Meted Out Poems | Examples

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

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

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

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

Frost Like Filigree

~ Frost
         by
             design
~ delicate,
       crafted in the night,
            dainty — like lacy handiwork
~ inspirational, like twisted wire, a story told —
details meted out behind heaven’s door, with peculiarities that we adore


~ O
      please
         inspect
            windowpane 
crystalline effects ~
       ~ seraphic white silver and gold —
the finest craftsmanship, twisted with Eden’s treasure ~
filigree beads of angelic hoary-breath, reminders of the invisible God


~ Rime
clings
   to soil,
inspired world —
   embraced by cold hands ~
          fragile tendrils spread like ivy,
                      intricate cherubic smithing — like spider webbing,
subtleties sensational, O how it sparkles ~ seasonal diamondiferous earth


1/24/2018
The Magic Of Three
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Fibonacci (8 lines) x 3 = 24 lines(pattern- 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 syllables)

Sadness Grows

I see you little flower
Bright and quick 
Spiralling in your own
Desiccated gown
Of earth and dust
Sadness grows 
In the crack of broken
Concrete
Calling to 
My pedestrian
Tendencies 
Careful
Once 
Meted out 
I will 
Trample around your 
Petaled face
As I lumber through 
The 
The streets
In the 
Cold light of morning

Salinity In the Water of Your Soul

To be deep in thoughts 
And wide in mind 
They have never been enough 
You need to increase your salinity 
In the water of your soul 
To eat up all the ill treatments and wrongs 
To you meted out and done 
As the ocean purifies all the dust and dirt 
And returns back all purified 
Into it whatever pollutants are thrown upon 
It has never been enough 
Just to flow like a stream 
You need to silt this world 
To make life more fertile 
By the way of washing away the wastes 
You need to clean your surroundings.

In the Season of Hope Thereof

IN THE SEASON OF HOPE THEREOF

In the season of hope thereof,
There seems to be
Little justice, peace and love
Meted out to you and me;
Except for what comes from above.
Yet, let us not allow the deceivers 
Sway us to be as erring as they—
Let us not be duped by Wall St. persuaders
Out to make a profitable mockery of the day.

Peace, love and justice—the triune for which we pray;
Will continue to be the reality we seek on this glorious day.
So in all the merriment thereof, let us not forget the true reason
We pause and reflect on peace, love and justice during this season.

You Dont Say

I’ve had enough of inspirational quotes,
Such as;

“Believe in yourself,” 
And,
”Go get it!”
And
” Today is the first day…” 

Well you know the rest I’m sure.

Truth is we’re all trapped by kids, spouses, 
Friends, “procedure.” 

“Commitments”

Roughly twenty years I’d say, the sentence 
Meted out; but money, that thing, it’s for
Life.

If you’ve got it, good, but it can be lost, or
Denuded, like berries after frost. If you’ve 
Not, you have to make it;

 (I never had the balls to take it)

So I eat my porridge and sip my tea, trying to 
Be still, on this sloping scree. And if you ask me 
“What’s for free?”  I’d say;
      

Book and beach and just being “me”.

A Message

Honey, I miss you
Worry not my appetites
Sue at beck and call.
My needs are fast and few
Be well meted out by Sue

Meeting Expectations of a Realist-W

Passions for expectations with life were none
Till the teenage accepted life as it came anon.
Went to gym, played games, attended school
Swam in the open sea, life smooth and cool.

Might’ve been endowed with great expectations
In gestation to perform later in life like everyone.
Sprouted while in the university educational zones
Both of literature and dramatics as milestones.

Both meted out in career as a university teacher
Not so easy but had miles to go in my endeavor
Was quite fortunate to meet the inspiring persons
Who directed me to perform the righteous acts.

I did meet my expectations later in matured years
Performing Moliere in his own country and theatres
Attending the poetry conferences in three continents
And honors in literature that missed in early periods.

Aimed for the moon but reached the sky amidst
Never complained about the wind like a pessimist
Never expected the wind to change like an optimist
But adjusted the sails like a down-to-earth realist.

                             +++

October 14, 2014
Form Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third Place Win
Contest: BIO by Regina Riddle

Time Enough

in our measure of time 
there are curious circles filling our days, 
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights, 
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight, 
that give or take away --

the indifference of time that measures man, 
in cycles round 'bout heavens span, 
meted out in lines that grid the world 
in constant sorrow, Saturn stuttered, 
disappearing today in some further loss of tomorrow, 
yet we also know that ticking clocks in circles go, 
'til time enough for love is lost to reasons chains and at what cost;

the God of Time in cycles go, around, about, a-circling slow, fast re-turned, 
they come, they go, there's time enough for love you know.

though I spend my time, 
scanning the horizon with my mind's eye, 
seeking the curve of her Venus belt, 
a circumference of sunset reds spanning the sky, she is on the face of it, 
a timeless piece, a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway, 
a clock that circumscribes my day, 
and in the sanctity of the night, rolling 
on a sweat-slippery field of red-ocher bliss and
kissing with the same kiss, it's just then
 as I watch her rest,
         

               time stops

                     and takes my breath away

Boomerang

What fools do sing of Karma?

Justice meted out like some kind of sick equation as though
any thoughts or theorems are constant.

I'm sure Pythagoras and Euclid would be very proud of all of us.

See this place and time:

Sigma batwings beat like boomerangs,
doors slamming out the dust-choked sunlight,
trapping sinners in the saint saloon.

An argument!
There at the corner table where 
pink flesh meets inlaid wood and 
the oily leather squeaks and cracks around the
ultimate geometry machine the 
steel bed for brass and lead and rifling.

This is bar-graph justice, an
erxcercise in mean and percentage, or
was it median?

Bam!Bam!
Like a prophet fired from the kiln those bullets eat the air 
between the foresight and the torso.

This is aborigional justice come
'round full circle on a decent man.

Time Enough

in our measure of time
there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight,
that give or take away --

the indifference of time that measures man,
in cycles round 'bout heavens span,
meted out in lines that grid the world
in constant sorrow, Saturn stuttered,
disappearing today in some further loss of tomorrow,
yet we also know that ticking clocks in circles go,
'til time enough for love is lost to reasons chains and at what cost;

the Gods of Time in cycles go, a-round, a-bout, a-turning slow,
fast re-turned, they come, they go,
there's time enough, for love you know.

though I spend my time,
circling the horizon with my mind's eye,
seeking the curve of her Venus belt,
a circumference of sunset reds,
surrounding the sky, she is on the face of it,
a timeless piece, a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in every second of my nights,
a tick to my tock that ne'er quits
nor ever is passe'

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