"accounts" poems
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
43.4k
Dis oras na ng gabi ngunit ikaw pa din
Ang bukod tanging laman ng aking isipan
Patawad na kung puro siya na lang lagi ang alam
Ng aking mga kwento.
Hindi ko kasi mapigilan mag buhos ng aking hinaing
Dahil alam mo hanggang ngayon kasi tandang-tanda ko pa din
Ang araw at oras kung kailan mo ako iniwan.
Anong gagawin ko sa mga salitang iniwan mo
Isa nga lang ba akong pangalan sa buhay mo?
Ano ba ang naging parte ko sa'yo?
Iba’t ibang tanong ang bumabagabag sa akin
Pero kung alam ko lang na sa ganito tayo hahantong;
Matagal ko nang pinatay ang natitirang posibilidad
Sa akin isipan na may mundo para lang sa ating dalawa.
Alam mo ba gabi gabi kong binabalikan ang
Matatamis nating alaala pero pilit ko din
Pinapaalala sa aking sarili na
‘’Itigil mo na ‘to’’
''Tama na 'to''
Gumising kana sa totoong estado ng buhay mo.
Maawa ka naman sa sarili mo.
Ikaw ang naging punot dulot nang gabi gabi kong
Pag-pupuyat hindi mo ma-itatanong pero walang araw
Na lumipas na hindi ako nagiging tambay sa'yong mga
Social media accounts.
Nagmamasid sa bawat post at update mo at tinatanong
Sa aking sarili ''Bakit nga ba ang manhid mo?''
Dahil hanggang ngayon
May kumakatok pa din sa puso ko umaasa na
Pwede pa.
Pwede pang ipiglaban.
Kahit matagal man ang abutin natin.
Ako'y handang maghintay.
Kahit mag muka na tayong gurang.
Okay lang.
Handa akong tiisin.
Pero alam mo ba nakakapagod din palang
Makipaglaro sa taong ayaw magpaawat
Handa na akong sumuko kahit noon pa naman
Alam kong malabo na maging tayo;
Malabo mapasa-akin ang puso mo.
Ayoko ng makipagsiksikan sa Evacuation Center
Pilit ka magbubuwis ng buhay mo para sa taong ‘yon
Panahon na para lisanin ang delubyo na ito
Hindi na ako dapat mag tagal baka
Pati ang aking sarili ay iwanan din ako.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Millennial is what called in this generation,
Everywhere here and there,
There are always youths who really never care,
And never been worried about their future.
In Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Messenger,
Are consists of follower, liker, reader and including seener,
Loitering and using fake accounts just to gain a wholesome money,
Even though that it is notorious, they still embark their blunt journey.
Most millennials are undisputedly addicted to social media,
Their lives depends on likes they are going to gain,
They don't care if their faces might be inside of multi-media,
And they don't even care if it will give them a pain.
Some truly go beyond their limits just to have a lot of likes,
Perhaps they are fame ***** but they don't care if someone strikes,
Strikes every part of their body including their faces and such,
Yet they don't care if it will hurt them too much.
However, seeking attention in the cyber world isn't a good thing,
Instead they should focus on things that are essentially free like a king,
Because in this generation, too many people are unaware and careless,
And some they didn't even notice that our environment is already full of fraud either hypocrite and genuine people are less.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
There are 10 kinds of people in this world,
and binary accounts for them all.
They're happy and sad.
They're ones and zeros.
Villains and heroes.
Villains, yet not all bad.
Despite everything life decides to hurl;
Despite every brick ball of fear
Through the stained glass windows of their minds,
Through it all, they survive.
They're angry and glad.
They're happy and sad.
And in their duality, they're still smiling there
at your sharp hasty words
at your venomous hurt
that you wish so desperately they, too, shared.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain
It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane
It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door
It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor
Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets
Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets
Spastic changing voices like a record out of line
Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind
I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there
No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care
I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn
Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn
Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth
I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath
Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun
Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
To the niqab girl whom I met in Cagaya De Oro City
You were in front of me as we waited in line for hours
We smiled first politely and then we began to talk,
We Shared different insights in almost everything:
Your face veiling practice in Islam fascinated me
My headcovering as Christian piqued your curiosity
Conversations turned to fashion, extremism, and Filipinos,
You saw my face and I saw your beautiful eyes
Yet we never asked each other's names or Facebook accounts,
We were different yet somehow we mirrored each other;
Different religions yet linked by passion to serve God
Different ethnicity and language yet tied by nationality.
It's been weeks since the Marawi siege and I think of you
Hoping that every niqab girl I see in Iligan is you
We were strangers that rainy afternoon of June 2016
Yet I grieve for your loss - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Words are not enough to comfort you sister of the stars but
May your Allah guide and protect you in these times
May my Jesus cover you with His precious Holy blood,
To the niqab girl whom I met in Cagayan De Oro City
Perhaps we'll never see each other again in the future but
Thank you for letting me see the beauty of cultural diversity
And that coexistence is possible if we have open minds
And living in harmony is attainable if we open our hearts.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 6:04 AM UTC
As I search for you,
I slowly forgotten every inch
Of what made me as whole.
As I search for you,
I have to fight the urge of
Being with you and having
The freedom to myself.
As I search for your name,
I cannot seem to grasp the idea
That what ''you and i'' once had
Is nothing but a sheer memory.
As I search for your name through every accounts,
I still get butterflies in my stomach
I still smile and hoping that there's a slight chance
For us to become as one again.
As I search for peace within this chaotic world,
I still carry you with me.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
They are checking their list and checking it twice
Making a note whose leaning left or right
The CIA is coming to town.
They know when your cheating on your taxes
Checking Facebook they know when your awake
When your smoking Humboldt ****
Or chatting online with the Russians
So knock off for goodness sake
With hidden accounts offshore
Track and keep score
They know exactly who you are voting for
The CIA is coming to town.
OOOOOOOOOO you better watch out
You better not shout
You better be good
Check under the hood ( boooom)
The CIA is coming to tooooooooooooown
Dont panic........ its Political Satire folks
@ copyright Tammy M Darby Sept. 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
What's this phenomenon called love,
That remains a puzzle no one can solve?
Love is the caveat for many broken hearts,
And the byword for many gracious acts.
Love has the characteristics of a witch
And the coldness of a vindictive *****
Love, the greatest of human emotions
Has many different variations.
The good book talks about agape love,
And Beyonce sings about drunken love.
Its nature nobody really understands
Yet men have worked with their hands and paid bride prices with cows.
Some have proposed to women at the super bowls.
And on talk shows, jumped on couches
leaving a few to walk on crutches.
Nobody knows love's true colors.
Yet many men have spent top dollars
To buy their women cars as gifts.
And later on, end up begging for lifts.
For love, Romeo committed suicide
And Juliet died right by his side.
Love is very irresistible
And unpredictable.
Love has many dimensions
and many complications.
For love, many people have died
And much more has lied.
For love, knots have been tied
many bank accounts emptied,
For love, wars have been fought
And many Diamond rings bought.
Love is a wrecking ball
I call it an emotional hall.
For love, tears have been shed
by many in their lonely beds.
Love is a mystery
But the reality in my poetry.
It's a kinda game in most men lives,
A game played behind their wives.
So what do we know about love?
Is it peaceful as caged doves
Or dangerous as wild wolves?
Is it contagious as a disease,
Or rumpled as a crease?
Is it blind like brother Steve,
Or silent as a grave?
Is it deep like the ocean,
and beautiful like Heaven?
Love can at times be as cold as ice
And at times, twice as nice!
IvanBrooksPoetry©️
21/8/2018
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.
Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.
Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.
Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
By Janis Ian
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...
So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debitures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...
We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
I hate it when dad comes home
He is ***** and he has smelly feet
Having spent long ours at construction site
Smelly and filthy.. what a sight!
I loath him, I look down on him
When I walk pass the working site
I turn my face, pretending he is out of sight
I constantly accuse god, I said he isn't fair
I want a different dad..
who drives a much better car
goes to work wearing tie and suit
The perfect dad I always think I should have...
At school one day
My best friend cried
She was devastated
Her rich dad left home
left for good with a pretty woman...
She has a house as big as a castle
Fat bank accounts and pretty outfits
Constantly travel around the world
Houses, condos, hotels
just name it where
but she has no dad to cuddle anymore
at night when she gets scared
of storms and thunder
I remember my dad's smelly feet instantly
annoying.. disgusting.. frustrating..
This dad of mine
I used to loath...
But he works all day
his sweat is his labor of love
to bring food on the table...
so we kids don't sleep hungry
This dad of mine
doesn't own expensive car
has never been overseas
has never worn a tailor made suit
and but he loves us wholeheartedly...
and always want to give only the best for us.
This dad of mine
whose smelly feet
will annoy me forever
but he loves his family truly
and will never leave our side
at anytime when we needed him most...
I love you daddy
All your perfect imperfections
I am sorry................
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
By all accounts he’s had a lifelong case of OCD.
“Donald was a disruptive tyke”- his teachers all agree.
He was not much of a scholar but, as a youth, excelled in sports.
As a builder and developer he was often seen in Courts.
When it comes to matters of the heart, he sadly is no wiser
He loves them and he leaves them. He’s a noted womanizer.
Oh, he pays them for their trouble; that much I will allow.
Still he’s never had compunction over breaking wedding vows.
Now he is our President and making noise on Trade.
If he doesn’t get his way beware his twitterverse tirade.
He's paying farmers Billions to forgo their tillage.
Hillary was wrong- It takes a child to raze a village.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
when my time comes
it comes
and I will gladly leave
to those who go on living
the task of sorting out
the mess I have accumulated
over years
let them discover
not only the stamp collection
the bank accounts
but also unknown niches
of their father’s/friend’s/husband’s life
the words unspoken
scribbled on some paper
thoughts never shared
for lack of time or opportunity
the letters to a friend of yore
emails to many people
hints of potential
love affairs that maybe never happened
ideas to change the world
into a better place
here I am
now with a 7 before my years
envisioning life after death
a sign of vanity
perhaps
or an expression of despair
I am not sure
it may just be
the fleeting thoughts
on a clear winter evening
when cold creeps slowly
but insistently
into your bones
reminding you
of all that cold space
in our universe
how it grows larger by the second
making you wonder
if it has a plan
and if that plan
includes you
speculating
about your destiny
* * *
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Black is your coffee
Toasted and buttered your bread
Half past seven,
A quick peck on the cheek
off you go to the bank
one solid day you spend at the bank
a loyal servant of the bank of commerce
Your lover number one,
the bank..always the bank...
you'd be at the bank till all workers gone home
you'd be at your desk checking the accounts
making it balance , counting the profits
recovering the loss...
If there is an award for the banker of the year
The outstanding achievement
and the bla... bla... bla...
The winner is you, without a doubt...
While you're making your accounts pretty
Perfecting your financial reports
The dinner is getting too cold
The kids are growing up so fast
Your cat is getting too old
Your wife is sulking too long
Your house is getting too far
Your family is slowly vanishing...
not physically of course...
the souls of love and life
is disappearing little by little...
Dear banker,
If you happen to listen to this
banker's wife blues...today
Hope you'd throw the balance sheets in the basket
and sit with your wife and kids
in a garden,
drinking a cup of English tea
Eating some home made biscuits...
How much bonus is more worthwhile
than watching your kids growing up
before your eyes...
kissing your wife good night
tasting the love doses...
Tell me, after listening to all these?
Will you still worry about your imbalance bank accounts?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
Can we see,
or have we lost sight,
of what is wrong,
and what is right.
Are we lost,
or do we know,
where we are,
and where to go.
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead you,
to a damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of your thought,
and your temptation.
Are we blind,
to all the lies,
corporations,
we despise.
Feeding them,
aimlessly,
giving them,
our money.
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead you,
to a damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of your thought,
and your temptation.
Why are we giving them,
our hard earned money?
For them to horde away,
in endless bank accounts.
For them to use,
against us.
Dangling it above our heads,
giving them power!
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead us,
to our damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of our thought,
and our temptation.
Stop giving them money,
that's what they want.
Stop giving them power,
that's what they need.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
There's an architect designing the world from the skyline downwards, as he believes himself to be a God
The paraffin lamps on Victorian cobbled corners are as dry as the seraph in dust bowls over some arid sea
A portrait exists, of a town covered in mist and the orange cliffs are a thousand bloodied wrists
Somewhere music plays to ghosts, obtuse reverberations of some cave on a mountain... or something
and what a useless skill it is to be a poet, flouting fanciful words as if a single soul cared or could possibly muster anything more than unadulterated apathy
What a lonely life it is, to spend entire days watching *********** and reveling in dissociative stoicism
Watching cam girls for hours on end, swept up in conversation yet never taking part, only watching
They seem as lonely as anybody, holed up in crimson rooms as anonymous DJs play through laptop speakers
Fielding obscene questions with a smile and renting their body in timetables to the highest tipper
and some days the depression becomes so heavy that ************ seems impossible, though it's possible to blame such scarcity on the anti-anxiety meds that have ruined so many-a youthful folly
Is there a more flattering notion, than a story teller being commended for honesty when every word is a lie
Fictional accounts of melancholic lives told in a pulchritudinous verse or a prose of the most regal purples
Using nothing more than psycho-stimulants and a smeared bedroom window for inspiration
There's a writer sat at a desk, typing ridiculous lines of text, as he knows himself to be human
and in that humanity he strives to create a realists interpretation of existence through scattered memories
and derivative styles of his favourite authors whilst using educational texts as footnotes in imaginary diaries
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
The Consumers consumes
At an alarmingly high rate.
Oh my God ,
Bob's Just Got cooler ,got himself a new V8 .
The bigger the better , the better the babe.
The poor always suffer,
THe ones society does hate.
No place for the kind ones ,
Or the poor gentle souls
If your bank accounts not big enough
You are out in the cold.
When did the world go so wrong
I wish I could tell
For these type of systems should be burned at the stake
Cause the kids that are learning them are growing up to be fake
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
A scrawny ant
Passing through
Passing by
To find life true
By all accounts
In attempt
Quite feeble
Held in contempt
Resist nature
To fight back
To love hope
Cope with his lack
His home crumbled
Upturned life
Hold to dreams
Battling strife
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Moved from my home state.
Got a job doing **** I hate.
Got five kids between you and I.
They are ill tempered sometimes and we are on the fly
coming up with ways to handle the stressers
of food and shelter.
Why...
can't we leave today... Enter the fray... the edge of culture...
and make our own future?
I am caught in the thought
of my hands in the dirt and the sweat in your shirt
and no relief from the work of growing our own food.
Would it be rude to say that I've had enough of the days
of "super" markets and moving targets
and job interviews that bring hope and then bad news
when you find that it will never be enough to sustain even you, alone?
And really, what do we own, but ourselves?
Can it not be shared instead of set on shelves and hidden away in accounts that have safety nets and passwords and relationships that leave regrets and bridge-burns?
Could we be all-for-all?
Is it possible?
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
Addiction
......is a mountain that you do not have the strength to climb, but do so anyways....and you know that there is an avalanche..a moment of collapse and destruction....that is bound to happen at any moment in time, but you do not care because....the view is so beautiful
addiction is letting your highs carry you throughout the night because it's the only way you'll be able to greet the day and then allow your lows to drag you through it
addiction is small puddles of water in the desert that lead to a mirage in the distance, you continue drinking, believing that you are being led to your salvation only to realize it has all been an illusion
addiction itself is water, although it does not reside in the desert..it's in your stomach as opposed to food, because if you were to eat you would not only throw up the food, but also the truth
addiction is silence within classrooms....why speak out loud when you are already screaming at the temptation in your mind to leave you be..
addiction is a race between bank accounts and bodies..and its hard to tell which one will cross the finish line of complete emptiness first
addiction is skin clinging to bones like a baby to its mother....but its only ever perceived as beautiful
addiction is carrying vile poison in your veins, and so in your backpack you also carry blades because you never really know when the temptation will scream just a bit too loud..and the time will come to let it all out
addiction is locked doors and cold bathroom floors that you sit upon for hours contemplating your fate..
Addiction is what has carried the minds and souls of those I love to a far away place, and so I suppose I allow it to carry me now in hopes it will bring me to them someday...
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.
He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 8:28 AM UTC
Oh, the sensation, the media frenzy,
The spotlight, the fame, the hullabaloo,
When anti-evolution laws
Were challenged by the ACLU!
The year: 1925.
The place: Dayton, Tennessee.
To say it was an extravaganza
Wouldn't be hyperbole.
For many people it was hard
To find a way to reconcile
Biblical accounts with science,
So science found itself on trial.
A young teacher, John T. Scopes,
Was willing to face prosecution
For breaking a Tennessee law for having
Given a lesson on evolution.
The "Monkey Trial" it was called.
The challenge meant swimming upstream
For the feisty lawyer Clarence Darrow,
Who helped to lead the defense team.
A prosecutor was William Jennings
Bryan, who with no apology
Loved to stir up outrage against
Evolutionary biology.
Defendant Scopes quickly found
It wouldn't take long for him to know
What it was like to have a part
In a multimedia reality show.
The courthouse received a make-over:
Platforms for newsreel cameras were built;
Extra spectator seats were added.
They were playing the trial to the hilt.
Concession stands sold food and drinks;
Toy monkeys were on display;
A chimp was dressed in a suit and fedora;
The clergy also joined the fray.
The media and the public loved it!
The country watched the trial progress.
What would win: science or scripture?
The answer was probably easy to guess.
After an eight-day trial, the jury
Deliberated. Nine minutes later
They had their verdict: guilty! How
Could someone question THEIR creator?
Scopes had actually never given
The lesson. That's what he later said.
Strangely, five days after the trial,
Williams Jennings Bryan dropped dead.
Laws later changed, but even during
Current times, some people feel
That stories from the Bible should be
In science textbooks. Now THAT'S surreal!
-by Bob B (11-6-18)
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC