Implosion of democracy
Explosion by hypocrisy
Not what God meant to be
Twisted by man’s hands of deceit
Whitewashing history
Distorting views
Blatant blasphemy
Stringing together fools
Ignoring facts
With liquid laughs
Dismissing science
Utterly madd
Doing favors
For the rich
While poor laborers
Get short stick
Dozen eggs
Expensive to get
Daily bread
Tainted chicken and fish
Can’t feed the poor
In USA
Sending it abroad
More than what stays
Not that we can’t
Be a good neighbor
But home first man
Kids deserve our favor
Burning wick
of politics
Dividing inciting
Not uniting with
Guns flood streets
As felons hit bricks
Made guilty free
Despite January 6
I’m no God
I know sin too
I just watch
For Him to move
No nation divided
Can stand tall
Is it decided
Will it fall
I love a blank canvas
how it focuses the eyes.
It’s black and white without
the usual vestige of messy
attention-grabbing details.
We’ll color those in later,
spending our creative time
whitewashing it with the precision
of our own nervous perfectionism.
We’ll strip away minimalism for cultural
resonance and focus the razor attention
of ‘couture’ obsession and wider comment.
.
.
Songs for this:
Just Exist by Eliza & The Delusionals
Groceries by Mallrat
Basic Training
Ft. Leonardwood Mo.
Combat Engineer Center
1961
The major difference I found between obedience,
and whitewashing a coal bin with a toothbrush.
While one was intent on dominating my thoughts,
the other to larceny my time and give ego a crush.
Tom
Fragile flakes with the purest white:
form a fantastic Winter sight.
Like icing sugar dusting cakes,
with the purest, white, fragile flakes.
Tumbling down on a gentle breeze,
Winter's dander dusts barren trees.
Snowflakes get spun into a gown,
on a gentle breeze, tumbling down.
With Winter white, whitewashing all,
white flakes continuously fall.
And countless snowflakes now alight:
whitewashing all, with Winter white.
Color lies beneath piles of snow,
waiting for Spring flowers to show.
As flurries confetti the skies:
beneath piles of snow, color lies.
Why at our age are we still protesting?
Why do we feel the need?
Because the fire of hope for a better world still burns inside us…
and because it’s never too late to plant a seed.
If we can plant one seed of understanding
help just one person open their eyes and see
perhaps one day we’ll stop ignoring
and whitewashing our history.
If we can plant one seed of knowledge and wisdom
help just one person understand
then minds will be free to be opened
and books will never be banned.
If we can plant one seed of love and acceptance
help just one person to open their eyes and see
then the world begins to be a better place for the LGBTQ+
and me
We protest to plant one seed in one heart
because in our hearts we know
unless we plant that seed
it has no chance to grow.
That’s why at our age we’re still protesting
and we will keep protesting as long as it takes…
although we are protesting less for us now
and more for our children’s and grandchildren’s sake.
Winter arrives as a snowflake
tumbling down from the skies above.
For the Earth's set for a remake;
that calls for a labor of love.
Whitewashing a colored landscape,
Autumn's dead are shrouded in white.
For streaming down like ticker tape,
snow swiftly buries all in sight.
Ice crystals conceal Fall's decay,
creating a fairyland scene.
And tucked under Winter's duvet,
the land appears pristine and clean.
The trees don alabaster gowns,
spun upon Nature's frosty loom.
And white replaces brindled browns,
lifting spirits above the gloom.
Popping out of pictures, pulling swords from stone,
Hunting with your coon dogs, shipwrecked all alone,
Rafting down the river, whitewashing a fence,
Balloons on Krakatoa, leagues under suspense,
Milo and his watchdog, Charlie’s ticket’s gold,
Meg and Charles go tessering, Lost Boys, never old,
Wizards, dwarves, and hobbits, James’ giant fruit,
Wilbur, Fern, and Charlotte, Belle’s enchanted brute,
Heartbreak with a yearling, a big old yellow dog,
Friends Mole and Rat and Toad, islands, treasure, grog,
Gardens full of secrets, the clever family Swiss:
Glorious great stories, just too good to miss.
Books promote imagination, candy for the mind,
Afternoons spent on the page leave the world behind.
Reading with my grandkids, adventure tales galore,
And when they finish all of these, I know of plenty more.
An alluring art of vivacious symbols and meanings,
Fig leaf has many religious political leanings;
Though apple was the fruit Adam and Eve had once eaten,
It's fig leaf that had hidden them when they felt browbeaten...!
Wrapping our physic we do; though not in pageant parades,
Psychic volcanoes we cover up with gold-gleaming shades;
Odors of festering wounds are hidden by fragrant scent,
Do all these, yet, grand to our hearts, aptly needed vent...?
Do all polished stones turn precious diamond or sapphire?
Do toy-guns in battles, like cannons and tanks blow fire?
When make-up peels off, physic would its true complexion show,
Though buried within darkest shadows, sun will, surely, glow...!
Hypocrisy was what Jesus hated most in humans,
In light of truth, he said, darkness of hearts should illumine;
Washing should be both within and without of the vessels,
Whitewashing the sepulchers? Values need true retrievals!
Shielding sins have been constituent of human nature,
In doing so, we turn hilarious caricature;
Growing out of inner deficiencies, is a must,
Fig leaves might fade off; Fig trees must grow, in strength so robust...!
29 March 2022
winter clouds the air
as snow falls from dark gray skies-
whitewashing landscapes
December 16, 2019
Premiere Contest: Hi-Ku (3)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Oops, they pushed their captain off his own ship,
made sure the deck was slick, black-boot polished,
waited ‘til great white sharks surrounded it,
until sharp sword swells upended its whip.
They turned their back, mocked, laughed, pretending to
be very serious - glasses pinch nose.
They swabbed the deck whitewashing its bleak sin.
OvErThRoW overthrow, not noticing
a tidal wave is coming — a rogue wave
ripping and roaring, exploring — the bore
soaring, sore like Noah’s flood overdone,
as the fallen angels drink from its cup.
12/4/2019
The Past
Written: by Miracle man
11-29-2019
Each day finds some group whitewashing history,
The revenge crowd hide facts, to create a mystery.
But history not remembered we’re subject to repeat,
Those demanding eradication have their own drumbeat.
We change names on buildings, streets and schools,
But demolishing statues makes us misguided fools.
Some judge always appeases the motivated, whiners,
And the end result is, that we all become decliners.
We may change the narrative by altering the acts,
So future generations won’t know the true facts.
And demolish statues attempting from memory to delete,
But non remembering sometimes brings about repeat.
“You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest
that it leaves your arms to full to embrace the present.”
Jan Glidewell
The Brick Sayer
Tim is painting outside since it’s raining inside
Stroke upon cuddle one step at unfolding time
One inch brush gently on 10 squares of façade
The wannabee Buddhist thing when life is no race
Brightening enlightening mud bricks with caress
Whitewashing if that may still be said in South Africa
Tom Sawyer comes to mind as he glosses the fence
Sells the privilege for an apple core and a toad but
Political correctness has long banned the Twain
Now he moves the artist bristles for fine edges
Bordering on the insane he chooses to not employ
masking tape as that could cheat mask and disclosure
The paint ceases to flow as Tim seizes his furthering day
Watching it dry is the hard part of soft meditation so he
Desists and refrains but insists that some wall has vanished
25th July 2018
In the secret place of thunder
Before the rain
You speak my name
At the crack of lightening
My soul, set ablaze with restlessness
Awaits the awakening.
What is this thunder rumbling
Down valleys of distant memory?
What is this agitation
Leading to contemplation
Of thoughts and words and ways
I have revealed my heart?
Why does yesteryear seem like yesterday
With the same thunder and the same rain?
I hear Your voice name me as someone not the same...
Needing the rain to kiss my tears
Renewing me
In the secret place of thunder
I release my anger and You see what You have always known
In the place where I cannot hide
No matter what manner of thunder lies within
I hear my name
Like gentle rain whitewashing the porch steps
Which lead to my door.
by Barbara Aquila
I gazed toward the sky
In early morning, spreading
Out the window, light gathering
Seeing a tempest unfurl
Amazed by whirlwinds
The arrival of the snow
A snow fall so lovely
Dancing through galaxies
Freezing water, drifting, falling
In dizzying bliss
Whitewashing over time, on town housetops
Yards and parking lots sparkling
Cars, milky, with new drippings
With solidified tears from the sky
Whilst drowsy skies yawn away
With ring around the moon
In a stalemate, of frigid disconnect
The whiteness is obscuring
The greater part of the snow
Condensing like a vapor
As night sparkle rises
Walk puddlings develop
Swings turf to mush
Icicles trickling
Oozing, without end, every moment
Melting into plashet
Splashing, sploshing, wading
No more snowy, for any to see
When morning dew morphs into fog,
a milky murkiness shades Day.
And grey clouds adopt muted hues,
while squirrels stash acorns away.
As Autumn stretches past its prime,
twilight inks dusk in shades of night.
And the rays of a scarlet sun
paint frosted panes with colored light.
It's time to bid Autumn adieu
and welcome Winter's frosty breath.
For whitewashing the land anew—
snow beautifies the dregs of Death.
As Winter's winds begin to stir,
sweet songbirds start their migration.
And crystalline flakes flanking her,
flutter in anticipation.
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