Image by Digital Photo and Design DigiPD.com from Pixabay
Let's get poppin' on this remix with Big Prairie Poppa
no way in hell this stupid poem makes the cut
to honor those who have passed
I will cultivate this orchard of my imagination now
While there's still a little time
that the basis for our bond is trauma
presages floods of drama
to unleash this perilous energy
hoping to cry victory
in a war no one can win
is the definition of madness
who should we sacrifice
to uphold our hallowed principles du jour?
The liberal elite as much as the rigid right would prefer that the likes of me die and decrease the surplus population.
Society cares only about the up-and-coming, not those nearing their destination.
If I were at all religious, I'd say it's a goddamn sin.
Being a caustic agnostic, I'll just say it's a crying shame.
Every year I hope for improvement, and every year it's always the same.
so many have tried to retool me
I won't play along coolly
you will not rule me
I'll pull me
free
directionless me
spinning twilight I wander
without any guide
the world's supposed caretakers
try to hire rainmakers
after blaming climate change on Tom, Dick, and Harry
like a strawberry left on the vine
your essence shrivels with time
trapped in the rectangle confines
of the room where you rest restlessly
you were born distorted
in the distant past
you will die broken and alone
in days of the future passed
the seamstress takes the patches
she pieces them together
new thoughts I can imagine
old pain I can put to rest
I'll write what tickles my fancy
although the panel may deem it too chancy
the music couldn't set her free
what she dreamed can never be
she puts her words in the world anyway
is she too stupid to realize
she's nothing in anyone's eyes
nonetheless, she has something to say
imagination
cooking up the strangest scenes
a funny machine
is not the conflict truly
between Narcissus and himself?
as the evening melancholy descends
a toxic dialogue with the Zombie Bride ensues
I ran from my mistakes once more
just like I always do
I wasn't cut out to be a gambler
"So what did you do today, Failed Daughter?"
"I quit my job at the casino."
I wonder if society will ever
if only for a moment
give a damn about the words spoken by a woman
rather than obsessing about the size of her chest
which could be concave for all it matters
outside
my window
I imagine
a particular tree
it grows in a land
beyond imagination
in a land where impossible
dreams come true
The way that I see it
I shouldn't dream it, but be it
Imagination will set me free
I wonder where my soul will go on the day my ashes scatter
Will I be off on a new adventure, or will it just not matter?
ashes to ashes
does something precious remain
the day the end comes?
~Ornery Owl Has Remixed It~
Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay
Professor Ornery Owl Sez:
I hope you have enjoyed this year's poetry exhibition. Keep dreaming your dreams, scheming your schemes, and writing your writes. Live the life you want and need, not the life someone else tells you to lead.
notes and prompts used
Just this one.
Write a remix of this month's poems. I always save this prompt until all the other poems, or posems, have been written.
Poemses, Precioussssss!
Today's Playlist
That's right, it's the time of year when the cranky old owl cranks up the festive tunes. You don't have to listen to them if you don't want to. I may be an obnoxious jerk in my own right, but I'm not the kind of obnoxious jerk who puts my music on autoplay. I hate it when you navigate to a page and have sound blaring at you automatically. Just--no! I don't even care if it's a page for a band. It's a total turn-off. Let me pick when I play.
Anyway, I love all of you, but not that way, and I wish you happy holidays, however you may celebrate them or not. A happy Xmahanukwanzyule to all and to all a good fright!
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