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the democratic convention under the deck
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all kinds have registered their displeasure
with the arrival of the human menagerie,
their boisterous ways, jive not with the quietus
of the island paradise, and under the shady deck
where the convention conversations are held...

open to all but the factions forming, squirrels most
populous, demand the gavel and the chairmanships,
because they breed best, knowledges of the yard
terrain, par excellent, have climbed every tree,
show no fear, boldly jumping on the chaise lounge
occupant by the lady of the house, quizzing her with a
side-tilted glance of what are YOU doing here????

they like their acorns from the Oaks, their fav poem
Acorns in August, naturellement, naturellement,
leaving the beheaded remains of the acorns devoured,
everywhere, to obtain maximum annoyance from them
interlopers human, delighting in the foul mouthed exclamations,
when their ugly footed bottoms, unshod, meet the pointy part,
proving squirrels natural ability to govern the swap infected
by the two legged in-cursors, who have annoyed for forty years...

the rabbits, seek alliances, they live full time neath the deck,
making babies, so cute, getting bolder as they get older, hopping
unashamedly across the deck, eliciting oohs and has, of the children,
who blissfully unaware, all this creatures carry the ticks of Old Lyme.
Though unnumbered, the rabbits, fat, throw their heft around,
promising to drain the backyard of the invading hordes, with their
smelly sun tan lotions and outrageously ugly bathing towels...

called to order by the light of the flickering television, a fire signal
that the humans are in for the night, won’t notice the shouting and
shoving not so cute, tween the factions.  Animals behaving like
humans, what a lowly sad sight, deals and promises made, give
me a hundred Likes, ten repostings, and five 😊, say the hedgehog,
who rarely appears but boy is he big and has capital to lend to anybody
who will give him what he wants...

the field mice, have little-power, their diminutive constituency, not
so useful, as they no longer make the female humans, shriek, nah,
now they are cute, until they chew the wires in the basement, and
hide their tennis socks in spidery corners where they leave them to
yellow, corrode, unravel, unfit for human footage anymore;
and while these weakfish of the under-deck, their longevity of encroachment must be respected for they have been since time immemorial, which nobody remembers exactly how long that is exactly...

called to order, resolution on the floor, who shall lead the charge,
plan the plan to drain away the inhuman interference for once and
forevermore; but the conventional dialogue interruptus,  by an unfamiliar voice: a scouting party sent, like the spies of the Israelites, fails to return, another party formed and returns, with woeful news, of a white van truck,stenciled in black death,
                 The East End Pest Company (Exterminators)
has been invited in, and sadly nobody of the animal world has in their possess, a dictionary or vocabulary so large that the word, exterminate, strikes a note of danger!

the booing and brawling silenced, the political skullduggery is replaced
by the sad quietude, until the insect kingdom returns to reclaim the lands,
they were driven from many decades earlier, and they big human eavesdroppers, well, they know that word well and won’t make the same mistake twice! but then from above, between a crack, come a tumbling a business, white, from the deck o the below deck, in hand upon the back write these words:

See ya next week!
We leave your property

as clear as our conscience


p.s. for security reasons, conventions are held now every four years,
the location unrevealed, until, the very last minute
annh Jun 2
I
may
play the
joker, *****
the knave, covet
the queen, and tuck
the ace of spades under my
pillow on a ringed moon night,
but I am forever shuffling the same
deck of cards. Marked cards, imprinted
with loss and patterned with misfortune. Co
urt cards dressed in ill-fitting suits, each face as
familiar as my own. Four seasons, four pips; twelve
months, twelve crowns. One card for each week of the
year. Sequentially pred  ictable, and as underwhelming
as a rigged roulette wheel. U ntil, unable to distinguish
between the red and the    b    lack, the picture and the
plain, I fold. Void of      co     ntracts, and bleeding
widowe                            d blanks.
.....So.....
deal­ me in,
but deal me unpainted
and unmastered. Deal me clean.

‘If I can just have one last cut.
Do you have a plan for the new?‘
- Alice Notley, In the Pines
Bhill Mar 14
the hands of time selfishly shuffle the deck
who knows what card will be dealt
crisis creates opportunities to rise up
overcome situations that are not favorable
what is familiar, is no longer
the hands of time forever play out

Brian Hill - 2020 # 74
Skye Dec 2019
Sitting here alone with
a deck of cards
makes me wish
i had accepted your offer to learn solitaire
or
that you were here
and we could go to war
or maybe
i could build houses of cards
and we could
rule
a kingdom
together
Poetic T Nov 2018
Telling me to pick a card,
    always giving her mine.
                
                Stealing my heart.

I never was a full deck after that.
He slipped too many times for it to be accidental,
Gurgling underwater; and sinking from the vessel.
He too, had supplied the deaths aboard the deck,
Where drowning and breath paddled; all atop his neck.
Do you know his struggle, until you've met the sea?
Where fish swim past on their way, and you clamber just to breathe.
Sputtering on bubbles, his exhaling's a crusade,
But please don't feel bad for him, that's just an average day-
All feedback is welcome and appreciate!!:)
Riley June Apr 2018
connected to the end of a fishing line,
pulled by a hook the eye,
reeled onto the deck by a strong grip,
lashing out against every touch,
try to hold me down and still my movements,
screaming for air while swallowing nothing,
soon limp i'm tossed aside as you go back to the reel,
pray that others will see my blood on; your hook in disguise
DancingEntWrites Feb 2018
I have visions of me
Standing in a sun beam
In one of your cabled sweaters
Too big for me
But thick, warm, white, and comfy
On a deck we built
To add to our dream home
There's a field of tall grass
Behind me, and it stretches for miles
My hair is soft brown and long
Blowing in the gentle morning breeze
You bring me a cup of coffee
Still wearing that same beanie
You've been wearing since I've known you
Your broad smile takes up your whole face
Disappearing only when you reach for a kiss
And there it is returned
You wrap an arm around me from behind
And we stand there
Sipping coffee and enjoying the stillness of us
I daydream about this constantly. It's an outward perspective. And all I can see is a couple that loves each other more than anything.
Dark Jewel Jan 2015
Gone through the wind,
Through the deck of cards.
Known as the possibilities.
Of life.

Breeze caressing the skin,
Challenging the decisions.
Changing your perspective.

Wings stretched wide,
Halo crooked with horns.
We aren't perfect.
WE are far from it.

Challenged,
By life's deck of cards.

Flipped face down,
Curiosity kills the cat,
Mistake one made.

One mistake made,
Hundreds more to come.
Maybe millions.

Wings folded,
Blocking the heart guarded by black.
Broken by a simple,
Reject.


The deck of cards stand,
Your life purpose in your hands.
Seven to choose from,
Six to fail.

Between Heaven and Hell.
I got the Idea from an essay I wrote.

— The End —