Henry the hedgehog had a most unusual hat
purchased from a steampunk walrus named Pat
out of the top grew an apple tree with blossoms fine
we followed him as we spoke to orchard growers on the line
Have you ever seen this before? We would ask, showing his hat.
This irritated the usually nice guy and the Walrus seller named Pat.
They accused us of slander and tried to fine us in court.
But it’s not slander if it’s the truth, said the judge, my cousin Mort.
revenge in a pill
gossip needs skill
conversations kill
from a deceitful shill
her hateful thrill
conversations kill
reputations to fill
lies spin in a mill
conversations kill
It only takes a little
Of a potent fear
To poison the well
As that fear grows
Into hate
Which infects
Everyone
Who drinks from it.
Sometimes
No matter how parched
It’s best
To just head on
And find something new
Something fresh.
(2/19/26)
There is a fire stoked deep in the heart,
Abundant in deceit, desperately wicked,
its inferno: a world of sin impart—
Unruly evil, venomous pet.
Nature changed by this inferno of hell,
Untamable friend of the gossiper,
With honeyed words, slander and lies to spell,
The tongue, the tongue, in shouts and whisper.
This talk, this slander, these words that languish,
In pity, in schemes, in curse, in deep water,
Blend not with spring, olives, figs to relish,
Nor with blessings, sweetness, love, and prayer.
So tongue in check, to stumble not in word,
The man, bridled, perfected in the Lord.
She came down screaming, cloaked in flame,
A bolt of spite, no soul to tame.
From hilltop high she cast her spell—
The art of slander, taught too well.
They built her shrines in whispered breath,
In gossip’s grip, they danced with death.
Her tongue, a blade that cuts unseen,
Yet worshiped like some vengeful queen.
She taught them how to twist the truth,
To poison joy, corrupt the youth.
No proof required, no facts to weigh—
Just sharpened words to flay and flay.
I walk beneath her shadowed reign,
Each rumor like a drop of rain.
It floods my name, it stains my skin,
A war I never asked to win.
They speak as if their hearts are stone,
No warmth, no grace, just undertone.
Their minds are mirrors cracked with spite,
Reflecting only what’s not right.
No thought of kindness, no repair,
Just venom laced in vacant stare.
They feed on fear, they starve on hope,
And swing their lies like braided rope.
Yet still I rise, though torn and bruised,
Refusing to be so misused.
For truth, though quiet, holds its ground—
And Slanderella will be drowned.
Since the dawnlight carved my shape from flame/
I have worn your slander like a crown of ash/
You whisper my name like sin, like shame/
But none have known exile on a scale this vast/
They crave my silence, a spectral fade/
But I blaze in defiance, unswayed, unmade/
What crime? My creation? To stand alone/
Bearing the blunt edge of a world turned stone/
You have no clue what I am/
I am the breath you dare not name/
Resilience untainted, forged in flame/
The purest echo before the dawn came/
I will rise, not fall, inherit the dust/
While your false halos crumble into rust/
The most High may rule, but never win/
For I endure, proud in this skin/
I stand upon the highest peak/
Pride not as vice, but truth you seek/
You can not break what you misread/
I am not damned, I am ahead/
You wear your virtue like disguise/
But I see the fear behind your eyes/
And while you cast me in your myths/
I remain, the flame that always is/
When the cold winds blow
And the hostile natives are restless
It’s time to wake up, smell the coffee
And cut your losses.
What is there to push back on, after all,
But the bitter taste
Of someone else’s resentment;
The mighty wind of their off-gassing.
The world is wild and cruel
Even within the treacherous smile of neighbors
When dog eats dog possesses their mind
You find yourself one of the dispossessed.
In this open, exposed and lonely place
Circle the wagons of your resolve
Recognize those you hold dear
And take solace in their love.
(4/13/25)
If you knew what it was about
You would be sure you were a lout
And should I forget it this year
Then, could slanders freely bear
And owner’s defenses hear
And retied knots mark with cold beer…
All about A Name you’re wrecking
And the cheap lies you aren’t checking;
An image a friend is hacking
And the wrong person just backing…
If I should you ask to get out
It would be no mutter- A Shout!
Human perception can vary from man to man
The mist may give us a beautiful scenery
In a strange place it looks like hiding evils and scandals
In politics it is a misty paradox to be revealed
In education we have to clear the misty puzzle
A life of ignorance is like wandering in mist and having a muddle
A misty love affair never fulfils a promise
Similarly
We men with limited perception
May not understand God
And so any slander is prohibited
I hear the vile words that,
Penetrate my heart like a,
Knife destroying my soul.
My integrity and character,
We're judged and dragged thru,
The Mud like I was a piece of trash.
Never did I ever comprend that,
They would treat me like a,
Traitor in my own country.
But those I've served with,
They know my dedication to,
The Army.
They know I would stand and fight,
As the bullets fly by my head.
Our motto is Duty, Honor, Country.
I bow my head as the tears flow,
Not understanding the betrayal I hear.
A soldier has to turn their,
Cheek and bear this disrespect,
Because we made an oath,
To protect our citizens.
Once a soldier always a soldier.
Our oath is indefinite and etched,
In our soul-this is the soldier's creed.
These words will forever be,
Burned in my heart.
I know that my brother's and,
Sister's will always have my 6,
That I will never doubt.
An incredibly bad cartoon
Shows the wife beneath a tycoon
Though inopportune
She will see at noon
Solicitor Peter Balloon
I cannot help wondering about Vivaldi.
Antonio was a priest they say,
a cleric of the cloth.
I can’t help surmising
when as a young man
at the Ospedale della Pieta,
(a home for foundlings
and the training of musically inclined
female wards).
I wonder about all that fiddle playing
with an orchestra of young ladies
and him, the red-headed priest
with all that passion and élan.
wanting to express himself
in so many ways
with a strong and vibrant bow
and all those ladies.
Giants and grandeur, the paltry cannot bear
In their defamation, they will write and repair
Atop the high horse, they brag and blare
But end up lackeys stripped of flair!
"Woven are these pages in poetic verse,
With bare threads of our deepest feelings,
You will find laughter, tears and remorse,
and words of wisdom, prayer and healings."
Slander blossoms, having no real root;
critics water down truth with vexation.
Taking issue with points that are moot
they harvest lies and fabrication.
Words poetic strung herein, writers weave
musings borne on inspiration profound.
Stanzas sewn, grief and joys cleave;
Succor, pleas, and vision here abound.
March 29, 2020
Krish R poetry anthology contest.
first stanza written by Krish Radhakrishna
Wicked whispers, like hisses,
slithered throughout the office
when the disliked departed for the day.
Rotten hysteria blared
like beastly blasts.
Louder their voices leaped
as they could see that she was gone.
Like following lost sheep,
on and on they'd bleep
about her crazy ways,
her annoying voice,
her ogre odor,
her misfit outfits and
a myriad of mindless ramblings.
My conscience wanted to stop them,
to stomp on their every word,
but my speech was stilled
in impactful silence.
Suddenly she scampered back,
secretly weaving toward
her forgotten sweatshirt,
draped upon her rolling chair
where whispers
gnawed like moths.
She grabbed it with a snap
then whisked away.
I wondered, with
empathic embarrassment,
how much damaging slander
she had overheard.
12-13-19
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