"offenders" poems
Is there a difference,
give us a reference,
between a stalker,
and a pokemon.
The monger hits news,
game spots and toss,
time lost and chaos,
with a pokemon.
In Canada......
The rule breakers,
cross the borders,
an inadvertently walk,
for a pokemon.
In Guatemala city .......
The teenage boy,
under the wizard,
die in the cause,
for a pokemon.
In London.......
The go players,
ambushed in public,
and robbed by trees,
all for pokemon.
In Africa.....
The rumble,
then scrambles,
to get the last,
the dusts of pokeman.
In Asia...........
No signs too,
they tire and wait,
for the nostalgia,
all for pokeman.
In New York.....
It's a no, no,
for *** offenders,
or become criminals,
All for pokeman.
Poke me man,
NO SOD OFF!
It's all crazy,
the apocalypse,
of freaks and creatures!
Poke me man!
I DARE YOU NOT!
Go find old cards,
a bank of more funds,
all for pokemon.
Poke me man!
I POCKET YOU!
As phones hide,
their lunch hunt,
the herd of pokemon.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 6:22 AM UTC
Massive egos shine
Mostly drivel on HP
Just Poetastery
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
You have been told that rapists were men in black hoodies
hidden in twisting shadows and dark alleyways.
****** offenders were always leering old men in rags;
never blonde haired and blue eyed and always smiling-
not once did you think to question the intentions
of his warm and familiar fingertips.
When you find yourself locked in his claws
and he tells you
that you must want it
don’t be a tease.
Look at what you’re wearing.
A sliver of skin mistaken for an invitation.
Do not be surprised when your mother
also asks you what you were wearing-
but do not forget.
Remember this for the next time.
You will also try to convince yourself that you asked him to,
but the scars on your sister
and the tribe of women with cut out tongues and pleading eyes
who stare back at you from your reflection
tell another story.
Tell your mother that no matter how many flowers she throws over the mass grave
she cannot hide the stench of rotting corpses,
do not pretend that you are okay when you feel all the lights inside of you begin to shut off
because your body has grown tired of sounding alarms and raising knives
against intruders who wield toxic gas and atomic bombs.
You have been taught to hold your tongue and to smile like nothing is wrong
but now your mouth is filled with your own bite marks and it is hard to hide the blood.
You should not have to.
Your words can crumble empires
and redeem centuries of trauma embedded in bleeding wombs.
It is time you used them to stand up for yourself.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC
Vaguely Blunt and Bluntly Vague-
these are the explanations which i gave-
words too deep for sorrow, i utter from which i made-
i am vague yet blunt, trying to out live this stunt-
Terse, I am called rude, I mean, I am real, Blunt- while I am Vague-
to not indicate the offenders, whom we all see and suffer throughout the day-
I can not disclose my feelings, uncomfortable with their sins-
I tarry quickly to shut the door , before their wickedness begins-
It is not a game, it's real , at least to me-
excuse me if i am rude or blunt or don't make sense because i am vague=
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement
People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces
There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois
Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Clash against the norm
Silence the pretenders
Protest the unbridled hypocrisy
Tear it down
Spit in the face of denial
Trample your offenders
Give no mercy
For they have no compassion
In the face of adversity
Be a force of reckoning
Or die with a knife in your back
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
No inner turmoil,
Will hold me back
I’m facing the world
And I’m poised to attack
I’m ready to fight
Before I die
Who are you to say
That’s he’s only getting high?
Who are you to say
That it won’t cure the pain
Of cancer, glaucoma,
And everyday strains?
Who are you to judge
Without knowing all the facts?
Why should we destroy
This very useful plant?
Hemp fiber is quite strong
And it’s easily taxed.
Legalization- an ongoing war
That mainly takes place
Behind various closed doors.
But I’m a supporter,
Like thousands of others.
You probably know one-
An aunt or a brother.
See, they’ve proved THC
Can shrink tumor size
In less than three weeks,
It’s the truth, not a lie.
All of these studies
Have successfully shown
The only harm known
Comes when it’s smoked.
But there’s so many methods,
Like brownies or pills.
With zero deaths a year,
Mary Jane doesn’t ****
But cigarettes do,
And alcohol too
Over 500,000 deaths yearly
What should we do?
Our forefathers grew it.
So why is it wrong?
Propaganda has brainwashed
Americans for too long.
Prohibition is immoral
And I will not be silenced
The only outcome
Is increasing violence
As the drug cartels rage
Below us in Mexico
We turn the page
To a brand new War on Drugs
Which, let me remind you,
Can never be won.
So many free citizens
With so many free minds
But the government controls
And accuses of crimes
As billions of tax dollars
Wash away, down the drain
Non-violent offenders
Are locked up and contained
Over-crowding prisons
It’s obviously insane.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 3:58 AM UTC
A complicated conception.
Devastate my childhood. Corruption defiles ghetto neighborhoods.
Law enforcement never does what they should. Hopeless, sick, enraging, & shameless where I stood.
Probation violations they definately would. Patrolling *** offenders because they could.
No one in the system of courts cares or understood.
They don't believe my words, go unheard.
My tears are not a faucet to turn off & on.
Our trauma & sadness was real.
My feelings they can not feel.
My underage *** is illegal not for any pervert to steal.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
They say it's a free world and I have the freedom to speak my mind.
I see people on television recanting their lines, reporter's at the door and offenders peeping through the blinds.
If speech is free then why do I have to pay?
When someone takes offense to the words I say.
Now this doesn't sound like freedom to me....more like selective or should I say controlled
shutting my voice down like a person on hold....
When I say what I feel, it becomes a problem.
Funny thing is......resigning or being fired appears to solve them.
Why is it insubordination when i'm using my right that is freely given.....not by man, but the One who has risen.
Although, they are free to say whatever they please.....
meanwhile...am I really supposed to smile and say "cheese?" ......when I feel like spewing a few obscenities.
I've been given a write up and I have a meeting with H.R.....
They are only referred to by letters because no one knows who they are.
My Facebook has offended many and my Twitter too.....let's not mention Tumblr ....that's a bit much to chew...
Where the Hell is the freedom of speech I'm entitled to?
No freedom online, offline, not even while I'm standing in line.
Some female telling me off because I said something about her behind.
She was fine, but had on see through .....I'm checking her out...because you know how guys do.
Now my freedom of speech is put on delay, because I can't express what my mind really wants to say:
Lovely lady your looking good with more cake than a baker, skin brown like bronze....precious for sure....I don't mind your company...I'm not expecting anything more. You display a touch of cool....thumbs up like the Fonz.....
I want to take you home and shine you up like chrome. I'm on my Macaulay Caulkin....I have you home alone.
The teller says "Hello sir and is that all?" snapped out of my fantasy and sadly disgusted.
When they say freedom of speech those words can't be trusted.
I've learned that nothing is free when it comes to man....although freedom can be purchased, so allow the money to secretly fall into my hands.
"Freedom of speech.....It's not really free at all."
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
Hey cardinal pel
You know what you did is dispickable
You think you should get off
Hey cardinal pel
You spoil the good name of the church
If they have a good name to begin with
Hey cardinal pel
You might be old but you are where you belong
But you should have got longer
Hey cardinal pel
There is no way known to man
That you should be allowed to
Walk the streets
You know I watched your sentence
And you show no remorse
Well I am just happy you are rotting in a jail cell
Hey cardinal pel
****** acts toward children is wrong
Very wrong indeed
Hey cardinal pel
You could be risking being killed in jail
Knowing what they do to child *** offenders
Hey cardinal pel
Walking the streets is too good for you and there is no way I will change
The judges decision except for giving you more time
Hey cardinal pel
You might have not reoffended but
You still should be where you are
God will hunt you down
And send you to hell
And Buddha will make you a slow elephant or a suffering dog for
What you put those children through
Hey cardinal pel hey cardinal pel
Hey cardinal pel
You are where you belong
Don’t deny it
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
Why do crime exist?
It's the community.
Who seem to accept it?
Afraid to report it.
Love to complain about it.
Even blaming law enforcement.
Who need every law abiding citizen assistance?
We aware that nobody's perfect.
Except we can't let criminals install fear within us.
Even if it's your son, daughter, friend , or cousin.
Oh, it affect all of us.
Especially the repeat offenders.
Who seem to love being held?
Or having their name linked to bail.
There's nothing great about being linked to a number.
Which you will be assigned within the correctional walls of prison.
Where you're not guarantee to receive any visitors?
Why do crime exist?
Simply because a few idiots seem to tolerate it.
Then complain to the politicians.
Who address the issues?
Then becomes linked to the problem.
When they personally commit a crime.
Then complain, they shouldn't have to serve time.
In other words.
When it's them, we should turn a blind eye.
Who made you become a ****** robber , murderer or embellezzer?
Or a ********* besides bad decision.
The world could be so much better.
If we decide to fight crime.
Don't complain about those legally with guns.
They mostly for defense to keep from being fronted with harm.
But don't cry foul.
When your child meets death from a gun trying to rob someone.
It is, what it is?
And this have nothing to deal with the second amendment.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
You absolutely do not get the honor of burning a numerical value on her self-worth.
You certainly do not get to measure that assumption from the hem-line tailored on her thighs. Or the daring dresses she wore because it made her feel a different kind of beautiful.
She is not asking for it. What she will demand for is neither your attention nor stares. She wants respect.
Can you do that?
Oh, and when you are emboldened by your 'witty' validation that she is a **** or of promiscuous nature, all down to the clothes she wears on her back.
Don’t.
Cotton stitches against warm skin. (She was enjoying a walk.)
Silk swathes on slightly chilled bones. (She forgot her jacket on a Wednesday night out with friends.)
Thick knits adorn even more layers of cotton. (It was a winter night.)
Their cold lips pursed by the late hour, scream silence.
With that validation, you normalise and excuse the acts of **** soul-destructing ****** offences.
For you have blamed the victim.
You excuse a depraved psychological state.
The veins that choked from ice and no’s. You have forgotten.
Rapists and ****** offenders do not get the luxury of being excused.
Neither do you, ****
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
Naive, I was not. I grew up
on tattered books and nihilistic ideals
while the other children read
books about stuffed bears and trees.
They warned me about the addicts:
The fiends with black capes and red eyes,
the ones who wander the night, searching
for new corners and new highs.
They warned me about the *** offenders:
The neighborhood sweethearts with soft eyes
and cold hands, who are more often than not,
but not restricted to the body, of middle-aged men.
They warned me about the murderers:
The ones with ice for pupils and books of spells.
Who drank smoke and whose hearts reside
in the far off corner somewhere in east hell.
These are the people my parents forgot to warn me about:
The lovers with a knack for spoon feeding me lies, whose
wings were black and who were blessed
with golden eyes.
They didn't warn me about the pretty boys.
About the ones who cup your heart
in their hands, and play around with it like putty.
Somehow, they forgot to mention that part.
But, then again, you can't teach a child about heartache,
and the only way a child will know what you mean when you
tell them that the stove is hot is if they burn themselves
on the warm, steel door that is life.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Step 1: Legalize all drugs and treat their possession as a public health issue, as is practiced in Portugal
Step 2: Get all nonviolent drug offenders out of prison and (A) into treatment when dealing with harder drugs like meth/coke/heroin (B) get the *** growers some jobs doing what they're good at, and watch as the extra tax revenues progressively revitalize both local and national economies. (1)
Step 3: Fill the new vacancies in the nation's prison system with the entire US government and the top 1% of income earners as punishment for their hubristic crimes against nature and humanity.
Step 4: Forgive all debts and redistribute all of the assets of the aforementioned parties among the entire population, but especially the impoverished classes, to create socioeconomic balance.
Step 5: Decentralize the economy and rebuild it along the lines of federated, autonomous municipalities, based on common ownership of economic resources, free education and healthcare, and participatory democracy. Once this is done, we can let the former government and 1% out of prison. (2)
Brought To You By: Homunculus For President (but not for very long, because being an authority figure would sort of contradict the entire essence of the society I just described) 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
I keep dreaming of you in that strawberry patch
we had – my backyard, 2007.
The barn was already haunted so I planted my nightmares
in bushels of berries for others to ingest –
you know the old fairytale about watermelon seeds,
well, it also works with spores of sadness.
I wish you could have seen it,
but you must have some time or another. You picked
me from a lineup of a hundred black-haired
offenders, most with blue eyes the color of a package
of ramen noodles or Pepsi cola cans.
Suggestions that I vend my fruit, their ovaries,
were fortified between phone calls from state-over friends
I just did not have the ovaries to do so, no strength:
it would feel like the hair being pulled from my scalp
before I even knew you.
Present day, it is easy to understand why –
I keep dreaming of you in that old strawberry patch
choosing to taste and love my sorrow
over someone else’s happiness, as if it were beautiful.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
I'm often amazed about those that offended.
And it can be a debate about anything that ticks it off.
Read an article about a gay getting bully.
And the defense team comes alive.
But many of them have offended someone.
Least at one time.
Read a editorial from a Republican.
And watch the Democrats come back with theirs.
Call someone gay.
And watch those that straight get heated.
While we know if you comfortable in your skin.
Words could never win.
You not weak.
If you are smart not to get on their level.
Because many speaking are in groups during the leveling.
Once separated.
Just watch them chicken out.
Blaming one another for the rumors going about.
We , who offends?
Truly know we can't handle it back.
So, we stick with those offenders.
We know will forever have our back.
Once their names hits the press.
Watch the way the offenders tries to turn it around.
That they didn't mean any harm to anyone.
And they doing this mostly,
Because it turned out to be their daughter.
Or their son.
The offender.
Seeking a defense team.
All because many realize they was really mean.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
A CONFUSING DAY FOR CUCUMBER FISH
I’m not being able to escape this, in parts, either on the slip where the drifters weigh themselves against daily chores, or to the perch, where against the millions of suns striking into the cabinets where devoted criminal ****** *** offenders aid and abet their children:
flying kites, tossing bread crumbs to water fowl, playing tag, hide and go seek, or
Cooking food, drinking cold alcoholic beverage, and listening as a friend with a guitar sings about the child born in the mountains as a man, only to find the world as a legend.
Still there is no escape. There is only the peril of night stretching 99% of our brains across the tepid sky, only to wait for the light of those suns to fade, and then only have to worry about the dross and muck on every fingerprint of every man from this place or the next. These are fingerprints that ooze the familiar green devil whose face familiar ages our futures before they can even happen. Then we succumb to the bitterness of these years on the perch, the stoop, the step, wandering around the chollas in nothing but a pair of aquamarine boy’s briefs. This is not insanity. This is the product of insanity. This is not losing, this is the product of living under a government that has been taking what it could not afford, and who trades in what hurts rather than helps what ails rather than aids.
This is the ratcheting heard inside the bruised and frail hearts of many. The pain inside their backs and legs and arms and heads is real. It smells real. It sounds real. It feels real, but no one here has ever known what it is that is happening, therefore they do not understand the great costs being played with when these oozing poison-stricken fingertips start playing at the game of life, or they start playing at the game of their neighbor’s life. There is an outcome of sunset still yet to be seen, and that is the inescapability and uncertainty of millions of children being born today, tomorrow, and hereafter. The children tomorrow should not have to worry about washing someone’s fingerprints off of the skin they have yet to be born inside. Stretching across the dusty and quiet streets, if this Wild West is closing its wildness out and isn’t doing anything but wandering west, there isn’t a committee of sanity that will prevail. Especially as we choke through the gravely heavy metals meddling with the untold stories of tomorrow’s sons and daughters.
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 12:45 AM UTC
XD
If you offer Moses porkchops
And Ghandi t-bone steaks
An Amish woman lightbulbs
You have what it takes!
If fish ain't on the menu
For a Catholic's Friday meal
And you fast on a Fat Wednesday
You're the real deal!
If at a Mosque you're dancing
While they're bowing to the east
If you use a salad fork
To eat the main course feast
At Episcopal church functions
Then don't give a dime
At Joel Osteen's mega-church
Man, you're right on time!
Non-religious offenders
Really should unite!
Just do what comes naturally!
Don't give up the fight!
Far from being reverent
Take it one step more!
Diss ol' jolly Santa
While looting big box stores!
But watch the gays and lesbians!
Jokes we won't allow!
Or political gurus and women
*For those are sacred cows!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 10/9/2013
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
community overcome by
ingenious ridiculouness
roaring through the
commerce neighbourhoods in
urbanias down town area
slowly stating truths as lies
offenders bleached into rays of blue
forced to live amongst shadows
sanity slipps away as the mind
asumes memory as all we've got
noticing nothing but the
calculated risks of the end
tourmented by formal
indifferences backed by
timeless thoughts of lost
youth that once was...
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
I am outside the circle of *** Just as well. Population control,
the biome's survival instinct. Or I'm old. Look
in mirror, skin over bones. Young girls
on bicycles, running, have that granddaughterly smile for me,
all is safe, well. Much is well.
The neighborhood safe,
the nation a non-violent helpmate among nations. Until
food shortages, weather crises, nuclear mischief apply.
Police patrols. I was proud of Massachusetts
voting to decriminalize ****** Let's go all the way:
free all non-violent offenders from their cells! Force police
out of cruisers to walk the streets and say hello.
What else can we try:
Open the border with Mexico. Let labor
flow like capital.
What has this to do with the self,
the temperamental, fragile self. The one that leaves no footprint
in eternity. No smell.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
No *********** allowed
Offenders see nothing
Face the power
Feel instant results
Play at your own risk
Many have tried
Walk or run away
You can't win
Oct 27, 2009
Oct 27, 2009 at 12:46 PM UTC
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her because thou know’st I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suff’ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,
And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross.
But here’s the joy: my friend and I are one,
Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.
1.1k
Polymath Pretender
the master of absolute complete nothing
these quatrains tell the tale
of a pretender who is suffering
whose life is worn and stale
reach up and raise your chalice
these tainted words used as a phallus
some intentions of twisted mental malice
lying naked in his ivory palace
is this the fade from faded glory
a very sad and ancient story
of repeating repeat offenders
these single-minded polymath pretenders
Gomer LePoet ....
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
Polymath Pretender
the master of absolutely nothing
these quatrains tell the tale
of a pretender who is suffering
whose life is worn and stale
reach up and raise your chalice
tainted words used as a phallus
some intentions of mental malice
lying naked in my palace
is this the fade from glory
a sad and ancient story
of repeat offenders
these polymath pretenders
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 9:08 AM UTC
I'm not saying I'm self-serving,
but I'm only sorry if I have to be
and I hope that's good enough.
I cut down the bridge with my hands
bashing teeth and skull into mush.
I rushed everything for this.
I went ahead.
Distort shadows and repeat offenders,
every other day is a rust belt nightmare
and when it rains it washes all
the **** away, and out of sunlight
it all looks a little less desperate.
It all looks less desperate.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC