Long Kangaroo court Poems
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1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
If you hang up the phone
he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.
2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
But now there's some doubt -
will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?
3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
Now that push comes to shove
by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.
4. Guantanamo
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
with your back on a board
tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.
5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
making money galore
taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.
6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
Whether injured or ill
all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.
7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
So come follow the call
where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.
8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -
as for justice… not even a shred.
The avengers of right
score when stalking the night
so beware of a cap in the head.
Kissed and betrayed by one of his own disciples,
Captured and arrested at the Garden of Gethsemane,
Rushed off in the darkness of night as his disciples scattered,
Led away worst than a common criminal to a Kangaroo court,
He was all alone without rules or rights, counsel or attorney at law.
With or without representation, his outcome of guilt was predictable.
His words of defense were non-existent because his time had come to die.
The total words that Jesus spoke were few, but his love for us was huge.
04092019PoSoupContest, Premiere Poetry Contest April 2019 Premier 3, Any Form, Any Theme, Up to A Max Of 8(E I G H T ) Lines Poetry Contest Brain Strand
Swings and hides in the kangaroo court.
The bulldog drops him with one report.
He struggles and fights to stay on his feet.
His fancy footwork skips every beat.
Bob and weave, stick and move.
He floats like a kangaroo with no groove.
Pathetic and weak and nothing original.
He hides in the bush like an aboriginal.
Come on sparky, show me something new.
Are you tired of the bulldog beating you black and blue?
A kick in the rear is what you need.
Your sorry punches are lacking speed.
You think you’re cool with your big mouth.
True north is where I am. You’re going south.
You’ve got no power to your punch.
This Bulldog eats Kangaroos for lunch.
Which fish
The scuba diver
Is going after?
The big one
Or the small one?
Which sheriff
Is on trial today?
The petty one
Or the pretty one?
Everyone must have its day
In the Kangaroo Court.
Real justice is not a myth;
It never creates descent or grief.
It a fact that it is easier to execute
The innocent resident
Than to prosecute
The corrupt superintendent.
All thieves must be handcuffed.
A trial can be long or short,
Depending on the main actor.
It is mind-boggling, it is tough
To understand the demeanor
Of this odious prosecutor.
The mass-murderer is on the loose,
Sipping wine and walking like a moose,
While the unarmed homeless is shot to death,
For littering, for selling meth.
Is this justice? Is that right?
The real pacifists must always fight.
Thank God, the true democrats
Will never stop chasing the bad cats,
The fat mice and the aggressive rats.
The evidence is palpable and the facts
Remain overwhelming.
Which thief
Will be prosecuted?
Which big fish
Will be convicted,
In this Kangaroo Court?
The public despises something short,
However, a simple and fair trial is acceptable.
We are all liable and responsible.
All crooks must be prosecuted fairly,
And justly to the fullest extent of the laws.
Justice must go after the cats with the long paws
First, because it is obviously
Easier to go after the small pimps.
Bring the flashlights and the giant lamps,
So we all can see better, and clearer.
The sun and the moon are on strike today.
Look, the criminals and the guards are at play.
All conscientious citizens are in great danger.
Which fish
The scuba diver
Is going after?
Which thief?
Which sheriff?
Which chief
Is on trial today?
Which one is walking away?
Which one is enjoying a great day?
Copyright © September 13, 2014, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Judging Others…
whimsical law?
It is a kangaroo court,
and the clowns have just arrived.
Dressed in suits and ties,
eating pies.
They think they know best,
they have been put to the test.
Liars on fire…
every “one”.
Taking care of a tiger,
that eats cheese crackers…
for breakfast,
can be dangerous.
to you…
and to others.
You are stupid,
with your wishes…
that make fishes die.
You are selfish,
with your demands.
You do not care.
you dare,
to be first,
until the last,
and then fast…
you find,
your hair on fire,
and you are begging
for relief…
from the very
thing, you wanted,
more than life…
itself!
The only masters of words
are lawyers and politicians,
twisting syllables into chains,
binding the public
with illusions of justice.
International law?
A fragile parchment,
easily burned by power.
The mighty—
America and its allies—
violate it in daylight,
and walk away untouched.
The court that dares to judge them—
a kangaroo court,
mocking its own shadow.
And you, Africa,
you global south,
clinging to Roman-Dutch law,
do you not see?
You punish yourselves
with borrowed codes,
carrying wounds
not written for your soil.
Justice is no relic.
Law should be a river,
flowing with the times,
not a stone wall
blocking progress.
It should shield the weak,
balance the scales,
and light the path
toward a better society.
But in the world of wolves and sheep,
law is but a costume—
a shepherd’s cloak
draped over the wolf’s back,
while the flock dreams of safety,
never knowing
they are already lost.
I was born in a world ruled by emperors and organized power.
I was Armed with a spirit of combat and weapons of warfare.
Resistance to the death led me to be captured and imprisoned.
There was one, Jesus, whom I had heard about but had no use
for him. Notwithstanding, here we were, accused criminals of capital
offenses. Authorities of the Jews preferred my release and not Jesus'.
We both were revolutionaries, but our methods were different.
His was a revolutionary plan based on love. Mine was a plan of
revolution to defeat the Romans by any means necessary. I sought
to destroy a system made by men of greed and power. He sought
to save all people from their sins. My crimes were against the kingdom
of Ceasar. Technically, his crimes were against the kingdom of Satan.
Before my arrest, I was very busy seeking to overthrow the
Romans, but not so busy that I was never aware of the ministry
of Jesus as he went about doing good. It never occurred to me that
we would meet, but here we were at the crossroads of our lives.
There were no words spoken between us, but I heard life-changing
words penetrating the very core of my soul.
So, as I freely walked away from my prison chains, I stared at
Jesus and wondered which of us was really free. Every fiber of my
being was wrapped in confusion and filled with questions, and I was
forced to deal with his claims of Deity.
Moreover, I was pardoned and released by a mob. Jesus was condemned
by a kangaroo court and crucified. I was released to fight again. Jesus
was crucified so that all mankind might be able to live forever.
032124PS
A merry band to profer hope in the land
A lute, fiddle, drum to make brigandry grand
A staff, bow, arrow to strafe the noble strand
A sworn oath to lawful king; a sword to gentry's overbearing hand
A pruning staff to fleece corrupt shepherds, who saintly flock's fodder have panned
A bow and arrow to poach servile game from royal tableland
A fealty to nature's law; a license the privileged class to brand
A Kangaroo court dispensing arbitrary justice to tenured gentry in the lowland
A pauper's lease, tattered remnant to expand
A squatter's right, doled penury to remand
An opportunistic syndicate confiscating hoarded supplies to reduce growing demand
A marauding troop of mercenaries liberally sharing their contraband
A providential broker, allocating pilfered alms poverty to withstand
(alternately titled: impossible mission goes awry
probably mortal enemy cast spell binding jinx)
Both mental versus
physical tasks necessitate
laser sharp attentiveness
triggered within blinks
similarly on par when people toast
momentary instance utter silence
before more'n one
wine glass simultaneously clinks
cheering hurray, especially
if delicate circumstance
incorporates telecommunications downlinks
critical vital communique transmitted courtesy
think outlier (christened
Saint Matthew Scott Harris)
with acute instincts
held hostage between warp,
and woof fifth of dimension
far away beyond where
outer limits exhibits kinks
nsync with twilight zone
dwell alienated ratfinks
resembling authentic animated
Doctor Seuss characters
where one after another
third eye blind winks.
Lame excuse told cosmic speck (me)
sending yours truly on wild goose chase
an underhanded way to rub
inept feeble poetaster punster
out webbed wide world existence
purportedly great eats boasted
deep inside black hole sun pub
must make posthaste
to nearest galactic grubhub
mission control haint made no flub
boot deliberately thought
ineffectual doling out futile drub
cuz mister flibbertigibbet (me)
ostracized from highly selective club.
The aforementioned synopsis and
ultimate banishment cheered with big bang
decreed courtesy kangaroo court
constituting beastie boy gang
think star wars movie,
where farcical charges trumped
offering accused two choices,
either to hang
suspended (think piñata) and beat
to (fictional) pulp
torturers obviously ignoring pang
of utter emasculation, but rather sang
a song of sixpence*
while downing flasks of vintage tang
crafty entrepreneur William A. Mitchell in 1957
phallic drinking vessels
resembling Chewbacca's oversize wang.
---------------------------------------------------
*Lyrics
Sing a Song of Sixpence
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird
And snipped off her nose.
On our way to a prison out of state
ConAir, the final phase
I was betrayed and now I've been caught
The Kangaroo Court a massive fraud
I can't remember, am I insane?
My mind is blank cause they emptied my brain
I will return, I will be back
I will get my revenge and I will attack
I don't care much about plans and schemes
Don't give a damn about any righteous dreams
All that I do, I do for myself
I never cared for anyone else
Who on earth do you think that you are
Without me you wouldn't have gotten this far
I've had enough of our private war
Why are we fighting, what is it all for?
To right the wrongs and fight the good fight
Living like you just wouldn't be right
I am a leader, I have the skills
Either you leave or you yield to my will
Our strong bond couldn't keep us apart
I always trusted you right from the start
You've been deceived, they're telling you lies
I'm still the same, I'm on your side
I can't believe you gave yourself away
Although it hurts, I will make you pay
Don't understand, can't figure out why
All I know is you have to die!