"jurors" poems
I am the king victorious,
The jurors can plainly see.
As this crown sits on my head,
With shining jewels of glee.
I don't doubt this directive course,
As you can plainly see.
For I am the king victorious,
And you have become no voice to me.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
When all the men in white gather ‘round,
And all their smiles they have pulled down,
And God is all they learned in school
That’s when the Church picks up their tools.
When later drag in insecure,
The men that know they aren’t sure,
But must proceed and light the fuel,
When Francesco joins the duel.
When tall in stance so unafraid,
The man behind the trouble made,
With talk of Suns, and Earth, and joules,
Galileo ties the crewel.
When in they come, right on time,
And keep close guarded a biase unprimed,
For no! They shall so not be fooled!
The jurors come, and keep their cool.
When all these people uneasy meet,
Pull out their papers, take their seats,
And all our luck we share and pool,
When the Court does come to rule.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Hear ye my statute, men of Attica--
Ye who of bloodshed judge this primal cause;
Yea, and in future age shall Aegeus's host
Revere this court of jurors. This the hill
Of Ares, seat of Amazons, their tent,
What time 'gainst Theseus, breathing hate, they came,
Waging fierce battle, and their towers upreared,
A counter-fortress to Acropolis;--
To Ares they did sacrifice, and hence
This rock is titled Areopagus.
Here then shall sacred Awe, to Fear allied,
By day and night my lieges hold from wrong,
Save if themselves do innovate my laws,
If thou with mud, or influx base, bedim
The sparkling water, nought thou'lt find to drink.
Nor Anarchy, nor Tyrant's lawless rule
Commend I to my people's reverence;--
Nor let them banish from their city Fear;
For who 'mong men, uncurbed by fear, is just?
Thus holding Awe in seemly reverence,
A bulwark for your State shall ye possess,
A safeguard to protect your city walls,
Such as no mortals otherwhere can boast,
Neither in Scythia, nor in Pelops's realm.
Behold! This Court august, untouched by bribes,
Sharp to avenge, wakeful for those who sleep,
Establish I, a bulwark to this land.
This charge, extending to all future time,
I give my lieges. Meet it as ye rise,
Assume the pebbles, and decide the cause,
Your oath revering. All hath now been said.
3.6k
00:49 Carmel momin' there
although men
it's scary
for almost anything you know after all the model
finally
garcia alcohol use at all
finale jurors
for them to you
often it is not
come on saturday
contain delaware
commune daze on
continue
housing
billion
went through the ebay
dosing
mean are you reading for only
emailing here and your mom
along all you are not
using spoon this long
didn't the Stalin
today is hamburger
3:31 darlin'
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
He bluntly crucified my friend
I’ve known liars, I‘ve known thieves
I’ve seen crooked lawyers in action
I was shocked by the jurors reaction
I have study the body languages of the fibbers
Read between the lines of the tell-tales
But to concocted a preposterous but believable story
Just to feed it to the judge: That is so cold, yet so bold
I always believe in the old saying,
Only fools represent themselves in the courts of law
My heart bleeds for my dearest friend
His soul have grown weaker than elastic knicker
**Akiane Kramarik said
"No matter what happens around us, or to us, through love,
our soul reaches immortality, conquering all dimensions and all destinies**
He had bathed in the forbidden sea, where the mermaid had warn him
Not to entered:, Where the daughters of Lucifer lured kindhearted men from good homes
He builds their house near the sand, and it slowly sank
He looks out to the Atlantic Ocean,
for guidance and saw the raging waves
Then he remembers nights of unsettling dream:
He have known liars, he have known pain,
Somehow, it was hard for him to stay afloat in
the murky water I’ve known liars
I have listened to both sides:
but earlier this week the judge was so quick to chooses sides
Is this the end for my friend?
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Publicly, in a place where language and liberty are
held by egotists, teach the limits of minutes.
Remind the esteemed that speed
is a fool for popular belief.
Twelve months, twelve jurors, twelve perhaps.
Trees have grown in sadder conditions.
If you want the confidence of indifference,
then amaze nature with offensive styles and time with substance.
Paranoia is perfect in a nit-pick of cages.
Birds and children depend on the weather -- the size of
your plate is positive protection from detection.
Man is born trumpeted by eliminations,
so provoke the simple and the neccesary.
Wisely, allow falls to perfect your aim
and let submission be it's own masterpiece.
Devote yourself to purpose and exacting hope.
Increase living with boyhood wonder,
and always love -- transform.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
‘The time has come,’ he heard them say
Outside his tiny cell,
‘Go in and get the beast to pray
To save his soul from Hell.’
The Priest then walked up to the bars
And stated his intent,
‘Will you confess at last, my son?
Will you, at last, repent?’
‘The only thing that I repent,’
The prisoner said at last,
While staring at the Priestly face
At length, through double glass,
‘Is how your justice operates,
Your Judge sits on his bench,
Determines guilt before the trial
And brooks no argument.’
‘You have been tried by twelve and true
Your jurors had their say,
Condemned you as a murderer
Before they walked away.’
‘They would have found me innocent
Had he not been precise,
And sent them back to change their view,
Not only once, but twice.’
‘The law’s the law,’ the Priest replied,
‘The verdict said it’s you,
You had your day in court, and now
You’ll have to pay your due.’
‘I’m innocent,’ the prisoner said,
‘I swear it before God!’
‘Take not his name in vain, my son,
It’s time to reck his rod.’
‘Your God is just an ornament
To keep us fools in check,
If he were real, he’d swoop on down
And break the Judge’s neck.
The only God is in my heart
And he knows everything,
He welcomes us, the innocent,
Hypocrisy is sin.’
‘You risk your soul,’ the priest replied,
‘So hold your tongue in check,
For soon it will be silenced as
The rope, it breaks your neck.’
‘How many Nuns have you despoiled,
How many children died,
How many now lie buried, spread
Across the countryside?’
‘You hide behind your surplice, and
Your cassock and your gown,
You say you represent him, but
In fact, you put him down.
You tie us up with ritual
And steal our Peter’s Pence,
Then hide your sins by making all
The laity repent.’
‘I’ve had enough,’ the Priest replied,
Then turned and stepped aside,
The gaolers tied his hands and feet
And shuffled him outside,
They dragged him to the gallows and
Put on the dreaded hood,
But still he called, ‘Repent yourself,
Oh Priest! You know you should!’
It barely took a minute for
The rope and then the drop,
And then just twenty seconds for
His beating heart to stop,
The Priest’s thin hands had trembled
As he walked out in the cold,
And prayed, not for the prisoner,
But for his own poor soul.
His sins lay heavy on him as
He walked up to the nave,
Then knelt before the altar asking
God, his soul to save,
But God was strangely silent
And the Priest had felt like dross,
The morning saw him hanging
From the altar’s Holy Cross.
David Lewis Paget
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Gazing at the vibrant clouds in the ashen sky,
It is not them that move, but I,
For the breeze of Mother Nature is but a wafting breath,
Imparted from her *****
To move the impartial inhabitants to harbor universal wisdom.
Thus let rivalry arise between the jurors three;
Amongst which Father time sets the sands free,
Impartial to havoc of releasing ages and convicting generations,
Set loose at his own hand,
Greatly yearning for mankind to desire to understand.
Hark and Herald, an Angel arrived on sullen black wings,
To recluse man; further reprieve wrong doings,
Slowly risen with the gallantry of gilded fervor and entitlement,
Like Atlas bearing burdens on brazen back,
Sentencing humanity to acquiesce that all is not bleak and black.
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC
They have written me off
They could have prevented my demise
But they would rather pay the cost
For a false witnesses lies
This epidemic
May soon have a remedy
As for me
It’s too late
They’ve already denied clemency
The power of God
In the hands of man
Leaving those who oppose
Too scared to stand
I was convicted
Before I was tried
The world rejoiced
As my mother cried
Could they not see it
From her side?
A suited tribe
Thirsty for someone to die
Feeling foolish
Because in my mind
Justice was supposed to be blind
Defense was worthless
Media circus
Where the jurors were
Corrupted clowns
Before they knew their purpose
Distorted versions,
They knew
I shot every round
Guilty!
Is what they found
I was victimized
By a victims cries
Seeing my innocence
Refusing to look me in my eyes
My sincerity had been denied
It was evidently evident
The evidence was irrelevant
Judge served no purpose
Playing God for the hell of it
Praying for the privileged
To pardon me
Pro-life defender
Pretenders
Discarded me
Waiting for the phone to ring
Hoping that it will
I’ve been denied clemency
My fate has already been sealed…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
He is smirking at me.
Still smirking, after I used a bucket full of ice-cold water on him.
Even smirking, when my fists crackle into his cheeks.
Why does he still smirk at me, when I press the cushion into his face?
She is smirking at me.
Still smirking, watching me leaving the haven of sanity.
Even smirking, after she is placing the call.
Why does she still smirk at me, instead of bringing me back?
I am smirking at them.
Still smirking, when I hear the handcuffs locking.
Even smirking, facing the jurors wall of hatred and scorn.
Will I still smirk, after dawn has broken?
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Maybe five is what I deserve,
a lucky seven two beats away.
Is it not justice for the strong to
deny the weak their day in court?
This is our tribunal, tribulation,
the trial of the sensory sort,
the sensitive sort, some mixed
feelings not yet sorted.
And only five jurors showed.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Should I define the explanation
I love a good cross examination
You interject so crudly I have to question
The reasoning for this strange expedition
a useless attempt on your part my dear
Maybe you’ll trip over the truth this year
A fruitless Journey, Mr District Attorney
A disarrayed and unbelievable story
You weave a dark and deceitful tale
conceited hard headed unfortunate male
Misdirectting the jury cheap distraction
waiving a wand for a nice reaction
It will not change or alter the facts
The truth always finds its way back
Cleverly worded and with particular jabs
Aimed to destroy any chance you had
skillfully and with style and wit
Disassembled every lie you tried to get away with
determined and with direct intent
Eviscerated and attacked your defense
Easily directed and earned the jurors trust
With the ease of a professional psychiatrist
But all of this is not in vain
A lesson here has been learned and gained
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
My love, I cannot write to you a word,
For any word requires a treatise true,
Each chapter, then, a jury for review,
Whose jurors must be scrupulously heard--
Each letter would be faulty in its sound,
And seem to need another or one less,
A clause to justify would just digress,
And never would the proper print be found--
To write to you a play descends to plot,
A choir, perchance, would make an honest show,
Yet shows are sharp when high and flat when low,
So base a stage cannot portray my thought.
In love, I must allow mere words to err,
And credit them for carrying us there.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
There are evident walls of invisible matter which maintain the appearance of enviable rectitude, even though the blatancy of our traits confront the myriad of personal dishonesties over timeless planetary separations of union.
So delicate are those seemingly subconscious mechanisms which are subject to our explanatory naïveté and unfathomable presumption.
In this case of psychological avalanche, every metaphorical snowflake within our lives has offered a “not guilty” plea.
Oh, jurors of celestial cities, our mantras have subsided down slopes of exploratory fumbling where excitatory satin slips from the shoulders of a wanton seductress of socio-political exploitation.
Let us ***** an altar, and present an offering to the universe, which surpasses the veneer of familiarity and self-righteous redemptions.
After all, our fantasies are a reality, don’t you think?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
They tell me that I need to use my voice to be heard
But How can a soft spoken voice be heard
In a crowd of millions
Without having to yell out my verbs and nouns and adjectives
How can I make myself known to the world
Without spreading the word that we are just a herd
Spreading our curd through the suburb
With blurbs to our jurors
I mean our peers who leer,
Jeer, cheer, and fear that we will destroy
That which is near and dear to them
And create chaos that cannot be silenced
Unless violence is used on our insolent minds
That refuse to accept the truths
Fed to us by those in power
Believing that their word is the law of all
And they shall not fall from their fragile pedestal
I refuse to allow such madness to occur
And spur the world into a frenzy
That's too crazy for the lazy to comprehend
No, I'd rather fight against the chaos
Even if it means I am forced to fight the world
With the same voice that refuses to yell
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
The buzz of the street lamps keeps me awake
Thick metal power lines cast shadows on my drapes
Those wires they crackle
And cackle
And mock me through the night
They whisper
Converse
Like a room full of jurors.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Insecurities chew me down like I chew my nails when insecurities chew me down.
I cry.
I won't lie.
I won't hide.
I won't justify.
It's my life.
I can be sad when I want to;
Mad when I want to;
Glad when I want to -
Be.
I'm expressing myself,
You'll see only what you want to see,
Believe only what you choose,
View it from your own perspective.
Put yourself in my shoes;
Just for a minute.
Can you fill them?
No!
So don't judge me as if;
You would react better;
To all the circumstances;
If you were me.
I'm tougher than you could ever dream to be;
So look away and don't give any judgemental words to me.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
i keep peeking around
these curling corners -
dashing away from
the finger-waggers
who blink
only
when i'm not
in this predicament
when i'm not
kissing the sides of this
yellowing frame -
still holding fast
to that
ensnared moment
i've deemed
too late to make
unholy
unabashed and tall
in the courts of
low-faced jurors
who **** their teeth
at my soiled apparel
and glare down
over horn-rimmed
frames
demeaning demeanors
in mean-streak persons
demand dumb perfection
in too black
tattered
robes.
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 1:48 AM UTC
The way you atacked it was bitter
The smile that you wore it was cheap
The way that you spread drew the honey
from the door of the womb for the feast
And all of my brigadeer generals
Told me how and why to attack
And they guided each wave of my missiles
Through the valleys to swarm like a pack
And I shine like an old country bulldog
In the ragged cast light of the moon
And I smile at my own demolition
'cause I'm too **** tired to swoon
And I brace my soul for the battle
And the burden keeps me on track
And I'll rest whenever I get there
'cause I know there's no turning back
And I know that the seasons are endless
and the years too quickly are past
And the songs and the hearts that we marry
We marry to replace what we lack
Ah the memories you left were sheer torture
Discarded and left there to seethe
And the words of our last conversation
Must still hang like ice from your teeth
You convinced all the jurors with visions
of why - though you killed - you are sweet
Of why it was rightful to ******
A love had become far too neat
So why does the guilt grossly linger?
Why doesn't the shame fade away?
Why does the love that you killed for
Become less important each day
Well my dear have you learned your lesson
Or will you die still afraid?
Must you take your lies and deceptions
All the way to the hole of your grave?
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
What does it mean to be normal?
I haven't the right answers,
But I do have judges, jurors, and observers,
So my free will is lost the moment I leave my conscious,
Dreams were an escape for me, now I watch them combat the white padded walls,
These illusions might be a noble pursuit but I feign compliance,
Deceitfulness compliments sadness or fear
We always say it's okay when it's not,
A thought in general could destroy the world,
Though our worlds compare as ants to the giants of our universe
We may not all walk the same path,
How beautiful it is to end as equals,
One day I may write a lie that becomes normal speech
I'll still be rambling what does it mean.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
BY: Cedric McClester
Jurors would be asked to find
Probable cause
But who knows what goes down
Behind closed door
When you discover the man wasn’t
Who you thought he was
And you become victimized
In spite of the **** laws
They’ll blame you (the victim)
As they usually do
Then accuse you of not knowing
What you shoulda knew
When the sad reality
Is that you had no clue
You’d be drugged and date *****
Before you came to
His image is carefully crafted
On the other hand you’re someone
Who would get laughed at
So you keep your silence
Though treated like a door mat
Because he has the power
To make lies a fact
And then dare you to try ‘n react
They’ll blame you (the victim)
As they usually do
Then accuse you of not knowing
What you shoulda knew
When the sad reality
Is that you had no clue
You’d be drugged and date *****
Before you came to
So you wait for years
To get it off of your chest
And when you finally do
You’re vilified nonetheless
As far as they’re concerned
It’s no contest
Ya see he has no conscience
As you might have guessed
As more and more women
Come to the fore
The licentious allegations
Become hard to ignore
Which reveal he’s rotten
Right down to the core
And he’d go to any lengths
To cop or to score
They’ll blame you (the victim)
As they usually do
Then accuse you of not knowing
What you shoulda knew
When the sad reality
Is that you had no clue
You’d be drugged and date *****
Before you came to
Jurors would be asked to find
Probable cause
But who knows what goes down
Behind closed door
When you discover the man wasn’t
Who you thought he was
And you become victimized
In spite of the **** laws
(C) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
An auditorium of people,
I wade here
in this place,
a pool of strange faces
& the organizers act as if
we've got nothing better to do.
Imagine this,
a five dollar per diem
for wasting my time.
This process seems as
messed up as the system.
But then again.
there could be trials
without jurors,
then we'd really be ******
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
I need to turn these days
into attractive dust
moments left abandoning
a selfish recreation
of secrets employing
their own role in
a landscape of desperate longing
like an angel whose inconsistent stability
will disappoint the
courts of categorical righteousness
tossing into the wind of verdicts
a rebel leaf that will
someday find its way
into the bedrooms of anxious jurors
showing once and for all
the impermanence of contentment
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
wake me
shake me
out of this febrile trance
furtively pilfering my
heart's ancient treasure
once guarded
by comforting spirits
of warm hopes and
beliefs held beyond reason
never questioned
by the minds tribunal
the jurors seated
in the cranial court
knowing eyes silenced
by misguided faith's rhetoric
never minding
the persuasive muzzle
often ignoring serpent's
retractable tongue
always turning from
the dark corridors
light banished
by modern-day pharisees
cloaked in mantles of treason
patronizingly diluting
what can only remain pure
painted with pious platitudes
away
far away
i must sail from this folly
an orphan of mystical doubt
the frost and cold tempest I feel
cautious sensibilities
a tenuous guide
through these gray
realms I traverse
trembling hands
grasp transient hopes
striving to shape
deeper meaning
disciplining lazy
traditional beliefs
that hang on like
phosphorescent
spiders in the dusty
lofty
rafters of memory
deceptive iconic silhouettes
faded de-spiritualized
superimposed on a
human-made landscape
a beautiful picture
gold frame and all!
absence of religious
pop-culture faith
eclipses peace
i shudder at the prospect
of this purge
preparing for burial
what must die
the end of an age
burned in effigy
a raging wilderness
I now pass through
I stumble by many
a familiar and
unfamiliar fane
longing to be clothed
with a mantle of peace
a vulnerable yet
strong spirit I guard
let not trivialised faith be
my misleading guide
and if it is all meaningless
alas! it may be
still I must forge
ahead to the sea
ever mindful that rivers
return to where
they have been
separated at birth
i often hear roaring waves
crashing and gentler waves
lapping on shore
but a body of water
is not always the Sea.
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 12:08 PM UTC