I still don’t have a bloody clue
How us lefties know and use
The seven dirty words-
Better than the wing nuts-
For his lovely eulogy.
So much of it seemed so right,
Felt so comfortable.

A good day for writing;
There is no electricity.
I don’t know what she
Could ever do to top
That one; she’d
Probably have to behead
A row of puppies with a
Single swipe of her
Extra-long pinky nail.

Wound up with a charming
Leftist- Be honest, Be
Pragmatic, But show
Courage and Confidence!
(A little warm-
Can you cool down?)
Adored and refined- danger
of putting too positive
A spin on politics.

Allow me to honestly tell you
That facts are facts;
Don’t sugarcoat it, because
You’ll eat that too.
Make it seem undesirable,
Or like a punishment-
Give it to me fresh.
Poor antifascist doesn’t know
what a fascist is!

How did you really feel?
He hit the ceiling hard,
And I don’t think he wants
Any of that ever again-
Another weird author
At breaking point.
Enough; don’t try.
This is called making
Your point loud
And clear.

-Janet in Richmond (search phrase “don’t sugar coat it”)

I am a poor man and of little worth

Who is laboring to kill myself

And so I live in sin
I am no artist

Artists are guilty of such superficiality

Because they have no clue of what they are

I know that I am no Michelangelo.

There are no flames of love within my heart

But a bare cold hearthstone deep in ash

To think, I once wanted to carve an entire mountain into a Colossus

I know that I am no Michelangelo.

And I am not a painter (paint I did, of course)

I am not a prophet (this is no great matter)

I am not a theoretician (I am still learning)

I know that I am no Michelangelo.

Though I am not, nor will I consent to be obliged to tell

That I have no supernatural powers-

Neither divine strength nor divine wisdom

I am only a man called Michelangelo.

-Margaret in Richmond, VA (search phrase “I am no Michelangelo”)

He fell.
Warped,
Faded,
And torn.
Utter darkness and
Black screaming.
Glass showered
Spewing
Spilled everywhere.
Weakened state and plunging
To the floor
He landed,
Thud resounding,
Burst.

-Suzanne from VCU (search phrase “the lightbulb burst”)

The Umbrella Opened

The umbrella opened:
The whole of the body
Illuminated, my spirits rose,
I shone.
It wasn’t even raining,
A wet patch
On the fountain.
Supernatural light
Perfectly infused.
The umbrella lay
Unfastened and dainty
On the sun ledge.

Suzanne in Richmond (search phrase “the umbrella opened”)