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May 27 · 72
Do your f*cking job
A mother sobbing,
a raging mob.
What we need is people
to do their job.
A cop stands still
amidst the crowd.
To **** or…be killed?
His head is bowed.
Lock the door and
set the alarm.
So simple a task
to keep some from harm.
Collecting a paycheck,
is easy to do.
But there’s a lot more
we expect of you.
By the time that you
become a grown up
you should have learned
it’s important to show up.
Most of the world's problems would be solved if people just did their jobs.
Apr 19 · 100
Our Hero
“I don’t want to be a hero.”
said a short Jewish comedian
who never commanded a regiment
or entertained heads of state.
But when you said that victory
is lives saved, we knew that you are one.
When you said “we will win”
we knew.
Our countries have
handshaking, photo posing,
equivocating, suit-wearing,
empty words repeating,
backslapping, deal-making
cowards who never faced down
an enemy who rapes mothers
in front of their children
and tosses corpses into streets
and leaves dead young men
on the battlefield so that
their mothers will never
know the truth.
Perseus didn’t negotiate with Medusa.
Nor David with Goliath.
Nor Churchill with ******.
An Enemy must be defeated.
We need more heroes.
Apr 2 · 120
The Dark Lord
They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
And abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
Of the same name,
Destruction is their pleasure
And killing their game.

Their Dark Lord sits upon his throne
In Sochi, where his mind dwells alone.
To unite all, under his dark reign,
As subjects, or slaves—to Him, all the same.
No longer in Thangorodrim does He dwell.
He rules now from Moscow, and seeks
an Empire of Hell.

Hell is created
By the ORCS whom he orders.
Their blood lust to be sated
Far beyond  Russia’s borders.
Destruction they rain from the skies above
On people who must flee
From all that they love.

They were human once,
And perhaps even Him.
Now they are beyond
The world’s Creation
And we call on Varda
To vanquish him.
The Shadow always takes another form and rises again.
Mar 17 · 60
What Beauty Is
My Facebook photos of birds and trees,
of pretty flowers and woodland scenes,
garner likes from the people I know.
But when I post photos of slugs and bats,
of bees and insects I found on the paths,
my Facebook friends are nowhere to be found.
I don’t have any cuddly cats to show,
or babies, or a girl with her hair in a bow.
But I love nature in all of its forms.
The slug inches across the ground,
the bat flits in the twilight without a sound,
both of them pollinate beautiful plants.
Why don’t my friends see Nature’s beauty abound
in every creature, above and on ground,
when if any of them should disappear,
we’ll know that the end of our time is near.
Mar 7 · 320
The Killer
Each time we’re surprised
when the killer kills.
Somehow we’re misled
by his demeanor and smiles.
He said he’d get counseling,
or that he wouldn’t do it.
We never thought he’d
actually engage in killing.
We think he’s “just like us,”
someone motivated by
“rational self interest.”
Who wants a world reduced to dust?
He laughs. Who wouldn’t want
the supreme thrill of total control
that one gets from killing?
And after a good body count
there’s nothing left to live for.
There’s no reason to keep living.
Total annihilation
is the top prize.
Power through destruction
of all of our lives.
It’s better than ***, money
or prestige. Who needs respect
from others; terror and horror
are so much more satisfying.
So the next time someone threatens
killing, let’s listen. He’s not lying.
The hawks scream from the sky above
while the jays screech.
Melodious notes
seem out of their reach.
The raven is silent,
while the crows caw;
the blackbirds’ discordant noise
is from Hell’s maw.
But the swallows twitter
as they fly through the air
and the finches chirp
from tree branches bare.
Even better is the song and the trill
that comes from the lowliest bird still.
The humble sparrow
on bush or ground
has the sweetest of any bird’s sound.
Blackbirds make truly appalling sounds.
When the mountains are melted,
The host of heaven dissolved and
The heavens rolled together as a scroll
And all the host fall down
The streams turned into pitch
It shall not be quenched night nor day
The unicorns shall come down
And the bullocks with the bulls
The cormorant and the bittern shall possess it
The thorns shall come up in her palaces
Nettles and brambles
It shall be a court for owls
There shall the great owl make her nest
And hatch
The vultures shall be gathered, every one with her mate
None shall want her mate
They shall possess it forever
Generation to generation
They shall dwell therein
Birds rule. Even the Bible says so.
Jan 29 · 124
Dinosaur Ditties
We’ve had 60 million years to get it right.
The key step: We invented flight.
Oh, and there’s 180 degree vision--
definitely one of the better decisions.
We pared down the midsection
and the meaty tail.  
Enormous size—well, that was a fail.
But an asteroid couldn’t do us in.
We found a new form—the chicken.

Who needs all those teeth—they just decay.
A beak’s good for tearing
a nice fat mouse--favorite prey.
A hawk rules the skies, far above
slow humans below.
The telephone line hosts the mourning dove
and the crow.
Some of us may die, but some will survive,
no matter how the world changes.
You see, we’ve had a lot of practice
through the eons and ages.
Birds rule.
Jan 9 · 154
5 Celebrity Apologies
I apologize for my offensive tweet. I know that my words caused real harm, and for the next two weeks I will be spending time in reflection, meditation, and  healing yoga at my Colorado ranch. I am also donating $100,000 to Black Marxists Anonymous.

I humbly ask forgiveness for the insensitive remarks that I made on my friend’s 1985 middle school yearbook page when I was 13. I know that my words caused real harm. There is no excuse for my poor judgment, and although my supporters mean well by pointing out that I was an adolescent, I do not agree that I should not be held to the same standards as a contemporary adult. I have spent time with my pastor examining my deep sinful nature.

I regret my costume at the Met Gala. I know that cultural appropriation causes real harm, and for a white woman to wear a dress adorned with feathers is an insult to Native Americans. I have auctioned off all of my turquoise jewelry and donated the proceeds to a Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Committee studying ways to improve BIPOC representation on the Met Gala planning committee. I have engaged a Native shaman to guide me to a path of understanding via guided Ayahuasca use.  

I take full responsibility for standing next to Ned, my former best friend, in the photograph that has recently emerged of us at a friend’s wedding last year. Ned’s inexcusable remark on Tuesday that “All lives matter” is deeply offensive to me and today I join the diverse community that is boycotting his performances. I am ashamed that I ever called this person my friend.  

I regret ever working with J.K. Rowling. She is a transphobic hatemonger who deserves our scorn and contempt. I realize that she will continue to espouse her bigoted views, because her fans do not care, Harry Potter lives forever, and she’s a billionaire who probably lives in a castle. But I will continue to post my outrage on my Facebook page so that…anyway, Rowling *****!
Mar 2021 · 189
My Old House
Scarlet McCall Mar 2021
This old house is a crumblin’ down
This old house is a tumblin’ down
The paint is peeling
water drips from the ceiling
and the foundation’s sinking
into the ground.

The wiring’s faulty and the floors have a tilt.
The ground it was built on was actually silt.
The basement has rats,
the attic’s got  bats
and the neighborhood’s ruled by feral cats.

The driveway needs paving;
just who will be saving
this rotten old house at the end of the road?

I’d build a new house if only I could.
If I could do it, you know I would.
But I can’t tear it down and begin again.
It’s my home and I'm here to the end.
Jan 2021 · 288
Massive Fail
Scarlet McCall Jan 2021
Shattered glass and a blood trail.
A dead policeman in a massive fail.
Horned-y guy waves his spear,
trying to get us to fear.
Qanon conspiracy
says Pelosi and Hillary
make pizza pies with children’s blood.
But their message is a dud
with the sane who still dominate.
A bizarro postscript in history, the fate
of the mob of deluded nobodies
who entered the Capitol with ease.
Because who would have thought...
well...it was right on 4chan, the plot.
Seems not many do their jobs
and a policeman’s killed by wacko slobs.
Oct 2020 · 314
Normal for Your Age
Scarlet McCall Oct 2020
Your left knee is arthritic,
Your spine is warping too
Your reactions aren’t so quick
And you’re often in the loo,
But we cannot help you
Your time is simply due.
It’s normal for your age.

Your skin’s become quite dry
As well as your nether parts
Your outfit isn’t fly
And you’re far more prone to farts
But it’s been written in the cards
It’s been sung by many bards
It’s normal for your age.

You tell me it’s an illness
And you want it treated fast
I’m afraid it’s your willfulness
You weren’t designed to last
The diagnosis is that your youth is in the past
We won’t treat your condition; the die’s already cast.
It’s normal for your age.
If I hear this phrase one more time...
May 2020 · 251
RIP Roy Horn
Scarlet McCall May 2020
Roy Horn always favored big cats.
He put them in all of his acts.
But then Manticore,
who thought Roy was a bore,
said “Enough” and then Roy was just snacks.
Sorry, I think making wild animals do tricks is not entertainment. Someone who witnessed the scene was interviewed on tv and said that Horn tried to get the tiger to do something, the tiger misunderstood, Roy reprimanded it and "the tiger said "Enough of this." It was the best tv quote ever.
May 2020 · 247
Aredhel the White
Scarlet McCall May 2020
She only wanted to walk freely,
or gallop through a valley
and feel the wind in her hair.
To camp by a stream and eat lembas
and wild roots.  Wander here and there
with Feanor’s sons, hunt wild boar, and drink
and laugh.
She would cast away the distaff.

But freedom for a woman can be a fragile thing,
beautiful and brief as a moth’s wing.
And a male without a mate is dangerous.
Eol, the Dark Elf, dwelt in shadow, in Nan Elmoth.
He saw Aredhel, alone and lost, and desired her, to betroth.

She had no choice
but to seek help at a stranger’s door.
And then she had choice no more.

Captivity breaks weaker hearts.
But Aredhel was Elven, and of Finwe’s line.
She bided time. She worked her womanly arts.
She raised a son, and loved him,
and told him stories of fair Gondolin.
When chance arrived, they broke free
and fled West, to the fair city.
Eol, enraged, pursued them,
and the words of Curufin stung him.
He would have killed his only son
for his defiance, but fate denied him
this pyrrhic victory.
Maeglin lived, and watched his father
die, as he stood by, free.

Maeglin—his father’s son—desired one
who loved him not. In reckless despair, he traveled too far,
and Morgoth preyed on his shame and desire.
It was not hard to turn Maeglin traitor and liar.
But no reward had Maeglin in this life--
never did he take fair Idril to wife.

Aredhel died to save her son, not knowing
he would be the one
to bring ruin on the Elven city.
Maeglin (his father’s son) had no kindness nor pity.  
He revealed the secret path
to Morgoth (his likeness in envy and in wrath).
And in the end, all fell: Gondolin, Nargothrond
and Doriath.
The tale of Aredhel, from the Silmarillion, told in verse. If you've never read the Silmarillion, it might seem a bit obscure
Apr 2020 · 418
Earth Days (Re-post)
Scarlet McCall Apr 2020
Environmental advice
from a re-purposed hag:
Stop driving cars.
Use a re-usable bag.
Cook dinner at home.
Adopt children, not pets.
Don't use plastic cups.
Don't eat tuna caught with nets.
Don't toss out food--
it becomes methane gas.
Stop shopping for clothes;
give consumerism a pass.
Wear natural fabrics.
Turn off extra lights.
Use solar cells.
Live the days and sleep the nights.
I admit I couldn't live without my care, but I'm a 50-something with bad knees and bad feet.
Mar 2020 · 298
Little Red and the Big Wolf
Scarlet McCall Mar 2020
Little Red was a fast runner; she sped round the track with surprising velocity. Freddi Wolf was a newcomer, with size and intensity. "What big shoulders you have," said Red. "And you’re towering over me." "Don’t worry," said Freddi; "I’m just a girl who tries hard; you  could probably beat me". "Your legs are quite hairy," said Red. "I don’t shave them with frequency." "And your voice is so deep." "No more comments! Have decency."  They both ran very fast, but Wolf took the win. He bared his white fangs when he collected his trophy. But he quickly changed his expression to a sheepish grin.
Keep boys and men out of girls' and women's sports.
Feb 2020 · 161
Buzz (re-post)
Scarlet McCall Feb 2020
Buzz
From HortiDaily: "In a few countries, bumblebees are not available and manual pollination must be used... It pays to remember.. that without proper pollination a tomato plant will not produce premium fruit.
When tomato plants are pollinated manually, the best method is by using electric bees. These are battery operated vibrators. Staff must vibrate every plant in the glasshouse three times per week "

Tomatoes won’t ripen
right without pollination.
It helps to have a bumblebee
to give that good vibration.
But if you lack the bumble,
there’s another way, you see:
Your plants all can be pollinated
manually.
You will need to use some labor,
and wield a good *******--
the electric bee will soon become
your best-loved pollinator.
Your fruit is premium
and you’ll want to keep its savor.
don't know why this poem disappeared from my profile
Scarlet McCall Jan 2020
My latest poem was deleted from my profile, although it's still in my published poems list. I got 21 "bell rings" but actually only two new comments/likes. What is going on???
Jan 2020 · 97
Buzz
Scarlet McCall Jan 2020
From HortiDaily: "In a few countries, bumblebees are not available and manual pollination must be used... It pays to remember.. that without proper pollination a tomato plant will not produce premium fruit.
When tomato plants are pollinated manually, the best method is by using electric bees. These are battery operated vibrators. Staff must vibrate every plant in the glasshouse three times per week "

Tomatoes won’t ripen
right without pollination.
It helps to have a bumblebee
to give that good vibration.
But if you lack the bumble,
there’s another way, you see:
Your plants all can be pollinated
manually.
You will need to use some labor,
and wield a good *******--
the electric bee will soon become
your best-loved pollinator.
Your fruit is premium
and you’ll want to keep its savor.
Jan 2020 · 313
After the Fire
Scarlet McCall Jan 2020
They’re just things, they said. They can be replaced.

30-year-old handwritten letters from friends.
Photos of a place that no longer exists.
The stuffed animal that had a name.
The quilt grandma sewed for me.

You have your memories, they said.

But my possessions were the keys to my  mind’s drawers.
My old life is locked away.
I can't see it now,
through the smoke and flames.
I can't smell it,
only the  poisonous odor of melting vinyl.
I can't hear it,
just the crackling and crashing of the trees.

You’re lucky to be alive, they said.

But I'm having trouble proving I'm alive.
I have no passport, drivers license or diploma.
No utility bill,  birth certificate, or computer hard drive.
No Social Security card.

Some have it worse than you, they said.

Some always have it worse.
I didn't lose a husband, mother or child.
Just my cats. I thought they would follow me out the door
but they ran in the other direction.
I try to think of them in the forest somewhere,
climbing trees, and
not as charred bones.

But
I have the car.
I still have the car. I will drive it far
far away
from here.
Scarlet McCall Dec 2019
On the First day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
A transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the second day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the third day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me
No women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fourth day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me,
Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fifth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the sixth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports team, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the seventh day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the eighth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Eight cheater’s trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men!  Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake *******, and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the ninth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
nine pharma lobbyists,  eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties,  no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms, and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the 10th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the 11th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!
On the 12th day of Xmas my Dem Rep gave to me,
12 preferred pronouns, 11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant ment! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!
Dec 2019 · 160
I Miss New York City
Scarlet McCall Dec 2019
Oh California, your promise fair
of a new land for those who dare
to leave the familiar for parts unknown--
is this really your promise shown?

Bleached blonde wives in SUVs
guzzling gas to choke the trees
in Marin County’s “progressive” eaves.

Homeless wanderers everywhere
not worth one techie’s stare
mumble incoherent despair.

San Francisco, company town
by 6 pm is almost shut down.
No street performers or bustling crowds.
No individual exuberance allowed.

Sloppy clothes and average food
put me in a gloomy mood.
Conversations quickly stall
when I realize the person I’m talking with
knows
nothing
at
all.

Mansions spread on avenues;
more room than a tech billionaire could possibly use,
yet they pontificate about their progressive views.

They practice yoga and eat vegan
while smoking **** and chugging gin
and complain about the state they’re in.
You could call it a spiritual malaise;
self obsession in a purple haze.

I guess I knew this all along.
I didn’t hear it in a song.
I read it, 30 years ago—
in Ellis’ “Less Than Zero.”
It's not all bad. Marin County has beautiful open space, a state park and Golden Gate National Recreation Area and more. It's the people here I don't like. And although I haven't come across ***** films and I believe Ellis exaggerated, I see the mentality that he described--the self centeredness and lack of empathy, a kind of soulless vapidity.
Scarlet McCall Oct 2019
Oh Mountain biker, your tires leave a tread
throughout the green trees and the hills of this land.
I see on the path where my wand’rings have led
the earth and the rocks are now ground to fine sand.
Tree roots are exposed; some have been broken,
and I must move off the path, so that you can pass.
I wish that an army of Ents had been woken!
Why must you speed through the forest so fast?
You miss all the sights that a walker can see--
the lizards that scurry, the silvery web
a spider has woven in a trunk of a tree.
A hawk and a vulture who fly overhead,
in springtime the flowers of yellow and blue.
Your daredevil feats are no match for this view.
Why don't they bike on the road?
Aug 2019 · 3.2k
Global Warming Villanelle
Scarlet McCall Aug 2019
"When you encounter a mountain lion, be vocal; however, speak calmly and do not use high pitched tones or high pitch screams"--California Dept. of Fish and Wildlife

Be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams
when a mountain lion appears on your path.
Remind yourself that it’s not a  dream.

If the path goes down to a flooded stream,
and bodies float by--
stay calm;  avoid high pitched tones and screams.

When you go to the store and there’s no milk or cream,
as the cows are sickened  from a poisoned well,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.

If the wildfire turns your hot tub to steam,
as you run down the street to your neighbor’s car
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.

When the weather goes to another extreme,
and mudslides cover another town,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.

When the fisherman catches no salmon nor bream,
and there’s no more coffee, nor chocolate ice cream,
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.
Remind yourself that it’s not a dream.
Feb 2019 · 1.5k
Love Poem #7 (PF re-post)
Scarlet McCall Feb 2019
I saw you standing, dressed to ****.
Perhaps waiting for someone to tell you of her thrill--
the thrill that you give, when you start to sing.
I should’ve told you then that I’d been listening.
I’d just started to listen, just begun to catch the fire;
it wasn’t until later that I burned with desire.
Then I fell for you, I fell for you deep.
You’ve been playing with my mind; you’ve been visiting my sleep.
I wish I’d told you then, that I’d give you anything;
though nothing I could give you, would equal what you bring--
what you bring to me nightly, what you touch in my core.
When you’re next in town, go out the back door.
I’ll show you the stars,  I’ll show you the lights;
I’ll give you what you crave at the  end of the nights.
I’ll tell you of my dream, I’ll tell you of my vision,
then I’ll worship at the altar of my one true religion.
For Jay Buchanan

I'm pulling out the rest of the PF poems
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