when promises
aren't etched in stone,
they drift away with the breeze.
words hold no meaning,
even if regurgitated
a thousand times.
with their pinky fingers,
interlocked,
he promised
he's all hers from now on,
after being caught
dead to rights sneaking around
with his paramour,
but the world knew
he wouldn't stay true,
that his word
isn't as good as 24-carat gold.
yet again, he did sell her
a kingdom built on blatant lies...
abandoned her
on the battlefield, naked.
the betrayal, brutal, cold
and cuts like a sharpened blade.
against her better judgment,
she exhaled on his latest promise
with relaxed assurance
only to taste
stinging disappointment and regret.
she's been made a fool of
once again,
but that was enough.
he'll never change.
the erosion of trust,
a relationship coup de grace.
the bridge of redemption,
of forgive-and-forget
burned beyond repair.
When our muse ignites
verse that excites
then you have us
dead to rights—
We are poets!
'Dead to Rights!'
'Dead to rights' says I love you, no 'deed' makes you mine!
Love's a gift born each second, there's no valentine,
no shared thought (need that's met) . There's no poem to write
or a dream one must hide. Love's a high-flying kite
with a breeze on its side: It's a meadowlarks' song!
How's a promise believed that would make right (what's wrong?)
Where's your proof God's not real, that our death's not a door,
that one's heart's not their soul, and our sky's not God's floor?
'Dead to rights' means I love you! Grant rhythms (sea's voice),
time-smashed rhymes (sun-bright shells) on a beach of our choice
which waves salt as they break, shells whose colors float soft
on white sea froth, in reach: motion's fragrance so waft
(through the air) it might teach a lost soul how to smile!
Are these dreams a mistake? Have I shipwrecked on guile?
May the freedom we live in suggest we're on track,
and the love that we treasure be, "I've got your back!"
KK7
January 17, 2023
A seasoned cat burglar
climbs through
the kitchen window;
his eyes scanning
left, right, front, and back...
"Good, no one's home,"
or so he fought.
He tiptoes through the house,
going from room to room,
rummaging through drawers
and stuffing knick knacks
into an open backpack
he's wearing
in front.
Before long, he sees a shadow
appear on the wall;
someone's behind him.
As soon as he turns his head
for a look see...
"POW!"...knocked out, cold.
He came to...
a hulking blurry figure
standing over him....
"You came to the wrong house, and the cops are on their way!,"
the homeowner shouted.
Date written: 06/13/2021
We had him dead to rights, Herman and I.
On his lips was a smear of blueberry pie.
That bulldog is guilty as sin, we both agreed.
Behind his back, while he carefully peed.
Let’s get him to interrogation, Herman said.
He’s the detective, with a bit of hair of red.
I am Sergeant German, being a shepherd and all.
I thought that bulldog might break down and ball.
But no, he was tough, that little pie stealing squirt.
He was arrogant and haughty. He is a piece of dirt.
You are tough now, but you will eventually tell.
That little pug nosed ugly said “You go to hell!”
Detective Herman was mad now, I could see.
He had to run outside; pretending to pee.
I know the truth is that he wanted to cuff
Bulldog’s fat ears good and hard, no bluff!
This was the third pie that had been stolen this week.
From the window in our police kitchen without a squeak.
We were damned mad about having no pie.
I wanted to poke that bulldog really hard in the eye.
The boss told us finally to let the little weasel go.
It made me really hot, as you probably all know.
The next day we discovered a cat stealing a cherry pie.
So now I am less angry about the bulldog; guess you know why.
Hello love
Thanks so much
For the new shoes
You've got me
Walkin' in
You know they say you can't
Judge a person
Til you've walked a mile
In theirs
My new ones fit just fine
Along with my new life
You have made me believe
Again
In myself
I love how you love me
And I am waiting patiently
On everything to come together
I have finally found you
After all these years
What's a few more minutes?
I love this life
And I want you in it
My days you enamorate
I feel I've found my fate
These things I am feeling
My mind is reeling
I've got you in my sights
I've got you dead to rights
Thank you baby
You make me so happy
I am never gonna wear out these shoes
Dead To Rights
Was found dead to rights
As I conformed days and nights
All within my sights.
Jim Horn
Poet and Philosopher
Watching Abe Lincoln
Movie on TV.
If I could get another chance
Another walk
Another dance with him
I stand in a stance and glance at him with a frown
and knock him down to the ground while he turned around
How I'd love love love
To dance with my father again
If by dance you mean abusing, using all my might
to fight it seems confusing, because you don’t know the sight
of riding home at night,
after flying kites with your dad,
and pickin clovers
then gettin pulled over
“Geeze dad, what’d you do bad?”
“Please don’t be mad, I can honestly promise I’m sober”
I looked over my shoulder
and saw red-blue lights
they had him dead-to-rights.
Guess he won’t me tuckin me in bed tonight.
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