Written: May 6th 2024
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It's tough to revel in delight, but I grew!
Dreams rouse me, not in an aphonic view.
Nature provides her bounty every day,
I extend my hand and grasp her sway.
I perceive my youthful self in that place,
Her offerings were serendipitous grace.
In her sphere, blooms, and waterfalls,
A supple deer, an oaring raptor, in altar calls.
Each contributes to a feeling of calmness,
She was a fountain of pure suaveness.
Yet wars and famine steal my breath away,
A sight, luring amid a rutted path of ruby clay.
A moody inquiry into the root of my being,
A fleeting time of pure delightful feeling!
Thus, I wound up shooting my future ego,
Lift a glass, not a pistol, in a sky-dip indigo.
I rise again, and the sun surrounds me,
I can predict zodiac signs and lunar spree.
Along with Mars, Venus, and other oddities,
My mind spills, leaving no room for prodigies.
I shot for my destiny with this radical rhetoric,
Pulling me up a path reflected as historic.
A flash of his pistol, a gaze that said, walk,
My handgun babbled in its wandering talk.
Breanna, Breanna got read her Miranda,
that cheeky wee gas station clerk.
She’s not putting up with the woke propaganda
of not apprehending the perps.
When he broke a jar of some spicy hot salsa,
she knew that it was time for work.
So she grabbed her handgun, yelled, “Not in my casa!”
and put two rounds into that jerk.
----------
Loosely based on a story in today's news about a gas station clerk named Breanna Miranda, who shot a man after they got in a verbal altercation and he threw a jar of salsa to the ground.
"I got shot."
"The cops will help you."
"It was the police that shot me."
Damn Damn Damn Damn Damn.
There is someone - a boy.
I shouldn't have taken the child here.
I'm slipping, taking him with me;
he won't let go of my hand.
We are on the very verge
of a deep pit,
teetering upon its crumbling edge,
at the craters floor a pool
in those waters are sauropods,
crocodilians.
Scree rolls under our feet;
the heavy handgun on my hip
weighing us down, dragging us toward
those saw-toothed muggers
who now thrash in an expectant melee.
In a dreaming funk,
a pensive fear snatches at my flesh,
Then as we slip and slide I glance at the boy
seeing myself in him.
I shout to that younger me
that we both will die from the unforeseen
one day, but not today
for I exchanged that old revolver
for a less heavy Glock.
The scene melts, my child-self
still clinging to my breath
asking the bedroom ceiling: when?
Proud and fearless they await the blank handgun
Olympic battles have just begun
Endurance and persistence have been the least of fun
Motivated and being cheered on, by each and everyone
Failure has been the best way to learn
Overall respect is what they had to earn
Raising their flags up high, is what all athletes yearn
All the sleepless nights and fears
Tears of joy paid off the fruitless years
Heart and soul they’re in the game
Letting them rise to glorious fame
Enjoying every minute on the track
Thoughts of failure, they never look back
Excellence achieved, with trophies in hand
Shining stars singing the anthem of their proud land
07 September 2021
beat
the system
and rent
one expensive handgun
one bullet
and life insurance
and fire
a compassionate note
of understanding
to the gun store and the politicians
who were nice enough
to make available to you on the cheap
one expensive handgun
one bullet
and life insurance
Hands of America
Hand-over-hand: arduous climb
up the ladder of success.
Hand made: goods from a foreign land,
homeland in economic distress.
Hand-in-hand: dire collusion
with despots of detention
by the leaders of the state
that forged liberty's invention.
Underhanded: the undermining
of the only black president;
white hands applying black face,
inciting hatred and malcontent.
Handgun: a clutched firearm
with trigger pull light as breath;
handles on the side of a casket,
results of a violent shooting death.
Handover: a secret tactic
of those whose secret mission
results in the torture of those
sent abroad for extreme rendition.
Handiwork: the bloody results
of falsehoods of those who swore
that our homeland was in danger,
that we must send our best into war.
Handhold: a grip on reality
by people needing a hand.
Hands off: the response of
those who seek to rule this land.
Hands
Hand in hand: A romantic walk
with relationship in hand
or palm to palm, high five,
victory ever so grand.
Hand over hand: Arduous climb
up the ladder of success.
Hand made: Goods from a foreign land,
homeland in economic distress.
Underhanded: The undermining
of the only black president;
white hands applying black face,
inciting hatred and malcontent.
Handgun: A clutched firearm
with trigger pull light as breath;
handle on the side of a casket,
results of a violent shooting death.
Handover: A secret tactic
of those practicing vendition,
involving the torture of those
captured for extreme rendition.
Handhold: A grip on reality
by people needing a hand.
Hands down: The response
of those who now rule the land.
beat
the system
and rent
one expensive handgun
one bullet
and insurance
and fire
a compassionate note
of understanding
to the gun store and the politicians
who were nice enough
to make available to you on the cheap
one expensive handgun
one bullet
and insurance
Best Safety Feature Found Around
Went to have car annual safety inspection.
They had an NRA magazine there with
Trump on it. Looked through it and all
I saw was death and killing so I wrote
this Horn limerick.
Here is what I have to say about handgun;
Never think about owning or having one;
We are always afraid,
When they were made,
From time sun came up and day is done.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Why am I not strong when my feelings hurt inside
They took away all I had left me feeling blind
She ripped my heart out while he battered my soul
What’s it all for as you are thrown amongst the coal
Where was my hug after the evil deeds were done
The bullying always struck pain like a quick handgun
I had feelings of a different kind frozen to the core
The hurtful kind so bad they are locked behind a door
Why was I not loved like any other young soft child
Instead of these two wicked mad crazies gone wild
They would laugh if I made a mistake of any kind
The evilness look of being morally wrong in the mind
Why did you strike me again and again so hard it swells
Sometimes I was marked so hard it started to smell
Where was the loving care I was entitled to 24, seven
I kept thinking it was all stored up waiting in heaven
Why did I have to be given to that very evil, evil man
Who let him carry out his bloody wicked plan
Please my guardian angel keep looking over me
Take away the bad thoughts so I can be let free
Open your arms my Lord & be there just for me
how much more I can take please don’t forget about me
Hate infiltrated Orlando's Pulse Club,
morphing into an instrument of Death.
And innocent men died in pools of blood
as a madman's anger stole their last breath.
Armed with both a handgun and a rifle;
a radicalized Islamist, slew gays.
For this closeted wannabe gay was
attracted and yet repelled by their ways.
Shots rang out as gays danced to their music;
creating a surreal killing zone.
And ensuring that few would leave alive;
bullets, mercilessly pierce flesh and bone.
Satan applauded this demented soul;
smirking at the notion of gun control.
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
A lone woman visits the graves,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
She speaks, but her words are not loud,
She whispers and calls them by name,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds.
The deceased has grown to a crowd,
She speaks tenderly to the dead,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
With the handgun she kept her vows,
As her victims entered her net,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
They came strutting and oh, so proud,
And many more will find her web,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
Her name is Danielle of the Marsh,
She hides her real name, Black Widow,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
©December 18, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Deaths of Two Roanoke Reporters
As we progress along but some times precursor
To things happening and then becoming worser
Again, another bad thing just had been done
Reporter and photographer were shot by a handgun.
Not only that, on live TV all of this was reported
A women to be interviewed was being escorted
To a place where there was to be an interview
Which is when a terrible thing they did ensue.
Both by a handgun were completely shot dead
Into there beautiful bodies that bled and bled
No longer alive and never with us ever again
Surely having a handgun is truly such a sin.
From a lot and many I might raise some static
But what if I were to take a huge, big magnet
Have it in a helicopter and then start to swing
Into custody all of the handguns start to bring.
This may all sound completely absurd to you
After all this terror and horror we went through
Many of us still may not know what is best
We are open to anything you have to suggest.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Choice: the synonym of free will.
A crucial piece of the human puzzle.
If a human being was a handgun:
Choice would surely be it’s muzzle.
A machine has never died for another.
No machine has ever chosen, for who they bled.
Choice is the thing that separates,
the living from the dead.
h
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