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Its
in the news
on the social
consuming dollars

delivered ideology
to young and old

queuing voters
rolling cameras

polls are taken
tempers heighten

debates abound
swing states are tested

hearts will be broken
hearts will be bolstered

four years for the victor
and
the end to the vanquished

a poetic egalitarian
a president to serve them all
2020 another president  election in an ever mobile world
Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge

Ann Rutledge was apparently Abraham Lincoln’s first love interest. Unfortunately, she was engaged to another man when they met, then died with typhoid fever at age 22. According to a friend, Isaac Cogdal, when asked if he had loved her, Lincoln replied: “It is true―true indeed, I did. I loved the woman dearly and soundly: She was a handsome girl―would have made a good, loving wife … I did honestly and truly love the girl and think often, often of her now.”

Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge
by Michael R. Burch

Winter was not easy,
nor would the spring return.
I knew you by your absence,
as men are wont to burn
with strange indwelling fire―
such longings you inspire!

But winter was not easy,
nor would the sun relent
from sculpting ****** images
and how could I repent?
I left quaint offerings in the snow,
more maiden than I care to know.



Ann Rutledge’s Irregular Quilt
by Michael R. Burch

based on “Lincoln the Unknown” by Dale Carnegie

I.
Her fingers “plied the needle” with “unusual swiftness and art”
till Abe knelt down beside her: then her demoralized heart
set Eros’s dart a-quiver; thus a crazy quilt emerged:
strange stitches all a-kilter, all patterns lost. (Her host
kept her vicarious laughter barely submerged.)

II.
Years later she’d show off the quilt with its uncertain stitches
as evidence love undermines men’s plans and unevens women’s strictures
(and a plethora of scriptures.)

III.
But O the sacred tenderness Ann’s reckless stitch contains
and all the world’s felicities: rich cloth, for love’s fine gains,
for sweethearts’ tremulous fingers and their bright, uncertain vows
and all love’s blithe, erratic hopes (like now’s).

IV.
Years later on a pilgrimage, by tenderness obsessed,
Dale Carnegie, drawn to her grave, found weeds in her place of rest
and mowed them back, revealing the spot of Lincoln’s joy and grief
(and his hope and his disbelief).

V.
Yes, such is the tenderness of love, and such are its disappointments.
Love is a book of rhapsodic poems. Love is an grab bag of ointments.
Love is the finger poised, the smile, the Question ― perhaps ― and the Answer?

Love is the pain of betrayal, the two left feet of the dancer.

VI.
There were ladies of ill repute in his past. Or so he thought. Was it true?
And yet he loved them, Ann (sweet Ann!), as tenderly as he loved you.

Keywords/Tags: Abraham Lincoln, Ann Rutledge, history, president, love, lover, mistress, paramour, romance, romantic, quilt, Dale Carnegie
You do your I do mine
in such religious norm
that’s not meant to force
no respect one could find
could this be a healthy mind?
Diobimma Oct 9
Grandma insists the nation
Is without an eye so I'm wondering
Who leads her


She says we have all
We need for the big picture
but can't simply
Presitthensee

A proof that you're blind
is clearly the fact that
You can see

Diobimma
Remember that feeling in 2016,
when your choices were - an orange
crybaby or **** filled latrine.

Vote for the third party or abstain,
both of which are options,
options labeling you as vain.

A zero sum game.
Only you're to blame.
A sense of shame.
Profanities, exclaim!
. . . All in the same. . .

Take that nausea and superimpose it
on to every aspect of your life.
2020 has been nothing but $h!t
Originally wrote this as I have been feeling uncertain lately. When I started supporting activist groups in my area, they preached do what you can but don't put yourself in danger. I didn't notice the fine print, if you don't quite your job because of racists you are a terrible person. Just about every at my job is racist and it sickens me. They are sexist too, so I may have white privilege (that I acknowledge) but I still get shat on. In the time of Covid-19, massive wildfires, and over 100k in student loans, I need this job. No matter how poorly I am being treated. Godess bless Capitalism! I have no support group, as they live across the country. I actively fear for my life. But no matter what I "choose", it is always wrong.
Safana Jul 19

Looks like
Okra soup if
She crawl,
Speaking as
running soup
of a fresh
Sesame leaves,
Her customized
face is full, and
all spores are
filled,
Her days are
more than
a senator And,
she is a Minister's
age mate,
she is,
An eldest sister
of reps.
Feeling to have
a young fresh
boy
to have fun
together


Females category in FCT
Keebo Jul 2
Dallas, November 1963
Jackie wears a pink dress at her husband’s request
Unaware that it’ll soon be a mess
As they ride through a crowd of the press
She wonders which **** her husband gonna **** next
Questioning how much fake can her heart take
She does a deep breath but suddenly
A bullet shot hits his neck & another through his head
Leaving poor old Kennedy for dead
Blood staining Jackie’s pink dress
Jackie O
Imagine there’s a painting
adorning the wall of some president’s master bedroom. It hangs
beneath a mirrored ceiling where his wife
(lucky her) gets to watch his pumping ****
wobble like a pale hairy jelly.

Let’s say it sits above a dozen nicotine silver wigs
on a perfect chesterfield dresser,
and maybe it gazes down, in lurid grey and gold:

a grinning Adolf ******
riding a merry go round of charging marble stallions,
one leather glove tightly gripping the reigns
the other waving at scores
of muscular blonde women
and heroic dead eyed men
with lantern jaws.

Let’s just say this now and get it out in the open
before it’s too late.
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