So Instagram is a sham
Everyone seems smitten
With posts about a kitten
Or hosts who hate Britain
Or boasts so badly written
Toasts flam & are all bitten
Goddam is just like spam
Famalam use as a babysitter
Wham bam for any dimwitter
Won’t scram will be a big hitter
Instagram is just glam glitter
Oh please look at me vanity
Narcissist wheeze is insanity
Tease with another profanity
Disease crippling all humanity
Pedants on pews lives fritter
Algorithm queues like twitter
Bottom feeder ruse you critter
Needier travesty tapestry knitter
Greedier fuse lit & now shi*ter
Seedier impropriety just litter
Social media a society splitter
Notoriety trolls scrolls flitter
Anxiety but folks will still titter
Piety for botox you’ll be fitter
Ham it up cash cow AI lie spitter
Kowtow get no views so just bitter
Kapow a scam not some Ashram
Stop cropped photoshopped slop
They cram in a half baked pitta
Instagram is bust and just a sham
at times,
I wish to unspin the sun’s thread—
to weave again the days I’ve torn,
perfect each flaw, unmake each thorn,
and paint life’s griefs in golden stead.
but maybe, the sky must bruise to bloom,
the rain must fall to birth perfume;
perhaps the soul learns more by breaking,
and beauty sleeps in hearts still aching.
so let it be—
this endless sea of rise and rest,
of grief and gain, of trial and test;
for life, in all its flawed design,
remains a miracle—divine.
Scam,
Beware sinister sham,
Damn!
When you came
I kissed the thunder
under the over-bridge
of Tiger passing plaza
The tea smoked the pains of
mumbling slogans of the passersby
On the neck of the naked sky
the toxic lips of white clouds
dappled the bloodshed napkins
No room for memory to reap
the chain in the yellow book
to recall the stolen verses of trunks
By the cadence of borrowed emotion
now everything is the bubbles of dew
© Mahtab Bangalee/Feb'25
Pull the wool over our eyes
Exploit your bully pulpit
Ha, ha! Even ‘Wooly Bully’
is relatively young ~
It's not the culprit
___________________________
'Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs'
were a 'one-off' pop group of the
mid-1960's. Their hit was titled
'Wooly Bully,' some kind of dance.
Drift not from helping hands,
Who knows where one lands;
Allow not around chorus gangs
Who fly when tough times bang.
Oh, what a Sham, a fragile charade..
A hollow masquerade we choose to parade.
Truth submerged in the depths of deceit..
Masks of deception, veiling hearts deplete.
In the shadows we dance, oblivious to the game..
But within the Sham, souls suffer in shame.
Dare we unmask, reveal our truest self?
Or forever be lost... beyond reach... beyond help?
Oh, what a Sham, a fragile charade..
A hollow masquerade we choose to parade.
Truth submerged in the depths of deceit..
Masks of deception, veiling hearts deplete.
In the shadows we dance, oblivious to the game..
But within the Sham, souls suffer in shame.
Dare we unmask, reveal our truest self?
Or forever be lost... beyond reach... beyond help?
Glorious world with sacrilegious act.
Untamed people with staled facts.
Courageous ones are dismantled for instance,
Fictional ones are too fiction to rant.
Vigorous thoughts following with stance.
Humorous ones are hard to track.
Smart ones are too much for a glance.
Cynical ones, they never last.
Forecasting weather with a chance.
Hoping for a future with an incapability to adapt.
Drafting dreams while breaking pacts.
Hard-earned life is always up for the chat.
This world is a nuisance to be exact.
Sham the Leprechaun
Sham the leprechaun went to a pub
For some tasty St Patrick's Day grub
Then danced jigs fantastic
Quite enthusiastic
Did the splits, stuck like it, there's the rub.
The landlord said "Auld Sham's now a crock
And the silly old beggar's in shock"
Sadly, I'm not jokin'
His legs won't be closin'
He can't jig now, but boy, can Sham rock.
For Saint Patrick’s Day 2021
* * *
Add on
Sham the leprechaun was an acrobat
He did backflips and the splits on a mat
Those days are long gone
Bones aches and so on
While out with friends, he didn't think about that.
Written by: Alexis
* * *
This shadow that I see with my back turned to the sun.
He represents me without fault and does not show my thinning hair
or blemish on my skin that's there, or any hidden thing,
or any other secret thing that's hiding deep within.
My shadow is the perfect mimic, knowing what it means to show the one who'd rather not be seen, who knows the look of squeaky clean,
and how to represent his Christ in just the way his Christ would like.
A disguising life, a respected man of God, and wife.
And while my back is turned my back is burned by scorching sun
'til midday cast will mean my shadow's fast retreat,
until my shadow's last deceit, until my shadow's full defeat,
and I and it are one.
And so I turn my face, I turn to face the Son,
a work of grace that won't relent 'til darkest shadow fades
and softens in that light of grace, that grace now long begun,
revealing not the dark within,
but beloved all along.
With every religion…
to share in the blame
Masking out God,
in costumes of shame
Seeking to own
what they can’t understand
A covetous folly
—a heavenly sham
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2019)
A head's glance
And a soul's dance
Compels a heart's trance
A trance so deep
Reality goes to sleep
And fool's golds drip
Fools fools fools
O how one falls
And the other lies
Then reality reigns
And sorrow rains
Now, suffer the pains.
Trust not love... Again I say.. Hate love.
Happiness is fake
It's an illusion made by...
Those who see the world
Those who see the world...
See the mistakes made by God
Those who see the world...
See our own darkness
See the darkness in us all...
See, our own mistakes...
Pinion opinion
Lock it in the firmament of mind
In passion – master of all deep within its throes
In repose – a lissome and enthralling mistress on a languid sojourn
At evens – a subjective and celestial splendor
At odds – an objective and vile besmirch upon reason
And yet …
Nail it to the cross you bear and
Bare it to the world you cross then
Wear it like a nightingale that
Sings its virtues to the lost until
… it changes
Then rinse … and repeat
Written 05/24/218 for “Eight word challenge-4 Poetry Contest” contest by John Hamilton
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