For what charge is this you lay at my feet?
For what misdemeanour or untruth did I afore commit?
Did I steal, did I lie and some innocence fall in my stead?
Did I indeed do much worse and is someone known to me now stone dead?
There is nothing between the daylight and the dark. No grey space for thought or error, no ending, no start.
As I stand here alone in a world I don’t know, as I listen to lies from the truth men in their show. Though contempt I do feel for the meaning written in your eyes. You’ll find Jesus preaching in hell before any truth of my lies.
The one who dipped his hands in the till
Adventurist misdemeanour discovered
That waywardness create no anxiety
We smoothened ruffled feathers
We found our mind and heart tranquil
To be truthful we surprised ourself
But why not forgive and forget
Love is God’s healing elixir
SORRY
(ETCETERA ETCETERA)
In my world a word of genuine emotion,
today in this battlefield for far right,
far left and all those in between,
a word reconstructed,
for those wrong doers caught,
and only when they are,
a buzz word for a last chance grovel,
for a population conditioned to except the insincerity
and false tears that evaporate as quickly,
as one’s memory of their misdemeanour.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
It was such a tiny misdemeanour
In the broom cupboard with the night cleaner
We wouldn't get caught
Or that's what I thought
’till she squealed like a drunken hyena
Hot mid-afternoon
Windy air loiters late;
Drowsy feelings drown
~~~~~~~~~
Slanting shadows
Deserted playground;
Evening weighs heavy
~~~~~~~~~
By the old pathway
Not a soul in sight;
Equatorial misdemeanour
~~~~~~~~~
City-state mystic
Moments separate;
Zen illumination
~~~~~~~~~
Simple looks plain
Still posture speaks loud;
Silence spreads spacious
~~~~~~~~~
Intervene now
Disperse congregations;
Isolation permutates
~~~~~~~~~
Dusk settles fast
Nightfall brings wetness;
Rain plays moist music
~~~~~~~~~
City skyline
Moon in mystic aura;
Touching revelations
~~~~~~~~~
Words in ink
Stains on paper speak;
Picture portrait tells
~~~~~~~~~
Words work wit
Taste thought tangle;
Quote quilts quest
~~~~~~~~~
Havoc in stand still
Idle moments aggravate;
Fear tells a story
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 April 2020
Singapore
The flu.
By Angela Tomaz
As I ly in bed with my two boys beside me.
All I can hear is a snoring cacophony.
With my throat burning and head with fever.
They too are suffering from the same misdemeanour.
The echos of snores and their moans of pain.
I just lay there wondering why my drugs were in vain.
Why aren't you working and making me numb too.
This insomnia is killing me all because of the flu.
Be gone evil demon I don't want you no more.
You make us all suffer with aching bodies, we are sore.
I know you'll come back to haunt us again.
But for now it's enough what have you to gain?
As the restless movements of their bodies awaken.
I still ly here moody with sleep depervation.
I know it's going to be a long, long day.
So best i be on my merry way!
^_^ ~~~~~~~~~^_^~~~~~~~~~ (0_0) (0_0)
Wreathing this encephalon - wrenched, gnarled, murdered
Neurons in diminution - de-escalated, clashing, ramming now lethargic
Canvass of verse and poesy - lacking, still vacuous and comic
But language and fervour is penned, tedium and ennui clobbered.
If we look in the mirror
What do we see
If we look behind us
Is it other than thee
If we do a wrong
Does it make it right
If we apologise
Does it change our sight
To all who have done wrong
Raise your hands
If not here
In other lands
There is many a crime
So hideous and wrong
But to do wrong once
We sing that same song
Its the level of wrong
That we distinguish to discuss
The misdemeanour
And the out and out cuss
Others will recover
A different path they will follow
Others will re-offend
It's their bitter pill, they will swallow
So there comes a time
To judge some less
Allow their reunion
Their second test
Jimmy Anderson
A young man at thirty one
Allow him this chance
His new life has began
Look back on this day
As we look at ourselves
How many off us, could have been
Left on a shelf
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-2.php
Tonight the spirits fly unleashed;
released from limbo soaring free.
Tonight the creaking graves unbind
incarcerated souls and they flutter,
like bats in the darkness, as tricks
of light - a treat, unfettered.
How many troubled souls are imprisoned in
the living? Unforgiving, haunting,
existing in the moment but trapped
by the past. Mouths agape, eerily staring,
and tormenting the senses like ghosts
everlasting. Forgotten by day,
but returning by night, out of sight,
but possessing the sweating, clammy, bed-bound
minds as they restlessly toss and turn, wracked
with the guilt of misdemeanour and sin.
It is the stuff of nightmares and
troubled dreaming,of pounding hearts
and laboured breathing; pacing feet,
in corridors of blame so unforgiving.
This is the terror of the living.