Ventura Court house
Security and after hours staff incite riot of aggression in dialogue opposition of resignation to free speech.
Forceful removal of citizens rights from bus terminal.
Bus terminal is not private property nor property of security uniform laborer.
Threat of deputy assist used.
Failure of staff to comply with law.
#realdonaldtrump #cagovernor #asmirwin #repbrownley #tonybiasotti #aoc #elizabethwarren #berniesanders #nytimes #latimes
At will employment statement
You touch me.
You stare at me.
You think I'm your private property.
I'm supposed to like that?
In childhood, you teased me.
You told me I was weak.
That no boy will ever like me if I stay a geek.
And I'm supposed to take that?
Your opinions oblique.
Me caring; at its peak
Me silenced; I still speak
You're in the shadows, where you creep.
The core of basic freedoms
Is the freedom to transact
This underpins the other rights
In the Magna Carta pact
The crux is private property
To use, or hold, or trade
Our time, our land, our energy
Our work - our fortune made
King John was forced to sign it
Holding tyrants to account
So that we can all stand free
With our liberty paramount
Why, in all our nations dear
Have freedoms flown away?
Due process rashly flung aside
As prisoners, we must pay
Now Bitcoin rises to sustain
Our freedom to transact
A bastion of private property
No matter how oft attacked
So steady - up and onward
For our freedoms, stand exact
At the root of other freedoms
Lies the freedom to transact
The water looks so inviting,
walking on private property;
Hanging out by the boats at night,
going where we have never been;
‘Keep Out!’ sign exhilarating!
We could hop in but have to flee;
Mellow out under the moonlight,
feeling the waves lap at our skin;
Clothing disappears not in sight;
Skinny dipping is forbidden.
In Florida, we take a walk
Adjacent to the bay,
With stunning views and gorgeous homes
We pass along the way.
Each house has land across the path
With water access, plus
A swath of lawn with chairs or swings
Which aren’t meant for us.
For signs say “Private Property,”
In other words, keep out!
Some also read “No Trespassing”
In case we were in doubt.
At least we get to see the bay
And all that goes with it,
The balcony in our hotel
A lovely place to sit.
We thought it would last forever,
not a kink in the endless chain of supplies;
Now more than the store shelves
are coming up continuously empty;
Still the menu is good to change,
maybe get out grandma’s old recipe;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;
We thought it was just gonna go away,
the trucks would always deliver more eggs;
Then omelettes became a luxury item,
‘Snickers’ were all we could afford or find;
Starvation ended with ‘We are the World.’
Western civilization? That’s impossible;
North America is flooded with resources;
Regrow endless crops on soil rich land;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;
Bottom of the barrel no trash to steal;
Private property gardens, no trespassing;
Outlaws armed with skills and dirty hands,
Off grid not for sale, can’t steal from them;
The wealthy can get whatever they need,
or so the one percent always thought;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist.
I construct them
And lay them everywhere
As man builds a fence
To prevent intruders
To guard his property
So I also do with my heart.
It's a necessary evil
All in the name of protection
We must be ready
We must be prepared
Like a watchman at dawn
To diligently protect
That which we value most
Some do not respect our boundaries
Do they not see them
Do they have need to enter so desperately
That they ignore the warning
Private property! Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Is there any leniency
Any exceptions to who can enter in
Is anyone granted access
Or must they forcibly try to enter
There is more than one way to be raped.
So we struggle
In the blindspot
To push back those who seek to enter
Unbeknownst to us
I lay boundaries
I am not sure as to whether
It's to keep you out or let you in.
It was 1857, civil tension on the rise,
And the dialogue on servitude found little compromise.
Justice Taney cited precedent in making his decree:
“A slave is not a citizen; it’s private property.”
Nine old white men in a smelly, smoke-filled room;
Nine old white men won’t be granting freedom soon.
It happened end of century, in 1896,
When Plessey versus Ferguson administered the fix.
Majority opinion took a Jim Crow frame of mind,
John Harlan’s lone dissent implored, “We must be color blind!”
Nine old white men reckoned Jesus on their side.
Nine old white men ruled which railroad car you’d ride.
The end of war meant ’54 might promise better days.
With "I like Ike" and Howdy Doody masking our malaise.
The case came from Topeka; Warren took the Court to school.
Unanimous opinion would uphold the Golden Rule.
Nine old white men long delivered of their youth,
Searched their souls and found a universal truth.
Nine old white men not afraid to make a change
In the land of the free and the home of the strange.
The arc that bends toward Justice
May be daunting and prolonged,
But tends to sooth the progeny
Of those who have been wronged.
Pious observation
of my private property
ought to keep it
beyond the sign
'all strangers are welcome'
which was put on in
four languages before
the rampage.
Does it speak English
and should I try sign language?
Drifting further from my mind,
desperate, out of breath, is
the sign of God that pointed me
to the righteous path, lost
in the fog of moment, the
labyrinthine disconnections
and the void in between.
Tonight my faith is
sleeping alone, yet something
is grabbing its attention,
my need to keep it close
something warm to grab
and keep going with
my epic struggle to put up
a new sign on my lawn:
Coronavirus Not Welcome.
Fugitive thoughts cancel out
fear.
Separate tables
He came sat down like they should be old friends.
Do I know you, she said?
Yes, we were lovers once.
Long pause.
Yes, I remember, but you have gone fat and bald
I thought of you as an *******.
You are a wrinkled old shrew, thought.
We had some fun, he said.
For you, it was,
You would let me touch your , said it was
Private property, she said.
My dear, it was a joke, he said
You are a pompous old bastard, she murmured for
No reason at all.
He stood up to give her a piece of his mind, but
The dinner bell rang.
They ate at separate tables.
Bamboozlement, a joy to thy heart
And thou gloat at their misfortunes
Maliciously misleading them with tricks
Bury this private property, a plea
Otherwise, you'll earn thy pay in full
One's joy comes from good wishes
Zap thy zest for schadenfreude
Let go of those wanton moral filths
Embrace the joy from good wishes
Maintain my moral message and
Enjoy big in a little planet
Never should thou forget
The day of thy sepulchre sleep
Love trumps hate,
and if rioting in the streets destroying private property,
filthy and disgusting foul language shouted and painted on signs
that small children can easily hear and read,
combined with threats of blowing up a government building
regardless of how many innocent people are inside
doesn’t prove it,
then nothing does.
Don’t you just LOVE it?
What’s that old saying about the pot calling the kettle…….
Every day another woman gets killed by their mate, sliced, chopped and hacked
What is going on with these men,
When did a woman’s vagina become your private property?
You can cheat but she can't
You can move on but she can't
What the hell is that
According to you ...you own her life just because you shared a night
Big Man ...young boy ...stop killing our women, she has the right to move on
You can sleep with 10 other women but as soon as you think it's over you take a knife and slit her throat…seriously…what is good for the goose is for good gander …she can love another
You call that love…cheating with 10 others …she’s not your private property
You don't have the right to her life just because you shared a child ...when it’s over, it’s just over ...you don't have the right to her life
Big man ...young boy ...stop killing our women, she has the right to move on
I turned on the news and saw
people rioting in the streets,
burning the American flag,
destroying private property,
smashing windshields,
attacking innocent people,
screaming and ranting,
displaying so much hate
towards those who don’t share
the same thoughts and
ideas they do
and I was disgusted,
wondering why the news
had to always show things
that were happening
in the Middle East
until I realized
it was California
what the hell is wrong with people?
The Unlocked Creaky Gate
The giant iron gate creaked
At the touch of my feverish hands.
Without permission
I unbolted the unlocked gate.
Sweaty forehead, numb hands,
Iced feet, my stomach tightened,
The palpitation of the heart
Grew loud and clear
Like a death knell echoing.
Strange isn't it?
Dragging my frozen torso
I walked on the grey cobbled pathway
Quickly turning round the shroudy hedge way,
Wondering what drew me here?
Trespassing into unguarded private property
Was not my forte.
De routing beyond the boundary of time,
Especially when I was hard pressed
With the temporal affairs,
Made me more nervy and jittery.
Which lesson of life was ahead
Before the daylight shut out of my eyes?
An invisible hand held my pain awhile.
The heart went back to its pocket,
Calmness transcended over the nerves,
The blood uncurled till the body warmed.
In a flash, without the blink of an eye,
Both hands lifted me off my herculean feet-
Since when had I become so light?-
Whispering,' I have your missing piece of heart'.
December20, 2015
Contest: Any Poem
Sponsor : Broken Wings
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