Maggie Grace Apr 4

A tunnel
of sadness
is but a pathway
to a world
of creativity
that we never before knew
existed

Like diamonds, we sleep in a soft repose,
Where we dream of slipping past the wandering souls;
Numbing our swollen hearts in glass and stone,
No more clothes, no more clothes

Making love with the stillness of the night
As the stars overhead flicker so, so bright;
Tracing the pattern of my spine,
Running out of time, running out of time

The sun pops from the sky,
Scanning the field of dreams where our love lies;
Written in the imprinted lines,
Saying goodbye, saying goodbye

A monotetra in honor of National Poetry Month.
Maggie Grace Apr 2

The taupe cotton sheets are warm
with remembered dreams
The sweet aroma of sleep
permeates the dry air
as the sun peaks through the drapes,
welcoming daytime into the house
like an old friend.

I slide out of bed quietly
after kissing her freckled forehead,
and tiptoe across the cool wooden floor,
looking forward to the bittersweet smell
of dark roast coffee.

The black matte mug is her favorite.

I slink back into the room,
placing the mug on the bedside table
just as her eyelids begin to part
revealing the grass green pillows
around her pupils.

I smell the coffee
I see her

and I smile.

It is a beautiful life,
after all.

the Mississippi starts small,
at the headwaters.

A child can cross
stone to stone, almost slipping
into cold water.

Sometimes they do fall,
but stumbling and soaking wet,
they finish crossing.

Now, these blue-gray stones
and clear rippling currents still
sound like their laughter.

Day 1 of National Poetry Month.
ConnectHook Apr 1

A DEDICATORY ODE in NINE STANZAS

Ἀπόλλων μουσηγέτης


Ye NaPoWriMoids, hear my prayer
let's mix our metaphors and dare
as fragrant smoke ascends the sky,
offend some readers by and by.

Apollo—grant me rocket fuel
to launch into your stratosphere.
Athena—by your wisdom, rule
and whisper in my waiting ear.

Receive this bright poetic spark
And let the Nine, as one, inspire
transform this puddle, stagnant, dark,
from sludge to pure Promethean fire.

Thou Father of Olympus, bless
our paltry April offering:
a dubious cybernetic mess
composed of poets' suffering.

I'll sing of waters fair (and foul),
uncork my potions for your ears
while Dionysus' Maenads howl
banishing winter's remnant fears.

A radiant poetic flush
beams forth from every laureled face.
The springs of Babel: let them gush
and bathe our souls in lyric grace.

A product line in low demand,
the blogosphere: our public forum;
quorum one man short of damned
where verses vie with vague decorum.

Consult your muse—then let it flow;
a rain of primaveral dreams
whose rivulets descend below
and swell the tributary streams

to flooding verses, transcendental
irrigating, bringing life
(though some are merely excremental.
Foaming sewage...  ask my wife).

I am participating in National Poetry Writing Month 2017.
sunprincess Jan 23

"Nineteen trillion,
nine hundred
sixty three billion"
says the duke of finance

"Woa, that's a lot of dough"
says the king
"We need to cut back
on our spending"

Funny some court jesters
Had gathered around
To inspire the king's laugh
Yet, he made not a sound

Though they did bear witness
to the majestic king
signing a new decree
"Only the bare necessities"

And some of the people
were well pleased,
And some of the people
Protested in the streets

A recent article says Mr. Obama left office after adding an additional
9.3 Trillion to Our debt,
according to numbers from the treasury  department..
Will our new president surpass this amount?
Only time will tell..

National Sarcasm Society,
Sounds like you and me,
Here's some sarcasm for you,
Sarcasm--like I need you!

Feedback welcome.

National disasters,
Plebs' hollow laughter,
Floods and bushfires,
Natural land afire,
The state of the economy,
A national disaster for you and me,
Still, some people have jobs,
With hiring you should hobnob,
Plebs' hollow laughter,
Our national disasters,
Too funny not,
Whose hiring for jobs?

Feedback welcome.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2016

I can’t watch the news anymore
That ugly orange man is a bore
And a pompous ass and a jerk.
Him in charge? That’ll never work.
We are in such trouble, so deep
It’s a wonder any of us can sleep.
I find myself in a constant depression.
It’s like Americans didn’t learn the lesson
In the last of several pointless wars.
We were all taught now and before
When we sent our young off to die
And we weren’t even really sure why.

We brought many of them back in bags
Left the living in dumps and rags
Because we stopped acting like better men
In taking care of our sacrificed veterans.
And did we invest the money wisely instead?
No we chose to obscenely feather the beds
Of people who were never under threat
And we haven’t wised up. No, not yet.
We keep on throwing good toward evil.
Like feeding cotton fields to boll weevils
We elect criminals without recompense.
So little leadership today makes sense.

The land we live in today is so strange.
Right and wrong have been rearranged.
We are lied to and we cheer them on
Until almost all our rights are gone,
Make heroes out of thieves and crooks
Mostly based on fame and their looks.
Half of us don’t even know the issues.
The rest of us reach for the tissues.
Our only solid hope was for us to vote
The sad thing is we’re in the same boat
And no matter what the right is thinking
Our sick national boat is quickly sinking.

We don’t get to pick our family
Or the country in which we’re born
Most families are quite imperfect
High praise will seldom adorn

Our country acts as, in absence of,
A national family
We’ve come together as mighty fist
To overcome tragedy

Just as you have complained about;
The faults of sister and brother;
The arbitrary dad’s imperfect justice;
The imperfectly care-worn mother

So it is with the family national
Not every behavior good
Complaints and suggestions are rational
Don’t banish before understood

One’s right to protest what isn’t good
For the national family
A founding right that’s understood
Wherever that protest be

Some family members are not all good
Most not prone to riot
Some bring dirt to the nation’s house
While others stay, clean, and quiet

If you demand “protestors leave”
You fail to understand
There’s no place to go but home
And clean the dirt that demands

National attention not just blind scorn
Your so self-righteous display
You can help with hearts reborn
To clean or get out of the way

My response to the Colin Kaepernick protest of police brutality.  I had to rethink my stance when the Chelsea Bomber, a terrorist,  weeks ago was shot wounded but not killed. Intentional? Why then are Black men with no offending evidence (other than skin color) killed without consideration of potential innocence? What's wrong with my country? Why do I fear for my African-American adult son?
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