Tag Archives: Connecthook

You Connect, I Cut

CT sigillum

“Qui Transtulit Sustinet !” Motto of light!
‘Neath the folds of that banner we strike for the right;
Connecticut’s watchword oer hill and o’er plain,
“The Hand that transplanted, that Hand will sustain.”
“Qui Transtulit Sustinet !” On the broad fold
of Connecticut’s banner this motto’s enrolled,
and flashed to the sunlight on mornings bright wings,
A promise of glory and honor it brings,
The promise of One who ne’er promised in vain,
“The Hand that transplanted, that Hand will sustain.”
Ay and surely it well has sustained us thus far,
in peace and in plenty, in want and in war.
When the foe has attacked us in battle array,
Then Connecticut’s sons have stood first in the fray;
And faith in that watchword inspires us again,
For “He who transplanted will ever sustain!”
And now, in the darkness of treason’s black night
‘Neath the folds of that banner we strike for the right!
For the RIGHT !  ‘Tis OUR COUNTRY we’re marching to save,
The dear flag of The UNION in triumph shall wave!
Faith swells every heart! Hope fires every vein!
“And Thou who transplanted, Oh always sustain !”
S. S. [L.L.] Weld
Google books : L.L. WELD
Annals of Norwich in New London County

 

 

Shout-out to the Motherboard from the Fatherland

 

I, El Desdichado, Lord & Master of ConnectHook
DEMAND recognition as The Most Boring Poetry Blogger.

You’ll never touch me so don’t even TRY.

Don’t even bother dipping your quill again,
you mere drip on the mildewed scroll of antediluvian parchment,
you cuneiform Cunégonde, you proto-Canaanite pottery fragment,
you keyboarding clown-failure and archeological relic
unworthy of preservation in a third-rate underfunded Albanian museum…

I, and I alone, dragged myself up from the protoplasmic slime to BORE you.
I transitioned from amphibian to anthropoid before your mama even MET the postman.
I stood upright upon the bloody battleground of evolutionary struggle
and SELECTED MYSELF (naturally).
Now pass that banana right here.

Behold: The Missing Link

chechimp

I Made the New Yorker TWICE!

No joke.

I only found out today.
From the August 29 article
Donald Trump, Poetic Muse:

While some poets are tentatively positive (“Call me a chump / But I’m with Trump”), the vast majority register negative reactions to Trump and his candidacy. These include shock (“Today I woke up and smoked / A cigarette of something illegal / And I freaked out / Because / Donald Trump is running for president”); scatological disdain (“Trump dumped on his rump / Hair lumped in a clump”); determined opposition (“We must now thwart the hatred”); escapism (“If Trump wins / I’m moving to Iceland / While he wreaks havoc on the states / I’ll be in Reykjavik eating steak”); and cleverly rhymed condescension (“The mallard was rebuked by Mitt; / adversaries began to bray. / The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit / to be elected anyway”). 

The article continues, and quoted me again here:

Not all the poems about the Presidential candidates pick a side.
One, called “Dual Airbags,” simply bemoans the choice at hand:
“It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried) / So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?”

The first poem was from that period when Trump was attacking Cruz and Rubio:

🎼Música Cubana ♪ ♬

Donald quacks. We better duck.
Tell the Cubans to mute that trumpet
While we, together, improve our luck
(or end up ruled by a Socialist Strumpet.)

The mallard was rebuked by Mitt;
adversaries began to bray.
The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit
to be elected anyway...

The second was written later, as I tried to decide, and lyrically deride, my electoral suicide:

 Dual Airbags

Give him a skinhead, insignia, boots

Less scruples, a swagger-stick, crowds, money.

No black shirts visible. Just business suits,

and pride is restored: tragic but funny.

Proud like a skyscraper, godless as sin

Babylonian promises, towering lies

Reality shows when plutocrats win,

Their rhetoric raining from empty skies.

She-wolves, elected by uninformed sheep

behave predictably, eyeing the flock

Their wool (and the lamb-chops) are hers to keep

Grazing voter—this should come as no shock.

It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried)

So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?

Hilarioustrumpet

Both poem quotes were taken from my Hello Poetry site.