World dominion was his plan
Grand schemes complex he did weave
It all was rooted on the goodwill
Of the gullible he did deceive
He did step a bit too far
Dissention unwanted he did achieve
His ranks thus spilt he fell from power
His grand plans were decisively thwarted
And a new power came to fore
Perhaps things now can be sorted
Padre
Tiles aligned in pattern sequenced
Like justified words upon a page
Moroccan designs of tessellation
To the encounter’s backdrop the perfect stage
And so, the minister strode – upon a mission of state
To be confronted by the awaiting press
A statement he was called – to the nation to make
He spouted party line
His words too did tessellate
Padre
The petition had received the requisite number of signatures, and it was now on the agenda for the next Council meeting. It had been a long road, but the movement’s supporters were sure that this time the political wanna-bees of the town would start to understand that they were not the all-knowing sovereign power they thought they were. Yes, this was going to be true democracy at work. The people demanded change, and the Council better give it to them. After all, who waits until Friday for bin collection anyway? The weekend rubbish just has to go sooner!
Padre
It was the most acrimonious meeting of the Neighbourhood Association that anyone could remember. It was even worse that the one where the “foreign” family broke protocol and used cooking ingredients not on the “approved list,” for the annual Founder’s Day picnic.
“It breaks with tradition, and we all know how important tradition is,” Margery Cooke said authoritatively as others nodded in agreement.
“But times are changing,” Mable Hunt retorted, to applause of as few of the more progressive members.
“Well that might be all well and good over in Highland Park, but it won’t wash here in Pleasant Acres,” Margery countered.
In the end there was a very tense vote, and with the breaking of tradition the motion passed by the margin of three votes. Times were indeed changing in Pleasant Acres and the hanging baskets on Main Street were going to feature purple rather than red petunias this year. It was quite the coup.
Padre
It was with dissatisfaction
That the losing faction
Started packing up their things to go
Their discontent became a rage
That to the whole world they did show
Calmer minds and tempers now
Let us hope are in control
Padre
Weekend Writing Prompt #193 – Faction in 39 words
Seemingly past its prime, its steps well worn
Giving the appearance sad – forlorn
But democracy’s not dead – not quite yet
Though its recent path has left some regret
But we who believe in higher things
Trust in a public voice
Above tyrants or kings
So while its been battered
And some questioned its repute
The will of the people
Shall not be mute
Padre
Majestic once, you towered high
Reaching arrogantly to the sky
But your vanity proved a lie
For you in the wind tumbled
And you now rot where you lie
There are those that greatness claim
If they don’t see this lesson
They have only themselves to blame
Padre
Donny had never really taken life to seriously. He had been the class clown in high school and coasted through college with an art degree which he admitted was based on work that was derivative at best, or just throwing colour randomly on canvas. He got himself a job at a gallery by connections with a girl he had dated in college and lost it about as fast as he lost her. So how could he now be standing in front of a cheering crowd as their mayor? He had only registered as a candidate as a drunken dare.
Padre
Flash Fiction Challenge: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something a character never dreamed would happen.
“Things are panning out just as I planned,” Dr. Notorious said. “Racial unrest has been heightened, and that wonderful virus as divided people over social distancing, and mask-wearing. And now a few well-placed fake voting boxes, and a few cut cables in the system, and all will be ready to bring about my revolution of chaos. It will take just one more coal and all will be ready for me to arrive and take control.”
His henchman, Boris nodded and leaned over to toss a coal into the fire.
“It was a metaphor, you fool, a metaphor!”
Padre
I have served my society
Risked life and prepared for war
Been ready to put all on the line
While you mock the oath I swore
I feel quite uncomfortable
With the thing you ask of me
The breaking of the law
In the name of “liberty”
You claim to be a patriot
But I see your colours true
The only colour that you serve
Is the one that best serves you
Padre
