Best Jails Poems
A year ago, the Russian state launched an unprovoked attack
Seizing land from Ukraine but they've bravely fighting back
If Russia can't have it, they operate a policy of scorched earth
And turn many towns and villages into mounds of rubble and dirt.
Russia then weaponised their gas and shipments of grain
And tried to inflict on the civilian people unbearable pain
His criminal army targets hospitals, schools, homes and utilities
He thought the Ukrainians would surrender, rather than freeze.
He tells the Russian people lies and many believe every word
And he tells them he's protecting Russia ;I find that absurd
We've seen evidence of his atrocities against women and men
And it's heart-breaking to see pictures of murdered children.
Ukraine was never a bold threat to that rogue terrorist state
Putin thought the west would leave the Ukrainians to their fate
How wrong was he to think the western world would look away
They're helping Ukraine defend itself and NATO leads the way.
Russia's ancient equipment and army are no match for the west
And to help Ukraine defend itself it is supplying weapon's the best
The Russian dead pile up on battlefields but Putin doesn't care
And hides away in the safety and comfort of his underground lair.
Wagner mercenaries recruited from jails to increase Russian might
Told their sentences will be lengthened if they don't go and fight
The dregs of Russian humanity are now sent to the eastern front
Together with inexperienced conscripts who now bear the brunt.
Russia is asking for weapons from North Korea, China and Iran
If China supplies them weapon's then their trade we should ban
People say Ukraine should concede land so that the war will end
But Russia has shown its evil dark side and will never be a friend.
Putin keeps threatening to use weapons of mass destruction
And has now backed out of treaties and increased production
Does he honestly think that the western world will stand by
If he launches just one, then you can be sure the west will reply.
Vladimar Putin started this war and there is no one else to blame
He is a disgrace to humanity and should hang his head in shame
Decent Russians and there are many should topple him for his crime
And his war criminal army arrested and either hung or serve time.
Our parents chose to join a cult
Nobody asked us
We went along with what they chose
Too small to make a fuss
Indoctrinated,we believed
This life was the norm,
We were fed on 'comic books'
Taught to worship ****.
While still children we became
'Flirty Fish for God'
We wore bright make up
Wore bright clothes
Walked dark streets alone.
We searched for men and sold them 'love'
They paid with souls and money.
We took them to 'church' convinced that we'd
Fulfilled all Gods wishes.
In innocence we walked the streets
We knew not what we did
Our parents were so proud of us
We were Gods'good fishes
.
Now this sect has all but gone
What's become of us?
Are we your neighbours or your friend
Maybe someone on a bus!
Are we filling up the jails ?
Or selling sex for pennies?
Are we shooting up with drugs
To blot out all our memories?
Are we alcoholics,drowning out our sorrow,
Pity the poor 'Flirty Fish
Fulfilling someone elses' wish
For them no bright tomorrow.
Splendor of soft shoulders
caressed by sinking sun
Out my window the western slope
of the thick coated Rocky Mountains
Once upon a clear cold Colorado Chrstmas
purple brushed horizon flecked with gold
filled my picture window
Mesmerized I stood staring
at this huge canvas hung in the Louver
God's and goddesses swirling about
in a swath of psychedelic clouds
refracting the colors of slow dimming light
Mt. Olympus in my living room
I was seventeen living in a dream
high up in the sandstone cliffs
carved out by the west's Mississippi
Nature, sweet mother of mine, purging
my childhood nightmare with sunsets
mountains, rivers and springs
On the banks of that fat river below
I listened to nothing but hope
Even in the echo of crackling ice
Even when she froze everything still
she made life beautiful
Never ever did she
punish my anger
but kissed it away with her love
with forests, flowers, birds and trees
She gentled my soul when I held her hand
and took me back from the jails and hospitals
every time I ran
Seventeen, fresh from my last disaster
Christmas Eve eight hundred miles
from expulsion and friends I missed
my dreaded return to the last place I left
There she was…
… arms spread clear across the valley
to hug me… her renegade child
My mother, bless her heart--
--wasn't happy to see her headache return
But my "other" mother was.. yeah
I took refuge in the painted cliffs and canyons that surrounded me
and when I came down to the valley floor
I would stop before the bridge
and walk down to listen to the big water's mighty roar…
It never stopped rolling and never ran dry
despite all obstacles
and neither did I
My savior doesn't have a birthday
but I will celebrate my hope in "His"
Just that warm sun
slinking like a coyote
over the western horizon
that Christmas Eve
is all the hope I'll ever need
My favorite President is yet to be
He may well not go down in history
For he'll do what really needs to be done
Antagonizing almost everyone under the sun
First he'll fix Social Security; it's running short of cash
Upping retirement age to 68, a move the 'swamp' will call rash
Then he'll crack down on Medicare/Medicaid fraud and crime
Infuriating the clout-heavy cheaters in America's medicinal slime
Next he'll free up school choice for the poor, not just the rich
More vouchers and charter schools: teachers unions will yell and beech
He'll clean up the ghettos, bust up the gangs, and load up the jails
Violent felons and their Park Avenue backers will want him impaled
He'll break the stranglehold on free speech and inquiry in universities
Big-tech CEO's will squirm, when he ends their totalitarian strip-tease
He'll repair the military, building the strongest defense ever
Daring China and Russia to come get us -- They won't; they're too clever
He'll veto delusionary pork projects which taxpayers can't afford
Boosting old-fashioned 'capitalism' -- for that he will not be adored
As for climate change, he'll pressure China, India and the other slackers
To reign in their CO2 abuse, while the world calls him a bully and hacker
Truth is, my favorite President-to-be will probably never get elected
And if somehow he does, I hope from angry mobs he'll be protected
~ Inspired by, but not an entry in L. Milton Hankins'
'Your Favorite President Contest' ~
These Hallowed halls
Frequented by myth and griffin
Whose presence Guards these priceless minds
Protecting the unwritten novels
M C Squared and ingenious thoughts
The prophesy of zero one
This gluttony of ideas thirsting on capitalisms juice
Summoning their messiahs to walk among us
The commodities of life, this treasured bible
Children the future and Capitalism dissects,
Yet Another batch of disciples
So what care I for prophets of doom
Population before climate
Religion over peace
Vanity before reason
Pride over poverty
Cap and gown before that which created me
For I live high above these ghetto streets
Yet my peace is drowned by Evening chorus
Screams from the gutter
Another tattoo and the rush of heroin
Another type of messiah
Something for the poor to believe in
Just another nickel and dime resource to me
Yet to hear this is a damnation of me
This arrogance over nature
To control that thing
That shackles our existence
That jails our thoughts
Prostitutes our freedom
And lets us die without reason
This way of life
Of poverty and desperation
Of concrete and aborted foetus
Of welfare cheques and sex for sale
Of unhappy beings behind
Unhappy doors
Protecting their own portals of betrayal
In a private subjugated hell
For Compassion has left these mortal beings
And my mind is closed, for there is no profit for me
But conscience is my jury
And nailed to this holy cross
The verdict is written
Vermin under the butterfly
For compassion was never my thing?
And Human nature can be,
A most desperate thing.
I made a firm commitment long ago
to read great novels frequently, not just
when I had time to kill or took a class
in college, for then reading was a must.
I love suspense involving clients, laws,
and litigators. I have come to see
the ones that hold, for me, the most
are found in the library, Section G.
I've a confession. I first read a book
by this great writer twenty years ago
when an associate whom I esteemed
convinced me his is work that all should know.
I learned of what inspired him early on:
his decade as a lawyer, Harper Lee,
and hearing a young girl speak of her rape.
His passion for the truth would be the key.
When I read Grisham's novels, I'm enthralled
with every plot and subplot, those details
that loop and wind, connecting when the time
is right. Each ending's smooth. He never fails.
His characters could walk right off the page--
the saints and devils, all those in-between.
The themes are realistic, relevant;
the settings, sometimes places I have seen.
His novels often make me laugh out loud.
That's right--these books on graft and other crimes!
The funny parts just underscore the theme.
His sense of humor shines so many times.
Best sellers have long been his claim to fame,
but he has other interests as well.
He campaigns to set free the innocent
who languish in the jails and prison cells.
This Christian former Legislator's love
extends to baseball, home, and family.
Our state is proud to claim him as our own;
and his success, we're truly glad to see.
I included some of his novel titles.
March 9, 2019, entered in Kai Michael Neumann's Book Worm Contest
I cannot stand poetic forms
I like them less than winter storms
they force me into ancient norms
of rhyming words in angry swarms
for I was frightened by Haiku
in darkened rooms -- I cried --- boo hoo.
Then came the metronomic tick
sez I: “what is this evil trick?”
now I must measure every rhyme
with tapping stick of metered time
I cannot…. will not, …..won’t ….I say
be forced inside the lines…..to stay.
For I shall dance….the poet’s dance
of shaggy hair….. of tattered pants
dance with those….. in tie and tails
rap with those….. released from jails
free demon words from fear’s cold cell
sing hymns resounding angels bell.
My crayons stray outside the lines
my words creation redefines
I am free to choose my words
soothing balm or cutting swords
to calm the hearts of troubled souls
as shovels digging dying’s holes.
And yet the verse is never Free
for it remains a part of me
wandering a poets hell
secrets it has yet to tell.
5/12/2016
submitted to – Get Your Dr. Seuss On – Poetry Contest
sponsor – The Seeker
Just another caterpillar afternoon,
inching along lazily;
Skin feeling how faint the prairie wind blow,
time no longer telling you
how slow the summer grass grow
So you take another sip of blackberry boredom Bordeaux,
as the sun and your insides warm you
Pear-shaped tears now fully ripe,
puts you in the mood for some mellow regret ...
Got no kids,
got no wife
So you just take another sip
from a nearly empty bottle life
You spilt a lot of your fine good wine long ago;
wasted a lot of your youthful years
running in and out of bars, jails and bordellos
All of your acquaintances are people you barely know,
and your most fond, intimate memories
comes from a radio
So you go give yourself one last toast
from that almost empty bottle ...
Now you’re about ready to close your eyes,
and dream of another lazy, morning sunrise
Sadly, you got nobody around to give cheers
to your empty bottle life
This poem was inspired from a poem titled "Only A Game"
by the talented poet, Phil Capitano
We're in the foothills of another civil war.
The divide between left and right is burning and widening.
They have we the people, distracted and divided.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Peace undermined by rich squeaky mice
The silent behemoth of indifference.
The bent, dormant scales of justice.
The uneven eye of the media leviathan.
Universities raping our children's minds.
Impregnated with Stalin, Lenin, Putin, and Xi's dirty seeds.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Slapping Lady Liberty in the mouth
with metal tongs of intolerance.
Cutting out tongues of free speech-
of religion-of differing opinion
The socialist/commies and pacifists wonder why
we the people dream upon high-caliber nights.
It's because mad clowns and liberty cleavers
are running amok in the government.
The elite and naive are emptying jails onto our streets.
Rabid dogs are defiling peace, warping our history.
Useful idiots are slicing the stars from old glory.
Always burning and cutting and reaping and running.
Never sitting-talking-loving -discussing-seeding.
The entitled and elite sitting smug in gated communities.
The war eagles are quickly awakening as arrogance sleeps.
Jails are bleeding out because of politics and false empathy.
Asylums died because of Geraldo's passion and naivety.
Now crazies and mad dogs are working out their kinks.
Out on the streets and onto the neckbones of society.
Politicians acting surprised when the mayhem arises.
Even though it was caused by their failed P.C. policies.
While a bunch of fat cats are scratching each other's backs
Pointing claws and blaming while donning fancy-ass hats.
Shedding crocodile tears, but they care less than the predators.
Nowhere is it safe for your sons and daughters.
Not even pine needle trails, where they seek peace.
Two-legged copperheads lurk behind trees, under leaves.
You've passed them before-those wild-eyed half-beings.
Flint souls sniffing for a syringe brimming with gasoline...
Just off trail, a thousand shallow graves of the naive.
American teachers guiding America’s youth
They hold the key to our future’s door
So we pay three and a half times more
To the man who pulled your tooth
We are America’s students,
Our country’s future is in our hands,
So our teachers, teach with prudence
Except to those who just don’t understand
Deemed unwitting and doomed to fail
What future is to be held within their hands?
We send them unguided down this unsure trail
And yet we expect them, still to have a chance
Maybe they’ll just work in retail sales
Or go join the infantry; hope they don’t get shot,
Or maybe get out, do crime; fill up our jails.
At least they're not hooked on Oxy or smoking pot
At least there's not six hundred fifty k
Who’ve grown up, to be without a place to stay
At least there's not a whole seven k
Who drop outta high school every single day
At least out of forty four advanced economies
We're not thirty third
For percent with post-high school degrees
In fact we must be the best country the world can find,
Because here, No Child is Left Behind,
And Every Student Succeeds
Except for those with dysfunctional families
We are America’s students,
Our country’s future is in our hands,
Sometimes we feel like we just can’t do this
Its like we’re not in our country’s plans
American teachers guiding America’s youth
They hold the key to our future’s door
They’re the ones that have to fix this mess
The solution? Hell, pay them less
Nation is getting richer
We are getting poorer
You say Poverty is crime
We say change your line
Criminals are treated better
Jails are their abode
Anyway get easy fodder
We live in the open
Destined to live in hunger
Crime Pays, Poverty is sin
Is Poverty a Crime?
Change your line.
They came in silence, hearts grown cold,
To strike peaceful tourists, young and old;
With coward’s hands, they spilled our blood,
And stirred our souls, to surge of flood.
From snowy peaks to desert land,
The lion roared on duty’s stand;
Steel in gaze and flame in chest,
The Indian Army rose in quest.
Not for glory, not for the fame,
But for the motherland’s sacred name;
Each footstep echoed justice true,
And the bullets flew for me, for you.
Across the border, under the night,
They struck with honor, strength and might;
A message clear, in thunderous roar,
That’s for our soil, our daughters’ sindoor.
The tears of kin, the cries of pain,
How could be shed in vain again ?
For every martyr, for every scar,
Our soldiers answered from afar.
With grit they walked in fire, with no fear,
Their only compass, in the clear;
Avengers not with hate, but great pride,
With tricolor as their sole guide.
So raise your heads, all nation wide,
Salute the brave who are our pride;
They write in blood when tyrants learn,
They touch our souls, in earnest return.
Let hope not die, for peace will prevail,
Humanity in shackle's, will leave mind jails;
Wait for mornings bright, for Sun will rise,
Defying night’s darkness, and full moon’s pride.
Everyday Heroes
Let’s talk about everyday Heroes
Ordinary people like you and I
People who do not always win
But are always willing to try.
People who go on everyday
Making a positive contribution to all
Doing their jobs as best they can
Standing proud, straight and tall
Firemen are unsung heroes
Braving the wicked smoke and flame
To save your lives and property
Their bravery always the same.
The policemen protect our vital laws
And puts criminals in jails
To save us all from constant danger
Their courage seldom fails.
Teachers educate our children all
To improve our future world
To read and write, subtract and add
The history of our nation we are always told.
The preachers of our local churches,
Masques, Synagogues ad Temples
Are always ready to listen and help
And teach us by example.
The doctors, nurses and volunteers
Keep our hospitals working hard
Saving lives and giving aide
Help is never very far.
Construction workers, engineers, scientists et al
Consultants, coaches, pilots and their crews
Soldiers, sailors and drivers in their trucks
All contribute to our nation by freely expressing their views.
Those who volunteer their time
To make this world a better place
Helping those in times of need
Regardless of creed or race.
They are our unsung heroes
Who always help us to find our way
Who deserve some recognition
Each and everyday
So raise your voices so you are heard
And praise your friends old and new
And thank your Lord high above
For unsung heroes like you!
Continued from Part 1
The Beggars ’neath the balustrades,
and broken Children, Chambermaids,
are running wild from wraiths, afraid
of dreams where death redoubles.
They fritter time with tattered threads
(from ragged clothes they’ve left in shreds),
crocheting hoods to hide their heads
and faces, full of rubble.
But many things will not remain
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
when goblets filled with cool champagne
evaporate in bubbles.
The White-Robed Maid adorns the trash
with charnel urns awash in ash,
then fumbles with an untied sash
while pacing in the Palace.
Her hopes congeal in coffee spoons
with memories adrift in dunes;
yet, still she smiles with teeth like prunes
and lips of painted callus.
And long before the midnight drains,
the Saviour wakes, the Loser gains,
the waters of the Hurricanes
will fill her empty chalice.
The storm (behind the clarinets,
the silver flutes, the castanets,
the foghorns belching in quartets,
the bagpipes, puffed and swollen)
is keeping time to tambourines
while Tom Thumb and the Four-Inch Queen,
pick up the shards and smithereens
of moments lost or stolen.
They’re trekking through the Dim Domains
(where fountains weep, the mountain wanes),
yet can’t escape the Hurricanes
with trundling eyes patrollin’.
The Crowds (arrayed in jewels) in jails,
stoop, peering through a fence of nails
while light behind their eyeballs pales
with plastic flame that sputters.
They huddle there because they must
(with eyelids hung like peeling rust,
their tears, palled pellets in the dust),
behind the bolted shutters.
They’ll reawake without their pains
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
without their sores, without their stains,
their agonies will fill the drains
and overflow the gutters.
End