Dismissal Poems - Poems about Dismissal

Paradoxes Are stories with Responses of Disbelief..or a Certain immediate And quiet resonance Which cannot be Explained.. Nevertheless... ...

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Alone I enter my dim empty house and mourn our slain president Monoku Written 2/15/22...

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Oh the days ,where uncertainty fears Now a golden crops field I will make over your chest thousands mile long that the row , So need not it wait for tomorrow Long walk and long rest ,after where will we be! I will husk beneath the rays of autumn sun cuddling ur arms and no comma between twos. There be built...

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We stand outside, in heat or cold And one by one, each class Is marched outside to reunite With we who wait, en masse. The teachers watch to match each child With parent, sitter or A nana or a grandpa Huddled near the exit door. The children run to give a hug To those who stand and wait, The teachers glad their obligations...

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I am sitting here alone, I look around and I see: The couches you wanted to be here, Brown leather, brownish auburn leather, Couches made of a football dream, Shattered, or a football dream Imagined; I see a misplaced shelf, Once towering over my desk and a dream of togetherness. I look some more and I see the bar stools by the kitchen...

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Yesterday, on the 20th of March 2016 on the BBC, On The Andrew Marr Show about politics weekly, I did see Ian Duncan-Smith, government member, Say something that upset me, I do remember. “I am not morality, I leave that to church men.” But can't anyone decide what makes you a christian? I understand evolution, and that gives me values,...

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Death’s Dismissal I have seen death masquerading in its many faces, the fear of those holding numbers, the agony of those not. Stared into the dimly fading headlights of the passing vehicle, slowing as the vision dimmed, the agony increased. I have seen death take the unsuspecting in an instant, snatch the breath of youth, impose its ugliness upon an empty future, string barbed wire upon...

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Where do you come from, vacant-eyed hag, and where do you go from here? Witching your way from border to bay, who will your mumbling hear? The babe in the bower is safe for an hour while you intone your hideous cries; the man in the wood not even you could harm with your malevolent eyes. Scat! with the brat who accompanies that noise...

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Ah, Inhale life onto the paper I shall write Be it dark or be it light while the inner fire’s burning; now the wheels shall be turning It feels just right It flows so freely out of the depths of me This ambitious attraction to cascade and spill, and all the lonely hours it does fill For this reclusive writer Chooses...

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