"tabloids" poems
By: Cedric McClester
As we shall see infidelity
While seeming to be
The latest fashion
Where there’s conviction
And passion
So even those
Who walk down the aisle
Are often betrayed by words or a smile
Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree
Let’s keep it real
There’s Bill - (And Camille)
Knows how it feels
When tabloids reveal
The infidelity
That she didn’t see
Though it kept happening
Time and again
Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree
The unions survive
The husbands and wives
Living separate lives
Check out the archives
So what’s the reason
For their treason
Finding someone to squeeze in
Must be in season
It’s hard to respect
Those you wouldn’t suspect
Of bedding the babysitter
So you can’t blame the wives
For being angry or bitter
Cuz it never occurred
It was the babysitter
Who was preferred
Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
It's all going strange, or so I think;
'For whom the bells toll,' ringing all week.
The truth is told, witches do not sink,
Burnt at the stake, for the lies you speak.
Presecuted; superstitous men,
Accuse and choose; God fearing, they ****
Eradicate if you don't fit in;
Wipe out those with the strongest free will.
Witch hunts aren't exclusive to the past,
Each day we read about people burnt;
In the tabloids, reputations last;
They are not killed, but families are hurt.
Witches; daughters of humility,
Not called a witch but 'celebrity'.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
Penny got married young, she idolised her new man
Penny turned 16, said, I do I do, priest wed them both
Penny was happy, never complained to anyone, too shy for that
She crashed a party once, and met a gal named Sally
They became friends
And she confided in her
Shared little secrets, lips sealed, shook their little pinkies, never to tell
Then hubby walked in with curious smile, said you going to stay awhile
I'm not coming back until sunlight, best thing Penny had heard all night
‘Cause her new beau, wasn’t all that he seemed
But only Penny knows so go go go oh no go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle-up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
Penny started staying inside, never going past the front gate
Some friends called saying you ok you ok you ok girlfriend
Penny searched websites, looking for a way out, deleting history, nobody got suspicious
While trying to play the good wife, reality started to sink in
Then she thought
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
And I don't want anyone knowing about the abuse, just in case
I've covered up since day one, swollen face
A nightmare, ever since our honeymoon
Childhood dreams were locked in a cell, but kept them alive and still didn’t tell, even while being slammed unconscious
It's like my security blanket, it's the reason that I'm alive
Everyone has childhood dreams, but most will never survive
They don’t always come true, maybe one out of five, be wise
Believing Hollywood tabloids, that they are still very much together, all lies
So go about your ways, put up with the one, that doesn’t love you anymore and continually hurts us and says sorry, again
Always just after they have, again bruised us
Forgetting about the pain and coverups that were made
Thinking it was just a sleeping nightmare, oh no
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
Go now, Go now
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Penny get away, far away, go, Penny go
Feel you hurting beneath, when we cuddle up
Fooling some, but mommy sees past that makeup
Go now, Go now
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 1:58 AM UTC
Once I met a platypus;
I took her to my heart.
We held hands by the lake at night,
And flew kites in the park.
We drank red wine by moonlight,
And closer, by degrees,
Expressed our deepest feelings;
Explored our fantasies.
And then, as these things happen,
There came a happy day:
We took an ad out in The Times
Announcing progeny.
But outrage at the outcome -
Our beloved platy-pups -
Was front page in the tabloids!
What was the platy-fuss?
We gave the papers interviews,
We gave our truth and trust -
But still my Love was slandered
Just for being oviparous!
We formed an equal rights group.
We founded charities.
To educate, to celebrate
Our ovi-parity!
We swore a solemn, binding oath,
Between the two of us
The Wedding feast and party was
Quite monatrematous!
Uncle Mallangong was tearful;
Aunt Echidna was abeam:
The Boondaburra “Moonwalking”
Was something to be seen!
There were Joeys sloshed on cider,
Wombats smoking ****
Emus snogging at the bar -
Koalas wild on speed!
For sickness, health; for poorer,
Or for great prosperity;
I will love and hold and cherish,
Through all adversity,
My nondarwinian lover;
My mutant, duck-billed Queen!
My unconventional ******
My monotreme – my dream!
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
Muggy murky dawn clogged with gloom the abbey
Where his grampy sleeps ,
Through
the drizzles fizzle
As native orchids embosoms and blossoms in his lost vault.
like a curfew drawn in the church
The pew lost its crowd
With the paws of time.
Lone man sleep
In deep latin chants they petrify you
Before sheol purifies you
And litany literature lecture limbs you
When in overprotected embankments of battlements
They dry their garbs
Where your lore forayed growth
And sweat smeared smelt breathed wealth
Chagrin dreams washed ashore
lay as upon a cold mornings recollection on a tabloids sold column
which drew your freckles bolder
In a savour of remembrance
For your zealous zealots
Who on an another 'all souls day' reoccur revisiting
the truth of their establishment
in prayers
The good Lord adorn you
Let Lekker dreams cradle you
Your consorts concert never consume you
And earth never haunt you
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
They’re foreclosing on our homes left and right
Violent gangs roam the streets to find a fight
On the corner scumbags sell the young *******
That’s the bitter news the tabloids will proclaim
But some people volunteer at nursing homes
Some give to charity their whole life long
Some others give asylum for the homeless in the rain
But that’s not headline news as the media plays the game
I believe in tomorrow thru it all
God makes a lot more sunbeams
Than he makes raindrops fall
At Golgatha Hill He showed a love
No darkness can undo
He's always justified my faith
And believing like I do
So don’t give up when tabloids show the worst
Or when cable likes to find some hell on earth
For God’s a God of endless love; His rainbows stop the rain
And He would never make a world in vain
CHORUS
Bridge:
The tide comes in, the tide goes out
But goodness will prevail
Just follow in His footsteps
And you'll be right on the trail
CHORUS
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 8:37 AM UTC
It seems to me that those who are most passionately opposed
to the currents of power
are those who are actually the most optimistic
about humanity.
For it is those who believe
that we deserve better.
It is those who believe that we are actually
better than we treat ourselves.
It is those who believe that we have the power
to empower ourselves and
the self-control
to be in control of our selves.
When we live in a society where the deeply optimistic
are targeted as terrorists
and their souls are devalued
with bullets and their bodies cut up
by tabloids pretending to be churches,
we can not be drugged into nihilism.
Instead we must drag ourselves out of this trench
and feel the slugs pierce our skin
and go through and through us
and exit into our dreams, leaving a hole for our dreams to bleed
into this world.
And when we run out of blood we can rot
into our own imagination.
And we will dissolve and our bodies
will become the Earth.
And the Earth will become balanced.
And the Earth will spiral back around
into a bionetic noosphere.
Because, honestly, I think the Earth is sick
of having a split personality
and we are here to bring you sanity.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement
People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces
There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois
Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Her name was Nanette -
A student from France
Who wore red blouses
And **** red pants
She wanted to check out
The U.S. of A.
So a couple with twins
Hired her right away
The twins had their own
Ideas for fun
They loved Disney World
Their place in the sun
They frolicked on rides,
Ate hot dogs galore,
Loved parades, Mickey Mouse,
Fireworks, and more
But Nanette's heart wasn't in it
The job was no fun
She had no real interest
In tending to the young
Nothing could cheer up
This nanny from Paree
She'd rather read tabloids
Than watch twins under three
She clearly preferred
The company of guys
With muscles, tattoos,
And Jello shots on the side
The guys were bad boys
Completely entranced
By the Parisian charmer
And her flair for romance
But the parents were upset
With her profligate passion
They decided to dismiss her
In a daring fashion
They took her to the
Tower of Terror one day
And left her shrieking
As they ran away
And that was the last time
They ever caught sight
Of that naughty Nanette
From the City of Light
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.
Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.
Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.
Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.
The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.
Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.
Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.
Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.
Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE ****
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.
Pffft!
I have deep contempt for those behind these ***** tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.
I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
To my friends whose hearts I'm about to break, know that my left cheek will shatter first before your hearts does.
I hope that's comforting enough to hear.
I've always liked the angle of the right side of my face better, therefore the papers and reporters shall see just that.
I hope that's relieving enough to see.
To my other friends whose eyes I will be leaving swollen ugly for days on end,
España's rain and floods shall hydrate you back to life.
I know because I have blessed the skies with my own tears on the nights prior.
Dapitan's dust and smog shall breathe air into your lungs, but not into mine.
I know because I won't he here tomorrow.
I hope that's alleviating enough to know.
Over the last month, I have never figured out if I liked España or Dapitan better.
But I suppose it's the former, for it shall have my sorry excuse of a body
for the very last time.
It's a bad metaphor for a feigned
and forced liberty,
as with this country that I lived in and loved better than the pretentious
and lifeless cities I've traveled to.
Singapore is but a fleeting fling.
Tickles your fancy but will leave you tired and in resentment.
Hong Kong is just another plaything.
Everybody would tell you she's good and all that, but she lost to your tastes still.
Macau is the lover that never gives but keeps on asking,
she was never the safest bet
nor can you lie and tell her she's the best.
Johor is just as frustrating.
She would be the hardest question in the test, the one you've thought of over and over but still stood miscorrect.
Bangkok, I have kept her dearly in my heart but ended up forgetting still.
My other lover from the farther west, but still wouldn't compare to the best.
But Manila, she lives in me. She is me.
It's a shame, I will never see her prosper and bloom in her waiting heydays,
whenever that may be.
But do I deserve to witness that?
I have never done anything to help pitch in her movement.
But it's a bigger, even better shame to have lived in this age of technology.
Forgive me for leaving too soon, Manila.
Welcome me tomorrow around high noon, España.
Forget about me like you did with your history, my beloved Philippines.
To the headlines, I am diving in headfirst.
To the tabloids, I beg of you to once more tickle the funny bones of a dead girl.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
HEATHER
Had a nervous breakdown when all the flowers died.
A river started flowing from the pits of her eyes.
Broken hearted, she sits.
While life just drifts, from paranormal to abnormal.
Heather is funny girl, with purple hair and size nine feet,
Sometimes she's a rocking girl,
Not always very sweet.
She picks up seashells on the beach, she's trying to find herself inside.
She watches white horses as they ride onto the beaches.
The white horses lost they're shoes.
All over the tabloids, all over the news
She sits on the beach with the sun in her hair.
Nobody loves her.
She just doesn't care.
She's empty as a dustbin late on a Friday morn,
It is her time for renewed being, the dark before her dawn.
And now she says she's coming back, to front up to the badness, keep hold of what's good,
As everybody knew she could.
May the good times roll Heather.
(c)LIVVI
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
I grow old when I have to,
young, when I want to.
I go to reality school with Sandman,
Cupid and Tooth Fairy.
I spin spiderwebs when I’m bored
and sell them off to art houses.
I run a theater in my attic
and put the actors away when I’ve guests.
I deliver single mothers’ babies on Sundays
and name them after my lost lovers.
I trap sunlight in a fishing net, powder it,
mix it with rock phosphate, alfalfa
and feed it to plants in the cities.
I read moods through people’s lips
and tune the piece of sky overhead
to shades of blue, and seldom white.
I put salt in tears, sugar in kisses,
and pepper…to make you sneeze.
I run into the atmosphere to dig out
precious little oddities lost in time
- like dainty coins dropt out of butter fingers,
gift-wrapped kisses flown towards heedless lovers,
paper rockets cut out of vintage tabloids,
and words – all made of gold.
I send them by post to girls with broken hearts,
with a charming story attached to each curio,
as **things lost and found
have a way of restoring faith.**
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
you are all of the mind’s dirtiest trick:
a weathered image of Magdalena,
a sleight of hand and a swirl of skin.
defying the laws of inebriation like a culprit
set loose, or the pallor of the moon excreting its habiliments.
the old rancor of the tree from its spurious beating. vestal buds of autumn
frugal hands of drizzle in April, prostitutes pirouetting, pried open,
dissected in faces of the tabloids (their almost acrobatic supremacy on centerfolds)
all mangled like the unclear, yet certain picture of a 1990s havocked
retrospect.
you are all of the mind’s filth: a putrid modal-jazz entrapment
and I am that sad fellow at the elbow room of some dislimned establishment
falling as lithe as poppies in spring
only when my mind starts to sing freely, a clenched, harmonic framework
will my bones start to unloose in the ether, death with its ammoniac perfume,
closes in like an unwanted visitor with a bounty of silence drowning everything.
i imagine you anything but lustrous this evening.
there are certain points in the pressures of your gravity
that levitate to mere intersections of the finer points of ecstasy.
i imagine you all soft and plump as a word of salvage
without the vigor of blandishments when you start with your
own way of moving i imagine you as blunt as a dull knife
plunging into me – i imagine your sidereal satellites fail in their coverage
over impossibly the blackest of skies in February,|
i imagine you anything but clean
and all white and spruced up with the most
drenched light, real to the touch and swiftly moving across the afternoon
like wishing you all but perverse and anomalous
and strikingly beautiful.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
Take me to the moon
I want to listen to the silence
And walk where I can’t fall
Build me a rocket
Want to go where life makes sense
No one to talk to, no one to call
Leave a Planet
A hundred billion bodies full
No sign of stopping the grow
It’s not like rabbits
You can’t control with a cull
Humans reap what they sow and sow
Living in a bubble
A thousand years from now
No trees, concrete will rule
Build me a rocket
I am heading into space for my final bow
Yes, you may laugh, may think I’m a fool
But I’m a spaceman
I am going to fly into space
Going to take my chances in the voids
Find the peace
Leave behind this disillusioned human race
Moon, population one, how will that look in the tabloids.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
A millions signatures,
on a million photos,
all by a different stranger.
Because, who really knows the people
in the limelight?
Who really knows
what they dowith their time?
The tabloids try.
The television shows say that they do.
The websites have photos and first hand accounts.
But who really knows,the people
who autographed these photos?
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:32 AM UTC
OH!!! SO YOU THOUGHT THAT
WE DIDN'T KNOW,
ALL out in the OPEN,
So, you better LAY LOW,
PEOPLE RECOGNIZE YOU,
YEAH, YOUR COVER IS BLOWN,
YOU THINK YOUR GETTING BY,
ITS WORLDWIDE, and
YOU ARE KNOWN,
WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID,
WHAT A CRYING SHAME,
It's ALL OVER TABLOIDS,
THEY LIKE:
YOU THE BLAME!!!!
YEAH, WE KNOW
ALL ABOUT YOU,
WHERE YOU'VE GONE,
WHERE YOU'VE CAME,
WHAT YOU DID,
WHERE YOU LIVE,
YEAH, IT'S ALL
ABOUT THE FAME!!!
IT'S JUST A HOT MESS,
IT REALLY MAKES NO SENSE,
OH, THE SHAME OF IT ALL,
JUST FULL OF SUSPENSE!!
SO, THE NEXT TIME
YOU FIND YOURSELF
IN THE LIMELIGHT,
DISAPPEAR, GO AWAY
AND STAY OUT OF OUR SIGHT!!!
IT'S YOUR ***** ***** LAUNDRY
THAT'S KEEPS GIVING US DELGHT!!!
B.R.
Date: 5/23/2024
Aug 28, 2024
Aug 28, 2024 at 11:36 AM UTC
Disgusted now that America is busted
For voting in sewer rats and gone to bat
For making this into an autocracy,
Working to gut democracy and replace it,
Deface and deforest all of the best
Then sell off the rest of the planet
From the water to the granite
Leaving only inedible gold
Shoved into the the wallets
Of the national pickpockets
And liars while they set fires
And burn down the country
With their hatred and bigotry
Unchecked by the lazy populace
Too stupid to know what danger is
While it is marching into their homes
Making every state a danger zone.
The traitors who own the industries
Hold a gun to journalist monopolies
So that artificial realities are sold
As socialized necessities
To people who prefer tabloids
To history books and crave bromides
For this time it is the Christians
That fiddle while Rome turns to ruins
And ashes surrounded by those who fought
While a complacent half of America did not.
I am sickened at the laziness,
The political father of craziness
Has let this horror happen to this,
The country of which I was always proud,
And sick of how loud the rats are
That they have taken destruction so far
That we may never recover again
And start to elect countrymen
Instead of men to own the country
Without a scintilla of modesty
And treat fine people shoddily
Merely because they can.
Who needs that kind of man?
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
So visual
Men
We sit them in front of TVs
Where barbie doll lookalikes
Singsong stereotypes
In search of the perfect man and family to cater to
The little girls watching think this to be fulfillment
I change to the news
And fake **** read the newest disaster
With a splash of celeb gossip after
Girls look to mirrors with shame
And I pray to love a blind man
Turn to politics
Where we find women
Like four leaf clovers
To pick out and scrutinize
Dehumanize
Objectify
She must've shown too much leg again
Because there's nothing of her words on the tabloids
Now young girls will only know power in their bodies
Wearing stolen ******* and a stolen smile
Stripping off her self respect with her dress
I live in a patriarchal society
That plays down feminism like a government scandal
I am oppressed
I am repressed
But this is not a woman problem
This is not a feminist problem
This is a societal problem
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
She starred with Bogart, Douglas, and Victor Mature.
The Smokey voiced blonde whose motives weren’t all pure,
Lisabeth Scott was the last of her line;
Femme Fatales of film Noir, you know her kind.
In the forties and fifties she was in her prime.
She was the subject of scandal of a ****** nature
When the tabloids discovered that no man would date her.
Like Garbo and Stanwyck, stars in their own stead
Lisabeth preferred a brunette in her bed.
For her men had their uses, Men had their places
But she found herself drawn to soft feminine faces.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
Could it have happened any differently?
Perhaps. But which fork in the road was it?
Where does the path start to unravel?
A change in the way things are
Would have changed everything else as well.
For all the mistakes bemoaned, lessons
Learned – unless vanity stands in the way –
Or the same error repeated
With different actors playing the same role –
Hero and villain alike.
And the split between people of insignificance and
The people that matter – faces splashed on
Tabloids and magazine covers –
The invisible reduced to mere shadows
Floating on the fringes of light.
Shadows have a way of defining the light.
People have a way of shaping our lives,
Setting in motion our trajectories,
The way banks and boulders guide water in a river –
The wind, a fallen tree.
No absence made a hole in the day of someone
Who was never there.
What’s out of our control – people,
Sequences of events. What’s inevitable –
How we choose to react.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
Everyone is talking small
Whats on T.V. and sales at the mall
Their words pester you like flies
Which girls like which guys
Its an endless flow of ********
An ever deepening pit
Reality shows, tabloids and radio
Make us malleable as play-doh
See through the illusion
And reach the same conclusion
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 12:16 AM UTC
It came from small beginnings.
A shaken woman left her car, engine still running
To see whether or not she had killed the rabbit.
Soft and broken it lay, and she wept, when suddenly
The rabbit drew its final breath
And spoke.
"Don't worry," it said.
"You humans, you're too sentimental!
"You should know, we admire you so much
"That it is a great honour to die at your hands
"Or through the speed of your magnificent machines!"
The woman was startled.
The phenomenon spread around the globe.
In the middle of the South China Sea
A fisherman was greeted by a cheer from his catch.
"Well done! Well done!" they cried.
"Next time use a smaller mesh, you'll catch more!"
In a chicken battery in Idaho, a young labourer
Whose conscience was troubling him
Almost fainted when 60,000 chickens sang
"For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!" and thanked him for his kindness.
"We are here for you!" said a turtle, choking on a plastic bag.
"You have dominion - use it with pride!" cried a pack-laden donkey.
"We are nothing without your interest - catch us, keep us, eat us, please!"
Tabloids were quick to react.
"One in the eye for the Animal Liberationists,"
said the Daily Mail.
For 24 hours the animals spoke
and then they stopped.
And because their voices
had been strained and strange,
feather muffled and furred,
wrung from throats with no vocal chords
It was impossible to be sure
Whether or not
they were being sarcastic.
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC