Good and Pretti

 

Good and Pretti
With our own eyes,
we witnessed their execution 
at the hands of trump's storm troopers.

Innocent of a crime,
they were murdered for opposing
the beating, incarceration and murder of others.
Being US citizens, nonetheless deprived of their rights 
along with their lives.

Outrage is not enough.
Violence is counter-productive -
further punishment by government would ensue.
A rogue regime is killing off American residents.

Why?
What is the point of all this?
To declare Martial Law so,
as trump promised on the campaign trail:
"Vote this time and I guarantee you'll never have to vote again."

Voting is not something to be shirked.
It is a citizen responsibility.
To remove that right is a fascistic, dictatorial, 
"3rd World shithole country" option.

What can be done to end this march into a dystopian society 
where only the elite have rights?
Rights that they buy from the tyrannical despot 
with the bad temper of a toddler.

When only the rich survive this fiasco, 
who will do the real work of rebuilding the country?
Without  a sense of belonging, 
why would the less than wealthy even bother to try?

When everything is broken,
we look for a hero, a liberator, a protector.
Hoping for a guardian to arrive,
we open ourselves to yet another take-over,
if we deify another bad leadership choice.

What is needed now is wisdom, strength, and resilience.
What is needed is a plan to realign.
The need is immediate.
No time to waste.

Stop ICE, then
cut out the government rot at the root.
Start all over again but, this time,
Vet the prospectives before voting in
another tribe of criminal miscreants and murderers.


©Ellen Pepper 2026

Sometimes it doesn't matter...

 

Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do.
Sometimes your words go unheeded.
Sometimes you scream into the void that fascism is rising.
Sometimes you find yourself alone, fending off apathy.

You live in an echo chamber now,
Of those who are awakened to the threat.
The unwoke would rather sleepwalk to their death.
To them "woke" is anathema.
Frogs in a pot as the water comes to a boil.

Meanwhile,
the storm-troopers fill the streets with 
state-sponsored terrorism.
Upending normal life in the service 
of an unchained demon master.
Beating and shooting, and gassing
and murdering both innocents and innocence.
No restraint.
Brutality is their default.

Sometimes you think there's no hope.
That this is just the way it is now.
That nothing can be done to return the world to sanity.
But there is.
There is.

Round up the killers of freedom.
Subject them to trial.
Remove them from power.
Do it now, before they become even more entrenched.
Otherwise, nothing you do will ever matter again.


©Ellen Pepper 2026
Image: storage.googleapis.com

PURGATORY

"A state believed to exist after death, in which the souls of persons are purified by expiating such offences committed in this life as do not merit eternal damnation, to become fit for heaven." 

He dwells in Purgatory,
this unfortunate soul isn't ready for heaven.
He feels the need to atone.
He waits for salvation.

She was revered as a saint but
it seems she still wasn't saintly enough.
That one moment of turning her back 
on the suffering of a dying woman
cancelled her immediate acceptance.

Realistically, there's no such thing
 as an actual place of purgatory, but...
What if you really believe in it?
Does that make doctrine reality?

Can one abide in Purgatory while alive?
Not according to its definition.
What would it feel like, though?
A state of abeyance,
A lack of forward movement,
A liminal point between action and apathy?

Freedom by way of  purgation can be found while living.
A different perspective causes release from the prison
of waiting.
Finding one's way without parameters is for the best.
Heaven and hell are right here, right now.

When you're a ghost, neither will be relevant.
This life is a brief moment in time.
The after life comes when your part in the play is done,
curtain call taken, costume removed, and
returned to real life on the Other Side.
In other words, everyone goes Home.


©Ellen Pepper 2026
image from ptcdemasconfianza.blogspot.com

This Morning

 

 The stop sign at the corner is knee deep in snow.
Silence is broken only by the slushy plow.
Trees heavily laden with the burdensome white.
Howling wind begins to blow.

Woke up to the news of an ICE flash-bang grenade 
and tear gas in Minneapolis,
Hit a car with 6 kids inside - one an infant.
The children have been hospitalized.

The world saw Renee Good murdered in cold blood last week.
Another extrajudicial murder by ICE.
There was no reason for her to die.
She did nothing wrong. 
There are several videos attesting to her innocence,
Yet, the entire trump administration lied-
told us not to believe our lying eyes.

NATO allies are preparing to send troops to deal with trump's intention to invade Greenland.
Last week, he took Venezuela.
Last night, it looked like it was Iran's turn.

All this chaos and mayhem is meant to distract from what he did to little kids that will be revealed when the Epstein documents are fully released.

Meanwhile, the feral cats are staying in their shelters because it's 13F and the snow that fell last night is deeper than their bodies are tall. Better to be snug and warm - food can wait. They ate well last night - meat and biscuits - so they're good until the snow is shovelled.

Life is going on, even though insanity rules the outside world. Without being aware of the news, without knowledge of the horrors, life can still seem good in this sanctuary.
The snow is deep and silence reigns.


©Ellen Pepper 2026
image: dreamstime.com

It is what it is.

 

A heart is broken by deceit and slander.
An aged crone curls up and dies.
A bouncing babe is born,
Mourning and celebration.
It is what it is.

A president decides to take another country,
declaring himself to be the new ruler.
He kidnapped and jailed the previous.
Next, he'll invade another. No one will stop him.
It is what it is.

A gang of rich men collect and defile little kids
for sport and to sate appetite for cruelty.
A president, also credibly accused.
has evidence erased to spare the men.
It is what it is.

In American cities, ICE demons
crush, kill and destroy with impunity.
The regime covers and abets their crimes.
The people rage, but still they continue.
It is what it is.

Prices are too steep to conquer.
People are going without.
Government removes care,
Thousands die premature deaths.
It is what it is.

Spring is coming,
birds will return, trees will unfurl leaves,
green will come again.
Hope will rise despite horrors.
It is what it is.

Is it really what it is
or
is it just an illusion?

It is what it is, until it isn't.
Resist until sanity prevails.



©Ellen Pepper 2026
image: https://wallpapercave.com/w/wp1959886

Whispering... Not to Scream

Speaking softly
so as not to give away 
the terror and turmoil
clutching at throat and chest.

Chaos and catastrophe abound.
This reign of terror brought to you,
(unwittingly?)
by American taxpayers.
Done in their name.

Murder by government.
Terror inspired by vitriol.
Perpetrated by hate-bros.
Uncontrolled mayhem.

“that’s fine dude, I’m not mad.” 
Her final words.
Then, three shots to the head.
The killer ended with "Fucking bitch."

Then the government lies began.
The typical approach to their crimes by this evil regime.
Gaslighting the world.
The world is not fooled.

 Video evidence to the contrary
belies their cover up.
ICE agent Jonathan Ross is in hiding 
because his guilt is evident.

A murderer is given sanctuary.
The government won't allow local investigations.
The world saw that execution recorded in multiple videos.
The killer's own camera captured the crime.

An innocent woman is dead.
She committed no crime,
no matter what the Liar in Chief said.
No charge, no trial, just a death sentence.

For Renee Nicole Good - 
End the  neo-Nazi takeover of the USA.

©Ellen Pepper 2026
image: The Independent

SUMMON ME

 

"Summon me,"
He said seductively to the grieving widow.
Summon me when your need
begins to overwhelm.

Summon me and 
we'll dance the light fandango.
Summon me;
I'll wear the mien of your man.

Summon me 
to ride in my carriage.
Summon me
to touch you there
and there.

Summon me
to forget your woes.
Summon me
to hear your song.

Summon me
when no one holds you.
Summon me
to find your way.

Here I'll stay,
though you suspect me.
Here I'll stay
though you think me a ghost.

Take me 
into your heart.
I'll never leave you.
Fear me not, I beg you.

Who am I?
Look to your animus,
No need to wonder.
my name is ...
Morpheus.


©Ellen Pepper 2026

image: freepik

Retirement Guy

 

On his final day of paid employment, 
Wilfred P. Bucklethorpe donned his blue suit,
plaid tie, 
and shiny black loafers; 
took the #42 Islington bus downtown
to his corporate office building
and patiently greeted his co-workers
 who wanted to make a fuss.

On the bus ride, 
he'd gazed out the window 
at scenes he wouldn't be seeing again.
He felt an odd ache in his chest
almost like nostalgia.

He daydreamed about his imminent freedom,
years of leisure stretching before him.
He had no hobbies,
no wife,
no kids,
not even a dog.

At the office, he did no work,
he spoke to colleagues; made plans to meet up -
knowing full well that he'd never see any of them again,
because that's just the way things go.
Anyway, golfing had never appealed to him.

There was a party at the end of the day.
False bonhomie and drunkenness ensued.
A gift of miniature golden handcuffs was given -
to be worn on a lapel.
A plaque mentioned years of service.

He left early and took the bus home.
Everyone was relieved to see him go.
He was no longer relevant.
He wouldn't be missed by anyone
other than the caretaker, 
to whom he'd been kind.

At 8 in the morning 
of his first day without a job...
He crawled out of bed, aching.
The day stretched before him 
with no tasks to be done.

He thought of the lonely years ahead.
Considered taking up a hobby -
leaning to play a harpsichord,
perhaps...or a language.
Travel didn't really pique his interest.

He had an epiphany around lunchtime:
he had no interests outside of work.
He had time on his hands.
Too much time.
And he was forlorn...
Maybe he should get a cat.

The pain in his chest 
was becoming worrisome.
Should he see a doctor?
It seemed to be too much trouble.
Perhaps, he should just rest in bed?

At 4pm, Wilfred P. Bucklethorpe
dressed in sweatpants and trainers
and headed off to get food.
It was drizzling and chilly,
not summer weather at all.

As he approached a brightly lit supermarket,
his aching chest started throbbing -
the strangest sensation.
He glanced down at his shoes
and
as his head tipped forward,
the rest of his body followed suit and
the world before his eyes
faded to black.

Wilfred P. Bucklethorpe lay dead on the cold, wet pavement.
Alone.
He had nothing left to do.
He'd made no plans for the future.
He'd never followed his dreams.

Some folks are late bloomers.
 Some are seeds that never sprouted.

©Ellen Pepper 2026

image: dreamstime.com

RABID DOG

 

Time to invoke the 25th A.

That dog is rabid.
The forepaw wound is ground zero.
He's restless.
He needs space.
His walk is wincing.
He's mostly lethargic.

And now he's foaming at the mouth.
He's incontinent.
His incessant bark is raspy.
Pupils dilated.
His jaw is awkward.

His aggression is feverish.
He's attacking without provocation.
He's biting at the air.
He fears water.

He hasn’t had his rabies vaccine
because he’s anti-vax.
Oh, dear what can we do now.
The vet says he’s fine,
but the vet has been paid to lie,
says he’s the healthiest dog ever.


The least we can ethically do 
for that rabid dog and his pack
is euthanize with 25 A.
The world will breathe easier
when they're dead and buried.

 
©Ellen Pepper 2026

Image: dogexpress.in

Chair of Reckoning

Seated on the Chair of Reckoning,
high above the valley,
misty mountains of crime surround.
Situational gravity tots up the tally.

The judging, the weighing, the judicial outcome
all in the balance.
The malfeasance against humanity
and the very planet.

Will there be impartiality?
Maybe.
Will there be compassion?
It depends on the transgression's extent.

The judge is subject to judgment.
Being human- also complicit.
Culpable, if the punishment is unjust.
Who decides? Who is without sin?

The winds at the peak clear the mind.
The chaos is far removed.
The air pierces the mind and breath.
The decision is due.

Sagacity, discernment, and perspicacity 
come to the fore,
and all and sundry are in the dock,
Terror will strike at the core.

Seated on the Chair of Reckoning,
the time has come to weigh the misdeed,
Punishment decided
and imposed with due speed.

It is done.
Penalties imposed.
The Chair of Reckoning
now abandoned for the nonce.


©Ellen Pepper 2026

image credit: freepik

What triggered the Shift?

Epictitus once said,
"We suffer not from events themselves,
but from our judgments about them." 

I've been dreaming lately of the Time Before:
The Time of Chaos and Dismay.

The Beast was ruling
and thieving
and raping
and cruelling.
Let loose from moral and ethical standards,
breaking all the rules.
Corruption of the highest order.

What I'm getting at is that 
I was remembering that time, 
and after, when the Shift took place.
What triggered it?

From the depths of despair to the uplift of spirit.
Like going outside in summer after a hard winter.
A sea change. A tsunami of hope and goodwill.
Dissipation of random hate.
The very air suddenly seemed more oxygenated.

What triggered it?

The Collective became restive. 
Too much revved up vitriol tired mortals.
Misanthropy suddenly seen as foolish.
Resentment became resignation.
The desire for harmony arose after turmoil.

What triggered it?

"Things change." said the Buddha.
"Neptune and Saturn were conjunct at 0 Aries."said the Astrologer.
“All great changes are preceded by chaos.” said Deepak Chopra.

Plus les choses changent, moins elles semblent identiques.
(The more things change, the less they seem to be the same.)

Upon waking after these dreams, my first words are always, "What triggered it?"
I'm just curious. I'm not a spy from the past trying to change the future. Honest.

 It happened. I just want to know how.

 

©Ellen Pepper 2026
image: https://japaneseclass.jp/img/The_Best_of_Dreams

The eagle has lost its soul.

 

The eagle has lost its soul.
Dropping bombs.
Killing innocents.
Abducting a leader and his wife,
no matter their crimes.

Invasion commenced in the wee hours.
Civilians peacefully lying abed, 
unsuspecting the imminent invasion
of a hostile force killing them dead.

More mayhem instituted by
a smugly insanely tempestuous toddler in chief.
Possibly illegally in power.
A conman, grifter, liar and thief.

War crime. 
Hailed by the Chief.
Breaking of covenants
and causing fear and grief.

And what's it meant to cover up?
Child rape, corruption, ill health, greed.
The current destruction of the USA.
The ongoing end to democracy.

How long, America?
How long before you rise up
and take him down?
The world is watching.

Countries on tenterhooks.
Fearful of his next act of utter insanity.
Who has the intestinal fortitude
to stop this vile creature?

Anyone?

©Ellen Pepper 2026
image: https://www.nbcnews

LIMBO

 

It's not yet then
and not still before...

Here we are 
on the precipice of another time
to be known as a "year",
but only in our minds.

The Universe abides.

Some will make merry.
Some will ruminate.
Some will sit quietly,
waiting for time to bate.

Nothing is true yet,
but what's been seen in passing.
Leave the past aside;
for the new year, be keen.

There's no need for artificial joy
and bonhomie;
No fireworks.
No champagne.
No raucous parties.
No agony upon awakening
in the newer year.

Slide gently into the crossing.
It's really just another day.
There's no way to know
what's in store - 
just like yesterday
and the day before.

Practice stillness.
Watch and learn.
Accept not knowing.
No need to yearn.

Let it be.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: discover.hubpages.com

Observation

Someone is watching you,
trawling through social media,
checking for messages -
here there and everywhere.

They don't think they care, but
their actions belie that.
Do you feel their eyes 
questioning your motions?

They follow you at night.
They know your movements.
They keep an eye out
at all times.

It's someone you used to know.
Someone long gone.
Someone who just realized
that you've departed.

It's not stalking as you know it.
It's subtle with no intention of harm.
It's just curiosity - 
how did you get away so silently? 

Like a ninja, 
 master of stealth,
making no sound,
leaving no echo -
You slayed a player,
and freed your self.

And now, they search for you.
You've become invisible.
They fear open contact because
they're knowingly in the wrong.

No need to run.
No need to hide.
They'll never find you.
Inhale the heady air of liberation.


©Ellen Pepper 2025
Image: cornwallseawaynews.com

Fog

 

Black, bare branches against the infinite wall of fog.
Obscuration is at hand. 
In the distance, a pale nothingness.
On the windows, drops of condensation.

The mind absorbs the vacuum of sound.
Vague movements unsettle the senses.
Kittens crouch in trepidation.
A lone dog barks in the distance, his tone muted.

Wraiths of lovers past.
advance silently on unseen feet;
their mouths forming words, yet soundlessly.
Then, they are again enveloped
Only shards of memories remain.

Surely, Neptune is nascent -
illusion is at hand.
Dreams spin a glamour;
Self-delusion is fanned.

And now the heavy rains begin.
The world is washed clean.
The floodwaters of feeling are arising.
No more fog is seen.



©Ellen Pepper 2025
Image: freepik.com