Long Innocent Poems
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Worship the money and love the fame,
Became a fools mantra and your disdain.
You watched as they consumed and consumed,
now all you see is darkness, doom and gloom.
Your deep, deep outrage you did not spare,
your time went far beyond the need to care.
You warned and you warned over the years,
the alarm fell silent-falling upon deaf ears.
Your frustrations sired wrath and needless bane,
so you unleased storms fury-thunder and rain.
With your anger this violent aittack,
you stung like a whiplash crack.
So we watched as the innocent in blood they paid,
when your savage whirlwind of fury came out to play
The Evil fails
49 innocent people killed,
but your wish will not be fulfilled
These 49 souls will not die
Actually, they will be near by.
There is so much to condemn
You will have to face them
It is call "hell"
Your religion didn't tell
Deep down, you have a soul
Your conscience screams
You will have no choice but to hear it.
Your guilt and remorse will hit
You were taught to hate
Those who were not straight
You thought yourself better
Now you see, we are the same
You caused pain and grief
But humans always retrieve
Love always prevails
At the end evil fails.
Joy to the world! Vengeance will take its toll soon! Be aware!! Negativity has arrived at the front door, knocking obnoxiously! Don’t answer it or you’ll be inviting bad company full of bad luck and demonic zeal…illuminating with greed and selfish ambitions! Don’t try to get her attention or she’ll erupt like a violent, vicious volcano. . . . . . .
Oh, wait! Are you joking? Here comes that pessimistic, sadistic, rage-indulging woman again, watching that TV 24/7 with cruel envy, shattering the bones of the innocent…observing the wickedness of the world with malice painted in her brownie-like and plum-purple eyes – avarice growing in her like cancer, inflicting pain and depression upon others without a trace of guilt – that ignorant WITCH! That insidious fallen angel, wishing upon remorse and morbid luck on others and doing it tactlessly – she has no heart…her heart’s tainted with malevolent, ill will determination and makes her sister, hope, weep in vain – she watches her sorrow just like she gazes at a television screen, thrilled by fantasies of good and evil… love and hate… ice and fire… bliss and grief… the living and dead… etc. – GOOD GRIEF!
Yep – a typical witch she is – casting evil spells on people with the way she presents herself to others and how she starts riots and quarrels, dragging people on her level and putting them under a bittersweet, wretched spell! She’s infuriated and will take revenge in her hands…joy to the world!
(Ch.2 of the series)
Human nature, a mercurial being.
Individualistic, out-of-place souls.
Searching for answers but not truly seeing:
Their beauty within, burning like white-hot coals.
At times, so gentle..with empathy so pure.
Emitting radiance, a kind of allure.
Calling the masses, the meek, to surrender.
Healing hidden shadows, blessed defender.
Human nature, a mercurial being.
Overrun and overcrowd. Stuffed to the gills.
Innocent victims. Run. Terrified. Fleeing.
Maniacal laughter follows, gives chills.
Warmongers, detached. So blinded by their greed.
Were they born to hate? Or do we plant the seed?
Empty hearts in an empty shell. They're feeding.
No love for those they hurt. Left behind, bleeding.
*'What I love-What I Hate' Double Rispetto Poetry Contest
*Sponsored by: Tom Woody
*Entered on: 9/30/25
forgotten issue
the innocent blood
still cries
only the ears
of the prophets
can testify to
this spiritually
the grave of
so many innocent
dead are no were to
be found
so it spirits remains
hanging in the air
sicking for Justice
till it could get a
peace
look back in the day
let picture those
days of wars
so many innocent
were left to lay
dry dead on the street
that was their end
is not fair
it does not
end there
it airs to air
for Justice
in the ear of
the prophets
they sounds
so depressed
in the words
of the prophets
they speak
with a warning
so to prevent
another dead
forgotten issue
Carry my heart in your arms through the mist between worlds,
To the place where dreams germinate and reality sheds its garments.
In a sanctuary of love, a corner of eternal spring and honeyed nights,
A couch of seraphs where souls weave embraces, innocent and fine.
Let us flee from huts where illusion builds thrones of sand and smoke,
Thoughtful antechambers where the shadows of false heroes round off.
Toward the pure ray where consciousness shines without script or scent,
In a glade of light and half-shadows, where forgiveness washes away the bluish embers.
In an ascent over the peaks, where clouds raise their kingdom,
Or down, where springs hide their sweet murmurs, depths of preserved dreams.
Destiny holds no thresholds, in the heart of the sky or in the spring of the Eleatic earth,
The secret song overflows, calls me towards your radiance, the silvery echo that consoled me.
Sing of your splendor with a lyre, in an ode not yet dreamt by the eyes of the world.
Beside you, I will be when the harbor reveals itself,
Awaiting the grace that bathes us in calm, like a wedding with the storm blessed.
a girl a child a life of 12 years
a by stander an innocent with no sense of fear
coerced, bribed, begged and beckoned
kidnapped, stolen, beaten and threatened
the thoughts now that run deep through her head
is how soon will they find me or soon will i be dead
he gags her, he ties her, he drives her to his lair of death
her heart, her soul, her mind will soon be at rest
he picks her up and puts her in a cold damp room
shes scared as she shivers and ponders her doom
he needs her so he feeds her as he keeps her alive
so he takes her and he rapes her for his sexual thrive
as daylight draws near and the sun starts to rise
all you see are dry tears that flowed from her eyes
with bruises and cuts and blood from her thighs
she was pure no more in her killers eyes
he despised and hated what she had become
unknowingly ignoring what he himself done
his anger and temper begin to arise
as he contemplates death for this young girls demise
he cuts off the cord from the lamp on the desk
he strangles and chokes her until her very last breath
then he drives her and dumps her small body to rest
the next morning they find her with a note on her neck
saying I HAVE JUST STARTED SOMEONE IS NEXT!!!!
Fog is a folded shadow cast on a concrete wall
Dim lights fall to the dirty pavement drains
As rain sweeps up around the gutter rims
Along the open cracks a mist fills in
In currents rippled, diamond tumbled days
To the streets as steaming sheets of white
Streams gather into water falls they carry off
Thin channels form umbrella shadows black
Mimic life, silhouette solid images of passers-by
In puddles muddied at a time designated by the weather
Prevailing conditions as predicted become a ripple
A wrinkle as a shield deploys
Informed by such knowledge born before the storm
Precipitation bounces over plastic sheets of linen
Stretched to their limits, thoughts, images
Roll over a framework of skeletal remains
Metal on plastic for their protection
Dancing down about their feet are rubber boots
Fog creates a film, a mist, a cloud on glass
A gestured finger, invisibly smooth to its touch
Rolls over wet forget-me-nots as surface tension
Prints a name remembered only by the window
Separates smoke from mirror
In a single stroke it disappears
Imagine that
Tributaries run randomly, continue to the river
Streams rush with white, clear as diamonds bright
The sun is blotted out by gray meanderings
Gathered false images shimmer in the mud
As they become the puddles
Rain separates, splits into currents
Channels water falls into the ocean
Cascading over umbrellas folded up
And over linen as is there luck
Streets receive so much information
Feet still get wet beneath umbrellas progress
Before the flood comes in to drown the innocent
September 11th 2001
The world was in a down pour, raining,
down, in clouds of dust, came the tall.
A compassionate world, is still remaining
steadfast and strong, - for them all,
all those who kept refraining,
all those who took the fall,
and in their flight, in the trap, answered the call.
B. J. “A” 2
October 4th, 2013
September 11th 2001, a sad, sad day, devils took wing
like a swarm of insane wasps setting out to destroy, to sting
the hearts of innocent angels, bringing them down,
on their spiralling flight towards the ground.
In fear, in anguish, in despair and in pain,
crushed, and into the earth, by plane !
Their voices never to be heard,
not a sound, not a word
from the angels, as they lie all around,
under man’s dreams, his creation, thought so sound,
waiting to be found, be counted !, and
set free, to be more than an emotion, a memory in the sand,
and the sands of time, where some give them life in rhymes.
Then, upon solar winds, carried to other realms, in other times.
B. J. “A” 2
February 21st, 2002
Epilogue
Twelve years later and one still has to wonder ?,
why these insane, fools took humanity asunder !,
believing, seventy two virgins awaited them, each man
who believed in what was interpreted from the Qur'an.
This says a lot about organized religions, and their agenda !
Could any intelligent person, really stand up and defenda
such an absurd, insane and ridiculous a notion ?
What sane man would want to be in that motion ?,
once, never mind seventy two times.
Ego ?, power ?, prestige ?, such crimes,
for there is more pain then pleasure for the seventy two
and what is there ?, really ?, in it for you,
other than a myth you are foolish enough to believe in
and that is, truly, your incomprehensible, insane sin.
B. J. “A” 2
October 4th, 2013
They walked into the bookstore…a young girl and her mother
and as they browsed throughout the store they held hands with one another.
I love the innocence of the young for wherever they chose to look
The little girl asked, “Mom can I have this puzzle…Mom, can I have this book.”
She asked for every book she saw…everything under the sun
and after negotiating for a while…they narrowed it down to one.
When they arrived at the counter they were smiling…still holding hands with one another…they held in their other hands two books…one for the little girl…one for the mother.
I rang them up and I asked the mother, as I always do, when they were ready to go
if she wanted a receipt to which she smiled and answered…”No”.
But then the little girl spoke up…in a voice both innocent and sweet
“If it’s okay with you” she asked, “could I have the receipt?”
“Certainly.” I said as I watched the smiles on their faces unfurl
when I handed the two books to the mother and the receipt to the little girl.
What a wonderful moment for me…what a wonderful treat…
as I watched that little girl smile while repeating….“This is my very first receipt.”
The mother smiled at her daughter then glanced back and gave me a look
“She seems more excited about the receipt,” she said,
“than she is about her book.”
And I had to smile as immediately my brain turned back all my internal clocks
to a time when we bought our son the perfect birthday present
and that present spent the day untouched while he played inside the box.
I hope some day this memory will stir…perhaps triggered by someone they meet…
of the time her mother bought her a book…but all she wanted was the receipt.