"newsworthy" poems
I heard the footsteps as they came across the road;
The snap of hurried feet outside the house.
Shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two boys stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang! ~ set them running.
I cut them down; I cut them down!
I heard the sirens as the cops sped off the road;
The squeal of hurried wheels outside the house.
shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two cops stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two cops set out to chase the bang; Bang!
I put my hands up and the cops took me down!
Judge I’m guilty, it’s true for everything they said I did; I did!
But there were reasons, don’t you see:
These boys; they were bullying me!
I called the cops on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, came round again; still no one came; drove me insane;
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang set them running; I cut them down!
Two cops set out to chase the bang!
Bang! Yes, I put my hands up!
and the cops took me down!
But Mr Wolf gave me twenty,
and the circus came to town;
for as a victim I was lonely;
but as a killer; as a killer; I was crowned.
Newsworthy, top of the heap, the talk of the town!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
The real power of desire is doing the right thing at the right time;
It's about making a decision knowing that nobody's going to notice your good works;
There's so much negative imagery of black fatherhood in continuously postponing to do right;
You should ask yourself, “how come postponing things hasn't paid but instead it's robbed me;
How come that's not as newsworthy? Do it now.
The real power of character is doing the right thing when nobody's looking;
There are too many people who think that good things are best done under people's watch;
Make an initiative to change the way you handle matters of procrastination in your everyday life;
Then you will know that Initiative is doing the right thing without being told, and doing the best;
It's a choice, not a chance; it's an initiative not only a desire; Do it now.
It's not doubt that the biggest exam that we fail each day is discouragement test;
Does it mean that life it not always fair for people who fail the test of discouragement;
I believe in the contrary; I believe that if you keep doing things in time, you always be right;
Next to doing the right thing at the right time, is to let yourself know you are doing the right thing;
So, ethics are not necessarily to do with being law-abiding but being interested in the moral path to do it now.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Red lights hit her face
Like a slap from
A cold hand
Mocking
Silent
Unrushed
Two drunk teens
Dying from
A prom night
Car crash
Tragedy according to the news
Because they were honor students
In love
College bound
But tonight, this scene
Of street lovers
College drop outs
Killing themselves with needles
Is just another
Trash-pick-up-by-ambulance
Not newsworthy without
A garbage strike
She was the only one who knew
About the ****
That taught him
To value ******
More than himself
Uncle Frank
Was everyone’s favorite
Started failing classes
A solid shame –
Couldn’t go back home now
They talked late at night
About the government
Guess they won’t get their
Student loan money back
She wore his coat
While he shivered
Her poetry made him weep
She wrote it with a sharpie
On the sides of buses
Hoping someone
Would read it on their way
To real life
And hear how some people
Sleeping on the street
Are philosophers and dreamers
And love one another
The ambulance driver
Would not let her inside
She thought about cutting herself
So they’d have to take her
They just shut their doors
And drove away
Red lights
Absent
Her prom night car
Crashed
Without a sound
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes
anxious, needing-ending relief,
the craving greater than great,
he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words,
to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity,
give please give, of something to write
the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author,
"place me, look my way,
have I not droplets endless
from which you've drunk exquisitely,
so many more to fair share"
the birds twit and flit,
raucous caucus demanding
to be seated
by the tablet's keypad
to gain entry
to one more congressional natural tribute
the sky and sun organize a
joint session, extraordinary mission;
"we are the first of your day,
thus primarily,
we win the primary,
deserving in your recording of our
nomination as the first day's
sound and light show victorious"
sorry folks,
got a better tale to tell,
natural in its way,
titillating, and quite suitable
for reputating Au Naturel humanity
and it's a quirky, say hey tale,
morning coffee fresh,
a first word report from an
untelivised convention
of a different kind of congressing
awoke to find the:
*chauffeur in bed with the cook,
the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana,
the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer,
the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne,
ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet,
the thinning gray line defending his bedded half,
from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses,
the republican with the democrat,
the conservative with the liberal,
heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations
conducting and watched by
peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters
pretending to fly flow past*
wow
now that,
is quite interesting
deserving worthy of a
disrobing disputatious disreputation,
very newsworthy and why not,
a poem all its own?
the bay waved goodbye,
the birds disbanded in silence,
quietly disenfranchised.
the sun and the sky hung around
pretending to be UN neutrality observers
wearing cute blue and white helmets
looking every where but not,
at the line of demarcation
the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched,
another love poem writ,
niched and pitched
one more itch,
so very well scratched
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
The assassination of President John F. Kennedy
To many this has always been an unsolved Mystery
JFK was shot in Dallas, Texas on the 22 of November
We are still mourning him, and will always remember
Abraham Zapruder had no idea what he'd be filming
Would be under scrutiny by the public for viewing
Some said the shots came from the grassy knoll
Where they came from no one will ever know
Jackie Kennedy in terrible shock, crawled out onto the limousine
She could not recall doing this, when the Secret Service Intervened
Walter Cronkite reported this shocking news to us in tears
And in all his years of work, he will forever be revered
Jackie in her blood stained suit stood beside Lyndon B. Johnson
When he took the oath of office to be next president of our nation
Oswald told the world that he was a patsy
Jack Ruby shooting him on TV was ghastly
Life Magazine chronicled the events
Filling each page with all JFK contents
To this day there still are reenactments and movies
And everyone like me still feels this is newsworthy
Published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper Nov. 2024
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
****** up your dissonance,
(your discontent, your dissent,)
hold it to your breast like a child,
hold your truth to be
(self-evident)
though they will ignore it.
Your passivity is here, some
days and they will mock you.
Let it be,
let yourself stand for that ultimate,
for that good
that you know is riddled with
the newsworthy “bad intentions” or
“ungodliness.”
Shelter your cooing,
let the body see, let the people see
humanity
as it is
will care for what it can.
Some have hearts as vast as oceans.
Some hold all of space.
Others carry with them a tiny ceramic vessel,
or the eye of a needle,
or a small brass bowl.
They can only love
so much.
Carry the weight, if it matters.
Carry that **** that **** that bristling anger.
Snake it where it matters.
Show them.
You don’t have to forgive them,
(maybe you should)
but
show them.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
She thought the van was her tomb
Thought she’d see the end inevitable soon
Fears brought tears then she was consumed
Something began to grow inside her womb
So let’s start
They started talking and quickly became friends
It wasn’t smart
Because he took her innocents
There she lay
Defiled and ****** tell me is this the end?
And she carried me
And took care of me
And then buried me with her shame
So what do I do?
**** it in the emergency room
Lose it in a confessional booth
Didn’t want to give it up to you
Wasn’t one life you ruined but two
It began as a coffee date
Turned into a newsworthy ****
Driven by rejection and pent up hate
It was so brutal that it made the front page
And her cries were fallen on deaf ears
Followed her the rest of her years
Plunged into her deepest darkest fears
No pity only sneers
And she carried me
And took care of me
And then buried me with her shame
So what do I do?
**** it in the emergency room
Lose it in a confessional booth
Didn’t want to give it up to you
Wasn’t one life you ruined but two
She wrote her final chapter
She looked right into me
She looked at the gun in her hand
It seemed so friendly
And with the gun in hand
She put it to my head
She shut her blood shot eyes
And said her final goodbyes
And pulled the trigger
Mother?
And she carried me
And took care of me
And then buried me with her shame
So what do I do?
**** it in the emergency room
Lose it in a confessional booth
Didn’t want to give it up to you
Wasn’t one life she took but two
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Every story is a sad story.
Everything is sad.
Too many tragedies, not enough time.
They pile up on top of one another,
Clamoring for attention.
Bombing tops earthquake tops ****** tops ****
Burying us under the weight of too many
Bodies, their cold eyes pleading
See me, hear me, remember me but
Every story is a sad story
So no one stays sad very long.
When sadness is ever-present it becomes normal.
So now we don’t even blink, just
Scroll through our newsfeeds thinking:
The world is horrible and what’s for dinner
Simultaneously. When reality is too sad
Sadness becomes a simulation, acted out
On the stage of nightly news broadcasts and
Candelight vigils, as if:
If we all just felt sad enough for long enough
That would solve anything. As if:
If we could compartmentalize our sadness into
New national holidays and moments of silence
We could stop feeling everything so sharply.
But I am running out of room in my closet for charity t-shirts.
Every story is a sad story.
I am starting to become cynical.
One child dead from a drive-by shooting is no longer newsworthy.
Give me more bodies, more pictures
of distraught mothers crying,
More suffering.
We have fought too many wars in too many places to remember
that the bombs in Boston that shut down the entire city
Are an everyday occurrence everywhere else.
Except sometimes they are our bombs.
But rarely are they our children.
Every story is a sad story.
Everything is sad.
I am not sure which is worse: constant sadness
Or no sadness;
Constant tragedy or constant denial.
I am becoming too sad to write anymore.
The world is too horrible.
What’s for dinner?
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Look at me!
No, not at ME. Look at me.
Look at my smart shoes and carefully matched belt.
Look at my tailored suit, custom lining and fitted shirt.
Look at my intelligent tie and newsworthy socks.
Look at my beautifully groomed face, hands and hair.
Look at me, and respect ME.
But whatever you do, don't look at ME.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 6:47 AM UTC
I looked at a paper at my doctor's office and could not believe my eyes.
I submitted a poem awhile back for the Poets Corner and they did not even notify me that they were going to put it in print it was a poem I put on here awhile back called Love Through Out The Year. I was pleasantly surprised that they found it Newsworthy.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
hence a starry notion born
grew up while
this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
Asian aw shucks husky
husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
barnstorming across
expansive fields of baby
(barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
(an maize zing genre), especially
when enriched with humus
laden loamy muck cob bra,
then aye delightfully
trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me
saluting rank and file fool's capped
fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
versus growing seasons gone by,
when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
asper when this strapping chap
a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
posterity sagas deeming
shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
who grease palms of industrialists,
whose quaking self importance
thwarts aside rural cosseted
krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie
helping determine
zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
till body electric outworn,
yet paradigm shift of
(butter late then ever)
jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,
whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations
ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
and unto revolutionaries
became legion and well-worn.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
So what I kept some stuff
A few small keepsakes, merely fluff
They make such noise, so much dumb fuss
Their indignation careening like a bus.
Now they think I'll spill the beans
Use my powers by any means
I can clearly hear their screams
Trying to figure out my schemes.
All hot air like a balloon
Their pouting makes me want to swoon
The media bellows noon to noon
More newsworthy than the landing on the moon.
But oh what fun when dear old Joe
Was caught with files of which he didn't know
Or so he claimed to hear the crow
Of countless minders rushing to and fro.
And now comes Pence my dear old friend
Whose pious indignation never seems to bend
So let me just this little message send
He who laughs first laughs loudest in the end.
Feb 12, 2023
Feb 12, 2023 at 9:25 PM UTC
corona
only days ago – or was it weeks?
I played with my youthful toys
which included a set of boys
who spent hours examining
the ring around the sun.
now it dawns on me – after
breakfast – that my thoughts
have double meanings, two or
three or more daily reminders
of a double-entendre life.
blame these fascinations on
the stories on television – the
guardrail of our society – for
we have the **** tube to
thank for newsworthy truth.
but I digress – a longtime
habit – from the meaning of
the words I have learned,
words that take on novelty
as they meld and mold.
all around me – hill and vale –
schools and churches are closed
to the very folks who support
them, no thanks to money or
needy spirits in want.
and God help us if we stray
from the very lexicon that
brought us here – the dust-
covered tome of a dictionary,
its usefulness never doubted.
it’s almost like pre-school – the
fine lines we read – the words
composed of ancient syllables –
bits and pieces of chemistry
and high school math.
one has only to watch to
assimilate the warning signs –
travel restrictions during
pregnancy – or myriad signs
warning to wash ones hands.
and so it goes goes – on and
on – the truth has power, and
the words belie all pre-testing
and the failure thereof to
be accurate and useful.
in the final analysis – and there
is always a bit of both - of dire
and scholarly necessity – a strong
dose of responsibility which
governs our reaction.
one final glance in the mirror
is always called for – for no little
scam can be living in the selfie
behind the proverbial story
of beauty and the beast.
© Lewis Bosworth, 3-2020
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 7:44 PM UTC
It’s Election RAGE AGAIN
Yet here I AM
Cozied into a very appreciated bed
With widely opened window and
Blue October skies
YES
Bluest October skies waft thru
To kiss my right nostril-n-cheek
Unchanged GREENEST leaves
Cling tightly to a transient's home
Patterned harbingers of Spring & Easter
Last VISAGES to Summer
Looming doom remains willfully un-ACKNOWLEDGEd
Looking SO brave & permanently stable
We've wistfully learned this isn’t the case
Via Charlotte’s entwined web, she’s coached us quite well
That garbage truck’s beeping
I hear you
A block or 2 away
Tuesday’s circadian cadence
No amount of voter’s RAGE will stop YOU this time.
Lastly is a beautiful MAN
My SENSITIVE
Wholly LOYAL
GOOD HEART
Rummaging downstairs
Self CRAFTING a HOME roasted morning bean’s brew
This is the stuff of LIFE to love and LOVE well
Thank You
My GOOD guy
For ALL that YOU DO
Without Pomp
Or Circumstance
Or MAJOR cultural praise
Such quietly EXHIBIT-ed LOVE
Is NEWsworthy for sure
So go ahead campaign RAGEr!
Rage on…RAGE ON
CNN thanks you MIGHTily.
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 2:37 PM UTC
Sangha saccus scroll scribbles say
Laboratory labourisms leakances legitimatize lavatory
Another actuality altered although abominable
Newsworthy notifications never naturalize, normalize
Dangling doomed decay depressed duressed
Entrepreneurial endeavors erased encased, evapotranspiration
Reason reserved, ridiculousness returned, ritualization
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Pregnant with longing day's molten sky
displays first cloudlets skimming plains
and welcomes them into afternoon piles
of cotton-wool eiderdowns wet with rain.
Edging nearer they threaten to over-spill
drenching whatever is milling about and
waiting waterless at holes for their filling
of heavenly nectar as stomping, snorting
and squawking loudly, birds and animals
all faintly sway with great parching thirst.
This is the worst arid drought with relays
of rare newsworthy rain yet it can carry a
hope to each weak whining seared throat
as dust-scorched limbs move painfully to
view holes as edges between life or dying
of dehydration appear to grow broader by
every moment yet as jet cracks on horizon
nostrils flare and life in anticipation sighs.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
I’m not satirical or political
So, I don’t belong in the New Yorker
I’m not all gossip
So, I don’t belong in the National Enquirer
I’m not famous
So, I don’t belong in People
I’m not newsworthy
So, I don’t belong in Time
I’m bare-bones
So, Set me up in *******
I promise not to disappoint you
through all my curves and lines
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 7:53 AM UTC