YOU’RE THE WEAK ONE
You’re the weak one, you’re a bully. The weak one is definitely
The bully is always the weak one, but your weakness you can’t
seem to see.
So, I’m going to try to shed a little light on your weak and inappropriate ways.
Your weakness began on your first bullying day.
Your false sense of power is not strength at all; it is a cry for help desperately trying to break through.
I actually feel a little sorry for you.
Weak kids like you always seek to find other kids they can dominate.
Bullies do this with vicious words, inappropriate actions, and misguided hate.
Is being a weak bully the banner you want to carry for the rest of your life?
Get rid of the bully banner forever; take up a banner that shows respect,
understanding, and tolerance for others, and always hold that one very high.
Blank Verse Rhyme
The master said “create blank verse in lines of ten”.
Form five Iambic feet without a rhyme.
“These five Iambic feet you must achieve”.
The verse will have a rhythm you can hear,
when studied closely this will be revealed.
For, lines of blank verse rhyming discontents
the master. “Do it over, take all night”!
The lines of blank verse sing a little song,
each syllable, each rhyme, you’ll hear them ring!
You’ll sing the tune of verses blank and pure.
And now I keep up with this blank verse trick,
I hear its tick ten syllables per line.
It rhymes so soft; I have it mastered now,
so naturally it falls right from my pen.
Oh, where will this blank verse rhyme find an end?
Yet, twenty lines of syllables came out
much faster still than I had thought they should.
I love each rhyme, the timing so precise,
I hope it pleased the eye and ear. I turned
it in, it came back very clearly signed
Every day is the same,
With me wishing that something would happen,
Making it extraordinary,
The only time that I know I'm extraordinary,
Is when I write,
The words flowing from my fingertips,
Not worried what others think of me,
In my crazy middle school days,
All else fades,
And I am alone with my words,
But to create beauty,
Something that will move someone,
That will touch someone in ways they can't explain.
Words Bound Together
Thoughts Formed Between Lines
Knowledge To Absorb
Learns The Bookworm
Wishes Expressed By Letters
Ideas For All To Share
Building Blocks For Peace
Believes The Bookworm
Fact or Fiction Penned
Expressions of Desire
Mystery Exposed, Secrets Veiled
Hunted By The Bookworm
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
I do not know?
The Library (Words to the Wise)
Shhhhh! No talking strictly enforced!
Most folks abide, except children, of course
And those who can’t read, don’t care, or don’t want
Goof off in the corners, or sneeze
As sharp, darting eyes of librarians haunt
Do you think you can do as you please?
The wisdom of giants exudes from the walls
Words that amaze, mesmerize, and enthrall
Lie untouched, undusted, forgot, and unseen
For racks of harlequin romance
Replaced in small minds by pulp magazines,
The classics have lost their last chance
Mindless amusement is what the world craves
Poe and Lord Byron must cringe in their graves
Dickens and Tolstoy and Steinbeck don’t matter
Now Paris and Brittany rule
All lost in celebrity gossip and chatter
The true kings and queens look the fool
But one in a thousand sees past all the fluff
They pass by the newspaper comics and stuff
To linger and learn from some eloquent master
Igniting a dazzling epiphany
A small step for culture to detour disaster
And rise above kitsch and banality.
Here they go again.
anything to win,
layin’ it on thick,
makin’ sure it sticks,
slappin’ it on like lotion.
“click my stuff,
and I’ll click yours too.
wanna feel like the best
it ain’t true?”
back n’ forth complements
are so self defeating.
inflating other’s heads for praise
is a blatant way
“do unto others”
but don’t lie,
to boost their ego.
to raise their hopes
should clearly be illegal.
no need to read
of their work
while scratching their backs
poets thought to be adored
while chewin’ truth’s gristle.
before you swallow,
broke a tooth that hurt
like a damn
feeding on lines
with hidden agendas
than bein’ ignored.
cuz’ when you find
copy n’ pasted comments,
are sadly floored.
reading and endorsing work
you actually enjoy,
feedin’ folks a line of crap
laced with praise
‘Edgar Allan Poe … ’ (Classical-Tribute) 64th Senryu
Edgar Allan Poe ...
Master of Scary Suspense
The Raven … The Pit and The Pendulum
House of Usher … Annabel Lee , etc.
(“She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night”)
one of my favorite poetry-lines
THE H'I.Q. CAFE VS THE COOKIE CUTTER SCHOOL
I arrive early, eager to share my newest concoction with the other bakers.
The baking school is bustling. A new friend approaches me and whispers, “You didn’t actually TRY to make cookies, did you? EEK! Cookies are scary!”
“What?” I’m stunned. “Just last week you made a flambé!”
“Ahem.” One of the head bakers approaches, looking stern. “What do you have there?”
“Cookies!” I feel proud. They aren’t perfect cookies. But they’re tasty.
“Well, I doubt that,” he snips. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
I open my tin and smile.
Several chefs gather around and sniff. One says, “Is that cinnamon?”
“Cookies can NOT have cinnamon. And it’s shaped like a heart! Cookies MUST be round. And half of it is dipped in chocolate and . . . are those nuts?”
“You are a rogue baker who refuses to learn! Fie upon you!”
The other chef grimaced. “AND that is NOT a cookie.”
“It’s not? Then what is it?”
I look down at the tin. “This is MEATLOAF?”
“Yes. You see cookies are exactly 3 inches wide. And they use simple ingredients! They can not be overly sweet or spicy and they are NEVER dipped! ALL COOKIES MUST BE THE SAME OR THEY ARE NOT A COOKIE! THERE ARE RULES!”
“Bra-bwar-broobe,” someone mumbles behind me.
My new friends have stuffed their faces with my cookies. One gulps and repeats. “But these are good! What are they?”
“They’re hermits,” I say and blush. “The new cooking school in town encouraged me to try something new. I just whipped 'em up.”
“Any more?” Another chum asks, licking his fingers.
“Sorry. I made several dozen, but the H’I.Q. Café across the street bought most of what I made. And they put in an order for more next week.” I look at the head chef and cock an eyebrow. “Apparently, people really like my meatloaf.”
In English classes my skull would be reelin' with a myriad of perplexities,
Strugglin' to cope with English Composition with its multitudinous complexities!
I could never comprehend (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or danglin' participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak", my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intricacies of the English lingo now and correctly!"
The long-sufferin' teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol gonna help me fly a plane?
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled those terms in trying to compose any of my sentences!
Fiddle faddle! Why, I mused from my naïve and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn, each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel!
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head a-spinnin',
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginnin'!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration
I somehow managed to accumulate enough English credits for graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line - or would me they disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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