Why America Needs The Common Core

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Contusions

Protrusions

One hundred and three

Close to five thousand, but don’t look at me

One thousand and seven

Six hundred and two

I’m a mathematician,

Yeah, that’s what I do.

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Yeah, Because That’s How It Is

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Climbing up the mountain steep

And he stumbles as he runs

darkness eating at his eyes

Hearing that the time passed by

Spilling over,

Drenched to tears

Suffering for 0.2 years

This is life

Your gonna fall

So stand back up

And fall again.

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A golden medallion

Soft leather hair

A boring estate sale

A small county fair.

Secluded lush island

Starving alone

Wandering geese

2014 car show.

A frightening militia

A tissue in hand

For issuing sanctions

and dealing contraband.

A lovely red fox

holding a petunia

Sorry you missed it

You should have come soona.

The Beach is for Sissies

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Beep, beep,

Beep, buzz.

His mind is alert

Information driving into his mind with every turn.

A message on Facebook.  A new friend?

Perhaps old?

Has he ever seen this person before?

Whatsapp needs attention.

Cute.

A dog can swim while biting a frisbee.

Snapchatting faces, one blurring into the next.

Bombarded by messages.

Silence?

Not a moment.

People call out

Scream through clogged air waves.

Calling, connecting.

Still, somehow,

He’s never felt so alone.

Cow Rite

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As in, would you cow rite this book with me?

The other day, I got to thinking about life.

Dovecoat and spice

A million words watching,

Talk on the high road

A falcon for talking.

Croussant or a bagel?

A cow covered leg?

A spruce covered albacus

Inside a hatched egg.

Ridiculous notion

I think, said the lad

To the chocolate covered streussel

Yet, nary confirmed.

One million thoughts floating

Arrived yet not worth it,

For five thousand years

She really deserved it.

One thousand and seven,

Seven hundred and ten

Once buried, now discovered.

Run!  Catch that hen!

Filled with emotion

A brick in a wall

Watch it forever

Lest it may fall.

Cheers!

Toasting

The atrocities vanish

When she thinks of her hunger

The world all around can startle and crumble

Fall asleep now

While the shadows surround

And the whispers and doom

crowd and confound.

For the strategy is 

To sleep long and deep

And to never wake up

Forever asleep.

The ultimate gain

Of ignoring the trouble

Is to wake up one day

In a great pile of rubble.

 

It’s the Thought that Counts

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The air was green

The earth was lent

of suffering, seclusion, Ulyssus T. Brent.

Air from the North

Whence eaten from grain

In hindsight a niggle, a giggle, some pain.

Regardless of truths

Of lasting fruition

Of blindness and Alzheimer’s the blame falls 

than CRASH

Nothing, no one, blind sight 

No regard

No laughing, no lugging

A purple guitar.

Sunrise confusion,

Lastness and grain

The ultimate retrieval

A hard drive

Insane.

A Poor Man and His Wallet

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One word does have meaning

One glance and one shoe

The other day Heather
forgot she had two.
Two shoes for her feet.
A small piece of meat.
One bone for a pooch.
One skin colored brooch.

She walked through the forest
and tripped on a branch.
Tripping on logs is ok when your twenty
But quite something else when approaching seventy.
Excuse the rude words,
The curses and screams
When poor Heather went down
She split her side seams.
She called for some help
But no one heard her hoarse cries.
She laid there for hours
I am not telling lies.

Finally a young tot,
Away from his school,
Approached the old woman
And told her the rule.
Never go out
wearing only one shoe
Despite the fact that
It looks really cool.

Heather thanked the boy
For his insightful speech.
He walked away,
Eating a plum then a peach.

Did Heather return to her home, to her hearth?
Did she ever regret the day she was birthed?
These are good questions. The answers not clear.
But this story will be
continued next year.

A Stand for Louisiana

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It’s quite incidental

The sun shines hot spice

When Ichabad was seven

He really seemed nice

But then came the summer,

The ice cream and cake

strawberries, blueberries, hot dogs and steak.

Mangoes so juicy and yellow and sweet

The mustard and ketchup and barbecued meat.

The FBI report

Provided contradictions

But the point of the matter was

Too many addictions.

The doorstep was narrow

Like a surrogate mother

It helped that poor Ichabad

Did not have a brother.

A chimpanzee maybe,

but nothing more nothing less

The natives reported

He left with finesse.

 

 

Strong Gust of Wind

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A call from afar

Foreboding design

Intuit a castle’s 

Exotic design

The gates slightly open

A gosling of gold

The oak tree assembled

Yet still, feel the cold.

A strange dog awander 

No, that word is not real.

A home painted mustard

A pumpkin concealed.

Hush, my sweet child

A sense of deviation

Behaviors, consumers

An aching sensation.

The sweet taste of honey

The smell of blue paint

The wind through a field

Will show no restraint.