THE PITIFUL 'GUNS AND BIBLE' FOLKS: Who gave birth to them?

 

What do you say to the f****** idiots who babble, "Guns don't kill people, people do"?

I know they're 'I.Q. deficient'...so how can you even have a cogent argument with them ???

I DON'T COUNT THEM ANYMORE...

 

BUT YOU'RE STILL

WELCOME TO !!!

same time next year!!

LATE AUGUST, LATE SUMMER...

Late August is not summer in arrears;

           It's September that marks an equinox.

Yet, the wasps have grown mad from

The barmy wave of heat and fuss...

Sizzling cicadas sing non-stop,

Poppies bloom and wilt

In Augusts' incense;

The sky grows rich as

Butterscotch pudding...

The shade provides no pretense.

poem by L.P.-G.

PLEASE PLACE BLAME WHERE IT DULY BELONGS: i.e., THE TALIBAN

                                                                       

   

'Twas the night

Before "pull-out"

And all through the land,

Sharia was rising

  Across desert

 sands...

Joe Biden had promised

Our troops would

Come home;

But Trump made the first call

[As cited on Chrome].

A mountainous country

So steeped in raw grief;

[ Kandahar lies southward

And Kabul is east ].

The Taliban movement

Praises Abdul and Omar;

(Each planned brutal conquest

    For years 'neath our radar)...

"Indoctrination" is both

Evil and lame;

Afghan will suffer,

We know who to blame !!

poem by L.P.-G.   2021

In the manner of poet Eliot, I do compose with pen in hand!

      

  The Interment of This Certain Summer

August remains the cruelest month!!

Its abundance of summer fruits are there

Merely to tempt us into thinking

That more lay waiting in repose...

The secrets of burnished sunsets

And sea-spray make us joyful;

Fine-tuning a deep longing to

Toss the dewdrops of sun-rays

Into every magical angle of

Our own little world...

  Yes, August kept us warm, it did...

And at times Sirius covered us

With lovely, molten blankets;

Wraps that Canis Majoris

Deftly wove,

 Through true practice and  

Chastened patience...

 

All the same, I know

 Autumn will soon expose its

  Imminent arrival, (time and again):

A prickly streak of ill will

Rambling over the horizon

Just as we least expect it;

Its later debut spins

Recollections of wicked winds

That threaten to extinguish 

The last vestige of tender

Sun-lit tributes.

Dampened by a late summer rain,

Plum-colored mums glisten under the pergola;

The bright August sunlight hurts my eyes.

Still, its glare

Casts a more exquisite shadow

Than that of snow-squalls...

And, for that,

I apologize for cursing

All that it really has to offer...

poem written by L.P.-G.

c. 2021