Three

Becoming a zealot,
I cringe.
Instances like pebbles through a thousand mattresses
make crooked my face.

Fueled by lead laced water,
God talk, and a staunch belief in climate science
I build holier than thou
nests of words and images
to counter yours.

I am sorry.

Light your fire,
make me see it’s better to be subtle
like a brook
babbling those pebbles smooth
until names become traces
phantoms of ideas
smoke rings.

*

Len & I walk the dogs.

Breathing in we step,
one . . . two . . . three.

Breathing out we step,
one . . . two . . . three.

Three is a magic number,
and tonight the moon is full.

Brenda Warren 2016

244

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Baa, baa, Trump Sheep

Disregard facts
hold tight to your faith
that Donald will transform the world
with words that flower hate.

Baa, baa, Trump sheep
have you any soul?
No ma’am, no ma’am,
we sold it at the store
of bigotry and hatred
punch ‘em in the face
later on we’ll kill them
to further our disgrace.

Disregard facts
disseminate dreams
of a whitewashed world
the home of the free.

Free to be a racist,
proud to be seen
beating up the “other”
on our media screens.

Baa, baa, Trump sheep
have you any soul?
No ma’am, no ma’am,
we sold it at the store
of incendiary language
punch ‘em in the face
treat ‘em like an object
obstructing our race.

Practice smug abhorrence
present it to malign
anyone who interrupts
your hate-filled lies.
Disregard facts
let ignorance shine.

Baa, baa, Trump sheep
have you any soul?
No ma’am, no ma’am,
we sold it at the store.

Brenda Warren 2016

242

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Villanelle of the Lie Machine

The lie machine spreads vicious memes
through Facebook’s anxious timelines.
In hatred’s sweet extreme,

behind the scenes, its writers scheme
disseminating landmines.
The lie machine spreads rousing memes.

Masses of memes flood media streams,
falsely polished to lure and shine
in hatred’s sweet extreme.

Beneath the stream, trolls wait to scream.
Dissension is their concubine.
The lie machine spreads reams of memes

to fertilize its party’s dreams
where fear and anger twixt and twine
in hatred’s sweet extreme.

Cleaving words from fact, it gleams.
Laugh lines crease its faces.
The lie machine spreads gleeful memes
in hatred’s sweet extreme.

Brenda Warren 2015

image

Round the Moon and Back (#)

The world unravels in my mind’s terrain as
public discourse shoots currents of hate,
bullets that annihilate cohesion through a fear
that flutters its rising pulse in anger.

Trolls lurk beneath social media memes
disseminating vitriolic dissension from the fringe.

Americans murder Americans en masse.
Jihadists murder their infidels.

Us versus Them
Us versus Us

Enough hatred already.

****

If we lined up every gun in America,
could we love them round the moon and back?

Brenda Warren 2015

Note: In the title, I left parentheses with # in them, as I’m curious how many times American owned guns (not military, but citizen) could go around the moon and back. Maybe (two times), maybe (ten times)? If you know, do share!

 

Chasing Facebook

Cloak life in blue butterflies.
Pursue it like Venus,
wild, sometimes cruel.

Love it to addiction,
built inside screens of light,
a beloved prison
a kaleidoscopic lens
to skirt the real world.

Hovering digital spies parse through social media.
Algorithms search for a marketing niche.
Everything on Facebook is colored with sidebars of cash
proclaiming gods of commerce supreme.
Keep clicking.
Keep coming back.
Search for goods.

It’s almost Christmastime.

*********

The person who dies with the most toys,
still stops breathing.

Brenda Warren 2013

138

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