Woke up yesterday morning with a dreadful thought -
fall property tax was due last November and this is
the end of January. I am a full-grown delinquent.
I am also recently widowed; my Mister always did taxes.
But God had brought it to my attention (who else,
could I hold responsible?) so I faced the music.
Went to the bank where they quickly advised
me - they don't accept early payment until April/May.
THEN at my confession, they don't take past-due taxes either.
The clerk's office downtown says the tax office has moved
to the county, only seven miles out at the new River Ridge.
BUT they've not been there and aren't really sure where.
With God as my pilot and maps on my cell phone,
I discover the yet under-developed GatewayCampus,
taking delight in God's mysteries of memory and momentum.
How would you feel,
If you went home today
To find a strange creature
Had entered your cave
While you were away?
How would you feel,
If the door to your cave
Had been kicked in by a kid
Who just could not behave?
Would you rumble and roar
Or just rant and rave?
You would you feel,
If you looked in your bed
To find sleeping there soundly
A wee human head?
Would you be angry?
Would you see red?
How would you feel,
If some golden-haired brat
Had gobbled your supper
And shattered the chair where you always sat?
What would you do?
How would you handle that?
No one would blame you,
If you got really mad
With a dimpled-faced terror who destroyed all that you had.
That’s how many would feel, but
Isn’t it sad
That no one had taught her
How not to be bad?
Look Mommy! Look at me!
I'm building you a tower...high
So high the is-there god will cry
Out-loud with jealousy!
Is not, could not, did not find-
Smash the idiot design!
One by one by block in line,
Unpatterned and no one to see.
It once housed bowels of cars in this town,
Carcasses on the ground,
It cannibalized every bit of machine,
And fed the hungry crowd,
Til now, shades of blue and fired up pink,
Splash the walls of steel,
Inside this tortured derelict plant,
Alone in the vacant field,
And there's scratching tin in the wind,
There's a steady distant hum,
A painting of delinquent youth,
Is what it has become,
With a chair, a table, a busted ash tray,
Golf balls to sail away,
This beautiful coloured factory shell,
Is where the children play.
In a small town of 800 the lonely town where children never sleep
Hardly can anyone imagine them ever being sweet
Some are bullies, some rob, steal, some brake windows
Others are found juvenile delinquents breaking into condos
Adults and political authorities
Sanctions rules and laws just for the youth minorities
These hard nosed children keep breaking them curfews
Rebellious youth with incurred huge transverse views
The disorderly town children fight and riot
No wonder these rebellious cretins are sleep and so tried
Small town of 800 this lonely town where children never obey civil laws
These Town Children Delinquents breaking juveniles
9/14/19
Sponsored by:Julia Ward
YOUR WILLPOWER YOUR CHOICE
It seems the term delinquency,
Tunes into almost any frequency,
The Meter band does vary though,
In societies both high, and low.
For adulthood they haste to make,
A taste of life they wish to take,
A status symbol is their aim,
A marred reputation their only gain!
The shadow seldom leaves its prey,
And with the dawn of every day,
The will to turn o’er a new leaf,
Is intermittent, and so brief.
If strength is found to
Steer away,
And find a forward way,
To keep this evil grip at bay,
There’ll be no need to ever stray,
Can say goodbye to this
Ecstatic evil,
Destroying lives,
Causing chaos, and upheaval!
All now under the sun -
Brother and sister popping corn,
Watching a clip they call a ****;
Society says it is their fun.
Long before I was born,
Before His kingdom was gone,
Wards were warned to shun,
What we now license bob son.
Moral mantle is torn
And tomorrow we shall mourn
Old time religion foregone
That has brought us to scorn.
Carnality wears its counterfeit crown,
Zeus blowing his delinquent horn.
The image may contain: 2 people
Either a Delinquent of a Deviant
Have I been a delinquent or a deviant?
What is message to me, God has sent?
Someday must go out on my very own
Knowing God will never leave me alone.
While I will rest and comfortably sit,
For me, you should try to finish it
With your ability and also endeavor
Now matter what may be the weather.
This should serve as an inspiration
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Take whatever part of my poem you
want to and write a new one. Thanks.