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Francie Lynch Oct 2019
You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face;
Do you Kabuki?
Mime, non? Mime, oui?
But every March,
Millions of others,
Attired in green,
Some painted like Celtic warriors,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get sotted, some must disgracefully.
That's what the Irish do, think they?
I won't wear a yarmulke on Yom Kippur,
Not a burka on Eid al-Adha,
Or lead the parade
Up Fifth Avenue.
Don't know why the world thinks the Irish are drunkards. I go to Ireland every year, and the only drunks I see are North Americans, whites and blacks, gays, straights and all others not mentioned.  Even the phrase "Paddy Wagon" is an ethnic slur.
Marla Apr 2019
Ignore me, why don't you?
If I saw you again it'd be too soon!
I can't stand you when you're quiet.
I'm here so please stay silent.
I love you with all my heart.
I despise you and your art.
**** yourself and meet your end.
Why won't you speak to me again?
Jillian McLean Jul 2019
You were a sky free from clouds,
a sight to see
You were different from the rest
a person I'd want to be
You were stronger than a bird
on a rainy day
You were the person I loved
but you took that away
You acted like the guy that hurt me before
except you were my pal so this hurt much more
an infection that i'd hope would go away soon
You are the sun and I am the moon
you are my best friend
it doesn't have to be like this
the hypocrisy can end.
Kaveri Goel Nov 2014
A dark room with the faintest silhouettes
Scares me.
It scares me like a lone deer is, lost in the dark woods with no kind,
Only the hungry.
For you see, 
In my case the hungry 
They represent the tricks and beings in my head.
They can't be real, they aren't .
But as soon as the light flicks off,
My mind races against itself.
Competes to create as many iniquitous existences and nameless fears
Whose sole purpose is to haunt me with their piercing stare
Or grab my foot and drag me into another dimension from where there is no return.

But you see dear,
The same darkness brings to me comfort, when I close my curtains. 
When I choose to sit in a room with no one and simply close my eyes and stare into my lids.
Not warmth, but solitude and oblivion.
It doesn't wash your sorrows and gift you acceptance,
As when you stare at the sun with your eyes closed.
But the sun cannot stay out all day long, 
So it freezes the emotion, the wrath, the pain, whatever it is,
Locks it up in quarantine.
I imagine myself floating in the dark void.
Treat it like an age old friend 
Who called me for supper.
Just for small talk. 
And our talks could go on for hours was it not for the real world.
Which cannot live one second with silence .
Banging on my door for some trifle reason.
And alas.
The monster from the cage escapes and I, 
I am no more, for its reins are now taut around my neck.
My out appears ordinary. Stone-like.
But my ins,
the monster's ruling some part and feeding on the other.
Húmblëkídd Feb 2018
The democracy of hypocrites in the highest levels and forms.
Two different side of pretense, in acts that they perform.
To convince another of another, I believe they want a medal,
For performing it to the world, hypocrisy in the highest levels.

Hypocrisy in the way of being friends with a kid,
Who always down and never seems to fit in.
And when everyone begins to suddenly laugh at him.
You're never there to give a hand, but always far out in the crowds,
Thinking if you go to help, they would laugh at you being friends with him.

Hypocrisy in forms of being two people at a time.
A time for your beliefs of having higher standards and another time for the hypocrite.
Never would you wish to see them catch you doing it.
Because there and then only all your friends, family and the ones you love the most will see you as a counterfeit.
Francie Lynch Jun 2017
We need a biopsy
To diagnose hypocrisy
In American Democracy.
The evil Dr. Trump's creature, The Statue of Liberty, has melanoma, and it's spreading.
Tommy Randell Jan 2018
I miss already the person I thought you were.
Though we carry on much as we have been doing
We lack the gentleness, the keenness to defer,
As if each day our fading Love needs proving.

We live an anti-life which has no antidote,
We keep each other busy with a gentle grace.
We lay in bed together silent and remote,
Dreading those breakfast conversations face to face.

I wish so so much the person I know you are
Could just be angry and not play the hypocrite.
It's been two days now since I farted in the car
And the vicar in the back had a laughing fit.

Many things in Marriage are better out than in
More importantly we just keep on giggling..
Believe it or not I started this out as a gloomy Sonnet exercise ... you know, 14 lines but with a 12 beat line etc etc. Well, my poetry and Life, and Marriage too for that matter isn't like that. You've gotta laugh!
False prophets, you dig our graves with sinister divinations,
Bestow unrepentant indignation, and neglect to hide your shallowness.
Cast condescending shadows from high upon your sanctimonious mount, but
We wear our pride; our faith and love, our shrouds, and we will not be buried in the night.
Oh, I say woe unto them that call evil good and substitute darkness for light.
Oh, weary we may be, but forsaken we are not. Tread lightly when with lust and greed you choose to cast your lots.
Written for First Baptist Church of Worcester Poetry Fest Challenge 1: Acrostic – FBCWOO.
Ankur Dutta Sep 2019
A pen cannot see the words of satire;
as I condemn the words that I disguise.
I'm a hypocrite of sorts,
penning down are lies,
I'm a liar.

Lying has been my job,
since I stopped trying.
I certify it with my pen,
(that) I lie & I like it,
I'm but a liar.

Rain has often faded my words;
ink pens are my speciality.
I'm in love with it.
Lies are now fading,
I'm still a liar.
How the lies in this world fade with time and people forget that the liar is still a liar. So the liar continues to lie, trying to convince the world that it is but the truth, becoming a hypocrite all but to thyself, living in an illusion, under the mirage of truth.
God ******

The Lamb of God
sold into the marketplace
led into the slaughter

The Love and Heart of God
now a harlot
for the desires and pleasures of perverse men
--honestly, I have more respect for a Lady of the Night, than religious ****** who traffic in holiness

The Spirit of God
miracles transformed
into entertainment and to rake in filthy lucre

The Banner of God
leads an army of hate

The Pastor of God
exiles a member of Christ’s body

The sacred Writings of God  
twisted into a message of
judgement, guilt, intolerance

I am dismayed
… I have seen too much

The Heart of God bleeds, tears fall from His eyes

How long will this go on?

Is there vengeance and a special place of punishment reserved for those who commit such travesty?
For those who trample on the Blood of the Savior?

--Serge Banderet
So I go to this "meditation class" on meetup.  I get this lecture about how meditation will help me be one with the Universe, etc...
Oh and by the way, there's a $180 fee.  Or the many sob stories I have heard at church and how sacrificial giving is "spiritual".  Even found this sales pitch when buying a spell from a witch...  Greed seems to be an equal opportunity disease.  It sickens me.
erwood Jul 2018
"Careful, it burns." you warn
And you tell anyone who will listen
You post on the news and shout to the world
Of the flames that dangerously glisten

"Careful, there's fire." you cry
And you tell everyone to watch out
Because once the fire starts
All around you are screams and shouts

"Careful." you say "Careful." you caution
But you don't do anything about the flames
You throw water balloons in futile attempts
You think this forest fire's simply a game

"Careful!" you scream. "Careful, it's urgent!"
But no one hears you anymore
Because you're the one who started the fire
And no one sides with the wager of war

You tell me to be careful
And keep the lighter locked inside
But then you dump a gallon of kerosene
And look on at the flames with pride
CK Baker Jan 2017
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omegas
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the **** storm
with hostile ******
and a slew
of insatiable

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential

and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
surely no
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
this banter
is killing me
In as much as I tamed the Infidel
Baptism pokes her Holistic White Tongue
Such that if you try to flip the Role-Model
For which Hypocrisy had said and done
You do not know me. If Duty must care
And stand accused tackling my Man to like
Your Mass does not shrink me; And if you dare
Take a Pied Contest and taste the First Strike
Yet in fairness your Swan-Form does exist
As billed by Tom's Twin circled in craft
Now may I come in? Or should I resist
And Boot my *** on the Beach by the Draft?
Those Stripes were hostile from a Few Years Past
Enjoy Iberia Minor; Healing can last.
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