On the south-western side of the old mission school,
on the corner of 1st, where the blackberries grew
a field claimed by children, was crosshatched with tracks
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with foxtails
and youthful bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of weeds and tall grass.
It wasn't far beyond a patched wire fence
that hemmed my Grandmother's russet old house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would race with the tumbleweeds, tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weathervane, cruised 'round, and 'round
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in the wind
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
The moon is hidden out of sight
I come to you at dead of night
The latch is lifted on the door
You stand aloof as I implore
I kneel and grovel on the floor
I am aware of the full score
The whip is flicked; I crawl to you
In leather dressed, I take your cue
Out come the blindfold and the rope
With knots and teasing I can cope
You have your urges and the need
To act on impulse and to feed
On domination, unrestrained
Within the mind it is ingrained
You find release in mistress role
But I, the slave, am in control
Now is the time to beg of you
At height of passion what is due
Intense the climax of this game
I reach my aim; you call my name.
[Pride of place I shall fill
....... On Camera & Quill!]
11th October, 2015
Contest: You Want It Bad-Then Bribe Me...
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Chosen POTD ~ 12th October, 2015
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
Grovel for blood, grovel for blood you bastards
Hunger for bodies of innocent children and flee
Amidst webs of mayhem you throw the world asunder
“Zionists we are, all so powerful, all so free!”
And again the injustice of war compels me
To speak in anger and utterly be
I am sorry fellow poets if harshness comes with words
But the news gives me not any joy, not any glee
For the people of Palestine are now in torture
And all I can do is watch Ghaza fall to become debris
Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2009
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Guess I hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no pay day at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
Now I am back as a voice for the ages
'Cept I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
Bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
I can dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat:
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Copyright © Brian McClain | Year Posted 2016
I'm so doggone ugly,
I look like a faded roach;
If I were a pile of roadkill,
The buzzards wouldn't approach!
Oh sweet mirror on the wall,
Why stab me in the back?
You tell me that I'm beautiful,
Then fall to the floor and crack!
I went to a local photographer,
Here's something you won't believe,
He took one look at this ugly mug,
And paid me just to leave!
I can't go to the chicken coop,
To gather a single egg;
Those hens won't let me enter,
Unless I grovel and beg!
I never committed a crime,
Though my picture's on the wall;
Ugliness is a criminal act,
It's certainly against the law!
A cop pulled me over,
I asked what I did wrong;
He took one look at this sourpuss,
And said..."Nuthin', please go home!"
When I walk by flower beds,
The petals begin to wilt;
Every time I play pinball,
The game automatically tilts!
I married an ugly woman,
Someone uglier than me;
We bought ourselves an ugly dog,
Now we're as happy as can be!
Copyright © Milton Toran | Year Posted 2012
My proses are nothing without you-
but scribbles, through and through
I dream a dark weary blur
of letters, a phrases, going by in a flur-
Even that; my thoughts seeming simple
even then it lacks luster given by you-
the additions you contribute more than do
alone they gleam platinum
though, with mine maybe less than gold
I...no matter- no treasures to hold!
Tales to be told
It is not me they care to read
-wish to know
But the enchantress
of the words and chimes
and grinding whispering rhymes
of the tales of darkened woe
Though you must scribble onwards sweet hurt,
For fragments of your heart I shall fasten tight
Against my loving words,
My tempestuous, valiant might
Shall shake your fear into fight!
Tear these thoughts and lies of darkness,
The very sinews and cartilages masking their place within you,
Away from your eyes, and see—
What horrors lie wait in the heart that fails To Be
Alas though it is;
That my words shall only crackle or fizz
No tear shall be shed,
no heart yearning dead
at the intake of my write
And thus I must admit I am contrite
at how I envy your wondrous sight-
A gift of perfection, given to you,
immaculate graces all you do
Unearthly feeling trembling might
as praise of prose shines bright
For YOU- my guardian, my mentor, my idol-
I dream a selfish dream-
that I could be you for a day
And know what it's like to hear the people say;
"You, you are beautiful and amazing. Talented and skillful..."
Maybe I shall pray,
Though I never believed in much
Maybe I could such...
perhaps I could for a day...
kneel down to pray;
just to hear then say
"you are beautiful..."
Oh, divine, bleeding star,
Eyes of eager want and disdain…
What words blessed be may ail your pain?
I am but mortal meeting flaw again and again…
My master, my ruler, my liege
I bow, I grovel, I beg
Teach me your magic
The arts of the words so charismatic
Gleaming, glistening, glinting,
like gold and silver charms-
An aura of pure creation
You the Queen of tales
of sorrows, and dreams,
And happy things
I wish, I wish -
I wish and wish and wish some more
To learn your secret, learn your trade
To inspire greats- with a single sentence
Stand as my equal, my friend,
And do not beg for gifts you hold,
Open them upon us all
For the answers have always been in your eyes,
Where the deepest darkest sorrow lies,
In the crevices of your brazen soul light
Who has long been shoved and hidden in your bitter, broken plight
Stand by my side, and give majesty to your muse
Rest her heart gently on what you feel most of,
What you see, and what you dream
Do not grovel to the floor,
Do not wrestle for the glory of more
You are perfection when you allow your light out
Soft and genuine, the fire will seek you now
Divine, bleeding star
We are mortals with immortality afar
Destined to touch inspirations never blemished,
And never strained
Without so much
a guiding visage
I shall go out in a blink
but maybe… just maybe
I will write, something...
a tale- worth telling
This is a collaboration I wrote with Rebecca Larkin,
A great friend and an awesome Poetess
Written in January
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
You thought me spineless,
so in a fit of anger you tore mine out,
Bloodless, I rose sword swallower,
strengthened by my tattered paper edges.
The abyss of your barren soul wrapped me in
gauze, shrouded me on parallel partitions;
nailed to the crossbars of your lust;
only mother me did you revere.
All hail the hidden seal*-- nailed to the missing cross,
white cloaked, virginal, tresses unbound-- lay me not
across the landscape of your desire-- grovel at my shrine.
The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo’s
*the word seal has been used to comply
with Soup Guidelines
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014
Lying on the same bed holding their breaths.Even though makingup was in their hearts each guarded their pride.Each looked sideways glances mingled exploded in laughter.When anger was a crease in the brow and silence a catastrophe.When making upwas a mutual smile and a glance a gift.Now just look at this mess that you've made of that love.You grovel at my feet and I berate you and can't let my anger go.My lover get rid of your anger proud one.What have I done out of anger you haven't offened me.All offenses are mine so then why are you crying yourself hoarse in front of me.So what am I to you you're my darling no I'm not that's why I'm crying
Copyright © craig schaber | Year Posted 2013
Unfettered lightning lash through the fury of the rain,
Sizzle mouths dry with shock of glory.
Athlete that made our jubilee golden, mighty Usain
Inciting the petrified blend each new victory
Nested within love of hope and love of glory.
Bridge us through the overbrimming and the pride
Olympian, orbit history like a carpet before
Love's lesson cannot be spelt again. Be strongly sure
Thunder will not break the pact between possibility and dream.
Usain Bolt, do you know what limit is in our flesh
Surfing on opponents wind strainless to the end
African panting away from the hard invisible mesh
Inflicting us with pain - memories with me contend
Naturally, for the Negro rises as human again.
Bold man of grace, runner with the panther's ease
Ovations rise from within and without the race
Laurels for the worth that we may not grovel on our knees
Triumph has many friends where love secures its place.
Understanding only a form of speed tells nothing still
Simpler in the hearts denied a brighter beacon burns
A worth within the breadth and scope of human will
Insistent above the error of history, respect now earns
Nation and Negro a voice to speak in all the cause of man.
Bridge me then delight into the glory of your jubilee
Omit me not to light a princely tribute for your deeds
Lovelier than the loveliest of gazelle in raptured glee
Thundering in hostile skies where only lightning succeeds.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
Every night is the same here
As the night before
They make us drink a couple beers
Then men come in the doors
And have their choice of whores
We’re supposed to flirt and smile
Encourage their attentions to us
But when you’ve done this a while
It’s hard to sell them lust
When all you feel is disgust
If you resist, they’ll drug you
And sell you anyway
You’ll wake up broken and bruised
And sore between your legs
(Or worse, if they have sick tastes)
So try to find the nicest perv
And take him to your bed
Don’t count on those pimping jerks
To help; help yourself instead
And choose the best prospect -
The answer is in their eyes
Soft or warm eyes are best
If they give you chills say bye
And move on to the next set
Before their appetite’s whet
If you can’t get away
Don’t let them see your dread
Above all, don’t grovel or pray
Or even play dead (think pummeled head) -
That’s how their power is fed
Just imagine they’re someone else
Like a lover from long ago
It’s easier to take the abuse and dwell
On happiness you used to know
And keep that horseshoe of hope
If you lose hope or die, they win
So don’t make it easy for them
Pick the best guy and give him a “grin” -
It’s the only control you’ll ever get
In a rape contest
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2011
I Will Rise, Above Heart's Weakness
(I Will Rise Above -MY - Heart's Weakness)
Shall I bend, to your massive will
break chains of my aching heart
Or with infinite time wait until
life gives love's sweeter restart
Shall I cry, into your bad heart
show pain dripping in blood
Or wait until we dare race apart
in a deluge waiting to flood
Should I weep, for your mistakes
eat truth to save your soul
Beg forever even more hard retakes
and love burning like a coal
Should I grovel, in abject shame
a man dying in his despair
A fool uncaring of his family name
begging again without a care
I will look, again into dark eyes
fight blackness that stares back
Choose to forget your very bad lies
seek deeper love that you lack
I will rise, above heart's weakness
cut out my longing love needs
Forget your sexy body and sleekness
which my dream forever feeds
Robert J. Lindley
Note: Written decades ago but edited
this morn to remove too many very personal verses.
The original stays private within my journal.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Admire the art of the masters
Or a hand carving in alabaster
One can only gaze in awe
The genius that must befall
Why fuchsia rather than red
Or bronze as opposed to lead
Their choice however unique
Originality is what they seek
Read a Pulitzer Prize winning novel
Certainly one wouldn't grovel
Held captivated by it's precision
The writer's words were his decision
Why elucidate instead of light
Or redolent rather than bright
The choice however unique
Impressed more readers to think
Listen to your favorite song
You might even sing along
The structure of words and notes
Causes one's thoughts to float
Ask why didn't the tune go this way
Or change lyrics to read that way
Their choice however unique
Is what caused their song to peak
Now read a poem written by another
Open your mind to discover
Why question their means of expression
It has obviously left an impression
How each expresses their thoughts
For the better or for naught
Their choice however unique
Is the difference that they seek
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
The Rich/the Super Rich/the One Percenters.
Then there’s the rest of us,
The Disappearing/Shrinking Middle Class.
Our “good paying “, American Dream financing jobs gone,
The Chinese/Japanese/Indian/Korean/Malaysian, etc. have them.
We are left to grovel/slave away at many PT “jobs/employment”,
We work all kind of ridiculous hours for even more ridiculous rewards,
At the same time watching the American Dream slip away, being taxed away, shipped away. The dream is taking wings,
taking majestic and dramatic flight like the Bald eagle, proud symbol of America.
And the number of the poor, that we will “always have with us”
Is steadily whispering, calling out, shouting out to us-
And in the gesture of come on down, they extend an invitation to us
Come join us, come “eat cake with us”
You can exercise the right to just lay down and die with us,
Then the Money Changer Bankers and Crooks that are continually rewarded,
Can just roll us up in a blue tarp, and into an empty ditch,
step over us in their Armani shoes, keep going and never break stride.
And their Bought-and-Paid-For US Congressional Representatives,
And State/Local ones as well will see to it,
That left behind family/loved ones will not receive,
Any so called governmental assistance that we need,
Though we paid for it with our taxed-to-death money.
And we will end up in an unmarked mass-grave ditch,
And finally be out of the way of the folks who are really in charge of
The American Dream.
September 21, 2013
Copyright © Alfreda Williamson | Year Posted 2013
Standing in an open field the sun
burned deep through my forehead mesmerized
by the arrow in mychestand the
bullet in my back--motionless quivers a
numbed spine paused my heart in a
rapture of devious contempt from a
long distance voice of panic depression
while lying with a rose petal of thornless
infinity---the bearer of this booklet trapped in a
Zodiac chasm of bottomless neverchoices
chants a harmful chord of courted chaos.
Free admission for the file of names that pass this way
that leave the dead lamp burning for useless
noones---abandon the frenzy wise sleuth and don
the love clown that fits you so well. Service to the innane
truth you call yourself and hope the
arrow bullet blend in a vicegrip ballet--
crippling your for afterlife shadow of
uncommon pretense. Take it to the place
where you stand lying down and grovel in your own
wasted time with little notion of grevious malice. There
is no pain only longing---no death only one size
fits all nothing and hear the vultures laugh
lovingly in the distance. Eat at Joes.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
Visions of Usher,
Seven rooms with which flesh dwells
As reddened as a
Retro rocket ship.
Party to end all parting,
Is all prevailing.
The mayhem of ring-a-rose
Maddened stares. I sit
Alone in green sin
When Death travels amongst us,
All that can be done
Is find the culprit
And grovel to the void face
Of my own doing.
Copyright © Grant Tarbard | Year Posted 2013
Well I don't know if you agree.
But somethings I don't need to see.
It may be time for legislation.
Cause some commercials cause aggravation.
Talking bout the side effects of some un Godly cure.
There's just no need to constantly subject us to this fear.
And showing us a ravaged soul who's living with the plight.
Talking through their grovel hole, I tell you it ain't right.
It's not just when I'm try'n to eat when I think this is wrong.
Of course things tend to not taste sweet when they come along.
But do we really need to hear those foul disgusting words.
I'm telling you, those commercials are really for the birds.
They hope we get the message, but tell me what's the cure.
For making us in our own homes, endlessly have to hear.
These things that they think we should see.
In hopes they're saving you and me.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Well I'd rather die than have to listen to what they have to hear.
Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2015
The Elders Say
The Elders say that fears make you weak;
And you should always think before you speak.
They teach to treat all as your sister or brother;
And the planet as your Great Mother.
They say actions are more honorable than words;
And all messages are delivered by the birds.
Show respect to all but grovel to none;
Have no regrets when your journey is done.
They say to teach the old ways again;
To treat all strangers as if they were a friend.
Cherish life as a most precious treasure;
But live for responsibility and not for pleasure.
They say that all things circle back around;
What energies you send out are the ones that will be found.
Keep in harmony and balance with all;
If one should stumble, then we all shall fall.
They say do no harm and help when you can;
Look into the eyes when you shake their hands.
In all you do and all you are;
Integrity and honesty will take you far.
Darlene Doll Smith
Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2015
In amongst the burning trees
Stood a creature still as breeze
In its eyes burned a fire
Its contagion was its strange attire.
There about its godly perch
I lost all senses as it chirped
its vessel bore the marks of greed
Its beak inscribed a slave's decree
And when it suddenly spoke to me
My heart came empty, skipped a beat
For shock was not the words there spoken
But of its tone and raw emotion
There I listened to its pain
How man had made it feel disgrace
Instead of healing or pain erase
Was forced to bid man's selfish gain
And as Lady Star drifted away
so to the phoenix burst into flames
Carnage in a cloud of ashes
Memories left were subtly passive
Was I to quiet my soul to sleep!
Pretend next lifetime explores peace
These thoughts left me in shock of dread
that all things living must grovel and beg.
Copyright © Sizwe Hlabisa | Year Posted 2014
Gods and Devils
And on the saddest day,
“Men” created “Gods”
bestowing upon them
the power to terrorize “men”,
reduce them to subservience, servitude.
“Men” worshipped these “Gods”,
begged them for fulfillment, forgiveness,
petitioned them for mercy.
Blamed the “Gods” for all things
good and bad, holy or evil,
for all that happens is
“the will of the “Gods”.”
“Men” fear their own “Gods”.
Cower silently, heads bowed, as those
who “represent the Gods” pass -
Grovel before the power of an
unseen “God” – before a “Man”.
The “Gods” created “Devils”
as a defense against the “Men”
who created the “Gods”. Declared
that all who questioned the
validity of the “Gods”, and their
powers, were - “Devils” -
therefore a manifestation of “Evil”.
Thus, the “Gods” and “Devils”
created by “Man” have conspired
to hold “Man” hostage, to punish
“Man” for having the audacity
to create such “Gods” and allowing
these “Gods” to create such “Devils”.
Submitted to – Gods and Devils – Poetry contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015
Children having children, promoted by our liberal laws
Congress taking tax money and playing Santa Claus
Third generation dependents don’t work, don’t even try
Sit home, collect assistance, stay home and multiply
Politicians have no conscience, the damage that they do
Their pockets getting larger while screwing me and you
You’ll be punished for working, it doesn’t fit their mold
They want a nation of dependents, doing what they’re told
They want you to be silent, please don’t ever rock the boat
They will choose your health care and ram it down your throat
They will have their own plan because they are the elite
We all should be thankful just to grovel at their feet
Under their new healthcare plans, let the patriots beware
Dissidents, prisoners and terrorists will get the better care
They found the funding for it, claiming it’s the only way
They’ll just screw the working man and take it from his pay
If you struggle and go to college, you’ll be forever in debt
But start manufacturing children and see all you can get
Those who will not work have found a bed of clover
Killing off the working man, socialists have taken over
We need to help the people who cannot help themselves
For permanent couch potatoes, we’re not Santa’s little elves
Punished for achievement, ambition is treated like a vice
Sit down, shut up, don’t think and they will treat you nice
Obedient subservient robots is what the elected officials seek
They want inconsequential citizens to be dehumanized and meek
They’ll tell us what to think and teach us to stoop and bow
If you think times were bad before, just take a look at US now
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
I found myself
That was not my own;
About the many
That I was wandering
The dreamscape of
The wonderers of
That still wonder;—
All my own and
Still not mine.
I found myself
Found we were
Bound by an
One of us being
Smelled the rose
Of the meanderer,
Saw me moseying
I simply walked
Slowly; he also
Failed to see
That he held
A flower in his
I found myself
And they cursed
"What can a
So I found myself
To the greater
I found myself
They grovel for
Me not to be
Yet the mistake
Is the groveling
At the graveled;
And how graveled
At the grovelers
I am. It is a circular
Shall die in
Of the graveled,
Copyright © Daniel Handschuh | Year Posted 2017
I’ve known you in oh so many forms
weak, spineless, pitiful
yet sucking it all up, sucking it all in
the nectar of every soldier bee
goes to fill your whimpering form
look how you grovel to the leader
a mere ruse to suck dry the abundance of others
Soft and sweet and pleasant
but bitten the hand that fed you one too many time
Loving you caring for you .. basically a death sentence
a deal killer that’s what you are
a rabid queen of heart without a flamingo’s head
to bash against the balls of life so ..
you use the balls of others to climb UP
to sneak under .. to support your jellied form
Hell yes I’ve known you ..
and it’s about time I cut the bloody cord.
Good bye .. Friend
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
Deep in man’s heart there are pages
Reserved for only one quill,
Bound by the desire of the ages
For the Author of Life to fill.
The first lines in this fleshy novel
Reflect bitter sadness and despair,
For a lost soul’s hopeless grovel
Has found life is empty and bare.
Part two writes of a witness
Someone, somewhere who knew
That only the King of Righteousness
Could give meaning and purpose to you.
Now another chapter we see begins
For you weighed the truth of Gods Word,
Repented of worldliness and sin
As rejoicing in heaven was heard!
Deep in man’s heart there are pages
Reserved for only one quill,
Bound by the desire of the ages
For the Author of Life to fill.
The great Author knows your story,
It has been stored right next to His heart,
As you yield each page to His glory
A Life chapter anew shall start.
Copyright © Jack Eldridge | Year Posted 2009
The Publican and the Pharisee went for a walk after church
One wore pride and majesty, the other the marks of the birch
“I say, my man,” said the Pharisee, “will you tell if I come to the pub?”
“Nay, it makes no odds to me, and we do some cracking grub”
The Publican and the Pharisee quaffed back a couple of jars
And then another two, then three, for such is the way in bars
And as they drank their wine, an odd phenomenon occurred
The crown of hubris lost its shine, the marks of the birch became blurred
“I say, my man,” said the Pharisee, “I’m feeling a little queer”
The Publican chuckled, mischievously, “I reckon a short, and some beer”
The Pharisee, unused to drink, began to loose a screw
Became dishevelled, sweaty, pink, made a desperate run for the loo
Got locked in for a while, and had to crawl under the door
Got stuck, well hey, you have to smile, for half an hour or more
Was rescued by some rugby blokes, who loaned him some spare kit
And made up lots of witty jokes, about Pharisees covered in it
The Publican, sat at the bar, surveyed his sorry state
He wondered if he’d gone too far, in setting up his mate
“Just sit,” he said, “and listen well, for this I have to say
If I am surely bound for hell I’ll meet you on the way
You are no better, sir, than I, no better, and no worse
Your spiritual wealth is an arrogant lie, and your pride is a cardinal curse
I’m no angel, I confess, but hypocrisy, mate, I abhor
I reckon I should grovel less, and you just a little bit more”
The Pharisee gave a little nod, and hiccupped in assent
Muttered softly “Sorry God,” and got his coat and went
The Publican then rang the bell, poured out a short and sat
“Oh come on, God, you know the bloke, he really asked for that”
© Gail Foster 2016
Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
You have been elected as the parapet of our commonwealth’s boarders, the tutelary of our cultures;
You will hazard your livelihood, and witness barbarisms in your ventures.
You are conveyed in fable as a Champion to the populous, you will be seen as the reviver of civility, cities will ascend from ashes by way of your bravery, and you will be exalted.
Your allegiance will not be waivered as the accessions of treason bear mightily against you, and your bosom will be ornamented with the spoils of your gallantry.
Your most herculean battle, my sons and daughters, will be that which besets you upon homecoming, a clash awaits your return to the very domain that hailed you so elegantly.
You will have to fend as the common folks do, you will clamber to hold work, and if you have turned ill, you will be delayed in treatment for your woes; surely lowborn once again.
You may be constrained to find shelter nether bridges and eaves of paper, your plume will be wasted when you grovel for coin, not fit to bathe in the structures for public feces.
You will be spewed upon, they will turn a blind eye to your agony, daggers of vulgarity fired from the throats of those you had vowed to shield; those whom you relinquished limbs for.
You may have forgone your mobility, you may have lost your brethren, your spouse may have coveted their neighbor, and you will most likely suffer the demise of the layperson.
You have served your land gallantly. You have been afflicted horribly. You have grieved losses we find unimaginable. For this, we will disregard those who have gifted us our luxuries.
Copyright © Nicholas Henderson | Year Posted 2015