Pilfering Poems

Grave Robbing

Where has my smile run off to?

Oh, I don't pretend that it's gone entirely,
that it doesn't make any appearances.
But that's not the dilemma.

It doesn't stay for long,
doesn't have a home here anymore -
and that's what I mean to decry.

When you say that you've broken down
on the side of the road,
it's supposed to mean your car.

Not the wash of memories in the morning,
the pressure smacking you the moment you wake,
the toil of every godless-damned second.

Every day I want nothing more than rest;
but it flees from the sight of me,
cackling at the daily victory of its whim.

I want it back, all of it -
my smile, my sleep...
them.

When folks talk about grave robbers,
usually they mean some nefarious men
desecrating the dead, pilfering the perished.

In my case, the roles are reversed.
The six, the slain, those stolen from me,
while it's not their fault...

They are the thieves.

Tales of the End

Under the dark blue sky
A pavilion drenched in morning dew
Lighted brightly by the saddened  Moon
revealing truth
Drenched in dazzling, tempting lies

In the courtyard are lazing men
Blinded to tomorrow's looming fate
Gambling with broken dreams
And thoughts ,that have started to rot

Blossoming flowers have began to wilt
Her petals dried, littering the yard 
Fading fast, blending with the earth
With every passing Minute 

Rumbling thunder, frightening flashes
Doomsday looming, apocalyptic scenes
Men stubbornly lingering on to faith
That save none from his fate 

Clinging to fairy tales of better ‘morrow 
When time is just a counter for the next sorrow 
Pilfering deep into their marrow
Till their yesterday, becomes a better Tomorrow

of daybreak's dreams

After the sun sets
Before the moon peeks
Coldly over frosted ponds
Daylight hovers behind the curtain
Enjoying a cup of darkness
Flirting with the shadows
Gliding easily across the stage
Hungering for its moment
Irrepressible in its need
Jabbering about night’s ego
Kidding with old stars
Longing for the comeback of
Memory’s yellowed edges
Nighttime’s thieves pilfering
The vibrant vistas
Of daybreak’s dreams

Three Red Lines

Etched across unyielding flesh
One red line
Crimson tears wept
Upon linen fresh

Flitting steel
Lay two red lines
Side by side
Odious reminders of hope denied

Chaotic confusion hidden behind
Penniless pronouns
He, she, him or her
Artless words held by Cruelty's Captor

Three red lines
Blood stained highwaymen
Pilfering the soul
Of life once gained

Those nearby witness
Miserly motility shunning regard
A godless heart
You wait for them to cry?

Hand in hand they stand
Painfully they await
Father and mother together
Reflect upon your fate

Him, her, he or she
Penniless pronouns of an exhausted mind
"Their" life ended
By three red lines

Glass Life

My glass life half empty,
Never like you or them,
Catalyzed by forsaken neglect,
Abandoned with the breeze,
Catapulted into your world of torment,
Sparkling spirit lost its glimmer, 
Ebbing amidst flawed philosophies, 
Breathing cynicism into existence.
Save me from this despondency,
And soothe my demons,
Requisitioning the essence of 
My everything,
Pilfering what I'm meant to be.
Shadows of doubt,
Splintering my quintessence,
Inundated by echoing relics of my past;
Silence these fragmented reflections
That plague me.
Aching for the flicker of a
New dawning, to
Encompass every broken part of me.

Just a Soulless Traveler

I live upon an island without soul
Changing with the shape of rippled dune
Battling the ebb of pilfering tides
Of timeless winds and drifting moon.
I am banished here – by choice,
Hardened to the sting of salty spray
Silenced by the roar of breakers voice.
The tourist come to traipse
Among my distant thought
Though the lessons that they teach
Are never what they sought
For scars that bled for others
Cannot set them free
As they never look within
But always out to sea.
For I am neither lighthouse
Nor buoys sounding gong
Just a soulless traveler
Who hung around too long.

John G. Lawless
©5/7/2022

Ill Leave You To Your Devices

I’ll Leave You To Your Devices
(Thoughts on Phones)
Tom’s Thoughts
11/5/2021

There was a time, when face meetings were nice,
now, our lives are busy, not enough time does exist.
Seems, most are now married to a hand held device,
and each years new smartphone some can’t resist.

When having Lab work done I’m oft found waiting,
Everyone is on phones, is it games they’re playing?
Watching all this quickly becomes quite sedating,
I’m thankful I don’t hear what each one’s saying.

We’ve become couch potatoes with premature pains,
and engrossed in social media which I find taboo.
Technology is pilfering lives, & affecting our brains,
Internet’s down this week and I’m in a virtual stew.
                                       LOL


LOL

What Have I Left

Again, and again
Lips stained by death
Uttering words—dead, dying, gone forever
Incurably cast to eternal rest

Spoken in whispers
Words drenched in tears
Besieged within antiseptic walls
The grim shadow of Reaper again appears

Pandemonium unfettered
Unmasked villains cloaked in watery layers
An ominous choir 
Dancing with ruthless, politicians and liars

A factitious malady
Once bound by walls of glass
Death’s sting unleashed  
Fearlessly pilfering one’s breath last

Loved ones menaced
Peers devoured
Papered masks hiding hopeless lies
How many must die in our darkest hours

From bended knee
To a deadpan god I weep
Cowering behind the inequity of man
What you have sowed, you shall now reap

Fists clinched set before trembling lips 
Eyes strained by everlasting mist
Spewing words not fit for a god
Questioning aloud, did you ever exist

God of mine, unveil the truth 
Ere another dies
Lover, friend or innocent youth
Forbid dear Abba, that it be I

Sorrow in the Land of Desolation
Too often my lips stained by Death
Friends, family…and God now gone
Tell me please, what have I left?

Woke

day one
you woke 
everything you thought you were before you closed your eyes and inhaled the dreams of your twisted line is discovered to be a lie
a falsehood, trickery, fabrication
disappearing behind a cloak of aberration
crawling on hands stuck to scarred wrists
pilfering life from dumpsters of deception
avoiding the glares of incandescent veneer
snubbing red streaked orbs within the mirror

you woke
purity of thoughts
not meant to be shifted, changed, sliced, diced, redefined, realigned
altered by a syringe of soiled crystalline
caressing an ignorant conscious 
boasting to change God’s perfect design
 
you woke
celestial spirits scraping scales from your denying eyes
looking down to discover god created you
to look up knowing
One day, you woke
sober

Little Bit Naughty-Little Bit Nice

Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Mrs. Claus’ pajamas on Christmas Eve.
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.

Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Santa’s ho ho ho sleigh preparing to leave.
Those wayward reindeers, he cattle calls thrice.

Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice,
snacking on the pines — those peppermint thieves,
sticky antlers treading holiday ice.

Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice —
smart boxes and bows make children believe
and grateful parents are good with the price.

Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.
A mischievous elf off the shelf named Steve
is pilfering cookies — they’re Santa’s vice.

One chill boss in a sled would not suffice —
the crazy entourage of Christmas Eve.
Garish and gaudy, a little bit nice,
Little bit naughty with sugar plum spice.

12/3/2020
Deck The Halls Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Joseph May
Checked with rhymezone.com

Taunting Tampered Trail

sane story squashed
worn wanky clashed
wielded wits flung
leering lanky lust
strained sanity snogged
pilfering punctured pawn

voluptuous vie wept
cremating callous crest
bruised biddings belched

pruned passion puked
dark dribbles drooled
clutching crazed clue

wedged wiles wailed
taunting tampered trail.
      '20:05:10:12:00

Note: Of tamed tale.

Ag Cornet Tone

Silver tongue money sign blow
bellow ballast 
moral bankruptcy notes
Reprobate shekel vocal chords
toot the $eductive $ound of the crafty coin jingle — 
Filthy lucre windpipes
utter-ly craving more and more

Tainted dross lips blare grifter bluesy groans, 
lover of the honk heist Tap scale shrill moans

Pied piper pickpocket player  (such a theft bar clone)
blow an Iscariot number
with a snatched purse   pirate dirge   Ag cornet tone

Argentum coffer con-duit
continuously ear play the bandito music,
that Gehazi leer song

Let the pilfering notes fill the covetous air
with a subtil silverware sound ...
Polluted decibel waves b crooked cavalier,
a-plundering thoughts abound —  

Fork tongue reed bark paper lust promises;
empty air promissory echoes,
so wallet stolen wrong

Hidden Hand Inurned

Snake oily palms
got a-plenty 
under the table plans

Synthetic sly reptilian smile
bewitching many
Picking pockets with a hidden hand

Real filthy lucre fingernails 
have the zircon gluttonous glow
that enticingly Endora sells 

Dirty laundered money
boa clutches 
that unclean epidermal soul

Those cobra soundbytes ain’t adder funny,
them sticky finger touches
love taking venom spit control

Dealing so anaconda treacherous 
from the bottom of the deck
Pale poker face don’t wink reveal the poison ivy tell

Diamondback enamel scales
cover thorny digits — 
Five fingers of sleight close the eclipse-colored veil  

Oz-vader gator vice grip
unevenly tilt the bottom line balance
Stolen zeroes get a counterfeit eulogy farewell 

Sympathetic shakes of hollow sincerity
accompany the revenue loss burial
Tainted double-cross lots of empty purse plots

Fervent loan believers only learn
when they forfeiture fit get iron glove squeezed
By the mint hidden hand inurned

Phantom phalanges scratch pilfering churn ...   
fungi finger worms make the dirty green soil toxic turn
Emitting a dollar scent viper vapor burned

Believe

Abandoned! Assaulting winds thrash flailing limbs, 
denuding boughs of golden dress;
gone the gaiety of glowing beginnings
when springtime sun seduced soft soil,
fondling slight buds of green, foreplay in fecund fields.

Forlorn, like a vacant house,
dark windows blankly stare despair,
the fissured dream convulses;
Whistling winds, keening,
“Gone away, gone away . . .”

Where do dreams go when they die,
After the romantic sighs, after the broken-hearted cry?
Does a haven await perished aspiration?
Or is abandoned hope sour fodder
for rodents and insects pilfering?

Gather the wasted twigs, the windswept straw, 
feathered soft with anguish breast plucked raw;
interweave new hope to resurrect cadaverous old.
Truth states roses bloom in desert sand;
believe.

Copyright 11-19-2019

Bennie Arn

He’s the best friend of democracy’s worst enemy ...
spinning white lies, treasonous yarn
Red coat ruby lipstick speak;
seditious bellow larceny,
crafty cerulean sound bytes of ruble treachery

Bennie Arn,
firebrand fox with the silver coin tongue
Got those oval eyes fixating
on the golden eggs in the eagle nest treasury,
Those baby blues 
are crimson code flashing a czar fee:
Robbing Hood disdain is stained red Lenin Commie

Bennie Arn 
keep plenty Ruskie company,
pilfering pals
hiding in the cyber weeds

Ballot box security
has a serious ivory inside bleed
Bennie Arn is selling classified secrets
on a pay-to-never know need
Giving those rotten cluck citizens
digital kernels of 
decayed honesty chickenfeed

He’s the best friend of Lady Liberty’s worst enemy ...
weaving red meat lies, traitorous yarn
Sorry to say,
the Trojan Horse hay is in the barn

White noise seduced by wavy Iscariot charm — 
Freedom woes got Union blue sold
when iron-copper chains
of thought tyranny prickly arose

Raise the white flag,
blow the indigo tone scare alarm
Pay scarlet turncoat tribute to Bennie Arn

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