Long Dirty Poems
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One group of activists decided to fight.
To see family lose their sense of might.
Three people involved in each battle.
For the patients each feeling like cattle.
Five days of care each week is not enough.
Sixty year olds help their moms with the stuff.
Seven days a week is the demand on staff.
Eighty year olds represent patients by half.
Nineteen is the century the fighting were born.
On the fence hoping for repairs of minds worn.
Eleven is the hour at the end of a tough day.
Twelve is a base caregiver hourly rate of pay.
Thirteen is their grandkid’s bar mitzvah year.
For the teenagers, ending up like that is a fear.
Fifteen is the age they get behind the wheel.
Six teens riding grandpa’s car, so easy to steal.
Seventeen is the number we aim to complete.
Of our daily ground pushing of hands and feet.
If you wonder why I wrote this special rhyme.
It’s the memory of lost family, taken by time.
Pushups are the weapon that this army fires.
These bodies strengthen when the mind tires.
Challenging muscles with full body tension.
Using Facebook to get supportive attention.
We grind out numbers daily, big and small.
Uplifting strugglers when they trip and fall.
Getting our hands dirty just like caregivers.
Seeing the decompensation brings on shivers.
I’m mustering the strength from palms to toes.
To push back and hit the disease in the nose.
It may take over many of us when we get old.
But for now I push back and will never fold.
Humanity :(Poem).
“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
“The Seven Social Sins are:
Wealth without work.
Pleasure without conscience.
Knowledge without character.
Commerce without morality.
Science without humanity.
Worship without sacrifice.
Politics without principle.
Smoldering wreckage,
Tear-stained haze.
Those were the dawns
Of the early days.
They shouldn’t have flown
Or so it appeared
But they thundered through
That atmosphere.
We designed beasts of beauty
With marvelous, unstable bellies.
But they flew!
Oh how they flew!
Until they didn’t.
And it was little wonder
When we realized
We failed .
We rode out on a dream
And briefly,
We woke up.
The sole meaning of life is to serve humanity.
Crime against the individual is the equivalent of crime against humanity.
“Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire.
“God save us from people who mean well.”
Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat.”
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.”
“I love mankind, he said, "but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular.”
“You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is like an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.” “Let the first act of every morning be to make the following resolve for the day. I shall not fear anyone on Earth.
Ages of experience have taught humanity that the commitment of a husband and wife to love and to serve one another promotes the welfare of children and the stability of society.
When freedom does not have a purpose, when it does not wish to know anything about the rule of law engraved in the hearts of men and women, when it does not listen to the voice of conscience, it turns against humanity and society.
So far down into my pit of anguish, I find myself.
Slowly, some of my senses are coming back to me. Teh aching pain inside my soul and heart doesn't make this easy, but I try to rise my head, to stand on my own. In front of me, I find a looking glass.
Glancing at its cracked and dirty surface, I do not recognize teh face displayed in there. "For how long have I been sinking till I became this?" I think to myself. "Whatever is this that I spy, ain't worth the effort, mine or of anyone else..."
Squishing my eyes shut, in an attempt to fight this feeling of time wasted, of remorse and melancholy, feeling like my time is waning faster than it should, of it being wasted, I fail hard to do so.
Like sand, it goes through my fingers as I try to get a hold of it but, to no avail, it falls and vanishes into the drain.
And, as like that, I find her, once more. Cold and sharp, waiting. The crimson tint beneath my shell isn't a so soothing sight to behold no longer, in hope to make it fade away, all these evil thoughts and frustrations accumulating on each passing day through over all these years...
"What have I become? What have I done with my life to this point." Looking back, now I realize, all this time I've been fooling myself. Now it is too late.
I don't have time to anything else if not find relief on the click and the combustion of the dark dust. Trepanation by my own making. THe only good deed from myself to this screwed up world of broken shadows.
You should, as well, take a deep and look gaze upon this mirror without denying what you see in there, for I am of your making and you are broken equally. If you doubt, go there now and look and think...
Quote the Donald Trump
Our Great compassionate Leader
Our Dear Leader, our Great Leader
“Its disgusting to watch”
As an elderly man falls down
In front of him hitting his head
And bleeding all over the nice marble floor
During a charity dinner event
At Margo Largo back in 2008
And our compassionate leader’s first reaction
Is to turn away not wanting to get the blood
On his tuxedo or dirty his shoes
Quote the Donald,
“It is disgusting - The guy was bleeding
all over the nice marble floor,
I couldn’t, you know,
he was right in front of me
and I turned away.
I didn’t want to touch him… he’s bleeding all over the place,
I felt terrible. You know, beautiful marble floor,
didn’t look like it. It changed color.
Became very red.
And you have this poor guy, 80 years old,
laying on the floor unconscious,
and all the rich people are turning away.
‘Oh my God! This is terrible!
This is disgusting!’
and you know, they’re turning away.
Nobody wants to help the guy.
His wife is screaming--
she’s sitting right next to him,
and she’s screaming.”
And Donald the compassionate one
Donald Trump the savior of humanity
The greatest most compassionate person
In the country
Could not bother to lift a finger
To help this elderly man
Who could have died
An old man who happened to fall down
And possibly die ruining his great event
Quote the Donald
“I forgot to call the family
That is not his thing at all”
And still I wonder
How such a disgusting excuse
For a human being became
The leader of the greatest nation
On earth
And what it means for the future
Is it proof that we are doomed
That America is in the final stage
Of terminal decline
Or will Americans wake up
And force Donald Trump
The great leader
The dear leader of our country
Out the door
And take out the garbage
From the WH
Time will tell
Time will tell
In any event
To quote the Donald
“It is disgusting. Just disgusting.”
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED ON POETRY 24
and Scarlet Leaf Review
A smart squirrel said to aging but daring cat, "I'm not coming down".
A sparrow was heard saying to a barking collie, "This is a quiet zone".
A neighborly cat spoke to a dirty rat and said, "I'm in charge here".
A black widow spider said to a yard bug, "I'll eat you later".
A yard bug said to a passing ant, "Beware of black widows".
As he feasted on homemade sugar water, a humming bird
whispered to a bumblebee as he was pollinating the roses,
"I will sing you a melody if you just don't sting me".
09132019cjPoSoup
*Fiction
2026.04.01
Recently, I was glad to be told.
There was an old model piano.
Inside the building 14 of RMIT.
"CHOWTIME" In the centre food court.
Not only the piano was old,
Lost many top cover of keys
But also, just because the piano,
Looks old fashion, dirty and unattractive,
The rubbish bins right behind it.
They stood back to back together.
It shows how much people keen,
On the surrounding and the hygene,
For the audiences and the pianists.
What about the image of RMIT?
All the premises in it complex,
Whether classrooms, canteneens or even corridors.
Should it not display a cleanliness
From the floor up the wall.
I am just an occassional visitor,
Who just loves travelling around,
To enjoy the piano beautiful sound.
Sure it didn't have perfect pitch,
It has seven keys surface stripped
G, F, D, B, C, A, C.
I hope this piece of writing,
Soon reach the RMIT's management,
Seriously get their attention and involvement.
Put the rubbish bins and piano,
Apart and away from each other.
Get all the damaged piano fixed,
At least by staff at Makerspace.
If I was allowed to enter it,
What I will do "repair it".
By the 3 D printing machine.
Which only available to RMIT students .
Could not be part of it.
Turn on the telle watch wives with knives
Murder on CCTV, victims lose their lives
Turn on the telle, no one write a script
There’s a post-mortem in a darkened crypt
Cops chasing crims, drunken street fights
Nothing to entertain what a load of ****
Turn on the telle, comedy nowhere to be seen
Instead, Botox tarts and live sex on your screen
Let’s turn on the telle, killer by the sea
A victim in the lift on secondhand TV
Let’s turn on the telle, Katie’s dirty mansion
Faces of the dead and worship of Charles Manson
Let’s turn on the telle, bound to be something good
A serial killers voice over, dating in the nud’
Let’s turn on the telle, bodies in black bags
Dumped in the river, by a couple of psycho lads
Let’s turn on the telle, see how he cut her throat
Battered her to death, on his flash speedboat
Let’s turn on the telle, get some new ideas
How to maim, torture, kill, down through the years
Let’s turn on the telle, see how the Kray's ruled
Sixty-nine channels of murder, has it got you fooled?
David Cox 09/02/22
Wales 980 BC, Sierra Leone, Congo,Niger, Peru, India, Pakistan, Russia, China & Philippines
Chapped scabbed skin, dirt encrusted, blue-pallid in the moonlight;
stars glow radiant light, wolf howl midnight.
Insects stir, skin scratch, tangled hair amass
naked ,as born, rise; the bore hole calls, days task.
Cracked like a seagulls eggs, the cave’s opening calls.
The gold-red-green copper metal's worth all,
child moles, mother moles, dwarfs small, crawl;
between the crevasse in the knocker's wall.
Three hand spans wide, a mere two foot tall;
oil burns in claywells, soot coats on dirty faces,
through rankness they squirm, hands on bone awls;
naked children, and women mine in these places
for raw metal to make the weapons of man.
In before dawn, baskets full, haul, out at dusk, no sun at all....
melt the metal, make, maul,
for the warriors, our defense, hunger gnaws, this makes no sense….
Grease fills the air beyond despair, stench fills each venous vein;
contorted forms, of those small, helpless, born, fills the shunt with continual pain.
From the dawn of time, this drama's had play,
one hundred and fifty eight million children; slaves today.
Women and children sacrificed so men can get paid.
*sorry topic deserves more than 16 lines
Yale’s friday “spring fling” was a soggy success - both as a concert and super spreader event. My groove-spirit was dampened by weather and a final I had the next morning.
I pose here tonight, in the chill residential courtyard, on my green sport-brella beach chair, like Canova’s Pauline Borghese, relaxed, canned dirty-martini in hand, still untouched by the covid menace - as if I’d taken sagacious care in avoiding it.
The waxing crescent moon is strutting its familiar runway, like a vague, ambient night-light, but what should we expect for free? Maybe it’s saving itself for warm, clear summer skies.
I can relax tonight and binge on the moon because the school year is over (for me).
I’d been in a coffee-fueled study-trench for over a week, finishing my last assignment paper with my last gasp of academic energy. It illustrated what could be crafted in a vacuum void of originality. I filled it with ideas, gathered like runoff-water, from deeper sources and tailored the paragraphs with care, weaving by sleight, the 3D illusions of depth, breadth and substance.
It was very well received. *Taking a bow*
I love the feeling of being done with finals but still living on campus. It’s casual, adult and relaxed - close to life as I dreamed it as a kid.
My room is disassembled and I’m living out of my suitcase. Movers will come and cart off our stuff Monday and Leong and I will head south - like wrong way birds. I hate goodbyes but knowing these are temporary helps. Most of my summer will be like one, continuous sleepover.
Happy Mother’s Day!
slang:
friday = something that was fun and was looked forward to
Since the dawn of the rise of Man,
Since the fall of every empire.
With each conquest from sea to sea,
Man has thrived on wicked desire.
Each treaty made with native tribes,
Was inspired by selfish guile.
Each promise made to share the land,
Was hidden beneath a false smile.
Through the Carpetbagger's tactics,
The people paid a heavy toll.
They leveraged everything they owned,
And robbed them of their heart and soul.
Each dirty deed and deadly deal,
Was bred upon Man's vanity.
The blood spilled throughout the years,
Always shed by cruel insanity.
As the Moon dims behind the clouds,
And the Sun shines another day.
Love, I know, will come and go,
But Evil, I know, is here to stay.