Gossip is junkfood-
Cheap talk dressed up like a
Meal,
Served by people who stay
And seasoning them
Hungry
For somebody else's
Downfall.
It hits quicks
Salty,
Messy,
Leaves the tongue filled
In things you can't swallow
Back
People snack on rumors
Like chips in a defective
Bowl,
Crunching half-truths
And seasoning them-
With their own self-doubt.
They pass around
Somebody's pain
Like hors d'oeuvres
At a party they weren't invited to.
But I spit fire now-
Clean fire,
Classy fire,
The kind that burns off
Nonsense
Without lowering itself
To their level.
I don't eat lies
I don't serve them.
I don't sit at tables
Where truth is elective.
Gossip is junkfood-
All flavor, no value,
All noise, no weight
Truth though...
Truth is a plated dish,
Made slow,
Made with hands
That know precisely
Who they 're feeding.
I’ve seen tears fall on marble floors,
Where golden gates hide silent wars.
Where perfume masks the ache inside,
And sorrow wears a suit of pride.
I’ve heard laughter in a leaking hut,
Where doors creak but hearts stay shut
Only from the cold, not love or fear—
Because even hunger feels warm here.
In mansions, beds are soft and wide,
But many sleep with pain inside.
Servants come at every call,
Yet no one’s there when teardrops fall.
In thatch-roof homes with broken chairs,
They pass around both food and prayers.
And though the pot may not be full,
Their joy makes every moment whole.
One cries in silk with diamonds near,
The other laughs with goats in ear.
The world may choose the flashing light,
But peace lives where the stars are bright.
So weigh the gold, but weigh it true:
Is comfort worth the peace it drew?
For what is wealth, if soul must bend?
It’s better joy with less to spend.
Tidal connection,
wild flowers woo a Clownfish;
Anemone bond,
give in give up a little;
Flourish and flow together.
Seeds of ambrosia,
birds fight over leftovers;
Mammals with munchies
pass around shareable plates;
It’s never polite to gorge.
Dancing Bryony
playing both sides of the coin,
grant don’t play my wish;
Trusted you with a secret,
don’t drown my faith in poison.
Peak of abundance,
blushed pizazz peppers the air;
Cherry Blossom blooms,
so whimsically festive;
Big shot missed their own party.
Calia purple,
always makes an impression;
Moths flock to its flame;
Hot swells of a royal shade,
such enticing perfection.
Honeyed Ambretta,
the taste of a Summer fling;
Perennial blast,
enjoyed but over too soon;
Sweet seasonal time share.
Regardless of my mother's death,
One hope, obduracy, and words otiose breath
The wheels of progress never stop turning
The times shift, and my sad heart is yearning
The world continues to burst forth in beauty
To regain faith, one can never flout divine duty
Lemons had just started to turn yellow
The sky is azure, and there are plains in view
Conjointly to the bewildered trout
Somehow, the spark of passion faded out
Even as yearning is freed from restraint
I saw years slip by without one complaint
There is still plenty of love in us to pass around
I can stand with my feet sustained on the ground
And savor the peaches as a warm embrace
Where the imprint of love may leave a trace.
Written: May 26, 2023
we pressed our noses ‘gainst the restaurant glass
for we were just tossed out upon our ass
cuz we forgot our Covid vaccine pass
becoming citizens - now second class
a passerby informed us that our masks
were not up to their intended task
that we shouldn’t pass around our flask
within sight of the warm and steamy glass
the police were called to move us on our way
we insisted that we had the right to stay
assembled as a group of friends at play
they tasered us much to our shocking dismay
so let this be a lesson to your face
they’d rather that you keep your mask in place
tried to sip your drink with slurp-less grace
quickly left to clear another space
John G. Lawless
©1/14/2022
I will probably be late to my own funeral.
The day before I was born
I was clinging to my tree
like a sleeping monkey.
Being human is to shed skins
each day. Being human
is to know that you are not,
while acting as if you are.
Those skins are slippery,
bananas' left for others to slide upon,
and they will just make folks mad at you,
so be tidy.
You are a mighty onion
and inside your many layers
a real human awaits
your last grand peeling.
Be good, and always pass around
your best wine.
Me? I'm still swinging
from the tree of life eating bananas,
but I am as human as I can get
for a person with nothing much
to preach.
All Dreams Deferred
By Sy Roth
Bilious, they lay there in a somnolent heap
Dreams imprisoned.
Langston toed them, and lethargically they wiggled
But could not rise from the ashes of their sadness.
The dreams that once took residence
Wallow now in unfilled, charmless trifles
Like an uncapped bottle of cheap champagne
Its bubbles let loose into the ether--
A flat, unquenching drink.
Is there yet a miracle in terra infirma---
A thorned crown, stigmata of pierced palms.
Speared middle
To awaken dreams from the icy prisons?
It’s a drain to function
In an eclectic world where all spread a pall over everything,
Hums sad tunes, funeral dirges to dead friends,
Dying in inches
Toward inevitable endings,
Wishing only for a tranquil pass around the Inferno
Only to end up
A wheelchair-bound lump of decaying flesh
With Nordic icy beaches
A hirsute blanket for eternity
Listening to the song of the worms
As they paddle their way through the soil and you
Ingesting your dreams.
It was the first time in years the four of them had been all together.
“Hey, do ya’ll know the riddle of the sphinx?” “This should be our family version.”
“What pouts in the morning, laughs at noon, and cries in the evening?”
“That’s an easy one, our mother.” “Or how about this one, what praises you in
the morning, berates you in the afternoon, and beats the living hell out of you
in the evening?” “That’s right our father.”
“Let it go ya’ll, they’re both dead.”
“I disagree, they live on in us.” “We’ve all been tainted by their ways.”
“Hell let’s look at the score.” ”We have two failed marriages and me too afraid to try.” “Three rehab trips and if we’re honest more needed.” “One child in the
Juvenile system and two others are strung out addicts.”
“What a crock of !!” shouts the oldest.
In unison the other three, “Okay dad.”
They stand together in sort of a group hug and pass around a knowing glance
Each of them aware of the battle to overcome being raised
In a home dominated by the tyranny of temper
And decorated with the malevolence of mood.
My heart's full
It overflows
with love.
It's a cauldron
boiling over with
tenderness.
A cup
that is filled
with peace
and kindness.
It's a cup
I pass around to
everyone to drink from
So...
here's to peace and love!
(Yalto)
Date written: 09/15/2019
I originally wrote this for Cindi Rockwell's contest then I realized she only accepts rhyme
You can't miss what never exist
From time of birth you were never around.
Once you do come around.
Your treatment become a pass around
From one chick to another like a harlot house of practice.
You tell your lies for attention and to get laid.
You win they heart and they tell you they need to get paid.
While mother have no clue of your actions in display.
For to me you don't exist for you are a fraction display.
I do not miss you for you are a none existing father.
I am happyer without you then being around you.
Every men around you been living they life like you.
And abuse innocent lives mentally and emotionally.
Doing your dirty deed the same as you.
from my son father and Lord knows who else you plague.
You are a none existing father and happyer without you.
yellow daisy chain
Birkenstocks sandals
ukuleles play
peace sign happy face
a hippie child
1960’s
Woodstock music
pass around bong
free love flowing
bell bottoms
hip-huggers
lava lamp
flower
child
love
Pick a coffee mug
From the glass case. They come in all colors,
Shapes, and designs from all over the place.
I am glad family and friends feel safe and
Snug
As we pull the rush plug
And escape the rat race.
Pick a coffee mug
As we talk we pass around the coffee jug
This helps us to interface.
I am glad family and friends feel safe and
Snug
While sitting around my living room or on
My floor rug
As they drink the warm liquid their hands
Wrap around to embrace
A coffee mug.
It gives my heart strings a tug
To see all these smiling faces.
I am glad family and friends feel safe and
Snug.
As they leave we exchange hugs
And when the next coffee meeting will
Take place.
Pick a coffee mug
I am glad family and friends feel safe and
Snug.
Yellow cabinets, like sunflowers are planted on top of floral walls,
the sink is clean; the lemon scent still lingering in the corners,
the cooker whistles, and the sound echoes excitedly, bringing smiles to the waiters, making Grandma herself hurry to the stove.
The smell of meat overpowers everything; as every second passes by, our mouths salivate childishly.
Awaiting Grandma's voice, soft and sweet, calling us to dinner; a lovely family reunion.
She mixes the curry, places the rice on the table, sets everything in place; a perfectionist.
Round table, for everyone to join, none to miss. Laughters and stories pass around like a bowl of nachos and chips.
Clinks and clanks of utensils and glasses, Grandma's face is lighted up, with love and happiness.
Dirty dishes, finger licking fingers, stained stove, but in the end, for Grandma, it was all worth while; her everyday life story told in short.
Guns are a problem, although you say they're not,
Without a gun please tell me how many kids were shot?
Another senseless shooting, and when these things go down
People get to talking-there's blame to pass around
Some say that we need Jesus put back into our schools;
I have no beef with Jesus; I love the golden rule.
Divorce rates in our countries are at a record high-
Our kids are mad and desparate, we sit back and wonder why.
We can let them read the Bible; and awesome book right there-
Every morning when they show up, they can bow their heads in prayer.
Meanwhile kids are dying because they want to learn
The bullets are still flying-the shooters laugh in scorn.
Guns are a problem, although you say they're not;
Without a gun please tell me, how many kids were shot?
Bullets flying, children dying
How is that ok?
Bullets flying, children dying
Even as we pray.
How many kids were shot?
D H Loewen
03/23/18
There's a colonel in most every town
And chicken he does know
But the youth of today are not finger licking
They're licking of the toads
When they run out of their drugs
They must run out of their minds
When the toad lickers come a licking
Best to run and hide
Yes, they've found a brand new high
When their pot is running low
The poppy fields have all run dry
And the cow patty mushroom is no mo
The city kids head to the swamps
Just hopping at the thrill
Grabbing at amphibians
And licking them at will
With every tantalizing lick
Trippy little colors do they see
Pass around the froggy
For another lick if you please
Makes you wonder what's up
And how can this be fun
When it's obvious
They'll have warts on their tongue
But who am I to judge
As crazy as it looks
Could it be as bad as crack
With one lick and your hooked
I have this nagging question though
That bothers me to this day
Who was the first to lick the toad
And say this taste okay
~ribbit~
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