A murderous misfit, well-armed,
was concerned that her kind might be harmed;
so he shot the place up,
this confused buttercup…
and the media minions were charmed.
A murderous misfit, well-armed,
was concerned that her kind might be harmed;
so he shot the place up,
this confused buttercup…
and the media minions were charmed.
I’m lacking motivation for National Poetry Writing Month, April 2023.
The inane prompts will bring on paroxysms of poetry-rage… I already expect that.
But at least I can bring forth from my storehouse certain drafts I have had sitting around since last May, as well as attempt to follow some of the prompts.
This first one is tolerable enough:
The annual Darwin Gay Ball
Was a gala occasion for all.
The Australopithecus
Looked quite ridiculous
Leaning, half-drunk, on the wall.
Zinjanthropus, high on bananas
Uttered forth a long chain of Hosannas.
Although missing a link,
He knew just what to think
And went cruising for greener savannas.
The Cro-Magnons (more agile than Lucy)
Like their hunting and gathering juicy . . .
The mating was prime
And their dance, so sublime,
Could out-monkey the funky Watusi.
‘Twas a lowbrow event; all the same,
Proto-drag-queens competed for fame.
The divine Homo Habilis,
Hairy, but fabulous,
Gave Knuckle-Dragging its name.
Homo Sapiens‘ wisdom has wrecked us
As the Darwinist doctrines infect us.
Knuckle-draggers may dream,
But bonobos now scream
That the winner is: Homo Erectus!
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Our election, the ballots reveal,
Was a farce and a fix and a steal.
It’s a kangaroo court–
Your attention span’s short;
But the liars continue to squeal.
The Capitol gig was no riot…
Over half of the nation won’t buy it.
Two summers before,
We had riots galore—
But the media-mongers deny it.
All the video cameras reveal
That the 6th was a minor ordeal.
They walked calmly inside;
It’s a shame Ashley died,
But it’s not like they stormed the Bastille…