“Let who is without sin,
throw da first stone.”
- dat Jesus Guy
Throughout history
Many eyes have seen
Their own two hands ...
Throw the first stone
Pull the trigger
Thrust the sword
Hang a wigger or Hitler wannabe
Push The button
Swing the axe
Flip the switch
Make Anthrax
Sign the order
Gas the chambers
Scalp a brother
Build the Bomb behind closed doors
Pull the lever, walk the plank
It’s either us or them has always been
and seems a thoughtless worthless endeavor
So, when does it start, the thinking clearly
Instead of just following orders
What changes the mind of madness,
Evil must be destroyed to free ourselves
Does it happen after the bombs drop?
The Book of Doom
Says there is room
For all of us in heaven
If not, there’s plenty room in hell
For everyone who just want to
Keep on following orders
Blindly, without questioning nothing.
A sure-fire way to create an Extinction event
is to just keep on following orders
Who needs asteroids
When all we need is a little love
And a lot of ignorance
'Twas the night before Christmas, and insomnia befell,
No creature was stirring, but my thoughts are pell-mell.
Would the family squabbles and feuds come with the cheer?
Would I have to drown them out, with too much beer?
The smile and wave diversion has limited worth?
How long can my mirth defray my feeling good dearth?.
I flit like a butterfly, I sting like a bee.
But, my hands can't hit what my eyes can't see.
It's all so jovial, with all folks tongues tied.
Letting slip barbs tongue-in-cheek that lied.
Lips forced into clenched fist clamped smiles.
With forget-me-knots shrouded as wait-a-whiles.
The reindeers were laughing, stopping on the roof,
as I downed another draught of whiskey high-proof.
A hangover is a sure-fire cure to help me cope,
with the downhill slide to the slippery slope.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and I'm awake,
fearing the family feud sparring earthquake.
My mind is churning over past disputes, give-and-take,
and how to avoid ruining the day with a silly mistake.
Somethings You never know
Sometimes you have nothing to show
Tears in those eyes
Comfort city on the brink of misery
Killing fields the dreams of you and me
Desert sunshine warning you how things are going to be
Give in to glory my little can of spam
Leaving a ledger of love upon a tree
generation far away from where we begun
I can't tell you how to how to live
I can't tell you who to love
Killing a life of horror.
Killing a life of monkey's hope
Tied to a chair
breathing liquid air
How do you see this world
Not explored nor swayed by cruel intention
Tears in your eyes
Killing field
horrors camo to the endless nightmare
sitting next to medusa
with her snakie weaving golden hair
Dial a dream
Fall into the pit where emptiness frees loneliness
Centripetal force a hurricane inside my brain
Sarah's so desperate to remember your name
The world wind of street camels haste
At arms instinct taught war
Left the saving for ideals never born
To recall what you hate the most
Inside a dream inside a smokey gleam
of hope
Eat Wasabi
Breathe Fire
Cracker Night
Bon Fire
Cozy Warm
Fire Place
Brimstone
Hell Fire
Loud Noise
Back Fire
Back Burn
Start Fire
Matchstick
Create Fire
Gun Hire
Sure Fire
Rub Sticks
Make Fire
Scrub Burns
Bush Fire
Home Burns
House Fire
Taste Jalapeno
Eat Fire
Hundred Birthdays
Cake on Fire
A liquorice sweet has a real variety
has been popular for many years
liquorice allsorts are everyone's fav
such a mixture makes one hit the gear
A cold remedy really needs full flavour
blackcurrant and liquorice sweets a real cure
to get you moving, drive Catherine's Wheel
so it's really tasty makes it the real deal
Now quite diverse is Liq Torpedoes
your taste buds feel a sure-fire hit
from there you can have Liq Comfits
too many will make you unfit
When one is offered a cake dessert
you think its a sponge in soft cream
but Pontefract Cakes are so different
Liquorice small tablets, not what they seem
Now also there's Cream Rock and Liq Sticks
too many to mention including Black Jacks
these were the days of liquorice delight
lovely memories of your tasty sweet rack!
(Just a little piece from my memories of favourite liquorice sweets in my younger days.)
A hand pass out of the pack
Without needing to look back
Holding the premiership cup up high
A banner proclaiming God to run by
Four Margery Medals around his neck
If he was playing a sure fire bet
Six best and fairest for Port Adelaide
A club that bred success that couldn’t fade
Russell Ebert was a legend of South Australian sport
Who shared himself with us without a thought
For he is one for the ages now
A beloved player who knew how.
© Paul Warren Poetry
The most relaxed woman I have ever met, and yet seems quite sane.
Watched her nap in the dining car while bandits were robbing the train.
She slept through gunfire, and barely stirred during her little sleep.
Did she hear the screaming? No. She slumbered and deep.
Is she okay? The detectives asked after they had questioned the rest.
Don’t know, I replied. Let’s give her the ultimate sure-fire mom test.
So, we got as quiet as this carload of strangers could ever get.
And that professional mother came up rapidly, with fire and spit.
Why is it so quiet? What is going on here? She demanded to know.
Surprised, for she had missed the entire bandit shooting show.
Something is off, she said. With many children, it is never this quiet.
Did not stop asking until we rewound the tape showing her the riot.
I knew something was wrong, she said. Next time wake me up, okay?
This woman was the mother of sixteen children, happy and gay.
She had raised them to be responsible and never start a fight or riot.
I learned a professional mother wakes when people get quiet.
Captured By A Smile
smile right along side
the sharp rercord their scent
a chief aim with what wer relax
threw a terrific smile
that we know all the greeat while
the coming & going
a New York seated miles
ther coming & going
long for shelter along for their ride
the day haunted past
no one gets by on any free pass
Martha Stewart with strip pants
let us learen to love in dance
Shelter threw it's wonderful prance
A sure fire way to trust
the mirror on a fire ball trance
Peresonalities, opinions & variety
life goes speeding by
Capturerd by a smile.....
T’was a strange and spooky sight to see,
All that smoke risin’ above the trees,
And the tale some told made the heart jump,
“Rabbit’s cookin’ cabbage in the swamp”.
The smoke floatin’ o’er that muddy den,
From a moonshiner well known as sin,
His young’uns and kin stoked up the still,
Sold it as sure fire cure for all ills.
T’was a custom in that lowland swamp,
Long time-honored circumstance and pomp,
For a country hoe down in the barn,
Where yelling’ could start a fire alarm.
Gi’tar, Fiddle, Banjo, mandolin,
Jammin’ and singin’ with big ole grins,
Y’all come and eat some real redneck stew,
Dance bare foot but skip that cabbage brew.
Rabbit was cookin’ up his special brew,
Cause steam was arisin’ to the blue,
Git your madam and those dancin’ clogs,
Go stompin’ at mudtail’s wetland ball.
from there canopy of cadence love
hear the pardon of mint perfume
vessel with a unique place swept
the innate liver soon to be discovered
pardon ther wishers of a new finding queen
whisper in the corridor by the edge of my bed
the ocean has a way to whisper a sweet lulabye,
slip on a nugget of sure fire whisper
masked the vigilant even pause
Chinese man takes a piss in the gutter
pardon ther flow
from where you ought to go
a place of comfort from above
She is fresh
Saddens when strength fritters, muscles run to flab with age;
a once smooth surface wrinkles bold etchings of joy and sorrows
while rough landscape seizes the trophy, buries beauty beneath
creases and squinting eyes and drooping girth and jarring joints.
Look at a mirror—you're yet you at heart though reflection feigns.
Beauty is forever, not strength, not health. Life has a bell-shaped
trajectory—a sure-fire sine curve, though the sonic boom pales
at prime. Blurred vision fails to see the diminishing present
or the long haul ahead; ought to, and so cuddle the rhythm,
bound up to breast the finish line. Else gamble at summer's crest;
winter in the trough with a wobble. What an old age with sighs
and stings, peace paling with aching joints and flabby muscles!
Robbed of youthful verve, a pain prick twitches the nerves.
What a youth spent as if now's forever! We all need a brace ahead
of when the frail frame fails at nine or ninety... or in between!
The wise may think otherwise. Maybe!! The pudding has proof.
All I know: Old age is divine!
© Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
4 February, 2019
My shaking hand ~ Inside my pants pocket
Warmed it be ~ When I pulled out my locket
Zuzu's baby picture ~ My dear treasured keep
Always with me ~ By my bed when I sleep
Her face so meek ~ So small and so squib
As she sleeps silent ~ Alone in her crib
I thought that I lost her ~ When she fell ill
Pneumonia's burden ~ A baby's...sure fire kill
Her temperature high ~ One hundred five
She should have passed ~ Somehow, she's alive
An haloed angel ~ Came to me that night
He answered my prayers ~ Gave Zuzu...new light
Ever since then, I've prayed ~ Along with my wife
Clarence, thank you ~ It's a wonderful life
12-13-2018
Movie Magic Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory R. Barden
It's a wonderful life- George Bailey
See Me...
increase the flow
on someone you know
to cross the great divide
on some lonesome child agree
See me through the window cascading near the shore
See me in the pool as a cry for more brilliance on a moonlit day
See me wander through the years as you have a pail of tears share the noise
my muse is a sure fire way with words to say,
in Hollywood folks spring the well built & deserved
cry me a river so far as I could go bust up the beat to promote its tempo
See me in the fire with flames buried to the force from below share the comfort of its flow
See me climb the mountain to watch on the habitat fountain,
See me realize the decisions that we shall know
working through vast miracles with your daze alone in the cold
See me through the window with angelic pulse
bound me in desire the force to take you higher
learn to climb further...
The Lion-Hearted Girl
She is the girl who adds a little bit too much sugar to her coffee.
The girl on the subway with her head down, jean jacket collar up, and her favorite Paul Baribeau song blasting through her headphones.
The one with a rough childhood. One that isn't so terrible that she won't talk about it but she will leave out some details.
One that you will learn to trust you again, even after you step on her tail.
The girl wandering through the library avoiding eye contact and on the hunt for a book about Taoism.
The type of girl who thinks that getting poison ivy is a sure fire way of proving that you had a good time.
The girl who talks about her problems only when she's happy.
She refuses to cry in fear of looking weak.
The Lion-hearted girl only fears 5 things; Men on the streets, Republicans, Being left alone with alcohol, the fact that her kids will never understand good Classic Rock, and dying alone.
Funny thing is, she's not afraid of dying.
This girl
The Lion-Hearted Girl with a laugh as big as New York City.
If only we could find her.
Last I checked she was at the thrift store just trying to find a pair of jeans in her size.
I journey on my way through time and space,
Live my life of ups and downs with sure fire;
I traverse night and day to find my face,
Learn from sage and clown as faith aspires;
Struggle with lost and found to wing my way,
Attempt to seize the day with zest that knows;
Bear with high costs unsound to gain a say,
Yet lose my way in sand dune storms that show;
Watch how time corrupts the higher instinct,
Yet my soul never concedes to defeat;
My secret heart knows and feels faith distinct,
For purpose and passion make life complete;
For it is as it is the path I find,
As soul lives glory in true peace of mind.
Leon Enriquez
01 June 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
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