He waited for the bus.
They saw a threat.
He just existed.
They saw a black man.
He was not a man -
He was a boy,
Only eighteen -
Killed because of his skin.
Killed because of colour
two convicted.
Most acquitted.
On a technicality.
Double jeopardy.
He had dreams.
To his killers that didn't mean anything,
He wanted to be an architect.
They didn’t see him as a human being.
His name -
Stephen Lawrence,
And not with a ‘v’
His name was Stephen Lawrence,
Rest in peace, you’ll forever be alive in our memories
The swirls in the painting were thickly slathered onto the canvas
Would they ever dry? The artist was unconcerned.
Concentrating on the creative process, not the technicality of his art.
The art teacher was amazed at the beauty of the poppy.
This novice painter had created a masterpiece in this gorgeous floral.
The edges of the petals were crisp and clean, the folds looked real.
He wondered what else this young student was capable of doing.
The quintessential art piece, definitely juried into their art show.
My smart iPhone drowned, what a dread!
No purpose to get out of bed.
Can’t do without fidgets
With smarty pants digits
When my social life just dropped dead!
My buddy, from a dire grave fate,
I hastened to resuscitate.
My beloved device
I interred deep in rice -
Saved us both from desperate state!
It seems one trite banality
Of minor technicality.
The truth and the matter,
We’re addicted to latter -
Sweet virtual reality!
Though on technology we thrive,
For more exciting toys we strive,
Let’s put smart phones aside,
Out of sight, out of mind -
Let’s smarten up and live alive!
My smart iPhone drowned, what a thrill!
Hands free I go outside and chill.
My deflective device -
Silent, deep dug in rice.
I have been mastering live skill!
February 2, 2022
Where the morning hugs
nighttime with gentle sighs
Floating on a warm breeze caressed
with whispered goodbyes
Where words and emotions can
always be realized
The sun and the moon play
together and stars are idolized
Within the thinly vailed atmosphere
of dreams and reality
Where the sun and the moon
reveal their personality
To all the daddy's who love
with a fatherly technicality
Here's to you on this
special day with all the love
With great admiration for
stepping up and rising above
Showing and being there for
anything your kids can think of
I bow down with the utmost
respect to say to you, well done
Like the heavens above showing
your kids that your the one
Being that father for your
kids without question
HAPPY FATHERS DAY!
Who came up with
The idealism that
Sex has to do with love
Yes from a biblical perspective
It was made from up above
A deed so fulfilling
It makes one question
The state in which they are living
How can it become so misconstrued
That many feel as if
They have simply been used
For a physical technicality
And sometimes this is
An authentic reality
But there is much joy to be found
With just the touch of a hand
Can erase all that I have to withstand
A breathe on my neck
Causes me to never regret
Our first, second and third meeting
But do I always need a reason
To long for just one manipulation
Skin to skin
Acquittal of sensualism
The ambiance of sexual euphoria
Is a wonder to be adored
So how can sex be associated with love
When it’s a matter of choice
So we all can enjoy pleasure
And rejoice......
The one who lies
or the one lied to
~Who does the lie hurt more?
Note: In the last line, the word 'Who' technically should be 'Whom.'
The writer prefers that it remain a technicality.
What We Realized About Reality
What we had realized about reality,
Because of bad results of technicality,
Not well laid;
Mistakes made;
Final results ended up being a fatality.
Jim Horn
Eddy lives in the gullibility and cohesibility of a gritty city
Between assimilability civility reality and triviality
Here Eddy’s senility is merely an eligible technicality
A wink of eccentricity fragility debility futility impossibility risibility
Still under that mighty illusion of invincibility virility and viability
Invisibility’s equivalent to gentility favouring stability and incredulity
Eyes void of deceptibility infallibility predictability divisibility
Eddy is still irresistibly witty with intelligibility bordering geniality
The indelibility of his ability versus disability for agility and flexibility
Gives Eddy eligibility admissibility accessibility feasibility visibility and divisibility
Implicit credibility whimsicality spirituality frivolity and squeezability
Eddy believes there’s no margin for self-pity when you own a pretty itty bitty kitty
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on March 25, 2018 to contest ALLITERATION POEM sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
Give Your Contest Goose Eggs To Someone Else
Connie collects goose eggs from contest
Far honest than the geese lays the nest
The basket case now full
Lipped with geese's bull
It's time to be a contest orphan blessed
connie pachecho
11/30/17
Note-I admire Viv Wigley. 35 placements in his recent poetry contest.
That's commendable.
It's a *standard contest,* not the *Olympics.*
I'm sure he gave lower placements and deductions for *mistakes.*
This is mirth.
It gives a shine to all the contestants and a chance that their
poems be read, especially those on the bottom tier.
It follows the PS premise of promoting a poet's growth.
What's wrath are those contest sponsors that treat *standard
poetry contests* as the *Olympics* ... those few that come
riding up on their broom, black top hats and all, nose a twitching
and wiping those poet's entries from the face of the Earth for
some technicality (oh my!) or for not appealing to the sponsor's
muse (oh my!), which is the antithesis of promoting growth.
To the Viv Wigley's, I duly applaud.
Subsistence defined by need, not want
A time when provisions made to survive
With no barriers; wealth not reality
Now a time when commercialism shadows death.
Purchase for consumption; nothing is free
Their poisons inserted, to see growth spiral
Populations diseased; their hunger satisfied
Success not a work of art, but a measure of worth .
Inventions praised; expense raised
Weapons more devastating, eyes only faucets
The world's end bound; prophesied by man, knowing his own hand.
Science a technicality of beauty; life not learned
Math bewildering; love confused
Reversion, a must; humanity's teachings before papers'.
1: If love is a game we need a referee
2: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Um…
3: I loved her to death but got off on a technicality
4: Star-crossed lovers occasionally get crossed up and can get rather cross about it too
5: She stole my heart and REFUSED to return it so now I'm a heartless person
6: So I begged her to please have a heart and she said, “I already got TWO you idiot!”
layers upon layers
the amount of blood we've shed for this
we have proved wrong several prophecies of these hysterical soothsayers
rumors upon rumors, ‘tis true that we received that dreadful deathly kiss
yes, ‘tis true that we are many
many of similar ways
yet in the end, the closing of an age; a revered leader we cannot reveal any
however an end cannot be achieved at the first phase
we bleed for the cause
in all technicality the cause not so much an ideal in itself, but the means for the end
and we are the gauze
we cleanse the tainted and protect the secrets we took an oath to defend
we are the actors within the play
but don't misunderstand, this play is not pretend
we are the pawns made of clay
we will die for the cause, and yes we know that we'll surely melt in the heat of the day
we are meek
and we are mild
what we seek
is to calm the child
that cries out in fear, because his mother has melted, and his father has faded away.
If I was to write a love poem
I would write about the smallest things that fill my heart
And not the words that are spoken, but the moments
So quickly pass by, a hand moving a streak of hair,
The breath passing by the small of a curving neck,
And a spark of joy in the depth of brown eyes.
I would write about the care paid to trivial conversation
Followed by a gentle smile, a reply and engagement,
The full attention offered naturally, the bubble that
engulfs the lovers. Whether wealthy or poor
Warmth is lent to each other, being enriched
Consumed, leisurely imbued and returned.
If I was to write a love poem
I would not seek the rhyme or the rhythm nor
The technicality that makes it right or meaningful
I would simply follow the flow to reach
The "destination that is you" ending this sentence
And leading to a new inspiration, the beginning.
I would start counting the steps, perhaps twelve
Each one an elevation of joy, a breath much deeper
Than the one before. A feeding of desire and even
Hunger for that higher love. As each step ascends
Towards those ideals held closely guarded in ones heart.
The question being will we risk it all...
you are warm like i
light in their eyes
bright with a fuel
a desire to consume
more than a yule
heating and grew
repeating on new
breathing in air
sweet from a wind
taken within
alas alike
but just not quite
i can fly
beyond the sky
where you would die
the earth compressed
might make you depressed
if you felt too
but you are the same,
even if blue
use what you can
choking when done
i choke only
to clear my lungs
im fragile
yet can travel
in ways your play
to this day
would unravel
Brandon’s lawyer phone him up
he said “I’ll make it quick.
a big indictment’s coming down
they want to make it stick
they’ve been on you since ‘82
got evidence in piles
witnesses and wiretaps
and photographs and files
Every law upon the books
you’ve broken and maligned
with every bill upon the hill
still waiting to be signed
all of God’s commandments
and those he just implied
even laws of nature
you’ve left them all defied
Guilty of everything
no precedent
guilty of everything
‘til you’re proven innocent
Ever since the dawn of time
not once in history
has a man been charged
with EVERY crime
it’s plain to see
there must be some technicality”.
So after the acquittal
he gave some interviews
no one ever saw a man
so worthy of the news
and as for Brandon’s lawyer
the accomplice to the crime
with new laws written everyday
he’s working overtime
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