#napowrimo2019
It was written in deep magic -
in tongues that danced in shadows
of bubbling cauldrons
as green smoke filled the air -
that no witch will stand alone.
It was said that we will stand
and stand together,
down to every drop of blood,
down to every dry bone.
And stand we do,
for the night brought on by Man
is not the easiest to melt into
a new dawn.
Stand we do,
for our first lines of defence
are the very hands that we bring along.
Never bring a sharp tongue
to a witches' fight,
it is said -
for our quiet strength alone
can bring your downfall,
as long as we stand together.
And stand, we do.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
never has the sky looked down
and declared that today,
dreamers must find new sights to see;
that birds must find
new places to be.
never has the sky decided
that a million wires
are enough lines to cut across
its silken expanses,
he always makes room for more -
neatly dividing spaces
that everyone is allowed to
dream in.
and so you ask me,
why the wires to cut in
to his beauty?
and i'll say,
it's because he knows exactly
how they carry words to him,
which may otherwise
never be said again.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 9:42 AM UTC
the art of procrastination
is just that -
exactly what it says
on its faded, beaten label -
an art in itself;
a weathered process
that has divided humanity,
much like its more
celebrated
brethren - painting, dancing,
maybe even writing poetry.
the art of procrastination
makes no bones -
it is made of unequal
and ever-changing parts
of chaos and consistency,
passion and practice,
destruction and discipline,
all at once.
it is learning that
you can train yourself
to not feel fearful of
whatever doom is upon you,
but also struggling to stay
just barely afloat
when the tides of said doom
sweep you off your feet.
it is both vain strength
(to think you can outrun Time)
and smart cowardice
(to trust that you can hide from Time)
the art of procrastination
does not beat around the bush -
to master it,
you must walk on the serrations
of a double-edged dagger -
both balance
and falling beyond measure
can ruin the practice
of the oldest art
in all of existence.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 3:38 PM UTC
Shakespear was really
A blak lesbian feminist.
Don’t believe the HYPE.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 1:12 PM UTC
Put on your ***** hat, grab your Kibbles—
Let that cat out of your bag
Celebrate your business, Womyn
Whether you be sprite or hag . . .
Which is which? You make us wonder
(as you hate on the head-of state)
What you're packing. Woman-thunder
Promises to titillate.
Lead us men into our future
Show us where we've gone astray.
Shine that light of Matriarchy
As we stumble on our way.
Pure emotion lights your gender.
Superficial party-lines
Tie us up. A pussy-bender
Just might straighten out your signs.
Talking-points at intersections
Promise to inflame the game.
Seeking brave new world directions
Ought to shift some blame.
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
#ACT VI
EXEUNT Hafez the Turk with Borbognoni.
Eratocles to Lesbia as he faces the other occupants:
'Mad passengers on Life's untimely main
With boarding pass, who signal to the plane,
Such sad and paltry virtue as you're due
Would yet an airport's tower misconstrue;
That pilots and their air-controllers may
In congress, or in *********** delay
(Desirous yet of wings they fain possess)
To mount the air—with each bright stewardess
Their forms and then their maidenhood address . . .
Out, Out. Such trash ennobles none but thee;
'For craft shall ever land as birds must fly—
Checked luggage fill the hold when drinks are served;
And whether prey or falcon take to sky,
The crew must make our passage well-deserved;
Though lightning rend the night all 'round th'plane
And flame, as to a spleen, thy fevered brain.
Perchance you hope the pilot to dissuade,
Whose path through trackless wastes your flight directs.
Your shamming virtue tarnishes your blade
And though your flight be cut, it fain connects
That shining port of entry that you seek
Where love's most noble strength is rendered weak.'
'Away. Methinks the cabin crew I hear:
Fair Lesbia—have you my passport ?'
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
We soon got wind of of the crime: he wound up with a wound but weathered it fairly well, waiting for the affair to wind down while they wondered whether windy weather had played a role affecting the whole scene. The effect of the hole, (seen in court) was downplayed, read at the hearing as a likely red herring.
The jury, having heard, gave their verdict as a herd; unanimously.
(And, more famously, anonymously.) The infamously failed assassination set precedents for presidents as we asked, as a nation, to have safety take precedence over presidential presence, urging all residents to monitor their residence since shooters deft for lead could leave others left for dead indeed.
The casings were recovered, and the whole case covered by the press (though some journalists, pressed by the particulars of the case, cased out the possibility of covering close-up) until the case closed up.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC