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 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: June 25, 2019      Views: 42

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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
Excellent
Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
a rhyming yarn
"One More Phoenix" by LIJ Red
The jobs and then the money went,
away to other lands.
The greenback failed, we'd not a cent,
and all those reaching hands.

When folk get hungry, they get mean
and uniforms ain't shit.
The hordes were small, but tough and lean
and never heard of quit.

I's born a hick and kept the farm
I fed my 'croppers well
When urban swarm would do us harm
we sent them all to Hell.

I grieved for my poor brother Moe
like a killdee, underfed
I guessed the packs had laid him low
the nerd lived by his head.

Then winter came, the coldest yet
snow cloaked an empty land.
the spring was stormy, fickle, wet,
death stench on every hand.

My crowd was lean, but fields were green
when Bohunk blew his horn.
We grabbed our bows and formed a screen
around our fields of corn.

Long lines of men, with lances high
on horseback down our road
old Stars and Stripes against the sky
how proud those chargers strode.

I stepped out alone to face
three riders who broke rank
So fast and easy was their pace
the heart within me sank.

The leader doffed his hat and grinned
and scarcely did I know
the bearded face seared by the wind
of runty brother Moe.

"How goes the turnips, hayseed bro?"
He laughed. I shook my head.
"The smart prey on the strong, you know."
was all that sucker said.

They took our names, and watered stock,
the column cantered on.
Moe left some guns for my small flock,
we waved 'til he was gone.

Don't see no parable in this
except in days of dread
forget the sword and brawny fist
follow the level head.


Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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