An Obscenity Trial
by Michael R. Burch

The defendant was a poet held in many iron restraints
against whom several critics cited numerous complaints.
They accused him of trying to reach the "common crowd,"
and they said his poems incited recitals far too loud.

The prosecutor alleged himself most artful (and best-dressed);
it seems he’d never lost a case, nor really once been pressed.
He was known far and wide for intensely hating clarity;
twelve dilettantes at once declared the defendant another fatality.

The judge was an intellectual well-known for his great mind,
though not for being merciful, honest, sane or kind.
Clerics called him the "Hanging Judge" and the critics were his kin.
Bystanders said, "They'll crucify him!" The public was not let in.

The prosecutor began his case by spitting in the poet's face,
knowing the trial would be a farce.
"It is obscene," he screamed, "to expose the naked heart!"
The recorder (bewildered Society), well aware of his notoriety,
greeted this statement with applause.
"This man is no poet. Just look—his Hallmark shows it.
Why, see, he utilizes rhyme, symmetry and grammar! He speaks without a stammer!
His sense of rhythm is too fine!
He does not use recondite words or conjure ancient Latin verbs.
This man is an imposter!
I ask that his sentence be . . . the almost perceptible indignity
of removal from the Post-Modernistic roster!"
The jury left, in tears of joy, literally sequestered.
The defendant sighed in mild despair, "Might I not answer to my peers?"
But how His Honor giggled then,
seeing no poets were let in.

Later, the clashing symbols of their pronouncements drove him mad
and he admitted both rhyme and reason were bad.

Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea and Poetry Life & Times

There's a thin line
between simple
fashion faux pas
and the sin of visibility

She'd rather go commando
than be found out
hark! 'tis her own sisters
who will roast her alive

Bee-ing rejected


The path to love is a long and winding road
And the road is in 3D when you fly through the air.
You can bee left behind so many times,
That you think that it will never go right,
Until you make it there.
There are so many ups with love,
But without love you are only ever let down.


Humble was no different, he wanted to bee loved like everybody else,
But sometimes it doesn’t matter how many times you try,
You always end up at the end of the night going home by yourself.
Humble was a trier, he would ask out every bee that he liked,
But try as he might and as much as he would have liked,
It seemed nobody would ever love him
And he was alone most of the time.
He had been rejected so many times that he decided to make a list.
The first one said this; the second one that
And this is the story of Humble B. Bumble and his love-life…
Ain’t it sad?


You’re always crying, boohoo.
You’re too happy; I am nothing like you.
You are just like me, because I like nothing about me.
We don’t think the same; you’re not fun, you’re a pain.
You are annoying me, buzz away little bee;
You have my sympathy, but you will never bee with me.
You’re too quiet, you talk too much.
You’re too weak, you’re not tough.
You’re too slow to make a move;
You’re too fast with your response to bee telling the truth.
Your clothes are bad; your hair is bad.
You’re far too sad to bee a bad boy.
You’re just having a laugh, you’re never serious;
You must bee delirious.
You’ve not cool, don’t bee a fool.
You’re too nice; you’re not nice enough.
You’re too far below me, you are not heading up.
You’re not ambitious, nor smart,
You’re never victorious and you are no work of art.
You can’t sing or dance; you wear the wrong kind of pants, no bling.
You live with your ‘rents, but you don’t pay rent.
You have no honey, I like honeys.
You ain’t funny; you are far beneath me.
You’re not pretty, you’re too silly.
You have no style, you are not unique
And you don’t have a perfect smile, ugly bee.
You think you are great, you’re always late,
I don’t like your face; we’re just mates.
I like him, you will never win.
You are such a loser; who is gonna choose ya?


So many times Humble searched for love
And when it was good it was really good!
But when it was sad, it was real love, I guess;
We will never know…
Do you think Humble will ever bee truly loved?...


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.