Cigarette Smokers
In a world tainted by pollution and smog you're adding to the problem
Please don't think for a second that electric cigarettes will solve them
Cigarettes wouldn't be half bad if they just took the smoker out
It isn't fair that it kills those who wouldn't put one to their mouth
Parents smoke but would brake out in a rage if their children tried
What if each pack kept up with the growing number who died
Each smoker fails to realize what they smell and look like
The x-rays of their lungs to the doctors must be a horrible sight
They should ask themselves if this nasty habit is worth dying over
Are they recognizing with each puff their calling death much closer
What ingredients makes up the tobacco anyway
I heard rat poison makes up some of it so is that ok
Who's worse, neighborhood drug dealers or the tobacco company
They both make money from the lives they take if you're asking me
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
if I
only
knew that
all it
took was
one more
glance, then…
I might
have stopped
to see
if that
quick spark
might flare
again
but the
moment’s
gone, it
went too
soon, and
I do
regret
still I
search the
same old
streets for
eyes I’ll
never
forget
One woman's glass ceiling is another man's wood floor
but there's no such thing for a second-class citizen
of a third world country
as
there's no moving up gender is against her
sexual orientation too considered 'half a witness'
in testimony
with
neither voice nor choice can't vote
or
leave home alone
unless
with consent
can't emigrate (passport permission required)
and
as for caste if she were a Dalit
(lowest of the low)
there's nowhere to go
so
between me and you, flee, be a refugee,
what's a poor girl to do?
The sun beat down for two hard seasons long,
Their land was parched, where grass grew strong
Near death went by, and whispered a sigh,
Beneath a vast and empty sky
Watching the dust, with a heavy heart,
And wondered why, as life fell apart
Confused, we questioned, every day,
Why did Mother turn and look away
Then sudden tears from skies above,
A gentle deluge, filled with nourishing love
The heavens wept, a soaking grace,
Washing the world, at their own pace
The thirsty ground drank deep and slow,
Remade; this sleeping garden grows
And lilacs shy, with branches bare,
Woke to the moisture, in the air
They pushed new buds, a sweet delight,
Though autumn winds began with might
A second bloom, a purple gleam,
Gifts of a rare white; unexpected dream
It was so hot, my features melted off my face.
It was so hot, my body blistered in every place.
It was so hot, because an angel stoked the fire
to keep hell hotter than a funeral pyre
for all those who'd died outside the state of grace.
I saw the second law of thermodynamics
loosely applied to my ceramics.
A tremor knocked my statue of Jesus to the floor,
and now He doesn't have a head anymore.
And the devil is in ecstatics.
In buses, on bikes, as passengers in Ubers
Faces blur and deeds collide.
Sprint down streets, stuck behind the slow,
always in passing I see stories unfold.
Quick check behind in case of cars,
None in sight but there's a beep.
Cyclists are invisible to pedestrians with places to be.
Taxi beeps at taxi and beeped at hops out
To harass the beeper with a wagging finger.
Apology, apology, I demand apology!
Delivery driver on a monster truck e-bike;
Near miss with a clueless tourist.
It's all too much for one man to keep.
I try to write them as they happen
but seconds pass and the moment is gone.
Passing, always passing, these moments with people
that we'll never know
but for a second,
laid bare on their face is themselves
whole and complete.
Each day has a second to be remembered.
Gather them, pick them, stuff them in your pockets.
Each day has a second for us all.
The Second To The Last Straw
Just Forgiving One More Time,
This Isn’t A Super-Wide Camel's
Back With A Minor Tolerance In Mind.
The Conditions For Unconditional
Can Quickly Toughen Love To Scars.
There Maybe Something Out Of
Place I Can Rearrange…
Ummm,
Depending
How
You Really
Are.
Nope.
Whatever.
Closed.
Sorry.
-Gray Squirrel
07-27-2025
If I ever had to live with regret
It would be the choice I made
That day just past midday
When the world dropped its mask.
There I stood adrift in thought
Drowning in a tide of anger
Sinking beneath my own silence
Wounded by what I didn’t know.
If I could build a softer clock
I’d turn its hands back gently
To the moment I saw you and him
But this time, I would ask.
I’d ask who he was, not assume.
I’d listen instead of walking away.
Can we return to that unspoken hour?
This time, I won’t choose pride over love.
All that awaits
are the memories
All that’s left
still unclaimed
All that I treasure
lay buried inside
All in those choices
— unmade
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
A heart's silent scream,
Yearning for the ghost of hope,
Each dawn brings despair.
Shadows weave around,
Promises of what could be,
Yet they fade like mist.
Ripples on still lakes,
Memories whisper my name,
But never reply.
Time's cruel embrace tight,
Days stretch, heavy with loss,
Each breath weighs a ton.
Wish for stars to fall,
To grant wishes left unmade,
But they just burn bright.
Hope's ember flickers,
In the ashes of desire,
Fates twisted and cruel.
The ass on high protein diet
Thinks he can really fight the beast
The beast has lost his instincts and
He is struggling to just live
The genius is being mocked
Mediocrity is being preserved
Monk is yelling abuses
The preacher is moaning in the jail
The poet prophecied of "second coming"
I can just cry for him to arrive
Must every second always count
eyes focused on the prize
Must purpose color our every act
‘til every vista’s funereal black
Second Thoughts**
Falling in love with someone you can never truly be with can be haunting. We hide behind filtered photos—wearing a smile, using body language as our shield. As poets, we feel deeply; we observe and express our emotions through the words we write.
My heart is weary—so weary. (Elizabeth Browning) Our tone reveals more than we realize, and readers often interpret it in unexpected ways.
Endless love can inspire gratitude, but it is peace and happiness that nourish my soul. Do I trust myself enough to open my heart to another? Loving someone who remains out of reach is perilous, a slippery slope indeed. Once more,
I question whether I can surrender to another based solely on a smile. Should I confess that I have fallen and feel unable to rise again?
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