The Last of The Short Measures

National Novel Writing Month ends this week, thus potentially freeing me up to make longer blog entries.

However, I woke up to the news yesterday morning that our main meeting venue – a Wetherspoon’s pub – closed permanently on Saturday night. As such, we’ll need to find a new place; this is a problem I’ve encountered before, and I’m sure it’ll work out for the best.

For the moment, I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote on the day that Donald Trump was elected. It’s called Hell’s Marksmen.

Our satire
can fire
more shells
than Hell’s
marksmen.
And when
deployed
sweetly,
can vanquish
completely.

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