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Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
In deep winter’s chill a brief nudge
gets groundhogs, with barely a grudge,
to predict the season,
but I ask, with good reason,
if they differ, who will be the judge?
Something I always wondered.
With wild teased hair, bright orange, and wearing shoes too big,
The clown abandoned Ringling to take on a new gig.
He was not content to pay his rent, like others of his “race”,
By acting in the remake of “killer clowns from outer space”
Nor would he do kids’ parties although he is no slouch
at raising fears that will take years to solve upon a couch .

With wild teased hair, a bright red nose and makeup piled on thick,
This clown decamped to Washington to try out his new Shtick.
With Eddie Munster as his pal, new laws he would propose,
that Femes, dressed as Vaginas, would vociferously oppose.
He’d surround himself with Sycophants but will not get too far
as, unlike his former colleagues, they don’t all fit in one car.

The clown claims he can build a wall to keep out one and all,
and he has a herd of Elephants at his beck and call.
He rules our land by fiat, as delay he can’t abide
He is a textbook narcissist with an overweening pride.

Minnesota has Al Franken as a Senator of course
And, back in Roman times, the purple was worn by a horse.
So  one might say that precedents exist for this strange thing;
for a clown to wield a scepter and rule over us as king.
The circus comes to Washington D.C. for a (hopefully) limited run.
  Jan 2017 Scarlet McCall
B L Costello
“Don’t let it hurt”,
(Through tears she begged)
“RELAX”!
“DON’T ****”!
“Cross your legs”,
“It only gets harder”,
“Life is not fair”,
(She pulled the brush through her hair)
“The shoes are tight”,
“JUST SIT”’
“It is do ‘able”
“You begged for that heel”
“IT HURTS TO BE BEAUTIFUL”,
“Is it important”?
“YES…….IT’S A MUST!”
“That’ how people look at us”
“Baby don’t cry….we’re gonna have cake”
“Remember your napkin, today you are eight”!
© B L Costello 2017
He was not from these parts; a big city teen.
At Five – Six not imposing, he was barely fourteen.
A big city teen with a bit of a mouth,
which was bad for a black man in the heart of the South.

A warm summer day in an old country store,
The white girl was a looker; that much was sure.
Emmitt Till whistled for he was impressed
With how good that girl looked in that tight fitting dress.

That girl had a husband, a big burly man.
He was a bad man to cross for he rode with the ****.
He and his cousin sought out Emmitt Till.
If a man can die slowly they both swore this one will.

The two held Emmitt captive in an old wooden barn.
They strung him up with barbed wire and broke both of his arms.
They gouged out one eye for the pleasure of pain
Then they dragged out to the river his mortal remains.

His poor mother wept when she saw what they’d done;
How they’d tortured and murdered her beloved son.
She mourned, open casket, and word soon got out
How Black men were killed in the Heart of the South.

The law found Till’s killers and brought them to court.
But the jury was friendly (or else they were bought).
The two killers went free, smiling, down the court steps.
But their sins lit a fire folks here won’t forget.

After Till’s death Civil Rights was the cause
There were marches and protests; the movement changed laws
The ****’s hold would be broken; of that do not doubt,
And, slowly, things changed in the heart of the South.
Emmitt Till, a native of Chicago, Illinois was tortured and killed by two white clansmen in the waning days of August 1955. His crime was whistling at  a white girl in Glendora ,Mississippi
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
I’m a hard-hearted woman;
I’ve seen too much of life.
I’ve seen the conflict, I’ve seen the strife.
I’ve seen the kindergarten
with its bombed-out walls.
And I know that your tax dollars
paid for it all.
Killing people in their homes,
in their hospitals, and schools,
was outlawed by the world
after World War II.
Do you need to question why
it breaks all the rules?
Putting people into camps,
and bulldozing where they lived--
so you can steal their land--
is a crime I can’t forgive.
There has to be one Law
for us all, on this planet.
There is no such thing as justice
if everyone can’t have it.
Your people aren’t special,
and no, they’re not “Chosen.”
They’re grandiose fanatics,
shooting, bombing and
bulldozing.
Israel plans on building more West Bank "settlements," emboldened by Donald Trump.
Yes, I have been there.
The title of this poem comes from someone on another poetry site calling me a "hard-hearted woman."
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
I’m a woman with some attitude--
not one who will dispense a platitude.
Chicken soup won’t give you soul;
from me, it’ll get you an eye roll.
You try to mask your disapproving looks
with sanctimonious advice from large print books:
“Embrace the moment” “Be grateful” and “Breathe”
“Pray” “See only the good” “Turn the other cheek”
“Accept others’ flaws” “Don’t criticize”--
I have some advice that’s a bit more wise:
“Don’t put up with *******” “Embrace your outrage."
While you were living in the “present,” history turned the page.
God is Dead, you’ve got to take charge;
you’ve been scammed by crooks in suits, who live large.
People aren’t so good; sometimes they’re ****.
They’ve pulled the rug out from under where you sit.
Don’t accept others’ flaws; tell them to go to hell.
If you’re really mad, don’t breathe, just yell.
Anger is good, it’s there for a reason.
You’re just a phony, with your people pleasin’.
Get off your **** and take some action--
stick it to the jerks, join the radical faction.
Accommodating ******* just brings on more--
just wait, and you’ll see what’s next in store.
  Jan 2017 Scarlet McCall
Damian Murphy
Whether on stone or wood, slate or leather,
Papyrus, parchment, vellum or paper,
With fingers or stylus, chalk or the quill,
Much later with the pen or the pencil,
Or the typewriter, computers today;
Writers, to write, will always find a way.
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