"madding" poems
Here's a verse to make you laugh!
You make me feel like an urban giraffe,
With a fabulously long neck,
What to do with that, by heck?
I see you far above the madding crowd,
Respect from afar is allowed,
I send you my feathered breath,
What do you do with that, by heck?
Did you know a giraffe can kiss?
For you, I pray nothing goes amiss,
A verse to you, sealed in bliss.....
I see you, far above the madding crowd,
Is respect from afar allowed?
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
The room was dank and dreary
The past hung in the air
There was a scent of mildew
A smell of history was there
The paint was old and faded
With stains all dark and brown
The wallpaper too was dated
And it needed to come down
It was a home for 50 years
That stood so strong and proud
It comforted all of our fears
Far from the madding crowd
We stripped away the paper first
Each layer a strip in time
It showed the old room at her worst
It really seemed a crime
To tear it down, and think of when
Each layer was first applied
The walls that seemed so tall again
I just stood there and cried
I thought about the birthdays
Celebrated in this room
Of getting covered all in glaze
That we cleaned off with a broom
The roses were much redder
Than I remembered them to be
In fact it now looked better
Than it did when I was three
I remembered Mother loved this
And of how it made her smile
And she gave Father a light kiss
After toiling all the while
The next layer though was not as nice
"Twas beige and a sort of lime
It made the room feel cold like ice
It spoke of another, somber time
I looked at the wall and I noticed the lines
Marking our heights as we grew
This was on a paper all covered in vines
Mom loved this one, we knew
It seemed surreal that Mom was not here
To see these passages pass
But we knew in our hearts that she was stil near
As we looked at paper covered with Bass
That was from when Unlcle Jim came to stay
And our folks gave up their room
To help out a brother who I still love to this day
One who can always help brighten my gloom
They changed the wall just for him
To make it seem more like it was his
They put their life on hold for Jim
And the wallpaper choice was his
The years pass by more quickly now
The paper doesn't change too much
Jim moved out and that is how
The paper changed just a touch
Mom got sick and Dad quit work
He did the room in flowers for our mom
It was at this time we noticed the rooms quirk
One of those things that made you go hmmm
Far up in one corner behind a section of curtain
Dad had left a small square showing the years
worth of papers we were certain
It was to help mom with her tears
Now as we finished we looked to the man
Sitting alone in the old corner chair
He smiled at us as best as he can
But I don't think he knew we were there
I handed him some paper and I looked in his eyes
He stared clear on through me
And then he started to cry
This was the last of this paper he'd see
Dad and the house now have gone into dust
The years get short and have tapered
But to go back in time I know all I must
Do, is look at my small square of paper.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
On the East Coast of England there’s a small resort
Called Cleethorpes, where I happen to reside.
And out towards the Pleasure Park
A short way from the shore
There is The Boating Lake.
I love to go there on a still, sundowning evening
When the parking is free.
To walk those walkways around the lake,
Dreaming I’m on Starfleet Academy Campus.
Walkways flanked by lawned hillocks and shrubs.
The lake is fringed by red-flowered reeds
And punctuated by ducks and geese.
Families and couples roam about
As I sit in meditation
Watching and listening
To the central fountain play.
Such a tranquil scene,
Far from the madding crowd.
Go over the bridge and cross the mini-railway line:
Before you reach the saltmarsh and the sea
You’ll find a stretch of shrubbery and trees
A haven for the birds
And for me,
As I walk my favourite path.
The lake is thus a prelude
To some splendid growth
As nature does its thing.
Serene and tranquil everything
A spiritual feeling
As I meditate
Beneath multi-layered clouds
Under endless sky.
Paul Butters
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
he had a third beer
before the hot platters came
he would have had another, had she not
stared, like she going to ask every question
he did not want to answer…
how did it feel to slap his first wife?
how did it feel to pull the trigger
and mow men down like so many weeds?
those were the questions in her eyes
and had he ever told anyone, what happened that night
when they came upon a village, where the young ones
slept with the dead, their ancestors
only a few feet away, watching, mute,
beyond the paddies where they planted the rice,
the narrow trails where they hunkered and spoke
the ancient tongue, not adulterated by the romance of the French
or the clumsy amalgam of shredded sounds from the new soldiers
the giants who ignored them in the steaming light of day
but came one night, bringing strange smells, oiled steel
muzzles pointed at their faces, shoved into their empty ears
grunting and groaning in an even more grotesque tongue
leaving tears and trembling in their wake,
the torn flesh, the wounded wombs, the silken vessels
meant to be there for the milky planting of tomorrow’s seeds
not the greedy groping of the interloper’s devilish deeds
was she asking about that night, the sounds he recalled
like puppies under heavy foot, or worse, like
the madding moaning of his own sister
when someone ripped her open
not in the distant killing fields
but in the back seat of her car
not two miles from where they sat
where he ordered more beer, and
she asked those questions with her silence,
with her eyes, the questions he would never answer
not after all the beer, in all the free world,
and he was pitifully glad
they served no sushi, in Kiki’s, though
the sharpened knives were there
ready for his confessional
and the raw slaughter of truth
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
An otherwise normal day.
Sitting on the bus, in the back,
People watching as usual.
Coffee drunk, a day to attack.
I wanted to see what happened
So, I worked up a huge yawn.
The yawn went around the bus.
Once all did it, the yawn was gone.
I did it often, totally on purpose.
Just a thing I do to amuse us.
I saw in a movie a man stopped
Carefully looked up into the sky
It stopped the foot traffic that day
They looked up too, I had to try.
I stood on the corner the next day
Down on Twelfth and Main Street.
Firmly I stood in the madding crowd.
I looked up, and they did as well,
And things quickly got quite loud.
It was amazing how quickly it swelled.
The yawn thing works on the job
If you want to give it your own try.
It works on desk mates, bosses
And even on people passing by.
The looking up thing also works
But bosses come and get strong
And stop your foolish game by
Saying that you should move along.
They don’t know what you’re doing.
They just know it has to be wrong.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought it self so blessèd never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O, benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better;
And ruined love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked to my content,
And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.
2.3k
SWEET daughter of a rough and stormy fire,
**** Winter's blooming child ; delightful Spring !
Whose unshorn locks with leaves
And swelling buds are crowned ;
From the green islands of eternal youth,
(Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever springing shade,)
Turn, hither turn thy step,
O thou, whose powerful voice
More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed,
Or Lydian flute, can sooth the madding winds,
And thro' the stormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.
Thee, best belov'd ! the ****** train await
With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove
Thy blooming wilds among,
And vales and dewy lawns,
With untir'd feet ; and cull thy earliest sweets
To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow
Of him, the favour'd youth
That prompts their whisper'd sigh.
Unlock thy copious stores ; those tender showers
That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,
And silent dews that swell
The milky ear's green stem.
And feed the slowering osier's early shoots ;
And call those winds which thro' the whispering boughs
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.
Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn,
And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale ;
And watch with patient eye
Thy fair unfolding charms.
O nymph approach ! while yet the temperate sun
With bashful forehead, thro' the cool moist air
Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses woes
The earth's fair ***** ; while the streaming veil
Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade
Protect thy modest blooms
From his severer blaze.
Sweet is thy reign, but short ; The red dog-star
Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe
Thy greens, thy flow'rets all,
Remorseless shall destroy.
Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewel ;
For O, not all the Autumn's lap contains,
Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits,
Can aught for thee atone
Fair Spring ! whose simplest promise more delights
Than all their largest wealth, and thro' the heart
Each joy and new-born hope
With softest influence breathes.
2.2k
What do they mean, this actor-as-if and the never-did, or says-he -never-did, sacrifice or sacred be made?
Primal, on to logic, come reason.
The artifice of sacrifice,
whatever necessitated making sacred a thought?
a sign for a time when words fail,
if words were to fail again,
in confusion after war,
this sign says
trust. Yes, such a sign. By this know us,
fret not, good news... not here...
secret. Sh.
Suffice to say sacrifice means more and less than most
Jordan Peterson /Sam Harris fans would act as if they believe
but, to live as if
be live
me
that's new at every opportunity, pay real close attention,
a safe zone, far from that same madding crowd…
(occluded allusion,
The Classic Far From The Madding Crowd Movie)
I see that crazy dog herd the sheep over the cliff, and I cringe
I cringed then, in the dark.
I was holding your hand but I've forgotten your name,
thanks for dropping by.
Tell Sis hi.
still
be live in the home
a safe zone, far from any madding crowd…
clouds are aloud
contrast to the blues and greens and puples and yes
keepemkeepemkeepem AI wantemferwampum
yeah, this part is
wat do you say? crazy weird need you add **** crazyshit weird ****
if you were a platypus, just cruisin' playin' hunt with hi-tech
magneto-electro-gravitonal sensors, in a pre release, like alpha
version of the proteins involved
And you find your way back to where you once belonged
blocked by a thing named a weir,
it 'lows water through, but not you.
What do you do?
the mud settles you, scout around,
an unhearable sound
an unfeelable touch,
a final beacon, repeating the final news from platypus you,
it worked. dis encorporation all gone rhythm engaged.
Est. system reliable against all obstacles: .166 billion years
by the measure of the man, who was the angel
rolling the rock back up the hill.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
By Arcassin B & wolfspirit
AB: Attractiveness will not flourish,
Body to body in the dark,
When your alone and you feel like
Nothings ever got your back,
Against the wall might get a scratch,
That pierced your soul and also
Doesn't call back,
Or leaves a text when you get home,
What is my final react,
Of being let down again,
In the night ,
Blowing winds,
I was curious to know how long you've
Known me since then,
The Waking,
I'm howling at the moon,
Like can you not hear me breathing!?
There are no further temptations to
Uncover your whole meaning,
Catching weird people getting in our heads,
Crowds watching us,
WSQF: the sweetest imaginings and the blissful calm
that this union brings..are we not one?
has life made fantasy come undone....
i wonder which one is you, is me, is one....
touching you is touching me, touching together
we are truly free....exploring, spelunking, delving
realms of pain and pleasure,
am i the adventurer, you, my treasure?
shut out the din of the madding crowd
exploring this message, to sing it out loud
so , we are connected, light or dark
one love, two bodies, one fatal spark
wide awake are we, while dreaming possibility
and the art of the probable...impossible is not worthy
let reign on high, imagination
you found my soul, i found my station
let's sleep on it, linger on the dreaming
as long as what we feel keeps streaming
i'm not asleep
i'm living you,
AB: We'd feel homegrown instead,
The smartest teens today,
We wouldn't end up dead,
To feel the lifting force,
Exploring others bodies,
Without cold sweats and unnecessary hobbies,
You don't hear me,
I was walking in the darkness with an open
Wound,
I'm waking up,
I just imagined you.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
After tending sheep,
He reads the worn Hymnal and
Dozes by the fire
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
a tree house let's build
tucked amid the leaves
where no will is unfulfilled
for the soul to ever grieve.
up away from madding noise
create a cave of peace
where tears flow of pure joys
nothing feels amiss.
far from the rush of town
high on windy space
where blissful hearts without frown
pure love harness.
let's make that home on tree
out of reach of race
for the mind to bloom carefree
in forever happiness.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
"Happy Face Variety Store"
Has new owners,
From Punjab.
They are way friendly.
I was renting the movie
Far From the Madding Crowd.
Ben, the owner's son, said:
Many people are renting movies tonight!
Yeah, the dog day's of summer.
Explanations and examples ensued.
The change in season.
Replace old anxieties with new.
The surety of autumn expectations.
The heat swirling in the ceiling fans.
The setting sun on Lake Huron.
All the dog days.
And then Ashna said:
Like the dog curling up to sleep.
They are way welcome.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
A safe haven
an English town
a solid rock of calm
a rose within the madding crowds
with charismatic charm
this peaceful soil is fuelled
by spanish working men
where traditional English rule
calls us back again
a monkey's retreat
where wild habits prevail
a comfortable seat
with an occasional gale
a land of Britishness
spells safety in it's shores
reliability and steadiness
oozing from it's pores
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
You tumble your gentle words
into the well of my inarticulate silence
Beckoning excitedly to me to come, come
And the ghosts, they don’t quite know what to do
In the presence of joy as lovely as your’s
You remember the best of me
When i barely understand the worst
And amidst the madding throngs
quietly retell those stories of old
In the most familiar of voices
Until they seep into my skin and well my eyes
with long streams of relief
For all my exquisite words I still cannot articulate
How home draws incomprehensibly closer
When you simply let me be
the girl I thought I forgot
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
(a quid pro quo plug for zaftig women)
women that tip weigh ling needle to spin vicious circle
akin to puppy chasing her/his tail
or require digital scale,
at the extreme alt right registering heavy
ba Jill 'en Jack knifed pail loads
whether young or old ought to be appreciated
not waifer thin self starved as a rail,
instead they suffer unfair injustice
like a trapped quivering quail
thus this fatalistic, generic,
and holistic landlubber
wanted to point head lee
hammer home one secure
heterosexual ******* stronger than
omnipotent Marcy's Playground
weather beaten pail
Trent Reznor's sixty 9 inch rust free steel nail
into the coffin of bias
against bevy of beautiful babes
within the mind of this male,
who inherited genetic predisposition
for being average, hearty and hale
yet feel compassion for those engaged
in an ongoing with battle of the bulge,
hmm... perhaps hiding ample *****
akin to milky sopping wet grail
or accepted unequivocally themselves
without envy of lithesome women,
who seem to possess flair with nary a flail
yet possess much love to avail,
and tis wise to love oneself unconditionally
despite premium aesthetics considered svelte
which mass media accentuates de facto spelt
definition of femininity aka runway models
donned in faux animal pelt
whose deliberate self exhibition
prompts madding crowd of man
to waggle tongue with slack jaws
as if ready to melt
or at instantaneous signal telepathically felt
drop drawers upon removing blackbelt.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
Poems come and steal my soul
and leave me here to bleed
Never wounding fatally
just taking what they need
An ounce or two of passion
a pound or two of pain
leaving me alone to heal
before harvesting again
Sometimes they give more than they take
with rhymes of which I'm proud
Other times my cries are lost
amidst the madding crowd
Yet my tale is not a sad one
for there is pleasure in this pain
why else would I keep writing
inviting them again?
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 8:21 AM UTC
As sunlight fades earth’s rich brocade,
We follow the flight of the birds,
Past the emerald forest now in shade,
Our silence speaks a thousand words.
We climb up a ladder of blue cloud.
To sit on a moon edged roof,
Far away from the madding crowd.
Hearts filled with vibrating truth.
Our shadows dance in melodies of mist
We sit drifting through the circling stars.
Our souls tumbling, flying, when we kiss,
For this night only, heaven is ours.
A moment that ought to last forever,
Has come and gone before we know,
Our hearts which opened like flowers in spring,
Will become frosted, iced, with snow.
And the barks and crows and life jars
As the saffron sunrise fills the sky,
We linger with pearl drops in our eyes,
Then lift our hands to wave goodbye.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Could someone please stop this ride
Could someone let me off
I've purchased tickets, paid the price
But failed to count the cost
I'm afraid this fun ride that I'm on
Of rhyme inside my mind
Is stuck on a continuous loop
And I can't get off this time
Or this emotional rollercoaster
As it's picking up in speed
On its madding course with rhyming force
Will keep me pinned down in my seat
I just would like one minute in life
Where I can sit back and relax
Not wandering the house of mirrors
Playing poetic mind games with myself
But this rhyming rhythm beat
Has a power all its own
I believe my mind will be stuck in rhyme
Long after it's closed down...
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
I know you have been searching
Looking all your life
For the missing element
For the unknown that fits the hole in your heart
I see your inner pain
Your tormented soul
I touch your scars
The invisible ones
I hear your madding thoughts within
And I feel the pounding of your troubled pulse
As the memories flood over you
Sweeping you off the terrifying precipice
Take my hand
Look into my eyes
Don't let go
There is so much I want to share with you
To heal you
To warm you
To comfort you
To refresh your mind
Your hope
Your dreams
For I have found the unknown
And it has saved me
From my madness
From my solitude
From my fears
I wish you could feel the peace I feel
Could rest in security as I do
I wish you could hear the comfort whispered to my exhausted mind
That sweeps anguish away
I wish you could know the future of hope and joy that I see
I wish that you could know the things I know
They say it is not what you know but who
I have come to know the one who saves
Who grasps my hand tightly and lifts me from the chaos
I do not fear man
I do not fear future
There is restoration up ahead
And peace
Please join me there
Hold my hand
And see a new world
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 9:07 AM UTC
Drawn to the privacy of the quiet beach,
And the deafening roar of the waves,
To the mangled shells, and seagull screech,
We surrendered to our bodies, like slaves.
For that seaside was our wild and secret love place,
With our toes we drew hearts in the shale,
A bunch of seaweed she smeared in my face,
I splashed water on her bare bosoms pale.
The sea spray bit cold on our naked skin,
As she teased and taunted so well,
Her magnetic curves how they drew me in,
Like the ocean I did seethe and swell.
Goose bumps crawled on our bodies entwined,
As the harsh wind caressed from the South,
We groped for heat from desires combined,
And the warm saline taste of our mouths.
The moonlight danced high as the sea did ebb,
Our spent bodies now bared to the sky,
The traces of our love play on the rippled sandy bed,
Not even the waves could deny.
We lay starkers on the strand, no madding crowds,
Still flirting in the naughty nip,
Our only company the shadows of the clouds,
And the drone of a distant ship.
Alas ! Our bliss was destined to fade,
Ne'er again to converge in the tide,
The moon no more a ****** to lust displayed,
When mad youths their pleasures not hide.
Memories now so vivid, I could nearly touch,
The tangles in her wild windswept hair,
Or taste those lips that I miss so much,
As across the barren beach I stare.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC
He sees her strut, legs alight.
His eye she catches, one dreary night.
He sets his snare, he waits her glance.
He'll only get one fleeting chance.
She is quick, herself quite proud
But he seeks her out from the madding crowd.
Her wit is quick, tongue lashing smart.
He knows he'll take her from the start.
His hook does catch, now's a waiting game.
His prize is her, but for to claim.
She'll make a move, he'll wait for that.
For now he watches like a cat.
She says hello, the door is cracked.
He wants her badly, on her scent he's jacked.
To win this prize and make her his
He'll test her hard. Can she pass the quiz?
She struggles well and resists his charm.
Her fear - he means her deathly harm.
He pursues his prey. Knows the prize.
He allows her valiant but feeble tries.
She is out-matched, she sees that quick
But to her plan she tries to stick.
He takes her down on bended knee.
Soon her soul will be set free.
She's confused and scared, he calms her fears
Whispers gently in her ears.
"You know I'll win, I 'm the one.
What I have done can not be undone."
She stops to think of her sealed fate.
The moment to flee has come too late.
She is his forever more.
He takes her in and shuts the door.
Now inside his lair of power
She peers out from gilded bower.
She submits. To him she'll heed
For now her king is all she'll need.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
oft times as a child crayola crayons
occupied concentration
to color, with a hue and a cry
would erupt if the merest and faintest mark
trespassed violating
some shade dee rule, i'd decry
cuz even as a boy,
a peaceful nonconformist/
nonestablishmentarian streak
now finds this guy
proud to be among
the minority removed
from the madding crowd,
though blurt out a friendly "hi"
when within of the vast lines of humanity
entropy vies to get
the upper hand until ban ky
moon: secretary - (at time of this writing)
general of the United Nations
doth raise an hand gesticulating with lie
sense to subdue
the crowded housed planet fitness
even if his magic doth manage to ply
a temporary truce among
scrabbling mobs of hoodlums,
some regurgitating spoon fed
pablum patois bred from an era quois
wanton vengeful retaliation,
whence faux recapitulation
initially evidenced
from hooligans who try
to wrest control
with mortal kombat full commando
from elected officials,
who abhorring violence must vie
trump petting for state military
don protective gear
bound by parochial training
to counteract mutiny why
hill chaos runs amuck law man
dating rubric with force of arms
and crack of firearms,
which forced quiet riot doth aim
to don the mantle of government control,
whereby foot soldiers
i.e. boots on the ground -
operate asia single blame
less force to be reckoned with,
cuz the supreme arbiter of power -
who thru a coup d'etat did claim
sear of power forces opposition
to sing condescending swan song
toward ruler de jure,
which includes a price tag i.e.
at least one vestal ****** dame
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
rest of title...Parkland, Fla.,February 14, 2018
One more senseless mass homicide
twas the sole arbitrary aim
as a former student nonchalantly
sauntered empty hallways
seconds preceding blame
brazenly intent to maximize total killed
matter of factly telling police
(his incomprehensible)
(ill) logic he did explain
when cornered, he willingly,
unflinchingly, reticently admitted guilt
Nikolas Cruz rocketed
to instantaneous infamous fame
pulling a fire alarm
("FAKE") emergency,
then going leisurely ambling
along his killing spree
total of seventeen slain (comprising 3 faculty
and 14 students)
mercilessly gunned down
as if they were wild game
when handcuffed, an innocuous
19 year old did readily admit
emptying one firearm after another
at a fairly rapid clip
then at some predestined
or spurious moment didst dip
and dive out amidst
the chaotic madding crowd
before reality flopped then did flip
as lower teeth he nervously bit upper lip
made feeble getaway
at a nearby eatery casually flirted
with cashier and made no move to flit
upon his seizure as cornered prey
subsequently large tract
massively cordoned off
strong arm of the law
slightly halting in speech
detailed his gambit
deliberately staking
a stance to maximize hit
and once again afflicted parents lit
up with rancor and rage pit
toughly battling sorrow
which will not quit
til death doth bring peaceful rest
sans, those grieving family visit.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC