Category Archives: Social Issues

#No Cookies For Santa

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Photo by ponce_photography at Pixabay.com

Breaking News: In a shocking turn of events, brave Mommies everywhere are speaking out and refusing Santa’s lewd advances. No more kisses! We have known about Santa’s naughty behavior for years, and it is believed thousands of children have been traumatized, but now the Mommies are fighting back. #No Cookies for Santa.

52 Words Exactly for Sacha’s 52 Weeks 52 Words Writespiration Challenge #50. This weeks prompt:  Write about how Santa ended up on the naughty list.

 


The Midnighters

“Parliament is in session,” declared Ozzie, “we have a couple of live ones this evening!”

“Whooooooh…I love the futility of it all,” hooted Ollie.

Orville chimed in, “Foooooools.”

Otto, the quiet one, just ogled. He was good at ogling and freaking out fearful humans. ‘Am I a good omen or a bad one…whooooo can tell?’

“Shhhh!” Otis screeched.

“Whooo, look! They’re coming!” Odin announced.

Two souls bolted over the hill and into the valley, their hapless former selves stumbling behind in pursuit. It was futile, just as Ollie had said. After a few dips and swoops the souls faded into the mist, leaving their fleshy hosts in darkness.

Once a person loses his soul it is nearly impossible to get it back. Give your soul an inch of freedom from reason and it is sure to bolt. It’s a slippery slope. An epidemic of epic proportions orchestrated by legions of soul-less heads who are miserable and in need of adoring followers.

But at least the midnighters were entertained.

“They never had a chance,” sighed Ollie.

“Same time tomorrow then?” Odin asked his fellows.

“Wouldn’t miss it. This is better than barn crashing!” Orville guffawed.

“Whoooo’ll be next? Whooooo knows?”

~kat

A bit of silliness for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge based on the odd painting above, that I discovered, after a quick google search, is by Hugo Gerhard Simberg (24 June 1873 – 12 July 1917), a Finnish symbolist painter and graphic artist.


Women Scorned


‘Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?’
—W.B. Yeats

Women Scorned

From the shadows, secrets silenced
by violence
with no amends
from vile men,

women have found their voice to tell
tales of hell
and finally
the world sees

that they refuse to be ashamed,
they’re naming names,
they will be heard!
Let truth emerge!

~kat

A Minute Poem for Jane Dougherty’s A Month With Yeats: Day Twenty-Nine.

Today’s verse is from Yeats’ Poem, ‘No Second Troy’.


Praying…Not Praying

‘We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world’s empires, bow down to you,
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.’—W.B. Yeats

Praying…Not Praying

Those of us who have lost hope in praying,
pray that there is a special place in hell
for those self-righteous zealots in churches
defending vile monsters high on the hill.
Piously waving tomes filled with fables,
quoting their misplaced contextual creeds,
heaping full judgment on anyone other,
claiming compassion while lowly hearts bleed.
Surely a just god would be disgusted
by vacuous souls who claim him by name,
who pour salt on wounds; hang with abusers,
no tinge of conviction, remorse or shame.
If you are listening god, if you’re out there,
isn’t it time for your rapturous sweep?
Call forth your faithless; send them wherever.
If they’re not here we might actually know peace.

~kat

Another verse From ‘The Valley of the Black Pig’ for Jane Dougherty’s ‘A Month with Yeats – Day Nineteen’ poetry challenge. And it’s those pigs again! My poetry as a result, of late, seems more like rants. But I do find them cathartic. Living in this alternate reality is not for the faint of heart! Peace!


Valley of Forgotten Souls

Valley of Forgotten Souls

They hide inside layers of second hand clothes,
loudly conversing with monsters and demons,
roaming the streets, their treasure in buggies,
nightmares in flesh, they come out every evening.
Calamity haunts them wherever they travel.
Long since abandoned, no family or kin.
Begging for pennies with no place to call home.
Survival’s a game that so few of them win.
Outcast, these destitute vagabonds rally,
warming their hands at makeshift barrel fires,
bedding down in dark alleys; shelters of cardboard,
no dreams of a future where they can retire.
Where is the hope for these life-burdened souls?
Untreated insanity rattles their brains.
Could they be angels, to test our compassion,
or are they just people with forgotten names?

~kat

Almost didn’t make it in time for this week’s MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Prompt. But an encounter with a homeless man, screaming obscenities as he shuffled behind a shopping cart loaded with refuse and cardboard, gave me my heartbreaking inspiration. The prompt was to choose a title to write about. I chose “Valley of Forgotten Souls”. The photo is by Miriam’s-Fotos at Pixabay.com


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