Thou shall justify one's morals by their good heart and loyalty to kindness
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.
To deepen the secret of God,
every instrument aches, every string complains.
My sound has long suffered,
yearning to dissolve into Him —
yet no single note was ever enough to contain His name.
Still, in the listening,
still, in the playing of our fragile melody,
I pray the silence between us
is what ordains us.
Our Claim to Fame
A man is more than his name
But a name that lacks honor
Will leave a man lame.
In this life and the next,
Our struggles will define
Our life in the text--
How our immortal soul
Should be counted:
Will it pay the toll?
Spiritually speaking,
Rationality
We should be seeking.
Morally self-control
Is a vital key
To making us whole.
And, socially,
Justice must be
Sought more than vocally.
The lesser struggle--
As a final resort,
Or nothing but trouble.
Wisdom spoken…well and good,
But wisdom needs action.
This must be understood.
Without real effort,
Our life is vague
And nothing but hurt.
Live long and without regret,
In service to others--
And even better yet…
A truly righteous life
To honor our maker
Without discord or strife.
When death draws nigh
And God’s questions are posed,
Honor answers with head high.
Now clear to all our claim to fame:
A man arrived
With an honored name.
How far gone is my soul and mind,
That coming back seems impossible?
My hands ache to be guided by your prompt,
Yet hours of blankness dull my bluntness.
But I can still etch out classics,
If brilliant minds will rub with mine.
My pen waits close, surreptitiously listening,
To gather in ink the wisdom you proffer,
For my momentary moments of madness.
The top ten will never be my goal,
But that one top spot that crowns the race.
A trophy beside my poem will render it more comely—
Not just this week, but at the marathon’s end,
For this is no sprint that halts at a hundred.
Yet the nearest mile I first must conquer,
Before the next, and all the miles ahead.
Though my fingers ache as though racing in fear,
No shadow of doubt will bow me to defeat.
Oh mine! Oh mine! I see it now—
A wonder folded deep in my words.
I’ve penned a masterpiece for the summit,
No judge can dismiss its rightful claim.
If none are near to ring my bell,
I’ll strike it loud with resounding voice.
I am no gentleman in this contest,
But a rival running the race to win.
Half the course gone—my pace surges higher.
Like it or not, this is the best.
Nah! NAH!
Blahhh! BLAH!
Wouldn't Wanna Be One!
You Know The Drill!
Join In! OR Vacate
The Tribe, Bozo.
I Forget All The Words...
You Know 'Em.
-Gray Squirrel
09-18-2025
Carried out by usurpers of power, devious
And evil demonic acts in Australia.' I contend against them and those who empower them.' I appeal to God Almighty
For justice.' For the blood of their victims calls out from
The earth, that witnessed this theater of
Abominations..As did the whole world and
All 'so called judicial systems' Lord help us in Yeshuas Mighty Name.!!!
you read what you want to read
you hear what you want to hear
you see what you want to see
so why won’t you ever be - who you want to be
Day after day the tally
good or bad ~ doing what we can
strike a balance for peace
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Just as you would suppose,
Unleased hatred only grows.
Do lash out, I’m sure you’ll see
God gives this freedom to you and me.
Mind your soul to heal the hate.
Enlighten your path before it’s too late.
Note your actions and words, if you will
That your hate will ever be still.
All that anger held inside
Looms from within, not outside.
Someone serving life in prison
Some way, somehow gets the nod
To release him, like an order
From a despot or a god.
The same applies to lowlife thugs
Whose insurrection acts,
When they stormed the U.S. Capitol,
Were changed to lies from facts.
When power goes to someone’s head,
It’s like a weird disease
Where he violates the law
And justice drops down to its knees.
Half the country hates it,
While the other seems to hail
The release of felons who should be,
Most rightfully, in jail.
I guess it’s pretty obvious
In which half I belong.
These pardons reek of villainy
And are simply, flat-out wrong!
“Follow your heart, follow your heart,” they say-
but mine bends with the rain,
is bruised by a passing comment,
strangled by the silence
of an awkward moment.
I circle words on a screen,
reading, re-reading,
overthinking… overthinking…
Until my heart
feels more like a maze
of endless calculation.
I’ve tried, for so long,
to live by that phrase,
yet every word pulls me outward,
into the fog of exaggerated judgement
as if I were the center of all things.
Narcissistic, I know
or just sensitive.
And still, like a bee plunging
into a flower too deep,
I find myself sinking,
cloaked in a pollen-fluff
that never belonged to me.
The term real estate
A false one, perhaps.
If so, why is his grave
Owned by the state?
Luckily, Heaven
If not Hell
Is the only ground
That truly belongs
To every soul and all
-Dharga Nagar Safa
You cannot read their minds.
They hide their true intentions,
Like hunters do in blinds,
Too late for circumventions.
Baited by their chumming,
They boast by saying this,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
Their assassins did not miss.
Cruel conquest brings them joy.
"Like a lion I raged!"
With their prey they will toy,
With sport they are engaged.
But lost in all this glory,
They fail to understand.
It's God who writes the story-
His responses are preplanned!
What you plot against Him,
While you celebrate your win,
Your win is just the prelim-
He will turn it into ruin!
Better consider the Cross!
Jesus died for gain, not loss.
He mocks their succumbing,
"You cannot stop what's coming!"
It takes courage to do your best,
When you know you will still fail the test.
Specific Types of Judgement Poems
Definition | What is Judgement in Poetry?