Best Trial Poems
You came like rain I waited since twilight;
How would I deeply say with tenderness?
the way you filled my life with cool delight,
Like a touch of raindrops in the wilderness.
You gaze like ivory clouds at noontime;
How would I deeply say with so much glee?
the way you touch my heart with love sublime,
like a kiss of cloud's silhouette in me.
You smile like crescent moon in summer nights,
How would I deeply say with hopeful heart?
the way you soothe my soul in soaring heights
like a soft moonglow that shall not depart.
Thrashed her life in that vicious fuscous night
Tattered her body in that mucky verdant site
Shattered her dreams in that bloody wicked plight
Four feigned civilized animals, enjoyed their bite.
They waited their turn to deracinate her
With ears and heart kept fastened for her prayer
With ineffable agony nature tried to cover
Her natural body with leafy little shower.
When tired they spared her for a midget time
And wrapped in a blanket to set a meacock crime
Wetted in fuel they fired the chad as a scheme
And disenthralled the soul of the decubitus dame.
Now tell me the judgement of these cruel critters
Hang or guillotine their ugly little heads
Lynching or castration, anything you can propose
Sharpen your quills and the judgement of the case.
Honorable Mention in STRAND SPECIAL 12 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
Salem Village, Massachusetts
May 11, 1692
Of evil works in league with the devil, I am accused.
Spit upon, bolts tethered in chains, I have been abused.
People mardle I cast spells of palsie to make them twitch.
Blinded by fear, they labeled me a sorceress, a witch.
Superstition is to blame for blinding their eyes.
I claim innocence when affronted by boisterous cries.
"Burn the witch!" they shout in frenzied outrage.
Until tomorrow's trial, I am to be kept inside a cage.
These Puritans are wrong to think they do God's will.
Christians should not have such an urgency to kill.
There is no talk of banishment. That would be a blessing,
but the crimes they say I committed, I am not confessing.
Other women in the village are facing this tragic fate.
Pity that our lives will be in the hands of the magistrate.
Sorrow fills me knowing I will meet death on the gallows
and tossed in a grave, not worthy of ground that is hallow.
I am already convicted in the minds of those who leer.
My pleas of having done nothing wrong, they do not hear.
All of a dudder, I hear them say, "She is a witch possessed!"
"Forsooth," I will cry in court, "to witchery I have not confessed!"
Somewhere from outside, I faintly hear a church bell clanging.
Then, a hoard of voices screaming, "It is time for hanging!"
I write these words before the mob comes to take me away.
God, please keep me in your heart. I will not live another day.
Bridget Bishop,
Falsely accused of being a witch
On a temperature perfect evening, while kids play and run
I am sitting in a gazebo under a slowly setting sun
Unexpectedly, an insect appears in my line of sight
like the stereotypical tear flowing from a man of might
Watching; it saunters around my feet
Is it afraid of my presence? Should it be afraid of me?
Have I become afraid of it? Paranoid are we.
Is this the feeling the great and defeated Goliath felt?
Intrigued by this encounter, I think what an awful hand this bug was dealt.
For I have now become judge and jury; The gazebo is now a courtroom
The insect moves beyond my feet and closer to me
My nerves all rise.
Perhaps I could crush this being
like a foot to a grape, its ending would be red
On the contrary, it's possible the insect just wants to be fed
Perhaps I'll relocate the bug without the shedding of slime
It would be hard to justify such action, consider the scene of the crime,
Perhaps I shall agree with its innocent plea
and leave it alone to let it be...
The latter I chose for who am I to decide
A splatter of a death for an outdoor being, being outside
Upon leaving the courtroom feeling justice was served,
I was unaware the insect was being observed
Compassionate was I, like a god being merciful to a sinner
but it was soon caught in a spider's silky web for dinner...
Written March 19, 2017
Poetry on trial?
I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block
No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.
Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.
Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.
Send shivers down ones spine, Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.
Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.
Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt,
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath,
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.
So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control.
By
David Kavanagh
Allow me explain
Brethren gathered here for
Custom dictates
Due process prevail
Exaggerated much
Flaws mine-as may seem
Granted the providence of evidence you see
Highly placed the source-allegedly
Inconceivable the idea that falsehoods they be
Jury decide-be it she or be it me
Kissing and telling discretely-of course
Listlessly I will you tell this tale, you see
My wife's mother's brother's valet-who doubles as mine
Noticed a queerness about this chambermaid fine
Opulent her head with silky tresses
Perfect her skin as nothing else is
Quenching a thirst as non I ever knew
Repugnant as I found the idea,true
Sacrifices always must be made for
The greater good of humankind sake
Ungodly as you all will agree this meeting between her and me
Vestments would not keep me away
Witchcraft! That's what we suspected for how else could I a Lord be so blinded
Xylophone music was all that I heard while headily begging for her hasty embrace
Yet how was this Lord ever to know that
Zealotry was for chambermaid's too?
A friend said you saw me and asked for my number.
Does that mean I’m in your head while you slumber?
She said by night you’re a drummer, an IT Tech by day
and that you are quite eager for our date to go your way.
You must realize, I am not who your perceptions show.
You can’t think just seeing me makes me someone you know.
CHORUS
Don’t know if I wanna go where I’m not sure I’m going.
Don’t know if the unknown is something I should be knowing.
Don’t know what I’m looking for when I answer my own door.
Just know I’m jaded from all love faded with each encore.
I often wish I didn’t mind the sound of being alone
or let solitude lay me depressed and fantasy prone.
Right now, you are an image I try to focus in my head,
while I keep reviewing all the phone things we’ve said.
It seems, I can’t help but wondering where I’m being led,
is this romantic lightness or something I should dread?
CHORUS
Romance has tossed and turned my heart into many bland knots.
The moment I was born, is when Cupid began his love plots.
Long ago, my head and heart concluded it takes three years
to really know someone and how they might shift all your gears.
Slow will surely become my operative word and stance
should our first date reveal shared desires to pursue romance.
CHORUS
It all lies before us now, we share a clean slate of time.
There are no injuries, no scars, no hurts of yours or mine.
What about this heart of mine, should I put it on trial?
Should I let pain in so I might embrace a lover’s smile?
I guess places I have been and where I have yet to go
will somehow trip land within all true love feelings I don’t know …
CHORUS
“SHAME ON YOU
HERETIC
THIS BLASPHEMY YOU CONSPIRE
MAKES ME SICK
YOU PLAY WITH THE DEVIL
AND DO NOT TELL ME YOU DO NO SUCH THING
YOU SUMMON DEMONIC SPIRITS FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL
YOU SIN WHEN YOU DANCE TO THE WICKED SONGS YOU SING
WHAT SPELLS DO YOU BREW?
WHAT CURSES HAVE YOU CAST UPON THIS TOWN?
FORFEIT THE LIES
OR YOU ARE SOON TO BE BURIED IN THE GROUND…”
“YOU HAVE PARTAKEN IN WITCHCRAFT
WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE
YOU HAVE DEFACED THE CHURCH WITH YOUR HERESY
AND WE HAVE HAD QUITE ENOUGH OF YOU
YOUR SACRILEGE WILL PULL THE WRATH OF GOD PERFECTLY ATOP YOUR HEAD
BUT YOU SENSE NO FEELING SINCE YOUR SOUL IS BLACKENED AND DEAD
NOW SHALL SHE BE BURNED AT THE STAKE
OR HUNG BY A THREAD?. …”
“YOU’VE HEARD WHAT THE COUNCIL HAS SAID,
GENTLEMEN LEAD HER TO THE GALLOWS
WHERE SHE SHALL MEET HER END…”
“FELLOW CITIZENS OF SALEM
WELCOME TO THE HANGING OF THIS PROFANE CREATURE
WE SHALL BEGIN THIS CEREMONY
WITH A FEW WORDS FROM OUR PREACHER,
(“GOD WILL BRING THE HAMMER DOWN ON THIS HERE WITCH
THEN WE CAN PUT HER WHERE SHE BELONGS… IN THIS SIX FOOT DITCH”)
THANK YOU SO MUCH FATHER
NOW, PEOPLE HALT YOUR CHEERS
I THINK OUR DEVIL LOVER
IS EXPRESSING HER FEARS
LET’S SEE IF WE CANNOT DRY HER ‘INNOCENT’ TEARS…”
“WITH THIS NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK
HAVE YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND?
CONFESS TO ME YOUR HERESY, YOUR WITCHCRAFT
AND YOU WILL BE RELEASED FROM YOUR BIND
NOTHING? …”
“I PITY YOUR SOUL
LET THE WITCH BE HANGED!”
Trial run
He said
I said
We tried
He couldn’t
I didn’t
Goodbye
An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch
The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.
The prosecutor alleged himself most stylish and best-dressed;
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.
The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.
The prosecutor began his case
by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene,"
he screamed,
"to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society)
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet.
Just look: his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar!
He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words
or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be
the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster."
The jury left in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair,
"Please, let me answer to my peers."
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.
Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.
***
A well-known poet criticized this poem for being "journalistic." But then the poem is written from the point of view of a journalist who's covering the trial of a poet. The poem was completed by the end of my sophomore year in college.
Sign the stricken spirit on the dotted line of dread
while the wine is tipped in shallow pools which swirl and coat your head
The road back home is only paved with memories loosely tapped
into roots of rotten tree limbs filled with sticky, blistered sap
Wishes fall as paper bark and line the forest floor
Starlight glints behind the clouds and leaves you wanting more
Night time noises concentrate your drunken reverie
while you press your splendid future into bleak discovery
This is your journey, this is your streak
Your moment to bolster the inevitably weak
To stand up in stupor, to rise to the moon
Your scream succor shining on lilies in bloom
For criminal acts which are tattooed on the young
Midnight life trial in shadows begun
Wine altered memories to scatter and pour
To be forever absorbed by the night forest floor...
I saw a note pinned up today
that sheepdog trials are underway
I thought, at last, there's justice for the flock
I imagined my fine elocution
as witness for the prosecution
denouncing deeds by doggies in the dock.
Two-leggies might not have the smarts
to see through arcane canine arts
and arrogantly think they are in charge
They're suckered to the masterplan,
believe the wolves are tamed by man,
when really they are free to roam at large.
In court we sheep will have our day
and see the wolves all locked away,
and finally they'll throw away the key;
then celebrate in field and dale;
in years to come they'll tell the tale
of how the woolly ones became the free.
Try it-- I dare you!
Place me
In clueless trial
The law teachers, and the elders, arrested Jesus.
They went to see the high priest whose name was Caiaphas.
Peter followed into the courtyard at a distance.
The chief priests and Sanhedrin tried to get evidence.
They looked for it in order to give a death sentence.
Two men would appear to render mendacious comments.
They said, “The temple of God this man wants to raze.
He claims he can rebuild it all in only three days!”
Caiaphas spoke, “Do you hear the men’s testimony?
Why don’t you answer? You maintain taciturnity!
Please tell us, are you the Son of God? What is your plea?”
Jesus replied to the high priest, “Yes, it’s as you say.
However, to all of you, there shall soon come a day.
The Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven will be
sitting at the right hand of God; everyone will see!”
The angered high priest yelled, “He has spoken blasphemy!
Tell me; is this man worthy of the death penalty?”
They would strike him, and spit on him, and said, “Prophecy!
Tell us which ones among us hit you. What did you see?”
Peter was sitting in the courtyard where there would be
a servant girl saying to him, “You’re from Galilee!
You were one of the men with that man they call Jesus.
I know you were with that man! Why don’t you please tell us?”
“I don’t know him. I never saw him!” Peter would say.
However, another girl saw him at the gateway:
“You were with that Nazareth man earlier today.
You are from there also! Your accent gives you away”
Peter would answer her, “There’s a lot of room for doubt.
I was not there. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
An hour later, another person would appear.
“I saw you with him, also!” is what Peter would hear.
“There is no way I was near him”, was Peter’s reply.
That was the third time knowing Jesus he would deny.
Suddenly, everyone would hear a rooster crowing.
This event would then leave Peter very well knowing
the truth of Jesus, and his earlier prophecy.
Therefore, Peter would go away weeping bitterly!
To be continued
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Laughing at our errors often brings us a humorous smile
Asking others for assistance is not a sign of weakness
What it shows is a humble nature known as meekness
Because of our human imperfection we get things wrong
That doesn't mean our resolve and patience is not strong
Seek to find the solutions you may have known all along
It just takes some trial and error to go that extra furlong
Procrastination is not the answer, for it will only prolong
finding explanations for problems that gather in a throng
Get to it! It's as simple as stabbing meat on a fork prong
You will be elated with your life and singing a new song
Don't digress. Be determined to dissuade dense denial
Upon a first reflection, no human achieves perfection
Even following direction, we still need some correction
Fixing our own mistakes can be quite a vexatious trial
Word Pairing: Trial and Error
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
February 2, 2016
4X4 Master Rhyme Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One