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858 · Jul 2017
The Voice (PF Re-post)
Scarlet McCall Jul 2017
for Jay Buchanan*

Clearer than a ringing bell,
calling me to stand beneath you--
I am rapt in music’s spell;
your subject,  in your thrall I dwell.

Swaying slowly to the beat,
as I stand before your feet,
I yearn to touch, but thrill in listening,
and watching your sweat-drenched body,
glistening.

Recorded song brings me much pleasure,
but it cannot match the measure
of an evening in the presence
of your fleshly,  human essence.

I stand witness at the living
breathing body, angelic singing.
Mournful verse,  hypnotic chorus
throb in heartbeat’s time before us.

So close to me,  you drip with sweat;
flip your hair and I’ll get wet--
drench me with your raw emotion,
drown me in an aural ocean.
Rival Sons are touring Europe right now.
845 · Jun 2016
End of Innocence (haiku)
Scarlet McCall Jun 2016
falling glass shatters
red wine flows on white carpet
ruined forever
Scarlet McCall Jan 2018
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!
786 · May 2016
Taps
Scarlet McCall May 2016
Day is done.
Gone the sons.
The daughters and the mothers,
the fathers and the others.
Tomorrow arises,
and more advisers
will give opinions
on the public’s attitudes
of which longitudes and latitudes
justify our intervention.
And which friends’ atrocities
we’ll ignore, and which we’ll tsk tsk.
But at what risk
do we apply our double standards?
And how many more standards will be borne
by how many ships and worn
by how many caskets?
Does not each double standard double the standards
covering caskets, arriving in plane loads?
Our politicians believe it’s better not to ask it.
Better not to ask that question, and bite the hand that feeds
the coffers and the coffins.
A Memorial Day poem I wrote about 5 years ago.
727 · Dec 2018
Dressing Down
Scarlet McCall Dec 2018
These shoes be hurtin’ me
and this top’s too sheer.
I can’t sit in this skirt.
Do you think I want men to leer?

I’ll wear my skirt long,
like the Orthodox Jews:
A high-necked top
and a pair of flat shoes.

I’ll wear sneakers with socks,
and jeans or black leather.
I’ll wear wool scarves and hats
on account of the weather.

Is it really “fashion”
or some type of mockery?
To dress women like ******
seems to me an atrocity

I don’t care what you think
of the outfit I chose.
I’m considering Islam
just for the clothes.
Inspired by an exhibit I saw in a museum today, on "Muslim fashion." So different from what we're told in this country about what "femininity" is.
Scarlet McCall Nov 2016
Margaret, are you grieving
over Hillary’s unseating?
The victory you expected
was denied, and you are dejected.
Fears and tears are your companions
as you grieve for undocumented transients.
But no tears you shed in years gone by
when bombs fell on children from drones on high.
Nor did you protest the stop and frisk
or needless deaths of black men at risk.
Slaughter in Gaza was no cause
for you to protest, or even to pause
from your Twitter feed or drink at Starbucks.
(The world knows you didn’t give two *****.)
I sit and watch the roosting chickens
who have returned from the wide world sickened.
Evil doesn't always come with crassness and insults. Sometimes it comes with a smile and a handshake.
689 · Apr 2017
Fire (April 6 Prompt)
Scarlet McCall Apr 2017
Your words were a
glowing ember
that kindled a slow fire
in the dead wood of my heart.

I could breathe oxygen again
and pass the spark
to another.
675 · Feb 2017
Autobiography
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
I’ve been there and I’ve seen that.
Whatever seems new, to me it’s old hat.
I’ve heard some things that you wouldn’t believe--
I took the Devil’s confession, and I’ve seen the martyr bleed.
I’ve been up on the mountain, seen the clouds below;
I’ve gone down to the river where the strong currents flow.
I’ve listened to a demon whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
I’ve heard the angels call me to take one step nearer.
I rode the horse that threw the other rider;
I steered the raft through the rocks in the wild white water.
I walked into the ocean under the cold moonlight
and swam on my back in the star studded night.
I’ve washed the stain of guilt off of the criminal’s sleeve,
and dried the tears of the people who were stricken with grief.
I’ve asked the one question that unlocks the hidden door,
and heard secrets that the prisoner never spoke before.
I sat silently, listening, when there was nothing more to say.
I’ve walked miles through the night, until the break of day.
I’ve been in the forest, I’ve lived in the town;
give me one good reason I shouldn’t burn this place down.
I’ve done some taking and I’ve done some giving
and I’ve got some errands down the road before I’m done with living.
Everyone should write an autobiography poem
671 · Jan 2017
The Arsonist Who Loved Me
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
based on a true story*

The arsonist invited me
into the house of love.
The floorboards creaked,
and in the rafters above
I saw the black soot stains
and where a spider had wove
its web, now dangling
in a cool breeze.
The door was still open—perhaps I should leave.
Would you like a cup of tea?
He smiled at me.
Of course, I accepted his hospitality--
then saw the light in his eye,
like a burning match glowing.
I’m sorry,  I said,  I must be going.
The warmth of your affection
is  really quite touching. But now I feel the heat rising
and a slow burning.
Our friendly visit is  turning
into a fire crackling.
I think my presence here is
some kind of  kindling.
Thank you for the tea-- I’ll be
heading back to town.
If I stay here any longer, I’m afraid
we’ll burn the house down.
An old PF favorite.
Scarlet McCall Jul 2016
We are divided, they say--but it isn’t true.
The way I judge right v. wrong is no different from you.
Let’s not confuse acts from a few
with what most people think or what most people do.
Most people wouldn’t strangle a helpless man.
A psychopath did it because he knows, “I can.”
Most people wouldn’t shoot unless in harm’s way.
A cop pulls the trigger because he knows he won’t pay.

It’s about how we don’t do what we must--
we don’t hold accountable those we entrust
with a badge and a gun. They **** with impunity.
To end this we must act with unity:
Some must be indicted and go to prison,
or we’ll have more deaths for no good reason.
So sick and tired of ******* by politicians and the media...this isn't about racial divides. It's about how the police have no accountability and we are moving towards a Police State.
642 · May 2022
Do your f*cking job
Scarlet McCall May 2022
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.
637 · Dec 2016
Ode to the Golden West
Scarlet McCall Dec 2016
I'm off to the Bay area tomorrow*

Throw me toward the setting sun--
to the West, when my work is done.
Land me at the golden door
of California’s northern shore.
Fiery orange steel-gird gate
tempts those weary of their fate.
Defy the plunge that ends it all,
and heed the sunshine’s cheery call.
Traverse the gate, into the wild,
where restless souls may rest awhile,
beyond the towns, toward the coast,
where whales return and hawks will roost.
The golden hills of Sonoma
will calm the pains of any trauma.
The wines and vines of the Napa valley
will help to pass the time happily.
And as you cross the Golden Gate
the Pacific blue will calmly wait.
Glance to the east and you will see
the placid Bay by the white city.
The sky is bigger here; it spans
the hills, the bridge, the bay and ocean.
Its azure grandeur soon dispels
any suicidal notion.
The Golden Gate Bridge is the world's number one suicide spot, which has always seemed ironic to me, as the stunning views from the Bridge, and also the view of the Bridge (and the Bay, the ocean and the city) from the Marin headlands I find to be life-affirming. But then suicide isn't usually a rational act.
635 · Mar 2019
Birthday Rhymes
Scarlet McCall Mar 2019
55--is it the limit?
I’ve been slowing down, for sure.
Trying to economize, but my size
is growing.
No longer a tease; I’ve got bad knees.
I seize the day,
but please,
ask me if I prefer the elevator.
I might see you later--or not.
We can't count on tomorrow,
but I don't dwell in sorrow.
Now I hear more, see more,
even when I've lost my reading glasses. I know what life is for.
I grow things. I sing. Gladly
I do the dishes.
I have no birthday wishes. Wishes are for a future.  
I’ve removed things, and sewn a suture.
The way I was is history. That girl, with pretty shoes,
didn’t play the blues.
Now I listen, and I play those tunes.  
I’ve got no use for pretty, ‘cept for being pretty sure.
Sure, I've been wrong—wrong to wear those shoes, for one thing,
cuz my toes hurt.
Now, I know all the dirt. I’ve got things buried so deep
no one knows. But from the dirt, stuff grows.
I’m watering those plants, and wait til you see what springs up. Time ain’t up yet,
and there’s a green hill, and tall trees, and a sunset.
I had trouble saving this poem. It didn't want me to start with a number. Weird.
617 · Nov 2023
Icon
Scarlet McCall Nov 2023
My love, my guiding light,
shield me from the horrors
of this mortal world's blight--
the sorrow, and the pain,
and blood running into rivers
like rain.
I close my eyes and curse my sight.
But as I turn to you, your image
blocks out the deepening night.
I imagine your hand, your fingers touching mine
(though you will never be mine). With you,
I am home. I walk through the night
to where it is always day; I shall never be alone.
Scarlet McCall May 2017
The troops are worn out,
the Army stretched thin,
we’re recruiting delinquents,
the old and the dim.

We got rid of the gays,
to preserve the troops’ purity .
Even those who spoke Arabic,
no matter how fluently.
(Mistakes will be made,
for lack of translation.
But isn’t that better
than eternal damnation?)

We’re telling the soldiers
“One more tour of duty.”
The program’s called “stop loss;”
it might cause mutiny.

The Humvees are patched
with armor homemade,
that won’t stop the bombs
or rocket grenades.

Veterans are stricken
with nightmares and fears.
Some find no escape from
their dreams or their tears.

It’s no longer a war;
it’s called occupation.
But we don’t seem to know
how to rebuild a nation.

We’re good with artillery
and planting land mines.
But what we can’t do
is win hearts and minds.

The lessons of history
seem lost on our leaders,
who don’t seem to be scholars,
but careful poll readers.

There are those we must judge
for their lies and their crimes
and the grief they have caused
in these sad and dark times.

How many years
will we take to recover
from this ill-planned debacle
and it’s not even over?
It will take Iraq longer,
from all the blood spilled,
from the wounds we inflicted--
their country, we killed.
I don't need to explain the disaster in the Middle East. Iraq is still a country, but barely. Sadly no one was judged for their lies or their crimes. And some of the veterans are broken beyond repair.
589 · Jan 2017
Go all the way
Scarlet McCall Jan 2017
Go all the way.
Stow your fears away.
No, you can’t turn back.
Grow stronger from attack.
Toe the line? It’s crooked.
Foe will soon be rooked.
So, you thought you couldn’t.
Oh, they thought you wouldn’t!
Slow, if you think it’s fitter.
Bro,  you ain’t a quitter.
I wrote this a few years ago for a poet named Damian from PF who is here somewhere I think.
580 · Jun 2016
Playtime
Scarlet McCall Jun 2016
I’ve a soft spot for you;
you press my tender button.
My heart’s a big furry teddy bear
with arms wide open.
I want to ruffle up your hair--what’s left of it.
Walk over here— my lap’s for you to sit.
Wait, you’re too heavy— I forget that you’re a man.
Perhaps I'll sit on top of you—
that's a better plan.
I’ve bought you dark chocolates-- treats for my sweet boy.
You’ve brought me red wine-- when I’m drunk, I am your toy.
Playtime’s fun; we can make or break the rules--
we’ll play House; we’ll play School.
We'll play all through our nap time, until the coffee's brewed.
We'll add some sprigs of wild thyme to our diabetic food.
A rewrite from Poetfreak.
Scarlet McCall Nov 2016
Contemporary poetry
does not have allure for me.
It is full of adjectives,
but at the end I ask, “what gives?”
No meaning, point, or moral clear,
no joy or anger, love or fear.
Words are crafted carefully,
but in the lines I do not see
any interesting story.
It is boring, I am sorry!

What happened to imagination?
Ecstasy and indignation?
If Donne or Longfellow wrote now,
editors would not say “wow!”
Verses passionate by Blake
publishers would not take.
“That Poe guy’s maudlin, Yeats pretentious;
Allen Ginsberg is tendentious.
Tennyson’s an epic bore;
his lengthy rhymes of days of yore
are not to our liking,” they’d say.

I would like to see the day
when poetry regains emotion.
I even have the novel notion
that we’d welcome the returning
of passionate and lustful yearning.
Of rhyme and meter, song and lyric.
Or of verses bitterly satiric.

If I read more sterile free verse
I’ll toss the magazine and curse.
Wrote this shortly after I began writing poetry and reading more of it. I found out The New Yorker receives 600 poetry submissions a week and publishes 2 of them. When I learned this I thought "how bad were the other 598?!" It's mostly pretentious wordplay.
572 · Dec 2023
Untitled Love Poem
Scarlet McCall Dec 2023
Your face is lined;
your brows are white.
You’re facing down
your long twilight.
Your tummy has a little bulge--
I see marks of what you
used to indulge.
Your teeth aren’t white;
your hair is thin,
but I believe that you’ve won
the struggle within.
There are bags
underneath your eyes,
but that gaze now is
so much more wise.
You don’t stir my blood--
the blood of youth--
but your words today
speak realms of  truth.
Love is left
when lust is gone,
and this love will last
‘til the world is done.
571 · Feb 2017
Refurbishing a Muse
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
What should you do with a second-hand muse--
inspiration spent, and by his mistress abus’d?:
Feed him some grapes under cliffsides and clouds,
sit him under a tree;  read him verses aloud.
Make him a spectre of love unrequited,
tell him of enemies that you’d like smited.
Recount  transgressions, and triumphs and losses;
ponder Cruel Fate and the luck of coin tosses.
Tell him of all of your sins now excused--
how the Judge and the Jury have been recused.
And that any dream, urge, or whim can be used--
but you simply cannot go on as a-mused.
Probably should take my own advice...haven't written much lately and most of it has been political.
Scarlet McCall Sep 2016
1.
We’ll negotiate with our friends and threaten our enemies.
If our friends can’t negotiate nicely,
we’ll threaten them.
We’ll negotiate with our enemies,
once they’re ground into the dirt.
We’re honest brokers, buying low and selling high.
Life is a gamble; make sure you’ve got collateral to damage.

2.
Abraham sacrificed his sons for God—
Rows and rows of them, in airplane bellies,
boxed and wrapped.
God let him have Isaac,
but inflation drove up the price of God’s love.
No more token sacrifices accepted--only real sons now.

3.
Adam will take back the Garden of Eden,
No flaming swords will stop him.
A fig leaf covers his nakedness.
Why aren’t Cain and Abel getting along?

4.
Blessed are the poor in spirit;
they don’t need our handouts.
The meek will inherit the lowlands.
Let them build an ark when the rains come.
Suffer, little children.

5.
Like the fruit fly, we multiply.
Our swarm will cover the earth and feed on its ripeness.
Eat it down to the pit.
We came 5,000 years ago
and stayed just long enough to enjoy the fruits of God’s labors.
We’ll be reborn as angels stuck with pins in God’s collection.
Scarlet McCall Jul 2017
Attention: This is your trigger warning:
If you walk outside your door this morning
you’ll be assaulted by noise and light.
You may choose to go back to bed
to  avoid the possibility of fright.
In fact keep the shades down
and the covers pulled up tight.
Don’t talk to people; some may disagree
with you; they won’t heed your plea
to change their minds to your view.
Don’t read books by authors who are male.
They might contain descriptions of female bodies
that remind you that under your clothes you are undressed,
and boys who look at you know that. You’ll feel stressed.
Avoid all books with mentions of violence.
Such as Civil War diaries or histories of World War II.
Your teachers may overlook the fact that you have certain entitlements
such as the right to be free of knowledge that is painful. You
also shouldn’t have to learn about cultures that are different from your own.
We all know that’s how seeds of anxiety and doubt are sown.
If subjected to these shocking things you could have a panic attack
because the knowledge that others don’t do or think as you do
will be traumatic. You’ll never come back
to sanity. You’ll be irreparably harmed.
You could learn that you cannot command that others think the way you believe that they should.
You wouldn’t want to know that. It just wouldn’t feel good.
Very distantly inspired by Ogden Nash.
552 · Feb 2017
Love Poem #5 (and contest)
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
if you can guess who this is about I will promote your poem with a sun*

Taking my journey quotidian,
I tripped on a piece of obsidian;
I saw it in front of me,
but kept walking, heedlessly,
perhaps seeking some sort of oblivion.

Women—I’m just one of a  million.
But I offer my heart of vermilion!
I’d cross over the sea,
and love you tenderly,
if you’d  just hear my plea--
--so will you then?
but where are love poems 1-4 you are wondering? I will post all the rest of my love poems on Valentine's Day.
544 · May 2017
Heroes?
Scarlet McCall May 2017
The wise know where a hero stands--
upon the shoulders of another man.
Or a woman. Truth be told,
there’s more to legends than what we’re sold.
There’s a legion behind every famous one:
Footsoldiers, workers, slogging from sun to sun.
They build the movement that changes history--
collective action—not Him; it’s We.
Or the art, or invention, of ground-breaking power,
from a  “genius” who above us does tower.
His inspiration is the work of others,
connected souls-- sisters and brothers.
Each weaves a strand of the magic thread.
From hundreds of others the genius is fed.
He finishes work with skillful design,
then sometimes falsely claims “it’s mine.”
PF re-post. Idols are fun, but humanity is only successful because of cooperative action.
535 · Dec 2016
Comrades
Scarlet McCall Dec 2016
10, 20, 30 years from now
we would know each other.
And remember joy and sorrow.
We’ve seen small victories , many defeats;
horror has left its scar,
but more so our helplessness,
both here and afar.
Once you’ve seen the truth, you can’t go back,
but nothing seems to go forward.
If only I had the belief
to wait a hundred years in an afterlife.
I know it can’t go on, this strife;
someday there will be an end.
Seeing you now reminds me
that if I live to see that victory,
I will remember, then,
how I was once a small part of it,
with you, my friend.
A companion poem to my poem about 1948.
524 · Aug 2018
Renovation
Scarlet McCall Aug 2018
Let’s take your ragged soul and patch it up together.
I’ve got some thread, and tricks up my sleeve.
With your grit and wit
we’ll  take the pieces, and make them fit.
Your new you may feel strange,
because some parts are re-arranged,
but your vision will be clearer,
and your hearing more  attuned,
emotions deeper--
when we’ve stitched up those wounds.
516 · May 2016
The Shirt
Scarlet McCall May 2016
It hung on a hook on my closet door.
Soft plaid flannel,
blues and grays,
softer with each wash.
At workday's end  
I took off my daily armor
and slipped my arms into sleeves
that hung inches past my hands.
I fastened buttons over bare *******
and tied the hem around my hips.
I held it to my face, breathed
and thought I could smell your scent,
lingering after dozens of washings--
the musk of masculinity--
an essence of strong sinews,
curly chest hairs
and work-worn hands.
I wore the shirt to bed  
and drifted into sleep,
knowing I was not alone.
The memory of you clung to me--
the softness of unspoken intimacies,
the warmth of domestic familiarity.
In slumber, forgetting
Wrote this some years ago.
499 · Apr 2017
Earth Days
Scarlet McCall Apr 2017
Environmental advice
from a re-purposed hag:
Stop driving cars.
Use a re-useable 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.
It's about how you live your life.
479 · Apr 2017
Not Fun, Not Games
Scarlet McCall Apr 2017
So you think that you like “horror.”
Well, I’ve got some for you--
trying fleeing a burning building
with bombs dropping around you.

So you think that you like “kink,”
and want to be whipped and tied.
If you’d been a slave in the antebellum South
this could have been how you died.

So you like to play at “Slave” and “Master.”
What a ******* joke.
Some who were really slaves
died strung up with a rope.

You like watching blood and torture
when it’s on a  movie screen.
Aren’t you the lucky one--
you won’t see it again and again, in dreams.

If you’d ever lived outside
your privileged, First World life,
you would not find “entertainment”
in scenes of death and strife.

If you’d ever been a helpless victim
of cruelty or ****,
you would know it’s not entertainment,
but a hell, that some never escape.
PR re-post for the people I can't stand who insist on displaying and promoting their perversions to the rest of us. Whatever you do in your own home, I don't want to know about it and I don't want to read it here.
Scarlet McCall Oct 2017
a relic from my dating days

I’ve been Generation X’ed;
I got the message by text.
A last minute change
and my day was rearranged.

The zombies cross the street,
staring at their phones.
They cannot tolerate a human voice,
and yet, cannot be alone.

It’s not a “relationship,”
despite the  frequent  f
**king.
It’s just a casual acquaintanceship,
full of frantic commitment-ducking.

Ambivalence and  indecision
aren’t what I call attractive.
In fact, they summon my derision.
So, I must be proactive.

It’s not that you aren’t ****--
you’re just too Generation X-y.
Scarlet McCall Sep 2017
I’m a killer but don’t have a gun
I’m a mother but don’t have a son
I’m a lover but don’t have a man
I’m a celebrity who’s missing a fan
I’m a politician without a campaign
I’m the loner who might be insane
I’m an athlete, with no race to run
I’m a community, of one.
I lead many lives, but mostly in rhyme
I’ll be everyone
and no one
if given enough time.
451 · Jan 2022
5 Celebrity Apologies
Scarlet McCall Jan 2022
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 *****!
Scarlet McCall Apr 2018
Contagious Infospores infect
the wild, wild internet west.
Apparently the worst is the best
that some can do.
The goal, to make truth suspect--
to interject
theories of conspiracies.
Connect, connect, don’t inspect
too closely.

It’s mostly
slander to create fear,
garbled and unclear
to avoid lawsuits
(which doesn’t seem to be working).
Fat toad preys on weak minds
who can’t be bothered to analyze
information and facts.
They prefer hysterical attacks.
It's easier to fear and hate
than digest cause and effect, and accept ineluctable fate--
than to consider responsibility,
mistakes and liability.
It’s simpler when it’s all a plot
by the powerful to persecute you
(as if they have nothing better to do).
And to remember that people whom  you fear and hate
are people not unlike you.
26 dead people didn’t disappear.
They are in the ground, and in the hearts and minds
of those who are living, here.
Alex Jones, internet conspiracy theory monger, is being sued for libel by parents of Sandy Hook victims. He has claimed that 26 people weren't actually murdered, that it's a hoax to take away gun rights. I'm not clear on how he explains where those 26 people are.
442 · Dec 2023
Regrets
Scarlet McCall Dec 2023
I saw you standing by the door
as I swayed and rocked on the dance floor.
The music was familiar, I could follow
the rhythm, the melody;
it seemed to be the missing part of me--
my unspoken sorrow, and sexuality.

You seemed immature. I didn’t try to understand
what you were saying. Your offered hand,
I rejected.  
I thought you were adolescent, smirky
trying to shock, pretending to be *****.
It didn’t make me feel like being flirty.
In fact, you reminded me
of everything I despised.
I couldn’t see the pain in your eyes
or peel away the lies
to hear the truth that you were saying.

A few decades later, here we are.
I’ve now found myself hitched to your star.
Do I now understand who you are–
or did you change--
older, wiser, the pretense gone?

I”m so sorry to arrive at this party so late.
Forgive me–
I was blind,
I was deaf,
I needed someone to hate.
442 · Apr 2022
The Dark Lord
Scarlet McCall Apr 2022
They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
and abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
of the same name,
killing is their pleasure
and destruction 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 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.
441 · May 2017
Ode to Spring
Scarlet McCall May 2017
Awaken at last, glorious spring;
renewal of life, trees blossoming,
birds mating, and flowers blooming,
women in diaphanous dresses, flowing.
Is April the cruelest month? Knowing
that May’s eruption will soon be showing?
PF re-post
428 · May 2018
In Search of Heroes
Scarlet McCall May 2018
I am lost in the forest;
show me the path.
I’m exposed on the mountain;
take me from the storm’s wrath.
I’m on the side of the road--
don’t let bad guys stop.
I’m a prisoner at home,
waiting for you to get a cop.
The whirlwind surrounds me;
be my eye in the storm.
Take me out of the blizzard
to your home safe and warm.
Children adopted by the wrong people, and so many others who need help.
427 · Apr 2017
Hello?
Scarlet McCall Apr 2017
It's HELL.  
It's a po' try.
It ain't pro--retry.
It's a poo hole.
It ain't purty.
Sinkin' lo, yo.
It's loopy.
***?
Scarlet McCall Jul 2017
to the tune of "My Favorite Things"*

Poems in all caps and no punctuation,
Mixed metaphors and clichéd observation,
Roses and rainbows and angels with wings--
These are a few of my least favorite things.

Morbid obsessions and self flagellations,
Self involved rantings and dull ruminations,
Exhibitionists’ ****** preoccupations--
I’m just not dying to read these creations.

Statements of true love to those I don’t know,
Plodding prose poems that go way too slow,
Syllable stresses that aren’t found in English--
If only I’d see them no more is my true wish.

When the urge strikes,
When the words flow,
When you grab that pen--
Just take a moment and think…again.

A good Dictionary, and a Thesaurus,
Some time to read poets who wrote long before us,
Revising, rewriting and time to review--
It’s only these small things that I ask of you..
Revised slightly for HelloPoetry
Scarlet McCall Apr 2018
“You’re a relic,” said the video game,
“no one reads you now.”
“Not true” said the novel. “And anyhow,
at least I have characters
who speak and think and feel.
No one could believe that your
“characters” are real.”
“I offer blood and action; an opportunity
to ****. We know that’s what the people want.
It’s a pressing need I fill,”
the video game replied.
“What makes you think your wars and crimes
played out in pixelation
will satisfy the players’ lust
for quick assassination? They will tire
of virtual gore and want to test their skills
in a real arena that offers far more thrills.”
The novel’s pages fluttered; she indignantly continued:
“In my world there’s ambiguity; it forces them to think
about how there’s no black and white,
except for pages and for ink.
My stories stir compassion,
reflection, empathy. Your crooks and soldiers all act the same;
where’s their personality?
You know you’re just a pinball game
dressed up as a cartoon.”
The video game tried to think
of how to answer back... But soon
it realized that she was right. And sadly thought about the terror
that it had wreaked from coast to coast
and how it was a grievous error.
It filled the bathtub up with water
and dropped itself straight in. And that, my friends, is where
this little story should begin.
Re-reading this I am struck by how it is more relevant than ever. There is real evidence linking violent video games to aggression.
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