"prosecutors" poems
I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
Fumbling
Toward
Ecstasy
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
fallow lay in a field, neath soil well over-tilled,
the bones of explanations, excuses, and desperation,
a singular self-destructive but upward thrusted commandment,
compose a poem of revelation,
a poem of destiny and unknown destination
of thee, I write, ashen standing,
with the poker face of a lying son,
before the father confessor mirror,
stand with palms facing outward,
with perfect calm and utter fright
for every nominated error listed below,
when confronted,
hopeless the innocence,
easier now to admit,
with perfect clarity, your innermost
confabulatory familiar friends,
rise to the fire,
first and foremost
belabor not with supposed ratiocinations,
put aside, your ration of
conjured up-for-all, and-all-for-naught excuses,
the prosecutors charges, so thoroughly distinguished,
it disables, speech, vision, all reason extinguished
as the lips and fingers silent move,
the hopeless knowledge of a pardon of 99.9%,
untenable, ransacks,
for what passerby criminal thought
has not resided in your head,
the hearth of who you are?
you,
write of nature, love, celestial notions,
the Etcetera's of life, but to me,
leave the exposure of our uncompressed,
here revealed sinning,
for among those who
unashamedly acknowledge
the intertwining nature of
human failings, and for the balance,
uncap our divine imagery
you write at of those other
nuanced pleasures,
nature, love, celestial notions,
while the sinners wrestle with
the angelic demons of
confrontation and revelation
for your own sake and saving,
do not wrestle with me
for sinners love, welcome
company
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
People are ****** to death by being gay or transgender or for marrying someone who their parents did not arrange for them to marry. Girls are sold into *** slavery or worse forced to be submissive to their ****** or to be married to them. Men, women are killed for being Christians or are in hiding from their prosecutors. Children live on the streets eating garbage trying to provide for their youngest sibling because their parents had died. people die every day by speaking out against something they believe in, you have the opportunity for free speech. Tell me how the government doesn't provide enough for you, how mistreated you are by men. You think you're so "oppressed" look at the world around you.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
money bought him
the young flowers to
defile
money bought him
satisfaction's
smile
yet his money
bought him trouble
aplenty
for his victims were
well below the age of
twenty
his money will need
to buy good legal
representation
as the New York prosecutors
so desire his
incarceration
money never purchased
him an ounce of
respect
on his money he'll be
left to endlessly
reflect
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
Protector,
Oh Great Protector,
deliver me from all evils of the wicked.
Deliver me from the snares and traps of hunters of the soul.
Shower me with your protection,
for if they shall prosper in their pursuits of thy spirit,
bring me to your holy land.
If you let me live,
allow me to forgive thy prosecutors.
Love and peace to all brothers and sisters,
enemies and friends,
all creatures of the Earth.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
Was she but the fallen
Come down to raise an Arcadian hell,
Avoiding peace in graceful slalom,
Encased in her callous breathing shell,
Most would describe her as the Cacodemon,
With the eyes of baleful sin,
Defined by her nefarious inner demon,
That had beguiled her sanity to its whim,
She breathed of ethereal indignation,
Sought upon her by trenchant thoughts,
Damning her for indulging in feelings as dissipation,
By those who seek defamatory purity as frauds,
She was the unwanted succubus,
Whose earnest beauty cost too high a price,
Her darkly alluring convictions were a neuritis,
Brought too bare all adamant admirers vice,
She was thought to be the rakshasa,
Condemned for safeholding her own heart,
Not wanting persue any psychodrama,
Not wishing for a reckless counterpart,
So she clinged to her hellhounds,
To hold at bay any contemptuous intruder’s,
And so they dub her hell bound,
Ignorant of her past patronizing prosecutors.
She is the Cacodemon,
As she shuts her gates from all,
Trusting none acclaimed shaman,
As she has already been judged to fall
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Look, we prosecutors in Law Town
we are so well-practiced
that if we set our minds to it
we can even put on trial a turkey sandwich
In fact
just last week we managed
to get a banana convicted of ******
sure, the conviction was overturned later on appeal -
but hey, the point is, we can skin anybody
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Girl says no.
Girl says I said no.
Boy says nothing with his mouth but
moves with hands that say *let me start my
cross-examination of the witness* and
looks at her with confused eyes that say
*may I remind you, ma’am, that you are under
oath. Would you like to change your answer?*
Girl says no, I said no.
She is jury,
she is judge,
she is verdict.
She is gavel banging against sound block
on a case closed.
Boy still says nothing but sheds
his clothes like last season’s skin
and when his jeans hit the floor
they say *Your Honor, I am asking
you to recuse yourself.*
He is still confused because
buying dinner is just a more polite way
of buying a girl on her knees
so he wrongfully believes that
his libido has the right
to stand in as a judge in appeals court
to overturn her ruling.
This is the only trial that she will see
because prosecution does not want
to press charges with a case that they do not believe
will result in a guilty verdict and ****
is still widely accepted as
just a he-said-she-said civil case.
*According to the FBI Uniform Crime Reports out of every 100 rapes, 32 get reported to the police, 7 lead to an arrest, and 3 are referred to prosecutors.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
Have you wished someone dead?
Self doesn't count.
Terminally ill don't count,
In fact, that may be construed as kind.
No. Someone vibrant, strong,
Sure and vain, like:
The relentless bully,
The cop at your door,
The ridiculing teacher
Who made you the fool.
The betrayer and rumour monger,
Your prosecutors, some persecutors,
An ocassional critic.
The machine voice,
The government,
The ****** and child molester,
The boko haram (all terrorists)
Even some family members,
But never your children.
Some on your own list.
Close your eyes and pick one
With a pin.
You can't wait for the uncertainty
Of Karma or God,
Or them to go to the devil.
You can't depend on toilets falling from planes,
Tornados dropping houses.
It's not illegal: half of us do it.
Billions believe it possible.
I envision driving the final nail myself.
At certain times, it's true,
I regret the absence of hell
With its gnashing, its unquenchable fires,
That burn without consuming:
The smelly, curling, shrinking flesh,
The bubbling of fat through skin,
Because sudden death
Just doesn't cut it.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
Dazed , slumber mode
Late hour aggravation
Defective diode , electrical -
brain imbalance , television overload
Book weary , legal philosophy -
theory , fly swatter Republican
county prosecutors
Night cars bound for work
Greasing the soul eating machines -
of our Corporate government
Press conference Lead Monster wannabe
students of Plato
Cookie cutter American PlayDoh
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
In the darkness of uneasy streets where bodies meet you head on,fed upon disease and crime
and all the time you look behind to see just who is following,
and hollowing a place to hide,inside a doorway,
beggars lay with sleeping dogs their minds fogged by the turpentine and cheap red wine and stinking of cheap cigarettes.
Debts of honour written on unease and ladies of the night who offer such delight but for a price you cannot pay,
then soon the night turns to the day,like sinking rats,rats slink away and you are left alone,left to scurry home
and feeling right as rain again,forget the pain that marches through the mews and views that pass like gashes on a sordid skin,tattooed sin will leave its mark,
skin on skin within the dark and where or what was evident,you lent to prosecutors,who prosecuted heroin,another sin and one more in,into the darkness of the street,one more follow,one more meet.
Cheats and harlots,charlatans,cut-throats,turncoats all are here,running ragged through these wolves that see a sheep and bleat you may
but day backs into night
where light fades with the rights you thought you had
and 'it's bad' is just another way to say,
you've got it wrong again
you're marching through the mews of pain
and wake to find you've lain
with beggars
and with sleeping dogs.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
Surrender
Harden yourself
Say "I am priceless" and mean it
Because nothing could be truer
We all wish to be beautiful in the eyes of the beholder
On a **** beach
Unbiased and open minded
Immerse yourself in your own aspects, your assets
Understand that in the grand scheme of things you are your own worst critic
Being spoon -fed and stigmatized
Immeasurable passive-aggressiveness
Assert yourself when you're among the persecuting prosecutors in this co-ed world we live in
Capitalize on your inquisitiveness and wit
Ask more questions
You know you haven't got all the answers
Use your pheromones to your advantage
Trick questions coincide with equivocal answers
Are you a runaway train of person hood?
Going off the tracks?
Going out of your way to be the change you want to see in the world?
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
A child died
And race was involved.
A verdict acquitted him.
Some accepted it.
Some took it hard.
While others wonder and questioned the mindset of the jury.
Facts was twisted and mystified
But all things will be answered in time.
Maybe the prosecutors didn't present the facts well.
And the defense did it great.
Evidence support that authorities told him to stop.
I can't imagine anyone wants to be follow.
If self defense was the excuse.
Then, who should had been defending themselves?
Now, one walks away innocent.
And the other won't be able too.
But, we all know trouble follow a fool.
If we all should use this self defense scheme.
And blame it upon the threat we created.
When we go out of our way to **** another child.
But all things gets answer in time.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
Shun thyself
Taketh the needle out
Stick thyself
Politicians of doubt
Lay down thy stone
Bury thine head
Let the bird flyeth free
And remember thine dead!!!!
Crying shame of pain and doom
Walk the line,
Play thy tunes!!!!
Heavy hearted
Soul of man
Tidy up thy mansion
Do the best thou can
Pull the trigger
Drop thy bombs
Smoke out the ashes
The clay turned dung
Tiger eyes
Diamond blood
Tombstones to plant
Names to shrug
Grow thy beards
Where thy plad
Wear glasses of fashion
And clothes of drag
Maketh thy pupils
Large and small
Taketh thine pills
Behind the wall
Tip thy bottles
Back to false success
Go to school
No rules to thine own stress
Get to work
Five minutes til
Wear thy mask a while
Don't pay thy bills!!!
Smile as thou runneth
And runneth as thou kills
Take the stab from thy own knife
At thine own will
Mask thyself
In blackened grey
Gravedigger
Bury mine grave
Help thyself
Help noone else
Crawling out a hole
That thy parent's hast built
Mommy and daddy
Don't poison me
This stomach's full
Of sinful seed
Hypocrite's judge
Critics ashamed
Bring me sunlight
Of ****** rain
Teareth me down
Build the wall
Case me like benches
In trenched bathroom stalls
Proud and dumb
Dumb and proud
Thy heart still aches
To the fate of the crowd
Innocent murmers
Poems a must
Cops still raging
To a hippy bus
Prosecutors take thy stance
Shackle me
Taketh mine romance
Waketh me at 9:23
It's time
Maby its thou I shalt see
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
She doesn't look strange
Not at all dangerous
She's all sweet and smiles
So fragile looking
Could break her upon a scold..
Her body...
As light as a feather
Her moves...
As graceful as a dancer
Her face...
As innocent as a saint
So what is she doing in here?
In this freaking cold old cell
Surrounded with unfriendly walls
The lock as big as a bull's head
Total darkness during the day and night...
Nothing but paralysis in here..
What has she done so wrong?
to deserve this hell on earth?
She doesn't look harmful to me
She looks sincere and genuine..
Have I... have I been deceived by her sweet looks?
No..
I have this strong feeling
Something must have gone so wrong
Unless the prosecutors could prove me wrong
I bet this pretty woman in your prison
is more right that wrong....
Tell me what could turn
a purely innocent..
a sweet woman like her
into a brutal monster?
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
I write my poems
Then post them online
For all the world to see
And I never noticed that I
Am writing the tale of me.
I never felt a moment's fear
That some would read here
Any kind of indictment
Or make hurtful judgment,
Though some have before.
Even those I don’t ignore.
I am weaving piecemeal
A harlequin coat of words
That, when they are heard,
Tell you more than asking
More than admitting aloud
Under oath to an eager crowd
Of prosecutors and accusers
And those who support me
Waiting in their seats, hoping
I won’t quit telling, revealing
The tale of a man who rhymes.
It is nearly my only crime.
Please accept, it is only humming,
Something you may do at work;
Me jerking a pen and scribbling.
Don’t bother with quibbling
Because that is what it is,
Doodling, noodling, muttering
But doing it on paper, lettering
Making tuneless music from me
So others can see and happily
Decide to keep it or share it.
I don’t care. It matters not to me.
I give my literary gifts freely.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
I watched the Lord upon the cross,
Until he ceased to breathe,
He stopped - like strangled albatross,
With fledglings to bereave.
I peeped - at first, in horror -
The people's prophet nailed,
To the Emperor's wood masonry,
A craft for which his father - hailed -
Then I peered at greater length,
Though wanting to relent,
I cannot deny the sight of pain,
Beget so I can repent.
A sight sublime - yet awful,
Suffice to inspire hymns,
The people's prophet - crucified,
To indulge a tyrant's whims.
Yet towards his prosecutors, kind
So loving and forgiving,
Against that Truth - no armory
In it, Lord ever living.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 2:40 AM UTC
For Our Special Prosecutors,
Who Guard and Guide Us
Oh, borscht! Those pesky Russkies under my bed
Were marching around all night, changing my votes
Beaming mysterious rays through my sleepy head
And snooping through my lesson plans and notes
They programmed my radio with Marx and Lenin
Plastered a poster of Putin to my wall
Sailed Admiral Kuznetzov across my linen
Layered a Petrograd accent over my Texas drawl
The special prosecutor says no further discussions –
Everything’s the fault of those perfidious Russians!
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
D.T.:
Why does everybody
Always want to see
My tax returns?
If I could have a secret,
It really ought to be
My tax returns.
Inflating values to get your loans:
There is really nothing to it.
Deflating values to lower taxes:
Doesn’t everybody do it?
Why do prosecutors
Want to have in hand
My tax returns?
I don’t think it’s fair
That they can all demand
My tax returns.
When you’re rich, doesn’t that mean
You should get a little break?
I’m in trouble mainly because
I give far less than I take.
I’m being hassled
‘Cause I want to hide
My tax returns.
Judges are stupid
To say I must provide
My tax returns.
If they say I committed fraud,
I’ll say that’s just fake news.
If they try to make me talk,
I will simply refuse!
I know that my fans
Don’t give a hoot about
My tax returns.
I can cheat and they’ll say that’s okay.
Winning means having all the right tools
To maneuver your way around the rules.
I’m ****** off
Because I have to show
MY TAX RETURNS!
-by Bob B (2-26-21)
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 11:19 AM UTC
How deep does adoration run?
When is something fully selfless?
If the blade had pierced an inch to the side,
If the metal had torn through blood as much as fat,
Would the deed have been done?
If the precious life had spilled like ichor,
If the slitting had ended in death,
Would she have gone through,
The way the blade went through her flesh?
How selfless is selfless, really,
When it comes at little cost,
To anyone other than the others?
When is such harm justified?
What else to we see, and let slip?
How often to we twist and turn the words in our mouths,
Spin them around in our minds until they make sense to us?
How often to we change the core of a phrase,
Puff ourselves up with false knowledge and say that no,
I was in the right all along?
How often are we ourselves Orual,
Shunning the Gods for mistakes we’ve made ourselves?
How often to we like to think we’re Psyche,
Calm and fearless in the face of prosecution?
How often are we, ourselves, the prosecutors?
And when do we let it end?
How many times have we been no more than the Fox,
Scorning those who believe in what we call fairy tales,
Modern magic to which we love to turn up our noses?
How long does an act last, I wonder,
Before it becomes as real as the skin we wear on our bones?
How much of our reality becomes shrivelled,
Hiding in our veins the way Orual hid behind the Queen?
How many times, I ask,
Is that truly safer than the alternative?
How many of us hide behind shallow veils,
Dig the old selves barren graves?
How much of our life is no longer real?
How long will it last?
And think, for a moment,
Of the truth you may believe in?
How often does it shine like the oil lamp,
How often are we revealed and punish?
How often to we destroy when seen?
How many times, do you think,
We spend setting up impassable trials,
To keep ourselves hidden?
How many people, do you think,
Have truly past those courses?
Who do you actually know?
And who, reader, truly knows you?
How much of ourselves is a veil?
Do we even know who we are?
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 8:18 PM UTC
I'm sitting in my living room replaying everything you said to me, and thinking, no matter the amount of brutal words used you would have never hurt me the way he did
the way he put my hands on me-
the amount of times i have counted the clouds on our tacky living room wallpaper, my heart and stomach are not positioned correctly and I can hear me telling you no, no, no repeatedly
but you not being able to hear because desire has taken over your whole body and replaced it as the only thing you know best.
I may not be full of much faith at this point, but the one thing I do agree with is how Jesus forgave his prosecutors.
I will forgive you but I will never forget
I will not forget the words you whispered, the
way you thought it was ok-
the emotional scars on my body and mind will live on to tell the tale of that night in full detail, but I will keep scrubbing my body, and washing my hands until the dirt I can see is no longer visible.
I will look into the eyes of the next boy I think I love and question whether or not he will hurt me the way you did-
the skeleton in my closet will have to come out eventually, but every time I reopen that door I will be faced with the sad reality that is life.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
You hurt inside.
You silently cry.
And feels no one's there to listen.
You write in diary.
You think about your subject of conflicts.
And feels no one's there.
You secretly send out clues and find many doesn't believe you.
And you wonder, who can you turn too?
Than finally you explode releasing all the pain within.
Cause you found that one trusted friend.
And it was JESUS.
He stated in words put all your trust in him.
He will handle your prosecutors.
He will punish those that harmed you.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC