So who is this Soul that you sing of?
This silent witness
Who counts the leaves off of trees
instead of gathering them?
And raking them into a funerary pile,
Into the giant hill that your better self will fall from,
Or jump into.
Up to your eyeballs,
Up to your own private crown of thorns.
More at http://igorgoldkind.wordpress.com/.
Thank you, Alabama
Thank you thank you thank you
Thank you for Roy Moore
We couldn’t ask for more.
Thank you, Alabama
Thank you thank you thank you
Thank you for Kay Ivey
She really helps our psyche.
Thank you to Roy Moore
his mores on the floor
Thank you to Kay Ivey
She makes us feel so grimy
We wish we’d had a father
We wish we’d had a mother
We wish we’d had a father
We wish we’d had a mother
We wish we’d had a father and a mother
Just like you.
Thank you to Roy Moore for all you’ve done for girls and women
Thank you to Kay Ivy for all you’ve done for girls and women
Darn that Alabama
You are our top banana
We love your politicians
Gosh darn it they are Christians
Hubba hubba hubba hubba
We gotta gotta gotta love ya!
More at https://elizamimski.wordpress.com/.
Nightcrawlers fill your tonsils, beaconing
false beetles towards eerie lepers. Fit
weary scarfs around legislators, disheartened
from feminists’ marches.
“Those fetal coincidental miscalculations!
Where was our pharmaceutical latex?”
“We didn’t laboriously get paid to endure
unshaven armpits!”
Parasites, elephants whose genes changed
by Linkage near to reincarnation engorge
laundry rooms, wombs and Her call to
living will.
Look across lucky neighborhoods where
daughters can afford crossing borders, eager
to adjure a Mount Venus’ climber,
executing their fathers’ shame.
Do you believe in life after birth
Are you guided by hatred, faith,
Bolstered by boundless certainty
Then go to the back of the line
Start over with fetal optimism
Loving kindness and good deeds
Fill the interval with true surprises
You will be so glad you finally did
I was my own worst critic
Until I ran into you
Pointing out stuff about me
Stuff I never knew
I’m at a loss for words
You’re the great American hero
While taking stock of me
Check out yourself in the mirror
jesus said and I believe it’s true
for now, malicious incompetence
replaces nixon’s benign neglect
in our sacred christian democracy
our experts are searching gospels
for the exact supporting phrases
the 21st century knownothingparty
an ever faithful unshakable base
keeps america safe from preverts*
moslems, browns, blacks, slants
our party’s proud of its supremacy
grim reaper’s headed for sainthood
exemplary virtues, daily miracles
reminds us of what’s attainable
with diligence and family values
our dear leader simply must croak
in order to reap his true rewards
*Keenan Wynn uttered the term “preverts” in “Doctor Strangelove.”
blessed are the poor, so say the rich
for the rich don’t ever have to share
blessed are the poor, so say the rich
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven
show me the evidence of your claim
Hollow eyes
death in the centre
ribald talk
how we snipe at each other
and chant our worldly prayers.
Don’t kiss with one
mouth
then kill with the next
Don’t pretend to care
then rattle like
a snake
Don’t preach
platitudes then talk
of how much better you
think you are
Get in the gutter
gather in the dust
none of us stands
above the other.
We are all under a sentence of death.
We are all on death row. This Earth is
a condemned cell with gray skies.
Cancer brings our calls for clemency.
An accident cripples and we invoke
God’s healing help, our voices fervent.
A gunman opens fire in our school and
we leap for cover, pray for one more
day, as bullets spray all around.
For the victims, we hold memorials,
create scholarships in their names,
to mask our elation that we live.
We stoop in guilt, steeped in the dogma
we are the Chosen Ones. But we have
done the choosing, Hell over God.