My View of Butterflies Changes.

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I bought and lost a book some years ago,
Full of tiny poetry,
The title may have been just “Chiyo-Ni”
Faulty goes my memory,

The only one that stays with me is this,
haiku with its imagery,
But now I see it different than it was,
Beauty grabs the realty:

That path the woman walks along in peace,
Owned by none but womanly,
Remembrance pulling girl to matron fast,
Pushed along unwillingly,

A butterfly performs a gender role,
Clearly femininity,
Japan’s not solo pushing such a thing,
Our feelings forming socially,

I love that poem through and through and through,
These words aren’t meant irreverently,
And please don’t think that what I say is true,
It’s just it’s nagging thoroughly,

Mr. Hebdo Gave me a Wedgie.

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Mr. Hebdo sat on my head and wouldn’t stop pulling my beard,
How could I hold to my lovely distraction when dealing with something so weird?
Mr. Hebdo laughs like an imp who spills all the drinks on the floor,
Ruining carpets and taking a toll on my sanity just like a bore.

Mr. Hebdo, why do you make my life such such a notable pain?
How can you live with yourself when it’s all you can do just to drive me insane?
Mr. Hebdo patted my back and brought me back down to the Earth,
Bade me to look out the window to see all the neighbors inflated with worth,

Mr. Hebdo gave me a wedgie only to help me to see,
How that we need to be brought down a peg, and he whispered “Je suis Charlie.”

My First Literary Review

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I’d like to try my first review,
A little novel full of passion,
The novel little work’s not new,
I think it has some real traction,

The author’s Earnest Hemingway,
Although perhaps it really isn’t,
Although, it’s got a lot to say,
Not all of it is very pleasant,

The first part seems a quite benign,
Homage to that ol’ Willy Loman,
Suggests we everyday resign,
To silly crass commercialism,

The second part shoots from the hip,
And shows the characters’ relations,
Although we only get a glimpse,
Not knowing of the books intentions,

The last part struck me to the core,
I could not ever see it coming!
It sent me sprawling to the floor,
My soul was rent, my heart sent running,

The author’s careful with his prose,
With no intent to waste description,
And seems to think the reader knows,
The truth of plot and folk sans mention,

Not like some books which spines we bend,
I note the theme is not apparent,
Until we reach the very end,
I guess that’s like a painful present,

I cannot help but recommend,
This little tome for you, the reader,
An easy read from start to end,
A patient read, that’s not too eager.

The Work In Question

Alone Time

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The toilet is a quiet place to be,
Potential’s always there to be exposed,
And that is why we quickly get displeased,
When someone interrupts us out of clothes,

It seems so silly when you think of it,
Why should it matter since we all are there,
But down deep down you want to take a sit,
In simple silence no-one needs to share,

Today I sat and heard a rhythmic sound,
The stall beside me was now occupied,
The rhythm failed followed by the sound,
A male voice that grunted; he then sighed,

I truly wish that he had got a room,
I wish him well, but that’s my quiet doomed.