I believe the newscaster
Is making stuff up
I recall in the “70’s
Harvard Square
Intellectuals hanging
THE WORLD WILL END
ON OCT 17th
Signs that neglected
To give the year
Does anybody
REALLY KNOW
What time it is
Dogs are not
Furry children
They do, however,
Have better health care
What if a stalker
Shows up at a séance
Dogs will look sad
After chewing up the couch
Cats have no conscience
I have a shirt that reads
IF I LOOK LOST
JUST TURN ME AROUND
Coffee’s ready
Have a ______ day
When I first heard of your demise,
I was at Mickey D's eating a cheeseburger and fries.
And when the newscaster said
you’d died when an elephant sh-t on your head,
it didn't come as a big surprise.
The setting sun weaves a poem,
blossoming
unsung trochaic along the river basin
(Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta)
Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal delicate feelings, into a powermonger possessive expositional ownership, for no good understood parameter.
The book was well versed. Muzzammil was lying on his bed, half awakened. He took his glass pairs off. A pair of opaque spectacles, with the littlemost effort, both the bifocal parts are often sweaty. He was waiting for his wife’s special morning tea, everyday. Remote area in the suburban side, every day newscaster is often quote a belated story there.
December, 2025
Everything you see is fashion
From just simple tattered dress
A carpenter hammering a nail
A boy riding a bicycle
A lady poses for a selfie
Throng of people walking the street
A taho vendor in the sidewalk
An office lady typing on her computer
A simple bartender mixing wine
A cook cooking in a simple kitchenette
A construction worker hauling debris
Those passengers lining waiting for a bus
A painter painting sunset at the bay
A mother breastfeeding a baby
A cow eating grass in the field
A bee hopping in every flower sipping for nectar
The busy street like Binondo during Sunday
The passing of the Comulus clouds
The scattered leaves on the backyard
The birds plucking dried grass for a nest
The ads on tv commercial and billboards
Those ramp model ramping on a stage
A newscaster casting the news on tv
Two person playing chess religiously
People in political rallying on the streets
People praying inside the church
A family eating their lunch on a buffet resto
Two people walking hand in hand
Everything that is not moving and moving
It's all fashion for me.
There once was a man who lived in the graves,
for many demons had made him their slaves.
But when Jesus he met
he would never forget
this complete stranger, willing to make waves.
When no longer the demons could torment
to a swine herd, they besought to be sent.
Jesus met their request;
human herd coalesced
all supplying their advice and dissent.
To steer clear of more demon disaster,
the man pleaded to make Jesus, Master.
"Go home," Jesus commends,
"with your neighbors be friends -
what I need now is a good newscaster."
This was written for sheer fun, months ago!
I did not have the courage to post it then,,,
But I do now…Hope you enjoy this fantasy!
9/30/2023
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I want Rob Schmitt to rub my feet.
I could take care of him, alright.
He’d scream with pleasure in silver starlight.
If I should die, with a smile, before I wake.
Know,he was more delicious than strawberry cake!
Bury me please, next to Johnnie Walker.
He was always with me, such a sexy stalker.
Red, hot and rolling, stud Johnny was he.
I’m truly fed up, with writing about pine trees!!
Prefer a young dude to have a last tango with,
Oh, if only…it would be my heavenly,Rob Schmitt!
*****Rob Schmitt is a newscaster on.Newsmax.com.
Available on PC, iPad or any cellphone.24/7****
Well, Howdy, Miss Belinda.
I am Rob, Pangie’s hearthrob.
Her TV is tuned to Waco,Texas!
To watch Trump in satisfaction.
That mensch, is who he is!
That’s her next POTUS in action.
Though the Left wants him in traction.
She admires his integrity.
Won’t bend to Woke Satisfaction!
15,000 of all colors in attendance!
We all raise our glasses high.
To America, to have a rebirth of abundance
Best wishes,
Rob, Newscaster
*********************
NEWSMAXTV.COM
AVAILABLE TO ALL DEVICES
HIS SHOW, ON 4pm and 8pm PST.
3/25/2023
Today is a day I shall always remember
That dreadful, awful eleventh of September,
Driving home listening to the newscaster
Wondering what might be the hereafter,
Thinking about the line that was crossed --
Afraid for our country; mourning the lost,
A day in my life like none I could remember
That dreadful, awful eleventh of September.
Then, horror on the sixth day of January
I shall always remember the terrible spree,
The insurrectionist attack on our capitol
Hard to believe something so lunatical
I feared the ship of state was sinking fast
A group of radical traitors were amassed
At the behest of our defeated president
Minions trying to destroy our government.
Written September 11, 2022
If Long-Practicing Baxter
Were truly a Kung–Fu Master,
Wouldn’t his kicks be faster,
His praises sung by some raster,
His rivals split like a castor,
Restoration Prayers of a pastor?
If Baxter is Shaolin Master,
Why wear the hugest, ugliest plaster,
Around walk with an unsightly wound,
More troubles face from foes ruined;
A headache like plants not pruned
And to clearly longer rests attuned?
Let me, some day, through a newscaster
Learn that China judges Baxter, Shaolin master.
This poem is dedicated to Souper Joyce Johnson! “The Greatest Generation” was penned by newscaster Tom Brokaw in 1998 and became a best seller. This generation is defined as people born between 1901 and 1927 who survived the Great Depression and World War II.
The Great Depression
World War II
Multiple epidemics
Assassination of a president
At 80 Joyce picked up her poetic pen
Joining Poetry Soup, way back then
Lifetime of memories and wisdom she shares
Musings from a woman who loves and cares
Surviving life-changing losses
Burying her parents
Losing her beloved husband
And all her siblings
As her century mark approached, a publisher phoned
Seeking to spread the perspectives Joyce owned
“Lifetime Memories in Verse,” a special archive
Joyce’s poems displayed to keep memories alive
History repeats
From past mistakes we learn
Our “Greatest Generation” is disappearing
Tap their wisdom now
*March 9, 2021
For Line Gauthier’s “Poetry as Legacy” Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Clutching at my dampened sheet,
staring up at alabaster,
I hear voices from the street,
I see faces in the plaster
Oscillating fans repeat
phrases set to fast or faster
My TV transmits discreet
messages through one newscaster
As I do the wash again,
I can faintly hear a choir
singing in the final spin
One word cycles from the dryer
Taking note at breakfast when
eggs act as a clarifier
for the face of Christ therein,
I consume my edifier!
I'm aware I recognize
traits that I, myself, have got
- noises, noses, voices, eyes -
whether they are there or not
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
truth's hiatus
meets a Messiah
broken promise
June 2, 2020
After the wind stops blowing
We will pull down the shades
The thunder rumbles past our yellow, one story apartment.
Standing close to the foamy shores
I can hear the newscaster murmur its warnings of another flash flood watch.
I adjust my headphones, picking up a Vogue to pass the time.
He grits his teeth as he walks the street,
Striking out of fear he cannot explain, trying to ease his pain.
Living in a world he did not create, the outside world cannot relate,
To his struggle, depression and strife, fighting for a normal life.
Knocked down time and time again it is no wonder when,
He strikes out and someone dies and his mother breaks down and cries.
It is his own fault people say, he really wanted it this way,
Live by the gun, die by the gun, no where to hide nowhere to run.
Another one dead the newscaster said,
What is this world coming to, if they only really knew.
What hurdles he faced every single day searching for dignity along life’s way,
Staying alive if he can, this angry young man.
Going Deep within an Emotion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sheri Fresonke harper
6/4/19
I’m dancing with an angel
I’m dancing with the devil
The very first day your lips and mine met
We savored the moment, for what came next
Caused a big problem, a big disaster
Bombs falling down, even the newscaster
Had to get a glimpse of beautiful life
Gone wrong, the touch of Cupid and Psyche
I never thought I was not good enough
Even you, my lover, had not enough
You found another lover, but secret
Broke up with her, but still so secret
Only when moving did I find you out
Crying, telling me that all was now out
Happy days are now gone, and so are you
With your new girlfriend, your new girl with you
You meet me at parties, whisk me onto
The dance floor, but I’m not sure our love’s true
I’m dancing with an angel
I’m dancing with the devil
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