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Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Preoccupied with the Faults of Others: stay in your lane

Some people come to church just to be seen
No Holy nor any Ghost in them can be gleaned

Now Jesus was in the temple 
Teaching a class
Until some Pharisees came to Him
Acting like an ***
They presented a woman to Him
Whom they say committed adultery
Trying to set a trap attempting
To rebuke His sovereignty
Jesus drew a line in the sand
And He then spoke at last
He said "he who is without sin
Be first a stone to cast"

To focus on the faults of others
Causes one to neglect one's own responsibilities
Preoccupied with other's wrongdoings
Makes one blind to their own atrocities
Now I have to ask this one question
Where did they find that woman at?
For in order to accuse her of adultery
One of them must have participated in fact

To look into others lives 
Is not your purpose not reason for being
Stay in your lane and focus on
The road you are seeing
Too preoccupied with the faults of others
And not addressing your own shortcomings
Minding someone else's business
An enterprise you're not even running

Instead of looking at someone else's load
You should be looking at the Lord
Staying on your road
And all will be above board
So don't look left, don't look right
Just keep looking straight ahead
Be a productive human being
And by the Holy Spirit now led
To be a help and not a hindrance
To your fellow man
Not preoccupied with the faults of others
But to lift up and help stand

So stay in your lane 
And guard your behavior
Focus on teaching others to do right
Like Jesus the Christ Our Savior






Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2018


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Where do we come in

Where do we come in
					in medias res  not knowing nor caring when
doesn’t everybody pine being number one we leave behind our lives in pages  pictures  or else make for images of what we saw dreamt of as part of our lives in marble  stone  rock  twisted metal  scrawled hieroglyphics of the tortured deserting mind do we have to leave then or when or do we strain for more  ours and others
lives in one vista of the whole on the tele they are playing games   plentiful games  rubber boats  caves and scaly cardboard mountains in gluey-glossy plastic colours each team was flown in on the sponsor’s purse each team member  tailored for each part  sporting spotted crocodile scales  bunny tails  blown butterfly ears  bearhair streaming down from head to toe in a brownish hugging fur hue before and after  the sponsor’s exclusive breaktime slot invited guests clapping deaf on peak dinnertime  and for millions and millions of others relaxing at home  or maybe standing leaning against the open door or lolling on sofas  sweetmeats within reach of crawling fingers  highballs in handsafter lush juices streaking down protein-heaped plates turned to a gravy curd on the low table that the au pair would remove before the programme end   while the prize board chalked hundreds of thousands  for those who merely did nothing else other than have themselves a ball
      in whose stomach-holes do the golf balls sink  	

	the postman in the morning brings in the Waste Industry’s thick envelopes stuffed with multi-coloured magazines together with ball-points with your name inscribed as though you were to be called on to affix your signature to international treaties that last only as long as the ball-point would that is to say three and half days if you use it only twice your name and add elegantly embossed on handsome stickers asking for handouts with glorious recall of their efforts for the poor the sans abri the diabetics the heart-stricken the spastics the handicapped the endless medical research for cancer how many million times can research be duplicated and all those lush colours in deluxe printed covers  if only they could print a poem for some poet without a literary agent every time they send out a bulging envelope  you give to one and the whole damned carnival is at your door cymbals clanging voices hymning every week of the year  year in and year out they send you their mag with professional photos of dying but well-fed sick forsaken-looking children posing from Ethiopia India Costa Rica ha the Rich Coast what you give in return cannot cover the cost of stamps after a mere stream of au secour calls for oeuvres caritatives during a period of weeks or months  
	in whose sick souls do the golf balls sink
what are they doing so wonderful that is not like the blaring blazé voice of the compère on the tele on a Saturday evening primetime show who gets paid in the hundreds of thousands just because he’s a celebrity and all the made-moi-selles in the front row with tongues lolling would at the slightest glance be ready to lick their hands  a tincan Saturday night chivalrous mounted charger whom the hebdomadaire hounds write pages and pages about their visits to any old place what they wear which senorita worshipping at their lapels  so often that people don’t look at their faces anymore for they know every feature by heart every trait every dimple and pimple  
in whose brain holes do the golf balls sink
right round the year shine tennis stars  the same faces jumping up and down the ATP  grunting and swearing after balls that bounce out and away from their needless hands their eyes straining beyond all measure of human endurance  each ball they hit virtually a hundred dollar bill  and when they are pushed down in the ATP list by the fresh teens buoyed by muscle tyre-lessness  there’s always the clowning in the rigged up exhibition matches or the doubles or mixed doubles Man and John  Yan and JM to take the laugh out of the bounce in the yo-yo ATP also-ran list
	in whose psyche-holes do the golf balls sink 
what do they send in the post to the directors of the beggars’ opera  what do popstars contribute they who sell the I heard that classical melody song on bandaid to millions and get gold in return infinitely more than they can use   who filled the paupers’ grave with Mozart  who gives a thought to the lonely pilfered Cervantes but the Sancho of his delirium
in whose a-holes do the golf balls sink
was that MJ gyrating grabbing his crotch in a spacecraft  the decor specially ordered and paid for   for the nonce  what did it cost  what’s the cost of an Ethiopian peasant Indian meal a day  uncooked corn or flour douzed in tinned or dried milk  the surplus waste of white markets  all above-board of course   eaten out of rusty discarded worm-twirling tins and cans and shells of infested coconuts
	in whose dream-holes do the golf balls sink  
	where do the directoires of the beggars’ opera dine what do they suck on  and how often do they sup together in the name of the needy all over the romping world  do they wine themselves while gobbling on foie gras caviar shark’s fin and pheasant or is this an impudent question  you the charity-mongers
   so here we come in   
in medias res
	it ain’t mon problème that the needy can’t ask but in the street   i’m not the conscience of the world  the grapes of wrath  the martyrised conscience of the common Indian patting tortias on the mud patch a strong people don’t need a strong man how do you make a people strong if not with tortias and chilli con carne  are they still strong where Zapata left only his riddled body in straw sandals  has the Indian peasant still enough fight left in him where drug cartels rule a kingdom where ideals hardly thrust up on reefers
follow the golf balls and squirm jumping up and down in a squirting frenzy on the mons veneris
© T. Wignesan –Paris, 1997  From the collection (revised) : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I don't know why Cliches are Bad

Every poet worth their sault
Every teacher and professor declare you will prove to be as dense as a London fog
Using clichés
But I think clichés make it clear as the nose on your face
That there are things as beautiful as the day is long
And as far as the eye can see
As many to enjoy as there are chins in a Chinese phone book
So my advice to young writers,
From time to time abandon the ship USS Proper Expression
Be above board
Do an about face
Make clear as a bell
That a rose by any other name does still smell as sweet
That absence still makes the heart grow founder
Airing dirty laundry is a no no
And if you must have an ace up your writer's sleeve
Let it be a cliché!


Copyright © Americo Petrocelli | Year Posted 2016


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Would a rear vision mirror help

I can only presume your neck is in a brace,
Or why else could you not see what is in your wake.

I have a mirror you can borrow so you can see the fish you refused to take,
Now just treats for the sharks.

And what about your quota is that all above board and ship shape,
Or should I arrange a visit for you to see your fishing future,
I know you can look forward even with your brace on.

How about your ethics, are they the ones you started out in life with?
Or have you used undue influence to get a better quota.

If you have time to talk there is a solution,
That will still let our grandchildren's children have fish and chips.
A new kind of net a clever Kiwi has invented
Which lets the wrong sized and unwanted fish swim back out.

You will even notice the fish that you catch,
Will be less bruised and better to eat.

This new net may even save you some maintenance costs,
So you can lower your quota,
For the sake of our grandchildren's children.



Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the Adolescent Christ

in the book of Luke there's a reference that's mentioned
a disclosure of the boy named Jesus and His future intentions
He had been chosen to wear the Jewish crown upon His head
and attend to  His Father business, a destiny spirit-led
the teenage boy Jesus, the Adolescent Christ
understood at an early age He had a true mission in life
born to the carpenter Joseph and the Virgin Mary
born in the city of Nazareth in abject poverty
an immaculate conception, born out of wed-lock
many could not perceive of the gift His parents had got

one day Jesus and His parents travelled out of town
but on the road back home, Jesus could not be found
His parents became frantic, they could not understand
that He would be in the temple fulfilling God's master plan
the Adolescent Christ was just trying to comprehend
His true purpose for being on earth among mere men
He was seeking the knowledge that which He needed to know
from whence He had came and where He was destined to go
He was appointed with a chosen destiny
and had a desire to know why He was given this activity

don't go about allowing society to put labels on you
don't allow anyone to tell you what you can not do
seek out your lineage and about your ancestors learn
then apply that knowledge to everything in life you need to discern
for you have been chosen just like the Adolescent Jesus Christ
remember God had a purpose for giving you life

as youths yourselves, you are in a precarious situation
not quite adults but needing your own sense of validation
walking a fine line between the young and the old
trying to be respectful with a desire to be bold
the Adolescent Christ, Jesus the boy king
determined to discover what His appointment did mean
and just like the teenagers of society today
searching, hoping and seeking to find their own way
with a craving to look beyond their own expectations
wanting to exceed their ancestors accumulations

just let the Lord God strengthen you and let Him be your guide
and like His son Jesus Christ, let the Holy Spirit in you reside
trust in Him, believe in Him and may your conduct be above board
discover your heritage and your destiny while doing the work of the  Lord





Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the content of your character: to be like Joseph

your natural talents may get you into life's proverbial car
but it's the content of your character that will drive you far
true success doesn't always come with financial prosperity
true success is measured by how you maintain your integrity
it matters not your title, your status nor the things you possess
it's the content of your character that will make your testimony progress

nothing happens overnight and true success is usually a journey
and your character is what will provide the meat for the gravy
just don't become arrogant and think you can do it all alone
for humility is the bulldozer that will knock you off your throne

to be like Joseph who by his own brothers was sold and betrayed
to be like Joseph who despite everything from his character he never strayed
never to become discouraged and angry by the hand in life he was dealt
never to compromise his belief and integrity nor to become bitter by the hurt

your character will maintain you no matter the circumstance
your integrity and faith will sustain in spite of the happenstance
God has great plans for you and He's already mapped out the chart
plans of hope and a future with a righteousness of heart
for whatever God has in mind for you nothing and no one can ever stop
He will always keep His eyes on you and lift you up to the top

so let the content of your character remain steadfast and above board
as true success and prosperity will be coming from the Lord


Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2008


Details | Above Board Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Neal Spiel

Back in the day, to earn my way
I added minutes to callings cards for which clients would pay
To avoid impropriety
Their address was required for security.

One day a gentleman called in named Neal,
But his address he would not reveal!
"I don't understand," he whined, "why do you pry?"
"Sir," I said, "it's just something we must verify."

"Well, I think you're invading my privacy!"
"Sir, my employer requires it for legitimacy-
Since the credit card number is already stored,
it's to confirm the charge is above-board."

At this he sniffed and then claimed
The address was still the same
As the one listed under his name.

I sighed, "Sir, I may just be a clerk,
But it must be specific, 'It's the same,' just won't work."
Around and around on this point we went
Until my patience was tapped, my energy spent.

"So, Neal," I said to end the fight,
"I show it is 72 Moss St, is that right?"
"Yes, it is," he agreed immediately.
"Now that's funny, I don't see how that could be,
Since that's MY address, and I know you don't live with me!"

"Oh, um-" click! and there the call ended-
But that wasn't my address, I only pretended!

7/30/18
Fool Me Once contest
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri




Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018