Long Defendant Poems
Long Defendant Poems. Below are the most popular long Defendant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Defendant poems by poem length and keyword.
Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
It's Judgment Day for my children.
Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High
To pronounce Judgment from my seat in the sky.
It's Judgment Day for my children. They tremble before me.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
Three sons and a daughter down on their knees. Begging for mercy.
It's Judgment Day. Bang the gavel. Bang it again.
The first defendant arises. My only daughter.
She kneels before me, head bowed, hands clasped. Begging for mercy.
She recites her litany of offenses against me.
Should I cut off her head or merely sever her knee?
Now my first son, a strongman, comes to his feet
Massive muscles trembling before me
He cut me off hard at age thirty-six
Not a phone call or test, not even a card
I ponder whether I should burn him to death in a tub of pig lard.
Let him beg for mercy.
My last two sons stand up together. They're good boys, respectful,
kind to me and kind to my wife.
There's no doubt in my mind that I'll be sparing their life
It's Judgment Day for my children. They tremble before Me.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
I call my daugher to the bench: "What do you have to say
in your defense, miserable wench?"
She breaks down in tears that melt down her years. Before me stands
a mere lass of nine.
"I'm so sorry, Dad," she whimpers. "I treated you like dirt," she simpers.
"Off with her head," I shout, proclaiming her sentence.
I sit on my Throne, a figure on High.
******************
But I am not God. I have no gavel to bang nor Throne to sit on
Neither am I any figure on High.
My judgment is flawed, as are my decisions
All of them models of judicial imprecision
Only one thing I know and I know that thing only:
God, the True Judge, requires us only
To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before Him.
So, my just action will be
to love mercy and walk humbly:
"Come back, my daughter.
Return, my son.
I forgive you completely!
~ Can you forgive me?"
June 28, 2018
Ah Such A Great Night...
To Fish In The Cyber Sea
Always does this generic guy abhor
inflicting pain and suffering,
hence I haint n'er fished before,
and even metaphorically
referencing piscine creatures
(strictly as prosaic analogy),
aye reel lee deplore
causing deliberate suffering vehemently
contradicts my credo,
dogma, ethos, et cetera
within and/or without, the
webbed, wide world
this *****sapien doth explore
and as an aspiring scrivener
(fraught with floor rid sweaty palms
even in the dead of winter
offer poems galore
already written alluding to the
unpleasant physiological hoar
rubble sensation of dripping
(nee sopping) wet hands,
a curse that follows me indoor
or out, thus no surprise,
an aversion to mingle,
no matter socialization even jure
re: duty with defendant
whereat, me complicit sharing
Matthew Scott Harris namesake
accused of outrageously unreasonable
po' wet tick rhyming scheme
(but nonguilty exemption status
decreed since accused ache'n to yours truly
receives social security disability)
would be a more welcome palliative
versus less wick
Kurd substitute then Cap' kanger
rue, and ameliorate self imposed
sole lit aery isolation and
on the flip (Wilson) side keeping
streets safe, cuz temptation
dust newt not lure
me into a life of crime) more
or less chuckling,
that profuse perspiration,
would be mon nor
matt heave, while
accomplices fall down
laughing in tears,
and thence the poor
seer suckers nabbed
(cautionary fruitless
canter berry tale), and
(whew) not sullying
only whetting my
steely slippery rapport.
I don't look at the judge. I just look at the jury.
I don't look at the defendant or the defendant's attorney,
nor will I look a the prosecution assistant and or district attorney.
I will listen, not look at anyone giving sworn oath testimony.
As a juror I feel that it's my civic responsibility and duty
to decide strictly upon the evidence and not based on any ones appearance or personality.
My Justice is as blind as justice should be
not withstanding the decision that must be made beyond a reasonable doubt
based upon the hard core physical evidence presented to me that the judge will allow.
Every time I serve as juror, which believe it or not is an honor for me
I'm always dumbfounded by many other juror's stupidity
who are compelled to render this ultimate decision, Guilty or Not Guilty.
I wouldn't want 3/4's of the jurors I've met making such life changing decisions on me.
That's why I'll never turn down an opportunity to serve on a jury.
Everyone is Innocent until proved Guilty and all innocents need a juror like me.
When I informed a former boss that I was summoned to serve for jury duty,
my employer out right said, "Get out of it or you will no longer be employed by me."
Guess what I did. I served on the jury.
I'd rather lose my job, than risk someone who may otherwise be Not Guilty
losing much of their freedom and God given liberties.
*
Another personal note:
In Every Election I Vote.
*
Reflections That Reside
Innumerable Cumulus clouds gather just up o’er the green hill
Considerable quiet lathers the air as my heart begins to fill
Formidable resolve tethers me to the place I’m lingering on the window sill
Forgivable sins repeat the circuit and relieve me of my iron will
A small repentant afterthought claims it’s steak inside my mind
I almost fall resplendent in the juggernaut of feelings that I find
Standing tall among the prevalent moments of doubt I remain refined
When it all remains like a defendant standing brave among the blind
I see children starving at the edges of abomination in the name of humanity
I see men standing on the ledges of their own attempts to avoid suicide among all the profanity
I see women begging for the bombs to stop awash in the depravity
I fear that it all will remain like time forgot to stop the repetition of this insanity
When things were light and I used to smile for the entire day
There’d be delight and I could revile in inconsequential play
Now there’s no respite from the suffering as I fear I’ve lost my way
As the insight from the introspection affects everything I say
Abolishing racism and colonialist beliefs that oppress the people
Have made things even graver as they take refuge in the steeple
Polishing my urge to save her while they contest what is classed as lethal
Admonishing the conversation while they continue to conceal
I retreat back to the clouds to take a break from all the slaughter
Then repeat the smoking of the shrouds as he sells off his teenage daughter
I’ll linger long and play it loud as I miss my longed for laughter
Because the haughty and the proud keep taking coins from the local pastor
So bleak in my reflections of a society that is lost
I speak in reverent genuflections as I think about the cost
Of having wayward turns of bad intentions that manifest as spiritual frost
Ill try to burn the condescensions as I stand up and take it all upon my cross
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawns a courtroom closing in on midday, and a cheery sun
uncovering its place being less demanding--a sage who
dons sufficiently in her vocation that imparts one who bears
a respectable position, and one of a high office--so without
delay, the judge withdraws to his chambers for consultations
with the defense attorney and prosecutor, et al., she then
advances towards the lone defendant from her private seat
in the gallery--an officer of the court, immediately takes
notice of her movements and in anticipation presented her
with a chair for her pleasure--the defendant who sees her,
respectfully stands, whereto, she politely informs him that
he may remain seated and air him in a one-sided
conversation being the soul speaker, and he as the soul
listener. Albeit, exceptions to that disclosure evolved at the
end as there is cause for the conversation to become ironic.
*The opener of My Short Story: White Lies, in two parts; I'm
afeared of old habits unchanged as alit surface, amid dim, and
aligned depth of mired cliché, sways a gavel 'ere ...
Woke up jumped off the couch and
put on a mask
Used in order to survive another average day
Sat on the stairs lit up and smoked
enough to blow a mind and descend
into a heady hazy trance
Oh boy John said to Paul
I just watching the news today
Witnessed both a declaration and a
timely reminder to the everyman
To in no uncertain terms know thy station
know thy place
Within the unwritten small print of the law
Opening Gambit Pincer movement
King Trump's pawn
Check mate
The rich will never see the inside of a court
Otherwise what is the point of being powerful
and wealthy
If it can not pervert the rule of law
The judge and jury have long already
been picked and bought
Why call him Andy
Why not Scott
At very least that rhymes with free
And at a mere cost of 12 Million pieces of
slippery mercury worthless currency
Adorned with his sad tragic mother's face
and royal family crest all across
Matter's not of that I am sure to him he
obviously has a lot and won't go or be left
without
It's no more than tangible proof of yet
another breach of public trust
I only rather wish it was not just another
mistaken reported case of fake news
than simply just another example of
A day in the life
Of the opposing lives of what both
the rich and everyman have to deal with
And the glaringly senseless point of counting
potholes whatsoever however small or
insignificant they appear in the
1st place
If there is absolutely never any desire
or intention of ever actually trying to fix
or repairing them at all
Or is that in actual fact indeed the
case and point being mistakenly overlooked
Far more joy and fun is to be garnished
from rubbing people's noses in and seeing
the look upon disheartened faces
When the final edict and not guilty
verdict is read out in astonishment
I am losing the war against myself
Who I am vs who I am supposed to be against what I am
It exhausting when your opponent is a fighter
Its exhausting fighting the mirror
Cuts and bruises until you can’t see any clearer
Blood flowing no drinking on the river
The pain runs deep and the alcohol is bitter
Its painful to numb what caused the Injure
Reality is blurry the tears salty I can’t find my healer
F*** this f*** that f*** I am bitter
The dissonance is cognitive a dissociative persona
The legion is fighting my spirit is bipolar
The peace is not within without is not proper
I am losing a war against myself
I am a coward with a loud speaker
Defendant, jury adjudicator corrupt prosecutor
I am kind to Nisa but to myself a monster
I am kind to a stranger but to myself I’d not rather
I am losing a war against myself
Love lover lovest can’t save me any farther
Low lower lowest got me questioning my creator
No power protest there really is no one out there
Da da da da future selfs on the respirators
La la la la sad scenes make up my theatre
I am so tired I need to rest so that the bugs do prosper
If I just give up who cries at Gods acre?
I am losing a war
I am losing a war
I am losing a war against myself
The Departing of The Heart
Salutations for the sound of mind and poverty of heart
Reparations that don’t come through in time to rectify the start
Commiserations for the ones who find it hardest to eventually part
Palpitations of another heart that cannot perceive the concept that it must depart
Military consequences that send the young men out to war
Conciliatory influences of the leaders who target hiring of the poor
Crematory inferences necessary as they knock on heavens door
An Adversary without recompense that helps me get up off the floor
Kindness for the people that are on daily parade
Blindness from the steeple as we play Holy charades
They Find less sympathy for the feeble as they huddle close and afraid
Passing through the eye of a needle as the ferryman gets paid
Interjections from the galley as the defendant begins to cry
Objections in a midnight alley as the amendment causes him to deny
Rejections of the black sheep in a family as without her flock she’ll surely die
Comprehensions of the urgency that communicate in sighs
The End by Elizabeth Moroz
"ALL RISE! THIS HONORABLE COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!"
I whack the gavel down, I'm a Bailiff by profession.
Another challenging day in the hallowed court room begins,
As hapless souls appear before the judge to recount their sins!
The cases on the docket really run the gamut, you see,
From a neighbor's barking mutt to murder in the first degree!
Some folks want a jury trial which is their constitutional right,
Praying a sympathetic jury will relieve them from their plight!
The judge ponders what to do with those poor forlorn souls,
Whose misdeeds have washed them upon on perilous shoals.
A defendant asks the inscrutable judge not to remand him to jail,
While his lawyer pleads earnestly for his release on bail!
The judge's pace is frantic, he's got a lot on his mind.
He's lost his specs, I say, "Judge, justice is supposed to be blind!"
My inane remark makes him guffaw and seems to ease the strain.
I find his bifocals and he dispenses justice once again!
A Bailiff's job is hectic and there's little time for leisure.
Loyalty to the judge is paramount since you serve at his pleasure,
Tactfully but firmly communicating with all sorts of humanity,
Supporting the judge and the community with the utmost fidelity!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
because we arrested a suspect
he must be guilty.
the complainant said that there was no perpetrator,
that’s what the report said
in clean boxes
and stamped ink certainty.
no room for hesitation there—
no trembling human maybe,
no “we might be wrong”
no blood on the margins of procedure.
just a name turned into a case number
and a number turned into guilt,
like the typewriter never learned doubt
and never wanted to.
wanting, no needing a conviction this opportunity
may not come again,
causing harm to the complainant never mattered,
like perfume on a locked cell door.
and everyone nods
because it’s easier that way
than looking too long
at the wrong face in the mirror of authority.
because after the report was written
the truth never mattered.
and truth is just another signature
at the bottom of a form
nobody reads twice,
not even the ones who wrote it,
not even the ones
who have to live then die inside of it.
and the defendant given only two weeks
to prepare for trial,
the state attorney introducing an empty paper bag
that caught the attention of the jury,
without ever being opened.
while telling the jurors that the burden of proof
fall's on the defendant to prove
that he is innocent of those heinous charges.