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Sunday, No Peace from the Wicked

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  • Sunday, No Peace from the Wicked

    Sunday, No Peace from the Wicked


    Distasteful but,

    that lovesome thing, God wot,

    the garden, hides the gorge of flies,

    a pidgeon, cat caught, throat torn out,

    'twixt peony stem and thorny rose,

    of purpose, by bag gathered in

    compostable, it's future lies

    in recycled food waste

    collection.


    Then, cursing,

    I turn again to replant a Pink,

    scraped out to deposit excrement

    by someone's "Darling Dear,"

    Satan's old familiar.
    Last edited by Johntee; 08-06-2018, 09:00 AM.

  • #2
    Some chores just have to be done...like them or not. At least you could turn the moment(s) into something useful like this poem, with your skills.

    Comment


    • Johntee
      Johntee commented
      Editing a comment
      Having seen your example, I've put this piece
      back into the original shape it had on my tablet.

    • RhymeLovingWriter
      RhymeLovingWriter commented
      Editing a comment
      Oooh, I like that!

  • #3
    If you turned the title/first line 90 degrees, it would resemble the shape of a cat. (Satan's familiar. I smiled at that)
    I definitely got a chuckle from this -- I suppose at your expense -- thinking one man's trash made by another's "treasure".

    Comment


    • Johntee
      Johntee commented
      Editing a comment
      Lined 90 degrees. Cat.
      Head down. A tail hanger.
      Just that would quite well fit
      my Sunday spurt of anger.

  • #4
    I relate to this closely. I particularly like 'Satan's old familiar'. Zesta!

    Comment


    • Johntee
      Johntee commented
      Editing a comment
      Another example of
      humanity throwing
      the world out
      of balance
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