Bread hit them like a ton of bricks.
Bread can make one very sick.
Man minding his own business,
Quickly became a mayhem witness.
The teenage four, like the Joker’s core,
destroying aisles in the grocery store.
On a hot eve, they hit my man with a fighting bag.
It’s all a game…received more than a finger wag.
Like all good criminals they forgot camera’s rolling.
For act-out job, the manager - police would be calling.
But not until the chase and the chastening from victim.
Wrong guy - hoodlums shouldn’t have picked on him.
Life grew bland, banal, other B words
she said I need to gather a troupe
of like-minded sufferers
set up some auditions, form
a select band
we'll workshop the basics
characters, costumes
And then we'll act out the rest of our lives together
no need for cameras
or an audience
call it pure theatre
oh the dramas we will have
No it won't be any stranger than
singing in the parlour for friends
without a microphone, a paying crowd
you can call it the folk tradition
There wouldn't be haters if you ignored negative admirers
Are you really expecting honesty from a person who's a liar
Stay positive and expect the unexpected
Ignoring ignorance keeps you unaffected
You leave the house knowing you good in that dress
Yes the insecure are going hate so just ignore that mess
If most of us ignored ignorance road rage wouldn't be a success
Those who do things just for attention would fail in their quest
Ignorant people fuel their fire when they gain the attention of others
Why else does a spoiled child act out in public with it's mother
If you don't like ignorance then why do you stare at it
Listening to a person talking to himself knowing he's a drug addict
Have you seen the way people talk too loud just to be noticed
They would feel like a nobody if you would keep your focus
Ignorance becomes outraged when it doesn't get the attention it wants
Violence can't ignite or escalate if you ignore someone's taunts
Half the ignorant are defeated when you don't show a reaction
I ignore ignorance because i cant stand it with a passion
The politicians speak and act out in pure oxymoron.
By that I mean say one thing or promise one thing and do a next or the opposite. Some friends also do.
With warm cruelty and in a very nice and seemingly gentle sinister pretentious intentions.
Pure bare cold sweetly favoured and spicy nothings.....nothingnesses,
They promise you a great and propserous year.
But then they do absolutely nothing to improve your life in the slightest.
There is such a cold malignant mliciousness in the kindly promises.
The sweetest and most polished and sincerest sounding Bull you can ever imagine.
Trust them at your own damn risk, to your relaxed sleepy opium filled detriment.
Almost seems like all of them are the same.
No distinct difference.
As the Guyanese say maybe the only good one is dead.
Meaning that good comes with their bad death.
Don't get me wrong though, there have been and always will be a few really good and sincere ones Like my friend Dugu Gordon.
But most of them just live a disgusting honey money lie......they drown in a dirty legacy cesspool of rich bitter sweet mango jam irony and useless unnecessary excess wealth.
I remember he wore a dark, blue coat.
But remembering doesn’t mean much.
For a woman like me who feels fluttering and sees flying things.
I remember he wore a light, orange coat.
Then he turned into a traffic cone.
While I stepped into the street.
Nodding my head even without music.
Sound is forgettable.
Screeching cars feel bubbly and tumbling.
A coat of indeterminate color and appearance.
Means that they certainly won’t believe me.
He turned to me in an impossible, head turning way.
Painful, imperceptible.
Nodding along to the music instead.
I stepped in the street at 2:25 pm.
No one knows why I act out like this.
To me, danger is like an asteroid.
Always flying overhead, but I am an earthly boulder.
So danger to me is,
Just like me.
I had a few scrapes and bruises.
As I chased an impossible man.
I don’t think he’ll want to come back around here.
Knowing that there’s a person like me.
Life is an Act
As life marches on swiftly
As clocks tick incessantly
We, the shadows of existence
Act out our scenes
On the glorious global stage.
Are we heroes, are we failures?
Does the audience applaud or do they jeer?
Or do they bawl?
Our acts can enthrall
Or it can decimate us.
Are we role models?
Are we unworthy actors?
Do the youth stare in awe
Or do they cringe in horror?
What lessons are passed down?
What values are cherished?
Culture is eroded.
Language undergoes change.
Morals, ethics and values are mouthed
Devoid of meaning and understanding.
Words are spoken without feeling.
Actions robotic and plastic.
It must be nice to act out loud
And show the world of how you’re proud
Proud to live the American dream
With limitless opportunities for any esteem
Unless that esteem is made so small
By your people who wait for us all to fall
By being pressed into paper-thin size
As the cracks besides us collect our stack
You can hear the cries right before the shredded attack
If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
My love life truly is humanities' first dumpster fire
Not a wife to the chosen man; just dust from the same pan
Never the true love of heavens disgraceful clipped sparrow
A myth to those who think they've felt sufferage conspire
The other women from times beginning; imagine if you can
If someone; anyone, would have split that apple with an arrow
Immortal our paring, eternal love designed to bloom but never tire
But blind faith stepped in; to act out our benevolent sovereigns plan
My immortality was sacrificed for so-called perfection based on one man's marrow
By refusing to submit, his wrath named me "Lilith" to damnations' highest level for a woman, I would...... aspire
Se fosse tutto vero e fosse solo sincerita',
mi aspetteresti, non saresti sopraffata dalla trauma
e mettere in scena il tuo dramma teatrale:
che peccato e' vedere una stella esplodere su di me!
If all were true and it were only sincerity,
you would wait for me and not let trauma
overwhelm you and act out your theatrical drama;
it's such a pity to watch a star explode on me!
Tutti siamo all' estremo della nostra abitudine...
vera o immaginaria: chi puo' mai sfuggire
al destino? La sola consolazione e' di restare
vicino, senza arrabiarsi e gridare parole vane!
We all reach the end of our painful extremes,
whatever they are real or founded on imagination:
who can escape fate? The only consolation
is to stay closer without shouting vain words!
L'unica consolazione e' la sacra fiducia,
la solenne promessa che restera' intatta
e ci rafforzera' nei giorni piu' difficili;
si, crederemo nei momenti piu' felici!
The only consolation is the sacred trust,
the solemn promise that will remain intact...
it'll strengthen us in the toughest times;
yes, we'll believe in the happiest moments!
Fantasies glisten. Wealth untold.
Dimly clear; seen near and afar.
Wee men; chase around pots of gold.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
She wishes; he’d only listen.
When lovers drift. They drift bizarre.
Act out; miscue the rendition.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
He utters “turn the other cheek.”
Sneakers; lacing up the crossbar.
I pray he makes it through the weak.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
Don’t let distractions go too far…
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
Waves of the ocean are the music of the sea,
They hum and rumble in a perfect harmony.
Songs of the tides they compose, produced by the moon,
By using the wind to putter a rhythmic tune.
Dances of the loops, spins and leaps they carry out,
And blustery plays of thrills and chills they act out.
Blazing art they construct, on the ocean surface,
With strokes of sapphire and amber in countless shades.
Figures of foamy mountains they chisel and sculpt,
And embellish the beach with seashells and pebbles.
Ocean waves are the echoes of eternity,
And perfect models of implacable beauty.
Only takes one stone
for two people to act out
the damage is done
The Neighborhood
all trees
eyes please
The Neighbors
help out
act out
The Birds
they’re free
to flee
The House
barn red
homestead
The Driveway
steep high
blue sky
The Squirrels
mouse gray
spry play
The Tree
old bag
sights flag
The Flag
source-stripes
stars-hype
The Wind
whistles
bristles
The Moss
green spreads
it treads
The Owl
beware
its stare
Our Home
full of
God’s love
Over All
pleasant
present
Tweeting the Truth in Love
By Mark D. Stucky
We should be “speaking the truth in love,”*
posted Paul in Ephesians 4:15,
to speak and act out truth while filled
with self-sacrificial, unconditional love.
Not too-tough truth without compassion.
Not laissez-faire love without correction.
Certainly not rude comments
left on social media,
hidden from responsibility
by anonymity.
Certainly not tweeting lies with contempt,
insulting others with childish nicknames,
repeating falsehoods already debunked,
or disseminating self-serving distortions.
Paul didn’t excuse behavior so deplorable.
Why do so now?
*Note: Literally “truthing in love” in the original Greek text of the verse, incorporating both speech and actions.
(First published in Spirit Fire Review, 3 May 2022. See also my poems "The Art of the Devilish Deal," "Antisocial Media," and “What Would Jesus Tweet?")
(Image by Tina Nord on Pexels.com.)
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