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Pockets Aug 2020
Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband
Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north
Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan
Birmingham I am an abandoned race course
Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan
Basquiat and Bukowski
Birmingham I am nothing
Birmingham I am blue
Birmingham I’m yours if you let me
Birmingham I am you
Lou May 2019
Boy, oh boy
Will boys be boys
And oh boy, that’s gross to say,

I at least get that,
I mean I try to but here’s to trying

Kind of like trying to speak for women
Or anyone that isn’t you,
you should just not do that…

There’s a difference in defense for the good of all
And then, there’s what we were talking about 50 ******* years ago

Oh, excuse me 30 ******* years ago,
Last ******* year…
2 ******* days ago…

But I really want to go back to 69
Oh, The Summer of love…
Or the summer of forcing a woman to go to court over the ability to receive an abortion only to be decided by a group of old men if she has any rights over her body to receive a safe medical procedure, all while  the media doing no one any favors guiding a blind division nationally between people and God fearing busy bodies, calling her names and questioning her character as a responsible person, in a not very god-fearing tone, all while forcing Ms. McCorvey again, to get burned more for prolonging an unwanted pregnancy due to waiting on a decision that is determined in court by that aforementioned group of men, which is like the sportsman’s equivalent of just killing the clock to win a game but it isn’t a ******* game it’s a woman’s body, which clearly they didn’t care anything about just as long as they get that **** baby in the next 6 months or so, but as stated above it is indeed unwanted, so really who is going to take care of the ******* baby because we know how much people just love adopting ******* children?
Let’s ask 25 republicans!

But some people talk of 69 differently,

Some remember the Beatles.
Some recall Charles Manson.

Kind of like today
Some say we are putting god back in our government
And The rest of us in 1972 to 2019 are wondering who the **** invited god?
I never knew God and every white person’s, “one uncle” has the same opinion.
But Uncle Alabama shouldn’t speak for God.
Wait until he finds out she’s a woman.
That’d be a kick to the unregulated nuts we can just spew anywhere, like a natural ******* disaster.

That’s what the name of this ******* poem should be,
but it’s not.

Sincere, *******.
That’s what I call this one,
That’s what I call the last 2 and half years too.
And this poem.

And telling women what to do with their bodies.

Some people would think differently.
But I don’t think some people think.
roe vs. wade, alabama wants to go to court
Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
Fields of cotton,
vast and white …
Like a rolling sea of snow in the deep, deep south.

Pecan Pie and honey,
Muscadine jelly …
So sweet, sweet in my mouth.

Mmmm, Saturday shrimp boil
and cheering for college ball.
After church on Sunday, a picnic barbecue.

Two things, for sure,
will never be missing …
and that'll be me and you.

Herds of cattle grazing,
flocks of sheep a lazing …
Tomatoes fresh off the vine.

Gentle rolling hills
and streams and caves …
Maple, Oak and Pine.

Harvest season,
kids, young and old, all squealing …
Time for the Peanut Fest.

The smells of cotton candy and corn dogs,
white knuckle rides, country music and a rodeo ...
Those times are simply the best.

The haunting shrieks of an ol' Barred Owl,
roadsides and backyards …
filled with grazing deer.

God's lovely creatures both furry and fowl …
Wild Hogs … Peregrine Falcons,
seen and heard, far and near.

Granny's Peach Cobbler,
Mom's scratch-built biscuits …
Catfish in the skillet.

Could you find something to replace
even one of these heart-warming smells?
Well, tell me then …
How will it?

A lonely train horn calls,
off in the distance …
as  I lay in my bed.

It lulls me to sleep
with a contented smile …
All these moments filling my head.

Oh,  Alabama.
I never dreamed that I would one day live in Alabama. The universe does crazy things though, huh? I must say, it hasn't been bad at all. I don't plan on staying here forever, but it sure has a place in my heart now.
Dakota J Dawson Dec 2017
Pop music and Alaskan ice
Whiskey is cool and I'm blue
So too are the bloodied few

Smoke rises and inspires
Creation spirals into anew
Sending geysers ski high

Letting go the rigers of life
A summon of ice
Falling of snow flakes

Seasonal prices are here
Signs gripping onto holsters
Finding *** and coal

Air stale
Quietly rancid
Unholy desperation of breath

Job is old
Feeble are the bones
Lost is the soul
Everytime I push my pen
I am moving mountains
Everytime I touch the keys
I will part the seas
Everytime you do the same
then we are creating
the liberal Science
of poetry
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