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Unpolished Ink Oct 2020
A plastic orange
Is hollow and has no taste
It is just for show
I just had to do it!
It is right
It is right
'Only those
That stand under a tree
Know how ants bite!'

"Unless I saw things
Firsthand
Flaunting, I
Used not
Facts to understand!

In this regard
I often said off hand
'Concerning Covid-19
You could be off
Your guard
I do not agree
With a bizarre
Lockdown decree.'

Me if you ask
Why put not you
A face mask?
I will laugh
Behind your back.

While innumerable
Senior citizens die,
Well-nourished
Self-centered
Worried never I!
Investigative
Journalists I adored
To lampoon
'Cause I was born
In my mouth
With a silver spoon!.
'Yesterday I did note
The pandemic
Is screeching to a halt
No, no...
Excuses me I think
I have made a fault'
The angel of death
Me to hell's gate
Has brought!"
Though I lost in
WHO faith
It has wished me
To fast regain
My health!
Read also my poem
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1804082/that-wicked-womanfrom-a-wicked-man/
Ironically he made this information on World's information day
Francie Lynch Oct 2020
520 000 is Unjust
520 000 + 1 is unjustly better.
The passing of a don. 😎
Robert Ippaso Sep 2020
Bitter, battered, bruised and spent
Throwing punches aimed to dent,
Bobbing, weaving, sighing loud,
Gladiators playing to the crowd.

Armed with words that cut like steel
Inflicting wounds that won't fast heal,
Nostrils flaring, bulging eyes,
Parrying blows with stifled sighs.

Indignation, slights of old,
Each man's purpose bitter, cold,
One sole aim, that fatal blow,
Boiling anger on full show.

As to us the silent horde
Stunned by this discordant chord,
We watch and wonder how we came
To such a place so sad and lame.

Is this all we now deserve
Screeching buzzards without verve,
Gone the poise, the weathered charm
Just two sluggers out to harm?
Robert Ippaso Sep 2020
Mumbling, rambling, wizened and old
This sorry old man leaves me angry and cold.
How such a fool made it this far
Must be the luck of some weird Irish star.

Now I'm expected to play fair and smile,
But against this buffoon that really does rile
Each bone in my body from morning to night,
With his cocky demeanor and memory plight.

Protected and pampered by the media and stars,
He speaks from his basement and meets from parked cars,
Trading favors for votes, a pattern he's shown
And to pressure he’ll cave, for this he is known.

No wonder the Marxists all love him so much,
What better for President, one so out of touch,
The country in ruins but what will he care,
When all he can do is the 90 yards stare.

But all said and done I relish the chance
To prove once again how well I can dance;
And in the great words of my hero Ali,
I'll float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/the-son-of-god-appeared-to-destroy-the-works-of-the-devil>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
stranger,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
see,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
having,
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}
Joke. Ok. A joke yoke. As I have no other thing to think about at the moment. Neither did you apparently, if y read this far. Right, thanks, it helps/
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.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
Praise God, did you hear what President Trump just said?

Thus was I greeted on my way to get the mail.
Least said, soonest mended, pokes me below the fifth rib.

Yes, you mock the idea.
The idea that peace may be made by mortals without war.
I should have said nothing, but then
there'd be none of this
ruderous playful joy I feel.

I claim the inheritance of those who trouble
their own house with servants
sent from god, God, the, of thee ineffable name,
who created
messaging means,
literal winds of servitude, ministering spirits,
sent to serve as useful urges to do or say
for them who are about to be
klero-nomeno, clearly named, heirs of soteria?

Useful for what, old man?

Guides, GPS apps in your knower, like a chron job reminder,
do this now, in this situation.
There are gear trains, wheels in wheels, seeing always
at once, if you can imagine,
molecular machines with minds of their own…

watch I say, I just smile, Mona Lisa trick, I look you in the ear,
see what I said. Not in the eye, look fifteen degrees left.
I see as
life and truth, the way they work together
making up minded beings for
narrow focus function,
on off signal send signal accept, receive deceive

connect, reject, find no fault that is not over-seen
as being no hinderance,
to the whole truth.
- It all started with this woman I know is a Trump
- and Joel Osteen fan…
- she greets me, happy, bubbly about how funny Trump
- is, she says,
- he says treehuggers caused the fires, so Californians can pay
- to put them out.
- AH, she pierced my concentration on the point I was making
- What did you say,
- and If, if, if I had said nothing…

A wife, an old, mother of 3.5 children, from three
******, all men are ******, she believes,
so,
why do I kick against them? Hmmm. let me lie
and say
because it is the will of God, my heavenly father, she say,

sashay sassie lassie -- old and grey and given to rants
on Trump being God's choice…

not yours, you tree-hugging *** smoking hypocrite hermit

praying in the wilderness where no man can hear.
Shunning bully pulpit sycophantom spirits
leading silly, in the modern sense, wombed men away.
- I don't say
Peace as made in me, purges hate spewed my way,
venom weakens me a while, then
the idea of stomping snakes,
strengthens me.
I walk away.
This is joy. Winning by default, having nothing to lose.

--------------
True crazy, it seems, a certain spirit is on a patience building
assignment,
angels assigned to poke and ***** and itch like a hair shirt
on an Iberian saint in shining armor.

Have ye no armor, naked ape? Is this not the same as nekkid,
are ye not ashamed,
not even a scapula to hide the demon's thumbprint?
Is this a witch of the west living
for soothing sayings, yet

she mocks my smile, and sneers a wish for my good day.
- I don't say
shall we condemn the claimer to
God's first be-atitudenal blessed class,
Peacemaker, are you allowed to
mock the peacemaker, raise waving serpent subtile digits,
bow and mock as
Protesting Missionaries mock singers of silent songs called
prayers?

Yes, thank you. I did say.
As my muse told me long ago, both treasure and truth are where you find them, then they be what you make of them.
Francie Lynch Sep 2020
POTUS
FLOTUS
VPOTUS
SCOTUS
A tip of the cap to my good friend, Homer.
Francie Lynch Sep 2020
The adulterer has the ****** Virus,
And 45 needs to distance
Six thousand miles;
Cover his face;
Buy XS gloves;
Add a cup of bleach,
Light up his interior,
And wipe away the time
Spent behind SDNY bars.
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