Long Liars Poems
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Its funny, its funny how they all play out,
If you ask me i think it's silly how they all are.
Im old,
Im very old
But that doesn't mean i've seen it all..
How could i?
It’ll just end up killing me.
I, I’ve seen
just enough to know how truly silly it is,
How silly they are,
How silly they make things.
They’ll pay for their wrapped around cancer in a box
But yet again it wouldn't kill them.
They pay for company that lasts for a couple of hours,
And yet again maybe they could be happy.
If only, it wasn’t short,
But it is all very short,
Very short and fake.
They pay for anything to make them feel alive
And believe in any stranger’s word,
for some kind of truth
Just to continue living in their silly ways and silly numbers.
Will you be my friend?
i don't have anything to sell or any money
But i can offer something that's not silly..
The truth at its very best..
Maybe things just had more meaning in my childhood days
We knew the law and we could see the error in our ways
We didn’t need an interpreter for telling wrong from right
The laws were clearly written, like our old TV, in black and white
The lawyers took our rights and moved justice too far left
To be a C E O, you need a P H D in theft
Promises from politicians, we never get a fair shake
Talking to a lawyer is like talking to a snake
To be elected a congressman, it’s really no surprise
You need a B S in bribery and a Masters degree in lies
Diogenes searched for an honest man in Athens, until his feet were swollen
If he had moved his search to Washington, his lantern would have been stolen
If Washington were a ski resort then Bush would fit the bill
He seemed to be an expert at taking things down hill
Reagan lied about the Iran Contra deal. He was a movie star
Clinton said under oath. It wasn’t sex. It was just an old cigar.
Lawyers and liars and political desires are too far from the right
We should have our say and change the gray back to black and white.
I stand where silence is thicker than bread.
He,
not a man anymore,
but a bruise walking upright,
a shadow that still pays rent to the body.
Loneliness is not beside him.
It is the room itself,
the ceiling sweating plaster,
the window coughing dust.
It pushes through his skin
like cold water in a cracked bucket.
His heart still taps,
like a drunk knocking on the wrong door.
Each beat a protest,
yet the protest already sounds guilty.
To breathe is to sit in court,
to be tried by the wallpaper,
by the squeak of the chair,
by the dripping tap that counts the years.
Time here sharpens into nonsense:
a drip becomes an entire calendar,
a sigh shakes the floorboards.
Even the smallest rustle,
the mouse behind the wall,
falls upward into God’s deaf ear.
And still he remains:
a candle without fire,
burning invisibly,
like the taste of ash in your mouth
after a funeral feast.
I cannot step aside.
His abyss has been nailed into my ribs.
I carry the shame of impotence:
not for sins,
but for what cannot be done,
for the way care turns into theater,
a hand waving at shadows.
The walls pretend to hold him,
but walls are polite liars.
It is absence that chews him,
absence, slow, official,
with a face like an empty chair at the table.
I know this story.
It’s older than stories.
Adam shivering in the weeds
outside the garden fence.
Job scratching sores in the dirt
while the sky locks its jaw.
All exiles line up here,
every silence rehearses its lines in his throat.
So I do the only trick left to the living:
I stay.
Presence,
as a badly tuned prayer.
Presence,
as rebellion without slogans.
Witness,
as the last coin we have to spend.
For what remains
when hope folds its tent,
when meaning slinks off into the dark,
when words smash their heads
against the stone of despair?
Only this:
to squat beside the abyss,
knees stiff, hands useless,
to whisper without sound,
that even here,
where loneliness is stitched into the fabric of being,
life still stutters,
not entirely alone.
When apocryphal bedlam spreads its crazy pinions
Fake news holds court in the newspaper's dominion
Incessant lies convert to self-righteous 'truth' in print
I light a fire with a fact check stone cold sparky flint
Surely I respect pluralism and free speech for everyone
Search for opinions and do not object well put clever pun
But when evil misinformation threatens valid certitude
I wish the evil propaganda would be null and void and mute
Yet what can I do I'm just a humble poet with a tiny quill
Can shout from nanoscopic roof tops or the window sill
Reach deep into a shallow ink pot with my fountain pen
Cannot compete though with the glitzy giant liars' den
I won't bow to how the big shots misinform and cheat
Challenge crude populism and reject unopposed defeat
Call out to fellow writers' voice to heed the call of obligation
Will not be handcuffed or straightjacketed within my narration
Honesty holds virtue and ethos can be clothed in rhymes
Rhythm dash meaning and figures speech onto the lines
When right becomes so very wrong duty is to write until
I'm bound and gagged knowing the skewed battle is uphill
04th April 2020
The brainwashing of non believers has begun
backwards peddling parties on the streets
taking away all basic rights under a family structure
imposing ridiculous arguments hell bent within such destruction
This new age occult removes freedom of speech
where good values have become imprisoned facts
impaired visions caught inside the dark web
Judged by those promoting sinful acts woe behold
educational standards fall dramatically backwards
liars sit on the seats of the state's offices thieving clowns
spreading corrupt pagan literature this vulgarity shape shifts
The truth runs a red light and turns it green
fornicators stealing every humane virtue drunken louts
pushing a strange lifestyle foreign to the majority
tolerance has just jack knifed away from love
Equality has lost all foundations killing the innocent's word
when the temple of our Lord Most High Spirit
is shunned and burdened by man's awful silence
and complete disobedience each one afraid to condemn
what's wrong will never be right
yet they will never stand for what is right and just
instruct the ignorant has now become the policy under clouds
they puff their chests
like broken pigeons on a wire,
all noise and feathers,
no flight.
they travel in packs
because alone
they’d fold like wet paper
in the rain.
you see them in schoolyards,
on job sites,
behind keyboards,
in bars at 2 a.m.
nursing cheap beer
and expensive rage.
they don’t want a fight —
they want a victim.
they want someone who will lower their eyes
and say nothing
and carry the bruise home like a secret.
but if you bow to them
you become what they are:
another small god
standing on smaller backs.
stand up
even if your knees shake.
especially if your knees shake.
bullies are the fingerprints of bad parents,
the echo of a slap,
the inheritance of cruelty.
they learned early
that fear buys obedience
and lies buy power.
they build their kingdoms
out of rumors and fists,
out of broken confidence
and stolen lunch money.
narcissists with a taste for blood,
pathological liars
who believe their own stories
because truth never let them win.
no, they aren’t strong.
they are starving for attention,
desperate for control,
terrified of being seen for what they are.
and when you finally stand your ground,
look them in the eye,
say no —
you’ll watch them shrink.
because every bully
is just a coward
waiting to be exposed.
I recall similar signs and notices
of ironic appeal:
"We have a zero-tolerance policy against bullying"
ripped and torn,
and is that a dried yellow yolk stain?
"This is a NO GUNS neighborhood"
surrounded by a lot
vacant except for weeds
mulched in broken shards of glass.
ZERO CRIME AREA notices
as prolific as NO HUNTING signs
in SureWood Forest.
Me thinks
we protest
too much
to not raise questions
about the wisdom of declaring victory
and moving on,
rather than struggling through win/lose
toward win/win resilient climates of peace.
Perhaps the guns
and their bully keepers
can't read,
or don't choose to notice the toothless notice,
or don't have enough time
in their conflicted day
on their lose/lose way
to making liars
of our best win/win published intentions
Made by frustrated raw spot prey
on some other day
in some other room
they would not
could not
should not feel free to enter
listen
then speak transparently
of their/our own vulnerably exhausted sweet spots
Now worn into deeply entrenched
isolated anger
hate
fear
envy
mistrust
distrust
defensive fight and/or flee choices
Provoked by win/lose competitive environments
cultures
climates
experiences
not bully and gun and crime
and co-related raw spot free.
Universal compassion
is a worthy goal.
But declaring goals already achieved
does not help induce real world cooperative progress,
especially for those not in the room
to help write our negative injunctions.
Perhaps we would healthier
and more effectively begin
with our positive universal aspirations:
We invite Zero Intolerance
Learning to listen with active compassion.
This is a ProPeace place
Cooperatively held active safe space
for growing our ego/eco-managed win/win grace.
We multiculturally and inclusively love co-passion searches
rather than dispassioned hunts
and nihilistic degenerative desertions.
Healthy people
seldom step out in anger
while co-inviting ourselves to step into compassion
with coming peacefully home messages
rather than angry commands to go back
to alien lose/lose lands from which none of us
could ever hope to survive,
much less win/win thrive.
Signs against patriarchal colonizing offenses
do not give compassionate notice
we are for matriarchal creolizing offerings.
All that gain comfort from sight, and claim not ache,
Those that smile and wait for that plant to grow,
Who, craving pleasure, are merely to take,
Staring blankly with self-proclaiming flow;
They surely do integrate falsehood’s patience;
With a cunning glamour toward their jewels;
They claim to be kings within maiden's graces;
Others are liars, and the rest sheer fools;
The stemming delight seems to be weeping still,
Though to many she shimmers in her glee;
So that rose festers in wake of man’s cruel will,
As the bluest one demands to break free;
So by heaven leave the festering rose
Find a constant maiden—a gem that glows
Looking at people
Looking Straight Up
Up to no good
Up to something
Something is awry.
Something is wrong
Wrong if I stand up
wrong if I speak out
Abusers are sitting.
Abusers are seated
Seated in the Senate
Seated in Congress
Congress don’t speak out
Congress won’t speak up
Upward I look, get
Up out those seats
Seats of deadbeats
Seats of sin sitters.
Sitters of children
Sitters on children
Children of prey
Children pray
Pray for Morals
Pray for the immoral
Immoral decayed senate
Immoral invisible nation
Nation of blind fools
Nation of daft followers
Followers are blind.
Follow Blindly, yet unkindly
Unkind to teens
Unkind old farts
Farts of stench
Farts on the bench
Bench needs strength
Bench of stench
Stench stinking
Stench leaking
Stinking’ thinking
Stinking lairs
Lairs lie in beds of lies
Liars on fire
Fire burns liars
Fire in family beds
Beds kept secret
Beds Kept unkept
Secret beds kept
Secret best kept
Go to Jail
Go for bail
Pay Dues
Pay your victims
Truth…
Owed…
She breathes honesty into the bedroom
Dispelling liars and troublemakers
Flinging lechers into the fires of hell
She takes no guff
Sure at first some thought she would go easy
Targeting her at the bar
Sidling up, expecting her to fold
Someone to take home and fondle, possibly molest
She disarms them with her light green eyes
Her lilting laugh, her pretense at being inebriated
She gives them the little girl smile
So they will take her home.
When her eyes go amber and her face goes gray
She takes their lives, trying to conquer their souls
Some wail and scream
Others go quietly, knowing they deserve it
She gives no mercy
No hope
No relief
For at one time
When she was young
None was given to her.