Every night a well-dressed puppet keeps score.
Of the deaths and casualties of the freshest war.
Some nights the tally is low like a soccer match
Tonight, it's triple digits for the tin soldier man.
On the scorecard are soldiers, civilians and children.
Never the makers of munitions, or wealthy politicians.
What of the wild beasts and dear family pets
Lying twisted and bloodied in virgin bomb pits.
Forgotten in the backwaters of useless battles.
For them a last meal of shrapnel and ear-piercing rattle.
Their names never honored on the marquee.
But they should be-they all should be.
Breathing Room
I feel the strong embracing lift
buoyant and warm around me
calming the waves of hope and fear
joyous within each empty day
inviting me to join the flow
to put my humming mind away
confusion drops a pebble in
the whole mess starts swirling down
scorecard figures dancing up
again and again the name I give it
fails to find the ink to shape it
there is one I call upon
with volumes numbered one to nine
She holds a frozen knife of air
the narrow crimson falls away
a circle of light begins to fade
on my knees I put my finger
over the small remaining dot
No time for liars no time for cheats
scorekeeper kept my scorecard neat
I played the game clean
you used a cheat sheet
you got what you wanted
you'll get what you deserve
now its time to sit back and observe
I didn't do much but flip it in reverse
sorry if everything now is adverse
now watch me grin as I flip it back again
well, what do you know now it's my win.
No Mas, No Mas
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015
Soon after rising my thought process,
Becomes consumed by negativity;
Not what I desire, but what life has bequeathed me,
Perhaps that is all the respect I’ve earned.
Most days, I sit, feeling like a broken man,
Life has knocked me down, but never out,
I have fought a good fight and the final round
Finds me behind on the scorecard,
And about to cry No Mas, No Mas,
And throw in the towel;
Walking all around in the sun and grass
Happy i was to get a job of high class
I worked hard and proved, with men , we are at par.
Now anxious to get reward, waiting for our annual scorecard
"This a big test, me looking kinda shocked
either I get promoted , or I get dropped"
Some one cheated away my rights
with a glowing face and dress dark bright.
The shocking score cut me to the core
The old lady said," the real winner is you if you cry no more"
(thanks to Susan Baquie)
I have always been alone
I have always been the lonely one
In the corner, quiet and silent
Inside of dreams to come
So with determination
I build and build and build
Possessions compounding
Wealth is the only scorecard I know
Now, it’s amassed, and I have it all
So with pride and confidence
I do what anyone should
I must purchase a possession of my desire
I read in the paper of a sale very fine
A Garage sale of many old antiques divine
Within it all is treasure so very deep
A broken heart of golden hopes
I am not sure how one goes about
Such a purchase, of infinite value
I am succumbed with depression and sadness
For all my wealth
I have not the currency to buy this heart
So I burned my money that very night
I learned, there is another currency of delight
I wrote words and music and poetic verse
My Snow White she refuses to awake
Even my heart at the bone it shakes
Vaso the empty vessel of life
Learned there is no currencies at all
To acquire a broken heart
National Enquirer’s the source
When a Tiger’s balls go off course
A scorecard obscene
Of links far from the green
That just might be cause for divorce
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.