“Opposites don’t twin in a river.”
-The Poet
There is no similarity between good and evil.
Good is a blooming meadow,
while evil is shrouded in shadows, waiting to plunge into the depths of oblivion.
So why should one be considered for the other?
It is a despicable act with gloomy rewards.
Darkness cannot stand for light,
nor can light defend against darkness.
They do not tell the same stories;
They do not journey together.
They have dissimilar views and summon different weather.
So why should one be sacrificed for the other?
It is an ignoble act with a shameful reward.
Bitterness is a fading glow;
It is a muddy path and a feeble hand.
Sweetness is a rising light;
It is a melodious tune and an unpretentious smile.
So why should the two coexist?
Why should they merge in the same river?
It is a vile act to ask one to occupy the other's space,
a contemptible deed with odious returns.
February 18, 2026.
At this uncertain time in our history…
when every day our own government
gives us a hundred reasons to cry…
with actions contemptible and vile…
may we be blessed with the fortitude
the courage
and the perseverance…
to give the world
a thousand reasons to smile.
Craven cupidity, contemptible crow
Your talking is squawking as black as your soul
If birds of a feather would gather your hem
A collection of seamstresses darker than them
Would weave from hole cloth a pattern of lies
From a harvest of calumny dark'ning the skies
Who rates this performance, whose benefit there
With bait this enormous just fit for a bear
Who else in the forest could relish this feast
Galumphing, triumphing, it must be a beast
Wallowing, swallowing, swampy at best
Content to recline there and dine on the rest
Immobile as a trophy, stuffed for display
On future repast, blackened feather filet
Blow hard and bellow with yellowing cries
Gather like fellows who feast on these lies
If chapels had been churches, your cathedral would loom
'stead of gathering shadows in this canyon of gloom
With your bins full of blight and your gather of smut
We hasten to bid you not good night but... what?
We wonder still under quick'ning despair
In search of escape, it must be here but... where?
There must be some light lest this darkness o'erwhelm
We must brave the night til the Good take the helm
To be the ones to see that storm
Rage across the jungle
And witness the light arcing in flames
From sky to horizon
To feel the imminent thunder rumble
To the pads of your toes.
How close will it come?
At first it was a thin black smoke
Spilling across the sky towards us
But now it's coming on, and on.
It can take half a day to arrive
Or it can roll like a spirit in half an hour
The power of forked lightning
Sparks from peak to peak
Burns the ozone and sets your feet tingling
And the hairs on the nape of your neck.
The sudden deluge of rain
Is so strong on the sand
We pick up our packs from the side of the lake
And ran to the hut.
Contemptible humans! I’m not done with you yet!
I met the devil on a Friday night.
We danced to the phat bari sax.
Smoke choked out any words I could say,
Paying a heavy tax.
The sky was maroon with contemptible past,
The sound iridescently smooth.
The trombone a-swung to the rhythm of us,
Burning a hole in the truth.
I met the devil on a Friday night,
Then woke up on Saturday lone.
I wish; I made this whole story up.
There's no one to call on the phone.
In his mind he’s a pistolero
Six guns slung before
Tongue ever ready
For the verbal quick draw.
He’s an Internet Cowboy
Found his true place
Where he says what he likes
But never face to face.
One of the many so brave
Hiding there in Cyberland
Stabs you in the back while
Publicly shaking your hand.
Those anonymous heroes
Seeking internet fame
Hiding behind an assumed
Cyberland nickname.
How sad the cyber world
Has granted free speech
To this modern breed
Of contemptible leech.
In his mind he’s a pistolero
Ever there in the rush
To fire not from the hip
But safely from an ambush
You are the sunshine of my life
That’s why I’ll always be around
You are the apple of my eye
Forever you’ll stay in my heart
—Stevie Wonder
“Keep me as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings…”
—Psalm 17:8a
ROLLING EYES
Rolling eyes,
contemptible,
in the tent
that you present.
Averting, left or right,
neither straight -
a googly-eye menace,
a disgrace.
Replace
with grace.
Concentrate.
Be
respectable.
Don’t make
a spectacle.
Lean in
and learn.
Chaos
can turn
into peace.
Your body
represents
the living God
and
should reflect
His name.
His name
is integrity.
Be
incredibly brave.
Let
the other person
be heard.
You, be real.
Don’t roll
the dice -
snake eyes
slither
and cocoons.
They ruin
relationships
between parents,
kids and spouses.
Rolling eyes
hurts the head
and eyelids,
hurts the one’s
you love.
They notice
and get enraged
or walk away.
Rolling eyes
is
not brave.
It takes time
to unlearn
but
can be
undone.
Give
a hug
with clear
and bright
browns, blues, and greens
and in betweens.
Child of God,
don’t be a
wanderlust -
be
the apple.
RESOLUTION
If life goes rancid with sour taste
The time for action was long ago
A missed window of opportunity
One may challenge with impunity
But such purpose is all for show
And protestation is such a waste
With a case for early intervention
Resolve and clear focus is needed
Addressing issues when first seen
And working out what they mean
All faults to be readily conceded
Reciprocity is worthy of mention
Some difficulties are irreconcilable
They are however, in the minority
Either party can leave with regret
But not when parting isn’t due yet
There can be no assumed authority
Memories cannot be contemptible
But an argument for give and take
Supports the idea of a neutral zone
Where the elements of normal life
Can displace all unnecessary strife
Communicating in a balanced tone
Should leave arguments in its wake
Winter’s companion was a cold creature certainly.
She controlled Winter with a cruel cheer,
Not that I can be catty continuing here in front of her coffin!
Creeping around like the condescending contemptible person she was,
I am completely capable of confirming that Winter wouldn’t have cried over you,
Like a crazy car crash waiting to happen, you were always in the middle of the devastation.
Not to be crude since this is your cremation but I’m content you found a color becoming of you.
Night in Lisbon
Once, I went to a dance hall in Lisbon
an awful place full of desperate middle-aged women
hoping to catch a man, any man.
Ah, for the horrible colours looking putrid on the wall
Was the music supplied by a jukebox when
the accordion was too drunk to play
Scrawny women of the night sat around the dance
floor trying to look sophisticated smoking cigarettes
laughing loudly like ugly sisters
Ogling men’s mid-part while showing spindly legs
meant, I think, to look enticing but only succeeded
In appearing like stick insects
Once these women had been beauties, attracted
to men in suits; many divorces later and partying
time had taken a heavy toll.
Lonely women, chasing what once was, the youth
consorting with contemptible men who feared
being alone on a night when truth spoke piercingly
Pray for us sinners,
for indeed sinners we are.
In love with our immorality,
wallowing in our faults,
repeating our transgressions.
The world applauds us
in complete agreement
with our fetid fallacies.
We are important only if
we indulge in our heinous,
scandalous and contemptible
affairs of the world.
There's time enough to right
any of our errant and gross sins.
Wealth pours in and all worldly worthy things
that pushes us to indulge
our lust and greed. For think on it,
there's time enough to make amends!
Upon the hill a Man once shed His blood,
even up to the last drop.
Thus did He redeem all men.
But only if they repent.
It is a two way traffic
in our contract for salvation.
So are you sure there's time enough?
Only fools think so.
The mannequins put on skin
pretending to be human
feigning familiarity
with lives they’ve never lived
performing a pantomime
of proficiency in poverty
the wisdom won from doing without
playing the part of people
they consider inconsequential
believe are below them
with whom it would be unsuitable
to be seen socializing
unworthy of a welcoming word
as they parade about
before the cameras and crowds
bedecked in diamonds and gold
silk gowns and Armani suits
whose value would feed
more than a few struggling families
Contemptible creatures
Heinous and hollow
such a contemptible situation
a beautiful girl is dead
her friend texted while driving
mothers totally hating each other
two girls lives ruined now
one an angel of course
such a contemptible situation
a beautiful girl is dead
her friend texted while driving
mothers totally hating each other
two girls lives ruined now
one an angel of course
Partisanship
Is a towering ship
Complete with a hoisted flag,
Not a flying, dying rag
Her height chasing Heaven,
Her crew certain that she is a haven;
The Civil Service only
To not on her embark,
To keep acting the Lonely
And it keep avoiding like a starving shark…
For civil servants could hundreds of things spoil
And as Partisans, free elections foil;
By this vessel robbed of Impartiality
And by it drained of Neutrality!
Partisanship
Is further a contemptible illness:
A crazy political worship
Of one with your own very weakness;
On the presiding seat
To sometimes ignite a worse heat!
And I reckon, Partisanship
Is a determined focusing flea:
To oppressors signaling their invisible hanging tree
And therefore every breakfast should include a nervous tea!
A conquering army
Easily making barmy,
When detect it couldn’t the Rebelling Enemy
And had to reschedule a victory’s celebration with St. Remy;
Now and then stomaching invisible bullets
Faultlessly dropping their men like pullets.
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