Efficiency, anxiety
Result, vanity
Success, burnout
Alienation, disguise
Unconscious, relapse
Control, coact
Apologist: own merit!
Arbitrary, reclusive
Circus, bread
Conscious, blurred
Acceptance.
Commotion, trivialization
Affection, weakness
Love, liquid
Affliction, medication
People can no longer
Human beings.
- Bruna Beatrice.
*Image of People of the Dawn by Pixabay.
Instruments of Mercy
Amidst the wailing whiplashed 'neath a moonlit plight,
Against the cowered beast of demons gnashing white,
Angst men in their temporary shanties walled bubbles,
Atheist fated them to wile their skill with steel shovels,
Apologist to the bitter end proves it's never supported,
Absolutist self-denial raw display ne'er to be thwarted,
Awarest who'd weathered the conviction of strong will,
Awkwardest fretted near sunk rocks, lost eyes wet still,
Aptest met their latest neighbor, old-timers now closer,
Antichrist organized bits of their faith sitting as a poser.
2022 January 22
See the lashing of the Singer,
I think he's angry at the sindlinger.
He finds it hard to see the awful,
Overshadowed by the gloomy belgian waffle.
Who is that wavering near the horrible?
I think she'd like to eat the orabelle.
She is but a terrible Motherland,
Admired as she sits upon a reprimand.
Her lifeless car is just a dreadful,
It needs no gas, it runs on headful.
She's not alone she brings a battered,
a pet dog, and lots of attard.
The dog likes to chase a scary,
Especially one that's in the arie.
The Singer shudders at the cute apologist
He want to leave but she wants the physiologist.
This table is for eagles only
where the tough- dirty-necessary decisions are made.
Every now and again an asp raises its rage
it has to be engaged with one way or another.
You haven't the stomach for it,
that's what the small table is for
for little owls to perch.
Hooting excuses to explain the poison away
wide-eyed petrified of facts.
ideologues-all
not understanding that you can't reason with stupid
it is unwise to stroke a fang.
I'M where I belong, at the big table
an invader writhing in my talons.
It didn't listen to logic it had to go-
You're where you belong
at the small table
sniffing rainbows
dreaming in unicorn
Little poison asps going unchecked.
Swirling around your heads.
You've grown fat and soft
without any answers
apologist supreme
only wishful thinking
dead end dreaming-
Dismantling the asp happens at the big table
chanting time is over-talons must come out.
The tough-dirty-necessary work
happens here at the big table.
If you can't stomach it, get the F out of the way
-stay in your safe lane
just be the little toot owl
that you were born to be.
Jerry Packard was an entomologist
for which he was far from an apologist.
He's glad he faced down
his professor's frown
for refusing to become a proctologist
there was a proud resident
who gave her neighbours
a torrid time because she
was well-connected and big
an apologist and a menace
she was a law unto herself
none could tell her to reduce
the noise her hi-fi produced
from her children to her pets
--all did as they pleased –
her licentious dogs caused havoc
even her chicks were untouchable
when the empire of those who had been
fortifying and sugarcoating her nonsense
imploded--she also crushed on her chest
all the sense of immunity just fizzled out
it was a bitter harvest as her own dogs ran riot
--did the unthinkable: biting her like a stranger
while her own children stood aloof as if gloating
the stunned neighbours watched the fracas from afar