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The Covidiot and the Doomscroller

Weekly Scribblings #48 Poets and Storytellers United image public domain   The Covidiot A covidiot Coughing in the checkout line Laughs when a man frowns     The Doomscroller    I guess I am a doomscroller ‘though I’d never heard the term. I’m addicted to Trump’s Twitter, full of lies you can confirm.   I’m in it for the comments, the memes and funny quotes.   Supporters can’t accept the truth, it really gets their goats.   I'm not saying I will miss it when January comes   As Biden takes the White House while they’re sitting on their thumbs.         ©2020 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserve image of COVID-19 virus with mask: https://www.cde.ual.es/en/now-press-conference-about-coronavirus/

Tipping the Scales - a somonka

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Tanka Tuesday #205 Perhaps I love you I have not decided yet I weigh your actions not your words, words are empty the scale is still balanced   Let me show you love with gestures of hot passion Let the scale tip to find you love after all My heart I promise is true       ©2020 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved  

The Three Graces

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 Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #334 Ronovan Writes words: grace and slip              I              If I slip from grace Will you be there to catch me Replete with mercy?              II        She moved in pure grace Her silk dress but a mere slip His eyes watched her pass              III He liked to slip in His superior knowledge Of Greek goddesses And favored Grace Thalia Goddess of Festivity    ©2020 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

The Stories I Could Tell

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 Wordle #484 https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2020/11/28/wordle-484/  Prompt words in red.   pixabay.com/photos/abandon-alley-architecture-black-21907 Oh, the stories I could tell!   Black stories , depressing tales of narrow alleys and small bleak basements that suffer for want of sunlight.   Where walls are damp and thick, close, with voices unheard.  The narrow passageway is crisscrossed with yellow crime scene tape , the investigation continues, detectives hold out empty promises and hope, but there hasn’t been a promising lead since the morning after the blood splatter was found on the cold, slick stone wall.     The blood was just to throw them off, muddy the waters, so to speak, or bloody the waters in this case. "This case"… I love my double meaning; it tickles me to be so clever.   I could have been an author instead of what I am.  Yes, the stories I could tell.     ©2020 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved