Sophie Marceau

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Hunger & Poverty

Roger Bussey

victorian poor

Who would have believed
in the early part of this century,
poverty and hunger would strike
this country, with such vengeance.

We who were on track
to eradicate hunger and poverty,
a lifestyle associated with our past
would be responsible for its return.

January by Edlittle

With winter making its appearance
and temperatures plummeting,
trying to stay warm, has a cost
what a choice; food or warmth.

Families with children, and our elderly
come face to face with hardship,
with high energy bills and low income
as hunger and poverty strikes again.

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Chicken Peckin’

Roth Poetry

Chicken Pickin’

In the theory of evolution

Humans have not moved far from chickens…

Getting along fine in their flock day by day

Until one sustains an injury drawing blood.

No matter how well they resided before

They all turn on the injured member

Picking and pecking drawing even more blood…

Similar to stoning in the Biblical stories.

Injuries sustained cause a painful death.

Everything goes back to normal

As the next one awaits his fate.

A very bloody habit

*****************************************************

Photo: blogspot.com

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Haunted Houses, Coming Full Circle, and the Echoes of Ghost Wolves

Eye-Dancers

Up the road from where I live, there is an old, abandoned house.  It sits back from the road, with overgrown shrubs obscuring the windows, a sagging front porch, a rusty metal roof, and an unlocked bulkhead that leads to what surely is an unfinished basement with a dirt floor and perhaps a tight crawlspace.  I know the bulkhead is unlocked because I tried it once.  It squeaked open without resistance, revealing a descent into darkness.  It was a descent I did not take.

The house, you see, is haunted.

Or, at least, some of the locals say it is.  And I don’t doubt them. It’s flanked by mature woodlands that encroach closer and closer with each passing year.  There are no nearby neighbors.  Rarely have I heard the birds sing when I visit the property, as if even they, on an instinctual level, detect a sense of malice and…

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Ghosts: Cemetery Ghosts!

Book 'Em, Jan O

Readers, check out this wonderful post from Ghastly Travels blog!

Unlike the sprawling area covered by the Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Colonial Park can be found occupying just 6 acres at the intersection of Abercorn and Oglethorpe roads. Opened in 1750, the cemetery is considered to be the oldest in Savannah that hasn’t been destroyed, covered over, or relocated. Many reports have come from […]

via The Ghost Stories of Colonial Park Cemetery in Savannah Georgia — Ghastly Travels

For more ghosts, please see https://www.amazon.com/Jan-Olandese/e/B071FK9L75

all books

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NO WAY OUT

Serendipity - Seeking Intelligent Life on Earth

Follow the yellow brick road? No crossing! Turn left, turn right, run in circles! Put your left foot in, then take you right foot out …

Sometimes, the road signs, especially around Boston are impossible to understand, much less follow. You can make a left unless that second light under the main light is blinking yellow. Or red. And a blinking green light isn’t really green, nor is a blinking red one necessarily a stop sign. Boston is also the only town that has post scripts on parking signs.


PARKING ALLOWED

Except on Wednesday between 4 pm and 6 pm;
Or on any day the Bruins or the Celtics are playing;
Or if there’s snow, or the street cleaners are working.


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She Sings

Roth Poetry

Lone Bass Man

This week I was introduced to by fellow blogger Amaya to  https://dversepoets.com/, a poetry group on Word Press that challenges one another to write in various poetic forms. This is all new for me, so I am giving it a try. Today they are asking us to write Jazz poetry which, I never heard of before. It is a free verse style that has a musical jazz-like quality to the rhythm to the flow. So here is my attempt. I am writing about my experience playing the guitar and singing with a group of old folks at a local nursing home each Friday.  I hope you enjoy my poem. This is my painting of The Lone Bass Man that I thought would go well with my poem.

She Sings
Though she cannot speak.
Halting words
Say
Hel-l l lo
But, as the music plays
Oh can she sing
Every word plain…

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