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Robert Ronnow Jul 2020
The Stop & Shop strike v. Game of Thrones.
In Game what’s not made plain
is the condition of the people
compared with warriors and queens.
There’s no mention of land-clearance, tree-felling,
pruning, chopping, digging, hoeing,
weeding, branding, gelding, slaughtering,
salting, tanning, brewing, boiling,
smelting, forging, milling, thatching,
fencing and hurdle-making, hedging, road-mending and haulage.

As for the strike, most of us
supported the cashiers and clerks—
cutting benefits and pensions
when CEOs make millions.
A few pennies more
for ice cream and tofu
a leg up for our neighbors
and comrades in labor.
But don’t get greedy, power-hungry—
we don’t want the supermarket to go out of business
or the Army of the Dead to extinguish us.

A red-tailed hawk observes what small mammals, birds are in the
awaits the moment to strike.
Three *****, two strikes, full count. Aaron pitched carefully, slow
     strikes and the opposing team scored.
Transit strike. Part-time tutor,
food deliverer, illegal immigrant,
school bus driver, supermarket bagger.
Let labor flow like capital! Full tank of gas!
In your dreams, you kick ***.
In your daydream, you’re breaking bones, killing mean dogs with bare
     hands .
In my childhood dreams, I fought side by side with my best buddies
against the Army of the Dead.
I wake up to a lightning strike and my dream incinerates.

The strike is over, like a thunderstorm.
Still a half dozen or so episodes of Thrones
before it sinks into the past.
Will women save the world?
Anything’s possible.
Nothing changes in Williamstown, Willie, except the seasons.
The wee hours, the bored minutes, the second guesses,
the town sewer department, the collector of taxes.
Pitcher’s elbow, runner’s knee, reader’s eye,
you live until you die.
That’s no answer.
Without the Mexican and Canadian borders
the White Walkers would dissolve like an aspirin in seltzer water.

The sun is up, the strike is over
next episode of Game is Sunday
the White Walkers attack
some of our favorite characters croak
but I guess humanity survives
though the weather is ominous.
The habitable zone around the sun
is moving outward as the orb expands
getting hotter as it grows older.
Earth a billion years ago
was smack in the middle of the turf
but we’re now half-in, half-out
exposed to the sun’s ardor, agony.
The sun a dragon eating its babies, torching cities
we’re gonna hafta outsmart it
hold Labor Day barbecues on Mars.
Turner, James, The Politics of Landscape: Rural Scenery and Society in English Poetry, 1630-1660, Harvard University Press, 1979.
LC Apr 2020
the smell lures you in.
all you want is food
until you're suddenly
fighting for your life.
you can never catch a breath
without someone behind you.
because when you rest
for even one second
that's when they strike.
#escapril day 19!
Faizel Farzee Feb 2020
A smile that lights the darkest corner of this unforgiving world.

You are my fire, cinders in my soul constantly burning
Your touch melted my icy heart, all it ever knew was unrelenting cold.

My soul you armed with confidence, gave it strength, worth It's weapon, it's so bold.

Life handed me a bad hand, without you in it, I would have to fold.

Together we travel this winding road directionless, even if it is unknown.

Every moment love shared, a river of love, we prayed to find each other
Between us it religiously flows.

We both wholeheartedly without any doubt  feel the same, our love knows.

You my heavenly Angel, your words divine,
Your heart your Angelic halo.
This is the month of love, let your feelings known
shout it from the rooftop, let your better half know,
together love shared, watered
together you will grow.
Colm Jan 2020
A clanging, banging, colossus
Creating cavital void until glowing orange apricot
Bear no more at this youthful age
Before fate of day lets fly another
Don't wait and fade
Strike hot, hot
It is the iron and the sound away
Clang, clang, CLANG!!!! Goes the conquests of my youthful twenties. Legends to some, nightmares to others. Hahaha! Love it!
Colm Nov 2019
Volley with the moon
A ball
Stretch as horizons
Stretching out
Leap until the stars, your ears
Are all about
And never fall
Push back the creeping ground
When you’re tall, be tall
And strong
When your voice is alive with song
Sing loud
And when they say, your hammer strike has lost its might
Pour down a rain of blows like a bursting cloud
Showing all the might and rush of youth
In a Springtime unexpected so soon
No anvil ever lived without a thousand strikes
Or snowfall ever cared for open eyes
Because where you see them looking up
Strike, with a forceful meaningful down
As if we were never meant to be
Anything but alive
Arise, and find your former self
Awake alive, your hammer rise
Wow, this one really exploded off the tongue. I don't usually do this, but here's what it means to me.

The dots show progression, a line by line growth of boldness and spirit.

As for the individual sentences - You should practice often, and stretch regularly in reflection. Dreaming for yourself, big dreams (this is the best way to live). And in your pursuit, you shouldn't be calling a failure a failure. Instead push back and learn from your mistakes. When you are something, embrace it. When you have cause for joy, be joyful. And when your joy is contested; push back and battle through adversity. Show the hungry newcomers that their youth is no match for your seasoned fire. Just as no winner has ever won anything, first without the loss. And when the time comes to execute, let yourself be free to unleash fury. Competing with a vengeance that'll show you your body, mind and soul aligned. Here I call you to action, my most passionate self. Arise.

I love competing.
Colm Oct 2019
I am thunder
Silver fire
Felt like a hot tin roof beneath young feet
And scolding
Smoking like the copper wire
Paper on a guillotine
Slicing through an echo chamber
I am the terror of a plastic souls desire

That is
Until only bane of self remains
And all once again are made the same
Even when uncomfortable. It's unexplainable for sure. No words can or will ever do it justice.
Colm Sep 2019
Doors close like conversations
Cold as attics below basements
So we are an abandoned home
Until I light a candle and rekindle
Always me
This is about some of my friends in real life. Perhaps it's my distance, or I truly am either intimidating or odd. But I always feel like they wait for my signal. To talk. To reconnect. To ask how I truly am. Not how is work and such... But how I am.
aaron Jul 2019
I fantasize
about marching with my friends
down wellington
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe they're right."
but instead, they think
"shut it down."

i fantasize
about taking care of the wounded
doing my part
and truly feeling
that there is power in unity
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe we're wrong."
but instead, they think
"send more troops."

i fantasize
about singing "l'internationale"
with thousands of my comrades
as we fight for justice
arm in arm,
hand in hand
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe it's us."
but instead, they think
"casualties don't matter unless the goal is reached."
Laokos Jul 2019
another page

with words

on it.

     another extraction

     from , spilling

     free.  ashes from

                ritual to the

                dexter , projections

                of intimacy to

                the sinister.

                           this space does

                           not allow

                           anything and yet

                           is open to everything.

a lightning strike

s  l  o  w  e  d

to  the


of  a

l  i  f  e  t  i  m  e  ,


behind your eyes.

     the circuit is

     already complete.

but not fate , not

          determined , not


don't you remember ?

you already let go.
read horizontally on smart phone is correct spacing
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2019
नेपाल बन्द हुँदा, खुल्ला हुँदा
माहुरीलाइ के फरक र ?
उ फुलमै बस्छ, रङ्गको बैचित्रय
शैली : अवलोकन
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