Crude-fashioned like grandma's cookies
from Gold member's lips are best put down,
kisses that are mighty sound
ignored like day and assigned as ignorance.
Although the beggar dreams of the Old Design,
pangs of the new stupidity can’t subdue
a crown (of thorns perhaps, or stick and stones).
But protest words?
that are abound...

That cool dominion summons
but a few to service. Effective prose will act
and do no less
upon the herds as great solutions.
Moxie can isolate the owner's
my way or the highway, let's be friends
mentality with a beyond itself right-of-place.

Vote against this bruising insanity.
Just in case.

Debbie Brooks 2014

There's something like that.
It does exist, doesn't it?

Poverty, is earning less than ₹ 47 a day.

That's less than a dollar a day.
Who earns less than a dollar a day?
Beggars in Manhattan make more than that.

There is no poverty.
There's nothing like that.

Wait a minute: *beggars in Manhattan?

She came and she went.
Like all others did...
With a smile so beautiful and deep.
A God's child she was,
Gleaming with joy and beauty.
Sparkling eyes and tousled hair,
A girl of eleven or twelve...
Touched the heart so beautifully.
I stared at her and felt my smile return.
She peeped into my car window
And looked deep into my eyes.
She made me see through her,
An innocent face and naughty eyes.
I tossed a coin at her and she returned a smile.
I gazed at her for a moment and watched her say goodbye.
Then she ran along with her playmates...
Lighting every corner of the streets.
I smiled at her dissapearing figure as long as I could....
But soon the road was left far behind.
My mind kept wondering....
Will she always be the girl of the street?
Will she too follow her destiny alone?
Then I became busy...
And left the girl behind again...
Afterall who cares for a girl of the street....