windowpane trembles
shattered like the wren below ~
sad blue reflected
* For the “Your Choice Haiku” Poetry Contest, Brain Strand Judge & Sponsor. *
On life's stage, masks of false smiles dance in the lights,
People seem close, but distance hides behind the curtains.
In whispered conversations when friends leave, the truth is unveiled,
Online, perfect vacations hide dramas and swirling sorrows.
No one is truly bad, just people carrying unseen burdens,
Insecurities and fears that sometimes make hearts seem astray.
It might be jealousy or a bad day that casts a shadow on kindness,
Pessimism settles in the soul when you realize the greatness and fragility.
Like a shattered myth, you understand that no one is truly perfect,
Those who seem to have it all under control play a well-chosen and select role.
You stop expecting dreamlike friendships, seeking only a few sincere and real ones,
And you understand that it's enough to tie your soul to loyal people.
She got to wake up the next day
He didn't.
She got to live her life
He didn't.
She got to have her own family
He didn't
She lied
He didn't.
She admitted to the lie -
No repercussions
He was a black boy -
He got murdered
Carolyn Bryant,
A murderer
Emmett Till,
A victim
The courts awarded her due diligence
His family fled in fear, that it'd be repeated
Leaving their home, scared they'd be targeted
Their home a ghost to a child evicted
A system built to allow racism
We vote for our lives,
not for fictional speeches...
of "democracy"...!
I strive to vanquish transparent
colors staining your true essence.
Your mood is false skewed, running loose,
and our known love is fiction trapped.
My heart insists you must come back.
I wish to leave you, or stay you,
slaying themes you now live each day.
Love now holds my loud, silent scream.
false eyelash frog thought she was marvelously pretty.
She was boring, dull, insipidly predictable, not any way witty.
She put on false eyelashes and wore them all over the pond.
Everyone made fun of her, including the algae and frond.
Dedicated to George Stinney Jr
The mind of a child
Is one supposed to be filled with innocence
But his was clouded with fear
Barely out of the womb
And already he would be buried in a tomb
He barely had time to start life
Barely had time to love and be loved
He barely had time to be a son
He would make history
Just not how he would've imagined
He would become the youngest person on death row
Youngest person to be executed on death row
A black boy who never got to be a boy
His last thoughts were a prayer
To be saved, to be seen, to be given a chance
'Are you there God, its me george'
Unfortunately God's grace doesn't extend to his black 'children'
Unfortunately his life was cut short
Unfortunately he wouldn't get to grow old
Apparently he wasn't deemed worthy enough for 'God's love'
Justice was never served
Even after 81 years
Manners are the party fancy —
Petit goldleaf on the melting pudding,
A sticking cream now on your fingers,
Immovable for hours.
Manners like a lady,
Her morning bonnet pinned,
Perching, tilting in the wind.
That flat earth, mountained at the dome,
With feather shores and flower groves,
Shiny plastics, false as those at home.
Nods and bobs and toothy smiles,
Inflections in their proper place,
But my greetings, lumbersome and cumbering,
Like falling up the carpet staircase.
Admire my racing stripes—
How fast they run my eager thoughts,
Like greyhounds on the track.
Striped in life, strung up in death,
A dripping turkey, limbs akimbo.
My brain is too human for me,
My tongue declares me animal,
Its words condemn me man.
So I crave the choking baby squeeze,
Until my secrets spill, hurled,
Bile like from the lemon press,
Dribbling, a puddle,
A sour sting to wipe your turgid eyes,
And join the salty swimming race.
It's criminal what women'll do
to keep a man down on the farm
shed false tears strategy I fear
pull the wool turn on the charm
smiling all the while
trap him wrap him twist him
round her little finger
and insist it seems
should he linger longer than
appropriate she deems
for him to appreciate
'til he's tongue-tied up in knots
with all those forget-me-nots
keeping her the centre of his attention
not to mention the apple of his eye
starting with Eve it's now a far cry
from his ambition ever coming to fruition
should he cave in and comply
first love's false flame burned way too hot
and left me nothing but the want
for fiery passion to remain
to keep me bound in love's pleasure-pain
like chasing an addiction high
more and more but always just shy
I find that I am in a cage
I have lost this ancient war you waged
so injured, I then licked my wounds
to passions heat I am immune
all warmth leaked out with your goodbye
too frozen to fall, the tears I cry
I can still feel that dizzy spin
the world revolved around you then
I feel so lost all just a blur
I did not see the black hole you were
yes, my whole world revolved ‘round you
you weren't the sun that I pursue
I guess I had my eyes shut tight
and did not see your dark heart of night
the warmth I felt upon my face
was not the sun but my disgrace
thank God your gone and He forgives
and true love, so warm, inside me lives
False Profits
Yeah, That's
Spelllllllled
Write
And
‘Rong.
DIS-COMFORTABLE!
Both Lies.
I'm Unworthy Of
Questioning Their
Pompous Asses,
And Certainly
Unwelcome To
Succumb.
Thanks – 1
-Gray Squirrel
07-10-2025
Dearest reader, I have many secrets
But I wont tell you now, I'll wait till you're older
Heavens know I have many regrets
But I wont tell you now, please wait till I'm bolder
There are many things about me you dont know yet
But I wont tell you niw as you rhetorically cry on my shoulder
There is a version of myself you havent met yet
But I wont show you now, for she's angry, much darker...colder
I dont know if I'll tell you when your tears have dried
Or when you no longer cry
I'll tell you my secrets but maybe when you're wiser
Though it might take a little longer
For I dont want to be a bother
Till then you can cry on my shoulder
While I pretend to be stronger
False Spiritualities
Our age is full of spiritual criminals
“I teach you!” I will show you the way!”
Yes, they will help. Of course. For money
People want to find the way. The way out
Why? People are fearing. Hmm. Future
Yes. But maybe too late, the gate is closed
Then came the help! The spiritual teachers!
“I teach you practices, knowing, meditations!”
They will teach you. Believe them. Lost money
One session is seventy to a hundred pounds
“We need to help you! This is our job! You!”
They are selfless angels! They are the saints!
Then the blind person’s wallet and credit cards open
“You have problems, we fix everything in your life!”
Naive people are victims of pseudo-spiritualist hyenas
There are traditions for help
Old churches, ancient religions
Do not follow the false teachers
Follow the ancient texts, prophets
Crystal clean sciences, theologies
The Call to War or False Promises
They spoke of honor carved in stone,
Of glory waving from a hill.
They lit the torch, then threw us in,
And called the burning “noble will.”
They draped their lies in marching drums,
And wrote our names on gilded scrolls,
But none could see, beneath the hymns,
The hunger swallowing our souls.
Immigration.??? It comes over in waves.' There are those who are
Pro...Their enthusiasam gets quite wild.' Its all about the
Work that needs 'their skills' these days.' and then there are others that
See great ill.' Who counter claim.' On the need for so many'
And that, there are generational British with skills! that that do not
Have any.' Houses jobs also, they are cash restrained.' Meanwhile
The Hs 2 project is still not ready.! ( it is really a shame.!) Oxymoronica?
As taxes rise.! Five star meals served and no mp is denied! quaffing Champagne the very best.' Snifters of whisky oh
What will be next.? Yes it all well organised and nothings a crime..' no nightmares to deal with ( everything is working just fine! )
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