Tag Archives: current events

alternative mentality

alternative mentality

science warned of global warming

hoped the world would heed their call

now ancient forests burn and fall,

tempests rage, o’er oceans, swarming,

plagues, death, riots in the streets

and through it all, our leader tweets

nothing to see here, all is great

it’s all a hoax, you’ll see, just wait…

our only hope is his defeat


For today’s challenge at Ronovanwrites, write a décima where the word FALL must be one of the B line words. Then the other B line(s) word(s) must rhyme with FALL.

A Décima is a 10-line poem with 8 syllables per line. The rhyme pattern is: abbaaccddc. Further study of this form indicates that the subject matter of a Décima tends to be more socially conscious than some poems, taking on topics such as philosophy, politics, dogma, and religion. It can also be in the form of satire, criticism or insulting to an enemy/opponent in a situation. 

Sometimes you break the rhyme into two stanzas using the following rhyme pattern.


Cinqku #6


Couldn’t resist…besides, we all need something to smile about these days…


photo credit: Chip Somodevilla 2019 Getty Images

gate is proof
in permanent
black scratches that trump is



A compilation of social media response to Sharpiegate.

A cinqku must always have 5 lines and a perfect seventeen-syllable count. The lines typically follow a 2,3,4,6,2 format. There is no title requirement on the second line. As for syntax and diction styles, it follows the free Tanka style originally. There are no metric requirements for a cinqku poem. Additionally, the final line must contain a cinquain or kireji turn for emphasis. 

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse -18 February 2018

So, rough week here in the States. Inconceivable loss for several families on a day that started like any other. The sun rose in the east, wisps of clouds streamed across a crisp blue sky, and I’ve no doubt there was happy birdsong sweetening the breeze wherever people happened to be. It was an ordinary day that flipped into a nightmare at the hands of a disturbed, angry, young man, left behind by the dwindling resources of our top heavy nation.

By evening the horrible facts started to trickle in…17 dead, many wounded; and with it, regret for words unsaid in the rush of the morning, dreams cut short, trauma inflicted, survivors made. Adding salt to fresh wounds was a litany of vapid talking points from our leaders, “thoughts and prayers for this tragedy that our children should never suffer…” but it’s “too soon…too soon to talk about” regulating our homegrown militia of angry white men. It was, of course, as it always is, about mental health, punctuated by a victim-shaming lecture, against those who witnessed the festering insanity of the shooter and said nothing, even though they did say something, we learned, to law enforcement who regretfully missed the gravity of this impending doom. But it wasn’t guns, it’s never guns that caused this latest slaughter of our greatest treasure. With a nod to the NRA, a gun show opened shop a county away from the shuttered crime scene for what would be a banner weekend of arming the fearful with weapons of war.

By Friday, Congress recessed early, the president went golfing, and another news cycle shifted the focus of our attention to porn stars with stained dresses, playboy bunnies, Russian Bots, cyber attacks, justice on the cusp and a “no collusion, but it is Obama’s fault” mantra of vindication spewing from 45’s vile mouth. He finished the week by grinning, “thumbs up” in a photo op with the medical teams who were charged with patching our battered youth together to face another ordinary, possibly horrible day.

We’ve had too many weeks like this. Except…this time feels different. This time feels angry and raw and perhaps even hopeful. The curtain has been ripped back revealing those whose pockets are lined with blood money, calling them to account for their complicity and cowardice. This time there is a force rising, armed with the fiercest of weapons…truth. And though they are young, they are legion; older and wiser than their 5-6 year old contemporaries whose memories still haunt us. This same generation has found its voice and will soon be old enough to vote. A storm is coming with its thunderous cry…”Enough!” This gives me hope even as I grieve.

It’s been a rough week, but I want to leave you with this: Be gentle with yourself. Say I love you often. Breath deliberately, slowly in, then out, and savor each moment as best you can. None of us are promised tomorrow. All the more reason to seize the day. Peace.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse -18 February 2018

giving a damn often leads to losing one’s shit
a sweaty blob in a puddle of drool
it’s sometimes a symptom
the honey-soaked earth glimmering…
you were meant to fly
Do you have a minute?
a trio of cowbirds perch aloft, screaming
high above a flat earth…cows
should be an easy choice
it takes empathy
life is a mere blip
harmonic dissonance
that’s a lot of love
only a breath lingers
charmed by the sun
and the gaslight flickers to black


A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.

#No Cookies For Santa


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.


Now is Not the Time…


From Creative Commons at Pixabay.com

‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’  – W.B. Yeats

Now is Not the Time…

the burning stench of liquid iron, oozing
clouds of ether, billowing from hell’s hot gate
midst crimson pools of life on pews, congealing
silent screams of innocents who met a too soon fate
with cool resign they sacrifice the children
offering thoughts and prayers as consolation
while coddling the vain and self-indulgent
as more blood spills they crush all condemnation
it makes no sense, this detour from all reason
building up tall walls just keep monsters inside
until this ends, the meek remain in season
don’t believe them when they say they care…they lie


Not sure what style of poem this is. It started out at a Rispetto, but I had more to say that two stanza’s would allow. So here it is then, a modified verse that rhymes and plods along in an iambic cadence some 11 syllables per line. Of course this is the ninth day of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats. Today’s inspiration comes once again from‘The Rose of the World’ by W.B. Yeats.

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