Poetry-Thing Thursday: Human Virology

Ecology,
psychology,
pathology,
and virology;

work in unison,
to make a human,
something more than,
but a shoe in,

the door of intellect,
whilst standing erect–
bipeds of great affect–
whose greatest defect,

is fearing one another,
as though without mother,
nor Earth as our lover,
and no man our brother,

nor woman our sister.
So please excuse the mister,
whom should not have kissed her,
with that hatred he’d courted– a festering blister.

So with Earthen ecology,
and wandering psychology,
we become forms of pathology.
That in turn,
and aligned through morphology,
are known as human virology.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Ball for Society

Leave the world better than you entered it,
or else don’t come at all.
‘Cause laziness is rife with indecision,
and society’s come to call.

Its lights are on,
and the porch awaits,
for you to sit upon.
So take your place.

Not merely one of you,
but all.
Change can’t happen otherwise–
no matter how big or small.

Stiffen your lips,
so that all may see,
and come sway your hips,
at the Ball for Society.

Where wit and wisdom’s profound,
and blood from your heart does pour,
So use it, or lose it on the sound,
of your ass hitting the floor.

For if we don’t help the world grow,
than no-one will,
or even show,
but there’s work to do still.

Bonus Poem: You Died!

Skulls and torture,
blisters of pain,
boils on hollows,
that cry out your name.

Dark is the soul,
of the undead laid claim,
to the slaughtered foul,
in the wrath of rain.

Rank, rotten teeth,
in a smile from hell,
mired in the meek,
what bloody secrets you tell.

From the edge of a blade made of scorn,
to the tip of the tooth,
blows the war’s hallowed horn,
while in fire is the truth,
e’er to be reborn.

Seek out the sisters,
alone in the mists,
comfort the statues,
fallen amid trysts

And when from the edges of hell you return,
remember the souls of the wanton, forlorn,
For these are the creatures that like you will burn,
in the pits and fires, your souls to be torn.

Seek out the knowledge,
It cleverly fits,
in a narrative fashion,
that requires wits.

Remember to roll,
the dice to one side,
lest you see the toll,
once more; “You died!”

Bonus Poem: Sold Our Soul For Oil

This country,
sold its soul,
for oil,
and jet-black coal.

We polluted the land
and perverted our rights,
for illusory security,
and cold, dying nights.

Were we not so young,
we might not be forgiven.
But we will not be,
unless we take action.

We watch puppet shows,
elect their prettiest lad or lass,
but they’re all the same–
a hand up their ass.

Then we let the rich
walk across our backs,
trample our faces in mud,
and drown us ‘tween the cracks,

of a system we built,
but they bought and paid for,
what shame we should feel,
despite all our labor.

So much for,
the land of the free,
and home of the brave–
if only we’d see,

that such platitudes fail,
when faced with the truth;
that rich oil barons,
and religion’s uncouth.

Until then I guess,
we’ll all have to accept,
that the rich will get richer,
by snapping our necks.