Backwater junction in a backwoods town
Rusty and creepier than a carnival clown
Timber rattlesnakes hide their slanted eyes
No one visits this woodpile, no big surprise
Saturday afternoon at the shops
Families together laughing and loving a lot
Then evil came with deadly intent
Joel Cauci stalked them with his knife bent
Inspector Amy Scott took the call that day
A stabbing in Bondi Junction where she booked away
She ran to danger in brave duty then
Not knowing how the day would end
She confronted Cauci who killed and maimed
And shouted drop the knife she did exclaim
But he continued to threaten her
So she shot him negating any further evil to occur
There were six people dead at his hand
And another eight injured in Cauci’s deadly stand
So we hail Inspector Amy Scott bravery
Hero of Bondi Junction that day we see.
© Paul Warren Poetry
The junction of no return
Hi brother if you tell her you love her
Mean it show it give it
So many words are better said
Than actions instead
This day In our generation
We always say this and do that
Is obvious the women are giving up
No wonder the increase of single mothers
So if you tell her you love her
Mean it show it give it
Don't be a heart breaker
Don't be one of the reason she cries in pain
Don't take her love for Granted
Cos when she gives up on you
And you suddenly see her gone
Sorry you got her to
The junction of no return
The junction of no return
Hello sweet sisters
If you tell him you love him
Don't play with his heart
Don't cheat on him
Don't let him down alone
Build with him
Grow with him
Show him you are a woman of virtue
Respect him all the time
Let him feel all he ever needed in a woman in you
So if you ever tell him you love him
Mean it show it give it
Grow your intimacy with him
Let him feel like a man
And never touch his ego
If truly you love him
A man need respect
So give it to him or take him to
The junction of no return
pressed beyond the point of break,
with no known destination,
the last word left the station,
trailing silence in its wake…
Soon, they shall flood matters channel
To the formed five-man panel:
East Town's urgent need of good spade
That shall into big waters wade
And arrange useful bridge,
As one drowns and next is the fridge.
East's Generator to suck flood
Like mosquitoes would sleepers' blood
No Government's fast attention,
A sad picture's odd retention
Yes, pavements, too, at the junctions
Waters there need interruptions...
East's flood zones to face big tunnels
Or if you wish Trillion funnels
Love and poetry, inseparable siamese sisters ever
love is superior labor,
In my poetry I predict
I'm sure what I affirm simply
in abundant pureness flavor
with strong whirlwind of love actions
My poetry so rich of rhymes
as my clear writing indicates
have all inspiration in faith
to promote peace is my duty
poetry is loving junction
Lately a person begins to read between the lines
how a network of human beings devalue another's worth
battered and bruised internally exhausted at times
they make you invisible shying away from the truth
To hurt someone that only wishes to speak and correct wrong
a violent nature lacks any respect to honour Justice correctly
certain groups have become hostile to straight talkers even violent
Charity cases crying over sin and vices to be accepted as normal
to carve the hammer into words etched on stone cold laid facts face
The bully is enslaved by their desire to overturn God
burning hate pretends to be polite sticking the dagger in
lacking innocence it poisons the purity in defence
You can be a murderer butchering defenceless beings
but you can't be seen to pray without being insulted
At the desert junction
of hope and despair
We scanned the horizon
to seek passage there
Yet just when despair
loomed ahead in the sand
Emerged hope, our oasis
on a prayer's caravan
. for public domain
We are well into December,
each birdbath crests a mound of snow,
new flakes creep down Winter's sky.
I draw a slow breath. The air bites cold.
Security lights illuminate
the lawn trees white crusted bare branches,
alleyways are free of traffic,
no steps lead to vagrant ranches.
On this three AM Monday morning,
time passes peaceful and fair.
Birds and transients will pipe with dawn,
enduring a cold day to bare.
R-ain
H-as been
E-vaded,
E-arly beacon
N-ow begins to rise above the junction.
Topic: Birthday of Rheen Besa (April 9)
Form: Acrostic Tetractys
R-ound earth and blue sky
M-eet at the wide horizon,
B-oth are beautiful.
Topic: Birthday of Ruby M. Bongcay (March 18)
Form: Acrostic Haiku
back that trash up
it smells
its stinks
it makes your eyes
watery and blink
so back that trash
the hell-on-up
and there won't be a mess-up
so lets send it all the way to hell
lock it up in funky jail
kick its stinky butt to the curb
knock the funk right on its head
give the place
some much appreciated liberty needed fresh class
The softest of skins
Your hand reaches towards mine
The junction of lust
Lusty two hearts
in the crimsoning tranquil eve
The lulling gentle breeze
coupled their juicy lips.
Playing with their tongues
that sweetened the taste
Was blitzed deeply
untill they imbibed their sensuality.
Spur with the slurp
and fastening warm aroma of their breaths
choired with their dewed jucicy lips
Excrement drunk like intimated beverage.
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