You claim,
like your parents
before you
taught,
that killing
carries
God’s
judgment
and wrath.
Yet, through scrolling streams,
I hear your words,
hurled in hate,
like sharpened stones,
piercing flesh,
ripping apart hearts
of the least
among us.
When mercy fails
on empty scrolls
of endless rage,
each scornful word
scars the soul…
And hearts, robbed of grace,
invoke judgement’s doom.
Once in a high desert so hot, so dry,A whale was lost; no ocean nearby.He swam through sands, with heavy heart,Longing for water, a new voyage to chart. A seagull, named Jack, with sour tongue knife sharp,Swooped next to the whale, listening to him harp.“Ha!” said Jack, “What an ironic sight,A whale in this scorched,…
Quarter ends; stress peaks, respite required. Six squared.
Details uttered. Dispatched. Delivered. Purpose: provoke. Prime point broken.
Empty words without worth. Context abandoned, spurious spirits sparked. Outrage assured.
“Kill them with kindness,” she’d frequently say Compassionately crushing cruelty her game Rosy with light, yet so joyfully dry Her saccharine smile like a cleansing flame “Kill them with kindness,” I still hear today Her life motto my utmost aim Yet, whenever I try My kindness feels phony and lame “Kill them with kindness?” I threw that away Alternate efforts should result…
“We need room to dream, room to grow, room to find our own voice.”– Maya Angelou Room AssignmentHave you everfelt trapped?Trapped in a room.A room youdidn’t choosebut were assigned?Your room.Your assignment.Planned in the deepestshades of white: off-white,bone, bare, beige,bleached of allthat makes life bright?Boring!One small windowtightly framedlooks outwhere colors thrive:leaves reach, minty sage;blooms blaze, lavender,rosy,…
Don’t you find it a little bit odd,How we are conditionedTo thinkPoetry must dive deepInto the mysterious abyss?I mean, deep.Really deep.Over the years,I’ve learned to appreciateThe charm foundIn lightweighted words.Imagine: a sprinkling spring rain,Just enough to leave a puddle here,Another puddle there.Just enoughFor joyful playOn a random spring day.Jumping and splashingWith childlike rush.It’s freeing, really,To…