Do you think you can win?
Do you even think you can contend?
When the tempestuous trolls come out to play...
1, 2, 3 to infinity with the vitriol they spew your way
These keyboard assassins will peck you into oblivion.
So, why bother? They know neither where you're going nor where you've been
They scroll incessantly in search of their next victim
It doesn't matter what the pronoun is: her, him, they, or them
The exorbitant amount of shade that's thrown while you bask in the sun.
Shade! So much shade that's meant to dim your light in your season
So, jumping into the ring for an online battle is futile
Because online hits come from all angles and the blows can be brutal
A prudent man knows to stay clear of this ring
He knows it is a place where many revel in sordid, tittle-tattle, and mindless things
So why enter a ring where it's impossible to win?
It shouldn't even be a second thought because you can't even contend.
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
"In the eye of the storm" waiting
Wondering when's the next battle
When a chat turns to tittle-tattle
I hope never again, pray, then
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
I know, "when the storm is raging"
I can come to You in prayer
You will answer, take away every care
"When my flesh is failing", its then
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
Praise and honor go just to Him
"He lets me rest in green meadows"
In my mind a gentle breeze blows
Satan no longer my soul claims
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
"In The Eye Of The Storm" Ryan Stevenson
Throwing Shade is aimed at one's aspirations,
dreams, and optimism, Throwing Shade.
Including confidential matters once shared one's
thought might be kept privileged,
information at one point handed out is now
disclosed, Throwing Shade.
Unrestrained talk spreads like wildfire, Throwing
Shade.
The company you keep amongst others you're
aptly aware that one does not mingle with,
Throwing Shade.
Feeling like if one is in contempt of court, hold
one's tongue for anything mentioned will be
used against one, Throwing Shade.
For what purposes? was it something that was
said? One playing both sides for tittle-tattle
en route for gain? Which one is fame and fortune,
Throwing Shade.
When you know one doesn't engage in fictitious
shenanigans, Throwing Shade spreadable like drawings.
I always sought after to clear up the tittle-tattle
that continously throws mud at my character
Incessantly belittling and throwing sour grapes
created to denigrate with contempt and dishonor
thrown at my name.
God is so amazing, so amazing he will not leave us
nor forsake us, He will constantly bring us out of
our tests.
I pick up their idle chatter five days of the week.
Conversation with other passengers, I never seek
to learn of a secret one of them might privately leak.
But try as I might, I cannot help but overhear
a new recipe she tried, or the reason for his fear.
Sometimes, I wish I was deaf, at least in one ear!
I try reading my newspaper and ignore the prattle,
but often it's louder than the train car's rattle.
I'm not interested in the gossip of their tittle tattle.
At least the man with the cigar, smokes it outside,
or I'd take another tram. Cigar stench I can't abide.
I live in the burbs, so it's a long way home I ride.
Today, there's a young lady who wouldn't take a seat.
She looks worried, or at least somewhat browbeat,
like the people I work with down at Dun & Bradstreet.
I often wonder what's on the young conductor's mind.
Does he despise his job because he feels confined?
I'm off at the next stop, where I leave them all behind.
If you hit me and I hit you back,
Tit for Tat.
If you lie to me and I lie back,
Tit for Tat
If you steal from me and I steal back
Tit for Tat
This for this
And that for that
I think that sometimes this is true
And it should be so,
Other times its common sense
Not to tittle-tattle so.
If you do a kindness
You cannot take it back.
It would be mindless,
To expect Tit for Tat.
First posted 2021
River flows like silver thread,
reflecting the dawn sky red.
Trees on the banks, sway and yield,
Their leaves rustling in the field.
As mist lifts, the river glows.
A new river no one knows,
flows onward, both day and night,
ever present, such delight.
Hear its gurgle, its babble
Learn from its tittle-tattle.
For the river knows its way
to stay on track, never stray.
At sunset, river turns gold,
its flow, a sight to behold
Its riches gleam all aglow,
Meandering to and fro.
Like many comrades and councilors of Moon Knight,
Daredevil, Matt Murdock, was in fight and might, bright;
Reservoir of Herculean power and strength,
He could lift thousands of pounds and punch any length...!
Gymnast! Acrobat! Olympic muscle tissues!
He could suffuse or transfuse perilous issues.
Power, born of self-will experimentation,
Fused in him mercurial mobilization...!
Rat or cat or elephant like sharp hearing sense,
Owls and eagles like radar vision effulgence;
Enabled him antidate his environs clear,
And respond and combat with vehemence severe...!
Lion-like he could fight Captain America
Superman, another puissance replica;
Moon Knight and Daredevil, though, fought a tough battle,
Merged to collaborate with warm tittle-tattle...!!!
31 October 2022
Moon Knight Friend or Foe Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Cats-dogs fight - is a common sight,
Each thinks: fighting is their birthright;
As though each exhibits their might,
Or trust in the code: might is right;
Fight is canine story...
Dogs don't harm cats, in real fact,
They throw a sound that seems half-cracked;
Cats maintain their harsh hiss, intact,
In fact, both seem to seal a pact;
Canines have their glory...
Predator dogs feel merriment,
Fleshy cats, to experiment;
Dogs stare, for cats, is worriment,
In them, is hidden, dark cerement;
Doesn't it seem gory...?
Who is great, truly, who is small?
In the house, where they, often, loll;
This query when grows very tall,
The killer instinct, in them, crawl;
This story is hoary...
When it is not tittle-tattle,
When it comes to real battle;
When both, in annoyance, rattle;
Both turn stronger than tough cattle;
Story turns vainglory...
23 March 2022
The Russians are coming
Skiers complain it is too cold, most of them are from the cold country
is the frost in China different than say, Scandinavia?
A newspaper gleefully telling us there fewer spectators this time
then in the Olympic last time, I think this tittle-tattle has to do with
infantile reports looking to throw some China’s way.
The war that didn’t happen and are not going to cover the front
pages of Europe, one senses they are willing a war against Russia.
Crimea was not annexed by Russia, there was a vote in favour
of being a part of that country, which is natural since most people
living in Crimea are Russians; this is a no brainer.
I so do dislike I. Phones; bills are sent to the phone nothing on paper
my phone is blocked because I let the battery run flat
Now they ask for my code to open the bloody phone who in
their does right mind remember a code?
Meanwhile, the sporting people continue to chase gold in Pequin.
Brutus, my slavering Rottweiler, growls
He knows he's tougher than pooches with tails
The long pointed studs on his black leather collar
Are matched by his canines which make poodles holler
The drooling saliva that trails from his jaws
As he lumbers about on his four massive paws
Is soaking the ground and his talon like claws
Encouraging folk to keep children indoors
Devil Dog, Satan’s mutt, hellhound and more
All labels my beast has been nick-named before
I feed him on red meat and shin bones of cattle
It’s said he eats tigers but that’s tittle tattle
The park is all ours because other folk run
But wait, there’s a kitten, now this could be fun
Brutus will rip him apart for a lark
And splatter its blood and guts over the park
Hey, kitty kitty, come over to me
Play with my dog, what good friends you could be
But kitten was clever, too clever for me
He hissed and now Brutus is stuck up a tree
Bookends call a gaggle of bedraggled books to attention.
The big fat tomes, short stories, paperback,
are all pulled into line, toe-to-toe buttressed on parade.
Books need bookends to get propped up and be seen,
to get up out of bed, get dressed and be presentable.
Likewise, bookends need books to lean against
or else they topple over in a huddle.
They pine, sigh, moan and whimper,
with no books to embrace and cup one-handed.
Like spoilt kids they chuck temper tantrum fits,
get hissy, fall over, lay on the shelf and sulk.
So remember to keep your books and bookends
in happy symbiosis, with good reads kept to attention,
held in check by bossy bookend majors.
But, beware, those cheeky bookends tittle tattle at night,
and can speed read between the lines.
They skip the plot, and jump straight to
'In the Beginning' and 'The End'.
If you hit me and I hit you back,
Tit for Tat.
If you lie to me and I lie back,
Tit For Tat.
If you steal from me and I steal back
Tit for Tat
This for this
And that for that
I think that sometimes this is true
And it should be so,
Other times its common sense
Not to tittle-tattle so.
If you do a kindness
You cannot take it back.
It would be mindless,
To expect Tit for Tat.
The sitting president of the USA (irony)
My dislike of Trump is deep
like that of any dictator driven by ambition and cruelty.
Then I read the twitter and find tittle-tattle
about him and the women in his household
written for a lot of dosh
by those who knew him and his family briefly.
The intelligentsia make fun of his use of words
which I presume make them sound learned.
For those who have not got it yet
he didn´t become president because he is
blithering idiot.
Trump´s base
is in the so-called “flyover states” who are annoyed
by Washington and the high fliers there.
His opponent in this race a Joe Biden is seen
as a Washington insider and have nothing to give
the American people, except a white smile
by an older man with a dentist grin.
Trump is all talk he has not started any new war
should he be elected again he might even be
a friend of Iran.
Politics, politics, politics
why can't we get alone
tittle-tattle, tittle-tattle, tittle-tattle
is all I hear it is so near and can kill
who suffers from this fuss
nothing but dust being thrown around
all down to the ground
moving arms and hands
wrestling throwing sand in the face
at a very high paste
violently, passionly with no end
what a great sin can't defend
splitting the country into pieces
not willing to share or do they care
what can we do to repair
to heal the wounds inflicted
politics, politics, politics.
Related Poems