a perfect shot, to the head,
trickle of blood, he is dead,
the smoking gun, in my hand,
justice done in lawless land,
father of two, middle of street,
his widowed wife, revenge sweet,
ageing mother weeps for son,
in my hand, the smoking gun!
score is settled, bullet fired,
job completed, I was hired,
reason why, I do not know,
nor the problem nor the row,
feelings for him, I have none,
in my hand, the smoking gun!
shoot to kill, is what I do,
paid to do without a clue,
list of names in the docket,
each dead man, fills my pocket,
blame me not for what I do,
curse me not that hell I rue,
I hear the cops, time to run,
In my hand, the smoking gun!
man kills man in various roles,
innocents dead, bleeding holes,
soldiers kill on battle grounds,
cops on streets, bullet sounds,
gun kills people one by one,
yet words can kill more than one,
If our words and deeds are sweet,
there won’t be guns on the street!
another street, new job begun,
In my hand, the smoking gun!
5th placement
Written 27/04/2021
Guns Poetry contest
Anthony Biaanco sponsored
7/8 syllables each line.
Who ruined my confidence,
Who trampled my young dreams,
Who turned the signpost around,
Who undid all my schemes?
Who was responsible,
Who held the smoking gun,
My parents, my teachers, my friends,
Could I afford to trust anyone?
Who deterred me from trying,
Who played on my self-doubt,
Who kept me on the outside,
Who locked my brave heart out?
I looked all around me ...
Accused everyone,
But no one would admit to holding ...
The smoking gun!
Who helped make me a loner,
Who turned well-wishers away,
Who spawned paranoia,
Who kept loved ones at bay?
I glanced in the mirror,
When a glance wasn’t planned,
To see with disbelieving eyes,
The smoking gun ... in my hand!
ah the moments between
darkness and light
death and new life
a dream, we're awake
the dalliance
advanced
the twist
we danced
touch caressed
as the moon sung a song
the willing
the wrong
'twas right
ever tight in an effortless form
aligning the cold with warm
bent into shape
with a kiss
a steal
left with a breeze
blown
in from the sea
but oh
was it real
A SMOKING GUN
Beholding planet Earth from the far reaches of space,
In the ink black cosmos the observers must give voice
What a beautiful planet have we here
A very unusual blue and green glowing sphere
It must be the gateway to heaven's door
Let's go have a look -- what are we waiting for
If the visitors decide to land on this inviting earthly scene
They'd be met with guns and bullets before counting to 13
The mother I had is no longer here.
The heart,
it beats,
the lungs take what little air they can filter.
But she is not here.
She is alive,
but no longer lives,
or gives.
Her voice is coarse,
and hoarse.
When laughter rears it's ugly dead, black head,
it froths,
and it crackles,
and it ends in blood red eyes.
The contrast is stark,
light and dark,
you can see in her pale, sallow skin.
The smokes she smokes,
she croaks, she chokes,
she sears her flesh from within.
I nearly came down your path,
You exist only in an old photograph.
I smoke a cigarette,
and while it helps my mind to rest,
I detest I treat my body like this.
But I smoke to protest against those who don't,
but spend their existence trying to stop me,
from shortening mine.
But it is my time to spend how I wish,
Even if that means I'm a nightmare to kiss.
I already know what the effects of my smoking are,
it's not a shock to me that my lungs are filling with tar.
So they fight a losing battle because,
the more they rattle my cage the more I want,
to light a flame.
In defiance of their interference,
a resistance to their insistence,
that I quit.
Don't assume I don't know what I'm doing,
or that I'm dangerous,
and my only remedy, is to purchase what you're selling me,
as an aid.
I am not sick, for if I am then so is every other man who,
has a drink, a sleeping pill, a burger or a coffee or two.
We all have our ways of relaxing,
when we max out our stresses, our time,
we find ways to unwind.
So I'll carry on with grace, respecting other people's space,
and you can carry on with yours and,
I will not make your flaws unlawful.
Leave me to be,
while I rest here in peace.
Everday I do it, then exhale its warm
poison. It cools me , lets me think as if
Ididnt have a brain of my own. In the
mist of it all, the world puases for that
moment life unhinges.
As thoughts
splash my mind like waves
and paranioa brushed my goose
bumps as i shiver in its influence and
my sanity sips through the cracks.
I had told myself ''its the last time'', a lie
that to sooth me as this is the only
validation i'l ever need
I lay down this pack,
trying to promise myself not to look back.
Looking back is my own weakness,
and you could also put it as my own selfishness.
Pleasing my own desires,
only making myself feel tired.
When I walk,
I fall short of breath,
just knowing it's death lurking down my neck.
Into my lungs this black smoke fills,
reading every day about how many ways it can kill.
Suicide is such a bad way to go,
but many don't see themselves going down that road.