They (the Legacy media) persist in their use of deceptive practices with the intent to obfuscate what is true. They conveniently avoid facts, that are known, intending to mislead those who are superficially engaged.
The freedoms granted to the media by our constitution, as intended, was for the protection of the masses against rogue governments and or political abuses.
However principled the intentions of our forefathers in granting this freedom of the press, they would most certainly be appalled by the ongoing, intentional distorting of what is true, and what is currently being disseminated to the public by the majority of legacy media.
Today's abundance of available media sources, for those who seek what's true, only adds to the confusion and mistrust of this information. The media's use of their platforms to promote an agenda, or for the purpose of propaganda to benefit a political party or political outcome, is exactly why we are no longer,
(United States)!
Have you fallen into the oldest of traps, before?
(A lone voice whispers)
Be Illuminated.
Don't be like the many and fall into a readers' mindset, and believe everything you read is true.
Be sophisticated and ingenious.
And when reading poetry, be conveniently adventurous.
Don't always think it personally relates to the author:
For that trap is the oldest of the old.
Going back to poetry's first beginnings.
Poets do sometimes relate their stories to be told, but generally, perhaps:
They're really creating secret escapes.
Imagery, emotions and landscapes, for those seeking shelter.
From the cold, unforgiving, light of just living.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Who would sell that which they do not own?
Who kept quiet that truth not be known?
Who betrayed souls their faith now uncertain?
Who moved devils behind a secretive curtain?
Who empties His houses in the guise of renewal?
Who shattered its victims with lies and betrayal?
Who conveniently had loss of common sense?
Who eluded punishment expecting others to do penance?
Who dismays and dismantles the dwindling flock?
Who empties memories trading reverence for shock?
Who scoffs at laws specified in their own cannon?
Who pays their council with large sums of mammon?
Who has squirreled away substantial resources?
Who deems such is needed to fund other courses?
Who will litigate estates to take from rightful heirs?
Who does all they will yet maintain that they care?
History books rewritten,
pages turned, truths overturned.
Past reconstructed.
Memories are planted like seeds,
carefully cultivated.
Reality harvested.
Leaders cast long shadows,
dark spots conveniently erased.
Selective illumination.
Monuments rise and fall,
stone faces weather time.
Legacies carved in flux.
Archives are sealed tight,
skeletons locked in national closets.
Dust settles on truth.
Oral traditions whisper
voices echo through generations.
Unwritten resistance.
Media spins its web,
catching minds in sticky narratives.
Information trapped.
Textbooks sanitised,
rough edges smoothed away.
Comfortable fictions.
Anniversaries observed,
some celebrated, others buried.
Time's biased march.
Nostalgia is a rose-tinted lens,
focusing on the golden ages.
Present found wanting.
Trauma is passed down,
And cellular memory encoded.
Inherited burdens.
Collective amnesia spreads,
Convenient forgetfulness is contagious.
Society's blind spots.
Memory becomes a battlefield,
mind's eye the spoils of war.
Consciousness colonised.
Yet, truth persists,
stubborn seeds in concrete cracks.
Remembrance rebels.
stirred from stillness by an urge,
awareness could not discern ~
ego conveniently labelled,
desire as spontaneity
There are words that I longed to hear.
But not what you might expect.
The words that I would hold dear,
are associated with respect.
You didn't have to agree with me,
or pacify me with your lies.
I know that you are unable to see,
the truth in someone else's eyes.
You don't recognize a voice,
other than your own.
Never giving me a choice,
for I always felt alone.
I knew you didn't listen, nor hear,
anything that I tried to say.
You made that very clear,
on your face, your bored display.
Only your emotions were valid,
mine were conveniently dismissed.
The issues you always skirted,
any opening you would resist.
Listening, you may have heard,
what I was trying to convey.
But that would have been absurd,
you felt I had nothing to say.
No matter who you ask
If you expect two adjectives
One of them will be fashionable
She is a diva cat, dressed to the eights.
I would have said nines, but that is rude
considering what nine means in the lives of a cat.
She arrived today with a self-portrait bag.
We begged to know where she ordered it.
Of course she had conveniently forgotten,
not wanting to share her fashionable ways
with the rest of us.
As information is sourced, we knowledge add.
Entertainment is accessed by each ipad.
The cost of research is by the net reduced,
whilst addiction to **** is by it induced.
Banking transactions are by it made easy,
so does the convenience of a shopping spree.
We conveniently send mails by speed of light,
and connect to old buddies beyond our sight.
Its flash of lightening promotes the breaking news,
so does its ill wind the fake ones for our views.
It mocks distance with commercial activities,
and lures perverts to their sexual proclivities.
It does our world flatten with mobile services,
its not by distance hindered for con men's vices,
neither will it the distant swindled protect.
It does the deeds of distant bullies perfect.
Transnational love has by it been produced,
when love birds electronically are introduced.
Global link that binds us all like a cobweb;
Old and young alike, each enslaved by the web.
LGTQs paraded through Jerusalem without a hitch
though security was tight, not one single glitch
Under the supervision of one Itamar Ben-Gvir
dubbed a 'racist right-wing fanatic' by the press
They conveniently forgot that he'd pass every test
upholding the philosophy those truly religious bless:
'Do not belittle any thing
neither scorn any one ~
Every thing contains a bit of Heaven
a shining hour, every one'*
___________________________________________
*Talmud, 'Ethics of the Fathers,' 4:2
In retrospection, I should have been the bigger person.
But how could have I been, when I was the one secretly hurting
From that secret you had simply and conveniently forgotten...?
Scarlet the Harlot teases and torments matador man name of Lyn.
A stuck bull is less wild, but he ignores the advice of friends and kin,
You cannot be serious, they say, she is a cougar and teases us all.
Lyn cannot help it, he loves who he loves, and he loves Scarlet doll.
So, he chases and flirts, but she stays conveniently out of reach.
The bloom is off the lily, she is conniving and nasty, no innocent peach.
Love has nothing to do with it, he tells his kin and his friends with advice.
She is not much, but she is all I can get, even if she is not at all nice.
*Image of Freedom Pub
Freedom Pub
Marred fictions of emus, ostriches
dip their heads neath, were hailed
by Ancient Rome's false divination,
of individuals, whose conquest of
enshrining their implied role.
Emancipated exacters, whereto,
the subjugators of the unlearned
majority, daily context by untruths,
orientations hard-pressed, by
tainted thumbs of paperwork,
loads conveniently,
mache for obvious design.
Decaying precursors demonocracy,
aptitudes knotting promotes,
a panache promenade of quilted
quids, as characters clash with
reality quarrels, as a shoreline
of sculpted castled sands, drift to
its emptiness of their costly
noted, S.O.S.
The absence of freedom is a true
reinvention for the masses, to
rummage and further wander, its
lineage of class enumeration
liken to some zombie apocalypse,
clueless beginning.
Lo and behold, its keepers adrift,
salty surges hath rise o'er, the
fresh living waters.
2023 January 07
*HM*
Freedom Pub
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2023 January 09
CONVENIENTLY ABSENT
You sit alone, neglected,
In your study-room, day after day,
Well of tears drains away,
Spirit of life, parched for lack of sustenance,
Turned off, sounds of harmony, rhythm,
Place, devoid of meaning.
They, once hearth and home,
Drove you out into barred solitude
Under the same roof
On separate, adjacent lines.
No longer loved as yourself,
Become a living scandal
To strangers in your midst,
Today conveniently absent,
At work or school or church.
Now prepared with care, the means of exit,
Nothing left to chance or change of mind,
Letter lies open, clear - out on the desk,
They may read its explanation,
Take note or pretend it never appeared at their home.
You rise from your seat, irksomely comfortable,
With steel-eyed resolve possessed,
All done as planned, gathering journey’s materials,
Leave space to descend dim-lit stairs
Into a sudden, self-created vacuum.
Graceful you are as a flight of angels,
Moving through to the empty garage.
Armed stool waits patiently for you
From the midst of an unseen circle of fire,
To step into the hollow breach and fall.
Truth, is I don't know if i'm honestly ready for this
I want to let you in,
Though what are your intentions?
Am I just someone easy for you at the moment?
Do you want something more?
Just what is your intentions?
This feels like I'm just conveniently there
That you are looking for one thing
I'm bad at reading the situation
So, confused
A part of me wants to trust you,
That part is afraid I will only get hurt
I feel like I'm getting mixed signals which makes this all worse
It's easy to not put your heart out there,
Or that is what I had thought,
Could it be I was wrong?
Could it be you like me for more than just something to do?
Maybe I'm honestly just stupid
Falling for anyone that gives me attention,
Though honestly i don't think I'm falling for you
More like trying to push you away,
Though it's failing effortlessly
Gives up...
I've seen how mean
You treat others.
You're well known for stepping
On the necks of those
You deem beneath you.
You've conveniently forgotten
Laughing
Over many a misfortune,
Mine included.
So legendary is
Your cruel nature
And peacock-like arrogance.
You carry a baffling air
Of invincibility.
You think yourself
Infallible; better than the rest.
Or are you? Now I watch you
Slip deservedly
On a banana peel of poetic justice
With laughter
In my eyes. You hear folks
You've trampled upon clap,
And you don't like that?
Well, what did you expect?
I hate to admit
I feel no guilt or pity
For you and your troubles
As you've taught all and sundry
One true thing;
You get what you give.
*this is a fictional write*
Date written: 06/19/2022
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