There once was a woman named Sue,
Whose dislike for babies shone through,
She'd shun their sweet face,
And their noisy pace,
And find solace in feline poo.

find solace in feline poo

this dreck belongs in a cat box...

What's with the angry face on that woman?

What's with the angry face on that woman?

Just needed to add a word to the request.

BTW, I did request the blue jumpsuit and crocs.  And the cats, of course.

 “Ode to the Conservative” 

In the land of suits and ties,
Where fiscal cliffs and tax breaks rise,
The conservative roams, with furrowed brow,
Guarding tradition, as if it's sacred somehow.

They sip their coffee, black as night,
And ponder how to make things right.
"Progress?" they scoff, "That's for the weak!
Let's cling to the past, for tradition's sake."

Their favorite color? A deep shade of red,
Matching the hue of their party's thread.
They'll defend the status quo with zeal,
Ignoring climate change, as if it's not real.

"Less government!" they chant, with glee,
Except when it comes to their Medicare fee.
And social programs? Oh, those are a sin,
Unless they benefit their own kin.

They'll quote the Founding Fathers, oh so wise,
Ignoring the flaws in their compromise.
"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,"
As long as it doesn't disrupt their business.

So here's to the conservative, steadfast and true,
Guardians of tradition, with a limited view.
May their echo chambers remain cozy and warm,
As they fight progress with a stubborn form.

But fear not, dear conservative, for change will come,
Even if you'd rather stick to the humdrum.
And when it does, you'll adjust your tie,
And find a new way to say, "My, oh my!"

one bad AI poem deserves another. 

Still I Rise, by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

🌟 “The Ballad of the Right-Wing Warrior” 🌟

In the land of red hats and rugged boots,
Where freedom rings and truth takes root,
The right-wing warrior strides with pride,
Defending borders and the status quo worldwide.

Their favorite pastime? Fear-mongering galore,
As they spin tales of caravans at the border.
"Immigrants!" they cry, clutching their pearls,
Ignoring the fact that their ancestors were squirrels.

They'll wave their flags, oh so high,
Pledging allegiance to apple pie.
"Liberty!" they shout, with righteous zeal,
As long as it doesn't threaten their next meal.

Climate change? Oh, that's just a hoax,
Cooked up by scientists and liberal folks.
They'll drive their gas-guzzlers, no remorse,
While polar bears swim toward a melting course.

"Less government!" they declare, with glee,
Except when it comes to their Medicare fee.
And social programs? Those are for the weak,
Unless they're cashing in on Social Security.

They'll quote the Constitution, chapter and verse,
Ignoring the parts that make them curse.
"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,"
As long as it doesn't involve universal healthcare access.

So here's to the right-wing warrior, fierce and true,
Guardians of tradition, with a limited view.
May their echo chambers remain cozy and warm,
As they fight progress with a stubborn form.

But fear not, dear warrior, change will come,
Even if you'd rather stick to the humdrum.
And when it does, you'll adjust your stance,
Blaming it all on a liberal conspiracy dance.

Here's one generated by Microsoft Copilot.

The Tale of Red Feathers

In a land where winds whispered secrets,
And mountains stood tall, their peaks kissed by clouds,
Lived a warrior named Red Feathers,
A champion of justice, both fierce and proud.

With a heart aflame for the downtrodden,
Red Feathers donned a cloak of crimson hue,
Their sword, a quill, etching verses of rebellion,
Against tyranny, greed, and the status quo.

They rode a steed named “Solidarity,”
Hooves pounding rhythms of change on cobblestone streets,
Through valleys of inequality and forests of despair,
Red Feathers galloped, their purpose complete.

In the halls of power, they spoke truth to might,
Their speeches like thunder, shaking marble walls,
“Equality for all!” they cried, their voice unwavering,
As ink flowed from their pen, igniting hope’s thralls.

When darkness threatened to engulf the land,
Red Feathers stood firm, a beacon of light,
Their shield emblazoned with symbols of unity,
Guiding the lost, the weary, toward a fairer fight.

They danced with moonlit rebels in hidden groves,
Their steps weaving revolutions, dreams unbound,
And when dawn painted the sky with hues of justice,
Red Feathers sang songs that echoed all around.

“Workers unite! Let love be our compass,
And compassion our armor,” they declared,
Their comrades rallied, hearts beating in rhythm,
For a world where kindness triumphed, injustice repaired.

So raise your voices, ye left-wing dreamers,
Let Red Feathers’ legacy inspire your quest,
For in tales of courage and ink-stained valor,
Lies the promise of a better world, at its best.

My roots are deeper than the bones of the others

My colours, they change with the sun

My branches, we're higher than anything on the hillside

On the day that I watched them all come

Some wear the colour of the sky in the winter

Some were as blue as the night

They came like a storm with the light of the morn

And they fell through the whole day and night

Colours flew high and they danced in the sky

As I watched them come over the hill

Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder

Such a great number lay still

When the light came again, there was death on the wind

As the buzzards made way for the worms

And the little white trees that don't bend in the breeze

For the ones that will never return

The colours flew high and they danced in the sky

As I watched them come over the hill

Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder

Such a great number lay still

Those that have fallen, they come when I call them

And answer the best that they can

But all they can see is what they used to be

And that's all that they understand

The colours flew high and they danced in the sky

As I watched them come over the hill

Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder

Such a great number lay still

Colours flew high and they danced in the sky

As I watched them come over the hill

Then to my wonder sticks that made thunder

Such a great number lay still

Chris Stapleton