"moderator" poems
8 fifteen in the morning,
huddled around a wooden framed door,
awaiting today’s moderator,
another professional development,
Restorative Practices,
the art of inclusion,
the art of accountability;
Skill building,
Cooperation,
The mutual hate among us as we stare into a dark room,
windowless,
Awaiting another 7 hour day of ice breakers,
We clutch our coffees and populate the lone corner —
— 12 capacity room in the basement,
All 15 of us,
Good morning: let’s begin
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
a HOME credible THE BISHOP accusation ADMINISTRATION is PARISHES one MINISTRIES that, SCHOOLS after RESOURCES review SAFE ENVIRONMENT of EMPLOYEES reasonably CAREERS available, CONTACT US relevant MAKE A GIFT information BISHOP’S FAITH APPEAL in LOVE AND JUSTICE consultation AFRICAN AMERICAN MINISTRY with CATHOLIC CHARITIES the PLANNED GIVING Diocesan CHANCELLOR Review OFFICE OF CONSTRUCTION Board HISPANIC MINISTRY or CAMPUS MINISTRY other CRIMINAL JUSTICE MINISTRY professionals, STEWARDSHIP AND COMMUNICATIONS there YOUTH MINISTRY is FINANCIAL SERVICES reason MODERATOR OF THE CURIA to MAKE A GIFT TO THE CAPITAL CAMPAIGN believe SOCIAL MEDIA POLICY is FAMILY LIFE MINISTRY true VOCATIONS
The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe
Explanatory Note:
I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:
The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation." "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused. It stinks.
Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.
Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site. I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.
May God have mercy on us all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
If I was a provider of the content I like
Like I wanted to be I’d never have gotten that
Surgery that ****** up my mammary glands
I’d gush a milky **** for all audiences
Even the ones that knew me before I turned bad *****
And spoilt
Even my great aunt and grandma and mom
who have finally befriended me
on Facebook
The ***** in me covers up and cuts off these
Lady parts
But I heat up and cant hide
The spark in my eyes when I see a girl
Unafraid of her ******
Wearing lingerie on IG
Feminism to me is radical or bust
Is ********* your ****** ****** and
Taking lots of pictures as proof
Of your own ****** occurrence,
Reposting if I get taken down,
Moderator of my own **** self.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
i write poetry
from the collective,
that resides within my mind
they gather often,
at the water cooler
or for coffee, tea
and a bit of a natter..
all my idio's and syncranicities
my ego,
and my shy shuffling humble-bumbler
the flambouyant quirke,
the little girl memories
all get the memo and out they come.
earth mother, surfer chick,
daughter of despair,
moderator, instigator,
wanna-be litigator
acerberic premenstrual ditzbitch,
all represented there.
so in the end,
what you get to see;
are the minutes from the meetings,
or the gossip from the gatherings
the intimate murmurings...
from the musings.
of the legion, that ...
collectively
call themsevles
me.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air
barely walking up and down
he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper
together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society
completed the act
Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings
My job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumours
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left
It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I’m in the business of invention
In the art of new intention
Making something out of nothing
And falling back on no convention
I’m a spontaneous generator
A clumsy, crude, and crazed creator
Deftly dodging laws of physics
And without a moderator
Unchecked I grow my thoughts too fast
Too big, too bold, but built to last
Fed on dregs and trivial words
And made of insecurities vast
I’m in the business of spinning tales
Of conjuring roaring mental gales
Convinced my happiness can’t stick
And swallowed up in false travails
I’m the master of complication
The reigning queen of brute frustration
The duchess of dismantled plans
And dreams that fell to degradation
See, my mind invents its own dismay
And cannot think a simpler way
Assuming all must fall apart
Thus keeping hopefulness at bay
I’m in the business of delusion
Hooked on sinking in confusion
Stuck with a mis-wired brain
That treats all joy like an intrusion
I’m a wild contradiction
Anxious over bits of fiction
Wishing for the chance to breathe
When this rush is my addiction
Worrying is what I know best
Accustomed to distraught unrest
Small wonder that a happy thought
Is treated like a passing guest
Small wonder that my frenzied mind
Assumes that Fate must be unkind
So even when the tides have turned
I cannot leave Distress behind
Jun 13, 2011
Jun 13, 2011 at 6:20 PM UTC
Been a blast til ****** up poet stole poems.
That's ****** up by any definition.
Site owner sit in England chilling, he no ******* care.
Site moderator way too busy posting classic poems.
My friends pack up poetry bags and say bye bye.
I pack my poetry bag saying bye to ****** up site.
Site can keep my Tom cat poem and poem robber can
steal Venus man trap I dedicate poem to losers like her.
Last deed before I go is dedicating Venus trapping man
poem to woman with no talent stealing poems and wishing for rich white men.
Wise man say "Rich white men run fast from poem robber and all gold diggers."
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air
barely walking up and down
he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper
together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society’s
completed the act
Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings
my job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumors
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left
It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Saleel suggested his name for moderator,
It increased my curiosity, and I understood he must be lover of our creator.
One day a man with same name entered a thread.
His opponents were angered and became red.
He was merciless and continued with his onslaught.
He didn't give up until the lesson was taught.
He held tightly the rope of Allah in his fist.
Very soon he was in Taskeen's friend list.
He believes in the policy of 'tit for tat'.
He loves animal specially big round cat.
Now I see a different side of him.
He is polite, kind, lively and not grim
In both worlds may Allah give him fame.
Amir Mustafa is his name.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
My mind is full of thoughts and sounds and words
It's influenced my mindset a great deal
I can be understood, or at least heard
It's easy to express the things I feel
And this extends to every piece of me
Even the pieces that, given the choice,
I might have rather lived with silently
Than shiver in discovering their voice
Sometimes it's just one track, a monologue
Sometimes a duet, chorus, symphony
I cannot see the raindrops for the fog
I cannot see the forest for the trees
Some other people have tried to give names
To all these whisperers between their ears
If God is the wise voice that keeps us safe
The Devil is the part of us we fear
The id speaks only in short sentences
I want, I need, I love, I feel, I hate
The superego blunt but coherent
Dodecahedra do not tessellate
Sometimes they go off and do their own thing
One solves a math problem, the other dreams
Sometimes I catch them speaking, arguing
One speaks in monotone, the other screams
And I stand in between and keep the peace
The moderator, I, the ego, me
And when I create art I can increase
The interplay which flows ever between
When I combine the various powers
It fosters in me love and harmony
I listen to my roots, leaves, and flowers
But I am only one; I am the tree
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
So the debate is coming soon. I'll sum it up for you:
Clinton to trump: you're a racist white sexist biggot rich guy who hates immigrants
Trump to Clinton: I am rich. I do hate illegal immigrants. I've seen all of the highly edited commercials about how "sexist" I am. Where did you get the racist biggot part from? Oh shit! I'm totally white. My bad! You're repugnant and you lie about everything you possibly can. The proofs in the emails. Oh yeah! We can't read those. You BLEACHED YOUR HARD DRIVE!!! Oh. And you're a liar. Just wanted to reiterate that.
Clinton to trump: I didn't know the emails were classified. I thought the little "c" stood for **** so I deleted all the derogatory emails in protest. Whoops. I shouldn't have said that out loud.
Trump: starts to go off on a tangent about how great he is and how many ******* people he knows.
Moderator: palms his face, stands up, and walks away (in his mind).
Reminds the candidates to answer the questions and stay on topic
Clinton and Trump in unison: what questions?
The American people: bend over, lather up with some KY, and bite down on the leather strap for another 8 years of ******* ********
Obama: drives by on his way to go play more ******* golf with a smile on his face.
Steve: tosses a coin, picks heads, and votes for his own ******** in protest. They'll probably do just as good a job as any of these other **** nuts.
Good night America. It's been real!
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Me, yes me!
I am the answers,
To all my irresolution.
Solving the puzzle,
Around my girdle,
Only the person, taking me pinnacle
May be the factors, can influence
But only me, can be the moderator.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 1:33 PM UTC
Gregorian Birthday
Stop for a day to reflect on minutes passed away, plan for a future to grow and mature
Wisdom comes with days caressed, will we know what was lost when distressed
Ten to twelve cycles marked by Caesar. leap year leaves out thirteen, seasons cycles part of mother nature
Hold fast wave bye to the past, making it happen is not dependent on happenstance
Pleasant periods bordered by moments of raw emotion,unknown future will be shown good or bad we are our own moderator
Dates do not wait, progression never caring about personal recession, happiness dependent on whether we take a chance
Counting with clocks or calender's or handily with our fingers, stars make their mark from far away, while the sun is always the common denominator
Many claim to know what it takes to help us grow, be great or atone our sins away, might as well tell your troubles to the moon, real truth is upward in that great expanse
Facing ourselves not always viewing the same reflection, mirrors also show bad with glad, only internally do we know if we are a giver or taker
Resolutions dependent upon revolutions, marking moments, making memories, how we hold up relies on keeping time when life is a dance
Reasons for seasons shadows really have a tale to tell,images cast depend on earths revolution
time passages playing on personal calender's, make today count for tomorrow, from lost minutes we can never borrow, smiling for the future we will never be a failure. R.C.
Jan 12, 2022
Jan 12, 2022 at 1:49 AM UTC
an INDIVIDUAL
unbound by standards set
a POWERHOUSE
driven and driving
a CREATOR
conduit of unabashed life
a LOVER
passionate and nurturing
an INTELLECTUAL
keeper of solutions and remedies
a MODERATOR
just and reasonable
a FRIEND
shoulder for tears, ears for support
a SECRET
unbeknownst and ignored
a GODDESS
being of unlimited prowess, divine, absolute beauty
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 7:55 PM UTC
Different voices
Speaking at once
Who am I
Too many opinions
An entire society.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
Let Change Ourselves for Peace
Love has different shades which culminate
On oneness of humanity on the color of blood
Let us purify our hearts to be the associate
In violent human emotions like vehement flood
Peace of soul and heart totally refines mind
Inner eye sees the things in light with real clarity
Steps in love makes it easy to declare,find
Hearts start to beat in a trance but with solidarity
Let us initiate love for peace and peace for love
Let be frank, free and straight in our approach to life
Let listen to our heart and symphony from above
Let us abolish the barriers of hate and carriers of knife
Let us celebrate each day as the World Peace Day
The absence of war and violence is the only solution
Let us join hands from all shades of humanity to pray
This may be the only pact and contract for resolution
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2018 Golden Glow,
Muhammad Khalid Khan is a celebrated poet who has published three English poetry books namely,Feelings,Chains of Life and E.book Golden Glow.He remained Editor of 4 Pakistan Army Magazines namely Army Green Book,Pakistan Army Journal ,Pakistan Defence Review and Rising Crescent.He is Editor on Poem Hunter.Com and Moderator on World Nations Union of Poets ,
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
Let There Be Peace
Love has different shades which culminate
On oneness of humanity on the color of blood
Let us purify our hearts to be theassociate
In violent human emotions like vehement flood
Peace of soul and heart totally refines mind
Inner eye sees the things in light with real clarity
Steps in love makes it easy to declare,find
Hearts start to beat in a trance but with solidarity
Let us initiate love for peace and peace for love
Let be frank, free and straight in our approach to life
Let listen to our heart and symphony from above
Let us abolish the barriers of hate and carriers of knife
Let us celebrate each day as the World Peace Day
The absence of war and violence is the only solution
Let us join hands from all shadesof humanity to pray
This may be the only pact and contract for resolution
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan Pakistan
Copyright 2018 Golden Glow,
Being Published in An Anthology of World Peace by WIP
Biography
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan is a celebrated poet who hails from Abbottabad Pakistan.He has published three poetry books in English namely Feelings, Chains of Life and an e.book Golden Glow. He remained Editor of 4 Pakistan Army magazines namely Army Green Book, Pakistan Defense Review,Pakistan Army Journal and The Rising Crescent.He is Editor on poetry website Poem Hunter.Com and Moderator on The Gallery of The World Union of Poets-First Gallery
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC