Long Rashness Poems
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My world burns,
Its cities, towns and villages,
Plains, valleys and hills,
And the tops of mountains,
Smoke and smoulder.
No one knows whether he will return safe,
When he leaves his abode.
The mosques, the temples and the churches:
The sacred places of prayers are no more secure.
Whom we obey and whom we represent?
We have confounded the affairs,
The eyes are blurred with the mist of rashness,
We act but with the muffled hearts,
Baffled minds and hazy eyes.
Assuming we are right, others are wrong,
We have bunged to the humanity
The windows of our hearts,
And plugged the porches of ears.
We are moving farther and farther,
From one another, the gaps are widening,
Among hearts and among minds.
Ah! The distances are becoming immense.
We have launched a vain expedition
Against terrorism, but with out defining the term,
Its limits and boundaries,
Only to kill them whose noses we like not.
If one smashes my house,
Obliterating all the members of my family,
And I have no door to knock at for justice;
What should I do?
Why should not I make a bomb of myself?
Why should not I fasten
Explosives to contest the violent hands?
And this is being done in the world.
Though street, roads and parks are splattered with blood,
Human shreds are seen scattered,
And spectacles are too horrible to see,
Yet there is no terrorism.
All that we see is a reaction of our ferocious deeds,
In case we intend to impede the reaction,
We must stop the action.
To crush force by using force is an aged method,
Now for the sake of humanity discard the old measures
Deepening the roots of violence,
For since beginning mankind becoming
Fuel of the devastative devices, has suffered a lot;
Just once apply the appliance of love
To resolve the threatening issues.
One who seeds the bushes must be prepared to taste
The pang of pricking;
And one who plants roses might cherish himself
With enthralling colours and sweet perfume.
If one slaps me on the face,
He must be prepared to have two on both of the cheeks,
But patience is the best route to move ahead,
And the world lacks patience.
Written: November 08, 2023, For John Lawless Contest
Failure is a detour, not a dead-end street. Quote by Zig Ziglar
________________________________________
Along an endless route leading to a dead-end
Indigent, desolate, and deep in introspection
Tires burning, cars swerving, and bouncing starkly
Blindly suffering through a path of misery.
Reporters recount recurrent repulsiveness.
of men who murder, manslaughter, and menace
rage, rape, robbery, and racketeering. Ridiculous!
society sweats amid a status quo scandalous strain.
I'm in circles of despair.
Constant murderers must be naked.
as a result of hitting a stalemate in life
cease of sustenance, I'm alone.
Life on a dead-end street was apathetic.
when darkness casts fearful uncertainties
a dead-end roadway with limited promise
names lacking patterns are brought.
If vamoosed on a dead-end street?
All despairing, detachedly deserted
Follow your feelings and fulfill your soul.
Bow gently if you don't realize the gang status.
You stroll the shattered street.
You'll confront failure with bravery.
In the city center, shadows play
No matter what, the damaged street awaits.
Life's fireballs and street flames ignite constantly.
Obedient slaves to maliciousness feed malice.
After the wheel runs, he gets rocks at the corner.
Burning up, soaring, and yearning for the past;
repeated rashness rasped reasons,
perpetually
My era loses. My era is losing track.
The sign for Destruction Avenue is in sight
the route is one I decline to choose.
True, I do practice the act of introversion quite a bit,
But why should I be blamed? To what am I to admit
When I am not the transgressor in question?
I am not typically one to act in aggression,
Towards others in outward ways, I should say,
For, only in privacy, do I sometimes get irate,
Never to those who desire to brighten my day
But rather to those who nourish from the hate,
For such creatures, as it pains me to claim,
Seem only to grow, to fester in number by the hour,
Corrupting the pure, convincing them they are the same,
That despite the effort, all people are equally as sour.
You may call me cynical, but even still,
Do be confident that I do not speak in vain
Since it is not by my own design or will
That some tend to thrive from others’ pain,
Nor that, sometimes, the weakest among the populace,
Often those who are primarily afflicted,
Are given no respite, no chance at joyfulness
And consequently cause more pain, their sorrows reflected.
An unfortunate truth, just as this may be,
It is not its existence which vexes me so
But rather how it perseveres, us acting carefree,
Acting in ignorance, feeding the spiteful weeds we sow.
And so he was right, Voltaire was, when once he said
That those who believe blindly inevitably regress,
And commit atrocities, not caring who ends up dead,
Pinning the blame on others, if only to digress.
Is this what it’s come to? Rashness without rationale?
No, I fear it is far worse, for it is the Death of Morale.
“An impulsive action done in haste and without forethought can cause trouble and there is no point in feeling repugnance” - By Poet
When did she have a quarrel with life,
That left her mind with resentment rife?
Her dreams are blurred by a diaphanous mist
And her life has taken an ugly twist
When she felt she was not treated well
She decided to leave the house, seeing it as hell.
Now she wonders if it was an excuse lame.
Knows quite well no one else but she is to blame
She feels her life, now in a slushy quagmire.
Anytime her rashness of action could backfire.
Now at life’s barred gate when she knocks in vain,
The ‘no entry’ sign drowns her in pain.
Far out, her mind wanders into deserts forlorn
She feels the bite of heat even in the morn
Sure, this life for her has become a quagmire.
She desperately needs repair as like a flat tire.
_____________________________
March. 31. 2023
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge ‘Q’ Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
A-gile she walks,
taking stock of
every step her
B-rashness emitted
in
her long stride
C-at is a coy and
confident girl and
the
D-oves have a reason
to fear her
E-very bird from
Blue
Jays to Sparrows
avoid their
F-eline foe when she
is in the yards
G-rasses are tall
this season and she
waits
H-idden in the
esters, purple
fountains or
I-nside the shadows
of the tall Lavender
and
J-asmine
K-nowing they can’t
see her she
L-ies in wait
M-y kitty will leave
Nothing to chance,
she doesn’t move
while they’re in the
O-pen air she
stares
and studies her
P-rey for hours
Q-uietly she stalks
them, she’s deep in
the grass like a
R-econ mission in
war,
S-he seizes the
moment
T-actfully, silently
gets on her haunches
and
U-nleashes her body
like a rocket
V-ictory! Victory!
She
Won a sparrow for
her prize.
X-Mas! she
Y-elps, it’s like
X-Mas!, and she
lays her kill to the
ground and
celebrates with
great
Z-est.
8-27-14 for
Abcedarian Contest
Refusing Diligence, To Do Even Basic Math
Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Through the volleys of arrows shot by Fate's mighty wrath
When in this wicked world, we could accept light's reprieve
By opening both heart and eyes to truth thus perceive
That darkness rests within our souls, all flesh is the same
That glaring fact, ensuing battles are no mere game.
Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Refusing diligence to do even basic math
When from within, we feel those hard-fought battles raging
It is a war and true enemies we are engaging
Thus 'tis folly to not recognize that fierce-some foe
And find, accepting evil allow darkness to grow.
Why this glaring reality do we too oft deny,
If not in our souls, darkness hides waiting to Light defy?
Robert J. Lindley, 11- 04- 1978,
edited 7-12-2003, 6-02-2022
Sonnet
Note:
Tis a somber reality that we too oft embrace life as a game,
Not seeing in youth, that it is our rashness we must tame.
I don’t want to be the other half of
something someone lost a long time ago.
I’m not interested in being
the better part of valour.
Everybody learns the hard way,
one way or another. No matter
how good you are at numbers,
you can only count up to broken,
forever.
So eat your liver & onions.
It should come as no surprise
to discover the divided heart
multiplies nothing.
Any child can tell you
love is invisible geography
& Reality’s the only fiction.
The more you look, the less you see.
Like insects whose words are feelers,
we strive to recollect the half-
remembered that deeply mattered,
witnesses to rashness
passing as bravery.
Despite the bad jokes
& Chardonnay
there’s an absence of humour
In what we say.
By resurrecting the dead we glorify
our names, our reputations
as artists, misfits & revolutionaries.
Savages together,
we toast our mutual savagery –
hear hear!! – the clinking solidarity
of well-heeled somebodies.
Ours is the Choice
A land of hopes,
A land of fears,
A land of laughter,
A land of tears,
A land of love,
A land of hate,
A land of doubt,
A land of faith,
A land of joy,
A land of sadness,
A land of logic,
A land of madness,
A land of shame,
A land of honor,
A land of delight,
A land of horror,
A land of frankness,
A land of duplicity,
A land of justice,
A land of iniquity,
A land of light,
A land of darkness,
A land of wisdom,
A land of rashness,
A land of realities,
A land of dreams,
A land of philosophies,
A land of schemes,
A land of work,
A land of leisure,
A land of pain,
A land of pleasure,
A land of purity,
A land of dirt,
A land of life,
A land of death,
That is our world where we:
Live, work and fantasize,
It is up to us to make it,
Hell or Paradise!
Demetrios Trifiatis
©
bootlicking idolatry
He’s a peculiar star
he comes from TV
ambition is his sphere
and his every line is a trick
all know him a notorious liar
whose business is schadenfreude
but many curry his sweet favour
for he has the cowards furry
and an actors need to be flatter'd
He has no quality worthy of entertainment
but we must see him every hour
for he is an hourly promise-breaker
for rashness, superfluous folly and thievery
the world has noted, he has no historical equal
In moral retreat, he outruns any jockey
the treasures of his idolatrous worshipers
he straightway began to strip away, by tariff
too late their despair they will proclaim
but the misery will be well earned
.
.
Fool by bôa
TROUBLE (feat. Nikki Williams) by Parov Stelar
Who Let the Scat out of the Bag by Tape Five
.
Webster: Schadenfreude = enjoyment at the troubles of others.
.
Consider the definition others have of you
what’s the first thing that people would say?
is patience the first thing on their lips?
or is it rashness that describes your way?
Patience is hard to find in so many
but especially so when you’ve nothing
then it takes real strength of character
deep down raising that certain something
Then you go to the opposite spectrum
when you have everything nothing to lack
that’s where the right attitude must be
real spot on humble with respect on track
When you’ve everything it’s so very easy
especially to think of just yourself alone
it takes discipline to remember other folk
be sure be kind and loving make no moan
To respond to nothing and everything
in a manner that you are defined
takes super strength and wisdom
revealing someone with a beautiful mind