My innocent crimes transcend into sinful mistakes,
While yours roam in circles to stay the same,
Pangs of conscience rip my melting ventricles apart,
When metal-cold claws depart out of your mouth,
And my viscera learns to keep itself together,
When you say your metallic jaggedness was ‘as light as a feather’,
And now, the claw that mauled my heart,roams about my body,
Sometimes in my throat, otherwise in my eyes,
And changes their colour into a red gaudery,
Watery tears flush from my eyes,
While you only notice how fast they sublime,
And so, I wish my tears were of blood instead,
Just so you could see the guilt that relentlessly stabs my head,
But I know it’s of no use,
And I know my efforts are futile,
For my innocent crimes transcend into sinful mistakes,
While yours roam in circles to stay the same.
A heavy storm evicts wildlife,
Among restless herds, a warrior holds its ground.
A refusal to step aside, misplaced ambition grows.
Insolent defiance against the governed laws of nature.
An endless cyclone of tormenting wind,
An axe of destruction ripping apart an ecosystem.
Unbearable noise that drowns out all thoughts,
Tossing and tearing trees of a former home,
I cannot stand idly by.
Vigorously stomping hooves,
shaking the earth with an act of discipline,
pelted with pebbles of stone and steel splinters,
unwavering rage and duty drench the beast.
This is my home, I won’t let you destroy it.
Charge hard Capricorn,
Lead the stampede,
Tear through the eye of the storm,
Unleash that anger that lies beyond bodily limitations.
Go now Capricorn, Claw Of The Storm.
I see hands reaching
My muscles tensed
I sharpen my claw
if a plant
ever came with a warning
this is it
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In the verdant valley of claw-some tales
lived a lady in a cottage of tails.
Every morning, her cat Grey loves to sit,
sip chamomile tea until paws permit,
a scratch here and there to wake her spirit,
so the sneaky rodents nearby fear it.
But the cat knew not the language of hate;
she was a queen dreaming of love and fate.
To unleash the mice that hide and scurry
through the countryside without a worry.
The rising sun too knows how stars despise
grumpy kittens purring through greedy eyes.
And Miss Grey did nothing but deeply muse,
while vested in checkered silvery hues,
she crafted a plan to spread stellar light
amidst the chaos that dwells at midnight,
hopes for peace within the community,
gives all the lives an opportunity~
to shine and flaunt their soft furry wishes,
wave sorrows goodbye with purrfect kisses.
Illusion invaded my mind, so I see things apparently
And I was thinking, about you lately
Never leave the kingdom in my head
Constantly I have been a slave
Dead heart in exposed grave
Rise so high the roots deep down
Raged my heart thru tiger claw
And I draw heart you kicked me in
24/7 in my head spinning
So I dream you day to night
Never made a difference either dark or light
Ringed in my heart
Tattooed you in my soul
Picture you in my mind
I see you through the hole
I barked your name like a dog
Roared your fame like a lion
I write your story in my inside with blood crayons
Finally, I become a dreamer
And I will fight for my dreams
My dream is you,
and i will fight for you
-The King's Dead-
Suddenly, I see. Chicken pox, is full of bandwagons.
Not the biggest reach for a climb to mount Everest.
It’s a bold statement with eternal boundaries.
Headshot, then I freaked it.
Mess my life up fam.
Don’t appreciate the sound of silence when the wind pipes down.
Working on a clustertruck. Throbs meltin.
Throw that pillow down, suffocate mainstream media.
Wreak havoc on Teddy’s carpet.
Shoo Mr. Voices. Raincheck. Payment up front or no clear conscious.
Jokes on you. I don’t know which ones mine.
Slide on in. He’ll be with you shortly.
Intercom’s static, interference from demons on the widescreen.
We want you home. Nadda.
Cross circuit grand prix, slow marathon.
Horses carrying on their long-faced façade.
They can’t avoid their carrot on the stick. Nor can We.
You looked but didn’t three. Line up the BBQ. It’s going to get steamy.
My hat has a gardenia that refuses to behave.
She throws a fit that would make a Neanderthal cave.
I asked what she needed, what helps, what does she crave?
She said she always wanted a close straight razor shave.
But wouldn’t that hurt you as you are made of straw?
She gave me a look that made my heart blanch and turn raw.
A gardenia and yet, she is as abusive as a rabid jackdaw.
I wish my hat had instead a dead rooster’s lifeless claw.
I'm a criminal and my name is Doctor Claw.
I'm very mean and I've broken every law.
Most people haven't seen my face and they'd better hope they never do.
I'm so ugly that if you see my face, you'll have a heart attack and it will kill you.
I recently learned that Inspector Gadget doesn't foil my crimes, I'm defeated by his niece.
She and her damn dog are the ones who defeat me, I won't rest until they're both deceased.
Chief Quimby is an idiot and he deserves to have those notes blow up in his face.
A part of me wants to give up crime because being defeated by a child is a disgrace.
(This poem was inspired by the Inspector Gadget cartoon.)
Its handle, darkened with age,
had split from bottom end up.
It’s necessary to hold it together,
with a tight grip,
while striking the nail.
“I bought this in Montana,” he said,
holding up the hammer he was using
to repair my wisteria trellis.
“Whoa,” I said.
“Can you still use it?”
“Watch,” he said,
driving nails into wood.
He looked at me in triumph,
hand extended toward the trellis arm,
now straight as an arrow.
His eyes spoke to me,
not of an old hammer's worth,
but of his own un-laureled vitality,
the promise,
and the permanence of love.
Claw Flaw
small kitty cat
had but one flaw
he couldn’t count
the missing claw
so when his claw count
totaled seven
he thought he’d
cheated “kitty heaven”
when he thought
he was just fine
he learned he’d squandered
number nine
claw counting days
now sadly done
his feathered wings
still missing one
John G. Lawless
8/29/2014
For PD’s One Sad Poem contest
Abuses hurled and Alcohol gurgled,
In the vortex of confusion
And blurred vision.
Intoxicated pleasure from surreal leisure.
Fooled senses and numbed conscience.
Wiped existence of love and kindness cuffed.
Lashed at the one he once loved.
Cringed and clung to her faint faith.
She and her cursed fate.
Exploding paroxysm of hate.
Her whipped ivory skin and bleeding lips,
Eyes with teary tinge,
Has the harvest moon singed.
Stillness of the night, pierced
By memories of bitterness-sodden years.
"Hurt me not", she trembled with fear,
"let me live for my girl, dear".
The cries colored skies crimson.
Just one reason--Her little girl.
As her daughter stared
With flaming locks and eyes that flared.
By Angom Amy (15)
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