Words are seeds that grow and blossom,
Open doors,
Change the course,
The mouthpiece of the mind,
Intertwined with society,
Use case undefined,
Words depart as soon as they come,
Although,
Their meanings linger like a quiet echo,
A weight with every word,
People clueless to the true meaning,
A deeper meaning,
A meaning that can harm,
A pain that sorry can't mend,
A global obstacle,
A hole in our heart,
I didn't mean it,
Stop,
It's not like that,
Stop,
There's no reason for the commotion
Stop,
Thoughtless shouting,
Rambling words,
Wounds disguised as speech,
Mortifying speech,
Stop,
Hurting to feel better,
An endless cycle,
Normalized in our society,
Rooted in our veins,
But what if we paused?
What if we reconciled,
Took time to understand,
What if we planted better seeds,
Growing a garden of kindness?
A world where harm dissolves,
Where we choose light over dark.
It only takes a moment—
A single decision,
A second of thought.
Words can blossom beauty,
Or sow division.
Choose wisely.
They taunt me one then the other
Push me—hurt pride—scattered books
Crying? Go cry to your mother
laughing with smug contemptuous looks
Dark musty locker room, stripping for gym
Shouting, snapping towels at each other’s rear
Vice principle comes by looking grim
His volcano erupts—we’re silent with fear
Growing into a body odd and disgusting
Face oily and breaking out
Cursed with tormented lusting
I give up—What’s this about?
My mother asks me over dinner that night
How was your first day of junior high?
Not wanting to upset her, I keep it light
It was even better than I hoped, I lie
6/4/22
Father is a stump grinder,?
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers?
bulling through onions and leeks.?
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.?
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust?
trailing from grub-working teeth,?
hefting clumps and yellow ***-ends,?
raising clammy clay blooms.?
?
Mother is a house,?
most of it closed.?
Sometimes an upper window opens.?
net-curtains fly out of gray eyes.?
A girl-ghost locked in a bottle,?
?
She lifts me up on a dangle?
of faith to her bedroom.?
A mahogany night-dresser?
tucks away her dreams.?
She has closets, drawers?
where lovers doze.?
She whispers, less they all awaken.?
?
Outside, father crashes through turnips.?
Mother bleeds bitter-root?
from nub bitten fingernails.?
She pushes her child into rooms?
called 'buried-lost, buried-found'.?
The dead are everything –?
she copes not with the living.?
?
Later I listen to father grunt over her,?
as he spades a blinded moon?
between her broken fences.
IN THE PLAYGROUND
by
LIZZY DUNKS
Juniors bulling readily.
Wind howling loudly.
Infants spying quietly.
Dogs barking roughly.
Mums watching cruelly.
Cats purring softly.
Branches falling swiftly,
By Lizzy Dunks aged 7
Leslie Manser Primary School, Lincoln, UK
Lizzy a grate niece in-law of mine; wrote, and had this poem published in an anthology of rhymes* all of which were written by children from the age of 11 down. Sadly Lizzy died of leukaemia at the tender age of 9, An immense loss to her family, and her talent an immense loss to the world!
*Anthology title will be added as soon as possible, apologies!!
Creating avatars in political and law reality,
contracts and controlling stability.
Modus vivendi where the money flows,
oceans of spirit fears in tows.
Irresponsible silence of motions,
honored sheep’s and their devotions.
Munchausen’s syndrome via comic book,
kindly bulling with every look.
Home at causes, churches and cult,
never able to see the own insult.
Insisting on taking over and fixing things,
manipulated moments for the kings.
Being aloof with natures flawless bound,
no key for the self chain can be found.
Pride in the unfathomable meek,
pointing fingers to the seeming weak.
Motivation all about themselves,
to shine in opportunities like sparkling elf’s.
Taking care of this the millionth time,
when the world needs them in that golden frame.
Justified by abusing others because of it,
stories of the leading role in every bit.
In control to the freakish point,
if not involved so bitter anoint.
The masters and puppeteers put them in charge,
then everybody loves a hero at large.
Father is a stump grinder,
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers
bulling through onions and leeks.
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust
trailing from grub-working teeth,
hefting clumps and yellow ***-ends,
raising clammy clay blooms.
Mother is a house,
most of it closed.
Sometimes an upper window opens.
net-curtains fly out of gray eyes.
A girl-ghost
not yet locked in a bottle,
waves above my head.
She lifts me up on a rope
of sunshine, to her bedroom.
A mahogany night-dresser
tucks away secret hugs.
She has closets, drawers
where lovers doze.
She whispers, less we all awaken.
Outside father crashes through turnips.
Mother bleeds moss
from nub bitten fingernails.
She pushes a child into rooms
called buried-lost, buried-found.
The dead are everything –
she copes not with the living.
She is a draining board.
I am a basin.
Mother scrubs with red knuckles,
until I pour and curl
by her porcelain sink.
Later I listen to father grunt over her,
as he spades
a reluctant moon
between broken roots.
He lights a stick of musk incense
to trounce the air that reeks of gloom.
The Queen`s side pose on fifty pence
deflects a brazen bullet of doom.
From bulling boots, a startling sheen
reflects his face and then his bride,
no tank is like the limousine with
blacked out windows--hitch a ride?
He seeks the light, like manic moths
before he signs the reaper`s scroll.
Though trenches hide all khaki cloth,
all bullets burrow like the mole.
He sees the spectre`s dusky grin
a bugle now plays `The Last Stand`.
Stars are nails in twilight`s coffin
hammered in place by warfare`s hand.
Like Quasimodo striking bells
this hunchback soldier triumphs through.
A fife is blown to drown out shells
though nothing's there. His mind. Askew.
(none fiction)
It works both ways not one way
A person complain how they want respect
But they're the ones doing all the disrespecting.
They lay out false lies as far as they could
Taking advantage of those that have a respectful upbringing
But yet of course complain how they want respect
They bulling are like a violation to innocence,
Lord knows what else they would try to do
But once again they claim they want respect.
My son and I been a victim from them for so long
That had caused us to seek therapy.
Of course still they have the nerve to still talk about how they want respect.
They have no shame for they doings, nor morals.
For last time I checked it works both ways not one
Who cares
if people stares at me.
I may be different just
like the trees,
and other things
that God made
with out speaking a word.
why don't you take a picture
so you can show it to
all your friends.
Bulling others what up
with that?
We all have had enough
of that!
Please don't cover your face
stand up in this world
and take your place
oh wow you think my color
all wrong?
Who cares
if people stares at me or you.
It how you handle the rudeness.
Remember God will help you through.
Smile I love you too
and here a kiss from me i just blew.
It started with a simple sentace,
You worthless ugly brat.
Mental abuse turned physical.
Beacuse of this she stopped trying at school,
Beacuse she stopped trying she lost her friends,
Beacuse she lost her friends she became a easy target,
Beacuse she was a easy target she was picked on,
And words and notes turned to kicking and tripping and choking,
And beacuse of kicking and tripping and choking she fell into depression,
Beacuse she fell into depression she stopped being active,
Beacuse she stopped being active her parents yelled and screamed and hit,
Beacuse her parents yelled and screamed and hit she failed her school work,
Beacuse she failed her school work she was considered stupid,
Beacuse she was considered stupid she was hurt at school,
Beacuse she was hurt at school she didn't have a safe spot anymore,
Beacuse she didn't have a safe spot anymore she started cutting,
Beacuse she started cutting she started to believe the mean mean words,
The more she thought, the more she realized how true they were,
Beacuse they were true she decided to take her own life,
It sucks that that She,
Is me
I quickly turn a coner, and run so fast,
I look at the wall that towers above and realize I'm trapped,
I cover my face and fall to the ground,
With a snicker I suddenly realize I have been found,
My books are knocked from my hands, and I'm thrown to the floor,
I cry out, "STOP PLEASE NO MORE!"
I feel her hands agaist my throat, as I frantically gasp for air,
I close my eyes tight and hope it's just a nightmare,
I think about my parents, and the friends I've held so close,
I tug at her hands, but my movements are slowed,
I've been a target of hate for so many years,
Keeping the silence and holding back tears,
My vision gets blurry, everything turns a dull grey,
For she is the Hunter and I am her prey,
I realize this is my last battle,
And what's done is done,
Beacuse this is a battle,
That just can't be won.
I think about why me, why now, why?
With the world growing dark, I whisper goodbye.
Shoeshine Joe.
Thruppence for a shoeshine, that's what Joe will shout.
Tuppence for a bulling up as he smiles and looks about.
Drumming up trade these days is harder than before
his dad was a lad and ran this pad when he was twenty-four.
But jobs they're hard to come by with many on the dole.
I'll give you fourpence one man shouts for tongue, top and sole.
Blimey that's a good one he snaps him up right quick.
Sits him down with a smile and cleans his shoes real slick.
That's grand the man retorts as his shoes reflect his face
He pays Joe with a sixpence and says, don't leave this space.
From that day on shoeshine Joe's business began to grow.
And now he owns a shoeshine shop.
The best shoeshine from Joe.
Oh to my life tale
Mystic errors affirmed.
The trust of fatherhood beguiles
My little breast.
Oh to my life tale
Trust thus father sunk
To my sanctity in valour
And made away my pride
Bulling in tempest
Not to let known
And if not hell saddles my tale.
Oh to my life tale
The mountainous belly I own
Testifies of his power
And no more could I conceal else.
On a lonely eve
While the little birds
Sang their sweet memorable songs
Of acrimony and reconciling them
In sonorous ending
I took to end it all
But god-like hunter
Took my plight
And bided me home alive
All to my life tale
I lived in languor
Of a father’s crime
Upon a helpless daughter
But someday I must go the way I plea.
jab
what is happiness?
is it killing ?
is it raping?
is it mocking?
is it bulling?
is it cheating?
is it pollution?
is it treading?
is it threatening?
is it non-cooperation?
is it disrespect?
is it feebleness?
if at all it be these
i am a happy to be unhappy.
Life As We know It
Life as we know it, well its hard I will tell you that, running into trouble everywhere you go, correct me if I'm wrong.
Can I be blamed if I'm angry, is it our fault if the world is the way it is
is it the Pollution. Is it the Technology. Can you blame me if I'm angry. Paying bills every month,
Fore-Closer that's been my family
Abandoned teenager that's been me, Correct me if I'm wrong but Can you blame me if I'm angry, hello my name is regret
hello my name is defeat, these are the voices, these are the lies, Hello my name is child of the one true king,
I've been saved I've been changed, You can't drag me down again
what dose this sound like? I will tell you
Bulling.
Homeless.
Bills.
Selfish.
Drugs/Alcohol.
Poverty.
As fifteen,
That's life as I know it.
What about you?
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