Why do they speak
Of freedom,
As to dispense
Be of their province,
By what measure
Need expense
Falsely imply,
Want approbate
Fashions certainty,
Of inferred liberty…
Who, so presumes,
Can rule we’re free,
Or they’ve a right
To author a decree,
On any moral stake
Officiate so declare,
Such be their dictate…
They, paltry thespians
Speak of freedom,
As though in some play
Autonomy be their say,
Or self-determination
Wouldst be in doubt…
Why do they postulate
With such hypocrisy,
As if their fallacies
Ought give me liberty,
Whilst I’m already free,
Requiring not assertion
Thus my freedom be!
Poetry on a Canapé 
Good one. You tell them!
Hi Paulette… It’s getting it out in the open, to relieve me of the bilious sensation one gets after hearing, our elected representatives, this one in particular whose name will not appear hear, simply to not give him credence for existing, in as much we the public sheep put him there in the first place.
Political servants of the people, who live and act as kings, watching from their tower windows, their contributors run dry, looking for a meal or a job. The very same who takes credit for the freedom we have, thanks to their doubtful machinations… and get this… for us and on our behalf, that we are free, as in thanks to these marvels.
Ergo my little story, as I believe.
Jean-Jacques
So interesting, what you say. The tone of your poems comes through, whether frustration (as this one is, euphemistically speaking, lol) or with the love of your Marianne or the glory of experiencing nature or the compassion for a wounded furry child. There’s an energy that communicates adeptly. Thank you for taking the time to write the p.s. above.
Your friend,
Paulette.
Ah, Paulette… you have that gentleness that can pull at a man’s heart strings, like an Andrés Segovia could at his guitar. But you have the advantage because his was all guitar. You on the other hand reach with the kindness of your attention, worded so as to stir the emotions of a too sensitive scribbler friend. What a present, and what a presence! Ton ami, Jean-Jacques