Mangoes, the first of the season,
sit plump and shameless in trays,
their smooth skin tempting
a passing hand to reach down
and touch them, one cut open
sends the tongue into a spasm.
The market is a feast for the senses.
You need to walk slow
and take it in, catch the smell
coming ripe from the cheese,
golden blocks and creamy white
rounds speckled with mold
hang heavy in the enclosed air
of a stall. Salty, buttery, rich,
the nose lingers over each.
And further along, jams and preserves
rainbow their colors from jars stacked
high in pyramids and on a table,
trays of dried and glace fruit glisten
a sugary sheen in a sunlit glut
to the eye. Swelling apricots,
pineapple pieces and pear halves
bulge beneath clear plastic wrap.
It's almost overload to an old man,
stall upon stall of temptation,
offerings of pleasures banned
by the diet police with their edicts
outlawing salt, fat and sugar.
On this warm, bright Saturday
afternoon in October I say f… em !.
Good morning I said to myself as I lazily looked out of my bunker’s door ,
Between the trees I could see The sky was grey -which suited the mood of those who had chosen the path to stay in the city and absorb the interactive smart food and such
I remember the day I thought enough was enough- the current world leader who was in his 143 year had just announced the outlawing of those who held faith with any other but him and his filthy minions of health ,media and technology .
It had been two months since then and several angelic warnings delivered by Gabriel himself of the end times that would ensue - should the technocracy continue to not repent ,
These warnings were written in the sky and came into the hearts of us all - so it’s not like we could’ve ignored them.
Well today was the day -time had run out for the wicked and their foul ways ,
I stubbed my cigarette out closed the bunker door and thought
“in your own time GABE”
Suspended with roses, a garter and courage.
Her wispy white costume blows in the breeze.
Silky vibrations as she sways her bodice —
the Rapunzel-princess of the swinging trapeze.
Brunette hair and outfit bound with pearls and lace.
High with Magellanic clouds, marvelous outlander of earth.
Slender fingers wrapped around the seraphic twine.
Daughter of the heavens, from the day a trouper gave birth.
One...two...three, the excitement sounds, the air surfeits
about like maddening faerie dust. The open sky burns
with eccentric flame - crowd applauding like cherry bombs.
The darling of the sky, entices every cent she earns.
This rapturous virgin makes love to the dawn.
Her stupendous feat goes on and on, drawing
in oohs and ahhs...the climax as her knees
hang vaingloriously from the seat, outlawing
the silver and gold wings that flutter about
outside the circus tent, as this beauty shines
upside-down like an albinotic bat, frenetically
stirring the breeze… waving from the vines.
7/29/2019
Trump's No Longer Tweeting
By Franklin Price
3/15/2019
Trump's no longer tweeting
He has given up the wall
He is welcoming illegals
It's much better for us all
Encouraging big business
To once again build over seas
For those who want to hire here
There's a presidential freeze
Removing tariffs and restrictions
Foreign products are the thing
Outlawing guns for citizens
Will help our freedom ring
Everyone should have the bomb
Trump sees the error of his ways
To make America Great Again
He knows no longer pays
A welfare state is best for us
Free everything is cool
This isn't from the president
It's an early April Fool
I hope that I upset you
As you read this “Fool”ish verse
You may not like Trump's methods
But you could be doing worse
Protesting
Written: by Tom Wright
7-8-2016
Protesting has become a dangerous game,
Creating property damage and often killing.
It accomplishes little but occurs just the same,
Working on inequalities seems we’re unwilling.
Those thought oppressed want their payday,
Spouting slogans and shouldering their signs.
Thinking this might another’s opinion sway,
Desiring to rise above their present confines;
But I don’t see protest as getting this done,
Unless hearts change somewhere along the way;
The answer won’t be found in outlawing the gun,
Things aren’t apt to change until we all pray.