In Anticipation of Solo/In Respone to the Last Jedi

Can expectations live up to the hype
Or will you feel hollow disappointment?
Will you nitpick what you have seen, and gripe
‘Bout wanting more from your entertainment?
What do you expect from an industry
Who wishes nothing more than your pleasure?
Why do you think those who make a movie
Are subject to a life of indenture?
When has it been your creativity
That has given us reason to applaud?
Do you understand how this scrutiny
Is regarded as words told from a fraud?
If you believe you can do better
Then take your turn being the court jester.

 

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The Night Market

The night is when we take over the roads
With all of our trinkets and wares to sell.
We put up our tents and unpack our loads
Of colorful textiles with their bright spells.
Would you please unhinge your fat money clip
To give away your valuable bills?
In exchange in your backpack you can slip
The stuff you have earned with your shopping thrills.
We can both move on with each satisfied
About what we have done in this market.
Thoughts of Communism is all that died
As the world fights for what it wants to get.
We will shuffle off in the rising dawn
Wondering where the night market has gone.

Death of a Teacher

Death of a Teacher

 

 

He was buried under a mound of dirt

Commemorated by simple granite.

Attired in his most expensive shirt,

They stuffed him in a box of laminate.

 

A preacher stood at the edge of the grave

To sing out comforting words to no one.

Even the day’s weather would not behave

As the moist grass baked in the morning sun.

 

Beyond the gates of the cemetery

His students bustled on with their careers.

They did not read his obituary,

Having let go of all their high school fears.

 

The weight of his teaching prosperity

Comes from knowing he has no legacy.