Everyone's used to politicians badmouthing each other and highlighting flaws in their opponents to try and belittle them in front of the eyes of the public.
In my little corner of the world, things like fraud and corruption regularly bubble to the surface, usually by way of the media. The police investigate and the offending politician is, more often than not, destroyed. Possibly literally, as they're not usually heard from again, but more likely because the parties distance themselves from the offending moron, who was stupid enough to misbehave while the public gaze was upon them.
The parties use incidents like that to discredit their riva
Riding down country roads
to local farms on a Saturday
with my granddad
to see equipment auctions
as the old boys cashed in
Standing there in bib overalls or Dickies
with their dark glasses on
smoking pipes and cigars
they'd talk politics or crops
their deep voices rumbling quietly
I was enthralled...listening to the auctioneer
rattle off prices at breakneck speed
for a Farmall tractor going once
going twice
Sold to the man in front...
Or grandpa would take me with him
to the local VFW Post 6464
on Thursday evenings
to play Euchre with his friends
I'd bring along a few dog-eared
Reader's Digest magazines to read
as they
Just see who enters
the realm of dreams
creating lands
that none have seen
Retaking kingdoms,
legends of old
Molding them into
enchanted world
Reaping the fruits
that in his mind grow
to rivers of words
that from his pen flow
Travel through the lands,
follow the dream
He gives you his hand...
Enter with him!
Apologies to A. Pope by ErythnulLarethian, literature
Literature
Apologies to A. Pope
On a day not quite auspicious
Suffered I a wound so vicious
That sylph, gnome, and watery Undane
Quivered in fear from my rant profane
The gods themselves ran to and fro
Afraid of the rage over my stubbed toe
The day began like a rising fog
With I in my bed like a fallen log
A scent of coffee entered my nose
And I fought off my mischievous, sleep-causing foes
The summery sylphs alight with conceit
Cursed, heretofore, my ungraceful feet
Unknown to me, with awake-nectar in hand
That touched had I been by their sorcerous sand
Continuing my tradition of rising from sleep
I strode to the room where our toilet did keep
Inattentive w
Wrong Place Right Time
The moon, but a sliver in the night sky, lent no light to my journey as I walked along an unfamiliar road in an unfamiliar place. Though my eyes were well adjusted to the darkness, leaving the surrounding wood with a vivid twilight light, the nocturnal creatures still prowled about as if unseen. Bats darted about gathering their nightly meals and mice shuffled through leaves and underbrush at the feet of trees. It seemed as through this road would go on forever, winding and turning like a serpent's body. I remained at a casually gait, enjoying the quiet hum of crickets and the light chattering of the bats above me.
Th
From an English Teacher by crumblygumbly, literature
Literature
From an English Teacher
When you're forced to read just to pass English class
And you don't know what to do
Because novels are dull and dramas are daft,
And none of the stories sound true....
Just remember...
Our existence is a story told with schemes and different themes
And we live through them most every single hour,
You'd see if you just took a little look, it's like a book,
And as we grow up the plot begins to flower
Our lives unfold in stages, and are written down on pages
in a book that's hidden deep within our souls.
This dear town is just a setting and the people that you're getting
to know well are only characters and roles.
Every victory or
against my chest you make a soft semi-colon as my hips
press into yours and you yield like damp paper
and against my chest the pulse of us
a filament-hum in a sixty-watt bulb
and my chin against your neck, an impromptu bookstop
and your cheek runs against
my stubble and it is an embossed leather cover
and our noses meet
beads of sweat on my brow roll against yours and we are
a printing press
until our dilated eyes meet like magnifying glasses
and our lips touch like the curves of an