"roughshod" poems
Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought
Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be
But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?
If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners
If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated
If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell
Or murdering Jews
Like Hitler's evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine
Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents
If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home
If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward
Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?
Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes
No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers
To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him
We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence
You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much
Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?
Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?
If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass
You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality
What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night
Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge
It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
reign on my charade, but risk the dapple
the first to kayak to mars. Jester, you say?
Messers Metro, Goldwyn and Meyer shan't have floundered
if you had taken the turtleneck, roughshod
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 6:04 PM UTC
reign on my charade, but risk the dapple
the first to kayak to mars. Jester, you say?
Messers Metro, Goldwyn and Meyer shan't have floundered
if you had taken the turtleneck, roughshod
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 6:04 PM UTC
Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.
From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.
Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.
When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.
Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.
Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water from somewhere
Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes and other human constructs!
Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
Killed, have you, thousands of innocents
Truly, are you Satan's agents
Destroying an entire nation
In the name of counter-terrorism
Completely abandoning rationalism
And carrying out mass slaughter, with chilling precision
You call yourself a democracy
Yet, you show absolutely no mercy
Even when it cometh to children
Your humanity is absolutely barren
When we call you out
"Anti-Semitic", do you brand us, without a second thought
Jesus tells us to love even our enemies
However, your sheer hatred never does cease
You pretend to be the victim
However, filled to the brim
Is your cup of everlasting greed
As you continue to occupy land after land
And never allow the world to take a stand
Even as there are millions to feed
While the genocide reaches a fever pitch
Because, always functions, does your killing machine, without a hitch
You are so evil
That you **** and ****
Without giving a dime about incurring the wrath of God
Over goodness, do you run roughshod
You think you own Palestine
However, enough have we seen
And enough have we had
The world is mad
Soon, will you pay the price
For your insatiable avarice
Your days are numbered
Soon, will the tide be turned
You may continue your state terrorism
Which you call "counter-terrorism"
However, it is only a matter of time
Before there is divine retribution
For the numerous crimes of your so-called democratic nation
Viva Palestina!!
Amen!! Hallelujah!!
Dec 26, 2023
Dec 26, 2023 at 11:17 AM UTC
Death comes water clad,
Distruction’s own water waves;
Monsoon’s killer rush!
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Conversation inhibited,
Yet also free of constraint,
Small talk a challenge,
In depth conversation my forte
And interrogation my ally
Bombarding others with quick fire questions,
‘You’re too deep’ it has been said more than once
As I reveal too much once again.
Misunderstanding social cues,
Eye contact a no no,
****** expressions a blur,
Tone of voice a trigger,
Hence emotions a minefield.
Literal listening,
Literal speaking,
Leading to sense of humour bypass,
Don’t waste your innuendos, irony and sarcasm on me,
Direct speaking is what wins the day.
Overwhelming sensory overload,
Confusion,
Misunderstanding,
Mishearing,
Tendency towards negativity,
Introversion,
A war of words
Inside my head
Pouring out my mouth,
Tearing me apart
And those whom I love.
Now working hard to change the script,
To be aware of the impact of deficiencies, defensiveness and quirkiness,
To remain level headed and mindful
As I alternate between tiptoeing and running roughshod
Through the labyrinth of life.
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
A little prototype
So fortunate there was no one alike
A truly remarkable prototype, but after all just that
And as it goes with those, it got replaced with another,
slightly better
Terrified and afraid, it was now sent to the shredder
But before it got there, it was revisited
The prototype thought that was wonderful
Its future was a little brighter, and colourful
It was happy to get another chance, to enhance
It did its best to look good, as it should
It now had an outstanding design
But unfortunately, once again declined
Now crushed and defeated it wandered the testing site and factory grounds, wondering why the world could be so cruel
Just a single approval could be so crucial
And every disapproval so brutal and roughshod
Simply the prototype, must be no good
Suddenly a pair of kind, caring hands picked it up
A pair of hands that understands the prototype
It was carefully looked at and a few screws was tightened
New technology was inserted, and a few bulbs was lightened
New hope rose as the insecurity was broke
Once again examined carefully
Now the prototype was truly a beauty
It jumped up and down, as it was finally accepted
and put into production, happy and relieved as it had now served a real function
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Curtains thick as carpets
shut out the courtyard, neighbors, society.
She’s a gentle, cane-walking woman.
Posture of a question mark. The cords of her neck,
withered stalks as she peers up at me.
From eye to jaw a scar like a dried fig.
The world has run roughshod over this woman.
Pointing at the baseboard heater, she folds
arms over chest, shivers in drama.
“Okay,” I say. “I get it.”
With screwdriver and flashlight I kneel on a rug
woven with exquisite patterns of dangerous beasts:
dragon, eagle, serpent. A nudge on my arm.
Holding a tray of baklava and apricots, she says, “Take.”
In a minute she’s back with a tiny cup. “Take.”
Brew so thick that if you spilled, the coffee
would not splash. It would shatter.
Soon my belly is grinding like a coffee mill.
And the heater is fixed. I kneel over the baseboard,
rubbing my hands in a pantomime of heat.
She takes my face between her fingers.
She beams, nodding her head.
It’s a thank you, but more.
Be nice, she seems to say, and conquer evil.
Opening the door, she sends me outside
with my tool belt and work boots
to the bright sunlight of California, USA.
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
Forests burn in ashen skies
Atmosphere of putrid lies,
Fat Cats write their cheques of gold
Another thousand hectares sold.
Forest fall for short term gain
**** tomorrow's children's pain.
**** the leaden poisoned air
Here and now is all they care,
High grade autos, classy chicks
Snort white powder, cash for kicks.....
Use it all at headlong speed
**** tomorrow...Let it bleed!
Off the Serpent's head I say
Abruptly end the Fat Cheques day.
End the **** of forest green
End the poisoned air obscene.
We owe it to tomorrow's sky,
We fix the problem...or we die.
M.
6 APRIL 2014
And.........
You know the tragedy at hand?
It's that no one here will make a stand;
We'll shake our heads and turn away
And pray that sanity will play.
The Dogs will ride roughshod and bold
Until established stranglehold
To throttle those who dare to caw,
Intimidate with threat and claw.
I've seen it all, I'm sick to say,
The Bulldozers shall have their way.
The Powerful, who write the cheque,
Stack all the cards and rig the deck!
M.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
Stars are just like us,
they implode without warning,
leaving a debris field
to ride roughshod over.
It is quite a performance,
so they post a sign
and sell tickets,
just to keep it legal.
Stars, they're just like us,
they like it on top,
but often survive
as bottom-dwellers.
They whistle while they work,
clawing at the walls
of a coal mine,
hoping for a little snow white.
Holding fast before the lights
go down, leaving them lonesome
with credit card debit
and video on demand.
Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
Is it for the victims that I weep,
Or for the caged birds in hell,
Or for the miserable plight of children,
Or to the callousness of statesmen?
Vicious circles call for exploitation,
And slump us in the quicksand
Of avarice and heinousness.
And the spring gets lost in gelid sighs.
Human is indeed an animal.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
I can claim it
as Australian
back then
when
it was fashionable
to steal people
from their homes
for trying to feed
their children
****** English curs
riding roughshod
over people herds
sending them
to the 'Colonies'
Oh, Irish I might be
except
that the English
had no problem
dealing the same fate
to their own
No, I don't claim Irish
for that alone
I claim 5th generation
Australian, on a Paternal side
Dad never was one to hide
the fact we were born
of a Bushrangers lot
I never forgot
where my Maiden name
came from
I married an Irishman
I am a Doogan
(spelling changed
when coming to this land)
I don't claim Irish
but am proud to be
a part of a heritage
that lives to be free
That just wants freedom
to have their own day
Not to be oppressed
by a country that has no right
to suckle at its breast
Happy St Patricks Day
:)
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Let me fly
cut through the sky,cut through my skin
let it begin.
Can't relax with rents, and council tax smacks me in the face,pacing floors,slamming doors,not angry just a little mad,just a little sad these monkeys won't leave me alone.
Advertisement.
'Get a job,get some pride'
and let the ******** ride roughshod while they poke and **** and you lay there and play their game,trampled but,
do you feel the same?
You're working now,What the fluck,lady luck ****** out your brains,you're tamed,named on a payslip and one more sunken ship of dreams slowly sinks.
Thinks.
got to go away,can't stay chained, feeling drained,pained beyond belief,
flucking grief.
but enough self pity,spit it out,
grin and bear it?
I flucking wear it like a second skin,another cut will get me in
let me begin or let me end.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
Alias indomitable invincible
Donald John Trump oozes wrath
inexorably plunging every species
of life toward apocalyptic warpath
mercilessly threatentens world
wide web promising bloodbath
validating ex post facto commander
in chief as nonpareil sociopath
hence... this call to arms gives run
for money challenging any psychopath
lest inevitable according to dead
reckoning prediction of
wisest sages calculated math.
Thus one poetic footsoldier doth broadcast
dire straits emergency, and inveigh
grassroots action mandatory meaning
registered voters must
cast ballot per se
else planet Earth will...
burn thermonuclear gray
rendering oblate spheroid
uninhabitable, I daresay
if bleak forecast father time doth delay
global warming would outweigh
former worst case nihilistic scenario,
nonetheless Gaia will serve
as repurposed ashtray,
whereby inextinguishable fiery storms
approximating calculus of doomsday
nsync with intolerable weather forecasts
if complacency rides roughshod field day
defying lack of immunization oy vey
against opportunistic unfamiliar organisms
viral and bacterial agent provocateurs
microscopic gangbusters
nothing could allay
winning scrimmage play
thinning overpopulation whereby
scavengers make short shrift
plethora once living flotsam and jetsam
perhaps requiring rotting, putrefying,
goods put on layaway
(type of foragers -
reference https://www.google.com/search?
client=safari&channel=mac_bm&ei=
KECaXe_UA6SO5wLh-7gY&q=list+
examples+of+scavengers&oq=list+types+
of+scavengers&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i22i30.
58737.70074..70997...0.4..0.223.1875.
21j2j1......0....1..gws-wiz.......
0i71j0i273j0j0i131j0i67j33i22i29i30.
wnDI0kLrKWM).
now ye might hashtag me chicken little
synonymous to Rome burning,
while Nero did fiddle,
perhaps scaremonger i.e. Cassandra
alamist bah bing away, a realist foaming
at figurative mouth with spittle,
would you believe cautious optimist,
who presents prediction,
while this poem heed whittle.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
.
Foam at the mouth
And breath becomes shallow
For Water is mortar,
To the man of the cowl
Shall I'll spin you a tale
of the knight of great might and
Of he who fights evil and villains of fright
On ,one fateful eave much like most others
The captain of batnis
Found he and his druthers
So
Took to the sky
In seek of his prey
The usual crooks
He fights everyday
But this battle is solo
As he is alone
Robins got bird flue
And is roosting at home
So muster did he
Gotham's great goul
Saw a shuffle of poodles
In a battle most cruel
An easy resolve
For this billionaire fool
The champion of right
And Harvey dents tool
And funny for he
who takes to the air
Would fly to a roof
Of dogs in despair
For wise is it not
When signs are unread
That said
hasmat, caution
Or end up most dead
But
Never of him
For the cat ******* bat
never retreats From simple a spat
But caution was missed
With that I'll gotten ******
Fogged his good senses
And made him less a match
For the black knight had blue *****
And saw not ,
the plot hatch
Of the bird of Ill flight
And jester of king
Road roughshod around him
And traps did they spring
On landing he slipped
And did finally see
That he landed smack dab
At the.
C
D
And
C
And oh with his logic
His ego did ****
For did appear
A crazed, snarling mutt
With a maddening sneer
And unsnipped of nut
For Distemper the mentor for mangy the mutt
He has
no vaccine
And dogs always bite
And survival one bitten is so very slight
So the tables are set for the guano
Fueled duel
With mankind's best friend
That kills with his drool
Chapter 1 the bat and the hydrophobic hound
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
As water is as such divine, my heart is yours and yours is mine.
The wheals of paradise thus did forsake me.
She says love me back and he says make me.
Diamonds on dinner plates.
I'll faite accomplished.
She smiled such a beaming grin, pray let our love be nourished.
May emotion and truth ride roughshod upon the turf, let love compel us into earth.
My love be cherished as a gemstone.
Eternal forever more,ne'er for burning.
(c) Livvi
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
"Donald, you are learning fast.
Let's see what tomorrow brings.
Excuse me for a minute while
I adjust the puppet strings….
"Fooling the public is a must.
Listening to me will ease your fears.
I have been duping people
All over the world for many years.
"You are learning in leaps and bounds.
Sometimes I even think you're smart.
Calling the press the enemy
Is a wonderful way to start.
"Controlling the media is a must.
Your tweets are useful memoranda.
Your Sinclair Group and Fox News
Can help you spread your propaganda.
"It's very important to keep up the lies.
Let your admin team transmit them.
They will ride roughshod over
The people; they won't know what hit them.
"When your attacks on the FBI
And DOJ are intensified,
I can't help admitting that
I get all tingly inside.
"Of course, one thing that makes
It easy for you to break the rules
Is the fact that many of your
Republican members of Congress are fools.
"You also must remember that NATO
Countries are your REAL foes.
When you trash them, I say to myself,
'Donald's hit it on the nose.'
"Oh, about those deals you mentioned...
Well, we can discuss them later.
We appreciate all you're doing
To help us make Russia greater.
"Don't forget: When people mention
Subjects that for you are taboo,
Just stop and ask yourself,
'What would Vladimir Putin do?'"
-by Bob B (7-17-18)
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
The Judge came into the village with
A troop of the finest horse,
The sunshine gleamed on their breastplates
And their guns and their swords, of course,
He wasn’t there to be friendly, but
To make the rebels aware,
And carried the King’s own warrant to
Set up his courthouse there.
The troop took over the Mason’s Hall
The Judge took over the church,
And set up a bench down in the nave
As the troops set out to search,
They looked for the signs of weaponry
In the homes of the poorest men,
Tearing apart the hovels in
The search for the rebels, then.
To root out the roughshod army that
Had marched to defy the king,
Who tore up the standard prayer book
That the king was offering,
They forced the priests to reverse the mass
To the way it was done before,
Laying a siege to Exeter
In the way of a civil war.
Now the troops rode into the villages
And they held the men in chains,
Sworn to see that they paid in blood
For their temper, and their pains,
The women were wailing in the streets
As their men were taken in,
To answer to a black-hooded Judge
For their crimes against the King.
There wasn’t a gallows large enough
For the men that he meant to hang,
But plenty of trees around the leas
That the cattle grazed upon,
And plenty of boughs and branches that
Would groan with the weight of men,
Whose only fault was this one revolt
When their faith was changed again.
They hung like fruit from the saplings,
They choked their lives from a limb,
They swung on ropes from the mighty oaks
In an **** of suffering,
The farms lay waste in the country,
The crops lay waste in the fields,
There wasn’t an army of labourers
Just troops, with their swords and shields.
The Judge climbed into his black teak coach
Rode out of the village grounds,
While children wailed and the women paled
In cutting their husbands down.
The horror lay in the children’s genes
For generations, it’s said,
Till years along they would right the wrong
By taking a bad king’s head.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
now hear this! sing this! you constant Cade, you
choral breakneck in a single sum of man,
brackbreaking in the chaos-rinsing rite of ashed religion!—
choke now, for you used me. a tossing stave to ward off sins
of fratting simpletons and their unsyncopated singing.
—all sixteenths through roughshod roads of wrong-be-gone righteousness.
and why? because i vaped some trebled color to the gray.
oh! what is the
madness-misering measure of a middle-aged man
who through the din of dampened doing, of desperate
dancing on two left feet and wrinkled writhe of witlessness in the mid of being been should shuffle off and coil himself into a crimson cross?
you did it why? for friends and for the fissure,
some bald breach of banality beyond the stoic peach—
and for a frosty flame?
what waste of was you were, and still accomplished are;
that god-grappled greed should unhinge your soul's Sophia
and ever the future fraught.
there is not bracker brine than your bishops ex-cathedra,
for all the feast you fête, and friends you turn upon a spit;
you're hungry for a food that's never fed.
poor witless starving pitchless sum; your death is all my make into an angel, as you so quickly from this earth will shred
and songs adduced unto the celebration same.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
He was the best that ever was.
& nobody wanted to admit it.
When he retired,
an immediate crime wave
hit the streets.
The thugs ran
roughshod
& nobody had *****
to do the things he did.
Too bad you couldn't ask
the ones he planted for advice.
He was the best that ever was.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
She comes to mind frequently,
and normally runs roughshod over me
I recognized, thanks to a friend,
that these thoughts are not helpful or productive
I can go down that route a thousand times,
and I have,
but it doesn't matter how much time I spend;
it will always be a dead end
I don't yet know what to think instead,
so now when she comes to mind,
I see what's happening,
I sit in a state of moderate confusion,
knowing I don't want to go there,
but not sure what else to do
I suppose there's still plenty of healing ahead,
but here's to another step
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
there is something pristine and sacred
about a lack of time, an instant, a moment
that makes the crude passage look shabby
in a particular second you look happier and fuller
and the cinematic reveal overshadows what it is
that lacks background music. and maybe
the reason why the world seems so lackluster
is because we fail to acknowledge that even the roughshod
worn-down edges of time's brutal, eroded field
are more beautiful and sacred than a moment
for time takes all and bends it and makes it wild-
the very thing that can take what is tame and untame it
(though the very act of change is control and
control seems to tame, it does not, it flows,)
it works its will but it works with
for it is nothing outside of matter and space
and a moment only looks, only glances at the majesty of existence
a moment is there and then it is gone, lost forever,
only to be watched from a distant lighthouse
vaguely trying to find the way home through the fog
but time is, has been, and will be the entirety
of all we know- it is endless, confusing, less perfect
than we thought it was- and that is more glorious
than anything we can possibly understand.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
Molly wanted for absolutely nothing,
And that was definitely my fault
She’d not accept the worth of the less wealthy
And when she saw them she was difficult.
I never told how I’d started with nothing
Not wanting her derision I guess
I’d thought that by not telling her that stuff
She’d not decide to think me any less.
It was a foolish error on my part
For she rode roughshod over the poor
Till I found I could tolerate it no longer
Removed her allowance and the key to her door.
I said you’ll have to fend for yourself now
If you do it you’ll be better by far
Oh, and take all those things out of your pocket
That’s your phone, and you’ll not have a car.
Downcast she set off on her own way
Cast a look at me, I nearly cried
I’d keep an eye out of course and protect her
But she needed to have worked and have tried.
Two years passed and she found her rock-bottom
But she started to work and she grew
I said to her would you like to come home now
She said she’d stay where she was…thank you.
Fact is, Molly’s lost now forever
She’d survived and she picked herself up
But if I’d raised her right in the first place
She have known about sharing the cup.
So in the end I stand with my great wealth
But with no one to share it with now
If you want to know how not to raise children
Come to me and I’ll show you how.
©JRW2014
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
of melancholy
ride roughshod
over hastily mended bridges
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC