Best Judgment Poems
i sit lonely.
the crowded restaurant is thick with sound
i pick away at it
moving back into the stagnant silence
of my own comfort
the air is nasty here
it telepathically abuses my thought patterns
still
a far cry better
the loud hum of food
marching to the vacant crowd
suffocates me
a decorated plate joins my table
strikes a conversation with the cutlery
there is no call from the governor
as i attack my food
fork knife teeth
bites later
a paper plane flies in
a swipe of my plastic
makes quick work of the bill
i exit
seemingly quicker
than human eyes can catch
i hate this part
i parley my way through
too many bodies
all the while staring
at a concrete maze
never making eye contact
with a single soul
i do that
i always do that
keep the entrances of my being
away from those who would stare me down
attempt to engage me in conversation
with a desire to lock eyes
if they looked in they would burn
i’d be held responsible
FINALLY
home
the only environment i feel safe in
my therapist will be proud
almost an hour today
assuming i see her again
i am covered in my own dew
my breathing sporadic
i line up an array of pills like good soldiers
as i continue my attempt
survive another day
it will take hours to regain my sanity
all the while questioning the purpose
why must i assimilate
back into the dungeons
they call society
it behooves me
find one reason
join the rank and file
plug back into a horrendous grid
i had escaped
i
grow
weary
of
my
own
thoughts
ignore my voice
slowly regain my footing
plant roots
hope they’ll take hold
attempt to return
into the vacuum of my existence
i sit lonely.
Hold Thy Judgment, Truth Is Not So Well Seen
Hold thy judgment, truth is not so well seen,
Thou, that sits in luxuries and decides!
Fate and Time, can both, off the path careen
Into deep hellish dark, that life oft hides
While this teeming world, its course wildly sets,
Mere mortals must walk upon broken glass!
Far too oft, we are forced to take our bets
On when to stop our race, when to fly pass.
If thy heart seeks truth, its binding powers,
Light thee brighter candles, to see life clear.
Walk without fear of black shadow towers
And within thine own heart strive thee to hear,
Striking notes of love's romance sounding clock
Even should it send, that which mind so shocks!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-24-2019
Sonnet, ( Wash Thine Eyes In Clear Streams)
Note- Inspired from a dream I had last night...
The Damnable Sin of Self-righteousness.
All of our leaders have their different views of human rights.
Our leader has repeatedly resisted calls to assume the moral leadership that is expected from. Rage, hatred, and bigotry are spreading like a wheat field on fire. Lie after lie, has cemented like and ant hill filled with fire ants. Do we want to live in a country ruled by a ruler with total power over our country; with maybe a result of genocide in our nation? Thousands of children might now become homeless orphans.
manipulation
sorrow, tide of fury grows
where are the children
His self-righteousness is destroying the future of human lives. People are out of work, which adds up to, no food on the table, no insurance for healthcare, car, or home. Not enough money to pay the house and utility bills. Will they be out on the street joining the thousands of homeless people!
When is this going to end?
I look at my hands
dark brown, green, black, red, yellow
with each heartbeat felt
6/28/2018
“But because of your stubbornness and your unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of God’s wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed.” ~Romans 2:5-11
I am at odds with this world
bearing ill will toward all,
There’s a moral outrage brewing
within me that I’m unable to constrain…
A scream I cannot voice,
A pain I suffer in silence.
It’s like I am on a crusade to
right the wrongs of the people
and punish those responsible,
To exact revenge on those who
have soiled the fabric of our society.
Unbeknownst to me,
this seething resentment
is raging deep within my soul
toward the self-serving segment —
This unabashed hedonistic wasteful culture
indifferent to the plights of the downtrodden,
Pursuing pleasure and good life
while the populace at large die of hunger.
Some wallow in luxury and extravagance--
They hoard, they feast, they overindulge,
unconcerned by the plight of the multitude
living in a squalid condition
deprived of the basic human needs.
Yeah, there’s a rage within me
and I am hell-bent
on smacking the world down.
There’re people in it who are evil and deceitful,
selfish, corrupt, arrogant, marauders,
warmongers and self-indulgent thugs.
I like to put them in a chokehold and
squeeze the life out of this egotistical lot...
Lord, it’s time to unleash upon the world
the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse.
~03/04/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge "J" words
~Sponsor: Constance La France
every man must stand some kneel first time before God sadly the last time
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Judgment logic
Ironic comes the curse in store,
When brain damage, dims your mind for sure,
When half-wits are, talking down to you,
Not sharp enough to get your due,
A judgment you endure.
You see the way they laugh at you,
Look down their long nose snotters, blue,
Sad sack the name they give you too,
Poor dummy, can’t ignore?
15 years of suffering,
stupid things, home they bring,
till me brain then gets restored,
intelligence comes forward,
no longer now abhorred,
I served me time, have you?
Millions of judgments in the earth,
Born no arm, no eyes, your worth,
What logic does ensue,
You and the family suffer too,
All at different levels true,
It is no cause for mirth,
Gods judgment in the earth,
You can’t quite see it blue?
Closed minds will have to do?
Till perhaps rebirth…
Don Johnson
pretty pickle
by Michael R. Burch
u’d blaspheme if u could
because ur God’s no good,
but of course u cant:
ur a lowly ant
(or so u were told by a Hierophant).
The council meets, all hours, to hear old batty dames yell, what a *****,
we don't think she's a good person, because she doesn't look and act like us.
The soldier's hall considers, is it fair to wage war on a witch?
She isn't supposed to take up arms, isn't supposed to think about war.
But you, cry in my arms and say, "I wish to be loved, why won't some girl
like me? I'm too fat", you say, and all I can offer is take a walk, eat less.
The mother's brigade is unhappy they have their blessed babes pushed in carriages
and shun the woman unable to have children, just offering to baby sit.
The father's brigade is unhappy to be stuck with the bills or to have a walkout wife
and shun any woman who demands her rights to have opinions and money.
But you, tell me of your lack of money, to eat, to drive, to visit friends
so I send money and delight in the happy tales of movies and dining.
I look across the pattern of life and find the dips and downtrodden and say,
what about artificial families, people who sit with our kids and lunch and help homework?
Cursed be you, you say, you have no children, you offer no aid, and steal
this poem, passing it friend to friend and say, what do you think?
Will it help our children gain confidence to have another adult listen?
Will it help those with no parent to have and adult praise and question?
Is it my age I ask and the answer is yes, this is an age of all too opinionated
people failing to listen to the wind, to the silence, to the dreams, to the crying
taking asking looks at their neighbor saying am I keeping up, has that other
person got ahead? I'll not help them because they aren't needy enough
to offer guidance to those who have no time to look beneath beds, look
beneath the society, beneath the judge's bench and find the better way.
The silent one has taken away the light from your world, taken the song away
from the sorrowing, taken the whip from the brutes, and walked away.
She has a life, she has needs to find out more of the truth of reality
she doesn't like the people she sees always sitting in judgement and never listening
to the wind, the truth, to justice, to the downtrodden, to the lonely, to the unforgiven,
to the beaten, the one that finds her mind her best hidden asset you won't accept.
Jesus said he'd come back
At the last day—judgment day
Red Giant—Gods's sun
It's judgment day with Henry Smith
He's sick of all your music
You've gotta stop that reggae drop
His radio's polluted
It's judgment day, he's sick of it!
Those Gothic pale faces
Those people think they own themselves!
He'll put them in their places!
And poets with your gangster rap
Reform your tilted hats!
You speak your mind and Henry smith
Has had enough of that!
You punk rockers, he's had ENOUGH!
Change up those things you wear
It isn't right! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!
To smile and spike your hair
But judgment day, it came and went...
Good gracious me! What luck!
Henry Smith, he said his piece,
And no one gave a >>>>
By Kyle Ezra Kriticos
Author's note: This poem isn't about anyone in particular, in fact I only used the name Henry Smith because it's common!
What is it about me? Is it, I'm not the beauty, you think I ought to be? Is it, the bags under my eyes, my hair not long enough, or my gap between my teeth spaced to far? What is it about me? Is it, I'm not capable of any accomplishments in society's eyes; rather it's keeping a job, keeping my house clean with perfection, or keeping my kids secure and feeling loved? What is it about me? Am I worthy to be a mother? Am I worthy to be a wife? Am I worthy of your love? What is it about me? What is the greatest design? What is my destiny? What is waiting for me at the end of my journey? What is it about me? Why am I always lettin society down? Why nothing I do, is ever good enough? Why do this negative energy, weigh so heavy on and around me? What is it about me? Why my misery can't or won't end? Why do I feel like falling in a deep sleep, to never awake again? I wonder if that would make it easier for me, better for everyone else? Why no one understands my pain? What is it about me? Why at times I'm ok with my life, and at times I'm angry at everything society throws my way? Why at times, I'd rather be dead, away from the judgment of everyone's ideal on who they think I should be? What is it about me? Why people underestimate my potential, don't care about how I feel, or try to make me feel invisible? What is it about me? Can anyone tell me? What is it about me? Do anyone care? What is it about me? Will I ever know? What is it about me?
When we judge others
We're only judging ourselves
Sin's not exclusive
We see others' sins
that in our hearts are hidden
accusing them soothes
Here's some good advice:
Join Sinners Anonymous
I'll save you a place!
Eileen Manassian
Repost of a deleted poem....
The clock is ticking,
The night is about over,
The end of the world.
I stand here alone, in a room all in black,
Patiently waiting for the gavel to clack;
I don’t get to speak, here at the end,
Persecuted by all, enemy and friend;
They speak of the deeds now tied to my name,
And all I can do is shudder in shame;
I’m here at the trial at the end of my life,
And each testimony cuts like a knife;
I can’t even explain, my deeds say it all,
I await my judgment and try to stand tall;
I was petty, held grudges, and committed mass crime,
And didn’t do productive things with my time;
Six feet below my body is entombed,
And I know deep down my fate is now doomed,
And all I can do I is silently pray,
That God grants me mercy on this solemn day;
The jury is in, they hold my life in their hands,
All I can do is hope He understands;
“Cleared of all charges” the verdict now reads,
My soul once damned is now to be freed;
He granted forgiveness for all of my sins,
Allowing my soul to begin again.