Conspirators Poems

indictment of President Donald Trump

We the people of the United States along with much of the world WITNESSED WITH OUR OWN EYES / and is therefore / THE SELF-EVIDENT TRUTH  that: 

Donald j. Trump / on January 6th / undertook the means and methods along with co-conspirators to deny The Legitimate Will Of The People of The United States to carry to completion the peaceful transfer of the power vested in the administration of that office and is therefore:


DEVOID OF LEGAL LEGITIMACY IN EVERY ACTION / and anyone who is instrumental in carrying out his will has effectively entered into a CONSPIRACY TO BREAK THE LAW!


Therefore: 


  1. All States Federal-Representatives must be recalled and new member sent back with the express purpose of removing this Republican dereliction through the process of impeachment 


AND:


2.  Arrest & Tri Donald j Trump for insurrection and treason. 

[     https ~ ://tinyurl.com/5ys6yxwm    ]

Just a Bunch of Nonsense

Daze and days of penmanship
Potent perhaps a touch of sun
Shipshape warming of outlet ink
Ishmael invites a tale; I say: “stowaway”
Stop all blubbering; just get yammering
Yo ho soupmates, we must steer the ship
Stir golden pot of disbelief and brass tacks
Torrential corkscrew pasta, perhaps?
Pish posh of the alphabet riding the waves
Wending its way, each letter to the crew
Conspirators of sonnets, limericks and dust
Dangerous alliteration, elevation and descent
Decidedly dizain, free verse or blank; thats it?!

Truth

The spirit or the flesh?

They are really one-in-the-same, 
internals and externals of creation -- 

the face read-out of our
inner clockworks --  

                         to review
man, his myriad of entangled
relationships, is to begin to understand 
The Politics of Satan vs God 

We can fool the Soulless press, often 
co conspirators in illusion -- Truth
more likened to the quizzical eyes
of children~ amazed, confounded,

and then, lost....

DENY EVERYTHING

I writ a poem while in the loo
Not busy, nothing else to do
I writ it on some toilet paper
Recapturing some of a lost night’s caper

It seem so quickly things go wrong
Woke up this morning in a thong
Somehow it seems to fit just right
Not too loose, not too tight

My co-conspirators will give me thanks
When I fill in those missing blanks
OH, someone pounding on the door
The paper’s gone, I’ll write no more

Where Are We Going

I see a world wet with tears of sorrow;
there is so much bigotry, greed, and hate.
I fear what fate may befall the morrow;
while politicians beg you to donate,
corruption runs like an open floodgate.
Cultists and conspirators shared one voice;
to deprive women of having a choice.
Frustrated, the confused support a fool,
and the multi-billionaires rejoice;
the poorly informed are the perfect tool.

Rangitoto School Daze

In my youth's frolic at King Lear and Pi
  all my daze was a Shakespearean tale.
Not algebra, not prose did edify
  yet test and limits we pass lest we fail.
To learn and open closed minds to ideas
  but I learnt before a fall comes a pride
with a conspiracy one alone bears
  yet co-conspirators had much to hide.
For each lame alibi concealed misdeed,
  each mad ruse and jape blotted my ledger
but we all do a true life lesson heed
  when worn is a cowl or crown to measure.
Comic is the court and jester in school
but better a wise king than a wise fool.


            Written: May 1992

Pics above: That's me in high school
                 with a couple friends. 
                 The year is 1977 and 
                 we are just 16 years old.

                 You see, I had hair once!

Night Owl

grabs a hat from the hatstand 
fraught, he warps the midday sun
no apricating mellow touch
in haste, too early a venture
while camouflaged conspirators
beckon to no end, lest he dawdles 
through waxing moonlit gossamer 
and warms the trees of dusk

I Hope and Hope and Hope

The imperfect walk of man, cared about in recklessness,
careening for the wall of death, can’t be protected -
no longer in his mama’s womb. Womanized, dehumanized,
faithless…AnD cared about. Those left behind, want to rewind
their watches, but the truth is they couldn’t fix him. All his ills
in his bushy beard, behind it a smile, a hug, a shrug. Darkness
was upon him and in his circle of conspirators…can you believe
the music coming out of them - great big curses, whispers
mixed with praise music…the daring beast brought down
with determined gentleness. They flee from the Spirit’s power.

Still I hope and hope and hope, if this is the end, as it seems,
that somehow, by the skin of his teeth, he made peace with God.

July

JULY

                                       Honouring name of Julius Ceaser
                                           Month Quintilis renamed : July.
                                          Birth month of Roman General.
                                               Dictator; Roman Empire.
                                                stabbed by conspirators 
                                                   with close friend Brutus.
                                                     His last words ' You
                                                           too Brutus ! '
                                                              Alas !
                                                               Bye !

Clandestine Closet

       Never advisable to be naked! 
       Unfolding ability to assume changes
       Depict funeral mesh opaque 
      
       Wobbled iron lock conjure 
       Wakens particular persona to inhabit
       Wardrobe wonder honours

       Peter Pan collar innocence
       Embellished bow breasts for bombshell
       Rhinestone on satin stimulant

       Deceptively deep, spacious 
       Dark wood doors swing away to exhibit 
       Dresses with waves vivacious 
 
       Forest of newfound favourites
       Frocks rustle, slide, beg to be fondled 
       Fascinator lavender fragrance 

       Mysterious occult conspirators 
       Ultimately select pretty arrangements 
       Musty garment rots ambiguous 
  
       
      

               19th January 
       Happy Birthday Keri ( Mum ) 
       - see, I fashioned my life
                to suit me!

Does Poetry Have a God

Does poetry have a god?
I wonder as I write,
Re-write, delete, delete,
Save….no wait….

I sense a presence
Hovering over my fingers
As they search
Each keystroke
Hesitating, conspiring
With …. With…something?
Some one?  
Sorting through the ether
Of individuality
Shunning the mantra
Of clichés.

Sticky fingered demons?
Celestial conspirators?
Battling for a loose “word”
In the corner
Eying a fast break
A buzzer beater
PRINT!!  PRINT!!!

Raise your hands
Shout….
High fives
Shared
With a mystical muse.


John G. Lawless
©12/8/2022

A Greek Tragedy

The smiling assassin is wired and hot
  and I can hear the ticking of the bomb,
for blind to the vanities I am not
  nor deaf to the wept plaintive cries wherefrom 
beats aggrieved an inconsolable heart,
  betrayed by the Big Peacock born to strut -
not whole but divided in fractured part
  by Zorba and Candy with tongues that cut.
Methinks the time has come to call a bluff -
  to visit on Ellysian a Greek end
and let the dogs of Sparta huff and puff
  in that way which conspirators defend.
Beware the pimp behind the Grecian mask
and the whore of his bidding he does task.


         Written: November 2006

I Too Was His Friend

I asked him plainly if I was the one, and he said, "Yes".
He knew I was the one, and yet he did not cast me away.
He broke bread, and drank with me, just like all the rest.

I gave him the kiss of betrayal, and yet he called me friend.
He was condemned, and I was remorse, returning the bloody money.
I confessed my sin to my co-conspirators, but never to God or Jesus.

It was far too much for me to bear. I cared not to live and took my life.
What I remember most, as my dreaded life slowly departed my dying body, 
is the memory of the loving face of him who called me his friend.

041422PS.                                                                                         
Matthew 26:25, 50; 27:3,4,5

Forever

What does the word “forever” mean 
If it’s not for eternity
What hope lie’s in “always” 
If it’s no further than we can see 
 
How is it that “never” 
Always seem’s to come about
Why is it that promises 
Leave much room for doubt

Where can we find comfort 
When the rules so quickly change
How can we proceed in faith 
when our world is filled with pain
 
How often are our hopes and dreams 
Found in pieces on the ground
Who can wish for honor 
When integrity can’t be found

It all seem’s so hopeless 
When bound by many rules
Written by the jokers 
and administered by fools  

And then there are our leaders 
Who say the rules do not apply
To themselves and their conspirators  
Or the judges that they buy

It’s no wonder I’ve no faith 
in anything anymore
I turn and walk away
When it come’s knocking at my door

The Rise of Marxism

There is reason why evil
has persisted, Man does not
wisely use his power, rejecting
God's council, a Better Plan – the 
devil having no power, but for 
the power given him by God's Man.  

We are co-conspirators, feigned
ignorance no panacea nor bliss...

on what Christ Loves the Devil uses
a pulverizing fist – 

Free Will has glorious Manifestation – 
but such freedom does not
come without risk – let not 
one's lesser ego, lead to internal
cancers, electing to office bloody stools 
and piss....

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