No cure this subtle medicine can find,
Rising like water to a boil, unkind
To every bar a bitter pint of beer.
The power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal and circumscribed in time and space;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will,—for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful caves.—From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.

Lyrix by ***** WORDSWORTH


mimic the form of an existing poem while changing the content.
Apr 26 · 64
ConnectHook Apr 26
What can you do with a nation in pajamas
Shuffling around in marijuana smoke?
How can dignity be restored
To those who barely possessed it?


What can u do w/a nation in pajamas
Whose baby-mamas wait for government checks?
How can a people be taught to read
Who only live to peruse their phone ?


What can u do w/a nation in pajamas
Rolling-jiggling toward morbidly obese?
How will that nation be made to grasp
That poverty is learned response ?


write a poem that invokes a specific object as a symbol
of a particular time, era, or place.
ConnectHook Apr 22
There's a place on Mars / Where the ladies smoke cigars
Every puff they take / Is enough to **** a snake
When the snake is dead / They plant roses in its head
When the roses die / They put diamonds in its eye
When the diamonds crack / They put mustard down its back
When the mustard dries / It attracts the Martian flies
When the flies get stomped / It becomes a Martian prompt
When the prompt gets writ / Then the Martians have a fit
When the fit is tight / Martian snakes begin to bite
If they bite your face / You become a Martian case
But your case won't close / Till your poems decompose
Write a poem that, like a Nursery rhyme, uses lines that have a repetitive set-up.
Apr 17 · 27
Poetic Protocols
ConnectHook Apr 17
To KAREN, who knows who she is

Have I been feverish?  Glad you asked.

Lyrically, I’m quite infected—

You, on the other hand, breathe fake news

Alarmed by your own progressive views.

With this your silly soul is tasked:

Poetically, you’re unprotected;

Virtue-signaling, scowling, masked . . .

Your hysteria is upsetting.

(God is absent from your fretting.)
NaPoWriMo #16
Apr 16 · 23
Cardboard Flats
ConnectHook Apr 16
Do you want to come to the Beer Store?
My five-year-old self jumped in near the wheel;
(knew I'd get a Slim Jim out of the deal . . .)
Quest for Carling Black Label: flat of twenty-four.

Mt. Auburn and Belmont fork: short trip.
The hiss pull-top can sound homeward-bound;
Offered: the cold can coming round
the shady lane corner. You want a  sip ?

Beer cans have a different sort of tab nowadays;
More push-in than peel-off.  What I will never do:
Hand a cold can to an underage son. True,
he was just being nice. Nineteen-sixties ways . . .

Google Earth shows where the store once used to be:
"Father and Son Floorcraft", which seems funny to me.
think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents,
and then to write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit,
before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.
Apr 14 · 171
Wahmyn Also Has Ideas
ConnectHook Apr 14
Hyphenated–Last–Name had  opinions.

Hyphenated–Last–Name was stunning & brave.

Hyphenated–Last–Name felt threatened as well as outraged.

Hyphenated–Last–Name spoke for all women everywhere.

Hyphenated–Last–Name took a bold stance for the marginalized.

Hyphenated–Last–Name spoke truth to power.

Hyphenated–Last–Name felt that strict measures were called for.

Hyphenated–Last–Name had her head up her ***.

Hyphenated–Last–Name did not believe in God.
NaPoWriMo prompt #14:
write a poem that delves into the meaning of a first or last name.
Apr 13 · 47
News 13
ConnectHook Apr 13
Following unsubstantiated reports regarding a potential news story, inhabitants of the neighborhood near what is purported to be the vicinity of the event describe seeing significant presence of both state and local law enforcement. Outside investigation and independent expert review have been brought in, according to a witness who declined to give their name on record. Sources close to the alleged whistleblower made unconfirmed allegations early Saturday, and a swift response by unnamed law enforcement agencies appears to be forthcoming. Federal and state agents are collaborating in an attempt to confirm the source or sources of the allegations. An agent wishing to remain anonymous until indictments are unsealed confirmed to KTW-TV: “we can’t say much yet but motives and identities of the perpetrators should be made known within a specified time-frame”. Residents were advised Sunday to be aware of suspicious individuals, both known and unknown, and to share suspicions or tips with local authorities through a hotline opened for that purpose. In the event that motives and identities are eventually disclosed, grief counselors and circus clowns have been alerted. Sources close to witnesses of the event maintain that a news story may have occurred.
write a poem in the form of a news article
ConnectHook Apr 12
Afrania, deficient in decency,
took her freak to a very high frequency.
Though not quite Cardi B,
she continues to be
the vile Roman, opposed to all quiescency.

Let’s compare and contrast: Maurice White
and his players took funk to the height
of all excellent altitude:
(Listen to Gratitude !)
Afrofuturism bright.

The perfection of Earth, Wind & Fire
shall continue to awe and inspire.
But in truth, all I see
in that foul Cardi B.
is a *****-mouth puta for hire.

In the end, Afrofuturist soul
Should consider its ultimate goal:
to alarm or inspire ?
Invite praise or satire
Of its cultural value, in whole . . .
Afrofuturism  (n.):
a movement in literature, music, art, etc., featuring futuristic or science fiction themes
which incorporate elements of Black history and culture

a Roman matron, who frequented the forum, forgetful of female decency.
(p. 58,  Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary)
Apr 12 · 29
Imprecatory Verse
ConnectHook Apr 12
Neurotic liberals who deny God’s word:
Be born-again. It’s not too late . . .
Or fall upon your own dull sword
With smug intolerant hearts of hate.

You’ve blathered on for years in error
New York Timesing, nose in Atlantic;
May God fill you with His terror
As your reading waxes frantic.

True, you may not be affected
In your grand patrician houses . . .
Still, you might check out, infected
Or your purebred dogs, or spouses.
NaPoWriMo prompt #11
Apr 12 · 24
Royal List-poem
ConnectHook Apr 12
Paella ingredients for Tuesday w/Hernando de T

   velvet + jewelery sale
♣ Polish Ferdinand's scepter

Finance conquest of territories for glory of Catholic Spain

>Get throne reupholstered

♚ Subjugate inhabitants of the New World & locate gold for Imperial crown

Leeching appointment with physician ♦ BRING ROSARY ♦!!

♝Talk to Toledo archbishop RE: burning heretics (next Sunday)

♥ Get Ferdinand’s ermine robes from cleaners  ♥ ♥  

> Smite Moorish Saracens/drive out of Spain (if time before nxt weeknd)
PROMPT #9: write a poem
in the form of a “to-do list.”
Apr 7 · 31
ConnectHook Apr 7


your home

for this land

and now you live here

and complain like a hypocrite.

You rail against America

while you **** her ***:

your new mom,

this land,


NaPoWriMo #7  (pt II)
The Fib is a six-line form. But now, the syllable count is based off the Fibonacci sequence of 1/1/2/3/5/8. You can  link multiple Fibs together into a multi-stanza poem, or even start going backwards after your first six lines, with syllable counts of 8/5/3/2/1/1.
Apr 7 · 205
Lyric Sow
ConnectHook Apr 7
As a ring of gold in a swine’s snout,
     So is a lovely woman who lacks discretion
                                                   Proverbs 11:22

Bang that thing:

Angry piano,

All black keys,

Sharps and flats;

Pull that ring out of your snout

And POUND that thing.

Then, that ring:

take it, melt it down,

make a mold,

cast a god,

and bow before your idol

(a vicious poem).
NaPoWriMo PROMPT #7:
The shadorma is a six-line, 26-syllable poem
(or a stanza – you can write a poem that is made of multiple shadorma stanzas).
The syllable count by line is 3/5/3/3/7/5.
Apr 7 · 32
White Magic
ConnectHook Apr 7
Militant poetess, dark ingrate
From what black hole did you emigrate?
From what strange galaxy of spite
Did you slither forth to curse and bite?
What absent father spawned your soul
to spread such vicious vitriol
And bring bad vibes wherever you go
In your bitter black feminist minstrel show?
NaPoWriMo day #6
Apr 7 · 142
Ground Down
ConnectHook Apr 7
My cutting tool has lost its edge.

This cutlery is rusted.

   Not because it is growing old,

but because it is growing disgusted.
My REAL day 5 of NaPoWriMo
Apr 5 · 28
ConnectHook Apr 5
Official scribblers, when I was a poet,
Whinged, driveling into an MFA void— 


Intolerable, as if  God were a literary milquetoast
with no poetic spine,

capable of little. An MA advisor.
If weird line breaks mean anything at all—

totally done with that.

Tepid sort of academic brown-nosing,
tedious rehash of predictable Modernism

obfuscating in rarefied tones, in some chapbook
boringly academic, same as it always was,

except offering their inferior product to no one.

And then before long, an awful new
poem is born. Cringingly dull.

Other children, when I was a child,
would at times invoke the inner light—
I misunderstood.
I thought it meant God scorches
within us, and God, like a torch,
can go out. That was so long ago.
I’ve since ceased my believing in death—
there’s no such thing.
There’s only a kind of brownout,
the whole of the globe turning
off for a moment, then shuddering
back, the same as it was,
except one person short.
And then before long, an utter new
person is born. Somebody worse.

                           (Natalie Shapero)
find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem.
Apr 4 · 25
Eastern Skies
ConnectHook Apr 4
God entered a welcoming ******’s womb
(as many among us have longed to do . . . )
Ascending, years later, from His own tomb
To rule and to reign from behind the blue.

       Passed over us: two thousand years—
       Short-term relief for lingering fears

As if no big thing, these feats by our Lord.
We hear it so often our hearts grow dull.
We’ve nothing but sullen indifference toward
The One who achieved redemption in full.

       Blood on the door-posts of your heart;
       Egyptian doom: you know this part

Theater of cruelty; His the main role.
Sad victim—until all fulfillment passed;
The playwright possessed of a blameless soul
whose angel stagehands assisted the cast.

       Now Romans marry Jewish brides;
       And Christ, the King of Kings, presides
Christ is LORD and Christ is risen!
ConnectHook Apr 4
Easter is that liminal space
Outside Jerusalem on a hill
Expunging guilt for all our race:
Assent to it with heart and will.
write a poem inspired by one of these odd, in-transition spaces.
No matter what neglected or eerie space you choose,
I hope its oddness tugs at the place in your mind and heart where poems are made.
Apr 4 · 34
ConnectHook Apr 4
Ginsberg’s boomers ramble on
Micromanaging the muse
Inflicting on poetic crowds
Futile and postmodern views.

Born of crackpot meditation,
Formless poems, hippie dreams.
Useless psychedelia-lite:
Poetry as empty as it seems.

MFA meets beatnik-Buddha
(Lord, what fools these mortals be)
Fouling the Colorado air
Forcing on us weak green tea.

Punk-rock poetry is dull—
Neo-Buddhism much worse;
Please do not conflate the two
By bigging-up your boring verse.
(Day 3):
make a “Personal Universal Deck,” and then to write a poem using it.
The idea of the “Personal Universal Deck” originated with the poet and playwright Michael McClure, who gave the project of creating such decks to his students in a 1976 lecture at Naropa University. Basically, you will need 50 index cards or small pieces of paper, and on them, you will write 100 words (one on the front and one on the back of each card/paper) using the rules found here.
Don’t agonize over your word choices. Making the deck should be fun and revealing, as you generate words that sound “good” to you. The fact that the words are mainly divided among the five senses should be helpful in selecting words that you like the sound of, and that have some meaning personal to you. For example, my deck contains “harbor,” “wool,” “murmur,” “obsidian,” and “needle.”
Once you have your deck put together, shuffle it a few times. Now select a card or two, and use them as the basis for a new poem.

(worst poetry prompt EVER in my humble)
Apr 4 · 30
To the Core
ConnectHook Apr 4
Echoing footsteps, near Port Authority:
One bad decision enhanced by beer
Recalling the mishap in anteriority:
I needed a healthier dose of fear.

Clueless young wallet, easy prey
I bit at the apple of urban bait
I was her golden goose to waylay
All because Amtrak departed late.

What if the door had been locked in that hall?
What if the lady had used a knife?
I wish I could blame it on alcohol . . .
Thank God I escaped with my life.
write a poem about your own road not taken –
about a choice of yours and what might have happened

Based on a TRUE STORY !
Apr 2 · 120
ConnectHook Apr 2
Then they shall be afraid and ashamed
of Ethiopia their expectation and Egypt their glory
                                                         ­   Isaiah 20:5

Pulsating freak anemones’
Protoplasmic revelation
Netherworld futilities:
Darwinistic thought-abortion.

Permanent Egyptian *******:
Eggman dragging Pharaoh’s ark . . .
Droning superficial sondage
Rises in black light of dark.

It’s Pharoah’s sub-Erythrean grave !
Sun Ra drones within the vault;
Atonal mode that cannot save . . .
(This is all Chad Van Gaalen’s fault.)
write a poem inspired by this animated version
of Seductive Fantasy by Sun Ra and his Arkestra.
ConnectHook Mar 27
The last and dreadful day has come
The trumpet loudly sounds
The sleeping millions in the earth
Rise from the quaking ground!

O fearful sight! Where can I hide ?
What doleful wails I hear !
The moon turns now to ****** red,
The stars fall from their sphere !
The isles and mountains flee away,
The sun – it will not shine.
My eyes behold Christ Jesus come,
To judge the works of time !
No place to hide!

I care not now what people think
Or if they hear my cries.
My money and my pleasures, too,
Have vanished with my pride.
Down on my knees I fall, and then
Confessing Christ as “Lord of all”  –
I have no stubborn, proud heart now,
O hear the Great Judge call!
Too late to pray!

My sins are trailing my poor soul
Up to the throne of God.
Why do they follow, even here?
They will not pass His Word !
With piercing look, He views my works,
There’s nothing I can hide.
Where is one of my earthly friends?
Come! Stand here by my side!
No, now I stand ALONE!

I glance at Him, the Righteous Judge,
He says, “Depart from Me”!
I drop into the fiery pit
God! Give me just ONE moment now
Of time! Please hear my cry!
(Despairing thought-
‘Twas I who chose To EVER, EVER DIE!)
No more hope!

A thousand tongues could ne’er describe
The anguish that I feel,
Too late, too late now to repent,
Hell fire is all too REAL!
Forever now while ages roll,
My soul shall scream and burn.
Though torment reigns, my mind is clear –
In life, God’s love I spurned.
Forever doomed!

No water here, no light, no rest,
No love, no joy, no friend,
No children dear, no cheering song,
No hope my fate will end.
Writhing in flames, pain racks my soul,
And piercing cries I hear.
My wretched soul God sees it not –
‘Tis more than I can bear! Forgotten eternally!

Dear friend, today a loving Lord
Would save you from this fate.
Come humbly now, accept His grace
Before it is too late!

                                                 (Author unknown)
courtesy of:
Mar 25 · 182
I and I spired Poem
ConnectHook Mar 25
☩ ☩ ☩

I if you think

That Haile Selassie

is the Living God of scripture

you are WAY too high

and I and I and I and I . . .
Rasta stop babbling and get SAVED
Mar 23 · 237
Se unen en uno
ConnectHook Mar 23
Un neurótico

se une

con una erótica
Pithy aphorism for your erudite perusal, señores y señoras
Favor de decirme si se lo lee bien en español o no
ConnectHook Mar 16
en vano intentaba
ver la mano soberana
que yo sabía
que asía
la mía

(Manantiales en el desierto: 13 marzo)
Mar 8 · 58
ConnectHook Mar 8
Peep be like:

Aint no TRUMP
in tha house
No mo

Now we all

Gone *** PAID

whole nation
cashin checkz now


Going to endorse

every single one.

Gnome sane?
I hope Jobiden and Carmela get us into some more wars soon!
Maybe they can outsource more manufacturing to China too ☺
Mar 6 · 221
ConnectHook Mar 6
Domestic terror
behind you in the line to pay
for their groceries
Mar 2 · 256
Sixes and Sevens
ConnectHook Mar 2
After sextuplets come septuplets
Inconceivably set-uplets . . .
Long hard nights of Mom kept-uplets
Sevenfold fruit of busy couplets.
Not to mention octuplets . . .
or even baby squids
Feb 25 · 90
Solomonic Haiku
ConnectHook Feb 25
All is vanity.
(Easy for the king to say
Between concubines . . .)
But king Solomon loved many strange women, together with the daughter of Pharaoh, women of the Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Zidonians, and Hittites:

Of the nations concerning which the Lord said unto the children of Israel, Ye shall not go in to them, neither shall they come in unto you: for surely they will turn away your heart after their gods: Solomon clave unto these in love.

And he had seven hundred wives, princesses, and three hundred concubines: and his wives turned away his heart.

For it came to pass, when Solomon was old, that his wives turned away his heart after other gods: and his heart was not perfect with the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father.

1 Kings 11: 1-4
Jan 22 · 87
ConnectHook Jan 22
Cisgender is a ***** word
Appealing to that ***** herd
Where gender is a bygone term
And pink-haired demons reign, infirm.
That strident less-than-one percent
To whose confusion worlds are bent
make sure u cut yourself a lot
because genderz and etc.
Jan 21 · 184
ConnectHook Jan 21
Let's give thanks
for the new presidential team:
Jobiden and Carmela Harrison!

They are the GREATEST and
most populer rulers

since George Lincoln and
Abraham Jefferson
and Barak OBAMO and
Jobiden also got way more votes than Ronald Raegan.

Yay AMERICA !!!!!!!!
Now we am heal with unity and Jobiden
Jan 5 · 87
Orange Man Rides
ConnectHook Jan 5
Darkness slays the sun. Descending, he dies.
To hide his glowing countenance and wait;
Until his resurrection flood our skies
With promise of a greater solar state

Oh mourn and weep, ye gaining shades of night;
An orange sunset lingers in the west.
The trumpet sobs a reveille; the light
Is dwindling on the presidential fest.
And cypresses are sighing in their shame
For Orange Man has forfeited his game.

The technocrats and leftists, as a mass
Opposed his righteous reign with godless spite.
Not once did they relent, but dogged his ***
In jackal-packs still slavering to bite.
And yet he is deplorably adored,
Nor friend nor foe politically bored.

Vile virtue-signalers (with none to show),
Despised all those who dared support his plan;
And prideful with each whining coward blow
Confirmed themselves inferiors to the man.
Pink feminists, at odds with all that's right
Displayed themselves as ******* in the fight.

They could not stand the mention of his name.
The Globalists and other Euro-trash,
With Luciferian bankers, void of shame,
Resume their one-world plotting in a flash;
Preparing for re-set. (We wish they would
Let God reset them for their own **** good.)

So DRUMPF's Fourth ***** must sadly reach its end,
And Jared's **** wife return her shoes.
His Völkisch warriors shall no more defend
Republics that weak RINOs all refuse;
And Milquetoast Mitt, and Bush, his parting hail
Grown tired of winning, longing yet to fail.

My Einsatzgruppen uniform: no more
To wear the holy garment in my pride.
My shimmering hood and robe I now must store;
Well-pressed, I lay them tearfully aside.
My lynching rope I coil with loving care,
My Ku-Klux armband nevermore to wear.

Alas, the fascist father-figure goes;
His bigot minions, all my own, lament.
Misogynists and racists at the close
Have lost their weary way and all is spent.
He wasn't dictatorial enough;
We all grew tired of winning. It was tough.

But wait; a zephyr stirs the orange grove.
The dusk has not yet sighed its final breath:
Once more a scent of citrus wafts above . . .
Twas' premature, their festival of death.
Then TRUMP arises, grinning, from the bier
And all who who wished him gone recoil in fear.

Fresh horror now the adversaries sweeps;
The trembling crypts foreshadow his rebirth.
Progressive politics despairs and weeps
While liberal dread supplants their vengeful mirth.
Then Donald rises, leering like a ghost
To fill with panic every heartless host

Mere hopium, this horror-movie plot.
It looked like he might pull it off— but no.
Now darkness teaches light what it is not
And half the nation jeers at him to go.
Healing urged—but fake. Polarization
Shall characterize our waning nation.

Hopes of resurrection vanish with night. 
The scapegoat's legions waken from the dream
To seek nocturnal solace from the fight:
The tepid normie water's middle stream.
And Q-**** numerologists learn code.
(The rest of us just wonder what we're owed.)

Saint Orange must diminish, half-impeached;
And sunset velvet now becomes his hue.
The ballot urns of Georgia never reached;
Our judges sat to stifle what we knew.
The monoparty's monkeys steal the show;
His puppet masters hiss him. Let him go.

Now Dixie's juiceless orchards sing his dirge.
The willows hang their boughs in leafless grief . . .
Disgust for all the traitors starts to surge;
And clown-world tries but cannot bring relief.
Orange Savior's promise: undelivered;
The funeral expires—and all is withered.
Thanks to my muse for alternate stanzas !
Dec 2020 · 172
Karibu Kwanzaa
ConnectHook Dec 2020
Dr. Ron, a Maulana appointed
was an Afrikan king (self-anointed).
While his roots went un-vetted
his followers fêted . . .
But Kwanzaa was somewhat disjointed.
I’m dreaming of a black Kwanzaa . . .
Let Ron Karenga show you how.
Where the kente’s shining, there’s Afro-whining,
and ghetto thugs quote Chairman Mao.

I’m dreaming of a black Kwanzaa
with each Swahili word I lack;
may your ethno-hubris never slack
and may all your Kwanzaa fruits be black…
Dec 2020 · 83
h A.I. ku
ConnectHook Dec 2020
most of these comments, poets,
Just like most comments on CensorTube
Dec 2020 · 52
Dubbed into Night
ConnectHook Dec 2020
We a go chek di vibe
we a warriah
an wi haffe rock wit di riddim

In dis dub reveleshan
Inna dread dispensation

Of di medical marijuana
Fi all di white bway dem

Fi all di white knights
Of Nyabinghi Babylon

Fi all dem ***** smokahs
Who dwell
In perpetual fog
Of night
Dec 2020 · 48
Con Fusions
ConnectHook Dec 2020
Some society
Are go crazy
Some people’s
Eat bad chemical
So they hormones
All mix up.
Those child’s and parent
Has minds
Boy say he girl
Women say
She are man
Call him her
It get angry.

But they doesn’t
Takes time
To looking
Between her legs
Of him.
And them puberty-blocking hormones
Hoo boy they exPENSIVE, girl.
Dec 2020 · 100
ConnectHook Dec 2020
The dead watch media.
The dead want life
to return to Normal.

The dead are ignorant
of propagandistic brainwashing.
The dead
have opinions.

The dead
assume that the living
are a threat.

The dead avoid offense.
They change their Facebook banner.
they revile
the Living.

is not the god

of the DEAD.
Dead Don't Dance
Dec 2020 · 53
Transnational Error
ConnectHook Dec 2020
******* is impossibility.
It cannot exist.
A man cannot give birth.

Biology is real.
Biological limitation is real.

Sinful humans wish to dictate
to God, the Creator.
But they are deluded.

They are in rebellion
Against reality.
It is called sin.
There is no such thing.
Some are possessed.
Most are damaged and confused.
God is good.
Dec 2020 · 197
Low Barr Haiku
ConnectHook Dec 2020
****** William Barr
Swamp creature par excellence
Shows us who he is.
Pardoned FBI Ruby Ridge Killers.
Look it up.
**** these people.
Nov 2020 · 78
Dairy Devils
ConnectHook Nov 2020
Muzzling the masses, sowing fear,
Inspiring every viral breath,
Democrat dairy-farms grow rich
Milking that Covid cow to death.

Self-contradicting messages;
Milkmaids panic, udders shrivel . . .
The coronation. Then, the reign:
Media hypes the fearful drivel.

Bigging up that Chinese chest-cold,
Karens cluck while nannies scold us;
Golden goose for global tyrants—
Chinese take-out. (What they told us.)

Pestilential testing frenzies;
Killing the patient with the cure.
Social distances grow further.
There is no god. That much is sure.
Nov 2020 · 64
Post-electoral Vomit
ConnectHook Nov 2020
Downstream dumbed
Half-floating, benumbed

Nation as necropolis
Propagandized populace

Chattering ghosts
Flat-screened hosts

Mediation sedation
Sedition commission

Ballot ballet onstage for you:
pas de deux or pas du tout

And the Lord shall have Dominion™ . . .

(Find a rhyme for revulsion)
Keep counting, sinners.
You still have time
to turn to Christ for salvation.
(You MUST be born again.)
                  St. John 3:3
Nov 2020 · 55
For Four Years Your Fears
ConnectHook Nov 2020
You never shut up.
You despised half of your nation.
You insulted your neighbors.
You believed the New York Times.
You whined.
You projected.
You hated.
You neurotically reacted to daily life.
You, and you alone, chose to revile.
You virtue-signaled your silly self into oblivion.
You put some SIGN on your suburban lawn.

Now you defend electoral fraud.
Go **** yourself.
We no longer listen to you.
Because you are dead.
TRUMP 2020, *******.
There are only 2 (two) genders.
Next page