Beware of your surroundings at all times,
inside some hearts, are darkened chimes.
To God be true, to thyself the same,
trust and believe in Jesus name.
For good people, are surely their prey,
so to the Lord, we should truly pray.
To walk in goodness, with each step we take,
and to know the real, from the fake.
Always watching, because shadows will appear,
for they gather round, with smoke and mirror.
To kill, to steal, and to destroy you and me,
for in their hearts, is no love, you see.
So be watching and praying, and always be aware,
there are those shadows, who do not care.
Writers write to master the minds
like mine to master, be thines,
5th century Greek writers Patriarch
Herodotus, Thucydides and Plutarch.
They savor the flavor, 'Land Battles', be
Persia and Greece, intro 5th century.
Persian priests', called it magosh, then,
Greeks termed the word magoi when
it changed to mageia and then magika,
hence, precedes that illusion, magical.
The battle itself was a point of focus,
but in reality, 'twas an uprising tempest,
all that matters merely meant confusion,
purpose the word, magic, sort of illusion.
At the start, a keen preceptor will take,
while the rest, smoke and mirror, mistake
goal to amuse, jam and jelly seize a fainted
a riddle connects the dots, numbers painted
a true picture of the taken as the takers smile
'MAGIC', those who knew & misknew, worthwhile.
Annoying Annalise does whatever she can to bother her class.
Smoke and mirror she uses are loud, annoying, and a little crass.
Her teacher is beyond knowing exactly what to do.
Annalise has been bothering people since the age of two.
She wants attention, but her parents are workaholics who are busy.
They are in enough sports and 10K runs to make you an athlete dizzy.
Annalise gets so little attention at home, she goes nuts at school.
Poking, prodding, slapping, sticking, following no golden rule.
Teachers have encouraged Annalise’ parents to get her into softball.
There are too many games already, and more scheduled for fall.
Games for her mom and her dad, in the family one and two.
Annalise wants attention from someone, so annoying is what she’ll do.
The best of years
in a side room where things are put to be used later but never will
there is an old “brother” typewriter gathering dust, bought a day
I felt like Mike Spillane, drinking whisky and smoking cigarettes
while writing rapidly about the hidden crime world of Liverpool.
I went into pubs where the gangsters are supposed to hang out
and were met by people buying me pints of beer and telling jokes.
Then, the word processor came along, spelling was not a burden.
Yes, I know, I sold out for a better life; I miss the tapping sound
Pure nostalgia I wrote a poem of love, the one who disappeared
In wider and wider circles, I walked till she was smoke and mirror.
One day I will take the “brother” out and try to locate her.
Poetry is something I do not understand
Words my soul reads and instantly recognizes,
Leaping about in joy, yelling "let's try to do that!"
words tossed in a way I never could
romantical and metaphoric
charming, delightful, or frightful
Poetry is not something I do,
it is something I aspire to learn
as I write verse
I write verse
Pretending it is poetry
hoping no one will call me out.
Sometimes I throw in end rhymes
Hoping to fool those who do not see what I do
That poetry is impossible for most of us
who smoke and mirror our way through,
being the greatest pretenders of all.
Magic
The kind that stretches
The fabric of who you are
And in a blinding instant
Makes you more than you were
Somewhere deep inside
We all know the trembling thrill
Oh, not sleight of hand or
Exquisite stage illusions
Not smoke and mirror card tricks
Or up close abracadabra
It is the high octane magic that
Helps you to survive the
Everyday commute between
Contentment and loneliness
The electric energy that
Allows you to thrive in spite of
Having to swim regularly
In the void of frustration
From wanting to having and
It’s that same mystery
From somewhere deep inside
Bursting at the seams with an awe
That remembers all our yesterdays
And fuels the dreams of tomorrow...
Class clown
Attention
Keeps class laughing
The smoke and mirror expert
Conquers
Class clown
In fine form
Spins his classmates
So they don’t know that he
Can’t read
Class clown
Happiness
Demonstrated
A big giant pretense
Class clown
Her eyes aren’t hollow holes
A smoke and mirror trick
She’s filled with gasoline
Not as soulless as you may think
She spites bitter memories
Her skin flares
Itch away the pain
Raw from you picking away
Sand paper could feel better
Than the words you run along her
Close your eyes
You won’t want to watch this hurricane
Sucked dry of sweetness
She’s lost her sugarcane
Hailing bullets like champagne
Snorting gunpowder like lines of cocaine
Mining like a slave trader
She’ll go unmissed
Until you need your next fix
Then you’ll send the dogs to find miss
Clap up and down
She makes noise like a captive
Like music to your ears
She knows the words you want to hear
Gutter loving whore
Just keeps coming back for more
Desperate for a taste
It’s why she can’t escape
conclusions drawn in crimson
they're the hardest to erase
as is seeps from every pore
pooling on the tile like waste
I guess some would call it
a bitter aftertaste
it shrouds like a hooded cape
never quite fading away
it's there in all of my dreams
remaining here when I wake
gnawing like a critter
that is trying to satiate
is it all illusion?
a cruel magicians trick
a smoke and mirror side-show
the sleight of hand is quick
now you see it, then you don't
one quick glimpse, before it goes
it's a double edged sword
that I have fallen upon
it is the fickle hand of fate
and maybe it could be worse
the whole thing has me pondering
if I could have changed the course
hindsight is 20/20
you don't need glasses to see
it is hard to change directions
in the middle of what will be
Slaves to our Doctrine
Category: Writing and Poetry
Slaves to our Doctrine, we comply heads bowed
voices are muted, complacent but cowed
This 'Ism is ours, we defend it so blindly
not seeing through disasters occurred so timely
Hateful fervor fueled by fear
Evil greed snuck through smoke and mirror
Slaves to our Doctrine, waving flag high...
Socialists burn! Communists die!
Pacifists lack patriotism when asking why?
We fight only for a bigger piece of the Pie
Slaves to our Doctrine, but see how it works for us?
Ants march in line, complacency masks cowardice!
So long as simple wants are in seeming plenty...
Our questions are few, if there are any...
Watching TV and eating what's fed
Not realizing we are the means to an end...
Profit for those who pull on the reigns
Laughing at all of us doctrine slaves--
"They sing OUR song, thinking they're free"!!
"Happily dragging chains they can't even see"!!
"Lets fill their heads with monsters to fight until the end"
"They'll fixate to fight--its always US vs.Them"!!
.....dragging chains we can't even see.
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