Lament of a Zob

Good Loord! It seems I’m surrounded by dizzards!

There’s blizzards, and blizzards, and blizzards of dizzards!

There’s a balatron who tweets all night to his gudgeons and his slatterns.

He seems to fire up the mobs, but firing’s one of his patterns.

While I, a mere quoob, flop like a flutch

and think what to do ‘bout pettifoggers and such.

The Pecksniffs are coming with their wankers and uzzards,

the wolves in sheep’s clothing who live like such buzzards

while the shell-shocked viragos and all of the mobs

stream into my living room, where I live like a zob.

A poet for gobbins, for carkers, and diggots

who cries out against all the racists and biggots!

Injustice is real, and so is the zeal of wanting to fix what’s not right.

We’re in this together, so don’t lose your head,

even if you can’t sleep well at night.

The pressure’s been building ‘til people blow gaskets

while the death count keeps rising and filling up caskets.

The virus is morphing, it’s changing each day

a whack-a-mo spirit that begs us to pray!

The hammers! The slammers! The block-heads who block

who they don’t understand, ’cause they never take stock.

Silence is Golden, when broken with smiles

but fear does such damage it travels for miles!

There’s been miles and miles and miles of fear!

There’s safety in numbers, but you must have an ear.

There’s wisdom in hindsight, there’s wisdom in protesting

injustices perpetrated by those who’re molesting

our children and women, our black and our poor.

There’s wisdom in locking the back and front door

but not of your heart, for love calls for more

understanding of others, their lives and their worth.

It’s none of our faults that our moms gave us birth!

Well behaved women, seldom make history

and most have been too well behaved!

It’s time for oppressed to be seen and be heard

even if they are “crazy” and might seem depraved!

But the death of a mother, seems senseless and sad

and the fear of a “coward” makes me boiling mad!

The brave and the fallen, the helpless and tired

makes me want to scream, “Trump! You’re fired! You’re fired!”

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Lorrance Herring

Lorrance Herring

Oregon born, Bardass Poet, Bat-Shit Crazy Stand-Up Comedian, Entertaining Social Activist, Mamadadaist Artist of 8 kids, Weirdo Wonder Woman, Narc Researcher