Not sure what happened the other night, but in the morning, when my feet hit the floor, I knew it wouldn’t be a good day. The sun was too bright, the wake-up music too loud. The dogs were on my nerves, even though they didn’t do anything else than greeting me like every day. The house was a mess, my hair had grown 3 inches overnight and my t-shirt felt wrong.
My first boyfriend looked like a Semmelknödel, an Austrian bread dumpling, according to my Grandma, and now looking back, I have to admit she might have had a point. Still, my favorite dumpling got shamed!
Ugly: Unpleasant – Unattractive – Perhaps even disgusting?
Every time I read another article about voter restrictions a shiver runs down my spine. I do wonder when I will fall under the restrictions? When I am old and fragile? When I no longer stand with ease? When I have the wrong friends, or belong to the wrong party? When I am still just a woman? When I have the wrong color, or freckles might be outlawed. When I am retired, or too young to die?
The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.
We have all heard that no two snowflakes are alike. Each snowflake takes the perfect form for the maximum efficiency and effectiveness for its journey. And while the universal force of gravity gives them a shared destination, the expansive space in the air gives each snowflake the opportunity to take their own path. They are on the same journey, but each takes a different path.
Will the lines be six feet apart?
Will these hexameters be heroic like Homer’s?
(Will) (each) (word) (have) (to) (be) (masked) (?)
Will there be poetry insecurity?
You wanna talk about Looting after Cold-Blooded Murder.
So let’s talk.
The neighborhood was Looted
Long before the windows broke
Long before the tear gas was thrown
Long before fire grenades flashed through the night
There was Looting
There has always been Looting
Since land, liberty, and life was Looted from the first people to live in this neighborhood,
The Looting has Continued
I killed a spider
Not a murderous brown recluse
Nor even a black widow
And if the truth were told this
Was only a small
Sort of papery spider
Who should have run
When I picked up the book
But she didn’t
And she scared me
And I smashed her
Between the Tarmar and the Tarmac
Beneath a tangled sky
I saw the Cornish Poet
Walking by
The lockdown is over
evil is back reloading
Aiming to hurt and kill
searching for targets