"denunciations" poems
World leaders thunder denunciations
But my dachshund puppy annoys the cats
Bombing planes fly in nuclear drills
But my dachshund puppy just ate a moth
Religious leaders are shredding their files
But my dachshund puppy barfed up that moth
I don’t know if I’ll lose my job next year
But my dachshund puppy got spanked by Queen Cat
The fat boys on the radio yell a lot
But my dachshund puppy is barking mindlessly
My senator says he stands up for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is stealing the cat food
My president seems to play golf for the flag
But my dachshund puppy is napping in the sun
And the cats are quite happy about that
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
When the rainy gloomy day
From the gray clouds weaves the arch,
When the heaven of lead acid in the silence
Floating to us vast object,
When the foliage discolor,
And the cries of birds can be heard barely,
And thousands of hums seas
Denunciations from the heavens stronger,
When the winds are changing rules,
And hit the backhand in the discord,
And the air, woven from the the needles,
Sparks all over the blackness,
Suddenly a flash split the day in two,
And the lightning sparkle the bridge,
Connecting the heavenly home and the ground,
Showing the miracle of burning fire.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Steel bars confined
my prowling mind,
circling the borders
in a dysfunctional order.
Rapidly beating against
my distorted slurs
of denunciations, I
kissed the keys
despite their razor
blade tongue affection.
Sudden silence brought
sudden reverberations of
you you you
and again, I
would take another
pounce to add
to my flowering
garden of purple,
green, and blue.
An illegal sort of
extravagance turned into
violently injecting me
with a poison
that I thought
would keep you
here with me,
but it was not
enough, never enough.
-s.r.b.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Who are the seers of this world?
Oftentimes, their perceived sense of safety is fenced-in by their very constraint.
Dare you be different in the age of minimalistic conformity?
On our own heads be it, my delicately-dancing friends of eggshell walkways.
Seasonal variance has already begun, despite our willful resistances.
In our perceived safety, we have mismanaged a nest of rich paupers.
But our administrative denunciations will crumble in the state which dwarfs individuals for the purposes of cultivating docile allegiances at a cost that no words could ever articulate.
Thank you, my postmodern travelers of continuum.
One more thing - have a good night.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
my tongue in my cheek…
I despise the word relationship, singular and plural,
as it inevitably applies to swooning couples.
I’m old enough to remember the time
before Woody Allen made it a permanent part
of everybody’s everyday lingua franca.
That was his truly heinous crime.
Finally, I have banished them from my life.
I can leave dishes unwashed for weeks,
sleep on the whole bed with all the covers,
allow the trash to grow into mounds,
and, best of all, never have to shave again.
I like not having to read anyone’s mind,
satisfy anyone’s endless, mysterious needs,
or do things I really do not want to do.
Selfish of me, surely, but such sweet relief.
Relationships mostly lead to too many
conversations, usurpations, explanations,
denunciations, recriminations, vivisections,
and, finally, to rancorous separations.
They are necessary for the romantic young
and for propagating the species, but
I am old and well past propagating.
I keep them lodged firmly in my past where
I can remember the best and forget the rest.
I prefer my cat, my books, solitude, silence,
microwave tacos, and peace of mind.
Hey, I’m not kidding about this!
And yet, there is the loneliness factor…
So I might welcome a companion who
was not desperately “seeking a relationship.”
But that is no woman I have ever met
and, I fear, no woman I ever will.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
They’d had him dead to rights for poisoning the well,
Least wise as far as they reckoned,
His fingerprints all over the pail
(Not the only set, but there in a goodly number nonetheless)
And footprints more-or-less conforming
To his boots in size and tread
And perhaps all that wasn’t stitched up as tight
As the sheriff’s boys would have liked it,
But there were other factors,
Things inferred and whispered
It being a place and time where truth
Was a sufficiently malleable thing
(There was also the testimony of one woman,
A lover, perhaps, or at least in her own visions,
Whose sworn statement was punctuated
With wild gesticulations and shrieking denunciations
As to how the accused had shredded all vows holy and otherwise,
The whole thing close enough to madness
That it was surreptitiously removed from the record)
And the trial was a brief, perfunctory affair
The defense attorney literally in shock
From the cavalier manner by his objections were waved away,
His motions for mistrial and subsequent appeal
Disappearing into some void of bored court clerks and paralegals,
The upshot of which was one man
Fitted with an unappealing cravat
Paraded before a sufficient gathering of onlookers
(But a quieter affair than such things normally were,
The harsh cacophony of the cicadas,
String section tuning for some discordant symphony,
Rising above the hum of the attendant mass)
And as the proceedings rambled onward
Towards its unwelcome conclusion,
The guest of honor grimly mused
As to how restoring of the water table and its potability
Would do little to put things to right.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 4:19 PM UTC
Waiting for our Masters to Grow Up
The barbarians who lord it over us
Thunder denunciations at each other
On whether they should kneel or stand to flags or *****
And with whom they should be photographed
Some swagger in government, in suits and ties
Some swagger with buckles binding their foreheads;
Like schoolboys they compare the size of their…purchases
And bubble themselves with fawning courtiers
As ever, we workers, savers, writers, readers
Must be the grownups - unlike our leaders
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC