Rooftops cold, lifeless.
No sharing. No caring. Dead
metaphorically.
Values depleted.
Hopper’s view of the future,
stark warning. Resist.
Jarring emptiness.
Where were you when it happened?
Democracy failed.
Today Sanaa hosts OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We can either post a poem of our choosing OR post a poem related to the image above.
Edward Hopper’s City Roofs. Image courtesy of – https://www.wikiart.org/en/edward-hopper/city-roofs
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
There is a man among us
who struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
leading others who listen blindly.
His words, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing that is truth.
What is past is prologue.
Poets shouldst therefore heed the Bard,
his timeless words meaningful yet today.
There have been many great men
that have flattered the people who ne’er loved them.
But how is one to label this man as great?
Perhaps in the way of Satan’s greatness
controlling some, luring others.
After all, the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
Oh what men will dare to do!
Let no such man be trusted.
What of those who follow, whose integrity be lost?
Lawless are they that make their wills their law.
There’s small choice in rotten apples.
In these chaotic times,
what is our fate, my friends?
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny
but in ourselves.
For each of us can add to the light,
hold our candle high in windows across the land.
One will become many, and many become a multitude.
In light’s refraction, his rabid followers stagger.
They shall greet fear in their mirror.
Positions no longer secure
as multitudes greet them shouting “SHAME”.
Truthtellers stand in solidarity,
voices raised, we cannot be ignored.
THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!
The Bard penned:
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.
Loud enough, persistent enough, we must be the solution.
Hands that right the scales of Justice.
We must take control of the tale.
Destiny be in our hands.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril hosts and asks us to consider fate. She suggests we could, for example, consider Frost’s or Shakespeare’s words on fate. I’ve chosen to refer to the Bard himself, within my poem. All of the bolded lines are quotations from Shakespeare. Let the Bard speak to you in these chaotic times!
All images except the scales of Justice are from recent demonstrations I’ve participated in. The scales of Justice image is from Pixabay.com
. . . on the precipice, fulcrum loaded,
solar eclipse of political moves.
Millions watch across the globe
piece by piece, light diminishes.
Cold suffocating hot air engulfs a nation
as vitriol spews. Lies repeated hold strong
Sleep marred by days of nightmares.
Innocents assaulted, banished.
Aid rescinded, innocents die.
What power are my words
when thousands follow blindly
refusing to call the man what he is.
User and abuser of people.
Expunger of honest history
repeating tenets of horrific history.
One-armed salutes
multiply behind closed doors.
We live now in a darkly evil tunnel.
Humans hammer on its cold metal walls
scream warnings sadly unheeded.
Spineless creatures grovel in the muck
lick the boot, kiss the ring,
subservient to an orange tyrant
who redefines the words “bully pulpit”.
Poem created and published
* the day after Harvard refused to capitulate to Trump’s demands for federal oversight on admissions, curriculum, faculty hires, and general University policies
* on the day Trump retaliated by freezing $2 billion of federal funds from Harvard including critical research grants to Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston Children’s Hospital, Brigham-Women’s Hospital, Dana-Farber Cancer Insstitute and Beth Israel Deaconess Mecial Center (all affiliated with Harvard Medical School).
*one day after Trump defied the Supreme Court’s order announcing in a press conference while meeting with the President of El Salvadore, that he would not ask for the release of Kilmar Abrego Garcia from an El Salvadore prison, even though his administration admitted his abduction and imprisonment there was an “administrative error”.
*and at least one month after Trump cancelled 5800 USAID contracts including some related to polio, HIV, tuberculosis, and malaria clinics in African countries. “People will die,” said Dr. Catherine Kyobutungi, executive director of the African Population and Health Research Center, “but we will never know [how many] because even the programs to count the dead are cut.”
Image made on Bing Create.
her torch extinguished.
Entry denied. Rescinded.
One man kills the dream.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image made on Bing Create.
Promises glibly made.-
Lies repeated so many times,
swallowed by the gullible.
Round up the vermin,
ship ‘em all out!
January 6th insurrectionists?
Patriots all.
Guard rails gone,
Project 2025 ready to go.
Convicted felon,
self-described pussy grabber.
If elected,
God help us all.
Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words sans title) that includes a form of the word “promise” – today’s prompt at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Why doesn’t he show his birth certificate?
The boy cried wolf over and over again.
Lance Armstrong, Tour aficionado, stripped of medals.
Trump University. Defunct. $25 million settlement.
President Clinton: I did not have sexual relations with that woman.
Karen and Stormy who? E. Jean Carroll – she’s not my type.
Heard on a playground on any given day: Liar, liar, pants on fire.
As millions died of Covid he said, It’s totally under control.
Richard Nixon’s famous words: I am not a crook.
The orange guy racks up ninety-one felony counts.
The Big Lie. We won. We won in a landslide.
And Dorothy was sure
she’d meet the all-powerful Oz.
Today, NaPoWriMo ends for 2024
but before we close that door ~
note the words of Samuel Arnold,
written in 1797:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horse and all the King’s men,
couldn’t put Humpty together again.
Let it be so.
Final prompt for NaPoWriMo 2024. Apologies to my readers who do not like politically bent posts.
The prompt for today is to “write a poem in which the speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend.”
Each stanza compares Mr. Trump to a person, character, or well-known story or rhyme. For example, the first stanza compares his stoking of the birther conspiracy regarding President Obama to Aesop’s Fable, The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
Image created in Bing Create AI.
I want to write an American sonnet today
without writing the orange guy’s name.
The pathological liar who mocked a disabled reporter,
bragged he could grab a woman’s pussy at will,
enabled and brags about the end of Roe vs Wade.
The one who was impeached and is an accused felon.
The guy who wants to axe the Affordable Care Act,
ending health care coverage for 45 million people;
hawks bibles and tee shirts and golden sneakers.
The self-serving bastard who denigrates Gold Star families,
and the war record of John McCain. Silences a porn star
and makes deals with the tabloid press.
The narcissist who incited an insurrection
and turned the once proud GOP into a cult.
I want to write an American sonnet today
but I can’t – because it’s too depressing.
I want this orange man to rot, collapse,
be tossed from the public’s eye.
I want sanity and real truth and empathy.
This is my addendum to the prompt,
I want hope to prevail.
Written for NaPoWriMo, day 27 where the prompt is
“to write an “American sonnet.…an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter. “ Image is from Pixabay.com at least six years ago.
“I left the farm for the big city sixty-plus years ago. I embraced feminism and burned my bra. Then I met a guy and several months later I was shaving my legs and curling my eyelashes again! He was an English major so I became a romantic poetry sop. One night I even recited a line for him: ‘I want to be pretty for you. I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes.” I gravitated to him like sunflowers turning their heads to constantly feel the sun’s rays on their faces. Thank god I came to my senses and never looked back. Enough of this tangent. No more questions, Miss Parkander! Please call the Vice President and tell him he has to be at the Climate Accord meeting I’m hosting at Camp David. The Secretary of State as well.”
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to include the line “To be pretty for you I have dropped two seeds of turnsole in the dark of both eyes” from the poem Garden by Isabel Duarte-Gray in our piece of flash fiction that is 144 words or less in length. Turnsole is a type of plant, like a sunflower, that turns its head or stem to follow the movement of the sun. And my question for you is, when will the US have a female President….so many qualified women out there!
Coral flamboyance,
long legs and necks, all squawking.
Flamingo mosh pit.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Lisa provides a choice of three specific prompts, all with reference to animals. I chose the option to write about an animal, considering its nature.
A group of flamingoes is called a flamboyance. There is a metaphorical allusion here….might be more clear if flamingoes were orange….or if while madly cackling and squawking they wore red baseball hats.
Tales told over and over
take hold in one’s memory.
Lies told over and over,
still lies.
Oft heard lies ferment.
Fester in one’s brain,
in one’s psyche.
Foment unrest, distrust.
Rattle rational thought
into rationalization.
Beware the frequent liar,
the pseudo Pied Piper.
Rats follow in legions.
Sewers clog with muck.
Rotten smells waft high,
putrify the air.
Rise up ye voices!
Shout facts! Blow forth truths
from the mountain top.
Topple the house of cards.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Lisa asks us to consider fermentation. We are to “write a poem that uses any of the definitions, examples, images, or applications of fermentation that inspires” our Muse.
Images from Pixabay.com
lillian the home poet 