A Mused Poetry Challenge: Rant!

Been a while since I did one of these, but this month’s challenge invites us to rant! And who doesn’t like to get off on a good rant? The rules are/were as follows:

Life’s not been great for quite a few humans recently, myself included. If I were a mature, serene type, I’d likely suggest a mature, serene acceptance and a moving forward with healing. …I’m not really that type, though, so this month’s theme is:

1. Snarky Rant. That’s right: a jaded, sarcastic, fed up, perhaps even nihilistic poem in an “I stick it to you, sucky events!” manner.
2. The Length is your call. This is something you get to call the shots on, after all!
3. Rhyming is also up to you.
4. The Rating’s still PGish to keep general audiences happy, but there are always asterisks or near-fudges for situations like this.
5. Despite the he** you may have endured, make us laugh. As we lay, prone, in the minefield of calamities, help us hold our bruised ribs in a knowing and painful release of the bad times we all relate to.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (February 5) to submit a poem.

If you’d like to make your own contribution, fill out the form here.

So here’s my contribution, a verse inspired by a conservative friend’s audacity to post a meme that accused Democrats of “a conspiracy to seize power” – you know, like, less than a month after Republicans literally led a violent insurrection on the Capitol Building resulting in five dead? The unmitigated gall! So, it’s rant time.

Cognitive Assonance

The mental gymnastics required for those leaps

must be exhausting; The Hill was too steep.

Projecting your crimes unto every other

with a straight face; you’d sell-out your mother

before you’d begin to point at yourself;

that precious pride should be put on a shelf,

wrapped in the flag that you desecrated, 

with the constitution you once advocated.

No, you’re not the patriot you once pretended;

your line of credit’s been over-extended.

The amount of denial and projection required

to maintain positions in which you are mired,

are swirling with madness into the commode.

I’m really surprised

your head

doesn’t

explode.