Twenty seven years just to putt,
Court still feels it was a short cut.
The white wigs left long back,
We’re still on the same track,
The slow snail courts snore, eyes half-shut.
____________________________
Happenings |08.09.2025| humour, justice
Note: A trial court takes 27 years on a murder case. Legal formalities, two years; framing charges, 14 years; and to conduct the trial, 13 more. And still, the high court feels, the trial court adopted a ‘short cut’ going in a ‘hurried manner’. And it orders retrial. Back to square one. Who can beat that?
You think,
you see
me
in infinity
of gates
I was late,
so awkwardly
like every design
like since,
you think
vulnerability
has made me cry,
you can't understand
the useless frames
of windows so
expressing
so like
you think so
know sick-ness
I'm unique
to your every-day
of a food-court
Not a supreme,
I will be so high
as I was born to die
Cocaine
in a red-neck salad
I've forgotten
my lines,
something,
without
my manners
I just wish
to dig in
to her soul
breathing
baked bread
and her
smitten
in the back room,
like
I've seen
you
like
no old
towel or broom.
I've a thief
in hearts
but
most of all
I've left apart.....
Supreme Court examination of homeless budget item
Good is one crime
Is that what your saying?
Finish that sentence on your own.
Finding out what someone else cannot do?
All the financial crimes currently committed
By not taking part in another's process of speech and records
I hold no errors in law
Forfeit the matter of the document is not and is public
Without opinion
3524 characters left
These messages are being captured and archived in compliance with the Presidential Records Act or the Federal Records Act
You joined the Navy.
I joined the circus.
I was always a clown,
and you were always
so serious.
A-ll
P-layers
R-un
I-ntensely,
L-aunching
J-umpshots
A-s
N-et
E-rupts
©bfa042425
Monocrostic (Birthday of April Jane Elico)
In iron shadows, cold and tight/
I sank beneath the weight of night/
A crime unclaimed, a fate unfair/
And all my prayers fell on deaf air/
For six months, my tears took flight/
Rising like embers into the night/
I called for grace, for mercy's hand/
But silence met my last demand/
Sentenced, shackled, years were spun/
A war begun, one battle won/
I looked to the sky; eyes burned in rage/
The heavens above, no hand was raised/
Faith had faltered, left me bare/
Hope had vanished, none to spare/
Through depths uncharted, I made my throne/
A kingdom forged in fire and stone/
The Qliphoth sang its wicked tune/
I took my seat beneath the moon/
What Gods had failed, now demons rise/
A shattered soul, no compromise/
Life moves on, do as you will/
The stars remain, yet burn so still/
One battle lost, one battle won/
I wear my scars; they weigh like none/
Bow not to Gods, nor fleeting fate/
But to the one who walks through hate/
I was born with the meaning of home
running through my veins,
like sunlight weaving
through branches,
casting warmth on cold earth.
In shadows, I gathered light,
each ray a promise,
each beam a whisper
filling spaces of despair.
With hands outstretched,
I became a gardener,
planting seeds of love
in the soil of his heart,
tending to wounds like petals.
The forest listened,
its soft sighs a chorus,
as I sought the truth
beneath layers of leaves,
light revealing paths to safety.
In the courtroom’s embrace,
I stood tall, a lighthouse,
shining bright for him,
a beacon guiding him home,
where love flows like a river.
They once were held in high esteem
the pride of each judicial dream
The ones who have the final word
when arguments have all been heard
Their loyalty was guaranteed
all virtuous, in thought and deed
Nine beacons of integrity
the last step in democracy
But privilege has hidden flaws
where Justices corrupt the laws
Their shameful greed has tipped the scales
their broken oaths tell ugly tales
The solemn robes of black they wear
belie the truth of what dwells there
A Court bereft of moral code
consumed by seeds of greed they sowed
fear fell away from discussion
the inferior postulate
that anothers poetry
hath not free speech
beneath the scope
of obligation
of love
of love the mind
is left, desolate sound
and smut ridden apocalypse
is your pretense to burn
burning earth in chase of heroic confine
subjection, and of war crimes study
you have been charted
from paranormal disdain
congradulatory suffering
is you house furnished?
You were crafted from grace and intellect
A masterpiece of resilience, standing firm in your unwavering independence
Yet you have an innate desire
To be adorned with affection, cherished like royalty.
Let me be the jester in your court,
The fool who revels in devotion,
Showering you with laughter, draping you in love,
For your joy is the crown I wish to serve
hostage
Trapped, falsely imprisoned, identity stolen, wages deprived, abuse of power, denied freedom
Unable to move and measured, no structure to enter, prisoner of war.
A movement of legal monetary policy allows for these crimes against me, today, 3/23/2025
Self employed as a writer. Inhumane conditions for working in the country, the city workers fail federal codes, failing to report crimes, participation in crimes. Failing to turn themselves in to the authorities
Conformity Normal Court
How Can You Feel
Anything Real
With Values So
Artificial?
-Gray Squirrel
03-19-2025
Pacing in an empty room,
I'm sick, and tired of fighting
This unyielding evil
Who makes his case
To torment our family
And as the minutes turn to hours,
I feel the force of cruel waves
Crashing against the guiltless shore,
As he tries to drown
The truth in lies
And so I say a silent prayer,
Hoping against hope
For an end
To an endless storm
I pray that when the tide retreats,
His heinous lies dissolve in foam;
That blinding rays of sun expel
This ghost who haunts our happy home
I pray his clever masquerade,
Well crafted by undying hate,
Will fall away like rotted wood
Within the healing light of truth
I pray, when everything is seen,
And all is known and understood,
That Justice wash away this scourge
Forever from our lives.
In 1996 they came, shadows in the night/
Declared the case is bigger than me/
Told me not to fight/
Threats and whispers, like a storm they flew/
But my heart of gold knows, I stayed true/
A light too pure to dim/
A soul they sought to taint/
With accusations dark/
They painted me with paint/
A heart of gold, forged in flames of truth/
I would never harm anyone/
Silenced by the weight/
Of lies that cling and bind/
Yet my spirit rises, justice on my mind/
Falsely accused/
My name dragged through the mud/
But in my heart of gold/
Flows an unyielding flood/
I wish to clear my name/
To stand in light once more/
To break the chains of injustice/
And soar/
Innocence, my shield/
Truth, my guiding star/
Falsely accused/
But pure, no matter who they are/
The wild wind plays its part.
Orchids on my Lord's yard
Blown and thrown apart.
They were meant to fall?
Before coming of age?
The suspects were to be summoned at once.
"No such intentions I carry, oh Lord...."
Wild wind presents, an alibi persuading.
"I was hurled by these towering trees."
The court, bewildered.
Yet, advocated his statement.
"It was not just me, a whole bunch of us.
I? Merely a pawn swayed by an arrogant king, Sire?
I take no part in this massacre...."
Not even a warlord made my king sweat.
Apprehension of injustice it is.
Suppressing the murmurs, my King speaks.
"Oh mighty wind, brutal nature force,
Why assist destruction of the old man's blossom?
Tell me, oh lofty tree.
You bear children of your own,
Why kill mine? "
"Why flowers bloom?
When destined to wither only.
We relish and embrace them,
Refer- beauty, innocence and sanctity.
Why gather them here?
A corpse lying on a pyre...."
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