Blanketed

Before you go to sleep in your warm and cozy home tonight, think of the blankets, and of those who sleep on them. Thank you Jan, at redswrap.wordpress.com for caring about the welfare of our fellow human beings.

Red's Wrap

Sometimes the blankets are warm from having been slept on just minutes before. This happens when someone gets up, gathers up his blankets in a bundle, and makes a beeline to the storage room. They seem to be saying, here’s my bed. I’m done with it. Take it. It feels strange receiving still-warm blankets, an action too intimate to occur between strangers but that is what we do.

Other times, the blankets are folded and stacked, cool as if displayed on a counter in a department store. Always the largest blanket is on the bottom and the smaller ones are centered atop, the corners aligned. Nothing haphazard for the people who fold their own blankets. Maybe it’s a message they want to send; we are more careful and thoughtful than we seem here.

Both the gatherers and the folders have spent the night sleeping on the floor of a cavernous…

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Parade for Cap’n Bonespurs… a limerick

Concise and true. Read more at alotfromlydia.wordpress.com

A lot from Lydia

Our great Cap’n Bonespurs wants a parade

The Pentagon is to use taxes paid

What a fresh new idea!

Like Russia and North Korea

This is how dictators are made

___________________________

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bewildered/”>Bewildered</a>

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If We Burn

Such power in these words. Read more by Robert Okaji at robertokaji.com.

O at the Edges

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If We Burn

What flares instead to replace our
privileged nights? And which

assemblage of words could reorder these
deaths into comprehension,

change I can’t breathe from epitaph
to actuated plea for help?

Are words ever enough?
Can we stack our indifference and fear

into a mile-high pyre, and torching it
watch them rise to nothingness,

disappearing through the clouds
into the streaming light of cold, dark stars?

Raise your hands and sing. Blow softly
upon the ember. Inhale and recall.

Do you still feel? Will you breathe?
Every fire needs oxygen.

* * *

“If We Burn” first appeared on this blog in December, 2014. It’s also included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.

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This Word – Embrace

What’s your word for this year? Read more at savoringsixty.com

Savoring Sixty and Beyond

Most of us look forward to the new year and see it as an opportunity to make a fresh start.  Resolutions are made and some people are lucky enough to actually reach their goal.  Based on an article I recently read I decided to try something different this year and choose a word.

The concept of choosing one word to focus on each day of the year is appealing to me. Maybe focusing on just one word, and letting that one word guide me each day, might help me in my approach to all aspects of my life during the new year.

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But which word?  Words like trust, simplicity, and discipline came to mind, but none of them fully satisfied or expressed what I wanted for this year.  They are all great words, but my objective is to sincerely BE as well as DO this word in my daily life, and…

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Food Photography – Pulled Chicken Sliders

I’m going to do this!

Julie Powell - Photographer & Graphic Artist

Back with another recipe with the help of my slow cooker, this time slow cooked pulled BBQ Chicken. The Pulled Chicken was actually cooked the night before and served with rice. I suppose you could easily make it pork, for tradition pulled pork. So you could use this as a main meal or something yummy for left-overs.

Ingredients:

  • 2 chicken breasts fillets
  • 1 bottle Brown Sugar Bourbon BBQ Sauce

Cooking Time: 4.5 hours

As there is really no prep, put a little BBQ Sauce on the bottom of the Slow Cooker and place in the trimmed chicken fillets, cover with the remaining sauce, I also put a little water in the sauce bottle to partially rinse and then add that to the cooker as well.

Cook on Slow for 4.5 hours and then remove chicken and shred it (not too difficult, as the chicken is falling apart), place the chicken…

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Can I Get A— “What About Her Emails?!”

All of this!

A lot from Lydia

Which title to use? There are so many possibilities:

  • Donald Trump— “I Alone Can Fix It.”
  • Irony, hypocrisy, and the GOP
  • “So Much Winning”
  • A GOP Day… Without Government
  • America, the Worlds New Shithole.
  • “So Much Winning!”
  • The Government is Closed for Business

You get the idea. Today felt like Christmas morning… in that I didn’t know what I would find when I woke up.

After GOP leaders locked Democrats out of negotiations and instead sat with lobbyists to write tax legislation, that they passed on their own, they demanded Democrats sign the check. This standstill continued when I fell asleep… face in popcorn.

I awoke weary in anticipation, and looked at the news headlines on my phone with some satisfaction. I found the Democrats did not completely roll over to enable the failure that is Donald Trump to continue.

In fact, this was not a vote that went along…

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Trumplewocky

Brilliant!

SLHARPERPOETRY

trumplewocky1‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in the slade;
All dingly were the rectiprobes
And the dampnuts updrade.

“Beware the Trumplewock, my friend!
The bigly mouth, those puny mitts!
Beware the Tweet bird, and off-fend
The cronious Perkletits!”

She packed her poisal voice and went:
Fat chance the vapid imp she’d spare—
So quivered he ‘neath his Cheato tree,
And feebly cried, “Unfair!”

And, as the greelish light grew pale,
The Trumplewock, with wits of wood,
Came grabbling through the femly vale
Because he thought he could!

Eins, zwei! Eins, zwei! And quick as pie
The poisal voice sliced fierce and true:
“Go flay yourself, you mawkish elf,
And burn the residue!”

The Trumplewock would rue the day
He left his diddlepot of lack.
The frankish words would haunt him ‘til
He went galumphing back.

‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in…

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Meme a Theme…me, me , me, me,

Take a moment and read this. Thanks.

1XPAD.COM

I’m close to full stop, come the news after sundown. But those fourth estate hounds, it being happy hour and all, are fed scrap after flap of Trump this or that, which spins my amateur poet pose on a damn D.C dime, and I’m forced to pirouette and sash shay some dilettantish political punditry.

Let me pour a bourbon.

Now if that first paragraph doesn’t clue you to the punishment inherent in thinking about politics then you be my kind of player.

Because, politics, in the main, is a bad play. A narrative offered without a theme. Because governance, the plot points of politics, is just one event after another. Grunt-work. The trash picked up. Timely public transportation. A nation’s defense staffed and paid for. Taxes collected. Disputes adjudicated, with property and civil rights protected. The free speech. That one person, one vote.

Now, I’m purposely mixing metaphors of making a…

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What Have We Stepped In?

Excellent piece by alotfromlydia.wordpress.com.

A lot from Lydia

I feel like I have been working hard for years, saving my spare pennies for a long time, and I finally decided to treat myself to that pair shoes I’ve always wanted, quality shoes, classy and smart. In these shoes I stand taller and walk with a spring in my step. It’s like a dream, and I am walking on a cloud.

Then I step in something.

My shoes are ruined. I shrivel into my former self. It’s like I’m looking in the mirror on the morning after a long hard night of partying, at a party I did not want to attend.

I’m metaphorically hung over. The shoes in this story are America, and the “party” is Donald Trump.

We spent years getting to the point we were at when this party started. We looked our best. We were informed, progressive, open minded. Equality for women and minorities was…

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