I’m feeling childish today.
I’ve got my pink socks ankle high.
I’m wearing platform boots to add an inch of height.
My belt sparkles when in contact with a ray of light.
I just set up my camera, everyone, watch me shine.
I’d play music and dance in the rain at night.
It’s a beautiful distraction from the lows of life.
I met a girl today, she said hi and smiled.
I’ll remember it when it’s time to sit and cry.
It’s sundown again, and the darkness creeps in.
No rain today, so I put on shades.
Can’t let anyone see the red in my eyes.
The music will carry me through — when I listen, time flies.
I’m not secure enough to open up to people.
I usually wait it out, till the feeling is neutral,
till it’s grey lights and auditory exclusions,
till it’s headaches, numbness, and seclusion.
I can’t remember what a heartbeat feels like.
I can’t remember what I want to feel like.
Once a while, when I’m feeling childish,
I act out emotions, like a ‘print and publish.’
~Running the Gauntlet ~
Simplistic in its structure…
Nearly amateurish…
Unpolished attempt…
Superficial…
Facile…
Without subtlety…
Nonsensical…
Journalistic attempt at prose…
Lack of complexity…
Unimaginative…
The underlying message is vacuous…
Unsophisticated…
Puerile attempt…
Your submission is not appropriate at this time…
Not for us…
Not the right fit…
Not quite right for this publication…
We invite you to submit more…
Do you have any other work we could consider…
Your style is unique…
Our interest is piqued, however…
Enjoyed your work and would like to move forward…
Please submit the first fifty pages…
Thank you for your work we will be publishing…
It is fast becoming rampant,
The whole thing: perfect irritant:
Baring screened-off contents of pants
Guilty: old dames and debutantes
And these pants are exorbitant,
Uncomplaining buyer brilliant!
Freedom continues to seeds plant
Crossed Christians turning militant,
Who would wearer waste or her pants,
New growing mistrust of fired rants,
Towards shaming violence slant
No more to assaults an “I can’t.”
But what would women establish
In pants that their contents publish?
Were I to compile all my poems
I’d surround myself with six or eight great tomes
And watch the age of yellow slowly creep
On poems with which no one would share a peep.
I fantasize of picking out the best
But then, what would I do with all the rest
For in their moment they were dear to me
How shall I place them now, one two or three?
We met and in consensus did agree
Upon the only way that it could be
That each should hold its place within my heart
For it’s just one long poem from end to start.
John G. Lawless
©12/8/2022
Publish I His glorious deeds, among the nations;
I will write
and I will sing His songs;
Publish His words and glorious deeds
among the nations;
I will let my light so shine;
O'
and Alleluia
Glory to the most High
Alleluia
to the Sweet by N by
Singing praises to the King
What a joyish offering
I will write poems and songs
To praise Him
Glory and honor
I will publish his glorious deeds,
Sing, write, talk among the nations.
Tell everyone about the amazing things he does
I will write poems and songs
To praise Him
Glory and honor
He's so deserving
O'
and Alleluia
Glory to the most High
Alleluia
to the Sweet by N by
Alleluia
Alleluia
Singing praises to the King
What a joyish offering
Tell everyone about the amazing things he does.
Alleluia
Alleluia
Alleluia
Alleluia
3/11/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
From "Praise Worthy"
1 Chronicles 16:24
The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
Dear Ed: I don’t understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I’m brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!
Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who’s dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!):
since he’s plagiarized Unknown, I’ll wager!
Publish Rubbish Horn Limerick
In newspaper many things may publish
And most of them were pure rubbish
Trump kind and considerate have heard
And in his vocabulary is no such word
For him to go away we sure do wish.
Jim Horn
Within that rule of thumb
that I am vanquished, yet among
majorities ~ the role's succumb
I cast it not ~ the vote's benumb?
Acceptance core ~ I take the floor
objecting, by what's evermore
the scoundrel's choice, is his rapport
so in my station ~ file encore!
Admonishing by gains restore
the underdog of faith's implore
is greed ~ and tools its own abhor
creating havoc ~ to have more!
The time be right ~ the writer's chore
in all directions ~ leverage store
the composition of truth's score
is now's own lesson ~ reaching for!
Composure ~ let us write and pour
out our aggressions ~ published o'er!
Now first things first
Right a out a manuscript
(Well duh!)
Next...
Prepare it exactly how you want it
(Like I'm going to prepare it any different)
After that...
Have somebody eDiT your storu
(Yeah because I want to have mistakes in it)
Then...
Find a good publishing company
(No, I think I'll try a bad one)
Later...
Send in your copy
(No I'd rather just publish it magically)
Next...
Wait for a reply
(At this point people tend to over eat)
Finally...
Get a response
(Good or BAD)
GOAL!!
Yes you have reached your goal!
(Haha that's what you think)
This is what the average publishing site says, ha ha they make it seem so easy, and who are they to say our
goal has been met, they have no idea if their obvious steps have helped or hurt. Had fun writing this one!*
You want me to write in metaphors
Twist meaning to fit the rhyme
Make the word count perfect
So many beats in time.
Use words out of context
Which have nothing really to say
My plain style not good enough
So change it or go away
So should I write my offerings?
Just like what follows now
Substitute fatalities, cowering yellow
Within the confines of a sacred cow
Oppressive vision of Babylon towers
Secreting liquid words of wisdom
Tie-dyed to fit the morning headlines
Career advice for the enslaved kingdom.
Does anyone understand what that meant?
Does anyone really care?
So long as “they” think it fits
They’ll publish all your wares
I’ll not pig at the trough
Just to please the critics
I’ll write for the “common” man
After all, they're not so parasitic.
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