Raisin Toast And A Rising Temperature

making it all about me, once again

1 min read

No new poem today. Feeling a bit under the weather. Which is pandemic talk for; one foot in the grave. But fear not, I’ve always been a fan of hyperbole….
The loveliest, most wonderful, and useful word in all of the English language.

So in lieu of a poem new, here’s an effort from yesteryear.

Old White Men

I should start
with a prissy poem
or a hissy fit
or face the fact
that woke words trend
and to that end
privilege this word
over your parlance
and beg pardon

because to
barter the difference
is to dicker
with a glossary
which makes grievance,
yours and mine, maybe similar
but not synonymous, so, as no signature
feels selfsame, we resort to type:

NaPoWriMo Spring Training…2018 …


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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