Is it wrong to laugh during ‘serious times’?

LuckyOtter – Sometimes we have to laugh

Lucky Otters Haven


Well, it depends.

A random tweet I saw this morning:

What I have noticed on Twitter is that people are so angry that even when I make a joke, they say “this is no time for jokes,” this is a serious time. The craziest people on Earth are people who try to mold your Twitter page to their personal liking. It’s absolutely insane.

It’s not just Twitter, though.  This attitude is pervasive all across social media and in real life, too.   Of course people are jumpy, on edge, stressed out, scared, and angry.  That’s perfectly understandable in times like these.  But if you make a joke or try to make light of the gravity of our national and political situation, many people become offended.    And I’m not referring to Trump supporters here.

I understand some jokes are in poor taste.  For example, I would never make fun of the…

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The “Donald Trump” Within All of Us

At SKYLARITY, Josiah Samuel Harry – Cleansing the inner Trump


President Donald J. Trump’s view of the world appears to be that of one who sees himself as better than the other. His treatment of those with whom he disagrees demonstrates a lack of human concern and compassion. Trump’s indifference—his casual exhibition of undignified speech and behavior paints the picture of a thoughtless, cruel, and heartless bully.
The danger of Trump’s penchant for playing kakistocratic politics with hatred and bigotry is farreaching. That is, whenever a person plays politics with elements that veer from normative and cultured behavior, such action imperils civil conduct and reasoned discourse—threatening our very democracy.
It is undeniable and unfortunate that Trumps’ rhetoric arouses the worst thoughts and passions within certain segments of the population and emboldens dark, sinister, and self-serving ideologies that foster intolerance, division, and violence.
While many would agree that Donald Trump’s character needs an overhaul, at the center…

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Featured Post: The Beauty Myth – Tamara Fricke

Tamara Fricke – Aged out of the Myth of Beauty

Brave & Reckless

Teen Vogue
argues Karl Marx
and I weep, carefully
blotting tears
with rice paper
so I won’t ruin
my foundation;

while a 16 year old
orders elitists
to panic, to action, to account
for climate decimation
and I smile,
but not too widely,
and slowly so lipstick won’t
smear on my teeth;

and when I realized
my age made me
societally obsolete
with the force
of a rip current
I quit shaving my legs
and burned a city
to the ground.

Tamara Fricke is the 2010 co-winner of the Gertrude Claytor Award of the Academy of American Poets and is previously published by The Lyon Review, Meat for Tea, Attack Bear Press Poetry Vending Machine, Whisper and the Roar, We Will Not Be Silenced, and has been included in a number of compilations.  Her poetry chapbook Our Requiem was released in 2014.  She lives in Springfield, MA, with an…

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My Death Is a Great Red Pen, Correcting-Kindra M. Austin

At Heretics, Lovers, And Madmen, Kindra M. Austin dies over and over again.

Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen

What you want, I ain’t got; and


I have the sinking feeling that it’s happening


as night is falling down upon me. I submerge,


await my death.

My death eradicates mistakes I’ve made,

and saves.

My death is a great red pen, correcting

according to


on top of Fibromyalgia,

on top of Anxiety,

on top of Depression,

on top of Rx medication.


Two years dead,

and I’m still fucking seeking

mother’s affection.

I beat my breast,

claw my throat,

shake my insignificant


I cry confessionals ‘til Hell won’t have ‘em.


I have the sinking feeling that it’s happening


as night is falling down upon me. I submerge,


await another death.

Each one eradicates mistakes I’ve made,

and saves.

I am pain,

and all my deaths

are a great red pen, correcting—

according to the spiders spinning webs

within the folds…

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A Tale of Two Towers-Christine Ray & Eric Syrdal

Christine Ray and Eric Syrdal – A duet of loneliness

Brave & Reckless

Locked away in a stone tower
rest of the world
becomes dim memory
time loses meaning
becomes shapeless
spent in solitude
only by whether
I read precious books
by sunlight
falling soft through windows
that no longer open
or dancing candlelight

by this halflight
I read the words
of Tennyson
and his Lady of Shalott
in her lonely spire
whose shadow would fall
likewise across my
bitter landscape
but I’ve no magic mirror
to scry upon the world below
I search my embattled memory
to remember golden fields of rye
and green waves of grasses
against sapphire summer skies
here in this place
my color palette
is reduced
to the colors the melancholic
grey and brown
across flagstone and wall
and mortar in shades of ash

There was technicolor life once
music and dancing
intimate conversation
easy laughter
food delighted palate
wine danced on tongue

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Featured Post: The Beauty Myth – Georgiann Carlson

Georgiann Carlson – Beauty is much defined and sold

Brave & Reckless

like everything else
is in the eye of the beholder
what’s beautiful to one person
is not beautiful to another
but beauty is a multi-billion dollar
and in order to keep the money rolling in
the definition of
has to constantly

but beauty that is skin deep
is still beauty
and we are programmed to seek beauty
everywhere we look
we recognize it when we see it
it’s innate

beauty is rewarded
doors open for those who are beautiful
but while we instinctively
know beauty when we see it
what we think of as beautiful
can be colored by our own perspective

being beautiful
comes with its own set of problems
it’s not always what people imagine it to be
it also changes from one culture to another
and it always has to do with what men want
or what they are told they want

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Journeyman’s Tale – #writephoto

Jan Malique – A journey to mastery and light

Strange Goings On In The Shed

journey-sue-vincent Image: Sue Vincent

I must be on the mend, participating in another writing prompt! It seems the spirit is slowly regenerating. Here’s my second offering to Sue’s #writephoto  challenge this week. It’s short but not necessarily sweet.

My tale begins with a Journeyman who has completed his Wanderjahre or Journeyman Years (three years and a day).  He’s settled in a workshop of the Hidden Guild, an ancient brotherhood nestled in a town of emerald spires. Diligent is our accomplished Journeyman, a wonder of his age. It appears an unearthly power flows through his veins, a fact not unnoticed by the Master Masons of the Guild, and one other. His triumphs are their triumphs, for they all work towards the same goal, perfection of their art and humanity to the highest standards. Day in, day out the apprentice Master hones his skills in ashlar masonry. The Master Mason who he has…

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