Meted Poems

Musing on the Death Penalty

A double murderer
Shot before a firing squad
Justice or revenge?

An eye for an eye
So, the old law book conveys
Punishment for sin

Society’s way
To rid town square of wrongs
Yet, death row awaits

The hangman stands by
The masses don’t know his name 
Pulls the trap door latch

The cycle repeats
With no real decrease in crime
No one ever wins 

Justice will make deals
With the guilty to win cases
Takes her blindfold off

Death for some killers
Others given terms or pleas
For the same offense

Lex talionis
The law of retaliation
Not meted out fairly

Dumpster Fire Pharma

Sanity meted in batches
With healthcare served up in patches
It’s a dumpster dive
Just staying alive
To rely on raccoons playing with matches

Show Me Your Justice

Lord, I know your love,
but show me Your justice.
I know the day will come
when probation is done,
and everyone will see
their eternal destiny
justice meted out in judgment reality...

I know, I know that day will come

But...what about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the mothers who mourn
for their children war has torn
from their breast

What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the young ones who wail
along the bomb strewn trail
of a orphaned future

What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the homeless who sigh
while their politicians lie
about shelter and supplies,
and no know wonders why

What about now, Lord?
What about now?
What about the genocide's dead,
and all the senseless bloodshed?
What about the survivors, unfed
reduced to begging for bread
living lives laced with dread 
their heartaches left unsaid

Lord, I know of your love,
but show me your justice
before my faith fails,
and every doubt assails
before this evil prevails...

Step....step into the fray
Please...do not delay
Show, show Your justice...
TODAY!

Eileen Manassian

Ankaba

Time got tired of been here
numbering the scars
meted in the past
scars of lost lot
binding failure in tandem
opening up wounds
wounds too deep to heal
suppressing the joy of the now
so much, time is no match while
still holding ransom of debt owed 

the thoughts still haunts as
tears and cries aren't wiping off memories
that birth uncertainties which made all incomplete
just as false appeals in regret's court
with little hope of redemption 

day cries for the night
night mourns the day
all know each other suffers the brunt
having no solace of solitude
yet feel betrayed by one another
for the chaos of the day, spares not the night 

the night whispered to the day
is this the end of it all?
or the beginning of the cycle of endless pain...

Contrasting Moods - Fiction

Surrounded by four walls.	
I feel disgust and despair.
Why can’t I snap out of it?
For listen: The city hums with listless life.
Hospitals thrive with dying patients,
oft with self inflicted excruciating pains,
more often meted out by egoistic humans
in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures,
of self satisfying needs.
 
In a quiet moment at the end of the day
sometimes I pray. Alas my heart
is enveloped in inky darkness.
Instead I hear the cries of domestic violence,
of children desecrated,
women raped,
men killed by other men.
 
I flee my loathsome house,
merge with mindless humanity,
in streets displaying their dirty linen,
intransigent in their cacophony
of indomitable bellowing ululations,
until I reach the quieter periphery
of the endless town.
 
The night is ebbing.  The first rays
of the rising sun touch a silvery dome
reflecting its rays straight into my eyes.
Instinctively I shade my face
yet the light persists.  Is it a sign?
Could there be hope for me?
Perhaps there's sense in creation.
So I close my eyes and pray.



Fiction

Truth

Questions of truth, alas become moot--
          O'er angry voices, truth seldom heard
Like branches strayed from their mother root
          We've strayed then planted another word,
          chosen belief in the most absurd.
In times of war, truth begs to be seen,
yet trampled, however one may lean--
          Torn in Viet Nam, Afghanistan,
Six O'clock fact or fiction routine:
          fingers pointing at every man.

Why is truth killed when war needs it most?
          That question is asked through the ages,
Perhaps lies dwell in a virus host,
          Or, we need truth meted in stages,
          lies bake troubled souls as war rages.
Truth rests among those--the dead of war.
Yet, we also lost truth years before.
         Perhaps a new potion we'll soon find
to cure the people and kill lies' spoor
         and leave its destruction far behind.

March 28, 2022
for the "Why is Truth the First Casualty of War and why is That a Fact"
by Sotto Poet

No News Is Good

No news is good news; the known saying goes
Whether stated in prose, or its meted in rhyme
That's the outlook it seems the eu's  designed 
Whether covid or conflict, they play the same way
There's no voice of dissention, allowed; it's all bad
Yet they're in control of its outflow, and in general
That's sad'  Maybe RT was biased? to a certain extent'
Yet people did watch, and so adjudge; on its bents
I could always turn it off though; and often I did'
I didn't need a big brother, with volumes of kid'
So they believe the known saying then..)
(No news is good news) yet straighten their ties
Slap on greasepaint; and polish their shoes'
Then feed out, even more jollop
To you'se; thats no lies'

Henry and Anne

Anne Boleyn Condemned 
  Declared England's Floozy 
Grotesque Henry Imposed Justice
King's Law Meted
Nobles Obediently Praised
  Queen's Reasonless Subjugation
Testosterone Unequivocally Vindictive           
Widespread Xenophobia
Yielding Zeitgeist

11/13/2021

Love's Labor

Lust too soon
fades the moon
body freely given
reveals the lie
a swift retreat
you’ll wonder why
no genuine beginning.

Prance with care
hold lust near
dearly darkly hidden
tests the tide
no small feat
you’ll deeply sigh
head surely spinning.

Slow the fire
grace keeps desire
from being driven
then is found
a deeper sweet
you’ll truly fly
pendulum is swinging.

Meted fervor grows
true love flows
you’ll be smitten
tamed the restless
though no defeat
you’ll soar high
together just beginning.


(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)

Daddy Warlock and His Offspring

With a crazy weirdo witchlike stare
She said “Break this stale and stifled air”
The crow landed softly on autumn’s mare.
And drove his talons into her soft hair. 

With cheer and tidings greeted
The warlock felt slightly irritated and defeated.
He had taught his offspring to fly; brooms meted.
And here she was on soft horse seated. 

Squirrels felt alive in October grand. 
Brisk the smile and crisp the hand
Jack-o-lanterns displayed, trick-or-treaters shaking
Daddy’s hands extended, quick for shaking

Those sparkled eyes and sunny faces duly greeting
On Halloween night met with joyful spirits meeting
Daddy Warlock was proud as his little witch flew in on broom.
Her autopilot license alive and well. He watched her on Zoom.

The Junta

Once, a very long time ago
You truly understood our woes
Your youthful energy burned bright
Promising to deliver us from limbo
Indeed, a welcome beacon in the dark

Maybe it was the lesser evil
For surely, the corrupt regime had to go
In crises like those, sacrifices had to be made
So we dutifully turned our backs
And let the blood flow

For a while, you were the ideal leader
Our dear and beloved liberator
The butchery forgotten, tranquility returned
Success for all was certain
The fruits of democracy as we know it

It was all too good to be true
Murmurs of discontent flared
Pertinent questions arose, zero answers came forth
The leader had lost sight of the noble goal
Democracy was a mere mirage

Injustice of all forms is meted out generously
Murder and gore freely roam the streets
Empty pockets stare at us mockingly
Tears stain our cheeks
We call to the government in vain

So here we stand once again
Swearing that the correct regime must go
More than ready to sacrifice
But the blood.Oh God!the blood
Let blood not flow...

The Diggers Oath

They gathered together thinking it’s not right
To charge for mining permits with gold in sight
So they gathered together at the Eureka Stockade
And armed themselves in their righteous crusade

Each digger stood by the Southern Cross flying true
And gave the oath vowing to defend each other too
“We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other and fight to defend our rights and liberties”
As free settlers in a free land standing together bravely

And some died defending these words sacred to them 
When they stood side by side and were done in
The idea of being strong and free
Was forged in these words for all Australians to see

Since those days their sons and daughters have answered the call
When their blood was spilled so that freedom wouldn’t fall
So when there are challenges meted out to us
Remember those standing with us 
honouring the Southern Cross.

© Paul Warren Poetry

Whom Do We Trust

Whom Do We Trust
Written: by Miracle Man
7/21/2019

Every now and then, we all lose our bearing,
Facing days that become gloomy, often despairing.
We only check our compass for direction of travel,
When it appears that life is just about to unravel.

We oft seek out others, and with blame anoint,
But no man is a judge nor will God ever appoint.
He said, Cast your burdens upon me, for I care,*
Yet we oft live our lives hamstrung by despair.

We should never treat others as perhaps we’ve been treated,
Because with whatever we mete, we’ll also be meted.**
When we fail in casting burdens upon HIM for He cares,*
We’re eschewing the wheat while gorging on tares.



*1 Peter 5:7
 Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. 
**Matthew 7:2
King James Version (KJV)
“For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

Living Right

Living Right
Written: by Tom Wright
6-30-2016

If clothed in righteousness by his blood,
divine wrath, we will never have to face. 
Though trials come upon us like a flood,
They’re preparing us for a better place?

If following Christ we need never fear, 
our judgment meted on that final day.
But “I know you not” many will hear,
for rejecting Christ and failure to pray.

Life Death

Life/Death
Written: by Tom Wright
3/10.2016

Life, I liken, 
To an endless stream of days;
All neatly sequenced,
 Like a series of one act plays.
At God’s final curtain call,
 Terminal bows are taken.
Remaining are scores of extras, 
Abruptly shaken;

Beyond this final sunset, 
A secured door is found.
Judgment at once is meted,
Mercy will no longer abound.
Each person bears a key, 
But few will fit the lock.
Eternity has now begun, 
With no more clock.

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