A storm-front formed to winds like a Titan's fist
Toppling the highest stack of poker chips
So many cowered and took cover as
The hashtag hurricane passed over

Like stowaways, they waited
Coming back later like all was breezy
in the industry
Marquees framed - slanted letters remain
Faces familiar whilst others lost at box office seas forever
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Just Peachy

Handy with a drain pipe and wrench
Two brothers scour the sewers
A vibration and booming voice laughed Followed by the pleas of a Peach

That's just a fort,
She must be in the level 8 castle
Race past that flagpole
Eat some mushrooms, grow big and GO!

Let's tap that block of question marks
Collect the coins and duck the hammers thrown
Only 7 more floors to go

Inspired by Ben'sBitterBlog
and the love of an NES Classic
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On Style and Form

Dried Up

This might be the thing
A river bed that once flowed
Deserted soil

5-7-5 haiku
I don't write them much
I wrote academic formal poetry for a few years. I would spend more time adhering to other time periods and their particular rules instead of creating and finding my own voice
I don't much enjoy formality in poetry as a way to write
I can write that way but simplicity works and rules are a distraction and tend to lead
to an elitist mindset
I rhyme as a way to get to the next line in a seamless way that makes it easier for the reader and keep them engaged
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Tractor Beasts

To the great rust heap we throw these rolling tracks of obsolete, let us recycle these tractor beasts, 
find some new machines,
floor the pedal, shift the gears, re-new the grain tracks, and talks of peace, the threat is a need for new energies
Let our species keep breathing!
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toast it

to good memories however few they are 
however far apart.

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An artist’s view of artistry, and community

If there is time to ask is there not time to ponder the answer, or wonder if the answer is a need to validate yourself? We see titles and letters and chase money or attention. Am I not worth it we ask? Who needs to find one’s self in the eyes of another?

Why do I need approval or a moniker? A writer writes a painter paints so that’s the way of things whether we pretend to be better or know more or work harder. Art is art. I write. You might take photos. We are what we are and there’s nothing to prove. Still we must face the reality. People are compelled at large, in a time of attention seeking and that be more messaging.

To be more means we may need to be better and lift one another. I may not “like” as a matter of preference or taste but I consider it an honor to say Hey. Your art is yours and I support you. That’s what matters. If it’s macabre, I may grimace and turn away but that is okay. I “love” everyone on wordpress contributing to each other and the community. While many places online and off thrive on bitterness and anger over anything and everything, wordpress artists say it by saying “I support you.” There are lives we don’t know about that an art form can reach. To those lives and to the community on wordpress, I say, your art matters. Support not the preferences towards artistic taste, support the fact that art is shared even when it’s not, and love that unknowable factor, that art in all its forms is what makes us human. Let us “like” for the sake of art and hit pause on what we want or need to support artists on wordpress. I would encourage you, the reader of this messege, to look for a blog or blogger on wordpress and show them some love by taking a moment to genuinely read or reflect on that Art rather than scrolling and hitting the “like” button. Make art and support art. “Like” artists for the sake of what we do. It’s who we are. That is self-validation and that’s the heart of it. Art may become a product to consume but the artist subsists on their inner-selves and the knowledge that their art is of themselves. And that’s a beautiful thing, whatever a person’s individual tastes may be. An artist is their art that we boldly share with others because it takes courage to do that. Thank you to the wordpress community.

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Trudging through; no time for sleep,
My tired eyes on the winding path, it snakes like a river,
Leading me to a looming forest, trees teaming with stern sentinels,
Tripping over curving roots, covered by crackling ashen leaves;
Stumbling into brush as thick as Redwood tree trunks.

The dark woods choke out light, it looks like it’s always night;
Desperate to rest; want to relax; my bones creak; aching and tired.
The star’s, faraway and faint; peer down from high above,
Piercing the gloom to guide my steps.
Wary from long wandering.

I can’t give up, owls screech, grabbing rodent meat,
Distractions in the night, confound and confuse me,
I need to keep proceeding, a set stride keeps me moving,
Progress doesn't lapse, it seems like a maze,
Weary; zombie like, keep proceeding through life.

by P.A. Lillie
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In Memoriam (author’s note)


“in memoriam” is written as “narrative poetry”

and the title is a nod to Virgil 70-19 BCE 

The final scene in The Aeneid is a fight between Turnus and Aeneas but I wrote it as modern because of Ukraine and Russian Federation albeit using Western Literature for the theme hence The Aeneid 

As Virgil would write it

long form as epic, Pushkin would use narrative verse to bring the reader closer to the action.

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In Memoriam

In Memoriam

For victors stride forth
On towards mail-linked lines
Defended by fresh faces
Ne'er a day past for the prayers
Fallen from blood-bitten lips

Into the fore - they charge
Steam flash-freezes
A din of obscenities
Curses at the unbending
Through sheer will left standing

"Have at thee! Oh fiend!
For the hope of Troy that once stood
I'll make quick work of your insides!"

Gripping the barrel strapped heavy
Slipping on the field frozen
He heard a click and felt a blade's subtle prick
Eyes widened in shock and rage
His view dimmed in arterial spray

"Have you truly forgotten?
Troy fell by the same arrogance
To Hades I send thee
with thine brethren."

Inspired by
The Aeneid

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In Memoriam

page 1
page 2
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Fresh as a daisy 
or purple like aconite
A touch of toxic can be
A healer's practice

Inspired by: Vova Zinger

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In a trance 
The fog of war blurs the sight
Peace divides to boundary lines
In a compromise
The sentence given is silent

from book iv (I could really use an Agent(s) if anyone reading this can throw this writer a bone?

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lit- it

literalizing grossness isn’t gros, grande, or gripping

jolie, n’est pas? nyet, non, and nine

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friends? acquaint it tin man - I am 

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Project Poetry

Take an idiom, expression, or phrase,
and make them unique through poetic means.

Walk soft and carry a big stick


Walk stealthy, a hidden-blade belted

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Blurb 3

attack in a copter by means of what wonders, a secret of African science like thunder

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blurb 2

walk soft and carry a pikeman’s lance , push them into a phalanx

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same day different memories

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walmart seems to emanate sinister feelings of unease like a disease

i went to target
Posted in Observation, Opinion, poetry | Tagged | Comments Off on inhumane


On an unobservable journey
This tilted pebble spins, angled
Towards a Sol, and in the cold,
Tilted, away, as if alone.
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The CheckMark Blues of 2022

Like a house of construction
Built on a bet of steep and heaped contracts
His steepled fingers cracking
Bone against bone
He flexes his shoulders
Tired arms embrace a stainless steel sink
It's filled with water sloshing
Tossing feed to the birds that are bathing
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Hi. My name is Genie Haskell
I will be your hostess today at this wonderful establishment of Coffee and Liberty serving up good ole fashion capital all day, everyday. Would you two like to hear about the specials?”

“Um. Excuse me, Ma’am? But isn’t this a covert black site for enhanced interrogation techniques? You see we are Rangers and just passing through.”

“Well how do? and Welcome.
and yes. Yes it is. Oh chef?! Bring out the cheese board and some water for these gentlemen.
Listen fellas. You sure you don’t want to hear about the specials?”

On the far side of the room two friends spit out there coffee when they overheard the remarks.

Urged by his friend, one of them made a beeline to the door. Standing there with arms crossed and a sullen scowl on his face,
a chef garbed in a blood spattered apron grabbed the would be dine and dasher by the collar of his jacket and yanked him close.

“You pay for coffee or we make example of you in dungeon. I mean kitchen. Yes?”

It wasn’t a question. The patron pulled out a crumpled note and said “Please take it. Let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone. Sobbing, he declared, I have adult children and they need me! They are millennials,” he said; sobbing, and sank to his knees.
He clutched at the chef. “It’s my birthday. Don’t do this.”

Suddenly the hostess and the Rangers burst out laughing. The casually dressed dine and dasher looked up into the wide toothy grin of the burly chef. Stunned, he glanced at his companion who indicated that it was him who set it up.
“That’s for Argentina buddy,”
he said with a wink.

Posted in humor, story | Tagged | Comments Off on Gotcha!


sometimes my dreams seem more real than my waking hours, like more meaningful

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The Coda

Swim the Tombigbee to a Coastal Bay 
Wherein the witness waits quiescently
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Pinpricks in my skin
Paralysed chagrin

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*The Han (see footnote)*

Lord Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Liu Bei
Happened to cross paths one day
In truth, they met because fate intended it
The Will of Heaven made it a mandate
In a grove where the immortal fruit grows

A brotherhood was forged
Meanwhile unrest fomented
Machinations influenced events
A multitude of court ministers put to the sword
Dispatching families to King Yama's Court

Waiting for the greatest mind in the Empire
Attempting to persuade Kongming thrice
Xuande pleaded with the Sleeping Dragon
Holding back his brothers Liu Bei waited patiently
What portends our fate? Intervene with us Kongming

Honorable Xuande you have need of
This scholar’s meager abilities?
Take this tea as is customary
Fate has ordained our meeting
A forecast of events and a strategy is thus given

Inspired by: Luo Guanzhong, Moss Roberts.
Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
Beijing: Foreign Language Press. 1995 Print.

*The work above is divided into 4 stanzas but wordpress is terrible at formatting my work and the process to fix it on wordpress is laborious and mind numbing so I footnote it
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To speak truth
Elevates consensus,
And raises awareness.

To be cool, disperse the lies
Welcome the news,
Like a sunrise.

Truth is like a breeze breaking
Across cooled, upturned faces.

May the sunlight sing a refrain
To journalists promoting news
Seen as selfless.

For when the truth flows
Vintage of taste, par excellence.

Polk Award for Public Service: Helen Branswell of STAT
for relentlessly covering all aspects of the pandemic
through works dating back as early as Dec. 31, 2019
that became required reading for medical experts.

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For Marvin

Marvin the paranoid android
Depressed as all get
"Brain the size of a planet"
Stuck it in a mop bucket

Had the question been answered
If only they had asked
An ability to see the program's mind
Left to take a Sun Dive
Fleeing they had the personality commit suicide

Inspired by
Douglas Adams
A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Quotations indicate limited “Fair Use” in order to permit my expression as a writer. This is an ode to a fictional character in a beloved work of fiction. It’s “Mostly Harmless.” Hopefully it will encourage those that have not to read Douglas Adams.

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Blocking the Spaniards like navy canon fire
Hakimi took the horns and tempered his stance
By a winning goal he rocked the stands
Declaring Morocco as the fearless champs

A second chance for a legend
His time on the bench always extended
With only a sparse contingent of fans
He evaded allegations more than striking with kicks
The days of making magic on tufts of green lay in the memory of his ever stained cleats

Leaving the stadium with his head in his hands
Moroccans cheered at improbable happenstance

A second home to many
Morocco faces the home of Liberty
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The Cost of Containment

From Riyadh,🇸🇦
Nonstop intrigue;
Fifteen sent
Flying through
The night, on
Wings of death.

Saudi's meet
In Turkey. 🇹🇷
Safe in their
They wait there

He enters,
Like hungry
Jackals, they
Surround and
Pounce on him.

They attack
Beat him down,
And break him.

Ripped apart,
Hacked up, his
Limbs cutoff.
By bone saws
From abroad.

Hear the cries
As freedom’s
Voice has died.
Shut their eyes.

Sell weapons
For the war
In Yemen. 🇾🇪
Contain and
Sanction them.
Iran seeks 🇮🇷
Past glory
By proxy.

The cost of
Human rights.
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Attitudes like rain muddles of mud spatter
The mean-spirited spits spite for the sake of strife

Forbearance is
Crossing oneself
Forgiving the forgiver

Striving to slice it
Like a samurai's last dance
Their wooden swords splintered
By steely eyes of armor

It only takes a moment
To give back what's been given

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Surrounded by a sea of red
A mast of the once great
Held by prideful haste

Two flashes of yellow
inflates a passion
Steadiness for Africa's
First Semi-Final Nation
Posted in poetry | Comments Off on Quarterfinals

Dancing in Desert Stands

Squared off
Nine nautical miles apart
The Seas took them off to the East
In a desert paradise
A city of high rises and lights
Opposed from the start
A clash for the cup
Sweat in their eyes
A willful strength in their minds
Bullish but headstrong he charged
But our hero stood fast
Spiked shoes on the grass
Running a marathon
Enclosed by a stadium
Eyes hungry with yearning
Beating on drums
Chanting for strikers
Like a shot from a gun
Onwards to extra time
Injuries abounded
Three blocks in a row
They danced from the horns of opposition
A spilt down the middle to win at the finish

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In a disguise
They point and wonder why
Could it be confusion, is it caution
Mayhap a desultory delusion

Perhaps a jeer, or a remark of casual opinion
Might it be a mask, or just the fact that it's fashion

Ridiculous conclusions of momentary obscureness
Whatever it is, garb raiments for comfort

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Reflect the Refrain

Excellence is par for the course
Ask me about relevance
Shall we keep score?

If the dogs chase a moon past twelve
Does it strike?
Of war and strife
Must we laugh or shall the muscles in our face contort our eyes
Who must profess the lies?

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Chewing on a point of view
Contemplating the meaning of our
daytime dreaming

Haste is the wild fire consuming
Burning through the contemporary
Memories like flash powder moments

Inspired by Bogdan Dragos

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Tapered at one end
A center seed
Makes it an ambi

Patterns inspired new fashions
Carried to distant shores
Then cultivated by Ataúlfo

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The Iceman

On a continent
Far from his home
A man first roamed
With spear in hand
Flint daggers thrown
Chasing prey alone

In a valley nearby
Caught to the quick
Wind blows, sleet froze
Two Moons shine-
Tranquility transmogrified
A last breath is iced
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Scales like chain mail
Protects an ant-eater like mammal
They have long sticky tongues
Munching heartily on insects
Nutrition is a picnic lunch in the thickets

Up the stream
A feline approaches unseen
Its thick padded paws make it noiseless
It sees the docile mammal and leaps quickly
A swipe connects head on
Like a ball of bark it rolls far off
Bouncing to safety inferring when to unfurl again

Farmers skewer their shells
It’s taken and weighed on scales
Critically endangered
It pleads for our help
Harvesters send out invites to traffickers in the mail

Posted in poetry | Comments Off on Pangolins

A Call to Arms

How to say enough and when?

If one has the power to pay do they make an effort or do they toss our futures like trash in a canister?

Do we chase the dream if it's smoke rising from derelict chimney stacks?

Could our remains mingle with whatever ozone is left?

What is left when the water is gone?We thirst to sate and then pass it on to the next generatio.
Perhaps we drown in the policies of words and neglect

Will we face it directly
Will we work together for harmony?

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