Best Point The Finger Poems
Hens and Roosters in the barnyard
living in symbiotic relationships
each searching for kernels of corn.
Taking turns with beaks they snip
scorned and pecked. What the heck?
How hard should it be to get along
even when some foul fowl are wrong?
Cockadoodle don't squawk at me...
Why can't you see
peace in the barnyard is a reverie.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't scratch, peck and complain
when you don't garner fame.
There should be no pecking order
Don't point the finger of blame
when you don't know the root
from which the clawing came
or you'll feel the farmer's boot.
Don't be misled by words of ruse
from roosters or hens on the loose.
They're out to suck up the worm
in the early morning sun...
their charade has just begun.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't tell me this is a fabrication...
of a chicken barnyard story.
This is merely an observation
of things that are not hunky-dory
Beware the fox, lurking near
feathers ruffled in the barnyard
Cockadoodle don't live in fear
of a fox, a wolf, a fraud.
Keep safe the eggs in your nest
Don't leave your children unguarded
Outwitting the fox is a test
One for which you'll be rewarded.
They squawked and squawked
scratched and scratched
Roosters and hens in the barnyard.
"Cockadoodle Don't Will Open the Gate,"
is the title to a new hen house song.
On this paper you’ll read what killed our humanity
The simple answer: it died to corporate greed
Our race is alive, our morals are not
But we’re just simply doing what we were taught
We murder and steal, then fine and judge
Our hypocrisy is limitless, criminals don’t even run
We point the finger, right and left
And we’ll point it till we have nothing left
If you find this note on a rock
Look to the horizon to see our Earth
I don’t even know what’ll happen to me
Maybe we’ll figure it out and be actually free
But if you only see space, say goodbye to the human race
Addiction is a disease,
and for destructive emotions, it's a release.
Addiction is nothing new,
but the pain it creates, nomatter how we deny it, will always be true.
Addiction is like medication,
and if you cling on to it will eventually become your only dedication.
Addiction creates lies,
addiction is what we develop when we want people to hear our cries.
Addiction is what we use as an excuse,
it's the reason why we always point the finger and accuse.
Addiction is real,
it is the reason why we try to block what we really feel.
Addiction lures us in,
Addiction in all ways, will always be our sin.
Addiction lives in me,
but it's up to me to open my eyes and see.
Addiction lives in you,
don't let you having nothing left be your only cue.
Addiction is your pain,
don't let it make you go insane.
Addiction is the devil,
and if you don't stop it now, against your own life,
you will be a rebel.
Racial slurs fly in Michigan like footballs.
I'm not supposed to point the finger at white women,
but white women who enjoy NASCAR, and mass
quantities of alcohol. can be pretty racists and homophobic,
This white woman said, "What did God say when he made
the first black man? "Damn, I burnt one."
Some people can lighten the mood right before a race-riot
breaks out by telling racists jokes. On the roof
of a very tall building are four men; one is asian,
one is mexican, one is black, and the last one is white.
The asian walks to the ledge and says,
"This is for all my people" and jumps off the roof.
Next, the mexican walks to the ledge and also says,
"This is for all my people" and then he jumps off the roof.
Next is the black guy's turn. The black guy walks
to the ledge and says, "This is for all my people"
and then throws the white guy off the roof.
See that's funny. We get really funny things
because of our differences. We do have to learn
to laugh, but more importantly appreciate ourselves..
Without color the world would be pretty grey.
This seems pretty obvious, but doesn't stop people
from killing each other. The world wouldn't
even be grey without color because grey is a color.
They say the blind can't lead the blind,
which brings me to my next joke.
How do you blindfold a Chinese person?
Put floss over their eyes.
I shouldn't have to spell out the obvious, or fight
for tolerance. It's getting late and my eyes
are turning red from all the jokes. Racism is
really bad comedy. it's like listening to a really bad laugh
that slowly drives a man insane. Don't even get me
started on sexism, which is just a form of stupidity.
I just don't like stupid people. I don't like when stupid
looks me in the eyes because it's ugly.Racists and sexists
must have brain cancer or some devastating mental illness,
which causes them to get mad when Mexicans don't mow
the grass or confused when black people don't like fried chicken.
I board my little metal box early in the dawn,
Adjust my seat, fix my mirror, turn the stereo on,
I love the drive, I live for the day,
And I am generally accepting,
Of all those little experiences,
Life shares with me along the way.
Check my mirrors, watch my speed,
Keep that safe distance that all drivers need,
Tense up my neck, stare into the next car,
Give people intense looks from near, and from afar.
All of the sudden, something within me jumps out,
Did I just curse, did I actually shout?
I’m only going from here to there, just a simple commute,
But there is a collective static that I cannot dispute,
As I glance at the other drivers, with that protruding vein,
From all of the anger, stress, and strain.
They all look like the angry guy in my mirror,
That is staring them right back again.
Break checking, tail gating, horns blowing,
And all of those one fingered salutes,
That my fellow drivers are showing.
Have I lost my mind? Is the traffic beginning to slow?,
Did I just call that little old lady,
A bloated warthog for not staying with the flow?
I finally reached my destination and my patience is gone,
My nerves shot, my anger boiling over, as the day wears on.
Why Oh why do I love to drive,
When just getting there wrecks my day?
I cant point the finger and blame others for my anger,
When I reacted in exactly the same way.
There is a solution to this though,
There is more than one way out,
There is a way to have a good day to this you may score,
Have others drive so you can talk,
Leave earlier and walk,
And of course, that is what a bus route is for.
It Appears That I've Changed Through Time;
Into Someone I Never Intended To Be.
I'm Not Sure How, When, Or Why This Happened;
But I'm No Longer Myself.
Although I Know It's All My Fault;
I Wish I Could Point The Finger At Someone Else.
I Could Get Back Up If I Were Knocked Down;
At Least, That Is What I Believed.
I Devoted My Love & Confidence To Persons I Believed To Be Familiar With;
I Made a Mistake, & Everything In My Universe Collapsed;
Leaving Only Ashes & Dust Behind.
There Were Moments When I Re-Started With a Renewed Commitment To Attempt;
However, I Feel So Defeated This Time That I'm Not Even Sure Where To Start.
Maralinga, Maralinga,
where the white mans fire still burns,
Where atomic radiation made the little creatures squirm,
Where walked old Nooran Gurra with the Emu fella dance,
Where the bloody fire an brimstone didn't give em any chance,
bloody radiation, awful fire of death still burns,
An his bone are bleaching whiter,
Has his spirit come to terms,
Not bloody likely,
So they give us Maralinga,
So linger longer, yes we can,
Does luekemia point the finger,
If we live upon the land.?
?? Don
yes by crikey, death and sand...
Maralinga was just one of the 1950s, British, 12 atomic blast sites, before the radiation blew to the four corners of Australia giving us the sweet subtle strontium 90 in the cows milk off the radioactive grass that the cows did eat. And the geigher counter service guy couldn't stop the counter working franticly cos the radioactive rain was falling in Brisbane in 1955...
Dead now, Jackie Walsh?
Smolderingly blonde like a strawberry,
protesting your stolen innocence; one snuffed candle.
So much promise you had, the favored cousin,
my own father loved you best.
All gone in an instant, one busy street, and one turn of the spoke
or hand at the wheel.
You could have been a draft pick or a scholar or a hired gun.
Go now to your brother Barry and father J.P., to cousin Jimmy Scanlon;
they sit waiting for you in easy chairs, sipping poteen.
Ghosts of Rawlings Avenue, let Aunt Madeline rest in peace.
I did not name my own son after you or your father consciously.
We drank the last can of Uncle Tommy’s Coors, all the way from Colorado.
It’s safe to share that secret now after 34 years.
Trading baseball cards by flashlight, remember, Jackie Walsh?
Staying up all night, waiting our parents and uncles out.
Their pot of Irish stew stirring and simmering,
their loud whispers sharp but glimmering.
Leaving them to point the finger at one another for all these years.
Passing the collection plate at Italian mass,
you knew the priest; we kept the silver dollars.
I have not really seen you since then (not even in my dreams),
except for a crazy subway ride
and a bank robbery, inside job, of course.
We all have a little larceny in our souls;
all to the sizzle and whiff of crackling eggs and Irish bacon.
I would ask where did you go, but I know it was that you stayed,
that little boy waiting for big brother's return.
Feeling jealousy and admiration for you at the same time,
then later, after, feeling lament for you and eventually contempt.
We could not fathom your loss because it was your own private property.
Stung to the soul you sorrowed and raged.
With tears on the keystrokes I offer this dirge too little, too late
for you now, to purge my own soul.
I missed you all these years, Jackie Walsh.
Sleep well now for this dream is over.
I'd like you to meet a friend of mine
Michael is his name
He has not been my loss
He has not been my gain.
He helps keep my sanity
So I'm not yet insane
And when he doesn't talk too much
He doesn't leave me drained.
Honour and integrity
Is part of this man's grain
He only stands for good and right
So this man bears no stain.
He doesn't stand behind the scenes
And point the finger and maim
If he is in the wrong
He stands and takes the blame.
And if you believe this tall tale
You are far from sane
Crazy Michael's on the loose
So I must catch a train!
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
I’m tired of self inflicted misery,
That would be the real travesty
In my life I made so many mistakes
Only God can judge me and know my fate
Only pain, loneliness, and sorrow make a home here,
But I do have a heart that cares
And it is constantly warring and tearing me apart.
Do you feel like everything bad in your life is your fault
I’m unable to complete an apologetic sentence
But it is all in the name of repentance
All these words don’t take away the pain
It feels like a down pour of cold rain
I never point the finger because I’m the one to blame
But I have learned to never live with shame
Even if it is four letter words
It stings inside so badly when they are heard
There is no place for them to go put stay and hide
They tend to crush the spirit agonize pride
To me words hurt more than a hit
The real truth is I do not want any part of it
It does not matter if it is in person or on the telephone
Stick and stones may break my bones
I know misery loves company
But words will forever hurt me
For what I write- is that the reason why?
You visit me and spend with me some time
Perhaps it is for words that make you sigh
Or truth you find well hidden in my rhyme?
Is it, perchance, to see a coy sweet smile
The vision of a woman in your mind
Perhaps forgetting troubles for a while
Elusive peace in what I write you find
But if I leave and can no longer write
Will time erase my presence from your heart?
If brokenness and strife have dimmed my sight
In coming days, will I no more have part?
Sought after and adored if I’m to be
For naught else let it be than being me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I’ve been thinking about this community a great deal lately. We claim that we love each other. We claim to be there through thick and thin. FEW…yes, FEW can stake a claim to that. I’ve been under the weather for the last couple of days. I’ve been ill….AND….I’ve been forgotten. I know, it is easy to point the finger. There have been poets here who have gone missing, and I do often wonder where they are…..if they are ill, disheartened or just disinterested. I wish I could say that I’ve always sent a little message saying that they are missed. I haven’t. Yes, we are all in love with poetry, but I hope we can see beyond the poet’s words and into his/her heart…..There abides a person wanting to be loved for whom he/she IS…and NOT simply for what he/she can GIVE. I’d like to share this lovely poem that illustrates this so well…..HUGS
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
It is not God's will
When disaster befalls the innocent, it is not God's will
Hope that the evil one will not repent, it is not God's will
When a tornado strikes and destroys everything in it's path
Some believe that the wind was heaven sent, it is not God's will
When the greedy kill and destroy part of God's own handiwork
Blameless hands to God they cannot present, it is not God's will
When self righteous ones point the finger and judge others as bad
How can they explain it at Christ's judgement, it is not God's will
When a drunk driver decides to take the wheel and takes a life
That decision he will surely lament, it is not God's will
When people blame God for all the evil that happens today
Taught by those in glorious white vestments, it is not God's will
15 syllables per line
John Derek Hamilton
April 27,2016
No More Rain (Tim Flannerys Prediction)
by Robert (Bob) Moore
Tim woke up this morning, banged his head against the wall
I once told the people, “no more rain would fall”
so they built a desalination plant, to purify sea water
hope they don’t send me the bill, but I guess they really oughta
It has rained quite a bit since then, it’s raining here today
the ice caps are still melting, and some small islands washed away
but we will get a drought again, of that there is no doubt
and others like our Tim, will be chanting doomsday all about
I am not saying Man, has not stuffed up this Planet bad
but it’s been done so we could have, the life that we have had
but turning our lights on and off, will not fix the damage done
we need to make some solid plans, not windfarms and some sun
We need scientists to come together, make our energy all clean
not argue, and point the finger, about what’s already been
a workable solution, with conservation, starting first
and maybe build another dam, before the ones we have all burst
Something in the air.
People will see what they want to see
And blame who they want to blame
I don't want to see the reflection of me
To face the mirror of my own shame
The one who smelt it dealt it
Is a jibe we learned in our youth
The one who denies it supplies it
Looking back we see it's the truth
It's easier to point the finger
To divert attention elsewhere
And if the smell should linger
Just refuse to breathe your own air
Something stinks around here he proclaims
Take a breath, did you get a good whiff?
But only it seems around you!
That confirms it then he says to himself
Why is it you're always last to know
When your breath gives off a bad smell
With your nose located an inch from your mouth
You should be the first to tell
But it's always another who points it out
Hey, brother, I've a mint for you!
No thanks, I just ate you quickly reply
But he insists,'Go ahead take two!'
We need to be tactful, and never be mean
But it needs to be pointed out
The importance for all in oral hygiene
Can never be left to doubt
So next time someone offers you a mint
Take a moment and ask yourself why
Is he kindly trying to give you a hint
For the cause of that tear in his eye?
If we all could focus on the rafter in our own
And not that straw in another's
We wouldn't have to find ourselves all alone
Shut off from those we called brothers
The kisses of a hater are to be despised
But the wounds of a lover invited
So when offered a mint don't be surprised
He's helping your wrongs to be righted
If only you could close up that space
Given more thought to the words that you chose
The source of the problem in many a case
Is right there under your nose
It is myself that holds me back
No other can be blamed
For my own actions are my choices
My life is mine, so named
I cannot sit and point the finger
To blame then for my fall
I must stand up and take the action
To go on through that wall
No boundary now can hold me back
Nor wall withstand my force
I am determined to forge ahead
I’ve finally found my course
Accountability, now is just mine
Through all the bad and good
The finger now points back at me
I am doing as I should