Misdemeanors Poems | Examples

Impeach this Poem - Twice

     High crimes and misdemeanors
       historically difficult to define

     Until Trump Derangement Syndrome
       ~ when America lost her mind

killing Vultures-

Morbid is the choice of murdering heart
Crept creeping misdemeanors under developed
Killed or be killed vultures
Fall into the waters, the seas
Ripping up dead salmon

4/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©

The Denialist's

2 Timothy 4:3-4:4
For the time will come when men will not tolerate sound doctrine, but with itching ears they will gather around themselves teachers to suit their own desires. So, they will turn their ears away from truth and turn aside to myths.


The practitioners of “The Big Lie”
Election results, one must never decry

Let us examine some history
By which we’ll note the hypocrisy

Al Gore in 2000, Hillary in 2016
Stacy Abrams in Georgia did scream 

How does one discern what is truth
The good book says examine the fruit produced

Thirty-two million for Mueller to investigate
Months of media claiming Trumps a reprobate

What did this produce folks 
It was all a Democrat and media hoax

Impeachment over a phone call to Ukraine
No high crimes or misdemeanors was plain 

Hunter’s laptop called Russian disinformation
January 6th labeled an insurrection

No guns, no bombs, not even pitchforks
Capitol Police acting as escorts

If you are unable to see rotten fruit
Providing more evidence is simply moot

Just know that Paul foretold it all
We need a revival, or America will fall

You Know Who You Are

You Know Who You Are.
I read you the truth and you backed away
Your rose-tinted glasses went back to the day
They edged out, all that pain and hurt
Made you feel better, dredged up no dirt

You read what I wrote, and it really choked 
All of the memories those words evoked
Hard to recall when you're wrong
Hard to accept your acrid pong

You became irate and denied all said
You were perfect, good, I am misled
But deep down, a churning doubt
You know the truth now that it’s out 

So, no crime committed, no harm done
Your conscience is clear, all harmless fun
But somewhere hidden scratches a claw
Jogs your memory, sticks in your craw.

You know who you are.

David Cox 06/01/21

Above the Quay - 2

Consider this choice (of sound mind) my last hurrah, 
Have no doubt about my motive so pure and fine  
See my feet dangling just above the waterline; 
Give my fond farewells, observe my last scofflaw. 

I chose this heavy iron chain around my neck; you see, 
Coarse cattle rope was much too gauche, too primitive 
A way for this gentrified man to take his final leave 
To indelibly announce he no longer wishes here to be. 

I am as innocent as a newly-born child into this world, 
No misdemeanors to confess before a judge or jury 
Only experiencing raw anguish and unmitigated fury 
At the many false accusations at me wrongfully hurled.


A complete re-styling and re-write
of my poem "Above the Quay" on February 27, 2021
Submitted to John Lawless's "Fragments of Verse" Contest

Table Scraps

Chimes, misdemeanors
serenity finger tips
fickle graced etudes

Fourth of July

Founding fathers believed in freedom of the press, religion, speech, assembly, and petition.

Opportunity must be opened to all.

United we stand and divided we fall.                                                                                                                                                                            

Religious establishment by the government is prohibited.

Trial by jury is a constitutional right; taxation without representation is not.

High crimes and misdemeanors by the president are impeachable offenses.

Oligarchies(Rulership by 'the few') in America must never be allowed.

Freedom is not really free; it always cost us something.
 
Justice delayed is justice denied.*

Union of 50 states makes up The USA.                                                                                                                                                         	

Liberty and Justice in America are for all.

Yielding to the will of the majority is the American way.

062220PS*Wilkipedia. Origin. There are conflicting accounts of who
first noted the phrase.#89 in Top 100 poems for the last month.

My Mom

Feathered Brazilian brown hair with eyes that match.
Red lips,Skinny brows with mascara thick on each lash.
Skin tone honey roasted cashew.
Body scarred from self harm and all she had been through.
Felonies,misdemeanors and a diploma.
From Great kills,Staten Island to the beaches of Clearwater and Sarasota.
Vodka on the rocks with a splash of diet coke. 
Mirror, a straw and lines of coke.
She always made you laugh With every joke.
Even though,Throughout my childhood my mom was an addict.
There is no other women, I would of rather spent my life with.
Taught me how to be ok with surviving by myself.
Showed me some life choices will have you buried or displayed on a shelf.
I’ve learned from all your mistakes. So, I choose love over wealth.
I was born the black sheep to break the family cycle for my own health.
To ensure, I face the life. I try to create with my best self.

Childhood Ghosts

The cat shrieks as childhood ghosts alight upon my window,
frame and draw cords rattle in high volume,
sashes split like earthquakes on a seismic fault,
tidal waves of tainted forest leafs a swirling, twirling juggernaut.
Thunderstruck by frozen panic, black night's wild tsunami cloud an ink pot mesh,
funeral dirges whistle,
Chanting misdemeanors at a tremor ridden soul 

Poem Created 23/2/2020

True Love

unconditional love
the truest form
selfless
altruistic
wholehearted
invested
free
genuine
no matter what
the kind of love
a dog will give you
his ego never getting in the way
forgiving time after time
any misgivings
or misdemeanors
not keeping track



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on January 26, 2020 for contest TRUE LOVE sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE  -  RANKED 1ST

Judge Me Not

Judge Me Not

Judge me not as good,
As a meek and humble Dove.
For there may be misdemeanors,
That you know nothing of.

Yet Judge me not as bad.
Though you prove me as a fake.
I'm but human, only God it is,
Who never makes mistakes.

We all tend toward judgement
Our curiosity burns.
But the status of your Brother,
Is none of your concern.

Shores of Uncertainty

As his mind drifts upon silent shores of uncertainty, 
he ponders what was, what is and what is yet to come.
He wonders why no one understands the pangs of his soul,
unsure if his thoughts are heard, as they float away with the wind. 

Misdemeanors of his mind are plagued by battles within his heart,
deliberating whether the seed of his creed will bleed or succeed. 
Before him lies a path infected by vermin devouring dead crows,
behind him a collection of unchallenged emotions from a forgotten childhood.

Silent One
25 June 2018

Example for eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late

Poetry Thievery

Any good judge and jury would convict me
Slam the door shut, toss out the key
High crimes and misdemeanors in the first degree
Caught in cahoots with poetry

Armed with pen and paper in hand
Stealing from me all that I have
Until my muse says there's nothing left
Empty's the till inside my pounding head

I'll sing like a stool pigeon in the hot seat
In a police line up I'll point out the poetry
Say that's the one that did this to me
The one with the sly smile and rhyme in his teeth

I'll throw myself on the mercy of the court
Plead insanity as I cackle and cough
To tell the truth if you only knew
That last statement is not too far off

Happenstance Hazards

Expectation's misdemeanors
     outflanking volition 
infringed upon experience's
       self-imposed options,
griping on about whirlwind's
      imposing velocity to
  which atmospheric pressure
     has naught resolving power
  whence high tide pressure rises
       persuading tendencies,
universe hardly questions 'why' 
   to phenomenons' meddle,
psychobabble' s deliberations
 deluding  prospective trespasses,
conclusive interpretation hence life
   is but a crapshoot game of chance

Poor Travellers

Came to this country little suitcase in hand
For a better life in this wonderful land
Pockets were sort of empty but he mentally planned
7 days of school-work as he desperately could,
To send money back to care for his family
Found a Haitian princess to live ever happily
Then something happened
I came about gradually
But actually,
I was second in line
My sibling was the first to cry through birth
It was I who naturally did all to hurt
Playing with greens acting a jerk
Misdemeanors causing people’s blood vessels to burst.

Gone are the days where I grew up in church
Went from being colorful to emphasizing the darkness of my worth
My mind used to be free now it has the same shackles of a slave
Dreaming of unfathomable thoughts- the sum of my fears
Half a time ago the world’s producers of pure tears
Alone in this world
I tricked myself into believing that no one really cared.

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