Best Tort Poems
I did a dodgy job of mending
The backyard gate.
Mellow memories still feel like gaping gallows,
They perch like birds do on the fence
And eat all the seasoned grapes.
I thought reminiscing
About tort predecisions
Was an act that had distanced itself
From my street.
But those aches
Of the past still hang around
My back gate
Like dog s**t on the lawn,
Where's that darn rake?
The grass hasn't been mowed in weeks
And those nosy neighbors pretend
To know me or what type of fertilizer I use
Or what flowers are in bloom
On my porch.
Fake talk.
Maybe it's time I picked up some nails
From the hardware store and
Mend those hinges.
HURRICANE HATTIE
It came like a thief
After midnight
Stealthily
Unawares
Mischievously
Spitefully
Desperately
Determined
With preconceived plans
Across the Caribbean Sea
Suddenly turning west
Making a beeline
To British Honduras
In Central America
It foiled expectations
That it would arrive
At seven the next morning
And
Instead
Made a surprise visit
Six hours earlier
And
Like the Gestapo
The KGB
The Secret Police
Attacked
While people were
Least prepared
Snoozing
Snoring
Dreaming
Of better things.
Discriminating
It attacked
Belize
Ignoring neighboring
Guatemala
Honduras
Mexico
As if
Remotely controlled
By some
Vengeful fanatic
At 150 miles per hour
And more
It
Clobbered
Battered
Hammered
Pounded
The coastline
Of
The Jewel
People still ’memba
How in ’61
It wrecked havoc
In Dangriga
Belize City
San Pedro
Cay Caulker
Among others
As it
Thumped
Hit
Broke
Lifted
Pushed
Carried
Dumped
Submerged
Their valuables
And
Like a Repo Man
Dispossess them
Of their
Treasured belongings
Within the
Make-belief safety
Of its eye
Poor people
Thinking it was over
Sought their fortunes
On the beaches
In the shops
In others’ property
When Hattie
On a round trip ticket
Came back hurriedly
And with
More gusto
Lashed out
As a category five
Storm
Typhoon
Hurricane
To teach them a lesson
In
Tort
Honesty
Respect
And dignity.
In the end
One third of the coast
Was devastated
One third
Damaged
And
Another third
Standing
With 264 dead
And millions
Of dollars lost
The place lay wasted
Spoiled
Thorn
Flooded
Damaged
Wounded
Smashed
Muddied
Polluted
As
Debris
Corpses
Belongings
And victims
Wallowed in its wake.
As it distanced itself
From
Its handiwork
And Observed
With a smirk
Its power
To
Subdue
Man
Woman and child
It grinned
In satisfaction
At its exploits
And its supernatural supremacy
To shape destiny
And vanquish the vulnerable
Temporary InSlamity
Two a.m , still awake, gettin’ leg-shakes
Gaggin’, burnin’ on my mis-slam-stakes
Tryin’ to win some judge judy’s hot damn
Thank-you-ma’am for hosting this con-slam-test
As I sling slam sludge like hogs in a hookup ham-fest
Just a small-time soul slammin’ junkie motha
Hopin’ this funky slam betta than at least one otha!
Didn’t know when I started tho…
Twenty-five crappy lines could sentence me
To prison time for petty poetic crimes bro... or should I say brotha….
Cause this fussed-over cussed-over rhymin’ over-doses
Ain’t no Gun and Roses, hell it ain’t even close-es
More like prosetry psychosis
Induced by late-night deep hypnosis
Where am I??? maaannnn.. time to be poppin’ some more no-sleep no-dozes
Hope the Judge J. rules summarily
That I suffered temporary in-slam-ity illiterarily
Or had an unnecessary ca-slam-ity vocabularily
And no matter which way judge rolls, just so she knows
I didn’t write this slam ma’am… this slam is writing me (very eerily…)
So Judge Judy of poetic tort, appealing to your phoenetic court
Don’t abort this sham of a slam to the sordid slammer
Order it posted where it can be toasted on glam slam site Instagrammar
Cause tryin’ me, fryin’ me over crimey slammism
Means death of ode age in poetical prison…
© 2014 all rights reserved
there once was a man from afar
who stood and held forth at the bar
but the tort he invoked was no more than a joke
in defence of the hot pink galah
now the judge who was wearing a wig
when he heard this did dance him a jig
for a poor constitution conveyed no solution
in the case of the flight of the pig
so the case was referred to the crown
who replied with a quizzical frown
how dare this galah make a pig fly so far
i refer to the case of the clown
but the clown at the back of the court
said surely there's more of import
than pigs and galahs who can fly through the bars
when the judge is so easily bought
galah: 1-gregarious australian pink and grey parrot notable for its often comical behaviour
(Out of Eden IV)
I’m cross as I cross The Cross
And wonder as I wander
My Spirit has rejected the spirit in me
For fear that it’s fare is fair.
The cause of my ‘coarse’, of course
Is as tied, as the tide betides
Fight then the fete of fate with faith
The feat, by the feet, defeat.
The bait of my bate the debate
As I bare the obeah that I bear
I’m taut with thought of tort I’m taught
Indecent descent to dissent.
Now, Requiem of Carpe Diem
Like a fool, I lived life to the full
My sinews of sins are a scene of obscene
Whether it’s seen or unseen.
It’s whether I’ll weather the weather
Just pray that I’m not the prey
My life is a life, in life, for life
Too dear and so dear to ‘dare’!
Please pass me a piece of peace
And sing me a song sung strong
To laud The Lord as loud as allowed
His Reins shall arraign to Reign.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
Le Problème avec des Blancs – Translation of Jim Everett’s « The White Man Problem » by T. Wignesan
(Jim Everett, Mawbana Pleregannana, b. 1942 on Flinders Island, Tasmania, has had a chequered career and like almost all the aboriginal poets and writers in English of the first post-WWII generation, hardly made it over the primary school curricula. He’s a poet, playwright and essayist (short articles). Among the jobs he tried his hand at : telegram boy, factory hand, fisherman, merchant seaman, rigger, truck driver, public servant, aboriginal community worker and political activist. He was the national secretary of the National Aboriginal and Islander Writers Oral Literature and Dramatists Association.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 15, 2016
Des aborigènes ayant lutté ne cessent de perdre.
L’homme blanc est venu pour répandre son fléau,
Ils ont apporté leurs droits que nous n’avons pas choisis.
Nous ne pouvons pas contrôler cette chose qui nous étouffe,
Malgré cet obstacle nous devons nous faire avancer
Et nous devons aussi rester fidèle à nos croyances dans leurs
évolution,
Dans l’espoir que l’attitude des blancs va se diminuer.
Des hommes blancs ne s’intéressent pas à comprendre nos
traditions,
Ils pensent que leur technologie est la meilleure solution pour
l’homme.
Et ils persistent à nous faire renoncer à nos coutumes ancestrales
Et leur ‘civilisation’ continue à nous nous faire soumettre.
Ils ne voient pas à quel point ils ont tort,
Etant aveuglés par la gloire et le pouvoir.
Leur pouvoir les empêche à distinguer le vrai but de la vie,
Ainsi créant le problème des hommes blancs qui nous rende
amers.
Les problèmes des blancs s’avèrent être l’avarice et le viol,
Et leurs dix commandements qu’ils désobéissent à volonté.
Pour quelle raison ont-ils des telles lois s’ils ne peuvent pas les
suivre,
C’est toujours le cas des tous les blancs.
La réponse devrait se trouver dans le fait de leur pouvoir,
Exploitant d’autres pauvres blancs sans défense parmi eux.
L’histoire de l’homme blanc se résume à : chacun pour soi-même,
Que le problème de l’homme blanc n’est guère confiné à la
couleur de sa peau.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
There's a game known as Chess that I learned as a lad
But in spite of the passage of time I'm still bad.
I can not see ahead seven moves like some do;
If you say, "Bobby Fischer" I'll just come back with, "Who?"
I speak French when I must, as in terms like, "J'adoube,"
But it's all a charade, for I think like a boob.
I don't know who invented this mind-wasting sport,
But I'm sure many law books would deem it a tort.
You can find "Chess For Dummies" on shelves in bookstores,
And I once tried to read it, eliciting snores.
See, I'm trapped in the middle, 'twixt Firsties and Plebes;
It is called Mediocre, and it ranks me with Dweebs.
But this thing's got me hooked; I just can't walk away;
It's a weird fascination that's always in play.
I don't care if you trounce me in ten moves or less
When I trot out my Queen in a desperate press.
My intent is to smash you like ANVIL on bone,
But it's not very often that I'm in the zone.
And I have other schemes that I'm willing to try;
GARIBALDI's the Gambit that might make you cry.
When I'm lazy I mimic your opening game;
MIRROR MOVES, my descriptive, alliterative name.
Metaphors just delight me as labels for ploys
To deprive my opponents of all of their joys.
If I were only equally good with my men
I could teach all of you a sore lesson, and then
I would not have to channel my fear of defeat
Into tirades like these that sound like a goat's bleat.
I SUGGEST READING ALOUD TO MAKE SENSE OF THIS MESS
Eyed bean tort sins butt her might
nurse sirree rimes an pomes re site
pry Mary cull hers read an blew
numb hers wan two a tea to
Anne Singh a long width "Whet Whet Whet"
butt knot lettuce off thee alpha bet
off cause, eats plane four hugh two sea
eye no knot my aye, bee, sea
inn stead off righting poet tree
isle writer diction hairy
***********************************
I should right my wrongs here. In this piece there is not one word correctly spelled, yet they're all accepted English words. Spelling errors get right up my gut and in poetry they detract from the flavor.
MY SPELLING IS FINE
I'd been taught since but a mite
nursery rhymes and poems recite
primary colors red and blue
numbers one to eighty-two
and sing along with "Wet Wet Wet"
but not letters of the alphabet
of course it's plain for you to see
I know not my A, B, C
instead of writing poetry
I'll write a dictionary
Debbie, I know you asked for serious, bilingual poetry. I thought I'd throw this in the brew for fun. Loved your example, by the way. :)
Bob’s accident was not "too" bad;
young lady with both legs broken.
Driving on drugs, he’s ultra rad;
“Go to Rehab,” judge has spoken.
Meanwhile... she goes to rehab too;
Bev learns to walk again, wahoo.
When laws and legs guys freely break,
what’s “legit” walks off the pages.
Their lawyers give this bellyache,
“We don’t put addicts in cages!”
Meanwhile... last time Bob tests a tort,
Bev appears as lawyer in court.
written May 26, 2018
These things offend,
know I, tis true.
In these I've been schooled,
now I tell them to you.
An innocent touch, a wayward look,
a word or threat aimed anothers way.
Is today considered harassment,
and that party has final say.
Were not to needle, mock, or jab,
to razz, or quip, gibe,or jeer.
To scorn, roast or ridicule,
and whatever you do don't leer.
It's best that we not banter words,
deride,intimidate, or taunt.
Should you be one inclined to joke,
these too, you must not flaunt.
We must not rile another,
even though it be in jest.
Sneering too, is not allowed,
so put those thoughts to rest.
Anothers traits never mock,
nor offend with apparel you doff.
Find not within, reason to knock,
while daring not to scoff.
Belittling another isn't right
not take occasion to tease.
But other than these few things
treat others as you please.
In meeting, should I not extend a hand,
and appear to have little to say,
It won't be because I'm snobbish,
but fear a Tort Lawyer coming my way.
An innocent soul appeared to them as someone who interfered,
But helping and caring were the only things that it ever volunteered.
It stood and gave them unconditional support,
Unbiased and happy , it was comport.
Instead of cherishing the good times ,
for them it suddenly turned into a tort.
Days passed and
Then, came the moment of truth,
They didn't care about the soul ,
And busted their cruelty upon it which was so bold.
Saying it was merely a delusion of being nice.
They decided to walk out leaving it behind,
Withered and bleeding with cries of its lost pride.
It was like getting unnecessary punishment for giving their silent lives , a
rhyme.
What could it do now ?
Isolate , kill itself or remain undisputed.
That day was when humanity lost.
That was the day when the limits were crossed.
It's hard to find people who live for others,
But in today's world who bothers.
They still sort for crowds of disguised happiness.
Purity of soul and love are now obsolete.
Because in this world no one is absolute.
I guess on that night I learn and gain strength,
Until this moment I am in that spot and completely tense.
Anyone's life can stop in the wink of an eye,
I cant forget that 10 minutes flash that i almost died.
Never had the experience,therefore, never knew how to react.
It was acid in a bottle! That is the plain straight fact.
Could not speak, just had to listen to his convincing crop,
Until he found out he was boring so he got a hold of my chain and just suddenly stop.
A new day over silver I thought was best,
A permanent one room dwelling is not a great place to rest.
I could have stood up and put up a fight,
But I knew it would have ended in a bloody night.
There are moments in life that we have to accept defeat,
I rather to be a sheep and enjoy this life which is sweet.
So I guess on the night I learn that life is short,
Everyday we are open to danger and inattention is a type of tort.
Escape the tort of our avarice world
Defy the ones who shift the blame
Deter the decadence forgetting shame
Freedom is on the top of the bare eyes
Beyond the consciousness of The Human Kind
Search harder and then you'll find
The Land of Sophia
Dwelling past are needs
Swirling around our bare minds
Our wants polluting out sight
the Land of Sophia is lost at night
Are the Lies held
worth it in time
Only embracing The Veil of Logic
The Truth is cast into shade
where all vices are soon to be made
For all of our dreams and dramaticies
The Destruction Star poisons seas
Far from This Galaxy
among the stars
I can see myself,
And The One I've became
Escape the tort of our avarice world
Defy the ones who shift the blame
Deter the decadence forgetting shame
Freedom is on the top of the bare eyes
Beyond the consciousness of The Human Kind
Search harder and then you'll find
The Land of Sophia
Dwelling past are needs
Swirling around our bare minds
Our wants polluting out sight
the Land of Sophia is lost at night
Caught in our lust,
of forgetting trust
I wonder can we break free
of bound forever in the clutches
of Lilith's Love
Eden's Heart
Who's desperate For Love
Who's desperate For Light
yet wallows in Blight
and chooses to wait--forevermore
The wait in Summer--An Eternity
Lilith's Love
Eden's Heart
Escape the tort of our avarice world
Defy the ones who shift the blame
Deter the decadence forgetting shame
Freedom is on the top of the bare eyes
Beyond the consciousness of The Human Kind
Search harder and then you'll find
The Land of Sophia
Dwelling past are needs
Swirling around our bare minds
Our wants polluting out sight
the Land of Sophia is lost at night
We don't chose what's right
I can't believe we are able to see this far
Crawling in Shadows
Never will breath find it's light
Escape the tort of our avarice world
Defy the ones who shift the blame
Deter the decadence forgetting shame
Freedom is on the top of the bare eyes
Beyond the consciousness of The Human Kind
Search harder and then you'll find
The Land of Sophia
Dwelling past are needs
Swirling around our bare minds
Our wants polluting out sight
the Land of Sophia is lost at night
**Mark Jansen, Guitarist, Male Vocals, and main songwriter of Epica**
L’amoureux brindezingue dit non avec la tète
Le cerveau fort agité amèrement s’embête
Pendant qu’il dit oui avec le cœur enflammé
D’un amour incertain, embaumé et emmitouflé
Oh ! Quelle bête! Les femmes ont toujours raison
Même quand elles ont tort. La gravité défie la raison
Dit-on, d’un air funambulesque et prodigieux
L’amour à sens unique est bizarre et malheureux
Quelle folie de se voir noyer dans l’entonnoir de l’étang
Le fou rire le prend, le cancre a gaspillé tout son temps
L’amoureux désaxé au lieu de rencontrer le grand bonheur
Se voit masquer dans les cendres noires d’un triste malheur.
Copyright © Avril 2022, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
It's like a source of mental therapy
When your at nort, now take note
I don't know that much about poetry
It is all self tort, whatever I've wrote
At times I’m giving one some insight
I suppose it's kind of like a progression
Talking in rhymes, whatever it is I write
Is usually like that of some expression
In a few lines, I'm shedding some light
On thoughts, feelings, an introspection
It's like everything then shine's so bright
Some way of dealing with depression
When in those moment's of adversity
Expressing a thought, how ever remote
Also it can too improve one's memory
If your feeling distort, a kind of antidote
Some bits of this were taken from an old write which
was called no deeper meaning though
i felt this better an a kind of interiduction to what I have wrote
over years though not a lot for me
its not so muchthe quatiy more the qoaulity
and this sums up how i do feel at times
getting your thoughts on paper
there is a prequal to this called poem though i think this better
written 2012 updated 2013