Hamas killers would the wall scale
An Israel intelligence fail
But revengeful war
To settle that score
Is rampage that veils this detail
Dropping bombs with impunity
Kills all kinds of humanity
A terrorist's act
In spite of the fact
Hamas hides in community
When I first saw you,
You were playing with your dog
You were tricking and defeating that poor little soul
You broke his heart in spite of the fact that cujo is devoted and loyal
Is this how you repay loyal friends?
How could you do that to him?
Don't you have feelings and emotions?
Do you have any idea how much effort a dog has to put to run fast?
Cujo was breathing heavily
This is unfair totally unfair
Cujo was exhausted and heartbroken..
Note. Body without a compassionate heart is an umbrella without shelter.
Some do this because they
are good at it and some do this
simply because they can
And so to have excelled and
both had an affinity and natural
ability to do it since school
Lucky to posess a high I.Q and
university grade education
Who do it merely it for the joy
and kicks and accolades
Whereas other's not so fortunate
Neither nor blessed with inherent
talent , gifts such as like them
Have to work at it far much harder
than them or they will ever know
But what they lack in naturally
gifted ability or talent
They make up for in terms of
dedication and application and
shear determination
Who do it rather for personal
pleasure in spite of the fact
it's hard and doesn't come easy
to them
As for some don't and won't let
something as simple as knowning
Critical accreditation being
acknowledged may never be
achieved , reaced or attainable
But they don't care about that
it is irrelevant to them
And they are also jealous fan's
and in awe of those
Who make it seem far more
effortless and easier than it is
Than to the mere rest of us
wishing to hold on to there
coattails and bask in shadow
afterglow
Six sick skunks of one stinking litter
get startled by a fox; five of the six sick skunks scamper.
But one of the six sick skunk siblings is no quitter.
In spite of the fact he is the littlest,
there's not one thing that will this small sick skunk hamper.
A skirmish with the frisky shifty fox he starts.
Just one of those six sick skunks is a no-chicken critter.
The litter’s runt snickers as backing up in the fox’s face, he farts!
Jan. 18, 2020
For Nina Parmenter's Twist My Tongue Poetry Contest
Her name does not matter
She did not use it any way
Preferring to be called Num
Short for numbers which is what she
was all about in spite of the fact
that math terrified her
She was a hanging girl
A snippy girl, a do-not-talk-to-her
she is crazy girl
We were all warned
so how could I stay away from that?
I ran toward her like an invincible
twenty-three-year-old first time fireman
toward the towers on 911
And other days as well
Good days
Glorious days
Days that have dogs living
Not always dying under school bus wheels
in front of sobbing children
like today
Num was mean to me
Smacked me around
First with words, then with pushes
No one pushes as hard as Num
I doubt if an ant with a whole cookie
could push as hard
Was I ready to go away?
Dhramn right no.
Anyone who hates me this much
Must be smart, right?
There has been a tragedy in my life,
And no, it’s not, my lovely wife,
And if it was, I would not say,
Because I’m still alive today,
And planning to remain that way.
No the tragedy is, I have to admit,
I no longer believe in religions remit,
We all have a need to know why we’re here,
And its, the not knowing, that most people fear.
It’s ironic to me that as I grow older,
I face my mortality like an old soldier,
Not giving a damn, about fire and damnation,
Which Nurtured by church and the invention of Satan,
Admittedly made me, a boon to the nation,
But I find I’m still good, in spite of the fact,
That religion is only a theatre act.
My thoughts, if you want them, if not read no further,
Those Religions are started, by this one or that,
Who make up the rules picked out of ‘a hat'?
If you want to find God, or believe in a force,
Then you have the answer, it’s within you of course,
If you want to be social, then go join a club,
As for myself, here’s to you, I’m off down the pub.
He comes, a seaside golem,
walking like Frankenstein’s monster
because sand has filled the crack in his
behind, and his feet are shod in at least
two pounds of beach.
He carries his pail and shovel.
“Mommy, I have fun!” he chirps.
And I love him in spite of his sandy behind,
in spite of the leaden feet
and the grit in his hair,
in spite of the fact that I know who’ll be
removing the sand.
I love him because he’s my golem,
and, well, he had fun.
Here is a story that’s hard to forget
A beauty skin product from an old barnyard pet
He calls it Heal Fast and it’s made from pig lard
From the fat little pigs that he kept in his yard
It heals anything from acne to burns
And of jars that he’s sold, he has had no returns
You rub it on wounds or places you chafe
No proof that it works or that it’s even safe
And in spite of the fact it’s not tested so far
He’ll bottle it up and send you a jar
Sure, he’s working with doctors who’ll call FDA
And give them their findings about any day
But until that day (and this isn’t a joke)
You’re buying what’s known as a Pig in a Poke
Another true story from your old Uncle Mike
You won't be here when the lilacs bloom,
You won't breathe their sweet perfume;
Instead my love, you'll follow your star,
To fight with passion another man’s war.
Skimming the air, the swallows fly low,
Over the battle where patches of snow
Mingle with mud and stains of blood,
Reaping the tide of that bitter flood.
On foot, by air or by lethal machine,
The fight of war is vast and mean;
Our sons charge thru the valley of death,
Crying aloud with their last breath;
And it plucks the soul and tears the heart
And grieves the loved at home apart.
Both pray to God for His will to win,
In spite of the fact that war is sin;
But to love our neighbor and all mankind,
Would heal the loss and mend the mind.
The summer has arrived suddenly.
The St.Petersburg White nights
still hug our city gently.
A lilac fog
Fills the atmosphere around,
In spite of the fact that the lilac has already faded,
And sweet aroma of a jasmine
Turns our heads, excites and intoxicates us.
There is Heat, and the thunderstorms with rain here,
Flowers and the charming bumblebees live on my loggia.
But why don't the melancholy and alarms leave me?
I think of the next autumn and winter.
Maybe, they have already started to approach to us.
No! This is wrong!
I shall forget them for a while.
I shall take inspiration from a lilac fog,
I shall be drunk with aroma of jasmine,
I shall have fun, listening to the rain,
I shall write new poems for my friends .
And, maybe, the summer will delay in my soul for a long time.
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