America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
shot dead- see fear
they'll hear-hush now
killers are near
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Whispers of a Muse
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014
His life was gentle, and the elements
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and
bodies in unregistered cars idling softly toward oblivion
some quick to anger
some quick to profit
some quick for justice
some tigers lapping blood
some mothers still at 3AM
hands on shoulders with coos commanding
that in a tear and turned cheek there be 'integration'
parody: an orphan annie reboot
parody: 'little black sambo 'round the tiger pit he go!'
we have rioted the last of our colors
bleated them with flexed toes to the wall at the edge of the universe to reverberate starless between
we have bleated the last of our colors
with centuries gone by without tongue, sockets or lobes
we will bleed the last of our colors
some quick to die
some quick to steal
some quick to burn
some quick to
lend me your car keys
in a night of full of Alarics
I will bury you
in a night full of piccaninnies
I will melt you to butter
in a night where flames are fishhooks
Sir I need you to step back please
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
we have cried Havoc
and with purple'd prose stamped this hollowed earth
We who have lived so long
shall with our breath turned mist
I need you to
stain only under stones
that pave with slippery breath
a headline for last weeks massacre
and tomorrow's graves
I need you to
I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it
They are not breathing
Look! Look there!
I will not.
Copyright © Brooks Lindberg | Year Posted 2014
I kiss her red honeyed lips
She allows the milk
of my iniquity
to wash over her
The pain of her sadness
washes away my cruelty
I leave my rifle at her feet
November 11, 2016
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
As he slept in tranquil dream,
Suddenly he flew, it seemed.
Thrown and landing on the floor,
Shaking walls and splintered doors.
Just as quick, the room grew still.
Distant tremors he could feel.
Out the door, and up the rock,
There he stood in sleepy shock.
How could oceans disappear.
Then a hissing he could hear
And a trembling, heavy roar
Headed for an empty shore.
Sunrise turned a greenish hue,
As he climbed, a better view.
Seeming far too large, he saw
What must be a water wall.
Thought of ancient stories told
Of a wrath that could unfold;
Sucking oceans with a breath,
Spewing endless waves of death.
Instinct quickly cleared his mind.
Panic now, he clawed and climbed.
Up, despite the screams he hears,
As a village disappears.
Once an evil came to call,
Scooped them up and took them all.
Now he's old, his stories wane,
Of the morning Satan came.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
I have died so long ago.
The pieces of my bones were buried in Sheol.
It was so dark where I lay now.
My flesh is rotten and almost gone.
I have lived once in this world,
Where a loving family I was involved.
A dearest mom who loved me so,
Loving siblings I treasured most!
I'm a free-spirited young lady.
I love to entertain the world,
Wind hums as I hit the notes.
The nature became my hidden world.
I was once a fruit in a tree.
Until one day, a harvester picked me.
Still unripe, too young and fresh.
He stole my innocence.
Too many years past and my seed grew.
I have started bearring fruits.
But the harvester did not content,
He pulled me out from where I'd been.
He murdered me on one darkest night.
Then buried me beneath the ground.
I'm so helpless, no voice to shout!
My breath is counting one by one.
Until I surrendered the last air in my lungs.
I have died so long ago.
This girl that you used to know,
Isn't the one who writes a poem.
She had died so long ago.
She walks every night to find her home.
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
It's filled with pain
My mind is stained
Stained with every memory
Sometimes I think today will be my last day
This place causes me so much pain
I wish I didn't have to stay
Some days are worse than others
Dying for food
I'd do anything
To many things go through my head
Will I be able to keep down my next meal?
Will I live for tomorrow?
Is this terrifying place even real?
I feel so alone
Yet I'm surrounded by people
But this place could not be called a home
There's no life in these places
Or in these faces
Everyone looks dead
As so do I
Most of us haven't been fed
My eyes have been marked
With these dead bodies that lay upon the ground
Without a soul I still look at them
Soon I may be found
As one of them
Copyright © jack Taylor | Year Posted 2014
Horrid hellion hunger that rips apart the soul
Sadly starving siblings where death takes its toll
Crippled children crying a mother lives in hell
While wicked ways of man making money for their sell
Vindictive violent victories, of man vs. man
Kabbalistic killing kids a death wish with a plan
Wrathful widespread Wars with blood over spilling
Betraying battling brothers kiss their cross before the killing
Repeated rancorous raping for only a woman knows
Destructive demeanour dancing the desecration of a rose
Sabotaging silent stealing virginity within the night
Demonic deception dwelling a battle we must fight
Let us pray now for all of this we can abolish
Breathe in strength and give the world its needed polish.
March.21.2016 THE ALPHABET CONTEST - LETTER A- Abolish -By Alfred Vassallo
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016
They were bank robbers and their names were Bonnie and Clyde.
They robbed banks in six states until 1934 when they both died.
In addition to robbing banks, they also robbed stores and service stations.
They killed thirteen people, they were dangerous and caused devastation.
In 1933 the dangerous duo teamed up with Clyde's Sister-In-Law and her husband, Buck.
Clyde's brother was killed four months later and Bonnie and Clyde soon ran out of luck.
The next year they were driving on a road in Louisiana and they didn't know they were in danger.
They were ambushed and killed by a posse that was lead by a Texas Ranger.
The posse fired one hundred and sixty-seven rounds and Bonnie and Clyde were hit fifty times.
They were deadly murderers and thieves but they ended up paying for their dastardly crimes.
(This is a true story about Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker who were killed on May 23, 1934.)
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014
Death, die and be dead.
Ah, so gently said.
Just remember destruction is never well fed...
Currently, I am carted by a decrepit flaxen bus
whose savaged seats seem mercilessly ravaged
by beasts of anger and rage with monstrous identities.
My fluent friends flash as talking trees,
and swollen branches thrash wildly, speaking
morbid messages to me in the roaring rain.
Out of nowhere, I notice modish danger as
the driver transforms from his jovial image
into a gesturing joker of mocking madness.
Reacting, I claim the frightened formation
from his foreign tongue to be in unison,
and we follow his lead like frantic frogs.
As sudden horror roars and fear nears,
bullets crash and clash through muddy windows
of the stalling bus, our possible metal coffin?
I'm electrocuted by my emotions and my soul sweats.
My unconscious body of breath, heartbeat and blood
are in a trinity of terror, admit silent statues.
My arms quake and quiver as only flesh protection
against steel, bullets, glass and the burning bus.
Blood rushes like falling rose petals from my open skin.
Death is the black harp where every note is a life.
No! No! I do not want to be a singing song soul!
I desire my 14 year old mortality to remain true!
Now, in the nest of the ambulance cloaked in medicine,
I reek of sadness as I learn that the bus driver and two
classmates perished from the pollution of power hate.
Death, die and be dead.
Ah, so gently said.
Just remember that destruction is never well fed...
Sponsor Broken Wings
Contest Second Chance
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
I feel the world crashing around me,
my breath fading.
Pain surges through my body.
I fear my hope of life is diminishing.
All is lost I can feel the regret of every lost sole.
I long for relief but all I feel is torture.
When will it all end, when will the last hour be, how will I suffer death?
Copyright © Olivia Brag | Year Posted 2014
I watched my mother
Beautiful, petite, smart
Widowed at 28 with three small children
And people said, "Be extra good, your mother is fragile."
A blonde Jackie Kennedy,
Right down to the pill-box hat
The early 60s when women were pretty, songless birds
Protected in their husbands' split-level cages.
Remarry was the only way, "they" said
As she ran for public office, favored to win.
But he wouldn't have a wife that worked
Unless ironing his shorts three times to get it "right."
Glass is fragile. I found that out
As I heard him smashing it when he beat her at night.
Bones are fragile. I found that out
When mommy had broken fingers and toes after loud nights.
My mother was many things.
A victim. A woman. But fragile?
Mommy bird sang a song of invincibility
As she escaped her cage with five children in tow.
I have two girls of my own. Smart.
Beautiful. Compassionate. I am proud.
They know that fragile means breakable
And that women in our family are more steel than glass.
Fragile is for collectibles we buy and sell.
My mother taught me we cannot be owned.
Fragile is for birds without a voice.
But my mother sang, even if in a different key.
My mother was the strongest woman I ever knew.
I hope she looks down on her female descendants
And sees that one Jackie-like woman in a pill box hat
Inspired generations of decidedly non-fragile women.
January 26, 2017
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2017
Barbarous reason rejoices
and draws strength dispensing death.
Its celebration comes with
cold effigies of blood soaked,
ravaged, masked graves of silence,
leaving any subsequent regret
within the heart of the stonecutter.
The suffocating privacy
of each muddy sepulcher
calls out its loss-but who will listen
through the rumble of the caissons roar?
Fear has no time to mourn.
Only after the flame
leaves its postscript
are the cries of the Widow heard-
then wars agony entreats the soul...
War & Heroism Contest
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017
She is slowly slipping away,
She sees no point laying waiting to decay,
Tired of the names shes starting to beleive,
The thought of leaving for good gives her relief,
Shell do anything just to get the slightest peace,
Were ever she goes shes used as a punching bag,
Shes sick of it wants it to go away wanting payback,
She tried to get away with drugs but theres no impact,
She wants to paint a red mural at school hoping it add some abstract,
Ptsd takes over she is done with the flashback,
Feeling desprate She plans it out on a scatch pad,
She cant stop the heat from rising she gets mad,
She doesnt care shes maping out her ending,
Shes tired of everyone disrespecting,
They pushed her to this shes done pretending,
Theres no more heart left for mendind,
Theres a assembally today she knows theyll all be attending,
This is her idea of defending,
This time theyll be the ones accepting,
There they all seated like targets,
She says this is what you started,
Most of you watched did nothing to help your all the culprit,
She steps on stage the whole crowd bursts into laughter,
She said get ready this is a disaster,
She pulls out a gun blows of rounds,
One by one the students fall to the ground,
Finally thetes no one left to make a sound,
Shes finally is set free she lets out a smile,
A happiness she hasnt felt in a while,
Shes on the news today shes the only survivor,
It all planned out they call her a fighter,
Copyright © Ashley Poole | Year Posted 2017
I have become the tree, perched on a limb,
Bow in hand, camouflaged grey, black, and brown.
Looking with my eyes, not moving my brim,
Detecting movement, the forest slows down.
Suddenly, a flicker of ear and tail,
Flashes in the sun entering my view.
Deer browsing, eyes darting, heads bob, ears flail,
Squirrel climbs near, my position askew.
Chattering loudly, bushy tail thrashing,
Alerting of danger for all to hear.
Blue jay flies in and joins with jeers lashing,
Deer, with a flick of the flag, disappear.
Why can't humans communicate so well,
Spanning differences, on earth where we dwell?
Copyright © Michael Vacek | Year Posted 2017
i don't think sO
why the bus there is
as danGers as the sitting in my own homE
i am a Coward
i do shake with fear
for i am sure of my death
i am a citizens of the United States
a Land that Is loved by me
but give me No rights
gives me no protection under The law
how else cOuld someone rob my safe despot box
in broad day light
i the coward dare Not speak up
i the coward was shaking in my boots
when i saw the man in the red turban
standing there in the bank
as i came from the should be safety deposit box
the box that was fill with my lyrics
the lyrics the famous keep stealing
the lyrics that where under lock and key?
i do hate the coward in me
what do you think (Wikileaks)
Copyright © verlecia fields | Year Posted 2017
Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside
Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?
They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.
Copyright © Alexander Blackie | Year Posted 2017
There was a loud explosion, followed by shouts of glee
The rat-a-tat-tat of gunshot, was suddenly surrounding me
It was much to my horror that my husband bought the game
And to watch my boys playing it, nearly drove me insane.
They blew things up, they shot at them, and they loved every shot
“But it will warp their minds” I said, my husband said “It will not.”
He promised he would sit with them, but that’s cos he wanted to play
And he said he could drum into them that it is just a game that day.
I peered round the doorway, I watched him guide them through
They cheered, and laughed at gruesome bits, my husband cringed a bit too
But as they grew they learned, but I know this is not true of all
Mine are both big wimps, and even husband on seeing blood will fall.
They cannot stand needles, a paper cut makes them cry
They cannot watch the news, when there is death and destruction awry
So in all honesty I don’t agree with violence in video games at all
But I think it’s up to the parents to make the final call.
Children in days of old, shot each other with a home made stick gun
They made swords out of anything, and always fought to the death in fun.
Play has changed they are safer inside, the trouble now I think this is it
Is when they are left to their own devices and the videos are used just to baby-sit.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013
Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday, somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…
I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money, is it land?
I do not own any of them, I’m just a simple man
I remember, when I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmothers hands…
You ripped me away from her, from my home
You took me away from my heart, you took me away from my soul
I feel helpless, I feel low
It’s hard to play along when I know, I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.
When I look at my country, people I want to save
When I look around me, people I wish to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
When the world around is bigger than you
To the fools who dare murder in his name
When God gave us life…
He warned us, only he can take our lives…
Oh Syria, my home
Oh Syria, my all
Oh Syria, what did they hurt you for?
I am Proud to be your son…
Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2013
(Parents Peril * The Nightmare)
Evil sits and whispers - sweet lullabies
Chimes within my head,
Damnation scratches at my conscious
Of what was and is!
Water runs down my toes
Rain taps at my windowpane
A fear; I relive my childhood days
~~Dark April showers bring in a chronic look~~
Motions before daybreak, to face a colorless what!
The trickle of musty wind meshes under my skin
The panic begins to initiate the voices
Unstable - a gash of blood fills the mind
Dark feelings pollute the inside my head
Visions of slitting my wrist from end to end
My subconscious betrays my sanity
Praying is what got me through the dark-mares.
I held my own hand that very night
Telling myself it would be all right
MY EYES OPEN WIDE……………….
Walking down the narrow hall
The Chimes, the Chimes!
Snapped into a moment of crime
The trail of Sweet lullabies came from my parent's room
Shhh!!! Hush now, *humming to the evil chant*
Whispers of dust whisk through the air
I grab the envelope opener,
My heart pumps, piercing each neck
One by one, they look up -IT WAS ME-
A demonic child’s laughter erupts
A Chronic Pink look
Pacing off the bed
What have I done?
Cries of nothing led me back into my room.
There and only there, water sits under the sheets
The emptiness in my head was the sign of complete
Falling asleep to the quietness around the room
Waking up to, the parents peril sight every night
My subconscious holds no sympathy
To: relive the same chronic pink memory
AGAIN- I begin to hear the sound of scratching violins
Where dreams of demons wear pink
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
John F. Kennedy
The great 35th president of US
It wasn't really a success
He tried to stop the missile bases
There were lot of angry faces
When there was about to be a war
Peace was what he asked for
Texas was the place he was shot
Later, the criminal was caught
He didn't survive the pain
His people cried like the rain
Copyright © Heeju Kim | Year Posted 2013
Why am I emerging from the dark
Staring at a bench in City Park.
Breathless air without a bird in song.
So I sit, unknowing, yet belong.
Sudden waves of anguish flood my mind.
Feral, vicious, senseless bursts of time.
Then a calming whisper fills my ear
And my reason now, for being here.
Minutes of my final day proceed.
Mockingbirds and peanut squirrels to feed.
Speckled sun through breezy treetops sway
And two hidden figures inch my way.
Choking arms, a weakness, loss of breath;
Forced behind a thicket to my death.
Off they bolted free without a trace.
Now I'm vengeance. Patiently I wait.
I'm aware each footstep, as they move,
But this peaceful park is where I choose.
Soon they stalk again. I know the place.
Little do they know the wrath they face.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
The volatile excerpt reads “The behead-
ings that were carried out by the Isla-
mic State of Iraq and Syria, the
rage of hate is a control factor for
the power of the leader to be sup-
reme. Is this the measure of mankind?
The rigor-mortis that lay before us
is a terrorist creed dogma time clock.
None the less than government formed through doc-
trine of Qu’ran and Sunni stated to
be the divine order of all the land.
al-Baghdadi caliphate is mercen-
ary to the faith of the Middle East.
The rage of hate must be depleted now."
R oused was the first leader and destroyed.
a l-Baghdadi came on board.
G ruesome guerilla killed woman, man, and child for his caliphate.
E quality must be palpability today.
F ear that is caste by ISIS.
O ften is not considered by the people as a terrorist.
R egards are to the governess.
P opulations are nations
E volved to roam.
A spirations are not known.
C aliphate has formed.
E quity and identity is commercial paper shown.
Penned February 27, 2015!
This poem is a sonnet that is emphasized via an
acrostic for the desired effect on the stated form.
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
I have fallen in deep with pride tonight
My good intention used against me
I’m beguiled by ego’s pompous might
Dismissed was true grace; now I see
When clouded judgment led me onto
The reefs below and turbulent sea
‘Take a moment... maybe turn and run!
From false pride, you must disengage
Heed your conscience or come undone
Hear my words, do not become enraged
Endless is haunting of conscience, near dead
In this I implore you, with me, engage!'
What you choose this night determines tomorrow..
Turn about my friend; turn away from sorrow'.
For Craig's "Terza Rima Sonnet Contest"
(My first attempt at this and I'm afraid it's far from perfect)
Thanks to the friends who gave me much needed help...still revising.
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013
Put down the guns, lay down the knives
We are losing too many of our young lives,
The violence that you’re watching on TV
That is what’s happening, it’s our reality.
The death count’s rising, what are we going to do?
The Police need your help if they are to help you;
Are we going to wait until it comes to our door?
Or are we going to stand up and say “no more!”
We’re living like prisoners locked behind bars
A false sense of security as we run to our cars,
This is not the way for our people to live
Something must be done, something’s got to give.
All day long a mother sits and moans
Another senseless killing hits too close to home,
Johnny’s in school you’d think he would be safe
But this too has become just another violent place.
Our justice system has failed us once again
A murderer is on the street, a family’s in pain,
Another clever lawyer has earned his pay day
The children are now afraid to go out and play.
We run the risk of losing an entire generation
While damning the future of this great nation,
We must all be ready to stand up and fight
Because what is happening is just not right.
© 2016 Donovan T. Turnquest
Copyright © Donovan Turnquest | Year Posted 2016
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
If you thought the war was cold before,
take the temperature of Putin
Worry about a country that is your own,
do not invade what is Ukraine
No blame is dealt on citizens of either
but on poor leadership within
Copyright © ... Gigno | Year Posted 2014
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014