No, Wild Sister

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63 thoughts on “No, Wild Sister”

  1. I like how this all turns around the word “inspire”. I also feel some of the connotations the word has to the idea of breathing in. And yes, to breathe any of that in would be to take poison willingly into one’s body.

  2. I love the ‘belly feel’ of this piece. You did an excellent job of turning the repeating line from positive to negative at the end. I am so glad to be a Wild Sister.

  3. Back to the future… bleak ‘Alternative Facts surreality’ used to be called bullshit… sad Trump gave it credibility in dark pockets of the mind. Thanks for finding “Golden Eyes” simmering fire to accompany your ‘Bellyfeel’… I can tell she agrees 🙂

  4. Yes, he knows just what to feed the Proles to keep them deep-inhaling, even hyper-ventilating…and the rest of us retching. I like the POV, the attitude. I like the art at the end, and the spirit throughout that says No thanks, I’d rather eat at home. 😉

  5. Brilliant as always, but my favorite part is this:
    “It’s his Alternative Facts
    surreality that puts my gut on alert,
    that turns Bellyfeel into retch.”

    Our guts must be on high alert….beware the Bellyfeel!!

  6. I like the way you incorporated these 1984 terms into a poem for today. “Bellyfeel into retch” speaks to me. Funny how most poems I read these days I internet as being about this real life dystopia like I thought all Led Zepplin songs were about drugs in 1968 when I was experimenting with them. But this one really is. Thanks. Let’s hope for safety in numbers.

  7. The problem is that many people are happy to have a leader that is strong and assertive thinking that will good on the whole. You don’t have to look far back inhistory to the see horror this subservient acceptance has unleashed. Less than 47 months to go now.

  8. This angles into something I had not through much about, that it’s one thing for a steel corruption of the body politic to reign through generations, but when a pluralistic democracy gives up its freedom for a bite of iron — that’s what we get here. The embrace of a raw new lover who means no good. And yet we whistle forth toward doom …

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