Someone serving life in prison
Some way, somehow gets the nod
To release him, like an order
From a despot or a god.
The same applies to lowlife thugs
Whose insurrection acts,
When they stormed the U.S. Capitol,
Were changed to lies from facts.
When power goes to someone’s head,
It’s like a weird disease
Where he violates the law
And justice drops down to its knees.
Half the country hates it,
While the other seems to hail
The release of felons who should be,
Most rightfully, in jail.
I guess it’s pretty obvious
In which half I belong.
These pardons reek of villainy
And are simply, flat-out wrong!
A loathsome lecher lurks along the long,
Lightless ledge, looking to lure a lost lamb
To lewd license, liquor, and lowlife lurch—
To the lesser lying league and layer.
I know that art’s subjective;
Everyone has different taste,
So one exhibit that I love
Might be, to you, a waste.
The same applies to music –
Some like opera, jazz or blues,
Country, rock and roll or show tunes –
What some pick, I’d never choose.
And what about vacations?
Many opt for beach or isle,
While a city with museums
Is a trip to make me smile.
Disagreements are expected
Where the government’s concerned,
But to me, what’s most upsetting
Is the lesson I have learned…
That no longer can we argue
With civility and poise.
Respect has been replaced with
Lowlife nastiness and noise.
This has come to be accepted –
Points of view can’t be discussed
And the bullies bloviate and leave us
Trampled in the dust.
I prison my life
Do nothing for sunny up
Living home, lowlife.
On holiday whilst in South Zante
My uncle is caught ‘in flagrante’
Found in the jacuzzi
With fat floozie Susie
He’s no chance of coitus with aunty!
Aunt Bertha's quite livid with Mel
She kicked him out of their hotel
The lowlife, the fool
Now sleeps by the pool
Aunt certainly made his life hell!
Naught lowlife, but pro-life; pin-up; wildlife,
like the Mantis, or the praying Mantis,
cockroaches and termites, close relatives,
there are stick ones or grasshoppers, half-life.
A year's life, they are ambush predators,
female practices sex cannibalism.
Supernatural power behold-ism
Greece, Assyria, Egypt, past overs.
Mantis are the most common insect pets,
twenty-four hundred species, tropical,
temperate too, visions are stereo,
triangular heads with long-winged-like jets.
They take a commanding pose faced menace,
China has two martial arts-styled Mantis.
Climbing ivy draws and flowers, delight,
Agapema anon a Saturn moth.
Saturniidae family has spanned life
short, longer if bigger, three weeks--like Hoth,
blind god tricked by Loki to kill Baldr--
a mistletoe; wisdom and courage die,
so must the Agapema, its drawer,
messengers of the Afterlife, deny
us the key; wisdom and courage, again,
their family is large if e'er the chance,
a flier o'er plateaus, desert, and plain.
The landscape, south of that border; expanse.
Butterflies and life, moths and, afterlife,
naught lowlife, but pro-life; pin-up; wildlife.
There are bastards in the world,
too many of them for my liking,
but they don’t care about my likes
or dislikes for they are bastards.
Bastards!!
Hollowed out beings filled with a
pus green aura of
disdain.
Bastards!!
Scumbags, callous miscreants,
lousy, scuzzball, son-of-a-bit-chin,
sleazebag weasels.
Bastards!!
Villainous,
snake in the grass rogues,
reprobate swine, spineless, jellylike,
amorphous lowlife scoundrels,
Bastards!!
John G. Lawless
2/3/2013
Your words fly through the clouds
Our poetry lands on God’s auspicious lap.
Is it truly laudable and magnificent… or..
To His face, do you give God a slap?
Do you words raise souls to dwell on beauty.
Or drag souls down to hell ,to not glow?
But shine with dark, lowlife Satanic horns.
And comments that applaud evil’s glow?
Inspired by Robert Hinshaw
Faithful Friend
Poet of Highest Integrity
7/14/2023
You Did It Unto Them,
Ye Did It Unto Me
Miracle Man
3/10/2023
I’m besieged by panhandlers on the street,
With extended hands and with signs they greet.
I seldom fall for stories they’re dishing,
But asking is more gainful than wishing.
Many have chosen the wrong path in life,
looked upon by some as being lowlife.
But some can’t fit society’s framework,
and need help finding continuous work.
Matthew 25:40 King James Version
40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
Being anything but cold is rare for you.
Utterly and shamelessly aloof is but a default setting for you, although could it still be considered ‘aloof’ if it’s on purpose?
Too nonchalant to notice the people around to falling to pieces at your feet.
Too preoccupied with your selfish human desires to take into consideration the karmic tab you’re stacking up, and yet,
Even when you’re paying attention, you’re still somehow... not there.
Ridiculously obsessed with your self-image, just enough to tip off the start to your downfall.
Firmly believing your own lies is the reason you’ve successfully convinced everyone around you of them too.
Living out your deceit, fooling everybody into believing you could be a genuine soul, that you could be authentic – as if you’re a lowlife method actor on the brink of withering away.
You could not fool me, though. I saw right through you and your transparent wings, and you couldn’t handle being seen, oh, how very ‘dear in the headlights’ of you.
I knew you were cold-blooded,
But I never expected you to be a fraud.
Dear I Left Flowers
My dear we were once madly in love, I thought
Then why didn't we both tie the knot
To think of the dreams you tear
The love that you fear
We matched well
Dear
All was swell
My car was in gear
But you walked far than near
You left for that lowlife all for naught
My dear we were once madly in love, I thought
1/18/23
Writing Challenge - Andaree Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Constance La France
2nd
I was a self-admitted misanthrope
unwilling to lose or drop a case.
I often threw a rope-a-dope
just to win; I never lose face.
I worked the dark streets
for dark, and even darker, clients
while the cops walked their beats,
shadows showing giants.
As far as I was concerned,
they were all a bunch of losers.
They were bad; they’d get burned.
The lot were boozers or bruisers.
I had caught a difficult case
The man was stabbed and shot.
He deserved it; he was debase,
but the perp would be caught.
The lawyer was my client,
he was dirty; the worst he could get.
Damn, he was mighty defiant!
Still, I didn’t think he did it.
He had no motive, but also no alibi.
So why were the cops after him?
He was a jerk, but had no reason to lie.
But for him the outlook was grim.
I might have to pummel every john
on the streets to get to the truth.
It wasn’t unpleasing to use my brawn
and I was a hellava good sleuth.
I’d search every city block.
I’d find the filthy little perp.
I’d find the lowlife and knock
the truth out of the twisted twerp!
26 August 2022
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
https://www.rhymezone.com
Porcelain doll, with a face so pretty
a country gal, ran away to the city
Worked in a bar, dancing on tables
beat shovelling sh-it, in Pa’s stables
Looks for love, but only finds bums
lowlife gamblers, in rundown slums
Go back home
not a chance
One day soon
find romance
Porcelain doll, life’s becoming gritty
rent’s due, ain’t nothing in her kitty
All knocked up, mascara streaking
bloodshot eyes, skin’s unappealing
Sleeps in the pines, winter it snows
crystallised tears, angel eyes froze
Barely alive
baby’s dead
No way back
no warm bed
Porcelain doll, face’s the committee
lunatic asylum, nobody shows pity
Shock treatment, four hourly dose’s
prison guard lesbians, with halitosis
broken doll, made one bad decision
they chipped her head, thin incision
Eyes don’t blink
stare at space
No expression
just a doll’s face
By
David Kavanagh
Thin are the lines between love and hate,
Between life and death...
But I'll tell of your fate
With my dying breath...
I open my eyes wide
To see through the windows of my soul
All those long nights I've cried
Longing to know all of your traumas untold.
You may bleed for me
As I long for you
Dry those pain filled tears
Replace them with the mornings dew
They may hold a blade to my throat
And a gun to my head
But betray you? I won't
Not even after I'm dead.
Weave all your lies
Brew all your secrets
Hiding from the truth breaks ties
And seduces lowlife miscreants
I walk these dark streets nightly
Dressed as a man
Keeping my act up and my truth locked tightly
As secure as I can
The skies may seem to change
From day to day and stage to stage
But the city below
Ebbs and flows
While I alone remain
To observe the possibilities
Of bringing beauty out from the stains....
-Caitlin Rockey
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