In honor of Sam Alito and Clarence Thomas, some poetry on the ending of Roe v. Wade. This wasn’t my idea; it was the guys at New Occidental Poetry. They have a small collection of poems on the theme.
This being a slow week, I figure we can add to it.
Can anybody top this?
We will not be delayed.
We will not be masquerade
To the tale of a handmade.
We will not let Roe v. Wade slowly fade.
Because when we show up today,
We’re already standing up
With the tomorrow we made.Let's get to work: https://t.co/BNVLVLM6Ji
— Amanda Gorman (@TheAmandaGorman) June 24, 2022
That don’t sing. It makes no sense (“tomorrow we made”?). Can it be made into something, though, using the same base words? Maybe not. But let’s try.
Gone!
Gone! the days of our long warm shade,
From now we are to be dour red handmaids.
Gone! the stark comforts of Roe v. Wade;
Now don our costumes, our masquerade.
Gone! drunk hookups and beds unmade,
Babies and bottles now not delayed.
Gone! the scissors, the vacuums put paid,
The abortionists’ plans — now unmade!
Meh. Not the worst poem in the world, which might be its progenitor, but nowhere near the best, either.
On the day the SCOTUS opinion was delivered, I had my own jolly entry on the promised protests to come (link, which will die, sadly, of coronadoom after seven days):
Left releases Violence Chant for Friday night. Catchy.
I am woman!
My voice is shrill!
I yield to no man!
My spawn I kill!
We hate Nature!
We hate you too!
We’re ever so sure
What we must do!
Give us the apple!
The snake, the nod!
We need no pill!
We shall be as God!
How about we hear from three famous philosophers who took strong views on women?
Voices From The Past
We sit for an hour,
With old Schopenhauer:
“Women can’t be trusted, stay far away!
Seduction begins when you hear what they say.
And finally comes Doom!
When you enter their bower.”
Let’s play for a while
With keen Aristophanes:
“Now how do you ken,
That some women are men?
You had your Chance!
Now close your knees.”
Finally comes our time
With good friend Nietzsche:
“You had to act strong;
It’s where you went wrong.
For when you’re Weak!
Is when men need ya.”
No one shall criticize any of these poems without they first contribute one of their own below.
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“Why so wild to kill your child?
The Human option cries for adoption”
I know this is off-topic, but it is a slow day after all:
“BBC Staff Told there are More than 150 Genders and Urged to Develop ‘Trans Brand’”
https://dailysceptic.org/2022/06/26/bbc-staff-told-there-are-more-than-150-genders-and-urged-to-develop-trans-brand/
They’re gonna have to add a lot more colorful stripes to their flag.
Great examples of truly excrement Engrish.
Years ago in Saudi Arabia, expats prepared government classifieds for the national English newspapers. On one occasion, a 1/4 page classified ad from a government ministry stated (in bold type):
Ministry of Pubic Works
All Applicants Must Speak Effluent English!
LOL.
We sought to undo
The sweet babe’s quiet coo
We climb Capital’s peak
Dollars and status we seek
Capital grins, arms open wide
We rush in as the tide
It builds mountains of gain
From wombs, children slain
Why will he not see
How important are we
With our own house, wine, and cats
Chad still swipes left our chats
There once was a group of ladies
Who would not stop eating their babies
Folks said, “that’s sick!”
Then quickety-quick
Tossed the sick ladies in Hades
Progs are red,
Progs hate Him,
No time for baby, so
Tear it limb from limb.
“We will not be masquerade to the tale of a handmade” — our National Youth Poet Laureate is illiterate.
Lo! Errant child,
Thou hast a life
Thou hast a love
Far beyond thine wandering womb,
A mother crying, “It’s him, or me,”
A father turning away from thee.
Thou hast a home,
Thou hast a womb,
Far beyond a fallen prison:
A home, a womb, for her,
A home, a womb, for thee.
About libido they were never wrong,
the recent painters: how well they understood
The human positions. How it takes place
while someone else is swiping left or in a furry suit or just jiggling dully along
even as the women are reverently cynical
and the men barely notice.
The characters arcs go on with this simple thing, even the human demons and their hangers await,
as dreaming of skating on a frozen pond with a woolen scarf instead now illegal.
In Basquiat’s ‘Untitled’, for instance, the brain turns away
frantically to puke. The other museum-goers might have heard the splash,
but not seen the two forsaken souls, in oil and in the libido, plunging into the abyss.
for the painter and his audience alike. Indeed the cafe has paper hotcups
which seem to show a fetus falling out of the sky, and so the museum crowd
had seen some things amazing, but they had somewhere to go and they ambled calmly on.
– all the ideas in the above were stolen from Auden’s Musee des Beaux Arts.
And here is my contribution.
Written just now … from the viewpoint of a mother who has killed her child and now hopes for redemption.
C-Marie June 28, 2022.
?Pray For Me Child
?Where have you gone,
Dearest little one of mine,
My heart was yours,
My darling starshine.
But now you are dead,
And I cry new tears,
As I remember the joys,
I had hoped for the years.
But then life got bad,
And I wondered what to do,
Sometimes I felt movement,
It was you, t’was you.
How could I keep going,
You must be gone,
All ran away,
I run, on and on.
The blood was so much,
I did not know,
Your life was real,
You had a soul.
Where are you now,
They tell me, up above,
Pray for me child,
That I receive His Love.
No Roe versus wade?
We must storm the capitol
Or we can’t get laid
Black babies are saved
This is the real Juneteenth!
Only hoes be mad
Whoops, screwed up my haiku. Fixed now.
“They’re gonna have to add a lot more colorful stripes to their flag.”
Perhaps join it into quadrants…
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/E3vVSh5XEAAFofh.jpg