I stare at two photos she posted over herself, unable to
tell which one is the real her, it either is – one, the happy-go-lucky gal she
most displays in the videos she posts, the other, darker, cautious, maybe even
scared, as if we have both traveled back in time to when she believe she had
every right to be, hair pinned back, head slightly turned, as if she felt the
need to be ready to run if she had to.
The brighter picture has her hair down as she smiles, both
bearing the same intense stare, eyes so deep I drown in them. I’m not sure
which one I believe though leaning towards the darker face as it face is the closest
I’ll ever get to the real her.
Columbia U is burning, Proving again that our best and brightest Aren’t our best and brightest anymore But a lunatic fringe that is no longer fringe, But a pack of brainwashed over-educated idiots Who boast of their own stupidity, Stupid is, as Forrest Gump says, as stupid does, Regardless of how many degrees they have Sad, pathetic, children of the corn Who have ingested hate Threatening now to poison the rest of us, Carrying their ignorance around on their chests Like a badge of honor when they have no honor Nor do the institutions that made them that way Earning their degrees on their degree of ignorance Empty-headed prattlers who get filled With the frustrated philosophies of professors Who could not sell this snake oil when they were young And now feed it to our kids to poison them, Creating a generation of brainless zombies Who chant slogans of hate While believing there are righteous’ When they are not, Stupid people...
This more or less is a daily account of the year, including poetry journal entries, daily journal and whatever else I can come up with each day when I wake up. Ho hum New Years January 1, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 1, 2024 A pillow case of his own January 2, 2024 A face I can't forget Jan. 2. 2024 Snow by Christmas? Jan 3, 2024 Weathering the storm January 5, 2023 The ghost of Christmas past January 6, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 7, 2024 Witch doctors of weather Jan. 9, 2024 When god closes a door, He opens a window Jan. 10, 2024 Wisdom of the ages Jan. 10, 2024 A closed door Jan. 10, 2024 Sears as a dinosaur Jan. 11, 2024 Wishful thinking Jan. 11, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 11, 2024 This way or that Jan. 12, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 12, 2024 The Emerald City Jan. 13, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 14, 2024 They say there will be snow on Tuesday Jan. 15, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan 15, 2024 First snow Jan. 16, 2024 Poetry Journal January 16, 2024 A winter’s day Jan. 17, 2024 Poetry Journal Jan. 17,...
Feb. 12, 2024 Oh no, not again. Does this never stop, this endless shifting of sand, draining, the hour glass of good time so creates the need to turn it over and begin again, never easy, always hurting, sense of change that changes nothing, she merely older, perhaps not wiser, though maybe believes what does not kill her will make her stronger and it does, only it hardens her heart, making it impossible to reach, this once tender being scarred over, made so remote even the best intentions cannot reach her, though deep down, she needs to be reached 2024 journal menu email to Al Sullivan
Comments
Post a Comment