Best Defendant Poems
I relate this story from my room in the Quiet Vale Giggling Academy
A reader might find my story hard to believe
BUT!
At one time in my life –
As a matter of fact quite recently –
I had just finished Dr. Doolittle’s great study
‘Talk to the Animals”
And after several months of following Doolittle’s observations
Found I could actually understand animal talk
Which was really just grunts growls and bodily motions –
Tail switches
Chop-licking
Lurches
Farts
Things such as that
Quite by accident
While walking in the woods one day
I happened on a scene
A robin told me was ‘animal court’
Resided over by Judge Grump
At once I noticed a huge lion
Seated on a stump
His heavy tail thumping the back of the stump
“When Grump thumps the stump court will come to order
And when Grump thumps the stump all better listen!” sang the robin
There were a number of spectators -
Squirrels
Possums
Raccoons
Deer
Birds
All chattering at once
So that Grump had to thump the stump many times
Growling horrendously till they stopped chattering
There was no jury
No lawyers
Just this marvelously striped tiger
Tail down
Standing in front of Grump seated on his stump
I assumed the tiger was the defendant
The lion judge began with a thump of the stump
“You are accused of eating your best friend
Is that correct?”
The tiger swished his tail
“Yes”
“A dachshund named Stretch
Is that correct?”
The tiger swished his tail
“Yes’
“Sad” the lion judge continued
“You were reported to have done everything together –
Touched noses
Sniffed out-holes
Even wrestled together
Such fine friends
What could have caused such an action on your part?”
At this point the attending group began chattering vigorously
The lion judge Grump thumped the stump
Thumped
And thumped
As thumping the stump wasn’t loud enough he growled
Finally the crowd quieted
“How could you do such a thing to your friend Stretch
I’m stumped.”
The tiger looked around
Eyes blazing
Jowls dripping
Gorgeous stripes undulating blazing in the sun
Tail swishing in manner of reply
“I was hungry” he said
“Case dismissed!” said Grump
With a thump of the stump!
My poems are words with soul - Silent One.
As a monotone morning sketches
charcoal trees under
smoke filled foggy skies,
rain casually falls,
sliding down slate roofs,
causing havoc for traffic
on bustling roads.
Red lights seem to shimmer,
shining through shades of grey,
as the sound of raindrops drip
against my BMW's black bonnet,
my mind drifts nonchalantly,
discarding beeping horns and FM beats.
I ponder
is it an act or is it an art
this thing they label as life,
living with a formula formed and forged
from a mix of experiences and emotions.
I begin to question myself.
(why do we do that?)
I seem to have adopted a sense of vulnerability,
fusing feelings of fragility,
since my hair infused into silver (yes I chose silver over grey) -
something my father warned against.
But I'm not as tough as him,
although he wasn't half the man I am...
Yet what I have seen and heard,
has ultimately made me who I am today
and in all the suffering I have
always searched for the light -
Rumi was right.
Maybe I'm too open minded,
too fair in this field of selfish spirits.
Maybe I'm not loyal enough to my beliefs,
which contradict my moral compass
and philosophical projections,
but I've never claimed to be saint.
My soul is telling me to shut up..
I've always wondered if I'll ever be understood..
At least I understand me - but is that any consolation?
It's not as simple as wisdom accumulating.
Sensitivity of a smile can never be underestimated.
You have to peer beyond the verbal,
non verbal - comprehend the action.
Sometimes I feel unloved,
many times invisible,
yet I seem to come alive in loneliness.
Would I be a plaintiff or defendant
in a court of your judgment?
I will always represent myself.
Words with speech have never been true confessions,
as my thoughts are too deep,
sometimes too unreliable,
that's why I never pen them down -
it scares my soul (who tells me again to shut up).
I wonder if I make sense. Soul calls it nonsense.
Green flashing circle says I can go.
An abrupt end to contemplation.
Sadly grey tones and
tints of tiredness remain.
Simple Musing
8 December 2023
Did you ever go hunting bear he asked
When you were traveling in the North West
No, I never went hunting bear,
Before I went, I always got dressed
Were you sexually active with the defendant
The lawyer asked the woman with the long blonde hair
She said no, your honor I was not
Most of the time I just quietly lay there
The officer said you were speeding sir
If you hit something at that speed, you’d be dead
Just keeping up with traffic, sir, now look
Because of you they’re getting so far ahead.
My wife said you love the Navy more than me
That yearning for the sea must be in your genes
I said you have nothing to worry about dear
I still love you more than I do the Marines
She said alcohol is no good for you
You’ve got to quit drinking she was pleading
I said I’ve read all the articles about drinking too much
And have decided to quit reading
She screamed you’ve been out all night
Where have you been
He said I waited for sunlight
So I could see coming in
we stimulate our minds for our intellect to grow
becoming more technical
remaining spiritually slow
so we face trials and tribulation
crisis and complications
praising God, while serving Satan
expecting love when spewing hatred
our faith is dissipating
until its totally forsaken
for miracles we pray
yet and still we disobey
missed lessons
means blocked blessings
wrong paths are chosen
cursed to glimpse the promised land but never enter like Moses
it's hard to humble ourselves cause we've got pride
so we find a hard head leaves a soft backside
when stressed i ride
reclined, inside
sounds booming
trying hard to decipher the message in our music
Pac said keep your head up
Treach said guard your grill
Wu sang protect your neck
Cube said to kill at will
Eazy said easy does it
Run said hard times
Jigga ask can I live
but Big ready to die
50 cent said get rich ore die trying
K.R.S made stop the violence, and listen to my nine
these are questionable times
that leave young impressionable minds
hoping to find success pushing dope on the grind
thinking all the pain would end if they became rich
but the harder they hustle the more pain and anguish
if we could understand the hustle
we would over stand the struggle
instead we constantly land back in trouble
on frivolous pursuits
searching for forbidden fruits
living lies until they collide with the moment of truth
I been there and done that
played with fire and got burned as soon as my hand healed I'd run back
so young and misguided
mama said don’t do it I tried it
it's by God's grace I survived it
flash back to my youth I was so naive and timid
wondering if that path I walked on is the one the Lord intended
tired of getting beat by bullies so I learned to prevent it
but I found my self in front of the judge as a defendant
five times aquited of crimes that I committed
but the one time I was innocent is when I got convicted
justice may be blind, but she so vindictive
so I struggle with it
trying to make since out of the senseless
A time for golfing after the crime
Crime committed but do no time
American justice is that what you call it
When guilt is determined by the size of your wallet
The government doesn't care if it's not fair
As long as they get their fair share
If Capone had paid his taxes long ago
He would have been Mayor of Chicago
If you have the cash, judges sit in awe
And put your actions above the law
A push for gun control is really hot
So their friends, the criminals, won't get shot
Hail the defendant, put his name in lights
Deny the victim his civil rights
For child molesters we need to change course
I would recommend a vigilante force
We can't fix organized crime and that's a sin
It's our own fault because we voted them in
American justice will never be the best
Until we enforce the laws like they did in the Old West.
An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch
The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.
The prosecutor alleged himself most stylish and best-dressed;
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.
The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.
The prosecutor began his case
by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene,"
he screamed,
"to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society)
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet.
Just look: his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar!
He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words
or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be
the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster."
The jury left in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair,
"Please, let me answer to my peers."
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.
Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.
***
A well-known poet criticized this poem for being "journalistic." But then the poem is written from the point of view of a journalist who's covering the trial of a poet. The poem was completed by the end of my sophomore year in college.
I don't look at the judge. I just look at the jury.
I don't look at the defendant or the defendant's attorney,
nor will I look a the prosecution assistant and or district attorney.
I will listen, not look at anyone giving sworn oath testimony.
As a juror I feel that it's my civic responsibility and duty
to decide strictly upon the evidence and not based on any ones appearance or personality.
My Justice is as blind as justice should be
not withstanding the decision that must be made beyond a reasonable doubt
based upon the hard core physical evidence presented to me that the judge will allow.
Every time I serve as juror, which believe it or not is an honor for me
I'm always dumbfounded by many other juror's stupidity
who are compelled to render this ultimate decision, Guilty or Not Guilty.
I wouldn't want 3/4's of the jurors I've met making such life changing decisions on me.
That's why I'll never turn down an opportunity to serve on a jury.
Everyone is Innocent until proved Guilty and all innocents need a juror like me.
When I informed a former boss that I was summoned to serve for jury duty,
my employer out right said, "Get out of it or you will no longer be employed by me."
Guess what I did. I served on the jury.
I'd rather lose my job, than risk someone who may otherwise be Not Guilty
losing much of their freedom and God given liberties.
*
Another personal note:
In Every Election I Vote.
*
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
We regret to inform you
If it pleases the court
We enter a plea of guilty on all counts
Failure to obtain happiness
Failure to find the light
Failure to find humanity
Failure to find hope
Failure to see laughter
Failure to be
Failure, failure, failure
So be it the court accepts your plea
We the court of your conscience
We the court of your very being
We the court inside your mind
Hereby sentence you to
Death
Has the defendant anything to say?
I repeat, has the defendant anything to say?
Slumped in the chair of exposed misery
Nothing more or left to say
Today our lord is in tyranny of the terra bound
Caught in barrier of the ruler,
From the hidden the maskers are engineering
And plotting,
The peoples being cursed of their rage
Are anti party one to other,
When to break up the chain of this sick society by the gentlemen!
And their standing under treaty?
Hay, fool peoples- your lord is today
Caught in their jail,
For how long shall you be stop paralyzed
In the pain of venom,
Just for once bring free that great soul
Who shall be the defendant,
And that great soul shall serve to all
The fragrance of red-green.
Oh! generous farmers labors youths
Oh! the joy of God,
Rise once again destroy
All their tricks,
They will never hear
To any your says of sorrow,
So, in the revitalization, rise yourself- rise others
Be the joy of dedicated leader.
Visions of you
I see a knight in armour – one of King Arthur’s – ready to do battle
at the drop of a word – for Queen, country, god and ego.
I see Babe Ruth, knocking balls out of the game,
in order to be the winning team – for god country and soul.
I see Amelia Earhart, taking on the air, the skies, the world
– for ego, spirit, soul, heart and the abused child / woman in her.
I see Muhammad Ali, putting on the gloves in order to knock out
all wood be challengers to her position, control, power, rightness.
I see a chess pro, taking out the pawns, the knights, the bishops,
rooks, the queen – check mating the king – putting him in his place,
- under her thumb, under her queen - winning the game.
I see a friend chocking up in the crunch – makes the wrong choices –
ends up missing, sinking the eight ball that she is now behind.
Never winning the game she so desperately wants to play well.
I see a friend who needs so much more than she is,
who needs so much more than she ever gets,
who needs to be a lover and loved,
who needs to be loved as a lover.
B. J. “A” 2
July 29th, 2003
Visions of you
Part Two
De ja vu - I see a sergeant, major, barking out orders, to all,
as if this world were her own private army.
I see a little Hitler, – mustache and all – trying to rule
her tiny, little universe – make it fit her ideal dream.
I see a Johnnie Cochran, and his dream team ( your demons ),
O J Simpson, the defendant, convincing herself and the world
she is truth, she is right, she is might, and as Jonnie Cochran,
the lawyer, the mouth piece shooting down - all reason, all logic,
all attempts – by denying, by lying, by deception, by trying
to baffle brains with bull ****, by throwing every irrelevant
- verbal diarrhoeaed – thought and word into the fray,
in order to distract, avoid the issues, the truths, to be right.
I see a Jim Jones, a Joseph Smith, preaching her gospel,
a gospel according to her - designed to have the sheep,
the blind, the week, the lost souls of this planet
to follow her path without question, and in the end,
sacrifice “ ALL ” for the sake of her fragile soul,
her floundering, lost spirit, her ill ego.
I see a friend, with a heart of gold, if truth be told.
More of a friend to those who have done her wrong.
then to those who truly care, about her welfare.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th, 2003
Faith, belief in the unknown,
Hope in the unfathomable
Reliance on the uncertain
Fleeting blessing, sexy mercy
Sweet contempt, I hold you.
The missing line in the rows of
corn
The implementation raven
The middleman hovering nigh
and up
Oh knot tightener.
Why do thou elude him?
Your ardent yearner
The boy-man;
who seeks thy face
The soldier-seer;
who craves thine audience.
What's the grudge unheard?
Why the muteness, why the
act
Why the wise game of chess?
Why the incessant sign-flash.
Is his spirit stick-Lean
Does the refuse lie with him?
Infant soul, impertinent mind
Elephant heart, vast pate.
Undoings of the co-defendant
Reveal thee; my desire
Connect me, his sob.
Immerse him, HIS mandate.
Faith, there lies your task
Listen! Do you hear that "Doink--doink"--
An alluring sound. Now I'll be
Watching Law and Order to hear
Alibis from suspects and see
Nervous clients, eager lawyers
DA's, and defendant haters,
Ostentations in the courtroom,
Rival lawyers, rapt spectators.
"Doink--doink" ("Dun--dun")--all we fans know,
Ever will announce a great show,
Reruns air in nonstop, smooth flow!
October 12, 2016, entered in Brian Strand's Contest 222 (any topic or form, 12-line max)
The interrogation threatens to shudder like an earthquake
A long index of accusations spread out among the atmosphere like a blazing forest fire
Satisfaction, the officer and venomous umbrage, the criminal
Self-appreciation, the quiescent defense attorney with no right to be there
Misery, the boisterous dauntless prosecutor
The months of the annual calendar, the jury
Pain, the almighty judge
It’s a court case already divested from the defendant
Why should it not
Bother, why bother
Its past the millionth time in 216 divided by the jury
Satisfaction has seen countless rewards of capturing umbrage
Satisfaction has felt the boundless benevolence of glory
And foaming at the mouth, glowering with muffled respected fury
Sits umbrage, staring out blurred vision
Victimized in his own apperception
What’s the cost, the damage total; what has befell, befell reality
The anathema of fate or rather the favored affliction of fortune’s fool
Within a realm of possibility it may perceive to be both
A pebble laced with a thread thrown into grass only miles away
To be reeled right back in like a helpless fish on a line
The audacity, the audacity; oh just hush
Silence is golden and this silence is benevolent
Joy was once prevalent in the company of such disgrace umbrage reigned
Together they were serenity, a mixed graceful period of harmony
Such a song sung by dual owls in the presence of the lightened darkness of night
(sigh) …I can’t do this anymore
Make a world, create a story peacefully
Creating a plot circulating, tip-toeing around the issues placing bait in front of my eyes for me to take
What is wrong with me, my life
One word, a sharp enough blade to stab in the ankle to slaughter Achilles
In this case, me
The poet’s banishment, scourge creating a series of nine lashes
Still runs deep, refuses cessation
Proceeds to feed on every ounce of merriment to permeate through the cracks
Melancholy has produced to invade back in
What’s the cause this time for it to attack
A few simple words, reflection, swift defiance
the bruises upon the right appendage whispering, begging for more scars
FOR WHAT? ! ? ! ? ! ? !
Forget it….it’s nothing
Satisfaction has pardoned me, set me free
Umbrage, my twin has taken over me
To another bridge, we sit and sulk over a failed attempt at flight
Cause we willingly defy the right to say goodnight
The jury said the defendant was guilty
So the judge ruled 30 days in the klinky
If you visit the slammer
He'll be in pyjammers
Playing a wee tune on his dinghy
© Jack Ellison 2015