How loathsome the murmurs seething around
Amid the lies I pitch into a city's mind,
That malicious whispers know my sound
By ruining your name...am I unkind
When friends become bashers, when real truth gets drowned?
Life is copy paste
Bashers have the same script
Demolition hate.
The babes of bigots
rainbows underfoot
appealing smiles
am I doing good
tomorrow’s
curb smashers
our baby gay bashers
innocent enough
believing in Santa
and their parents’ love
Don't weep-she's a tough old broad.
She's been through all of this before.
The riots-plagues, socialist and communist rot.
9-11 and two ugly world wars.
Corruption and jack-assed coup attempts.
Hyenas bent on destruction and mayhem.
She's stumbling about now, bashed-bruised and battered.
by malcontents and anarchists.
Stung by thugs and the pyrite of socialists.
She's steadily regaining her balance.
Dusting off robes from (cop)webs of injustice.
There are still rats and bats and fat feral cats.
In her attic crown that has to be put down.
Now she's loading up the blowtorch.
With God's blood and the grace of old glory.
To scorch the abusers and bashers.
The blight that creeps about in the night.
Don't weep for the lady, she's a tough old broad.
She'll be shining again when the people have awoken.
When they're casting their votes into the roar of November.
A Collaboration with Marti Sutherland
Circling the table before they feast, black ravens crow
bright beady eyes darting to and fro, away they go
landing on a wounded body that has not yet died
circling the skies before they feast, dark ravens cried
On their bellies through titanic grass, slimy snakes slither
forked tongues searching for innocent prey, coming hither
Reptiles crawling from under rocks, cold-blooded and chilled
their fangs leaving lethal bites, and another victim is killed
skulking in shifting shadows, deceitful humans lie in wait
Bearing no name, no face; beware of the wicked who hate
Brutal bashers who take what they want at the cost of life
Back stabbers living in a harsh world where hypocrisy is rife
Ravens, snakes and evil humans sit on thrones of deceit
Like black widows they feast on their mates when they cheat
They spin their lies so easily, like the sticky web of a spider
Beware you are not caught when their mouths open wider
C-reating an ode to your name
H-as brought a thousand thrill;
E-arly tenth of March month,
R-ising sun warms the chill.
Y-es, an ode to your name needs an acrostic rhyme;
L-etters are built into sentences that are stunning and sublime.
N-ew meaning is well-penned
O-r written with noble aim;
N-o way will bashers make
A-n ode to your
N-ame.
Every poet
has a bucket,
yes a bucket,
and in each one
we carry trash
junk litter waste
scrap, anything
and everything
we’ve ever found.
No one wants it.
You cannot help
that you want it.
Sit on the ground
stir its contents
crumpled, dirty,
still, something shines.
Mold the pieces
polished, pristine,
and it’s all yours.
No one wants it.
But you want it.
Keep wanting it,
keep changing it,
say the word “trash”
over, again,
listen until…
it lost meaning.
Such a bucket
will not whisper.
They can’t whisper—
Shh! It’s singing!
Do not spill it,
do not hate it,
defile, reject,
or compare it.
Close your ears to
bucket-bashers.
We are not all
meant for buckets.
Unlucky ones.
The bucketless.
Share you buckets!
Share their figures!
They’re ready now.
Fame? uncommon.
Glory? Hardly.
Revenge? Perhaps.
But joy? Always.
Keep happiness
in your bucket.
Pity those with
flat, fumbling hands
that carry naught.
Share your buckets,
and spread your joys!
They want it now.
Look, The proof is in the Bible
That must make me a disciple
Anyone who is against Christ lies
And I cannot deny Ive been down that road
But all we ever get is a sigh
People calling us "Bible bashers"
While the devil is in the trash
Teens thrash and OD on pills
No I don't live in the holly wood hills
No I don't get paid big bills
God only accepts wills
Not massive kills and murder
But why is there no order in the real world?
Because in Church it hurts deep inside
It hurts because outsiders are not more alert
Its a curse and it only gets worse
People die because of there choices
and all we can do is cry and wonder why
Its the meth that makes people crazy
the heroin that has no hero
people waste there life to zero
and here I am being called the weirdo
I'm trying to help not make them give up
the moral is this
Live and let learn
Just don't be surprised when you get burned.
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