And what of poetry
Those muffled lies
Exposing truth
Hyphenated hucksters
Working the crowd
Barrel drummers
Echoing a distant rhythm
Hop-scotch rhymes
Keeping time
A rat-a-tat
Of Rappers rants
And what of words
Rekindled, reignited
Scorching sentences
Tortured by line breaks
Altering the meaning
Of repetitive rhetoric
Exploring the caverns
Of cryptic creativity
And what of poets
Wishfully wandering
A whitewashed wasteland
Searching the souls
Of passersby
Glassy-eyed warriors
In search of a cause
Blind believers
Sharing insight
Into a silent wind
Theres black-face..trudeau, that Canadians all know.!!
Theres voice-less albo, just cant seem to tango.?
Likes to dj the disco's with primary kids on weekend arvo's
Then theres dumb-face karma, quyeer just hates the uk farmers
This trio are all hucksters.' I for one preffer the munsters.)
Definition..one who uses obsequious compliments,
to gain self-serving favor or advantage from another.
P…parasites who want payback
H..harmful hucksters, hedonists
O…obsessive, offenders, outlandish
N..nebulous, narcisstic, nuisances
I….impetuous imbeciles, imposing
E..egocentrical, entangling, enemies
S…support-savages, so selfish!
4/ 23/2023
You'd hear them every morning
Like a band of baritones
The echoes of the horseshoes
Clacking, on the cobblestones
Each huckster with a wagon
Pulled behind a blindered roan
Parading back and forth between
The rows of old brownstones
One would have fresh vegetables
And one would have fresh fruits
Another might have leather goods
Like saddles, shoes or boots
From furniture to pots and pans
Each peddler resolute
But if you looked then walked away
They'd follow in pursuit
Some just made deliveries
Likes eggs, or milk, or ice
Regardless of their service
Each one friendly, each one nice
Though some might have a gimmick
Like a special, to entice
If you had bought from them before
They might just drop their price.
By Daniel Turner
Events beyond our ken and control
trigger nausea in our soul
Incidents of abusive police attacks
lead to destructive civilian blowback
Feelings well up from deep within
that media hucksters know how to spin
Those who'd like to offer solutions
drowned out by violent voice pollution
Peaceful towns reduced to rubble
America's heartland in grave trouble
Rapids of the mind,
moving at a furious pace
as if there is no time to waste.
A boat with oars...
a raving raft…
on all fours.
In my dry suit, flapping like a seal.
No way on earth I head for shore
where there be bears.
I flop back into the boat,
pulled in by the hucksters
who mock,
they think this is a joke
whereas I shake, terrified.
Are there bears in the boat?
Are they dressed up like folks?
Might they tear me asunder?
Mighty thunder rolls the boat.
Who do they think is in charge?
It’s not me nor they,
but the Superstar.
He always knows the way.
They say, “Yes, sir, Captain, sir,”
and row us to the peaceful shore.
8/2/2020
Woe betide lower men who fickle facades embrace
And wit’s hard-won gold for shifting dross exchange;
Dubbing avarice-sired glosses exquisite gems pure,
With obscuring eyes decimating solid worth's range.
With their own ears they cannot first-hand hear,
And gauge if wild grapevines solid realities say;
There's always standard hearsay in each sphere,
That defines world’s weightier subjects of the day.
It's the stark lack of depth in these artless geeks
That hatches and pupates corporate hydras’ fads:
Gimmicks-iced shenanigans to sate whims of cads;
Lie-tipped rackets hymned by classist parrot beaks.
They're the distant acquaintance who moans louder
Than the actual first-bereaved's grief-laden shoulder.
You behold the fairy eye riled by wetting garlic wafts,
That gives its tear to one unhurt by the vexing shafts.
Methinks all existence and its rigged veneers would have ceased,
If the few manipulating hucksters on its skewed stage so pleased!
Farcical characters of ill gestures,
they be no friends of mime
Mute clown suits
wearing viol marionette smiles
all of the puppet string time
I tell you, of a silent truth,
those pretzel-tongue jester troupes
are theatrical buffoons
spoofing on a global would trivial comedy stage
These ol' pantomime hucksters,
dipstick lip syncing on babble timer delay rage —
Crying out loud,
them cold quip cheeky blusters
never were any spoken for friends of mine
Just some dumb glow, dim enemies ...
who always pearly grinned a dumber shine
21 Aug 2017 - Sonnet
When all the joys you ever chased in life
were bait that NEVER came without a hook -
high-market hucksters charming you with fifes
that drove thirst mad (and all done by the book),
the heart seems more a handle and a hook,
and less a dancing fountainhead of joy,
an open door for shysters, whores, and crooks
to dazzle you with bright and shiny toys.
What sort of life are men supposed to live?
Are we the brute-faced cattle of the rich,
well muzzled, grain they're disinclined to give
kept back since our true fate is just a ditch?
Or are we all Salome, shaking tail
to sell ourselves, and others, straight to Hell?
~
Those who keep my Sabbath
And fear my holy law
And look for real compassion
Through the mist
Find a Temple waiting
And peace and calm inside
And praise and meditation
Heaven-kissed.
The eunuch begets “children”
And multiplies Good News.
The stranger finds
A welcome from the fray.
And Israel grows
In leaps and bounds
As Gentiles come on board.
They too have privileged
Quarters here to pray.
But Jesus comes this morning
And finds the hucksters’ game
At every stall and seat
That meets His view.
And eager pilgrims
Victimized
As shepherds fleece the flock.
He drives them forth.
His cries and whips subdue.
Now settle children
In His peace and presence
The rendezvous
Will touch your inner heart
Let silence calm the ennui
With loving friends beside
And wait…
The True Vine’s life He will impart.
Isaiah 56
Mark 11: 15-17
"The Lobster House" on the St.
Johns River in Downtown-Downtown 1950s
Jacksonville, Florida, was where
"The Creaturefrom the Black Lagoon" crawled
up from the deep onto a riverfront
deck to howls of derision at Hollywood
hucksters from an island girl and her
Friday-night, dining-out friends.
In her just-married uber-sophistication
she would order a MANHATTAN,
unaware of the eminence of that dark
and delicious libation: a cherry
within for a small town girl with a yen
for New York City, never dreaming
she would one day stand, island-girl-
awed, for the first time ever in the middle
of Times Square: riveting heart of
Manhattan as swirling headlights of
cars spelled consummation.
Haiku 9-1-2016
splattering raindrops
hucksters peddling their wares
gray calling clouds
John G. Lawless
9/1/2016
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)
Today's so-called music is nothing more
Than repetitious, raucous rot performed
By untalented, unaccomplished bores.
Their cacophony is worthy of scorn.
Instead they are held in admiration
By tin ears insensitive to sound.
Instruments amplify modulation
Or it might be the other way around.
Nevertheless, its purpose is to drown
Out feigned singers who couldn’t hold a tune
In a shower lest risking being found
Out. The day will finally come, and soon
I hope when these hucksters who can annoy
Are replaced with music all can enjoy.