An anti-dictator demo
Prompts a mad autocrat's memo
What’s the final word?
Flipping me the bird...
And lying with El Supremo
The publisher of Roald Dahl’s books
Thought changes should be made
To make the books “inclusive,”
But attention has been paid
With many writers speaking out
To criticize the plan
(Despite the fact that Dahl’s ideas
Made many not a fan).
An example that I read of
Would remove the use of “fat”
If a character was overweight –
Now what’s the use of that?
What they’d substitute, I wonder;
Still, most children are aware
Of dishonesty in writing
As in life, which isn’t fair.
Yet another word replacement
Would be “parent” used instead
Of both “mother” and of “father,”
If one’s gone – divorced or dead.
Or if someone has two mommies
Or two dads, perhaps they mused
That by substituting “parent,”
Kids would not then be confused.
Still, a writer’s words are sacred
And reflective of the times,
Therefore, posthumous replacements
Feel like literary crimes.
Now the publisher’s decided,
After unexpected flak,
There’ll be two competing versions,
Which, to me, seems out of whack.
I'm on point of psychosis.
I'm haunted by silken dusk.
howls echo to wry Croesus.
reflects my deep-seated whimsy brusque.
5TH PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
LIND30 Rhyme Poetry Contest
The earth is warming year on year.
Our reckless ways must take the blame.
Catastrophe is getting near.
Now backlash we begin to fear,
But still we won't admit our shame.
The earth is warming year on year.
The carbon problem is quite clear
Yet we go on with risky game.
Catastrophe is getting near.
The issues won't just disappear.
Our best intentions now look lame.
The earth is warming year on year.
The outlook now is more severe.
Still we continue just the same.
Catastrophe is getting near,
So new direction we must steer.
Ban fossil fuels should be our aim.
The earth is warming year on year.
Catastrophe is getting near.
Throughout America, oh, dear,
Which let their Mr. Trump lead them
To believe it was all ok.
Now, America must say what
We all will experience
As Covid-19 does its thing
And backlashes us all insane.
It will be wild, us fighting it,
Without a vaccine to help us
Listen no more to anyone
Who’d lead us like sheep to slaughter.
W.C.Hull © 2020-29-6-H1461-2571-I52-
K52-39-L59-11
W.C.Hull © 2020-29-6-WCH-2-4
I never thought I would write about a virus,
A pandemic turning the world into a circus.
They say great events cast their shadows before,
I tend to agree as coronavirus assumed the fore.
Not by accident, as most world leaders declared,
But by design to set the stage for what was made.
And give the world a different shape; another face!
Some names will fade and disappear from every race.
Some names will rise, and some will fall,
To set the world at their beck and call.
They say, ‘Evil recoils upon evil doers’
Be them individuals, or super powers.
Their lives shall never be beds of roses,
As man proposes, and God disposes.
One quick lethal blow
One tormenting flash
A taste of the pain
Should we ever part
Harsh poison chalice
Steer far from my lips
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on December 18, 2017 for A DECEMBER STANDARD CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Reminding you of a girl you once knew,
You thought you loved but she broke you in two,
Her makeup was different, but the baggage she left you was the same,
In your brokenness you compared because it was all about gain,
Healing was in progress but the process wasn't finished,
You ran ahead to the next woman in hopes she would help heal this,
Instead she felt your wrath from the past,
From another woman's heart you could no longer grasp,
The New girl didn't know what to do,
Because the abuse you dished out was all about you,
And what was missing in you rather than the love in front of your eyes,
This man could not see how bad he was hurting inside,
The devil is i, and i the devil. A reflection of his ashes made flesh, intentions once
good, a captive, now deformed, becoming the syndrome that is Stockholm. Yet, i
still part of the "norm", with an appetite for destruction like a Gun and Rose song,
can't seem to find the "norm" in my everyday anxieties . You see the future is my
father and I his bastard, can't fast forward I'm the past, that can never lead to
the present. Therefore I, resent false ambitions, peace conditions and the
mechanism of your social views. Which are ever skewed and taken apart by a
universal tool; a silver tongue bastard, as I. So don't shy away, let the foreplay
begin, as i finagle your hope and let it climax and becomes your demise.