"journo" poems - Hello Poetry

A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved

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Nov 6, 2018

Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC

yenson

Ya...knife Me Just Because..........

A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved

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You claim to be a journalist. But you've got apostrophes where it's not needed. Like your opinion.

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Oct 27, 2014

Oct 27, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC

beatriz

Journo

You claim to be a journalist. But you've got apostrophes where it's not needed. Like your opinion.

4

Today a darkling cloud flew over me, rained its rain and soaked it deep Is half a whole better than a whole half, the very thought made me laugh A whole half is what I seek, and today I feel so limp and weak Never a poet or playwright of conviction, never a journo exposé of a states affliction Slave to mammon and of convention, tired soldier of no conviction The strings under my fingers learn so slow, my inner strengths refuse to show Afraid to pass a properties gate, stumbling over another glass to a state Cant quite see what you see in me, cant quite remember where I want to be The home I try so hard to make, its walls crumbling in some silent quake The ties that bind me to this place, the failure and the fall from a phantsied grace Unable to walk the path I chose to take, unsure and lost with all at stake

0

Dec 13, 2015

Dec 13, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC

Bi-maclean

Long Haul

Today a darkling cloud flew over me, rained its rain and soaked it deep Is half a whole better than a whole half, the very thought made me laugh A whole half is what I seek, and today I feel so limp and weak Never a poet or playwright of conviction, never a journo exposé of a states affliction Slave to mammon and of convention, tired soldier of no conviction The strings under my fingers learn so slow, my inner strengths refuse to show Afraid to pass a properties gate, stumbling over another glass to a state Cant quite see what you see in me, cant quite remember where I want to be The home I try so hard to make, its walls crumbling in some silent quake The ties that bind me to this place, the failure and the fall from a phantsied grace Unable to walk the path I chose to take, unsure and lost with all at stake

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