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227 · Sep 2020
Two-tone Memories
ConnectHook Sep 2020
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Ranking, skanking
in a checkered world,
keystone cops
chase rudeboys
while you sweat the beer out
on the dancefloor;
flailing, riddled,
ventilated with every rim-shot
trying desperately
to swim to Jamaica
from England.
https://connecthook.net/2020/05/29/how-i-m

★ TWO–TONE ★
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
★ MORE SKA ★
226 · Apr 2023
Rapture
ConnectHook Apr 2023
When Christ returns (with the men in white)
to take me away in the dead of night
to my celestial padded cell
I’ll then be far from the noise of hell.

His men in white will check me in
and fix my doses—dull the din;
His angels will restrain my madness
Filling my heart with Christian gladness.
Third of 3 for NaPoWrimo 2023
April 13 prompt: write a short poem
(or a few, if you’re inspired) that follows the beats of a classic joke.
225 · Dec 2020
Karibu Kwanzaa
ConnectHook Dec 2020
Dr. Ron, a Maulana appointed
was an Afrikan king (self-anointed).
While his roots went un-vetted
his followers fêted . . .
But Kwanzaa was somewhat disjointed.
I’m dreaming of a black Kwanzaa . . .
Let Ron Karenga show you how.
Where the kente’s shining, there’s Afro-whining,
and ghetto thugs quote Chairman Mao.

I’m dreaming of a black Kwanzaa
with each Swahili word I lack;
may your ethno-hubris never slack
and may all your Kwanzaa fruits be black…

https://greatamericanpolitics.com/2020/12/the-kwanzaa-scam-a-holiday-created-by-a-criminal-and-abuser/
225 · Apr 2021
News 13
ConnectHook Apr 2021
Following unsubstantiated reports regarding a potential news story, inhabitants of the neighborhood near what is purported to be the vicinity of the event describe seeing significant presence of both state and local law enforcement. Outside investigation and independent expert review have been brought in, according to a witness who declined to give their name on record. Sources close to the alleged whistleblower made unconfirmed allegations early Saturday, and a swift response by unnamed law enforcement agencies appears to be forthcoming. Federal and state agents are collaborating in an attempt to confirm the source or sources of the allegations. An agent wishing to remain anonymous until indictments are unsealed confirmed to KTW-TV: “we can’t say much yet but motives and identities of the perpetrators should be made known within a specified time-frame”. Residents were advised Sunday to be aware of suspicious individuals, both known and unknown, and to share suspicions or tips with local authorities through a hotline opened for that purpose. In the event that motives and identities are eventually disclosed, grief counselors and circus clowns have been alerted. Sources close to witnesses of the event maintain that a news story may have occurred.
PROMPT #13
write a poem in the form of a news article
ConnectHook Jul 2020
The Lord’s own eternal immaculate Church,
(Spotless bride whom the godless and devils besmirch)
Will descend from the heavens when Satan has vanished,
When saints have been raptured and sinners are banished.

Apart from the fact that it’s pure allegory,
The nuptial allure appears revelatory:
A metaphor fit for the honeymoon bed
Where prophetic obsessions and Eros are wed.

Mammalian ecstasies muddy the waters.
We wallow in mire with God’s warm-blooded daughters
Adoring the carnal attractions of Eve
Where no parables speak and no prophets deceive.

I cherish the cycles of amorous life:
Getting ***** enough to make use of my wife.
Her feminine treasures are what I go seeking
When love flows between us and hormones are peaking.

But then, there are days of dull marriage dysfunction
(like faith without prayer or His Word with no unction)
Which force one to ask what one saw in one’s bride:
Her interior beauty . . .  or lustrous outside?

Or was it her lack of a grasp of theology
Making us reach for more basic biology?

Brides will be brides, though the heat may diminish
and Eros, like poems, must finally finish.
Of course YOU have never asked yourself
“Why on earth did I marry this creature ?”

You blesséd bridegroom you...
223 · Apr 2023
Miltonian Splendors
ConnectHook Apr 2023
When I consider how my **** is flushed,
   Ere half my days on this sad seat and wide,
   And that foul stench that smells like something died
Filled me with disgust, and high ideals crushed
To wipe therewith my *******, and present
   My true account, lest bathroom-users chide;
   “Doth God review the toilet-paper side?”
I grimly ask. The vent-fan, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
   Either tissue or a new roll. Who best
   Clean their smeared ***, their slate is clean. To think
Is one thing, nature’s urgent call to heed
   Is quite another; Milton said it best:
   They also serve who only sit and stink.”
NaPoWriMo PROMPT 14:
take a favorite (or unfavorite) poem of the past, and see if you can’t re-write it on humorous, mocking, or sharp-witted lines.
Sonnet XIX by John Milton 1608-1674)
it’s Excremental Health Awareness Month!
ConnectHook Apr 2019
Poetry ought to do things right
and document reality—
but modern muses lose the fight
weaponizing identity.

Out-doing themselves, our leaders all
legitimize perversity.
Who gave them this satanic call
to demonize normality ?

In showing off their dubious worth,
the nation’s ignobility
transform to Babel all the earth
augmenting instability.

They can’t go One-World fast enough
suppressing Christianity.
Their matriarchy’s mom is tough,
enforcing femininity.

Milk of reptilian global beast:
postmodern animality
offers her withered poison breast
maintaining infantility.

They pour across. We help them in
supporting illegality;
our taxes fund their brand-new life
rewarding criminality.
YOU  finish it
(some pre-fab starters):
re-wording historicity
furthering imbecility
fanning flammability
normalized vulgarity
shortening eternity
denying immortality

PROMPT #2: write a poem that similarly resists closure by ending on a question,
inviting the reader to continue the process of reading
(and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends
222 · Jul 2020
Sects and Drugs and
ConnectHook Jul 2020


Study Jonestown.

Study the microcosm:
same old socialist
tyrant on the loudspeaker:
revolutionary compound,
demon king enthroned
in his pavilion;
feudal lord
having his way
with all his nubile daughters;
the inner circle
with the automatic weapons.



Jim Jones
was a star.
no Little Richard, he . . .
no wannabe white nights
of James Browns . . .
away with your Elvises
your Supremes . . .  
lightweight crooners all:
mere Marilyn Mansons.

But Reverend Jones
played the REAL funk,
the TRUE soul music.

There is earth.
There is wind, and sometimes
fire.

But Jonestown, LIVE
that was a show, brothers and sisters.

When Reverend Jones was at the mike
it was serious as hell.

(Father knows best.)



same old lies / same old poison
spiritual wickedness / lost souls recycled for hell
communes / community / communism

(heard all this **** before):

strident calls for Social Justice / the Social Gospel / Socialist Delusion

Father knows how it ends.

Drink up, brothers and sisters:

it's closing time.
Jonestown as microcosm, metaphor, fable and allegory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdnMRkkKfaA
221 · Nov 2021
More Cutting
ConnectHook Nov 2021
I have that need

To bleed

But having trouble

Finding my skin


And I'm using a plastic spoon...
Stay safe and cut clean everyone 🤪❤🖐
219 · Apr 2023
Beastly Limericks Prompted
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Bonobos and Seahorses mate
in a very peculiar state.
First they raise up a flag—
then they dress up in drag
to attack and accuse and berate.

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.

Let the rainbow resume its old role
Or we’ll have to call damage control;
It’s a sign from above;
Yes, it’s true God is love,
but He may not forgive your lost soul.
My preferred pronoun is POETRY
NaPoWriMo 2023 underway
219 · Aug 2020
I.D. Politics Blues
ConnectHook Aug 2020
🎸
Too many whites gone red—
That’s why I got the blues...
🎶🎵
Said so many lost whites turned red—
That’s why I got the blues...
🎵🎶
Neurotic products of higher ed:
Forced to read Marcuse.
Blow that harp, son
Blow it for the Frankfurt School
217 · Oct 2020
Limericks Tweaked for Amy
ConnectHook Oct 2020
Ruthie Ginsburg is gone, and we’re glad.
Trump has found her replacement to add.
Let us look on and cheer!
The appointment is here
And progressives now drive themselves mad.

From the ACLU to the Court,
Ruth promoted the right to abort.
You may claim she was God’s
but she seemed, by all odds
more a midwife of murderous tort.

Say hello. Ginsburg’s honor is spent.
The new judge now begins her ascent .
Ruthie’s star has gone dead.
A black robe . . . or a red?
(Only Jesus can say where she went.)

        Postscript:

     Amy’s IN ! (and appointed to judge.)
     Rabid Liberal: curse not, nor begrudge.
     Are you feeling resigned?
     Your own team failed to find
     Any dirt; not a stain nor a smudge.
May Justice prevail !
Congratulations ACB
217 · Apr 2023
Kanaanites and Kangz
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Thou Ethiopian muse of mine: attend.
Now let my words wound souls and after, mend.
It’s time to slay some golden calves and knock
Some gods from off their pedestals. Let’s rock.
(I’d like my veal in gold-dust, with a side
Of injured Afrocentric racial pride.
)

Moses cut an oppressor down, who bled…
Moses buried him in the sand, then fled.
(Every ****** son of Adam bleeds out red.)
Midian offered shelter to the killer.
I hope you like my prefatory filler . . .

Remember in the desert how the tribes
Put up with Moses’ scolding diatribes,
Yet quickly fell for Aaron’s baby bull?
They paid for it, the half and then in full
By wandering around for forty years
And drinking bitter waters (Moses’ tears).
They even whined about his sultry bride;
Not Zipporah—his later, darker ride.
Let Ethiopia rise. She still is blameless
And Moses’ second wife here lauded nameless.

Discerning Israel means: there once were slaves.
Egyptians know the God of Hebrews saves.
Yehudah is no more the chosen clan
Than Joseph is old Pharaoh’s right-hand man.
And who is freed from *******, and who’s not
Should make us pause—observe . . . then think a lot.

Some tribes are pale-faced, others darker still.
And none can claim to grasp God’s perfect will.
Let **** haters rise—and leave the room.
Black racists too, be gone; and I’ll resume
My question: who’s oppressed, and who’s a grifter . . .
And how a curse descends, and what’s the lifter.
Perhaps you are a Hebrew . . . yet, some curse
Is evident in how you make things worse
By raging over long-past wrongs and rights
(Passive-aggressive lovers’ quarrel with whites…)
While Indo-Europeans watch the fun,
All Asia sighs, and prays God’s will be done.

Noah’s second grandson, Canaanite cow,
Oh golden calf, toward whom we’re forced to bow,
You sure can DANCE, and jump, and chant bad rhymes,
Cashing that blank check for slavery’s crimes.
The state commemorates your orator;
Content of character must come later (?)
You crack us up. Pure abomination
Promoted as artistic creation.
Your tag, your name—like ***** sprayed on walls.
Your neighborhood? Wherever garbage falls.
You’re born in freedom. Now you sample beats
Enslaved to violent nonsense in the streets.
That silly slang, new sneakers, dumb fashions
Showcase well your underlying passions.
Egypt’s kings? More like bad dangerous clowns
Revealing thuggish souls in sullen frowns;
Slurring unintelligibly your words
Which leave your lips like Lucifer’s own turds.
You’re laughable in your provocation;
Begging us to adulate your nation.
We must (MUST we?) celebrate your culture
And venerate what spawns from sinful nature.

You say you have it bad, you’re still enchained;
The Civil War unfought and and nothing gained . . .
You claim to be oppressed this day and age?
It seems you’re just excusing childish rage.
Go liberate yourself then, loudmouth slave.
Prove to the world that JESUS cannot SAVE.

Victims exist, others play the Race Card,
And seek a foe to blame when life gets hard.
Or worse: demand race-based reparations
Lining bank accounts with their frustrations.
Such money has been ransomed, in the form
Of public schools and welfare. Bring your storm
Of virtue-signal cries that I’m a bigot;
But spades will be called in spades—so DIG it:
Hope you can keep those Liberals on your side,
To con them as you take them for a ride.
Don’t compromise their cluelessness. Stay woke
To keep us laughing at your ethnic joke:
Ratcheting up the destructive drama.
Hate this whiteness? My reply: Yo’ mama.
For any son can knock up any daughter
Regardless of the racial myths they taught her;
We are one species. Sorry, but it’s true.
(Wish it were not, observing some of you…)

Muse of mine, Kushitic damsel, don’t leave.
You’ve heard me out thus far. I still believe
That there’s a remnant of Man’s fallen race
Who yet can be restored by God’s own grace
Regardless of their smarts, or style, or hue.
Fear GOD and live . . . for such were some of you.
217 · Aug 2017
Tricky Triptych
ConnectHook Aug 2017
*******

*******       UP       CHARGES

CHARGES
Are you getting *******-up yet?
216 · Sep 2024
Lost Israelites
ConnectHook Sep 2024
I tell the truth in Christ, I am not lying, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Spirit, that I have great sorrow and continual grief in my heart. 
For I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my countrymen according to the flesh, who are Israelites, to whom pertain the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the service of God, and the promises;

                                                      ­                      Romans 9:1-4 (NKJV)

Will the real House of Israel please arise?
(We know it's NOT that Ashkenazi place
Founded on terror and Zionist lies...)
Still, I'd like to know who's the chosen race.
Are they white? Are they black? Or in-between...
Do they lay claim to a king or a queen?

It sounds delusional; heretical;
Using God's Bible to stake a false claim.
Their standing: purely theoretical
Attempting to cash in on tribal fame—
But Judah and Israel were both dispersed,
And, according to Christ, both houses cursed.

Even if it turns out you're of the tribes,
Would that improve your standing with the Lord?
Does it give you deeper spiritual vibes
To claim you've got clearance to wield His sword?
Fake privilege now yours: to name your foes
As those whom God Almighty would oppose.
https://tinyurl.com/2eev5wby
216 · Apr 2021
Cardboard Flats
ConnectHook Apr 2021
Do you want to come to the Beer Store?
My five-year-old self jumped in near the wheel;
(knew I'd get a Slim Jim out of the deal . . .)
Quest for Carling Black Label: flat of twenty-four.

Mt. Auburn and Belmont fork: short trip.
The hiss pull-top can sound homeward-bound;
Offered: the cold can coming round
the shady lane corner. You want a  sip ?

Beer cans have a different sort of tab nowadays;
More push-in than peel-off.  What I will never do:
Hand a cold can to an underage son. True,
he was just being nice. Nineteen-sixties ways . . .

Google Earth shows where the store once used to be:
"Father and Son Floorcraft", which seems funny to me.
PROMPT #15:
think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents,
and then to write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit,
before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.
215 · Feb 2020
Versos dorados
ConnectHook Feb 2020
La exploradora
Adora
Su vibradora.
Zumba
Como víbora
Pero de manera
Consoladora
Confines
Sexplotadoras
Inspirado por la famosa Dora y su mono
215 · Mar 2019
Liberating April
ConnectHook Mar 2019
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, the 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 . . .
http://www.napowrimo.net/
214 · Apr 2024
Salmo Amateur
ConnectHook Apr 2024
Parece comedia aburrida
La farsa de mi vida;

La mía no tiene sentido
Casi caso perdido,

Todavía no elaborado,
Desesperado.

Preferiría ser
Una idea antes de nacer;

Así no tendría
Que ver otro día . . .

Ayúdame, oh Creador:
Tú—mi narrador.
PROMPT 18:
write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be something else, and explains why
213 · Apr 2019
Lyric Destinies
ConnectHook Apr 2019
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Condemned with all who scrawl their thoughts online

Obsessing over words, revising verse,

This love of poetasting is a curse . . .

(no, wait—I think I need to tweak that line).

Composing, thus, my useless universe,

Convinced that golden musings are divine,

I polish leaden verse to make it shine

So proving that bad poetry grows worse.

My muse may well disown me for my crimes,

Fly off and leave me searching for some word,

Abandon me to unpoetic times;

And yet my lyric soul is undeterred.

My own best lines may or may not show it;

Still, I’ll bear that shameful name of Poet.
I brought this out between Prompt #8 and #9
213 · Nov 2020
Adverse Free Verse
ConnectHook Nov 2020


anyone
with half a brain
(right OR left)
knew it would turn out
like this
I knew as soon as they hyped-up Covid and permitted mail-in ballots.
Just say “NO” to global re-set:
https://www.bitchute.com/channel/vioTr8bGOlJi/
ConnectHook Oct 2020
The cheapest of cheap plebeian drugs:
Burn and loot when police shoot thugs.
So, this really helps your cause?
(Just say "no" to Chairman O)

I know thy works:
behold, I have set before thee an open door,
and no man can shut it . . . (Rev 3:8)

T R U M P  2020
211 · Aug 2020
Mate Check
ConnectHook Aug 2020
It's fun to adjust the settings
on my very lifelike doll.
I charge her up, I flip her switch,
and then I'm in her thrall.

She talks and smiles, she scolds and scorns,
Through wedded bliss and strife;
My genuine intelligence:
My dear long-suffering Wife.
She is definitely NOT
“Artificial Intelligence”,
The Fabulous One. . .
#ai
208 · Apr 2022
Pseudobulbar Paroxysms
ConnectHook Apr 2022
Bark like a rooster, roar like a chicken
Fake those healings till we sicken;
Churchy frenzies, righteous quavers—
Charismaniacs and ravers.
Holy laughs from Howie Browne
Lame libations: drink it down
Until you sprawl on the temple floor
searching for God’s own unlocked door.

(Ntl. Poetry-writing Month 2022, prompt #2)
For some reason, HP will not let me post my NaPoWriMo prompt response #1, a prose-poem. I will try it here below:

The Ammo Asana

A twenty-something with a Well-behaved Women Rarely Make Herstory bumper sticker on her sky-blue Subaru guzzled a kombucha just before yoga class. The liquid still sloshing in her stomach, she assumed the Cow-cat asana fifteen minutes later. The red-bearded driver of a battered black Ford F-150 parked next to the yogini’s Subaru and headed toward the Freedom Guns and Ammo store, two doors down from the yoga studio. Upon turning off the Christian death-metal he had been listening to, he paused with his keys in his hand. From the cab of his truck he could hear her ginger-kelp kombucha sloshing. Beholding the alluring rear of her temple enclosed in paisley-printed spandex he was inspired to push open the door to the small studio and stick his head just inside the entrance. The effects of the two red cannabis oil chewies consumed the night before had yet to wear off. As the polished brass bells in the threshold tinkled, the sandalwood incense hit him. He fixed her in his bearded gaze from the army-green brim of his These Colors Don’t Run baseball cap.

"Baby, is that kombucha singing inside of you or am I asleep and having a *******?"

Looking up, she saw that he was rudely addressing herself and no one else among the five practitioners flexing on all fours. Her inner peace yielded to disgust as the prana ebbed.

"Excuse me but if you are talking to me, your patriarchal, misogynistic comment makes bigoted cisgender assumptions about my ****** identity", she replied.

"Hey honey, just tryin’ to be nice. Don’t blow a gasket now. I could hear you from my truck…"

Believe it or not, this is how my parents met.
They were married on Oahu seventeen years ago.
PROMPT 1:
Write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body.
The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.
208 · Apr 2019
Presbyterian Restraint
ConnectHook Apr 2019
Honest Presbyterians
acknowledge Luciferians

Prudent Presbyterians
break bread with Luciferians

Proper Presbyterians
preach Christ to Luciferians

Fragile Presbyterians
sing hymns with Luciferians

Gentle Presbyterians
give place to Luciferians

Milquetoast Presbyterians
soon yield to Luciferians

PC Presbyterians
include the Luciferians

Rampant Presbyterians
make fun of Luciferians
PROMPT 26:
Write a poem that uses repetition.
You can repeat a word, or phrase. You can even repeat an image,
perhaps slightly changing or enlarging it from stanza to stanza,
to alter its meaning.
207 · Jan 2019
Poor People
ConnectHook Jan 2019
♩♪♫♩♬♫♬♪
lyrics from Alan Price, 1973


Poor people are poor people,
and they don’t understand
A man’s got to make whatever he wants,
and take it with his own hands.

Poor people stay poor people,
and they never get to see
Someone’s got to win in the human race,
if it isn’t you, then it has to be me.

So smile while you’re makin’ it
Laugh while you’re takin’ it
Even though you’re fakin’ it
Nobody’s gonna know. . .
nobody’s gonna know.

It’s no use mumbling, it’s no use grumbling;
life just isn’t fair
There’s no easy days, there’s no easy ways.
Just get out there and do it!

And sing and they’ll sing your song
Laugh while you’re getting on
Smile and they’ll string along
and nobody’s gonna know...
Nobody’s gonna know
Nobody’s gonna know
And nobody’s gonna know . . .
lyrics and music by Alan Price, from "O Lucky Man"
directed by Lindsay Anderson, 1973
https://tinyurl.com/yap9fqln
ConnectHook Aug 2020
I am for your personal freedom
To SIN and to REBEL
In any way you please.

I am for your God-given RIGHT
To be as confused as you can be
About basic biology.

You have LIBERTY
To deny your own gender . . .
But I will not celebrate you.

And when you wake up,
If it should be granted to you,
Repent and turn to CHRIST.
Once there was a society so insane it refused to acknowledge what it had between its own legs.
205 · Apr 2019
One More Art Form
ConnectHook Apr 2019
That classic villanelle is hard to master;
alternate lines can drive me up the wall
(but avant-garde absurdity drives faster).

I could just dash off some Haiku disaster,
but that would never hold you in its thrall.
Authentic villanelle is hard to master.

To learn new forms, sometimes all we can muster
is try it out and write; obey our call
to follow, bleating, some poetic pastor

to greener lyric landscapes—or a vaster
universe of verse in which to scrawl.
Authentic villanelle is hard to master.

Breaking the lyric flask of alabaster,
like the Magdalene's perfume, we give our all,
disciples of true poetry, to our Master.

Keeping pace, the muse now urges: faster
I'm sweating now, and headed for a fall . . .
That classic villanelle is hard to master.
I hope to learn from Bishop—yet run past her.
PROMPT #5: write a poem that incorporates at least one of the following:
(1) the villanelle form,
(2) lines taken from an outside text, and/or
(3) phrases that oppose each other in some way.
203 · Jan 2020
Global Scoldings
ConnectHook Jan 2020
From some random adolescent zealot:
Troubled children are the ones to sell it.
How DARE you read my couplet.
203 · Jan 2021
Terminal
ConnectHook Jan 2021
Cisgender is a ***** word
Appealing to that ***** herd
Where gender is a bygone term
And pink-haired demons reign, infirm.
That strident less-than-one percent
To whose confusion worlds are bent
make sure u cut yourself a lot
because genderz and etc.
202 · Apr 2024
Queer Fish, Definitely
ConnectHook Apr 2024
Through varied ocean habitats
Queer fish, shimmering, roam the range.
Bewildering diversity
To us, on land, appears quite strange.

From Goby to the great Whale Shark,
Their weight can rise to twenty tons!
Such queer fat whales—one might remark;
(but this offends the skinny ones...)

Some are bloodthirsty; others timid.
They burrow, swim, walk, fly, breathe air...
Do not irritate. Leave them placid
To their submarine affair.

Aquatic warning/parting wish:
Avoid the highly venomous fish.
There are more than 40,000 kinds of fish in the world.
Their habitats range from the profoundest depths of the seas to cold lakes and brooks on mountain timberlines.
They show a bewildering diversity in their ways of life.
The smallest of fish is a Philippine goby, less than a third of an inch long and weighing a fraction of an ounce.
The largest is the whale shark, found in all warm seas. Some individuals exceed twenty tons.
Some fish burrow in the mud, some swim, some walk, some fly, some breathe air.
Some are timid, some bold and bloodthirsty. Some are placid, some easily irritated. Some are highly venomous.
One, found in Australian waters, weighs nearly half a ton and has poison barbs a foot long.
Some of the deadliest are among the most beautifully colored.

PROMPT #4
write a poem in which you take your title or language/ideas from
The Strangest Things in the World. First published in 1958, the book gives shortish descriptions of odd natural phenomena, and is notable for both its author’s turn of phrase and intermittently dubious facts.
201 · Apr 2023
Goose Chase
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Opiates are the Religion of the masses

The feathered victims of the pharm
Flock to lifestyles of abuse.
Fowlers pledge to do no harm
Farming that golden goose . . .

Commissions earned, increasing sales
Keep them lining up for meds.
Advertising never fails;
Pills, then meals, then beds.

Hail our nation’s clueless clients:
Cooped-up shuffling drug-addled souls
Victims of inhuman science
And its godless goals.

Lately, massive medication
Sold to help us all relax
Stupefies a toxic nation
Johnson and Johnsoned to the max

Getting Sacklered, Pfizering out
Astra-Zenecaed to the gills
Facts which ought to make you doubt
Waiting for re-fills.

Perhaps you should not medicate
Nor fill the coffers of the rich
When Psychiatry serves the state
its patients to bewitch…
Don't **** the goose that lays golden eggs
201 · May 2024
Traditional Recipe
ConnectHook May 2024
And you shall be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you,
And I will curse him who curses you;
And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed
.
                                                
                           Genesis 12:3

I’ll tell you straight what God is not:
A stench from Babylon’s deep pit—
So foul the angels gag on it.
Bubbling in Judah’s ***:
A nasty and unholy mess
Which poetry and truth confess
To be an anti-Christian plot.
Let Jews be Jews and churches saved;
(Yet most of them still seem depraved.)
Lift up the lid. See what they’ve got
Mixed in with all that steaming gore
And simmering rabbinic lore:
A stew of foul Talmudic rot
Recipe of perverse renown
From some Chaldean bearded clown
Who traded tittles for a jot
Of not-so-learned commentary
Straight from Kosher bestiary.
A pile of vile, and there’s a lot;
Extracting, from Mosaic law
Not gold—but filthy stable straw…
Is THIS what Abraham begot
To be a blessing for the earth?
Or Babylonian trash, not worth
Proverbial Hebrew diddly-squat…
https://worldeventsandthebible.com/talmud-jesus
ConnectHook Jul 2020
Opiates are the religion of the masses.
An aphorism for your erudite perusal.
199 · Jul 2023
G. Stein: Badly Aged Wine
ConnectHook Jul 2023
Gertrude Stein, you unreadable *****;
Lie back in your sty and I’ll scratch your itch.
I’ll water your trough so you can swill
Vapid verbiage till you’ve had your fill.
Your abstract expressions, while short of profound,
Could almost drive me to Ezra Pound…
Roll over in hell. You’re a rambling twit.
I’m Alice B. Toklas-ed, and tired of it.
Roll over, I say. Let them roast you some more;
Demons agree—you’re a well-lettered BORE.
They destroyed the common use of language.
Normal ways of using words bored them.
They wished to use words in a new, sensational fashion.
They twisted grammar, syntax.
                                         (Michael Gold: The New Masses)
https://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/stein-per-gold.html
199 · Apr 28
Up from the South: 1749
ConnectHook Apr 28
NIGRA SUM SED FORMOSA

The queen of the South will rise up in the judgment with this generation and condemn it,
for she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon;
and indeed a greater than Solomon is here.

                                             Matthew 12:42

She materializes
from ancient Marib and the Horn of Africa
to fulfill final prophecy:

Upping the ante of Solomon’s triple six
Erythrean Makkeda/Balkis appears, manifests, descends
sweeps in amidst clouds of frankincense:
immaculate golden sandstorm
crossing over our threshold
having passed through Arabia
in her palanquin;
with retinue of camels and courtiers
spices and incense
invading, bursting into the Baroque,

King George II freaks out:
how to handle her—
arriving unannounced
in England in 1749 . . .
But Sheba is beatific
under a towering white wig,
enveloped in silk brocade;
Lutheran angels uphold her trailing gown…

Handel, inspired, knows what to do.

Saba: We come to the seventh day
we enter her rest—
a greater than Solomon has arrived.
PROMPT 28: write a poem that involves music at an event of some kind.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TGKJ9MgCOQ
198 · Nov 2021
A Cut Above My Other Poemz
ConnectHook Nov 2021
Can't take it anymore . . .

I lacerate my cursed skin,

That scarlet rivulets may flow. . .

Billy can I borrow your butterknife?

CUT ! Take two.
Let's try that scene again . . .
(Get some towels over here, Fritz.)
Stay sharp and keep your lyrical edge.
Poetry: it's in the blood.
197 · Apr 2023
Limerick of Illumination
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Though darkness will claim I offend,
I’ll use verse as my means toward an end:
It’s OK to see light . . .
It’s OK to to be right
(If there’s anything left to defend).
Two of 3 for NaPoWriMo 2023
197 · May 2024
Dreamcatcher
ConnectHook May 2024
In habit for the chase array’d,
The hunter still the deer pursues,
The hunter and the deer, a shade
!
                   Phillip Freneau

Haunted by desire’s mad melodies,
By faces idealized in reveries;
Memory itself is haunted
By photos never taken.

To visualize is to be taunted
By scenarios that reawaken,
Longing for what has never been,
Yet what the mind has seen.

The haunted are mistaken,
Hunting memories and dreams;
Trying to catch that which vanishes
upon awakening. Doomed to realize
That the hunted bird ever flies.
PROMPT #17:
What are you haunted by,
or what haunts you?
Write a poem responding to this question.
Then change the word haunt to hunt.
196 · Apr 2023
Climate Change Sonnet
ConnectHook Apr 2023
I talk the talk but cannot walk the walk;
My poetry falls in desert places
Failing to bring life to arid spaces;
Verse germinates to wither on the stalk.
I ought to use a better garden hose
And irrigate my plant with finest ale
My new poetic scheme could never fail,
And happy plants would spring from watered rows...
But dull esthetics scorch, and modernism
Reduces my dry plot to nihilism.
And now my muse must pay for all that beer
After she blasts my crop with lyric drought
My sonnet has been overrun, I fear
By weeds, and I forgot what it's about.
PROMPT 9: write your own sonnet.
Incorporate tradition as much or as little as you like
195 · Apr 2020
Petal to the Metal
ConnectHook Apr 2020
> < > < > < > < > < > < > <

A White Rose said to an African Violet:

Purple darkness makes my day.

The Violet, showing forth her petals, spoke:

Let’s share some sun, okay?
PROMPT #11:
Write a poem in which one or more flowers take on specific meanings.

I didn't blow off the prompt.
I have discharged my poetic duty.
195 · Apr 2018
S-Pop Bubble
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Whining—then pitching sullen fits
each time their childish will is crossed,
tech-addled sassy little *****
prove education’s cause is lost.

Such children show that means regress
once the family is supplanted
claiming rights they do not possess;
taking taxpayer funds for granted.

Loosed from homes of dark dysfunction
tyrant-bred by single mothers,
no devoted teacher’s unction
will suffice to raise another’s.

Oblivious to strategies
of motivation and reward
they sing our nation’s elegies.
The dull refrain: yo Miss—I’m bored.

This the greatest reparation
from the coffers of the state:
data-driven education
sacrificed to second-rate.
Silly nature stuff;
Nature doesn’t give a ****
about fallen man.

*free Haiku included with EVERY NaPoWriMo entry.
Collect them ALL !
ConnectHook Apr 2021
The flower of Hermes is a risible thing,
Furtive, uncircumcised in flesh and race;
But who the petals of that flower shall trace
Which a bright People in darkness can bring
Or smell, at will,—for freedom in sniffing
By just revenge inhaled? No nose can face,
No pig can wallow, to a miry space
That flower, you dig it, whether hung with bling
Like insect, pinned, or farting like the wind
Outside its awful caves.—From rear to ear
Springs this pestiferous product dull and drear;
No cure this subtle medicine can find,
Rising like water to a boil, unkind
To every bar a bitter pint of beer.
The power of Armies is a visible thing,
Formal and circumscribed in time and space;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring
Or hide, at will,—for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing
Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful caves.—From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.

Lyrix by ***** WORDSWORTH


PROMPT 26

mimic the form of an existing poem while changing the content.
194 · Sep 2019
Wypipo ≠ Blapipo
ConnectHook Sep 2019
Terms are derivatives of each other.
Wypipo are different from Blapipo.

Do tell.
Wypipo say **** like do tell. . .  

Not all white people are Blapipo.

The two
should not be confused
or used interchangeably.

The differences
are too vast to quantify,
examples:

Blapipo will kiss their mouth
with the same silverware
they are eating with.

Wypipo see a bullet-riddled body
leaking outrage in the street
and feel no empathy,
but will mistreat a house cat.

Blapipo steer clear of white neighborhoods
and will show up at Sea World
with picket signs
to protest killer whales.

And it’s not just animals.
All white people get angry
that the phrase even exists.

Wypipo share a comfortable egocentric delusion
with Blapipo: that anyone who doesn’t reach base
must not be as good a hitter.
found modified poem from:
http://neguswhoread.com/wypipo-explained/
194 · Apr 2021
Eastern Skies
ConnectHook Apr 2021
God entered a welcoming ******’s womb
(as many among us have longed to do . . . )
Ascending, years later, from His own tomb
To rule and to reign from behind the blue.

       Passed over us: two thousand years—
       Short-term relief for lingering fears
.

As if no big thing, these feats by our Lord.
We hear it so often our hearts grow dull.
We’ve nothing but sullen indifference toward
The One who achieved redemption in full.

       Blood on the door-posts of your heart;
       Egyptian doom: you know this part
.

Theater of cruelty; His the main role.
Sad victim—until all fulfillment passed;
The playwright possessed of a blameless soul
whose angel stagehands assisted the cast.

       Now Romans marry Jewish brides;
       And Christ, the King of Kings, presides
.
Christ is LORD and Christ is risen!
HALLELUJAH
194 · Oct 2021
Poetry Experiment
ConnectHook Oct 2021
Darwin's  evolutionary theory is an untestable hypothesis

Trillions of dollars are unaccounted for

Abortion is not a right

Most comments are chatbots

COVID-19 is propaganda

There are only 2 genders

U.S. elections are rigged

Human beings are fallen and sinful

The God of scripture created the universe

Data is relatively important

Western women have it quite good

"Big Bang" is Genesis for atheists
See what happens
194 · Jul 2020
UnCured
ConnectHook Jul 2020
Whiny Wobert Smiff:
Paleface poser
Bad-hair bard
Of teen existentialism.

Droning three-chord dirges
Wobbly Wobert
About to burst--
Not into flames,
But girlish tears.

Superficial woes
Suburban emo . . .

Wobert, Wobert
Your mascara is running
As fast as it can
Away from the 80s.

I am ashamed
To have seen The Cure
Live in 1983.

It did not cure me.
Well, their first album was OK . . .
(Killing an Arab,
Jumping Someone Else's Train,
Grinding Halt, etc)
193 · Jan 2022
Fake Haiku
ConnectHook Jan 2022
Extremism: good.
Neurotic status quo: bad.
Honesty: the Best !
WHO is the enemy.
193 · Apr 2018
Rubble
ConnectHook Apr 2018
The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God
                                                          (P­salm 14)

As your tattoos fade and your piercings close
your slang becomes outmoded. So it goes.
Bliss and Ignorance must yield to Wisdom
Experience learns to suffer its Freedom.
Time accelerates, seasons quickly pass—
you realize that your head was up your ***
years on end, Reason lost to Vanity;
only God can restore the sanity.
Now the music sounds different, stupider;
low, less able to conceal Lucifer.
Your once-massive ego now lies humbled
in rubble where your defenses crumbled
edifice built upon your ignorance
of God, Evil, Life—and of Innocence.
Gradually, your soul awakened to death;
your pulse knows a limit, so does your breath.
yeah . . . purple tattoos
so you kinda look like old
USDA prime (?)
193 · Apr 2024
Afro-Stuart Succession
ConnectHook Apr 2024
From streetcorner pulpits near and far.
We’re watering wisdom’s seed with fear.
If your melanin’s under par,
Slave-trader heathen, listen here:
God’s own holy unpronounceable name
Now translated for you: Whites Are To Blame.

King JAMES was black. You heard it first
From me—before those Israelites
Began to preach to the accursed
Of Edom (meaning heathen whites).
So, his authorized Bible text is meant
Only for those of true Hebrew descent.

No flaming redhead Scottish king
Was he who bore Azania’s crown
Upon his brow. It’s time to bring
The truth. James Stuart? Dusky brown.
No bagpipes here, nor usquebaugh, nor oats.
Just afro-polyrhythm’s gladsome notes.

Mansa Musa filled his coffers;
Sub-Saharan James grew wealthy;
More than Solomonic offers
Kept King James both wise and healthy.
No puppet monarch for Britannic schemes
But African sage, of vision and dreams.

ELIZABETH, of Albion’s fame,
Was also misperceived for hue.
A white rose, yes. But only in name.
Pure African was she—it’s true!
You’ve been lied to about these royal folks;
It's high time we rewrite such ethnic jokes.

Don’t believe the Edomite hype.
They want to keep our tribes suppressed--
And Moses is our prototype;
His law we follow, and we’re blessed.
REAL understanding: it’s something you earn.
Once gained, ain’t no trick you cannot discern.

No context needed. History
Is mainly Edomite propaganda.
King JAMES was black. No mystery.
And Edinburgh’s in Uganda.
The first king of Scotland will not be last…
Our exegesis is unsurpassed.
usquebaugh: noun
A compound distilled spirit made in Ireland and Scotland; whisky.
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