Best Measly Poems
I could see the virus approaching so why couldn't he?
But he had to keep investors happy and save the economy
On his watch people in their thousands, died needlessly
The U.K. had a spiralling death rate, a preventable tragedy.
He didn't listen to the top scientists, they have said so
I hope he doesn't try and deny it and say he didn't know
Care home residents from hospitals sent home to die
A ring of steel around the vulnerable, seems that was a lie.
Denials and lies seems to be a politicians stock in trade
Many have looked on in horror at the decisions he's made
Lockdowns were implemented but sadly too late
While the virus was spreading at an alarming rate.
He said " no more lockdowns, let the bodies pile high"
His advisor said he said it and of course he'll deny
The Bereaved Families for Justice, want a public enquiry
A waste of taxpayers money because he governs with impunity.
He stood in his doorway clapping with a smile on his face
What he offered the NHS 'heroes' is nothing short of a disgrace
They were offered a paltry rise of a measly one percent
Many put themselves at risk and are now struggling to pay rent.
These pandemics are nothing new and this one won't be the last
It's a shame that he and other leaders didn't learn from the past
Politicians are sparse with the truth, and they often deceive
But please make up your own mind on who you want to believe.
Written on 25th May 2021.
I was punctured by punctuations
The words you wielded with such disdain
A ravenous revolutionary
Pitilessly piercing deep into my vein
I pretended such positivity
Holding happy forward as my shield
Your attack so precise and persistent
cold and calculated you would not yield
You left little to the imagination
Expressive expletives flowed from your lips
The harmonization of my horror
I was firmly nestled within its grips
Attacked by your callous conversations
Skillfully white washing every event
They were but measly misunderstandings
Never the nouns that I thought you had meant
The truth is that I perceived your pleasure
Within that capacity of your cruel
Heading towards a cliff like a lemming
Dancing dangerously close like a fool
So I sought out new triumphant treasures
Better lines lead to a more complete me
No more would I dangle dangerously
Halting hearing you speak helped me to see!
In the inner city there is a little girl.
Who dreams about a different world.
There is no fresh air for her to breathe.
No lovely flowers for her to see.
No yard to go and play and swing.
No, not much of anything.
Her mother toils to and from.
Providing on a measly income.
She sees her mother in despair.
She hugs her close, because she cares.
"Don't worry mom we will get by."
Her mom says, "Yes hon." with teary eyes.
"There are so many little girls and boys
that struggle in this world you see."
"I wonder why fortunes smile on some
and lets the rest go free."
Michael Tor 3/22/2016 Written about Lolo Jones. A champion athlete.
Last line credit to Eagles Song Sad Cafe.
Puttin on the Ritz - Just for You
Remember when I used to be dead broke,
and everyone laughed cause my dreams were a big joke?
Well I married a rich fellow and I’m rolling in dough.
Now I’m puttin on the ritz – it’s time for my show.
Visiting the old neighborhood, I’m sure feeling grand,
showing off my chauffeured Rolls Royce just because I can.
Watch me strut ‘cause I’ve been blessed by Lady Luck;
while you’re still frying chicken for a measly buck.
Oh, forgive me for I don’t always like to gloat;
but do check out my genuine animal print fur coat.
It’s no secret that Neiman Marcus is my main go-to store,
providing me with designer hats, purses, shoes, and more.
As for my fabulous make-up, make-over, and hairdo,
well they cost much more than you earn in a month or even two.
I see you’re ogling my sparkling jewelry and accessories,
Dahling, they were purchased exclusively from Tiffany’s.
Like leading ladies, Lombard, Rogers, Garbo, and Garland,
I ball room dance and jive to Callaway, Ellington, and Armstrong.
My oh my, indeed this lifestyle can make one become so giddy,
while gliding and sliding to these tunes can be quite heady.
I know jealousy is considered really uncouth and uncool,
but in your case, Sweetie, go ahead, it’s actually okay to drool.
Oh please note, my dear, I’m only passing through,
from Lenox Avenue back home to hoity-toity Park Avenue.
So for now, I'm here puttin on the ritz - just for you!
08-25-2015
Contest: Puttin on The Ritz
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Placement: 1st
Brutes, in name of God, to show their might,
fixed laws, that you’d succumb like measly sheep.
Womankind, kind woman, rise and fight.
Innocents of war with smiles once bright,
ravished; tossed like garbage in a heap,
angels hovering nigh have you in sight.
Faithful brides, for something less than trite,
set on fire in their beds as they sleep.
Kind woman, womankind, your soul‘s in flight.
Girls in huts, legs spread, cry out in fright.
A ritual to mutilate cuts deep.
Angels from on high do hear your plight.
Wives in their own homes (not all is right),
beaten, hush their children not to weep.
Womankind, kind woman, comes the night. . . .
Sisters, don’t be wearied by the blight.
For what they sow, God’s told us they shall reap.
Angels have prepared you robes of white.
Kind woman, womankind, hold tight your light.
For the 'TRIBUTE TO WOMEN' Poetry Contest
You'll find a piece in the puzzle, that is part of the past
under billowy white clouds, and the sizzling sun
in a wood sided home. where the trees are in bloom
where there's room for a childhood, that has only begun
There is a piece of the puzzle, outside in the yard
while wheels of a tractor come alive in the fields
There's a five year old girl skating sidewalks, with cracks
rollers, beneath her, singing "clickity clack"
while a rustle of whirlwinds is fast on her heels
to rife with the ruffles she wears on her back
Faces she knows will be leaning on fences
Lifting up smiles, and knowing her name
Where the same furrowed brows, and most without shame
work for the gain, of a few measly dollars
And mothers will holler..."Come home! Time for supper!"
As the sky has turned copper, at the end of the day
There is a piece of her, dreaming out under the elms,
where a heart might be broken, and the stars cast a spell
What is home harbors there, where her heart wants to dwell
In a room with a puzzle, spread out for her eyes
To sort out, and covet, and search for the sky
Where there's room for a childhood that has only begun
And a piece in the puzzle the color of sun
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
Love
Love is but a word
To describe such an emotion
in a four-letter word
is the most profane act any human can commit.
Love is Love.
it cannot be defined by four measly letters.
Love is more than art,
more than literature,
you cannot fully describe it.
It is a unique experience,
yet anyone who has every been madly in-love
knows exactly how it feels
Yet, they too know that "love" is not an accurate analysis of that emotion
Love is beauty,
Love is peace,
Love is happiness,
Love is Joy,
Love is all around us, really, if we choose to see it.
Love is more than a four-letter word.
And I wish, there was a way, to accurately describe,
the intense, beautiful emotions,
of being madly in-love.
But I find myself,
committing the most profane act
a human could do,
In me hoping to convey to you,
what I think of you.
I love you.
For the love of my life, Dj.
He mimicked all who entered the darkened room,
felt the fear in their eyes when watched with zeal.
He was a performer and his sidekick Sid seemed real.
Was that really him or was he wearing a costume?
He was just entertaining, they all did assume.
His mouth closed yet voices heard with reverberation,
the microphone shrieked when laughter was heard.
A comedian on stage though he said not one word
giving the excited audience an amusing sensation.
When he was through they clapped in celebration.
The curtain closes, and he cries; tears fall like rain,
he longs to be the laughter he gives while performing,
yet deep inside he knows that he is just mourning.
All the acting and engaging never erases the pain,
the show must go on, his humor must remain.
A ventriloquist who suffered from sadness so intense,
just a man who is applauded when feeling self-pity.
For he is a clown on stage, the king of Second City,
but his anguish too much, his torment too immense.
He was always so happy, this didn’t make any sense.
This man grew old and kept his sidekick Sid near,
he kept it in a locked in a drawer by the staircase.
It was available to open up and take out just in case
he wanted to restart his overshadowed and lost career.
He died suddenly, and Sid went directly to the auctioneer.
Sid was sold for a measly ten dollars; no less no more.
A mother bought him for her son to play with his dad,
but suddenly the son began to act strange and sad.
Sid was nothing but a dummy who brought abhor,
a lifeless evil fiend that hated being kept in a drawer.
Years passed, and Sid never found a true mate,
filled with rage he never let go of his hate.
The Ventriloquist Contest
June 21, 2018
Praise my poetry prowess
I'm a man not a mouse
With my prose and my rhyme
Yes my ego's been soused
And is big as a house
At least most of the time
When level, I canter
I revel in banter
I'm not anyone's mime
Put me up on that stage
Though I don't act my age
And I'm well past my prime
So come in for the show
It don't cost much you know
Just a measly red dime
Said you're saving your bucks
And think poetry sucks
Then I say that's a crime
In Middle School, I played in several basketball games, two of which
were most memorable. One of them we lost but won the other one.
Once in a while, we are blessed with the presence of a magical moment.
They are rare; they are few; cherish them and understand why they are sent.
We are graced by heaven with an unspeakable and thrilling event.
Your greatest sports victory; absolutely spectacular!
Your greatest sports defeat; it’s also sincerely yours.
It’s your life, your story; dreams are made of these.
Remind yourself; tell your children and their children.
Tell them that life is best when we learn lessons that we need not repeat.
Tell them that life has balance, and provides both agonies and defeats.
When in the eight grade, I made the basketball team at my school.
It was both fun and work as I played and learned the rules.
As in every sport, winning is great; but losing is not cool.
One season, my school played a rival school.
I played the two-guard position and scored no baskets;
Nor did I succeed at anything else.
By game’s end, our rivals had scored 52 points.
And my team had managed a measly total of 12.
They were big and confident; we departed deeply defeated
and sorely beaten. I started the season with pride and expectations, but finished weakened.
But in the game of life, we pick our faces off the floor, head for the door, and stop our weeping. We cheer and shout our wins, but it’s hard to master how to lose. The greatest wins are those we celebrate when in defeat, we paid our dues.
Today, the game is over, and we lost; tomorrow, we again, lace our shoes.
Tomorrow, a new day will unfold with new battles; but a new story will emerge.
cj09032007
Tonight, there is no joy in the Broncos nation.
That was not just defeat, it was an annihilation.
Many of us were witnesses to the devastation.
It made Denver television viewers change the station.
Numerous Broncos fans must be wearing a frown.
In four quarters, they scored one measly touchdown.
It must be quiet in that big Colorado town.
Things were bad enough to make the greenest grass turn brown.
Over the Broncos, a witch’s spell must have been cast.
The gang was like a ship that sank very fast.
It seems the team saved its worst game for last.
On offense and defense, the men in orange were outclassed.
Along comes the addendum that nobody likes to hear:
The Broncos will get it together and win next year.
Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely open and wide prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
a demonic dragon filled dungeon
damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast I -
as a foo fighter flee
from the fearful, fierce-some phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting raving senseless gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno imp perils of loss that provide
an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace!
A devil in three-piece polyester
Sweaty jowls hanging over starched collar
Worker’s bane, savings account molester
Stalking your front door, try not to holler
Huntin’ for your cash; not all he will do
Piles of workers’ scalps under his front seat
Lambs to the slaughter for our Darthie-poo
Laundering funds for government elites
Business buys Washington, who buys the vote
Our tax dollars, the machine’s power source
IRS laws cut the middle class’ throat
Wall Street’s equal opportunity whores
Puts the “fun” in “fundraising” for the Man
Darthie’s knocking and he’s not here to beg
One measly pound of flesh, that’s not his plan
By law, he’s due at least one arm and leg
4/20/16
He sports some eye shades plastered to his nose.
In coolest clothes; with cell phone goes to town.
Perpetual is his strategic pose.
His glasses don’t come off when sun comes down.
He scans a crowded room for someone hot
on which to use some cheesy pick-up line
and show the ladies what finesse he’s got.
Too bad he’s never heard of “wine and dine!”
And every measly buck spent on a dame
he sees as a down payment on her "assets".
Shallowness could be his middle name
since his character has so few facets.
He tells his bimbo prey his future’s bright,
but even she just sighs and says, “Yeah, right.”
3/7/14