He claimed we descend from apes, silly simian similitude—but does it hold water?
If I could, I would hold Darwin’s head under that water . . . until he sees GOD.

And now, here’s our prompt for the day — totally optional, as usual.
The Roman poet Catullus wrote a famous two-line poem:

Odi et amo: quare id faciam fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

Here’s an English translation.

                I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you ask?
I don’t know, but I feel it happening and am tortured.

I thought about this poem the other day when I read a social media post collecting sentences from Charles Darwin’s letters, including:

                “Oh my God how do I hate species & varieties.”

                “I am very tired, very stomachy & hate nearly the whole world.”

                “I am very poorly today & very stupid & hate everybody & everything.”

                “I hate myself, I hate clover, and I hate bees.”

                “I am languid & bedeviled & hate writing & hate everybody.”

I must confess, the idea of being so grumpy that you have come to hate clover and bees is highly amusing to me. Today, your challenge is to take a page from Catullus and Darwin, and write a poem in which you talk about disliking something 

PROMPT #4

craft your own short poem that involves a weather phenomenon and some aspect of the season.
Try using rhyme and keeping your lines of roughly even length.

She stirs in her cell, unaware she’s free

The keyboards start to click in joyous dread;

For you, O useless reader, hold the key

To rouse this sleeping prisoner from her bed.

Accustomed to her dull imprisoned state

Unused to warmth, she babbles in her cage

She fears, at first, the freedom to create;

Awakening, our muse begins to rage

Across the warming threshold into light,

She strides as verses blossom on the page

To chastise and put winter’s ghosts to flight.

The thawing wind! She shakes her golden hair

And lyric pollination seeds the air . . .

PROMPT #3:

write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be. Perhaps your poem will feature a very relaxed brain surgeon, or a farmer that hates vegetables. Or maybe you have a poetical alter-ego of your own, who flies a non-wan, treasure-hunting flag with pride.

Loud low-info everywhere.

Think I’m racist? I don’t care.

Tranny psychos causing drama?

Love them as hard as I love your momma.

Zionists out to kill the poor;

Call me a Nazi. I’ll endure.

Pentagon war-lords making good?

As long as it’s not MY neighborhood…

All our taxes straight to Ukraine?

Truth is lies, but I feel your pain.

Bombing schoolgirls in Iran?

Well that’s how righteous wars are won!