Best Red Handed Poems
I can't help myself, it's what I do
I'm just so addicted to the trade
I was too dang scared to steal the dog
'Cause of all the noise he made
You can see that I'm a cat burglar
By the mask and kitty in my paws
It's not like I stole your jewlery box
So I'm really not breaking any laws
See, I was only gonna borrow him
There's no need to sound the alarm
I needed this varmint to scratch my back
I didn't mean the little fella any harm
Now wait just a minute, don't call the cops
You caught me red handed with the critter
I'll give him back, 'cause he smells like poo
So you probably need to change the kitty litter
For Francine's Contest "Tell me about it"
"Broken families beget culprits, and late remorse can never set things right"
~ By Poet.
Scenes reel back casting dark shadows,
Of the fated day I had to leave my home,
Handcuffed and guarded by cops on either side,
Despised by all as one so loathsome.
I had in me, then the heart of stone
All I could think of was my own gain.
Thoroughly swept by the rip - tide of illusion,
I had no regard for another's pain.
‘Drink life to the lees' was my credo,
So, I gambled to make a hoard of money.
Drugs and dopes gave me instant delight.
Initially my days were all too sunny.
But suddenly life derailed from its track
My wallet was like a leaking tank.
All its contents drained out in no time.
Gradually into dejection and despair, I sank.
Eliminated from life by my own misdeeds,
Weary of mind from stress and strife,
Hate grew and hardened within me as a rock.
Once I ripped my rival with a knife.
Convicted and caught red handed,
I ended up in this cheerless cell.
Within these dank forlorn walls,
I shrink like an oyster in its shell.
Everything here is dusty and rusty.
To get some peace as I attempt to sleep,
Marauding thoughts invade my brain.
Like a line of red ants, they listlessly creep.
In my ears fall the sobs of my loving mother,
Now in dumps, orphaned by her drunken husband,
I could never love my father, a true rascal
But I feel heartbroken as I think of my mother so abandoned
You may have seen
Cinderella’s poison undressed
A few moments obscene
Where the people claiming hold to beauty
Pretend to be the victums
It’s sick to see a bully
Shed tears and play the world for fools
However cyanide nor mediocrity will do
Never seeing the world in another’s shoe
The Saints do see, looking down on your phew
They can not really write
So no one really views
Why bother with their hatred spewed?
When flowers bloom and better talent is the news
They lie and slander
Even caught red handed
They will say; is you who are blind
They, the beautiful ones, so unkind
Little ones, pretending to have big shoes
They lack eloquence but that’s not news
They are seen for what they are
Jealous of the brighter star
Without their baggage, one can travel far
Tongues loose, tongues in a hangman’s noose
Wag without care to declare nonsense
As wisdom salvaged from the sluice
Where nonsense whacked common sense
Lost in a sea of error whose terror
Harmed victims concealed by protagonists who opted to promote
The cult of nonsense whose defence mirror
Plunged into reverse gears that chose to demote
Common sense when tongue waggers
Congregated in an occult cabal to upgrade gossiping skills
As though grapevine daggers
Staggered upper echelons of wisdom whose quills
Spilled reason in dark corners where tongue waggers shared nonsense seeds
Plus fertilizers of idleness and the icing on cakes of lies
Whose taste on tongues that wagged feeds
Total belief in naked gossip sties
Tied malfeasants together tighter
The better for them to wage war on common sense and desecrate workplace etiquette
Which is anathema to tenets of ultimate gossipers rate lighter
Than curses the wisdom ticket
That caught gossipers red handed munching grapevine beans
While sharing tins and pins of sins
For which gossipers scrambled when grapevine means
Came under close scrutiny when truth queens
Declared grapevines illegal in Wisdom Land
Where any culprit convicted of spreading gossip propaganda
Would be stripped of the royal brand
And punished for the gossip blunder
Committed without shame
To discredit the truth and integrity
In solemn worship of the blame name and claim
Would be sent to Coventry for eternity.
Tim was the new judge in Deadwood Flat
Not really qualified, just a rancher at that
He first case was of the outlaw, Horace Slade
Caught red handed in a cattle raid
The jury took ten minutes to recommend the noose
Better than letting this rattlesnake loose.
Tim smoothed out his robe, asked Slade to speak
Slade perked up, though his future was bleak
"It was only my brain, my brain it was me.
Badly constructed, that's how I plea
My thoughts, my feelings, my crooked way
All preprogrammed in my DNA!
"You see Dad was a member of the cardshop mob
Mom always drunk, and moreover a slob
My twin set a cat on fire at the age of three
So, who could predict much hope for me?
Tim panicked, searched his dictionary
Couldn't find DNA, wished he was on the prairie
He had never heard that excuse before
But said to Slade, "proceed, tell us more"
Slade felt hope, and got on a roll
He said "ain't no such thing as a soul'
"I know the computer hasn't been invented yet
"But we're programmed, coded, our path in life set!
"I shot a man to watch him die
Then partied at the bar for an alibi
Not my fault, an MRI would have shown
My limbic system, quiet as a stone.
The jury murmured, Tim gave a sigh
What was a computer, or an MRI?
Slade's nonsense was going too far
Slade could have used a lesson in better P.R.
Tim said, "I hope what you say is not true
I like soul and spirit, the afterlife too.
But either way, some feelings I can't transcend
My brain wants your pointless existence to end!
They planned to hang Slade on the Alder tree
Justice would be served, jury did agree
Then Slade tried a ploy, to explain his crime
He yelled "I'm a traveler through time!"
"I come from the year 2024
DNA, MRI, computers and more
Got stuck in a time warp, had to survive
You'd do the same to stay alive"
They had to let Slade go, agreed he's insane
Tim didn't like to do it, it went against the grain
But Deadwood Flats couldn't hang a guy
Who believed in computers, DNA, and MRI!
Tendrils twist and dance, guiltless, unblamed,
getaway vehicle, of the flame-
uncharged of previous transpyre, that's your game.
Like a serpent you shed your skin of the shame
of the red-handed fire.
You greasy sleaze, you leave yourself lingering,
advertising yourself on the byways,
but coy- like a transmitted disease.
Perhaps Prometheus will give you a place to lay low
till things cool down.
Maybe Haefestus knows what to do with your sort.
I think you should go to Hades,
for swaying every which way the wind blows,
you two faced liar.
But wouldn't it also be fitting if you went back to Aphrodite's Temple and returned to those
choking on the burnt offerings-
of their lust-
choking out true desire.
She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations.
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”
She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating
She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands
She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.”
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu
She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the
Greek king with words of wisdom.” I could see some wise epigram poems
She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”
Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!
* A tale of a charlatan, caught pretending to be a father of a Newton Massacre
Victim----(feel free to view his hyperbole on Youtube, search Robbie Parker
Interview)
This place is not big on naming names, but you sir, are despicable! Usurp
nightmares of another. Charlatan! How can you do what you do, there, bold
face lying for world news cameras. You, the very reason mine stomach pit,
ulcer amore'! Tho' there's no clear understanding for sins you've committed.
Those children! Where are the tears Robbie Parker? Where are the tears? We
can't look at you anymore!
The epitome of evil approached the podium, unaware we were staring into
your laughing eyes. Caught red handed, you Superman'd into character.
Despise, despise! No, I won't pretend like the others that hate is not in my
heart. You see, minus hate, love remains half mast. I thank you for the
juxtaposition. Yet, sickening you are. And the truth is out Mr. Parker, you are
a farce! Now I ask...Where does the misconception end? You mock naysayers,
label them "Conspiracy Theorists" amongst other choice vulgarities. In return,
I request answers. Answers to understand where true conspiracy roams, for'
I'm no dummy little buddy, and I know where there's smoke, fire is nearby.
Meanwhile, you might want to sharpen your acting skills, for the end is nigh.
And you Robbie Parker are only a speck of the lie.
You rigged the book on Sandy Hook.
I guess we can struggle when we sit down to write
But use your own words - to plagiarise isn’t right
When I read a poem that’s simply too good to be true
I then begin to question, was it even written by ‘you’
If I google a few lines it will give me the answer
You’ve been caught red handed – you were a chancer
I just want to read poems that I’ve never read before
If I find stolen work I won’t read ‘yours’ any more
Why claim words from another writer, as it is a crime
You’ll never find stolen words in any poem of mine
Part 1 posted on soup 7th February 2015
Part 2 ...
To obtain contest glory and gong
You stole another's words, it's so wrong
Plagiarism is vile
You've done it quite a while
I’m hoping this is your swan song
Hollander died aged eighty three
So tell me how could it be
His work’s here on soup
‘you’ wrote it – that’s poop
Soup booted this fraud speedily!
Sadly the culprit has once again been posting stolen work soup even entering it for contests, thanks to eagle eyed souper's he has been removed once more.
30th December 2019
She was tender and fragile...
till She met this paedophile.
the evil had just landed
never to be caught red-handed.
His fantasies were little girls
... he loved crushing those beautiful pearls..
with his dirty male appendages...
she screemed in silence
and resisted that violence
20 yrs have passed...
how she was beign harassed
in no news channel it was ever broadcast...
that fear in her heart
distanced her and she fell apart..
i hope when you read this
still love her with a kiss..
life teaches us to be strong
how to play the same tune and song...
if you're tortured and abused
and a voice you never used
he will visit you again..
to inflict the pain...
Copyright @ REDfiery 2011, December
My galoshes were covered in rain,
I thought, “oh my word! This is a pain!”
But my shoes were found dry,
so I never did cry,
soggy water they seemed to retain.
Before I got home I saw the mess,
I lifted my foot and felt distress.
Doggie doodoo on it,
I did throw a great fit,
my life can't expect anything less!
So I hurried and ran to the hose,
I thought, “oh, thank God the wife doesn’t know!”
She’d kick me to the curb,
my life is so absurd,
“why can’t she just go with the darn flow!”
I walked into the house unaware,
I wondered if Theresa was there.
She caught me red-handed,
there the doo-doo landed,
WHAT??? My galoshes had a deep tear!
My Shoes Contest
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Syllable count: 9-9-6-6-9
Date Written: August 25, 2016
My name has spread round the neighborhood
anytime I slip and commit the slightest miscue.
The best news caption to all ears
is when the topic centers on my issue.
Their deadly words causing much pain
as they eat up every tissue.
Refusing me all opportunity to redeem myself
as all I end up doing is argue.
Catching Rebecca red handed,
Oh my best friend, even you!
knowing how she stabs me at the back
despite being attached to her like a glue
condemns me beyond redemption
and leaves me totally in black and blue.
These stories are far from being true
and their effects on me
make me dysfunctional like a statue
When considering the root of this problem
I blame myself for giving them the avenue.
Already knowing in and out of me,
they coin their versions and heavily miscontrue.
But this has got to stop!
Swallowing this mess, is long overdue.
The satisfaction and amusement,
they enjoy and accrue
is what I must face
and ensure they discontinue.
No one can be my saviour
only but I, can come to my own rescue.
I now leave my shell,
facing squarely, those who
are dedicated to my pursue.
Goodness me! The result seems quite easy
as they all hide to my subdue.
Then I realize,
I still have some virtue.
Therefore, no one should dare
treat me in disvalue
until you start walking in my shoe
In an attempt to establish an uncertain linkage between 2 parables,
Ivo Torena resorted to impress his colleagues all night long; hence,
awkward as a cow on a crutch, he was cowed into pilfering bananas,
and when he was caught red-handed by the deputy, his eyes showed
no response even though his arteries were friendly. Thus, a series of
tribulations took place inside his troubled mind for outlandish
reasons, and his whereabouts were commended by one of the top
enemies of the state: The twerp from Antwerp. On a serious note,
a cabal of notorious hotshots devised an agenda to unnerve Ivo
until the cow comes home. Still and all, Torena has a truly unique
composure, unlike the belligerent Belgian, and his mannerisms
can't be reciprocated with ease. Furthermore, the notoriety with
which he prattled and sprattled was momentous! His uneventful
birth can't hold a candle to any cinematographic invention although
his water bottle company is a candle in the wind and the pieces
begin to assemble duly without second thoughts whatsoever.
The dark eerie fog and glowing gaslights. She sits woefully. He is gone again tonight. Rumors whispers of the terror, as she holds on once again. Murder by night and a stirring muffin man. The dark old Victorian house creaks with fear. A young lover grasps her pillow, shedding her tear. Not far from Drury Lane and not far from the insane. He has returned unnoticed and is the worker of the house. He needs his rest, so She softly walks like a timid mouse. She tries to share but he doesn’t care.Your going mad woman. There is nothing there! Do you really know the muffin man or any man? Gone again, hehe, you can’t catch me.The nightly affair of terror returns, as her mind wonders. Some imagination are easily dismissed but the flickering gas light, just doesn’t not quit, like a beaconing omen of their love. She thinks to rekindle but there is a knock at the door The police have her battered husband. We caught him red-handed for sure. Fears within fears, fears without, and fear without a doubt. Fears come in and fears go out. Dawn screams in the rain, as she finally goes insane. - Based upon the abuse of gaslighting and actual murders in London.
Ornery in the mornings balled up on my chair,
a stretch, a yawn, a "purr" to remind me she's there.
Delicately munching her chicken flavored brunch,
leaned over her bowl with an elegant hunch.
She spins, flops, rolls and claws, and ZING!...
She's gone without a blinking pause.
Catnip guiltily clouds the air,
the red handed suspect creator of this devilish hair.
She flies back in and drops to her back,
"now you sir rub my belly whilst I take a nap!"
How splendidly grand the life of this cat.