"facilities" poems
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer
We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..
But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all
Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers
Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about
But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains
We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan
We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it
When we get
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life
So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.
When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.
The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.
The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.
Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.
I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?
Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.
Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room
Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries
Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?
Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Oh Generational gap, a cancer of to all mankind. The father of lack of communication between the young and the old. A difference brought about the tastes and values.
The pain faced between young and aged but can’t be touched. It started by 1960’s the decades of revolutionary change. It cut across the world in values of *** religion and civil rights. The disease the emerged earned its self a name by social scientists. It then became “Generational Gap”
I would love to quote a man of great thoughts, Alexis De Tocqueville, who commented that;
“Among democratic nations, each generation is a new people” I have come to appreciate these words.
When I walk down the streets noticing the rising incompatibility existing in our society
Though I admire the old days when the old and young associated freely, working on the same farms
Grandparents telling stories to their little ones; what a lovely society they had.
With the invention of television and computers some families were bonded in communication
While others live in agony especially the illiterate.
The old desire different designs from the youth, whose trends change per living day of nakedness
Young people prefer working in executive places like offices compared to the donkey farm work considered to be for the old
Another cause of generational gap is decay in morals; the young people feel like they know everything and don’t like to be corrected thus taking information from old people as outdated, young people finding lots of hardships to great their elders
In the field of music elders prefer oldies and more preferably educative songs, and as for the youths they delight in Hip-hop and dancehall, am sure those present here can testify to this a term with no disco dances makes us dull students.
When it comes to religious issues, youth find it a burden to go to church and if they offer to go they prefer it to be in a club way. Praise and worship accompanied by jazz unlike the old days where drums are the centre of music.
Cultures in this way have greatly faded away; the trend of western culture has flamed up the world.
Drugs and *** are a hobby and celebrated amongst the youth, yet *** to the old was for companionship and co-creation.
But when we came to medical technology we all applause in general, young or old there is easy treatment, use of scanners, and medical facilities cuts across.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
A Friday night of imbued strangers
Streets full of all walks of people
Mostly staggered and tipsy
Haggered and narrow minded
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of rejection and temptation
I couldn't give my cash to enter a joint
Thoroughly rejecting a norm construct
Unhumbled and judgmental
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of inspiration and joy
Where I saw a mirror of myself on the streets
Vagabound souls sat begging for a today
Justice and truth prevails
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me sat on the ground
At the entrance of a busy closed shop
Begging for the homeless soul as people sneer
The abuse and hate ejected
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of broken promises
When all they do is try to have ******
People set traps of unfriendly gesture
The rotten and pompous society
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me wooing the drunk
Melodious symphony of "change please"
Negativity beakers but we made money baibe
A reflection of minimalism
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of concluded perception
Their souls touched me, they can go back a time
They try but have no strength within
Sour love was the wound that brought them hassle
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
It's not a Friday night anymore, the dawn smiles
I have a warm home and access to facilities
They have no options and crack is their hope
Police huddles and societal direct abuse
As they sing a song for strangers to listen
For your smile and talk can be the only hope they got
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
I am an astronaut
Not because I trained for years
In high-tech NASA facilities
Not because I'm a peak physical specimen
Endurance tested
Intelligence too
I am an astronaut
And its a reason as simple as this
I made someone my world
And then she left me
I am an astronaut
And right now I'm drifting through space
I can see the stars
I just can't reach them
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
As the wind blows across the fiery desert,
The desperate people of Yemen sigh.
How many more will suffer today?
How many more children will cry?
A Saudi-led coalition
Strikes with a heartless disregard,
Leaving behind misery--
Death and destruction its calling card.
Choking the poor country, the Saudis
Organized a major blockade,
Cutting off vital medicine,
Food, and water, and stopping all trade.
Cluster bombs have fallen on cities.
Thousands of innocent people have died.
Hospitals and schools have been hit.
How can such horror be justified?
Millions of people risk starvation
If all the bombing does not end.
The Saudis hunger for more and more weapons,
And they have billions of dollars to spend.
A bomb made by Lockheed Martin
Hit a Yemeni school bus
Killing fifty-one people, and hurting
Many more, thanks to us.
A U.S. bomb hit funeral mourners;
One destroyed a marketplace.
That our support causes such
Atrocities is a disgrace.
The people suffer from cholera--
Something that is hard to avoid
When a country's sanitation
Facilities are being destroyed.
A massive humanitarian crisis
Plagues the country despite appeals
To end the conflict by caring nations,
While major players dig in their heels.
Sunni-Shiite conflicts continue
With innocent citizens caught in between.
Callous leaders turn their heads,
Afraid to speak up or intervene.
-by Bob B (10-17-18)
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
From the House Of Ali -Najaf to the House Of Hussain-Kerbala,
Swarms of people walk 80kilometres for threes days- united,
The largest peaceful gathering in the world with free services,
An experience like no other.
Blessed are those who walk,
More blessed are those who serve.
No discrimination,
Regardless of sect, profession or social status,
Rich or poor,
Young or old,
Men or women,
In wheel chairs, crutches or with Zimmer frames,
Prams or hand carts,
All march with respect and dignity,
With one thought in mind,
To pay allegiance to Hussain,
Who sacrificed his head for humanity.
Every eye is moist,
Every heart torn in grief,
Chanting"Labbaik Ya Hussain."
With an iron will to complete the walk.
A nation, war-torn, wounded,
Embraces the whole world in the name of Hussain,
The longest dining table,
Where every zuwar is honoured and treated like royalty,
To pay in currency, none,
Only love and kindness and an urge to serve the zuwars.
Along the roadside are set up Mowakebs (tents),
That provide every kind of facilities and amenities ,
Food,beverages medicines,toiletries,
Fresh clothes if need be, shower rooms and toilets,
A massage of your feet,
Services to charge or repair your phone's,zimmer frames or prams,
Anything for the zuwars,
All in the name of the Ahle bayt,
Mohamed,Ali,Fatema,Hassan and Hussain.
What Hussain and his followers were denied is served with outstretched arms,
The aftermath of Kerbala was more tragic and callous,
The tears of Binte Zainab that retold the tragedy again and again,
Has born fruits,
The zuwars multiply in numbers
every year,
The rewards greater.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
m*any days I feel it isn't worth it
it is better I end it
I just do not fit
right
Small disappointments
unfilled expectations
make my daily lessons
I am no longer surprised
gifted with so many unused liberties
armed with many facilities
having all basic amenities
why still unsatisfied?
my thirst for what?
but compare it to so many of them
where do my problems stand
should my opinions even matter
God still has to hear my many complaints
every other day
No wonder he doesn't listen,
I wouldn't too.
Blessed with so much
wasted it all
on being this bitter self I hate
my present state draws the ugly future
and the only cure
is to feel gratitude
on the things I still have
on my conscience who still cares*.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
A leaf spirals downward,
Over covered heads and uncovered cars,
Children sleeping in grass
Drool dripping from their gums,
A football field seeing practice
Where someone's leg
Was recently snapped in half,
Overflowing sewer grates,
Dilapidated septic tanks,
Wastewater disposal facilities
With a runoff into
A river filled with needles and rocks
And bodies,
And it hits the ground with a silent explosion,
Until the wind sends it off and sets it somewhere out of sight.
Like when a glass bottle
Shatters on a bar top and
Sends shards soaring
Into the eyes
Of onlookers,
Everybody knows what's next.
Did you hear?
Fall is here.
The boy who starves so that he may be warm
And the girl who freezes so she may not starve
Have a chance encounter
And bask in mutual despondency.
They share their warmth,
And they share their food,
And neither has enough of either.
But even at their demise,
The sun still goes up and down
On the horizon,
Painting a scene of ignorance
Or apathy,
And lying.
The heat will dissipate soon,
What with Winter coming,
But it does not matter:
Everything is already frozen.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this.
The Outhouse Poem by unknown author
The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.
No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.
"Where is the ladies restroom, Sir ?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.
With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.
With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.
She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.
She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.
Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.
A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.
He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here !"
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
I am dying to be by you, at your bedside
Mon amour, I yearn every second to be by your side
To soothe the pain, to give you a good massage
To mesmerize you and to send the right message
To your body, to your soul and to your enduring heart
Darling, going forward, you and I should never be apart.
I am dying to be with you at night and day
Throughout your rehabilitation and your stay
At any medical facilities. I miss you very bad
I miss you all the time. I am both sad and mad
That I am not with you right now and today
I’m craving and dying to be by your side right away.
I will see you soon. I will be with you all the time
I will be the sweet healer who will happily rhyme
For you. I had been waiting for the perfect occasion
To come. I am eager to see you smile and laugh again
I am dying to be sitting and standing at your bed side
Sweetheart, I miss you like a sad lover, like a poor child.
Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.
Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.
I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.
Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.
Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.
Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.
Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
A splash of white and blue
As if thrown there by a careless Van Gogh
Is interrupted by a small black speck
A message from the military:
"Stay away from my favorite houses!"
As they sour down to collect what none could reach
You wanna go out there? Be my guest.
The power must swoon with you.
Do you three share advice or happen to know
Exactly what to say?
The muzzle flashes show me your position
The blind dogs swarming the countryside
Have you seen a mutant rampage
As beautiful as this?
In the sunset the pigs turn to gray matter
The clouds become vapor trails
Like the end of this AK
Shelters are scarce and furthermore
Can not be claimed
It's just an ongoing war for refuge
From all the acid rain.
Radiation appears like the haze above a bonfire
But in the middle of a dirt road
And the Bandits want your *****
Mounds of garbage piled on hillsides
Of swaying grass
Facilities, power-lines, bare trees in April
Holes in the sky
Where to turn?
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
media says you
obey the new curfew
the men in black suits
drooped there blues just to hit you
oath breakers lament at the days of justice
glad that there gone, joyous warrior busts sit
in place of the ten in court houses and school pits
correctional facilities a mural of magnanimity
fasad removed infirmary's
making monsters of men once just true to peace
that's why I must say don't just police the police
put in brief question everything
even the words I'm saying
if all this **** hits
any resistance will be terrorism
any act will be justifiable in the name of containment
and no injustice
no matter how grievous
will need anything more to be welcomed
as the flag "to stop the Ebola"
50% chance of death to all infected
100% chance to rule the world
1% chance to have a peace of the pie
99% chance to die
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
3D Printing
Proud owners of 3D Printers !
Makers of 3D Printers !
Designers of 3D Printers !
What you are creating
Does't hold a candle
To Designer-maker-owner
All-in-one models
Created eons ago !!
It is the female of
Every species of mammals !
Bones, flesh, blood
Nerves, memory cells
Power plants to convert
Food to energy !
Control systems to regulate
Regeneration of fresh cells
Filter system to provide
Clean oxygen to
Fuel the Power Plants
With Powerful binoculars
Audio production mechanics
Audio receptors to pass on
Grey cells enclosed in
Secure and hard shell
Strands of fine hairs
To cushion impact and
As thermal insulation
Protection shields for
All sensory units
Efficient drainage system
Propulsion facilities
Guidance and command
Center for all activities!!
Processors working 24/7
Processing gene information
Tweaking and fine tuning
Some info and trashing a few
Data storage many TB more
Than many data centers could
Offer with minimum
Upkeep and maintenance
Self-Encryption capabilities
And above all the ability
To produce both male and
Female of their species
All from getting just
One ***** and
ultimately infusion
of LIFE
Into the product as casual
As our breathing.
Do we know the creator?
Different Religions have
Different Names for it
But all the same it is
THE ONLY ONE
That counts :-)
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Once there was a man who had only one friend.
Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies.
Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity.
This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut.
Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade.
When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay.
Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility.
And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
I am a physician.Last fall, I had a very interesting
conversation with a patient who is a trucker. I asked her if she knew
anything about deep underground military bases, and then I played ignorant
to see what she would say.
Without further prompting, she informed me she is an independent contractor
trucker, driving 18-wheeler rigs cross-country. She said the bases are real
and are located all over the country, "especially under the mountains out
West". She said one of her main contracts over the last few years has been
with DHS.
She said there are underground roads running all over the United States,
connecting the underground facilities.
She said she has personally delivered many truckloads of supplies to the
underground facilities. For each DHS shipment/delivery, there was a stack
of non-disclosure forms about (by her description) six inches thick she had
to sign.
DHS would attach a tracking device to her truck for each of these shipments
and monitor her truck's every move. She would be told where to go to accept
delivery for each shipment. In each case, she would be escorted by guards
"with machine guns" away from her truck, so she could not see what was
being loaded into her rig. The truck would then be locked by a large lock
with a ring 'as big around as your finger", which had to be torch-cut off
at the time of delivery.
When she would make deliveries, often within underground facilities, she
would again be escorted away from the truck by armed guards, the lock would
be cut off, and the goods would be unloaded.
She said the only shipped goods she ever saw in these DHS shipments were
stackable black plastic things that looked like coffins.
She told be the gov't is getting ready for a collapse, which she told be
she expected might happen as early as late 2014.
She also told me she thinks the gov't has just about everything is needs
stored underground, because the number of DHS shipments has been
declining.
I asked her if she would be willing to have lunch with me and tell me more.
She replied, "yes", but afterwards when I contacted her, she had changed
her mind and would not talk further about it with me.
Another pt of mine, whom I saw within about a week of this lady, is a local
trucker, but he told me that he has lots of friends who are truckers, and
through them, he said he had learned that there are "thousands of miles of
underground roads" running across the country, connecting underground gov't
facilities.
He had just recently, in fact, heard among his trucker friends of a
shipment of frozen meat being shipped to one such underground facility,
totaling four million pounds of meat.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
public transport
***** in every way
the trains and the trams
run on a timetable of delay
the public using these **** facilities
should protest to the transport authorities
here's a draft you can use
off your butts fellas
or you'll be in the news
no mucking around
no stalling we'll take
extract the digit
for the traveling
public's sake
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
“You tell that man that I’ve no more desire to speak with him than I would the devil himself!”
“You tell that man that I am very upset that he would come in here and interrupt this afternoon’s bingo game!”
“I mean, honestly!”
The administrator of
the nursing home looked at me nervously.
I looked back,
apologetic,
but undaunted.
“I just need information.”
“I need to know if she has any plans to go back home.”
“I need to know that if she does go home, she’ll have the proper equipment and support system in place, waiting for her when she arrives.”
The administrator walked back
toward the facility’s dining hall,
where the bingo game was in full swing.
(The executive whispered into an ear.)
A pair of elderly, cataract-laden eyes rolled,
then glared at me with a hostility that I could feel,
even all the way over by the nurse's station.
“The lady says that she plans to stay with us.”
I nodded, said my thanks, and walked back out into the cold.
This part of the job is always a bit surreal.
It makes me think of my mother.
She was the director of several nursing homes over the course of my youth.
The smells of these facilities is assaultive.
(Industrial cleaning products,
boiled vegetables,
assorted liniments and balms,
the faintest twinge of ***** in the nostrils.)
To me these places smell like memories
that go for long periods,
unrecalled,
unrecounted.
(School-age summers
spent in supply rooms,
marking supplies,
stacking them neatly,
like troops ready for deployment.)
Often the nursing home
is thought to be a horrendous destination.
I can understand that.
But, she wanted to stay
and I had interrupted the bingo game,
hadn’t I?
Tonight’s supper was roasted chicken,
mashed potatoes,
pickled beets on the side.
(I’d read as I’d entered.)
Maybe her sons and daughters
didn’t want her anymore.
Maybe they’d visit every afternoon at 4.
There was no way I’d ever know again for sure.
But, I know why this afternoon’s task
made me smile,
stinging at the same time.
Because I’m Cynthia’s son.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2018
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
A smile is knowing
The dark crease of a well-arched spine
The dewy white lotus petals
The sad title of concubine
The blue glass so plainly beautiful
With its cold smooth sides
A blown vase that sits precious
Atop a dead deer's stretched hide
The hallowed slope of a portruding illiac
And the decadent crust of a sweet fruit pie
On a black vinyl stage floor
In a room filled with echoing cries
The reverberance loud and hollow
With ears ringing opened wide
The bends of her young tendons
In her ropey pale limbs
They flex and harshly twitch
How a scared and hooked fish swims
The cyclic orbits of planets and lifetimes
A ballerina's pirouette spins
Now the tarlatan and muslin gets torn to shreds
And the blinding stage lights quickly dim
The wet heat of a hungry tongue
Slaps upon her sweating skin
The audience simply does nothing
Just like the tall plant stalks of the green motel
Or the muddy vines in swamps in Rwanda
Or white wallpaper in the locked rooms of certain hells
The diseases that squirm in tainted waters
Of Liberia's ***** wells
The missing limbs of wartime amputees
Reflected in the golden glint of spent brass shells
Amidst the screams of
NO
STOP
NO
It yells the words
GO
GOD
GO
Through the grinning lips of the manifest destiny
And the arms of Khmer Rouge's killings
Its legs are formed from the many faces of lynch mobs
Its hands are hewn of American prison facilities and county jails
It's dripping deadly doses of fentanyl in local ****** shipments
And ****** dancers
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
All is still.
No more “Chase” or “Eggheads” from Tuesday.
Everything is shutting down.
The Winter Break is soon upon us.
Our “Festive Season” it is called.
Even Winter is having a rest this year.
Sixty Fahrenheit outside now.
I feel like hibernating ‘til the Spring.
Yet some brave blossoms think the Winter over
Already!
Foolhardy flowers indeed.
Our services are stumbling to a stop
Like a long Bank Holiday.
Sports facilities are shutting their doors.
Cafes shutting soon.
If only this stillness could pervade
Those warring factions
Throughout the world,
All through the year.
Peace to All Men
We say.
Amen to That.
Paul Butters
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
- Joseph Childress
Absence makes the heart grow
Fonder for most
Somber for some
Odd of others
The presence of love
Is the foremost force
In the divorce
Of reason
Attachments
Magnets
Victims of attraction
Repel
Then make tractions
That keep the world
Moving
Rebels revel
In revolution
Worshipping
The great changing
Like crescent moons
Before the new
Each phase
Relays the latest trend
As love, hate and sin
Blends in a cocktail
Of delusion
Drunkards play martyr
In the extremist
Conditions
Relentless systems of belief
That leaves relief
For the reliving of death
The children witness it all
Imitating
And coming up shorter
Than expectations
With each generation
Alternating ideas
For alternatives
Altering native ways of thinking
Beings battle for correction
In facilities
As others rights
Squander
In the quelling of dissent
Fighting fear
Is dear
To the hearts of trendsetters
Setting the standard
For the new age
New way of thinking
Off to Walden’s Lake
For the Great Disappearance
Dissing appearance
For the sake of absence
As absentmindedness
Watches from afar
Don’t worry
I’ll return with enough
Civil disobedience
The laws will have to change
In our honor
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC