I walk with confidence into the world.
My silver hair is all pinned up in curls.
Every step knowing that my time is money
Listening to the sounds is making it more sunny.
A vault full, starting when I was young,
as the house was never quite full of tongue-
in-cheek, tending to be taken lightly.
Mom would say, "Up to bed, hoodlums," nightly.
Those meaningful times when I could dig
up that pot of money that had grown big.
I was the oldest, the one who kept order.
Now, old as I’ve become, I'm a hoarder.
My life is a tangled patchwork blanket.
Under rules and sworn oaths of loyalty, a bandit.
How many hours of time turned into currency?
A dreamer with echoes of laughter, all so cozy.
The man in the elevator pushed button number eight.
The car lurched; then it wouldn’t budge. He griped, “Oh, I’ll be late!”
One babbling freak, two clueless girls who smacked gum and played rap,
two men with body odor, and two hoodlums shared the trap.
He wished he had air freshener, nerve pills, earplugs, handcuffs.
He had to quell the urge to knock all seven on their duffs.
At last, the captives were set free. He raced to the eighth floor.
He’d missed the interview, and he was bummed out to the core.
He thought the day could get no worse; then back at home he saw
a beast relaxing in his chair, AKA mother-in-law.
His wife said, “Mama’s moving in, Dear. Isn’t that good news?”
He forced a tiny smile but wisely didn’t share his views.
My spirit is broken down
But still I'm shouting reject
Hope all that Gen-Z has
Everyday praying for better days
Oh God of all creation
Living standards is beyond our means
Everybody is preaching peace
But there's no peace in the ghettos
No justice for Liberators
True soldiers six feet beneath
No Tom and Jerry plays in the streets
Mr. Leader better be real
So many mouths to feed
Ghettos can't even pay them bills
Poverty truly a disease
See hoodlums turning into goons
What happened to your manifesto
I wonder is democracy in your freewill
surviving_pawn
Bread hit them like a ton of bricks.
Bread can make one very sick.
Man minding his own business,
Quickly became a mayhem witness.
The teenage four, like the Joker’s core,
destroying aisles in the grocery store.
On a hot eve, they hit my man with a fighting bag.
It’s all a game…received more than a finger wag.
Like all good criminals they forgot camera’s rolling.
For act-out job, the manager - police would be calling.
But not until the chase and the chastening from victim.
Wrong guy - hoodlums shouldn’t have picked on him.
Somewhere in these busy woods
a woodpecker tattoos tree bark.
Somewhere songbirds and squirrels
hustle like hoodlums on arboreal streets.
Sometimes, when somewhere,
I am a rope-less tent
pitched under a million acres of sky.
Tall Firs push up to break through
to where the air
billows and sails.
Somewhere my path is still moving on.
Here, beyond any mechanical entropy
is an unruffled forest glade,
a good place to be bewitched
in a dappled circle of nowhere.
She slowly fades away
Into the air like dust
Into the night like a fleeting dream
Out of history like an exiled queen.
Falling away from the shore
With each approaching tide.
This crisis grows bigger than femicide
For they’ve begun to attack even the child.
Some disappear like phantoms
While police struggle to catch
The heartless hoodlums.
Who are these culprits
in our degenerate society,
Who steal our females
In homage to some satanic piety?
Two birds like mischievous teens
skipping, giggling as they cross
the pumps, dodging car scenes
through the oily and Oldsmobile dross.
Scoundrels living loud in their little world
chirping along, rippling through grime,
gabbling as they kick the can, twirling
and uttering in incoherent rhyme.
Oh the crime of poetic injustice,
those bobbing teeny hoodlums -
their imagery without substance.
No alliteration nor allusions.
But the human takes notice of the couple,
just too cute, their slim legs and beaks
skimming through the rainbow puddle
with sputtering tweets, puttering in the grease.
My Thoughts On
Smash & Grab
Miracle Man
8-15-2023
Some big cities now enforce a change in their law,
which allows an enclave to freely smash and grab.
What offenders deserve is some “Shock and Awe”,
but lawmakers have chosen meaningless confab.
They allow hoodlums to freely take from another,
they smash and grab things that have cash appeal.
Their chosen way of life is to take from some other,
and what they can’t bum they’re willing to steal.
Must decent people live and work in constant fear?
Because some other can’t or won’t earn their pay.
Daily cries go out but the disinterested don’t hear,
They should do their jobs or get out of the way.
Crazy rabbits chomping on my lettuce
Deer eating the flowers right down to their nubs
Woodpeckers drilling right through the siding
Armadillos rooting in search of grubs
Squirrels trying to climb down the chimney
Possums and racoon dumping out the trash
Coyotes yip yapping all through the evening
Groundhogs under the shed hoarding their stash
Most times the back yard smells just like a skunk
The cat keeps bringing dead birds to my door
The neighborhood dogs bark when the wind blows
That’s country life in all of its splendor.
That’s’ what they do in Theo’s lodge:
All sorts of wrong papers forge;
There every nosing cop dodge,
Who’d rogues from hideouts disgorge…
In Theo’s lodge would hoodlums surge,
Sweet crime at all times their urge;
There, new forms of it emerge;
When ‘This Sin and 'That' they merge…
So, from Theo’s lodge start Crime Purge:
From the Brown Brick ‘Hoodlums’ scourge
A crushing band’s rudest nudge
And just watch all of them budge,
Who Nation’s currency mar,
Factory face change of a car…
With all sorts of wrongs go far!
A baby's birth, a tale to tell,
Of a day when riots rocked the land.
Hoodlums and fire, chaos befell,
As Nasya's arrival was at hand.
Her mother, anxious, in labour pain,
With fear for her life and the baby's too.
To the hospital, she did remain,
But the journey there, a dangerous road to pursue.
The gas station burned beside the place,
Where doctors would bring life to the earth.
But transportation gone without a trace,
So they trekked, with their medical gear's worth.
No baby food to nourish the child,
In a world so filled with strife.
Yet the doctors worked, with hearts so mild,
And brought Nasya safely into life.
A story of love and hope untold,
In a time when chaos rules the day.
A mother's strength, a baby's hold,
A reminder that peace will come someday.
tumbling overhead
dark cloud’s wing beats thundering ~
hoodlums on a roll
Tera” The Game of Life
We all play major roles in this set-up called the game of life.
Us trying to get rid of certain gamers is only causing us strife.
We should be thinking about the purpose of each and all.
Start referring to those others as “We” instead of “Y'all”.
This Game is not our strategy, so why sacrifice our dignity?
Giving thought to these facts, I will take the liberty…
There is due diligence of the hoodlums, so fine worth in the hood.
Need for the vigilance of gangsters, so let them form gangs.
Unfair Rules that must be ignored, so bring forth the ignorant.
Acknowledge the acts of the haters. Progress is made from the efforts of debaters.
Everything we need is present and accounted for and found in this sphere.
If this is not so, then, why else are they on the playing field? Why are they here?
And if you do not think these strategies are in active play… then wherein The “F”antasy have you been!
………07142020
THE POLITICAL ARENA
One politician is old and senile
Another is a reputed pedophile
The media tries to make President Trump
Look like a foolish uncaring chump
Hoodlums run rampant wherever they please
And touted as heroes instead of sleaze
Some would have America believe
These gangsters should be given reprieve
The greatest nation on earth is in turmoil
With these acts committed on American soil
But a day of reckoning is at hand
We need to ask God to heal our land
The people who doubt that God's in control
Are in danger of losing their very soul
When they succumb to their death knell
And end up in eternal hell
Then for them, it'll be too late
They'll never enter the Pearly Gate
But those who place their trust in God
Will walk streets of Gold where Angels trod
Curtis Moorman
2 September 2020
Somewhere in these busy woods
a woodpecker tattoos bark,
I heard its pecking
as I drifted into this glade
here in the middle of somewhere.
Somewhere songbirds and squirrels
hustle like hoodlums on their arboreal streets,
but here silence is a rope-less tent
pitched under a million feet of sky.
I think I could spend an hour here,
or a month, time has shrouded
not only noise, but also
pulse from mind.
This sunlit acre could be moonlit
perhaps somewhere it already is?
Time hoodwinks,
somewhere it has moved on,
somewhere it blinks
and a path is lost forever,
I have meandered into, a tower of stillness.
what I thought I was somewhere
bewitches me now in this dappled circle
of nowhere.
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