Long Rotten to the core Poems
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Was first day of school when evil befell
the town children who marched in happy tune,
and the school bell tolling rung its death knell
for the dead and dying who died too soon.
Sadly there is none so Godless and none
so dangerous as a fool with a cause -
no rest will come to the ghosts of Beslan
until the cause of peace gives hatred pause.
A schoolyard is not a theatre of war,
no child a legitimate enemy -
are men’s hearts so black, rotten to the core
that he finds refuge in atrocity?
What badge of honour behoves the wearer
to bear on children a reign of terror?
Written: October 2004
Point of View or Truth?
What is your view of politics? I'm sad, but dream there's more,
though politics says rhythm's plague, rhyme's rotten to the core,
and hope seems lost that world's worth spit! Can Right say Left is wrong?
Though snowflakes have their differences, what's True sings Nature's song.
Weak fashions trend and folks mature, but Truth ignores demand!
Truth's face may blanch (cracked shells line beach), but history's the sand
whose grains on earth outnumber stars in Milky Way's facade,
and ocean waves (1) grind finer still (while politics claims God).
Yes, Truth exists beyond the pale of what we dream is true,
its harmonies acknowledge God in all we say and do.
Do fascist friendly risk Hell's Fire who label Truth fake news,
conspire to earn more pain on earth, in civil court venues?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
March 16, 2021
I have so many friends these days who want to believe that all Truth is simply one's point of view, especially political Truth, that what they want to think is as good as what anyone else thinks. So, to engage in debate is foolish! They also suggest that those who disagree with them are only attached to being right (and making them wrong)! That could be right, but what if their beliefs are flawed? How should one who hopes for Grace behave? Let me have the courage to confront a friend's perceived weakness with as much love as I can muster.
(1) "I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of Truth lay all undiscovered before me."
Isaac Newton (1642-1727)
I am not going to let this world stress me out anymore because the Lord answers prayers. Recently, I passed away and made it all the way to heaven. This time, I am one of God’s holy angels.
Lord, I need to step out of this world again and find myself a shady tree.
Folks are killing each other for no reason at all. Yesterday, the sun start crying
because they build those skyscrapers too high in these neighborhoods. Well, I am too scared to go in an elevator, downtown. Every time I look up at those skyscraper buildings, my arthritis kicks in. Lord, in the morning I need a little bit of sunshine on my face. Where is mama's shady tree?
Every time I pick up the newspaper, I see corruption, violence, and bad news in this world. Mama used to say, “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love?” Look at these kids bringing guns and knives to school and participating in lockdowns, instead of lunch breaks. I know some of these kids are spoiled rotten to the core.
Anyway, the kids figure it is economical to sell drugs than to attend Yale or Princeton
college. Well, too many video games and all that bling, bling rap music on TV are
destroying their young minds. Look at the young girls having babies and leaving a helpless
and poor baby in the trash bins for the garbage men to pick up. We have babies making
more babies.
Oh, heavenly Father and sweet Jesus, I need my shady tree to recover from all this mess! Lord, we got too many children ripping and running these streets without fathers at home, providing clothes, food, and shelter.
Cassius, please bring your mama a glass of ice water. Have you heard about the good news, “Jesus is coming back” Lord, just let me live 999 years or live as long as Moses lived.
Well, I remember, back in the day, whenever, I had any troubles in the world, I just go look for mama's shady tree. Cassius, please bring mama her slippers, so I can rest these tired old feet.
Now, bless his little soul. Well, I don't have to worry about it anymore, because I died and went to heaven.
I met a man who was never married
Said it was the one regret he carried
I met another man who married thrice
Claimed they were the three mistakes in his life
I met a man, told me drugs were his ruin
Stole his ambition, were his undoing
Knew another proclaimed drugs his true love
Dead at nineteen, gave a needle a shove
I met a man who worshipped his money
Stole so much he’s doing ten to twenty
I met another man who was ragged and poor
Hard hearted, mean and rotten to the core
I met a man who could not get along
With son’s that he thought were living life wrong
Knew another man so rigid and tight
His life was consumed by anger and fights
But the man that I have still never met
The man who chose Jesus and claims regret
El Dorado
by Michael R. Burch
It's a fine town, a fine town,
though its alleys recede into shadow;
it's a very fine town for those who are searching
for an El Dorado.
Because the lighting is poor and the streets are bare
and the welfare line is long,
there must be something of value somewhere
to keep us hanging on
to our El Dorado.
Though the children are skinny, their parents are fat
from years of gorging on bleached white bread,
yet neither will leave
because all believe
in the vague things that are said
of El Dorado.
The young men with the outlandish hairstyles
who saunter in and out of the turnstiles
with a song on their lips and an aimless shuffle,
scuffing their shoes, avoiding the bustle,
certainly feel no need to join the crowd
of those who work to earn their bread;
they must know that the rainbow's end
conceals a pot of gold
near El Dorado.
And the painted “actress” who roams the streets,
smiling at every man she meets,
must smile because, after years of running,
no man can match her in cruelty or cunning.
She must see the satire of “defeats”
and “triumphs” on the ambivalent streets
of El Dorado.
Yes, it's a fine town, a very fine town
for those who can leave when they tire
of chasing after rainbows and dreams
and living on nothing but fire.
But for those of us who cling to our dreams
and cannot let them go,
like the sad-eyed ladies who wander the streets
and the junkies high on snow,
the dream has become a reality
—the reality of hope
that grew too strong
not to linger on—
and so this is our home.
We chew the apple, spit it out,
then eat it "just once more."
For this is the big, big apple,
though it is rotten to the core,
and we are its worm
in the night when we squirm
in our El Dorado.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem during my “Romantic phase” around age 16 or perhaps a bit later. It was definitely written in my teens because it appears in a poetry contest folder that I put together and submitted during my sophomore year in college.
Keywords/Tags: city, life, culture, society, social, addiction, drink, drugs, big apple, New York City, Broadway, Times Square, dream, dreams, reality
Catching flies
“You catch more flies with sugar,”
oh yes, that’s what they say
If even just a little bit
those bugs will come your way
But somehow I have noticed
as this saying I explore
You’ll catch more flies with something else
that’s rotten to the core
I sprinkled just a little bit
of sweetness on my place
And noticed that a few of them
were flying round my face
But when I lifted up the lid
exposing last night’s meal
A thousand little buzzing things
approached the peas and veal
That made me think perhaps it’s wrong,
this saying that they use
These insects may like sugar
but it’s garbage that they chose
Which made me much more curious
about these things they say
So now I pose the question,
“Who would want flies anyway?”
2/24/17
Written for the: Little bit of sugar poetry contest
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
You are horrible, you let me down, a simple task you turned into a nightmare.
You were always bad, you had no heart, I tried to let the first of your attack on taking my love go, but you continued on.
You were always no good, I even tried to smooth things over, trying to put aside any ill feelings I had.
You are horrible, you are rotten to the core, you lack good and truth, and all that is true.
You should have never allowed ours to mix, now we have a soup mix, if you cannot act like a human for human's sake, I can’t imagine how you treat strangers you must hate them even more.
God tells us to forgive, that in the end he takes care of all. So, we shall see how it goes, I will remember all the mean and cruel ways you behaved.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
The power is in our hands, to change the world,
but whom do they serve, when the flags unfurled?
It is the bank account, that gets the victory,
The strike of the gavel, be it pine or hickory.
A life of desperate peace, or certain civil war,
how can power lead, when rotten to the core?
Will the world ever be, that promised wonderland,
or just a facade of lies, from an evil underhand?
We are defined by, all that we endure,
The fall to temptation and evils allure.
Only by rising above, can we see the light,
The light that gets us, through the dark night.
Long have they known, musicians flying high,
what we should be doing, just not why.
For in the end, like the whiteness of a dove,
wings are not needed, for the flight of love!
There are many Aerth’s amongst the Cosmos
But we’re the only Earth!
That’s worth more than just dirt, especially to us.
Perhaps it is a curse
To think we’re just the best,
Better than all the rest.
Our planet appears to be unique,
Especially within our own Solar system.
Plus, we have God. (and science?)
Blessed with an abundance of Life-giving waters!
Blessed with an ozone of an atmosphere.
Blessed with clouds that filter fresh water to drink.
Blessed with perfect gravity! And magnificent magnetic magmatism.
Blessed with perfect Green zone placement around the Sun.
Blessed with one perfect Moon. “Ahh oooooooo!”
Blessed with an abundance of Life and soulful soil.
And not just a barren rock or gaseous giant.
Plus, I’m here.
And I’m here to say,
“We are spoiled rotten to the core.”
And I have to wonder,
Are we alone in the Universe
Who thinks our Earth’s special and enticing?
I saw a seed on the way side
I picked it up and put it in my pocket
I took it home to my heavenly garden
Planted it among the roses
I watered it day and night
And waited for the first sapling to rise
Thought it would grow into a tree
And give shade to the birds and the little bee
But alas no sprouting came,
The seed was eaten within
With worms and filth and rotten to the core
I cried and cried to my Father above
Son I will give you a new seed
My love I will spill out of the heavens
Onto the earth below
Drenching each and every seed with heavenly dew and words
Till each seed is renewed from within and a new sprouting is seen.