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A
Lonely Tree
In
the middle of a field of high yield corns, stands a solitary
oak. Morose, it mourns its siblings harvested for oak
barn beams, while it alone survives. The lone oak
dreams of a grove of descendants, shedding seed, sterile
where chemically tilled of weed- killers making the fertile
former wood land uniquely corn. Does this lone survivor
stand as victor, or only as a token of the past? For
one century this spreading oak cast cooling shade for
explorers, and pioneers. Now, in it’s heartwood,
fresh new rot appears, hollowing the trunk that dare not
bend to winds that profane a great tree’s end.
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Advertising
Truth
The
most successful fiction writers are those that mask the issue
of thorns on a rose, pushing wormy apples, as protein enhanced
fruit, Labeling “descent guaranteed” on a
parachute, assuring us we won’t keep floating in the
sky. When used, you will come down, they did not lie How
euphemistically, I am informed of fact, in advertising that is
camouflaged with tact. Hyperbole is the ad copy writer’s
norm from soft pedaling to those that over-inform Ads
for Pharmaceuticals that I must obtain now warn of side
effects like death and pain, and these frank admissions
legally insulate them from judgments courts might advocate.
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Picking
Etiquette
You
can pick a wife or a rose, and then quite sensibly the
right card, your teeth or new clothes, a guitar, a friend or
your foes, and often, quite privately that icky stuff
between your toes. Pick garden weed that stubborn grows and
winning numbers I suppose or your butt when no one knows but
mothers and teachers agree it’s never nice to pick your
nose.
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