Fun

Happy Poems On The Sad Passing Of Roe V. Wade

In honor of Sam Alito and Clarence Thomas, some poetry on the ending of Roe v. Wade. This wasn’t my idea; it was the guys at New Occidental Poetry. They have a small collection of poems on the theme.

This being a slow week, I figure we can add to it.

Can anybody top this?

That don’t sing. It makes no sense (“tomorrow we made”?). Can it be made into something, though, using the same base words? Maybe not. But let’s try.

Gone!

Gone! the days of our long warm shade,
From now we are to be dour red handmaids.

Gone! the stark comforts of Roe v. Wade;
Now don our costumes, our masquerade.

Gone! drunk hookups and beds unmade,
Babies and bottles now not delayed.

Gone! the scissors, the vacuums put paid,
The abortionists’ plans — now unmade!

Meh. Not the worst poem in the world, which might be its progenitor, but nowhere near the best, either.

On the day the SCOTUS opinion was delivered, I had my own jolly entry on the promised protests to come (link, which will die, sadly, of coronadoom after seven days):

Left releases Violence Chant for Friday night. Catchy.

I am woman!
My voice is shrill!
I yield to no man!
My spawn I kill!

We hate Nature!
We hate you too!
We’re ever so sure
What we must do!

Give us the apple!
The snake, the nod!
We need no pill!
We shall be as God!

How about we hear from three famous philosophers who took strong views on women?

Voices From The Past

We sit for an hour,
With old Schopenhauer:
“Women can’t be trusted, stay far away!
Seduction begins when you hear what they say.
And finally comes Doom!
When you enter their bower.”

Let’s play for a while
With keen Aristophanes:
“Now how do you ken,
That some women are men?
You had your Chance!
Now close your knees.”

Finally comes our time
With good friend Nietzsche:
“You had to act strong;
It’s where you went wrong.
For when you’re Weak!
Is when men need ya.”

No one shall criticize any of these poems without they first contribute one of their own below.

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Categories: Fun

14 replies »

  1. “Why so wild to kill your child?
    The Human option cries for adoption”

  2. Great examples of truly excrement Engrish.

    Years ago in Saudi Arabia, expats prepared government classifieds for the national English newspapers. On one occasion, a 1/4 page classified ad from a government ministry stated (in bold type):

    Ministry of Pubic Works

    All Applicants Must Speak Effluent English!

    LOL.

  3. We sought to undo
    The sweet babe’s quiet coo
    We climb Capital’s peak
    Dollars and status we seek

    Capital grins, arms open wide
    We rush in as the tide
    It builds mountains of gain
    From wombs, children slain

    Why will he not see
    How important are we
    With our own house, wine, and cats
    Chad still swipes left our chats

  4. There once was a group of ladies
    Who would not stop eating their babies
    Folks said, “that’s sick!”
    Then quickety-quick
    Tossed the sick ladies in Hades

  5. “We will not be masquerade to the tale of a handmade” — our National Youth Poet Laureate is illiterate.

  6. Lo! Errant child,
    Thou hast a life
    Thou hast a love
    Far beyond thine wandering womb,
    A mother crying, “It’s him, or me,”
    A father turning away from thee.
    Thou hast a home,
    Thou hast a womb,
    Far beyond a fallen prison:
    A home, a womb, for her,
    A home, a womb, for thee.

  7. About libido they were never wrong,
    the recent painters: how well they understood
    The human positions. How it takes place
    while someone else is swiping left or in a furry suit or just jiggling dully along
    even as the women are reverently cynical
    and the men barely notice.

    The characters arcs go on with this simple thing, even the human demons and their hangers await,
    as dreaming of skating on a frozen pond with a woolen scarf instead now illegal.

    In Basquiat’s ‘Untitled’, for instance, the brain turns away
    frantically to puke. The other museum-goers might have heard the splash,
    but not seen the two forsaken souls, in oil and in the libido, plunging into the abyss.
    for the painter and his audience alike. Indeed the cafe has paper hotcups
    which seem to show a fetus falling out of the sky, and so the museum crowd
    had seen some things amazing, but they had somewhere to go and they ambled calmly on.

    – all the ideas in the above were stolen from Auden’s Musee des Beaux Arts.

  8. And here is my contribution.

    Written just now … from the viewpoint of a mother who has killed her child and now hopes for redemption.
    C-Marie June 28, 2022.

    ?Pray For Me Child

    ?Where have you gone,
    Dearest little one of mine,
    My heart was yours,
    My darling starshine.
    But now you are dead,
    And I cry new tears,
    As I remember the joys,
    I had hoped for the years.
    But then life got bad,
    And I wondered what to do,
    Sometimes I felt movement,
    It was you, t’was you.
    How could I keep going,
    You must be gone,
    All ran away,
    I run, on and on.
    The blood was so much,
    I did not know,
    Your life was real,
    You had a soul.
    Where are you now,
    They tell me, up above,
    Pray for me child,
    That I receive His Love.

  9. Black babies are saved
    For this is the real Juneteenth!
    Only hoes be mad

    Whoops, screwed up my haiku. Fixed now.

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