Teenagers
Tired of being harassed
By your stupid parents
Act now
Stuppidly wanted
Pack your bags and your irrigants
Get up off your ass
Get a job
Fill out an application
Pay your own bills
Because you know everything
You know more than me
Your phone bill will sky rocket
I don’t have a clue
I don’t want to see red sirens
Put your big boy pants on
Don’t ask me for any more money
You can pay for your very own $900 rent payment
Don’t forget a roll of quarts for the laundry matt
Use paper plates
Don’t be crying to me
I don’t want to hear it
You are dying for your own independents
It’s time to do adult things
Enjoy
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Woody Woodpecker happily pecks in his tree-house decent,
mean landlady Meany evicts him, for he doesn’t pay the rent.
So, he plans his antics, stops real estate to sprawl in his forest,
tricks Lance, the harassed lawyer, to gift him a new tree-nest.
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Black eyes smile down, a frown
The voices in my head of silent sound
Live weird connected without ground
Look around at all the nothing I've found
Eyes tired unfocused and uninspired
Teeth pulling pliers torture tools for hire
Liars, so many liars, flash flooded fires
The leper that was so very admired
Eyes closed, on the back of eyelids now froze
The red rose of death fills my nose
The list grows all enemies and foes
Ten fingers, two hand, unaccountable toes
I guess this is just how it goes... it goes...
Beware if you find yourself in a dark dank place
You may become the prey of Old Schnozz Face
Don't bother spraying him with a can of mace
He's a Vampiric creature of the Mosquito race
I detest the sound of his buzz buzzing in my ear
When in bed, that irksome droning sound I hear
That long needle nose is a grotesque thing to fear
I'd put something in his bag that came from a pee'er!
"Mosquito Man, why do you bother wearing pants?"
His reply came across as more angry whirring rants.
If their needles break, can mosquitoes get implants?
He just landed on a painting, one of my Rembrandts
It's way past time for me to put this skeletal pest away
The plan I have in mind will put an end to him, I pray
I've been bitten and harassed for the last time today
I'm taking out the big gun to fry him with a gamma ray!
Syria’s Christians and Haiti
The first Christian church was built in Syrian, as I write this the horror is killing them the new death cult regime in Syria, a cult we give money to, and not mentioned by Western media as Israel continues to bomb Gaza to their hearts content This is only possible when the bombs are free of charge courtesy of the USA
On the home front, we read about erectile dysfunction, no they are telling me who thought
my own problems were caused by the old age
Haiti, the sad state is in the news again, last time
I was there, Papa Doc, was in power he employed
Thugs, sunglasses, and sports shirts to keep order
but they harassed shopkeepers to hand over money, when Papa died his son took over, he was an idiot and any resembles of order fell apart
Port-au-Prince was a beautiful city, but now it is a vast criminalized slum, Haiti has always been poor and met resistance from other countries who were against a black sovereign state. It never got the help needed from white societies who said slaves could not a country make
The Grocer and Dreamer
The local grocer calls his shop
The best supermarket in town
Although his shop is small
He has big dreams, sells jam
tinned beans, bananas, lemon
and chocolate cakes
He also sells local wine made
on a plot, run by his brother
In the morning, he has fresh
From a bakery that has few
Customers as it sells real bread
That is not packed in plastic
A big supermarket nearby
Will open soon
Our grocer, harassed by health
Inspectors every week sold
The shop to the new supermarket
They promptly closed his shop
The grocer who had big dreams
Bought a van and sells groceries
In the countryside
Not a Hunter
Every morning, the train that took him to work
through a landscape harassed by Man
he saw a deer watching the train as it did
every morning
The deer's eyes reflected the morning sky
making the landscape eerily beautiful
He marked the spot, and on a Sunday, when
the train was not running, driving to the spot
to see if the animal was there,
it appears the deer also took Sunday off
He took free from work on a Monday to
see the deer, the weather was of slight
rain, the ruined landscape appeared in black
and white, but the animal was there
He shot the deer through its heart, hoping
his nightmare would end
I’d rather walk into a quiet house
Lone sweet kitty greeting me at the door
No hell raging from my fiery spouse
Lips spewing lunacy and hate no more
Still jumping when the phone rings late at night
Your constant contemplation of sweet death
Ringing in my rousing head as I fight
Running from your cold hands and heated breath
I’ve covered up the holes inside the walls
But contusions in my soul are steadfast
I feel the crossness of your rising calls
As you wake me from my slumber harassed
Lone sweet kitty calming my wounded heart
I put together what you took apart
Cats and dogs are notorious for not getting along
You've heard the term, “fighting like cats and dogs”
Well our gorgeous female golden retriever, Annie
And our tomcat Curtis are the best of friends
While Zoe, our sweet wee female cat
Is constantly being harassed by these other two guys
I can understand Annie having a problem with Zoe
Both being high strung female types
With Curtis, it seems like a male dominance thingy
Zoe is the SWEETEST!
ALL she wants is to loved
She rolls over waiting for me to rub her belly
Or scratch behind her ears
What an absolutely adorable loyal friend!
ZOE RULES!
The words in rhyme that communicate
A love of our fellow inhabitants
Of this wonderful site and this wonderful world
THE SCAR OF PAIN
The Mixtures of Pain,
The Countable seconds,
Being the utter most irritant,
Mumbling to Share.
At the Time,
Realising the Past,
that had a Bad Faith,
Harassed with pain.
The mind never goes refreshed,
But the voice of others,
Being filled as the scar..
Never knows how to treat it with,
Need to help myself ...
Cause i own my life and my mind.
Gotta Love Alliteration 5-21-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gracious Grace
Endless effervescence of grace,
In riots of radiance, infected by innocence,
Seeks out the heart harassed by humiliation –
Wrapped in sleepless shrouds of incensed worry –
When alliterations of angst plunder soiled spirits with pandemonium
Grace, the eternal romantic, lavishes love.
Purity, born of playful purity,
Tames tempests of melancholy mistrals
As midnight murmurs into dawn’s jubilant joy
As dusky dews flow from fountains of forgiveness
With eternal elixirs from the everlasting
For the pensive plea of the penitent pilgrim.
Grace sings the ageless anthem of sweetest sanctuary
In honeyed breaths for the hobbled heart to inhale
Ever abiding loveliness, always in ascent,
Tingling with tenderness, opening soldered seas of sin,
Miracle made manifest in majestic melody
With promises penned in poems of peacefulness.
Piano music plays.
Soft notes emote mid air,
like tear-stung doves they fly
in atmosphere of fog.
The clouds, they shroud the sky.
Piano music plays,
the keys, they seize my blues—
the depth of blue, so vast.
Poetic ivories
harassed… recite the past.
Piano music plays.
Dull echoes haunt the halls,
sonatas without soul.
Since wick and flame lost light
my space inside like coal.
Piano music plays,
the white noise like a ghost.
My fluid fingers mourn
in melodies of you —
the thorns on rose reborn.
No one can feel the pain of a molested female
She cries from her soul
She is alive from her body,but her uniqueness, her authenticity, her desires get annihilated
She gets besieged by the allegations of society,
Ultimately she is rewarded by the tag of "Culprit"
And harassed mentally to the point where she decides to quit by suiciding
Is a female, mere a material for the men to fulfill there so called sexual cruelty, to show there masculinity
Whenever she is raped
It shatters all her dream and independence to fly high..
And all her grief is mere a joke for the so called"MALES" who has dilema of being a god of a female??
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