Best Warrant Poems
Anxiety
There is a stress that is brought upon a person from a source not of his own making. Also, there is a different self-born/inflicted type, though unplanned, yet avoidable. Since becoming an adult and finishing college, I have been jobless at least four times. Each period of unemployment caused stress, discomfort, and some anxiety.
In the Spring of 1974, after resigning a position with a drug rehabilitation program, I had no idea what I would be doing next. I had been married less than two years, with a baby less than one year old. As I recall, the Lord being merciful to me, I was able to find employment in a relatively short period of time.
In the Fall of 1974, I quit my job as a baker and moved some 600 miles to another state. The move became a source of anxiety. Nevertheless, I began to grow as a person and a christian. I have heard it said, "Nothing ventured; Nothing gained." In my early years, it seems that I was programed to take giant leaps of faith; but currently, not so much. Rain usually comes with a storm; and roses are surrounded by thorns.
In Fall of 1978, yet again, I resigned a social program and moved to another state 2000 miles away. I have learned that adversity is good for me; and also that it is not good to drive while looking through the rear view mirror.
In 2003, the company for which I worked for 25 years went out of business. It was not easy starting over at 54 years of age in an economy recovering from the pain of "911". In my view, anxiety does not have to be a death warrant, nor does stress signal a terminal illness. On the contrary, they may well be a warning for us to 'kick it' into another gear.
02242017 PS Contest, Anxiety, Lewis Raynes
warrant to arrest
From the time when your
Birthday start Friends & family
Having fun .....
You may get many wishes & gifts
But on the other hand , I will
Having fun...
To stole a part of your happiness to
Having fun....
& Broadcast my petals of dream to
not wish you ''HAPPY BIRTHDAY''
This year for sending A.............
warrant to arrest me in your Love
with love all
jagdish bajantri
***A Parenting Tale***
He must’ve been
Just barely fourteen, but still off as
A ninja filling a pillowcase
with chocolate on Halloween.
Although through all other days
his ken was an avocado green,
That is actually a deep
nubby, buttery green.
The older teens, always girls,
Stood leaning on the fenders of their parent’s cars,
Twirling their lemon curls around
Still child-small index fingers
While foot tapping to some unknown
Time until night cloaked our court.
Then, with a wave of the girl’s arms,
our son collapsed to fit out through
Keyholes or go with the autumn mice
Under the garage door, to slink
From one girl’s car to three, where
Not one pair of pink lips cou answer
me if her parents knew her where?
Hardly a surprise then one night
near ten p.m.,
When authority alarmed, fist-knocking
on our front door. Police?
What is the, aaa, problem, sirs?”
“You’ve a son we’ve gotten word of.
Is he home?” Yes. Well, yes.
Certainly, yes. It’s bedtime…
He comes down, cool from his room to
Join us in the hall, looking face to face,
so sliced-olive green.
The officers, wasted not a second.
“We’ve a warrant for a missing girl,
A friend of yours said you knew.
Have you seen Anna Joe today?” No.
“Have you had company tonight?” No.
“Have friends up there with you?” No.
Then to us, “We’d like to go up to look.”
I was mother-so-proud assuring, “He
doesn’t lie. I’d’ve heard company.”
Within a minute, the parade came down
The stairs: handcuffed girl, officers
with son between them and coming to
Stand by me, supposing it was safe.
I screamed, “You lied! To the police!
To us!” Then, I swung my arm back
And forward again with force from
Knowing how he’d dealt us into danger.
I smacked him hard and loud
in front of the police in that
Scrapbook moment of parenting the idiot
Events of a bean-green teen, which also
ended musical car nights on our
court.
————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 2/6/22
Joplin Missouri, May 22, 2011
It came out of the western sky they say
In darkest dark before the morning day
The wind, then rain, then calm, then came the storm
The trees, the cars, the house all in deform
For Joplin and the people of this town
This storm has left them all on shaky ground
For looters who go searching they attest
The court will issue warrants of arrest
The debris field is guarded by the cops
The searching goes on till the death toll stops
A babe was pulled right from a lady’s arms
A house was spared it leveled all their barns
The people huddled in their cellar rooms
For some it just became their final tombs
Then came the light the storm was finally past
And rescuers could get to work at last
They set to work to search out every pile
Of cars and trees all heaped along each mile
The hospital had taken quite a hit
The doctors all still worked in spite of it
They set up tents to treat the injured folks
For broken bones on up to major strokes
The paper said the storm registered four
The paper said the deaths could rise some more
The TV said that most the town was gone
The people of the town would carry on
8th place finish in contest.
The assignment - "Poetry Assignment# Form: ((15 set or more )) Heroic_Couplets
Poetry ~~ Category: Natural Disaster, business, passion, and art ~ Title: * Public
Warrant *"
If I understand the form; it refers to poems constructed from a sequence of rhyming
pairs of iambic pentameter lines and iambic pentameter lines are lines with 10
syllables with each grouping of two syllables having stress on only one of the
syllables. I am not sure if I got this exactly as assigned. It was hard to do and took
some time to come up with what I entered. Do I have enough lines or should there
be more? I am probably too late as I did not find the assignement soon enough
and had a bit of chemo side effects to contend with along the way.
Villanelle : Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
for Obama, a swell chap he may have been or may yet be
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
Wild men’ll come a-gunning avenge their own god
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot ?
Come they’ll too clad in black : King and President
All muttering under breath : « The Old Sod ! »
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
You’ll have time to rue what a lone strike meant
Your shores were never at stake nor your Lord
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot?
Those who build iron walls know they can’t hunt
Must the World be sacrificed for one god ?
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
When d’you strike back for the Sandyhook Lent
The NRA strikes back and call you : « Sod »
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot ?
Be the Statesman and make every word count
Bring the toddler gods to the feet of God
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
Is the wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Serving the warrant
( By S.Jagathsimhan Nair)
Today I cry to this dry dust
Of these paths that silently merge
With the scalded mud of these huts.
I cry in the name of all men
Who are not home as yet, driving
Trucks or boats or whatever in
Nameless listless wildernesses
Who can’t leave an address while away
But have erred and left one with law
Somewhere which doesn’t leave them now
Today I carry the govt’s
Threats and warrants to their women
Who break into piteous wails
As I utter their near ones’ names.
Quelling a rising storm inside
They stagger their private pains once more
Broken heart poem(old) for PD on 30 Mar 13
In this dust settled after much
Strife in some dumb past with the Dutch
By this port a rare vessel visits
As if by mistake or memory lapse
I locate houses only their neighbours
Know, and sell law’s bitterness
To these bitter-gourds of earth while
Mewling kids keep tugging at their clothes.
I am in turn as dry as this dust
And as parched as their crackling throats
I am today these dark seas whose roar
Is my stiff word and wan silence.
Sir,
Hands off that Pen
Can i see your Poetry
License and Registration please
Sorry we have had several complaints
From both critics and reader's
That your Poem's aren't up to scratch
And i tend to agree with them
So unless you want me to come
back with a warrant
Put a lid on it
Find yourself another hobby
One that doesn't involve word's
and thoughts
Otherwise you will have your day
in court
For crimes against Literature
And the Prosecution has a list of
witnesses as long as your arm
Willing to testify your word's do
far more harm than good
Your Pen is an offensive Weapon
Sharper than Sword and Stones
When you get a FISA Warrant/
For electronic surveillance/
From psychic spies with/
Mind Control with psionic/
And radionic technology/
They first attack you with/
Voice to skull technology/
Which is voices in your head/
Their first objective is to make you/
Appear as a schizophrenic/
Medications will only amplify/
The effects of that technology/
You know you're not schizophrenic/
You know you're a victim/
Of that program because/
You somehow got a FISA Warrant/
For this electronic surveillance/
Nobody will ever believe you/
The voices can drive you mad/
There's nothing you can do/
Because those spies/
Are that sadistic/
Your destruction is their objective/
Nothing you can do about it/
Just stand your ground/
Strength and Patience/
Will get you through it/
It infinge on your rights/
Against the torture prevention act/
This may be the/
Land of the free/
But this stuff exists/
And it's beyond sadistic/
A date is marked on the calendar you see.
It's an important one of great urgency.
Not appearing at the court house will be a shame.
The judge will issue a bench warrant in my name.
The police can come and haul away my tail.
His honor has the power to throw me into jail.
Inspired by another member's poem
it’s colder now
much colder
ice clings to a welcome
few accept
the old couple
is absent
as are their family
of squirrels
a chilled sun peeks
through spindly branches
mocked by icy chimes
a distant church bell weeps
its tone muffled by the snow
it’s colder now
more from emptiness
than frost
John G. Lawless
©11/16/2018
The troublesome throaty explosion
For which demanded is handkerchief
That helps to hinder hell’s diffusion
By the thoughtless simple man or chief…
The oft-followed by a dragged-out gob
The owner sends straight to nearby soil:
What had tried to chesty freedom rob
And a whole day for sufferer spoils…
A scurrying for antibiotics
Or soon, the chest shall be again heaved:
Haphazard gestures of semiotics,
The jerkily thrown off guard retrieved…
The attacked with, first, expectorant:
Syrupy stuff that keeps it at bay;
For cough’s accursed cause a search warrant,
In one’s airways delightful free way…
Cough’s innocent picture throat-clearing
Yet, muffle for a laughter rearing…
Capsule of disguised danger warning
For one you wish to see, next morning…
Abortion, Your Death Warrant
By: Tom Wright
7/28/99
All Heaven cries out,
breaking the silence of the womb for those unborn.
I'm considered by the foolhardy not yet to be a life,
but who can know if I have thoughts, save God,
or, if in my silence, I ask the question,
shall I be next to die without an earthly life?
Will partial birth abortion be my fate?
Just hear me cry
then touch my hand.
Experience the joy that I could bring.
From beyond the gates I'm sent.
Who speaks for me while I yet can't?
Is this to be my fate,
in my brief time to taste death's sting?
This death sentence you pronounce upon me
will most surely be your yoke throughout eternity.
When you have them in place
Know
Love
Lord
Blood - thirsty Agitators:
Their leader's imitators;
All the wild participants
With their slogans for drunk chants
And they all had pitch - Black pants:
The first thing Black Union grants
White's your doom just transparent,
One's white pant one's Death Warrant!
Thirst for fresh blood inherent,
One's bleeding corpse to parent
We're the Huge Elephants
For no business with crushed ants
What our legs do, too, to plants,
Out of their tips forcing rants
"Every new day never plans
Your big cannots to us " cans!".
The mason left
three stones
beside the wall.
Nothing
prevented him.
The wall
had merely ceased
to require
his hand.
For years
I could not.
Each thought,
arriving,
claimed
precedence.
I convened
an inward assize,
awarding
credence,
reprieve,
exile—
until my days
became
the jurisprudence
of echoes.
Meanwhile
rain
never argued.
The ash
added one leaf
to the wind.
A blackbird
crossed the morning
without ambition.
Roots,
beneath the path,
advanced
through darkness
that required
no witness.
Then,
while the kettle
raised
its small republic
of steam,
a thought
called me.
I did not answer.
Nothing followed
except
what had always
been following.
Steam
ascended.
The bird
completed
its silence.
Evening
entered
every object
equally.
The thought
went on
without me.
There,
if there
it may be called,
Silence
relinquished
its ancient misnomer.
It was never
the absence
of voices.
It was
everything
that had never
petitioned
belief.
Then Observation,
long usurped
by governance,
remembered
its elder office.
Not to choose.
Not to refuse.
Only
to behold
that Reality
had never once
competed
for my attention.
The mountain
remained
where no distance
could improve it.
The sea
arrived
without travelling.
The stars
required
no heaven.
Since then,
whenever thought
pronounces
my name,
I wait
for what
has never
spoken—
and it is always
first.