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Poem: Let’s Get Angry and Call it Like it is.

Let’s Get Angry and Call it Like it is.

Inflame inflame!
There is not enough
Fire in the game,
Or teeth in the trough.

Stoke, stoke!
The peace of your pieces;
Shake from the smoke,
Sparks to the breezes.

Whip, whip!
Agenda from embers;
Dare in the dip,
To sip on the the cinders.

Burn, burn!
As bright as a dawn,
To Ash in the urn,
The bones of a pawn.

November, 2015. Some days I dip too deep into the noise of the chattersphere, and there are times when my brain throbs from the plumes of smoke rising from threads of angry comments, online outpourings of almost selfless expression, negative risings to the orders of the day and the news of the hour. Cute puppies, or inter-governmental kleoptocratic corporate phonyism crimes of do's or do-nothing's, cram the airwaves. We, the plugged in; should we fan or douse he flames?

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Thus ends…

Thus ends the age of exploration
Now Rules of Grammar and stuffy constants constrain
Fixed and steady, RIGID and arbitrary
While whipped on a whippet of wind,
Deserted, rejected, injected and binned,
Age turns the skin inside out
And indoors retreated, energy sapped by drought,
Deflated, negated,
A simple progression fated comes about,
This mortal poison combines,
A mutual perversion politely arrives

But hey,

Was there ever another way?
Was there another road cut into the mountain?
We are mostly space
But quantum freedom is not our own to chase

Gullible gilled and designed for speed,
Gaffed distilled for the life we need…

Arched around the margins,
Angled in the main,
Moving through the darkness
Echoing the same.