Critical thoughts not said out loud.
Rumbling sounds heard through the crowd.
“Who are we to judge him?”, one said.
Discerning thoughts all in my head.
Judging is not the task at hand.
He walks and talks and takes his stand.
My goal is not his words to critique,
But to understand how they’re unique.
It’s not the physical, the cause of his blinks,
But more the mental, the way that he thinks.
The trait that makes his thoughts one of a kind.
That triggers and opens, only his mind.
By nature, or nurture, we can’t really know.
But uniqueness in him, Creation did bestow.
this war was started by your cannons aimed at my door
now i'll be the judge, i'm prepared with my spade
to bury us six feet below the ground
i'll make sure you never rise again
i'll be the hunter and you will be my prey
and this time you will run for your life
when i become a monster you always claimed i was
till i leave every lingering memory of us in ruins
Try not to believe a one sided story
Before you decide to judge
Try not to form an opinion from another’s unkind words
Before you dismiss or hold a grudge
Do not believe what is so readily told to you
To deliberately name and shame
There are two sides to every story
Open your heart and mind before you defame!
Don't judge a book by the size of its mouth.
If you drink with a gift horse, you'll discover
you can take him to water, but he'll go South
and take another lover.
Those crunchy flakes doped up with sugar
may be contributing to your odd behavior.
Take my advice, it’s not too late, if you’re able:
keep the poisons off the breakfast table –
what you’re eating, stupid, are cereal killers!
When my body is sculpted to perfection,
When my beauty gleams without a flaw,
You may whisper that I’m artificial—
But I am not. I am the raw,
Unyielding truth of perseverance,
The echo of battles I’ve won alone.
You question me with narrowed eyes,
Raise suspicions like storm clouds overhead.
You never saw the fire beneath my skin,
The silent strength in every thread
Of muscle forged through pain and grit—
You never asked what made me whole.
You judged my books, my songs, my soul,
With a heart colder than winter’s breath.
But I will rise through ash and ember,
Shine brighter than the stars of death.
I am not your fleeting fancy—
I am the storm, the calm, the flame.
And when I stand in triumph’s light,
Know this: I remember every slight.
I remember how you turned away
When I was broken, night and day.
So if you don’t love me now,
You don’t deserve me then.
I am worth the struggle,
The climb, the scars, the bend.
And when I soar, untouched by doubt,
It’s not my loss—it’s yours,
Without a doubt.
Some crooks are dumb as they come,
these thieves should get what they deserve
as they won't go so very far
now they're done taking a ride
in the stolen Police car...
with, 'To Protect & Serve
Dial 911,' printed on the side.
When the judge asked them, 'Why?'
and stressed, 'It's best if you confessed.'
The wiseguys both admitted,
while facing five to seven,
(have you guessed?)
'We thought it was a Porsche,
a Porsche 911.'
Hate me slate me or berate me
call me names it's all the same I don't care
to my mind it's no more than
hogwash simply put just hot air
the proclivities of others
I don't judge
and their predilections
I won't begrudge
I live and let live
as I too do have mine
but tresspass on my territory
there's where I draw the line
tho' non-violent
step on my toes
and believe you will receive
a black eye or bloody nose
maybe one day, in another time, another universe, the little girl in me doesn’t feel so deeply. maybe she learns to balance her emotions so she won’t end up getting so hurt every time. anything remotely upsetting in her life, makes her sad for weeks on end. enough to the point where she won’t eat. if she doesn’t get her way, she holds a grudge and people judge her for it. i hate that i’m like this, that the little girl in me is like this. but maybe one day, the little girl inside of me won’t feel this way.
In chambers calm as autumn air,
She weighs the truth with quiet care,
No pride to sway, no voice to mar
The justice drawn from near and far.
The papers rest, the gavel sleeps,
Yet in her soul, a stillness keeps—
A stream of mercy, clear and deep,
Where law and love together seep.
She walks the woods when day is done,
Through leaf and bough and setting sun,
Her children’s laughter in her ears,
Their joy a balm for all the years.
The river speaks in ancient ways,
Of loss and strength and kind delays,
And she, who bears the robe and pen,
Feels kin to trees and not to men.
She reads each fact without disguise,
With empathy behind her eyes,
No hatred leans, no bias bends
Her rulings from the truth she sends.
Her friends are few but fierce and kind,
Their roots grown deep, their hearts aligned.
She does not speak for praise or fame,
But for the law, and each child’s name.
Through sacrifice her path is sown,
Yet never does she stand alone—
Compassion walks beside her feet,
And in her heart, all virtues meet.
Place: Honourable mention
“Oh, my dear mirror!
You show the queerer,
The beautiful and the ugly,
As they are!
Everything on the left
Stays on the left;
Everything on the right
Stays on the right.
What you see, you show,
Neither less nor more!
You’re the best judge,
That we all know!
Even for the sake of fun
Against none,
You never show
An iota of grudge!”
When I ask, if it has anything
to say on the contrary, it humbly says,
“If I’m curved inwardly or outwardly,
I show you the things quite differently!
If I’m broken into many pieces,
A shattered image you get from me!
I’m impartial to the core when I’m flat,
And reflect exactly what is before me!”
You are portrayed altogether differently
By the people with crooked minds!
People with plain minds portray you as you’re!
A great lesson from the mirror, we’ve to learn!!
"Poetry is important to the writer but I feel it is all about the reader."
By Poet
Today as I open up my computer what will I see,
a contest looking back at me?
As I read the rules I must decide is this one for me,
or will it haunt me if I turn it away?
No mask needed to read the many rules,
I am only writing when the words flood my creativity.
My ego must sit upon a shelf watching,
but not a word to be whispered or said.
Win or lose I have tried my very best,
not knowing what the judge is looking for.
My purpose is to first write for my readers,
only when they love my writings do I feel I am a winner.
I keep returning to the contest page over and over,
in hopes to learn how to become a better writer.
Poetry is the language of a human poet’s heart,
mind and soul writing away.
What if you are an emerald empath
With the ability to feel cries or laughs
That are like energy with a spiritual path
That give insight unique to mental maths
You may be of one fuchsia faith or maybe not
But the soul is being bathed by another heart
A two spirited person not evil nor innocent
Feelings like a surgeon cutting from within
What if they were reborn and feel so confused
By memories so silver strong of another truth
You hear their heart breaking like glass so blue
No one can understand their pain except you
Chaos in my heart has nothing to do with faith
Not about which golden God you happen to pray
Not at all about if you’re ***** gay or straight
But can you be kind despite being inclined
To judge and walk away
Moth-eaten hag was a big battle-ax biddy
A hackneyed hag who wandered New York City
Grandam of the alley, a smelly aged fish wife
Aren’t you glad you did not have her kind of life?
Don’t be so hasty to judge, said my friend.
She had cats and companions to the very end.
The homeless took care of her, they loved her too.
Who is going to do the boo-hooing for you?
It's so disappointingly beautiful
when you are judged
by someone who feels like a judge
so precise, infallible and supreme !
As if all the thoughts of the judged
are pure waste
and the thoughts of the person
who dons the role of the judge
are the most tasteful sugar and cream !
(02.04.2025)
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