"magistrates" poems
not since nor silk.
Mother's milk for the generations.. yes she was .
Greeted Lindbergh on touchdown.
Society clone. Rich ************* could not leave her alone. Tall tale teller.Paperback
construct. Stepping into the ball with no invitation and stopped the music and conversation.
Pale skinned poser.
Gettin over.
Her daddy was a man of means.
Hired by the Majesties to count jellybeans.
He loved the local **** to the tune of
Poppa was a rollin stone.
The magistrates and potentates in the republic of bananas. Pinkys up tea sippers .
Could not get hold of collective zippers.
Faded portrait. long dead poser.ball buster. Pretty as crystal.Tough as pig iron.
She was high flying flapper. Cutting a rug. Charleston,Jitterbug. Short skirt flirt. Grandma ?
Smokin hot and smokin when women did not dare. C.O.P.D. and a hacking cough came the pipers toll. The Wages.
Just keeping it real.
Slip sliding away.
Drove a Jalopy.
Aiee Pahpi chulo. Bestin May West with a smaller life jacket.
Turn the century.
Trench warfare.
Over the top.The war to end all ? shiiiit. Great Grandma
was a show stopper. To the very end.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Out on the marsh on a lonely night
The wind soughs through his rags,
The hat that’s pinned to his painted face,
Flutters and soars, then sags,
His eyes are wide and his mouth is grim
As an owl is put to flight,
And nothing but shadows will venture there
For the Scarecrow rules the night.
And back in the manse in a window seat
The Parson’s daughter sits,
She stares at the fluttering coat-tails, but
In truth, is scared to bits,
She watches the sails of the windmill turn
And creak and groan in the gloom,
As clouds come stuttering over the marsh
In the rays of a Harvest Moon.
The father is out in the donkey cart
To tend to his aging flock,
He’s left Elizabeth waiting there
By the tick of the hallway clock,
But out on the moors and beyond the marsh
There rides one Highway Jack,
A frock coat topped with a bunch of lace
And a gold trimmed tricorne hat.
He’s whipped the horse to a lather
In a retreat from a new affray,
For the magistrates have gathered
Vowing to ride him down that day,
The redcoats wait in the village Inn
For the sound that they know too well,
When the curate sees the approaching horse
He’s to toll the old church bell.
But the curate lies in a drunken fit
On the floor of the old church nave,
And soon, by matins his soul will flit
From life to an early grave,
Elizabeth sits in the window seat
And thinks of the coin and plate,
As the highwayman dismounts, and ties
His horse to the manse’s gate.
He beats on the door, ‘Please let me in,
I’m weary and faint, that’s all.
I wouldn’t abuse your person, but
I fear my back’s to the wall.’
She leaves the seat and she slides the bar
For bracing the oaken door,
‘I dare not, sir, I fear for my life,
You’re safer out on the moor!’
Their voices echo across the marsh
Like fear, distilled in the night,
And something shudders out in the gloom
And lurches to left and right,
It seems forever, but now a sound
Tolls out, like a final knell,
For something, out in the church tonight,
Is tolling the steeple bell.
He barely makes it back to his horse
When the redcoats stand in line,
Their muskets fire a volley of shot
And his coat turns red, like wine.
They go to the church when the deed is done
To say, ‘You have done well!’
But the curate lies on the cold stone floor,
The Scarecrow tolled the bell!
David Lewis Paget
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Job searches getting me down
I wait a few days and build up expectations of a keyword,
only to be hit with my inexperience in strange computer programs
Secret knowledge, have the behind the curtain research consultants
No one wants to understand a fleeting past
It’s all about what’s profit present
an internet job board is a long look at the priorities of this nouveau world "culture"
The top jobs are in marketing,
turning spy loot into algorithms that explain to magistrates how
the top brands can stay above the clouds
It’s the only way they can look down
My college has a vapid radio commercial
advertising zesty summer programs
- and I thought my prestigious public college
was above that
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Our milky way galaxy floating thru space
its translucent circling orb alight
alive prana the dots of energy minature Stars
holding hue beings space travelers
in the darkness of space revealed
as prana we exit the womb living creation
the light orbs milk awaits us
this cosmos existence adores surrounds me
centering life in Earth the Eco-system
apter genick learning cells fighting extinction
imperial magistrates a re-leafing of stress
brought on by diet and habitat pollution
I reach into the sky aware of space travelling
regions the path prana exists in homes of love
to hold the consciousness of life the Universe
allows the roots chosen thru the cosmic life
in the living consciousness of love love
the binding force of all nature reactions living
for the one of all the great quest for Eternity
the beings of prauna sending cosmic messages
for the quest of being a Star is the mighty
life, has no god to rule it forth
ruled by the life creation alive
alining thru time and space all
the the orbs come together
the life energy of the future survivial
the mothers apter genick learning
of cells to reach all of life
to come together as one being
the one for ALL
a story to tell how will we survive
our pranua each life orb a moment divine
seeking you out listen feel the calling
life of humanity eternity the wailing over
you are here to be replaced
just visit to continue onward
life is pleasure open life to receive
live the moment of egg and seed
the burst the rush rises and goes in a second
the prana of life creation memories
that lead to channels of new being
one drop of you or ten moment upon moment
orbs dots of you swirling translucent
being the created in light of a moment
here we are manifested in a body a hue being
of light and dreams working out a scheme
to be eternity prana living the joy
the love of a moment for ever
to travel in time to be renewed
a change from born again
Eternity of love the orb of prana gjmars 6/10/15
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
"It's an attack--an attack on our country,"
The president said. "It's a disgrace."
It's still amazing how he can say
The things he does and keep a straight face.
The Mueller probe's an attack on our country?
An attack on all we stand for? Say what?
Maybe if Trump had been honest and forthright
He wouldn't find himself in a rut.
What DO we stand for? Rule of law,
Search warrants, magistrates…
Where no one's above the law, not even
The president of the United States.
The president's idols--Putin, Duterte,
And Erdoğan--would never permit
Investigations into their own acts.
To strongmen it would NOT be legit.
To Trump a legal pursuit to find
Answers is a ruthless attack.
Yet Russia assaults our democratic
System, and Putin's a crackerjack!
Poor Trump just doesn't get it.
Whenever he talks, he more or less
Rubs salt in his very own wounds
And finds himself in a bigger mess.
-by Bob B (4-11-18)
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
i have, twice or 1nce, or there and here, had this dream: (or once or 2ice)
a folding song of clouds by azure lungs shorn of air and vapor
amongst them walking going: an angel, young and old ministers
a scented stupid scratch of light in nights mouth abruptly quick
"how nice a thing i think i think a sorry muscle wafting
verbs and nouns parentheses"
the angel croaking slim sentences and plucking
on the sun a mountain against my eyes____
to hollow in direct passion my slender aching column
and toe to head a scent of succulent silence magistrates her form
how by i came and to the maw abounding
chrysanthemums a verdant pillow, with slow buds
an autumn and a spring
where holly and emerald think in crimson berries and christ is
drooping by the wayside. it should be that winter is a cold and lovely
notion. but in my dream it is a hell...
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
Millions are made
off the misery of others
& there is no cure in sight.
The system just reloads,
rakes in the hard earned dollars
of real people
who they say
have no rights.
And who are they,
but the high & mighty
magistrates,
sitting high in the pulpit,
hitting happy hour
before they drive back home
after a hard day's work
playing hypocrite.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
There’s always been something controlling me,
I knew, but I knew not what,
Something diverting and foiling me
Since the days that I lay in my cot,
I thought it was simply a parent thing
As they whispered their rules in my ear,
The things that were right and the things that were wrong
And the things I would most have to fear.
They sent me to school and the teachers, too,
Must have read from the very same book,
They always laid blame and they said it the same
And the cane lent a sting to their hook.
‘You’re coming to learn, not to think for yourself,
You’ll repeat everything that I say,
And maybe just some of these rules will stick
If you dwell on the rules every day!’
Then once in the world my employers unfurled
All the rules and the regs I would keep,
I didn’t last long, I’d seen them before
And told them they put me to sleep.
The government fined and unlicensed me
From a book that they said was the law,
The magistrates sat on a heap of these books
As I shrugged and I said, ‘What for?’
I sat in the jail for contempt of court,
Spent plenty of time in my cell,
The world was consumed with a million rules
Designed to consign you to hell.
I watched all the lawyers and prisoners, cops
As they danced to the rules of the cot,
And sensed they were puppets, and most of them fools
Who would baulk at the words, ‘I will not!’
They’d hate to be questioned, they thought they were right,
If you disagreed you were canned,
They’d lock you away for a hospital stay
There was no going back, it was planned.
You had to be made to agree with their way
So they clamped electrodes on your head,
Then slide up the volts, and it wasn’t their fault
If it happened you ended up dead.
They called it Electro-therapy
And said it was doing you good,
But the thoughts in my brain they were never the same
When I came out from under that hood,
I saw the strings jerking from shoulders and heads
In a vision you couldn’t conceive,
And there were the hands that were pulling their strings
When I called out, ‘I don’t believe!’
‘I’ve never believed and I’ll never believe,’
I called, and they all moved away,
A thunderous cracking of mortar and ceiling,
It all fell apart on that day.
The strings fell away from my shoulders and hands
And I knew I was finally free,
And then I called up to the Puppet Master,
‘You won’t be controlling me!’
People were falling all over the place
As he dropped all the strings from his hands,
The bearded Master could see the disaster,
‘You’ve ruined my world and my plans!’
He paused for a moment and then he was gone
Leaving people to blink in the light,
The rules were the rules of the Puppet Master
Now we can decide what is right!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
We are the refused...
Barefoot in the marketplace
Born in the backseat
With minds erased
To hide dirt in the backstreets
And mud on the school steps
The fool in the textbook
Paints us inept
Tainted
******
Illicit natives
Miserable Misfits
Nothing the magistrates can't handle
OH!!!
They wish!
Suppress our melodies
But never break our lips
We are the misused...
Our eyes do penetrate
Every false-flag they perpetuate
Even though barbiturates
Are placed beneath our pillows
The shame billows
The shame follows
Rodents to the edge of the borough
Where men create addicts
There
Publicans turn
Badges burn
Magistrates press their shirts and hatch their eagles
Discernment is not taught
Nor is it learned
We are the obtuse...
Blacked out and abused!
Sold for pulpits and ocean views
Magistrates hate us
Their eagles circle to berate us
"Intolerant"
"Outdated"
"Unpatriotic"
"Ill-fated"
But by grace we persevere
By faith we adhere
To a higher truth
A purer view
Our strongholds are not stick
and stone
Chrome nor drone
But
Christ alone
Our strength and hope
Out hope for home
NOT polls and popes
NOT guns and votes
NOT Magistrates and lazy legislations
NOT eagles which feed on
Desensitized demonstrations
Police brutality and assassinations
Nomadic nations
Sporadic speculations
We
The Refused
We
The Misused
We
The Obtuse
Will NOT cosign evil
Will NOT massage magistrates
Will NOT elevate eagles
We will NOT
We must NOT
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
Beyond the blue the Almighty lives
His geography clue the universe never leaves
Loving and kind at church they say
In the incandescent city he bears sway
King of kings He reigns supreme
Angels sing of His majesty sublime
A rod of iron with dazzling crown
Infinite mercies reach the trim of His gown
His blazon feet on pavement of gold rest
The land of knowledge where wisdom nests
There all tribulations are under arrest
And none of this here ever wrest
And He bows down the world beneath
Watching affairs down the Earth
He hears the cry of a dying world
Holding loose His hopeful immutable word
Down here pain and injustice reign
Anarchy and fear hold the reins
And righteousness and love never rain
Its tribunals and magistrates give lain
I saw it all in this little boy
Calamity and misfortune keep him abuoy
His skin wrinkled and tender flesh crusted
Where poverty is built a niche and clustered
Hardly walking and can hardly breath
Amidst town people who walk by in blithe
And so fights on till exhausted he gives in
And lays him forever silent in nature’s inn
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
It’s a slow slide to somewhere else...
He shuffles, stumbles stammers and he sleeps.
He knows I am his brother.
I help him go for a wee in a bowl,
we’re standing by the commode.
He shuffles back to his comfy chair
but only with my help.
“Are you my brother?”
“I am,” I say.
Six years is a biggish gap between siblings.
‘Our Brian’ tolerated me...
”Take Chris to the pictures”...
”Aw Mum, I’m 18... he’s only 12!!!”
He headed on out with his mates, smirking,
waving a ciggie and a beer.
But, when he needed a whizzo batsman for his cricket team,
who knew?
I was strangely unavailable...
But, I capitulated and said “OK I’ll play for you!” We won!
At 81 he shuffles, he stammers, stumbles and he sleeps.
He employed 300 people in factories overseas,
spoke with authority, negotiating with emperors -
always with total ease.
Today he talks in whispers, his larynx squeaks;
clatters like a broken pipe, every time he speaks...
He shuffles, he stammers, stumbles and he sleeps
...for most of every day.
“
I am your brother aren’t I?”
“You certainly are”, I say.
He was the head of magistrates handing down the law...
I joked... I called him ‘hang ‘em high Bri’,
him judging slightly to the right of Atilla the ***
I remind him of his past... and we smile ...
(because of course it wasn’t true)....
The last thing to die will be his sense of fun.
He shuffles, stammers, stumbles and he sleeps.
He played prop forward for Moseley’s first fifteen,
maybe his problems started way back when...
too many head clashes, line outs, scrum downs...
That’s the last thing you’d think about back then.
But there’s long term damage you might do...by just ‘being’.
He stumbles, stammers, shuffles,
dummies
and scores in his dreams...as he sleeps.
He even went to garden parties at the Queen’s Equery’s behest
as well as, whilst in India, often - he’d be a Maharajah’s guest.
And, when you mention it, he just smiles wryly
and stares, with rictus grin. He IS in there!
But that’s the trouble though... sometimes he IS locked IN!
He stumbles, stammers, shuffles, smiles -
and he does love to rest.
But sometimes he will rally with a string of memories
all lucid and true... and, if there’s food involved
well, he’ll be at the table way ahead of you.
That’s the quick shuffle!
He makes good progress
through all his favourite stuff,
Then he’ll lie in his reclining chair
and enjoy that customary nap
You watch him closely - making sure he’s still breathing
- thank heavens for that!
He stumbles, wheezes when he talks -
and shuffles when he walks...
He shuffles, stumbles...then he sleeps!
“You are my brother aren’t you?”
“You know I am - for keeps!
Love you Bri!”
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 3:22 AM UTC
Eight apple seeds and I'm in need of a new tune
Blake lays back burning his own, he's got nowhere to go
Rhythm reminds me there is a reason to stand
And your hand is shaking as I ask you "What's the plan?"
Each hair stands on end as Her eyes look forward
An artist to the bone over and over she's swore
Touched by the devil, licked by every angel
A fortified compound of crank that ain't ever gonna last
Hear these words from a mouth that is torn
A heart that is twisted
Lungs that are blistered
Too fast for the night and to dead for the day
The nighttime is the right time to pull the fire alarm
Trouble in feathers for they are the winged blest
God made some mistakes I guess that's where I'm at
Road to LA is a road drenched in blood
Streets in Chicago are wide for the ride
East of here is nowhere at all
Another party for the crowd that stands and looks proud
Dollar bill signs for sins we never gonna win
Love is the way to the one road that will never end
Sure you got your hats and you cuff links and your million dollar cars
But who at your loneliest hour will meet your sorry *** at the bar?
Broke up river stones in your shoes all outta *****
Miss and taken identity your women said she's gonna leave
Off to the coast for a toast that don't involve any part of you
Now with the winter chill in all kinds of discontent
And the start light shimmering for everyone else cept' you
Now you really gotta' buckle down and choose what to do
Lost loner drifting through trees like an angels flapping wing
Why, oh why, do you choose not to breathe and sing?
The notes emote every ounce of thine guilty soul
Bowls of gold coins twinkling sapphires of a magistrates endless robes
Wrapped in a forgiveness that only the Lord would be able to give
Fingers rap on the window pane which you jumped out while sane
A minute never passes inside of me my dear love
That I, somehow, could have forced myself to stay
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 9:59 AM UTC
How penetratingly damp are the vocals of historical rites which resound throughout the beams of sacred and ancient planets.
As we flick the pages of that which was written before the magistrates, it will become clear, my friend of nostalgic accusation.
Let us amble together alongside this dark loch of awe, where children have drowned in the murky depths of Highland violence.
Oh, great spiritual guide of Celtic and rebellious Jacobean statements - I want to swallow your soul.
Hopefully, we will become parents.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
The sky was filled with the echoing wheeze
Of all the protesters with everything they believe
Oh' there are the sirens and the barks of many man
What they fight for is reform for a new land
Can you hear the way the pigeons fly?
Imagine to yourself and try not to lie
There are the dancer's and the political magistrates
All wondering to themselves who the King will make
Lady imagination atop Parnassus's mountain
I see you there alone & naked in that fountain
I charge you with bringing me to this heavenly place
Making me see there is only you to believe as true
The hasty hare clicks his pocket watch as he walks
As Alice steps forward, how sad she cannot stop
And all the doomed and determined minds
Frown for they see their fear is much like mine
Here the castle stones whisper as peace spells disaster
All the trams carry the drunken lined as if in rafters
My sister swam through the Pacific without a cough
Yet these heathens praise a place they know only in song
The minstrels with their strings have many gifts to bring
And the orchestra with their penguins praise coming Spring
No, I try never to whimper or feel the weight of being alone
Those feelings are to be reserved for people without any bones
Push me this way and I'll go the other
When I was young it was me and my mother
Yet time has a way of pulling you away from who you love
Though the dove still flies as time ticks and shoves
Here in the desert the sky drifts in a different way
Not many people so only the animals here to play
The guns in the hills point toward my tiny shack
When she left she never mentioned when she'd be back
Now I started off on a road where there aren't many signs
Just the one's from above and the unemployment line
If I stick to this too long I know I'll start thinking about that
Stay off the road for there is a wickedness here that smells of a rat
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
The gods have fallen
From high up their mighty seats
From their regal and majestic thrones
Fallen down to human ground
The gods have fallen
Olympus crumbles down
As corruption takes over
Bending all the rules around
The gods have fallen
Their humanity ultimately showing
How easily they can give in
To the whispers of a madman
The gods have fallen
They have played puppets
To the machinations
Of an ambitious despot
The gods are dead
Lady Justice stabbed in the back
By her own magistrates
Scheming with unworthy tyrants
The gods are dead
And their supremacy extinguished
Now kissing the feet of one man
Whose hands are blotched by injustice and ******
The Court has fallen
Its gods are dead
The country bitterly weeps
Afraid of what happens next
Oh Pearl of the Orient Seas
Your gods who uphold your laws
Have succumbed to their humanity
Rise up and fight against the impartiality
Bring life to Lady Justice again
Restore the Cloth of Impartiality on her eyes
Return to her the Sword and Scales
That they have taken away from her
Or else the future of your youth
Will remain ever bleak and vague
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
Children wasted in the educational facility of emptiness.
Educators preach to the untouchable.
Children untended left to defend from the imaginable.
The perverted wait to execute the unspeakable.
Children destroyed through single acts of senseless violence.
Childhoods erased, reborn to the adulthood of anguish.
Innocence vanquished to a forever sea of suffering,
Never to re-claim what the malicious have taken in silence.
Children weep in torment as their scars forever remain;
****** intentions embrace their desires:
They will search for vengeance against their aggressors,
With murderous memories, to reclaim what the wicked acquired.
The twisted remain to prey upon our communities
Without consequence for their acts of morbid sickness;
They prowl, inflicting with transgressions:
No reflection for their intentions of wickedness.
Magistrates protect the incomprehensible.
The innocent, silenced by the legal voice of recklessness.
No righteous resurrection from the fatalities of transgressions.
Children mourn with murderous abandonment.
All the while children cry and die every day!
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 5:30 AM UTC
Oh night, I bid thee well.
For you always wait.
Never do you tell,
Nor judge my true fate.
Man is weak and frail,
But you hold power.
Magistrates do fail,
Under your great tower.
Does thee deserve praise?
For all those you catch?
They shall always raise,
Attempting to match.
A friend in me found,
Void of life and sound.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
The dark white winter brings
Spring’s horrible creeping scenes
of corpses hanging lifeless
from redwood trees
in the early fifties.
Secrets once whispered
by family members
of the victims,
and celebrated
by the magistrates
that perpetuated hate
to seal the fates
of innocent
human beings.
How these
rag dolls hung
dripping soft drops
of crimson stillness.
Heads tilting
in terrifying positions,
with no physicians
coming in
to rescue them.
Such strange fruit
not yet ripened,
swollen
with the growing
gas that was bloating.
Until, bowls evacuated.
Soul singers spoke
of such tragedies
but who heard
their heart’s beating verbs
that broke against
a shore of stupidity,
and arrogance,
and who will listen
to the same insistence
as more people join
the resistance
to fight against
a new age of injustices.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC