"sentencing" poems
O blessed night I am feared
For I am a black man who can't shake spears thrown at him on the daily.
High courts let us get clipped by Brutus- clipped by brutes in fact a loose noose can hang you from any platform
Oxygen doesn't transcend class
Eric wasn't the first nor last unable to Garner breath
I... Cant... Breath.
Bill Cosby's first words after sentencing
Sandra Bland's last thoughts before being propped up
I ride around my city feeling Gray inside, DEAD inside wondering if convenient transportation is worth my life.
Othello ruled this nation for eight years yet noble souls are still treated as peasants.
I mean if all the worlds a stage, then why do they play us only when we're players or when the play, us.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
There's a voice on the phone
telling what had happened.
Some kind of confusion,
more like a disaster.
And it wondered how you were left unaffected,
but you had no knowledge.
No, the chemicals covered you.
So a jury was formed
as more liquor was poured.
No need for conviction;
they're not thirsty for justice.
But I slept with the lies I keep inside my head.
I found out I was guilty.
I found out I was guilty.
But I won't be around for the sentencing
'cause I'm leaving on the next airplane.
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify,
they seem adequate to fill up my time.
But if I could talk to myself like I was someone else,
well then maybe I could take your advice
and I wouldn't act like such an ******* all the time.
There's a film on the wall
that makes the people look small
who are sitting beside it,
all consumed in the drama.
They must return to their lives once the hero has died.
They will drive to the office,
stopping somewhere for coffee;
where the folk singers, poets, and playwrights convene
dispensing their wisdom;
Oh dear amateur orators.
They will detail their pain in some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
like it's some kind of contest.
Well if it is I think i'm winning it, all beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold metal gleams,
so hang it around my neck.
'Cause I am deserving it: the champion of idiots.
But a kid carries his Walkman
on that long bus ride to Omaha.
I know a girl who cries when she practices violin,
'cause each note stands so pure
it just cuts into her,
and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes.
Now to me, everything else,
it just sounds like a lie.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
Silver screen athletes
quitting soccer teams
to join homophobic friends
(redneck quasi outdoors-men)
who just want to **** animals
angst must be vented
lest it boil inside
and form a much darker concoction.
I beat the horse
'till I couldn't get it wrong
even then
the faceless desks of power
endorse eugenics,
pharmaceuticals,
and high profile lawyers
sentencing me to a life's term
teaching Sophocles
to an uninterested fifteen year old
too busy stroking a Ritalin limp ****
to star censored ladies on Vegas stripper cards.
And he said "Watch your language"
when I said "What the ****
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
**
A fast-track court in the capital city;
A Judiciary of a democratic Country;
Hearing the a gang-rape case,
reserved its order
on the quantum of
Punishment for the
four convicted in the
Gang-rape and ******
of a 23-year-old
innocent girl
A 237- page judgment,
Noting that that the
Crime was committed
in an extremely brutal manner.
“The major part of her intestine
was pulled out from the body,”
the Doctor said.
The prosecution has sought
the death penalty for the
four convicts, while the
Defense lawyers for the
Convicted are pleading
for a lenient verdict.
The arguments in the
gruesome gang-rape case
are over and sentencing
will be announced
at 2.30 pm on Friday,
13th September, 2013
"The sentence which is
very appropriate is nothing
short of death,"
special public prosecutor
told the court.
“The common man
will lose faith in the judiciary
if the harshest punishment
is not given “
the Judge remarked;
Guilty of ******
Gang ****
Unnatural ***
Criminal conspiracy,
destruction of evidence,
Kidnapping and attempting to ****
the eyewitness said
The fifth convict
Committed suicide
in Tihar Jail
in March this year
The sixth convict
was a juvenile at the time
of the incident and has been
given a three- year term
in a reformation home.
A fast-track court,
A Judiciary of a democratic
Country will order
Stop Crime against women !
“Hang them,
Not let them go free”
**
______________________________________________
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:32 AM UTC
check in at the library, my card scanned,
per the terms of my sentencing agreement
to the poetry shelves dispatched.
row after row, book after book,
all blank awaiting my affections,
all demanding my sensei sensations,
seeking a creme filling of honorations,
words of all shape, roots and origins,
the occasional new combination
some, never heard before, timelessly awaiting expulsion
from the birth-vocal canal where comes origination,
but for me, death by enforced creativity,
that’s what the judgers desired,
a punishment that fits the crime
*my misdeed record unsealed, intended for
world envisioning, the ego audacity to imagine
I could write a single good poem,
thus the punishment fits the crime*
may1 9:19am ‘19
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
The Allusionists (Mary Winslow and Jeff Steir)
these two allusionists (not illusionists!)
composition is a criminal sentencing, a full-time sensitizing,
a never ending t/rue seeing, recalling, photography by word.
I am a career criminal. I know.
these two retranslate by digging into word wells and
well hid storage closets under stairs so that we,
the not-in-attendance may envision their sightings with
two hands clutching, comprehending almost better than
the one who is actually there.
for our version, the one they provide is,
coffee with cream,
scotch with a beer chaser, tea with honey,
all to be, sipped slow, so
the hot frost on my the chest, infiltrating nostrils,
Vaporub-spreads slow and easy, brainward.
the allusionists.
the habitual employers of this
specific filter,
(word weavers, I call them behind their backs),
weaving is not in my eternally planned skill set.
I do so admire their tapestries
that guilt alone demands tribute and obeisance
and this poor imitation.
I do so admire their tapestries.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC
She was light and thunder
And he, … a fresh breeze on a Sunday morning
She was caught up in her own mind
Living a dream with made up people in a ghost city
Reckless dreams and undefeated attitude..
lonely roads sentencing her future
never letting anyone in, but the monsters in her head
Love was an old memory of a distant friend...
but what's love without pain, and pain without living?
He... He took her breath away
So cold and distant,
but there was something In his eyes,
something in the way he talked,
Like a forbidden fruit
and there's always something sensual about danger
He thought she was magic,
She was eager for love, he, … ready to ****
Her breath, his touch, her hands, his clothes …
She confused passion for love
Game over, He's gone
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Cricket sounds echoed
My saliva I just swallowed
Rumors of the devil coming out
Let me tell you what its all about
Deafening noise at 3 AM
Must be Sir Pol again
Parting my ragged curtain
Scarlet drops pattering down the drain
Shutting the windows tight
For Sir Pol just met my sight
Moonlight hungs down, I'm creepified
Meeting eye to eye gave me a fright
Sir Pol looks so dignified
But under the streetlights
I caught a glimpse of a badge
Filled with resentments and grudge
Bang!
Again... screams rang
Surely, It's Sir Pol doing his routine
Of acting like Gods, sentencing mortals into guillotine
Hey, Mister Pol Ice
Hear me, Mister Pol Ice!
The next dawn
Let me lay on my pillow at ease
And the town be in peace
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
***“Who will judge, as many trudge
through mud, mucking up the rug,
a coating of clay formed by God on a particular day.
Yet talent is ingrained, whether sane or insane,
and verse is treasure or a curse, unrehearsed, dispersed for all to see,
will they applaud or disparage, this marriage of mind and rhyme,
by design aligned, a sign of the times...”***
ms. patty m
~~~
once again a thunderbolt command hits between the eyes, on-right
the precise spot where the head aches with desire to fulfill the write!
but to what can I add to this encompassing question already
better answered by the questioner?
who will judge indeed!
all the time and far too often,
the flotsam rises to the surface, when better left ignored,
while the jetsam jets nowhere, buried deep though breathing yet,
on unseen sea bottom of ignorance,
luck of the draw by one who designs, who aligns,
a capricious starscape in the firmament
as well as
the infirmity & ignominy of caskets lying quiet in sea trenches
that the answer herein contained, a supposition,
a poor poets speculation, a soul’s lactation,
the very question is a cyclone bomb by competents
who are blinded+bound+blessed by
incomprehension
the only judge and jury is
your forefingers tip,
if it tremble a-slight
when caressing the key called send,
your cellular fiber
has adjudged worthy,
and no dare disagree
talent and distinction
randomly and irrationally distributed,
but the courageous caress of a send key pressed,
is all that is needed
to impress the only judge and jury
that
authorized you
in advance to
love yourself insanely well enough
to write
and
to send for
a request for sentencing
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
composition is a criminal sentencing,
a full-time sensitizing,
a never ending true~rue seeing,
recalling, every photograph my eyes did see,
by word.
I am a career criminal. I know.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
looking down as they throw
A cliche for strength in her face
Words they can't even begin to understand
No matter how hard they try
A pointless attempt
Until they've felt the sting of words lash like a belt when they hit
Degrading
Battering
Their every defense
Weakening
Causing doubt to the extent
Where they look in the mirror and the voices
They reflect
Others opinions becoming the definition of what their worth is
Sticks and stones
Is what they say
Oblivious to the fact she stares at a razor blade
While inside her mind all the names
grow louder
Screaming
Contemplating death of a being
with no realized purpose
Heartlessly their hate holds her captive
Sentencing her to a fate of silence
For whenever she opens her mouth to speak
Automatically she considers the negative feedback she'll receive
And quickly stops herself before the words fall out
At least someone has self control
The sea of insecurities she has to dive into everyday
Is nothing
To those who avoid her like the plague
Quick with the stones they cast
Ignorantly assuming
That the flaws they antagonize her for are of her choosing
So she's been branded
Hot and searing
What it feels like to be judged
As they create opinions regarding her existence
But a lack of acceptance is to blame
She prays for anything
Any way to escape
The constant ache, the ever present pain
Desiring to be invisible just for a day
In the end it's just a wish
Misunderstood
she goes off like a bomb in her school
One last cut, her last breath,
She blew up like a fuse
At all of those who ever judged her
Tormented her everyday
But when the report was filed and neatly put away
It was her who was held at fault
Never once was it taken into account
The triggers that were pulled by her murderers mouths
Sticks and stones
That's all they said
In one last guilt ridden breath
As they notice her blood left on their hands
Denying her perfection
Allowing her to believe death was worth it
To escape the hell in which she lived
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
a message sent to me:
“I know you, Marrano, secret Jew of my heart, weakened by words and strengthened thereby...stout man of words”^
a stranger invasion - his technology, a new combine of words,
percentage of perception high, a ferreting scraping of tissue,
an abrasion of spoiler alerts that are not hidden but now summoned, despite being unbidden early on a Sabbath morn
and at this, my haunted hours, this secret Jew,
wanders unexplored yet familiar routes
of his well traveled innards,
pondering this sweet Shylock Accusation, nay,
this confessional truth, but more, the nut of his essence that ‘tis
his conviction, his twisted sentencing, the exact lived-level of
a hellish Dante verse that shreds the escape of sleep,
that is home
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
words forced to the fore, peremptorily summoned,
this inconsistency so constant, his battle,
where neither victory, loss or truce, are resolutions legitimate,
contradictory poems are the tension production
of this high wire act of the man, a performance
best assessed as one of always slipping,
more near-falling failing than cross walking,
employing his word emissions as a balancing pole,
and balancing is a sometime thing
I am not an illusionist - if anything, a disillusionist
there are stanzas writ
but unspoken
that shall not be out-spit
here or now; for lengthy answers already exist,
in a thousand prior scripts
and
the thin wire of preservation
teaches the value of brevity
stout, I think not,
man of words,
no doubt,
one who is both,
a secret Marrano and a Jew, fully exposed,
and one who is
“weakened by words and strengthened thereby”
12/2/17 The Sabbath 3:33am
<•>
extra credit reading
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/529429/the-true-tale-of-shylocks-pound/
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 1:43 PM UTC
I’m recording this
From the future
Ten years ahead
To warn you that
Growing up is proven
To be a trap.
Inevitable as it is
Here are five advice
That you should keep in mind
And follow right after
Reading this message
To live long and prosper.
Foremost, please try your best
Not to make a hobby
Of talking to yourself
For it will haunt you
Even while you shower
Or as you take a sip on your coffee.
Start adopting a cat
Not for you to cuddle
But as a guard to your home
Aliens have used dogs to invade us
And without a feline, their only weakness
You will not be safe this April 11, 2016.
Double your dose
Of caffeine intake
I regret to have started
When I was already twenty five
The sooner the better
It’s the secret elixir of youth.
Do not believe in commercials
All the likes have been banned
In the year 2020
For they have been shown
To be made up of 80% lies
Which caused a second industrial revolution.
Coke is good, if not the greatest
But try drinking Pepsi more often
For a Pepsi fanatic will dominate the world
And he will release a proclamation
Sentencing to death any Pepsizen
Who cannot reach the required daily intake.
And a post script
Just to let you know
If you can hear the loud noises
At the background of this tape
It’s a horde of zombies
Dancing to the sound of Justin Bieber’s Baby.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
***** Jersey
You are unworthy
From the infamous Jersey shore
To the depths of Bergen county
You hound me
Thank god sandy got rid of that cesspool by the way
Anyone ever hear of Lodi?
No?, ok... Moving on,
New Jersey, the ideal place for parents who have small children
Once they are teenagers
They will rip their parents apart for condemning them to a suburban hellhole
For sentencing them to an infernal purgatory, where if you have no car, you are stuck at home, and unless you walk to a bus stop and take the bus somewhere else, you have no job
So you find your best friend...
Marijuana
And then you start selling it and you now have a job
Drug dealer.
Find a pill counter who works at Walgreens pharmacy and you have now
expanded your market
Oh ***** Jerz, for grey-ish skies
For sewage waves of stain,
for unemployed and worker slaves,
all for minimum wage.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
Today my son
Is to be sentenced
To prison. He
Lives 23 hours a day
In a jail cell, he will move on
Steeling courage few of us
Ever have to experience.
Consider your luck.
His mental illness
never to be a crime.
Will there be light for a prism?
Where he can turn to
Other pathways
Less dark and Forge
Himself into the open
Blue sky and all the rainbows
From here on out.
On the outside we are blind
On the inside some
Are given true sight.
I cry for a rotten system
In mental health care
We own. You might
Want to pull up some buckets
For all mothers tears
Knowing the best we have
Is incarceration. How is that
America? Tired of blaming anyone but yourself?
Feb 5, 2024
Feb 5, 2024 at 9:35 AM UTC
words deprived of meaning
thoughts stranded in translation
feelings imprisoned without sentencing
a stroke of life...un coup de vie
an existence brutally stricken
incapable of verbal expression
communication frustration...no relief
nuances from mundane to sublime
lost in an endless syntax maze
and sure, some actions speak louder
but unspoken words of love and support
fall like an acid rain of futility on the heart
Sad enough when inflicted by fate
tragic as a self-induced metaphor
The muting of squandered opportunities
will keep you disconnected and haunt your future
Aphasics have no say in this matter
What's your excuse?
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
I fought a snake last night.
A boy came after me to do the same.
But I told him I already did it.
He seemed to not really believe that I already gone through this fight.
It was over but he made me do it again.
So I threw the boy to the snake and ran.
Something in me told me I had to do this to really finish it.
Couldn’t help being a bad ***** in my dream.
It was his time to fight so now I had to leave.
Be free.
Run, run, run.
Run to the city.
The brown empty city in the night.
Through the night.
I don’t know why this keeps on happening.
It’s like I’m forced to fight every time before being able to let go.
Can’ t just shake it off cause there’s always something, somebody left to fight with or fight for.
And afterwards being afraid of what will be my sentencing.
It’s unacceptable, you did something horrible.
Something in me told me I had to do this to really finish it.
Couldn’t help being a bad ***** in my dream.
It was his time to fight so now I had to leave
**** it off and then you can run free!
Run, run, run.
Run to the city.
The brown empty city in the night.
Through the night.
Life = death &
Death = life.
When you let go you will know.
You will know when you let go.
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 8:57 AM UTC
God has relinquished
Ownership
With a blast of his breath,
Blowing the dust
Off the rock,
Sentencing us to death,
Worse, maybe life,
With our will.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
Skeletons In The Closet
In my closet I keep some bodies,
killing people is one of my hobbies.
I shoot people with my gun,
then sell their organs just for fun.
I skin their flesh and drain their blood,
my back yard is nothing but red mud.
Good thing my closet is extra wide,
it's the perfect place for them to hide.
I also enjoy golf and skiing,
I also take in a bit of sightseeing.
It helps me find people that don't matter,
then their brains, I like to splatter.
I fill my closet with plenty of bones,
a bunch of people, who were just unknowns.
No one even reports them missing,
sometimes their skulls I like kissing.
As I stalk my next victim,
I charm them with my words of wisdom.
I treat them like their my best friend,
if they only knew, it was all pretend.
I take them back to my place,
hoping I have enough closet space.
Then one night my house got raided,
my hopes and dreams suddenly became faded.
They locked me up and threw away the key,
fifty counts of ****** in the first degree.
My sentencing was for me to die,
above the prison, my skeleton hangs high.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
He looks with intent
as he stares beyond her eyes,
to the core of her being,
uniting with something within
her soul.
The face of love, her counterpart
Looks back at him
with anticipation
waiting for words to form,
speaking sounds of harmony;
His music playing distantly
within the depths of her heart.
His desire for her is coiled tightly around the
framework of her soul.
There is a secret place within her
where her adoration for him causes
the joints and the marrow to meet, and the
nucleus of their yearning divides
and reforms many times over
forging a stronger bond;
The spirit of Agape is born in the season of its place
beyond the dividing asunder.
The innocence of passion precedes His advancement towards her
and time takes a picture
capturing their beauty.
She tilts her head slightly to the left
as if she is rebalancing the motion of Jupiter’s axis
and here their lips embrace ,
and for a small moment,
they are trapped in the destiny of their
own eternity.
They speak secrets of intimacy
whispering in duality; two voices echoing;
¿Ven a pasar su vida con mi amor?
smiling from the inside out
and all of the components of their relationship
lay abreast arresting hope,
sentencing their love to life.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Compromises
In the prosecution of celebrities,
And in their sentencing,
We Indians often compromise as we get influenced by their hype,
And for them we harbor many soft-corners.
In the prosecution of high-society crooks,
And in their sentencing,
We Indians frequently compromise as we get influenced by their heights,
And allocate 5-star treatment to murderers..
In the prosecution of petty thieves,
And in their sentencing,
We Indians rarely compromise as we get influenced by their low status,
And quickly pronounce sentences...
In the prosecution of celebrated criminals,
And in their punishments,
We Indians often compromise as we get fascinated by their misdeeds,
And by their outrages....
In the execution of our daily works,
And in their performance,
We Indians seldom compromise as we often get boosted by their difficulty levels,
And put in that extra effort.....
In the protection of our loved ones,
And in their safety,
We Indians never compromise & protect them with all what we have,
And keep them safe......
In our own heartfelt ambitions,
And in their fulfilment,
We Indians nevermore compromise & strive heartily to succeed,
And rise above the world.......
Then why we Indians can't do,
What's regarded right,
In the society & in all the countries in this world,
And progress like never before........
Why we Indians can't stop,
What's regarded wrong,
In the society & immoral in humanity,
And let our land become a paradise again.........
Probably we Indians require a change,
May be you & I could help by bringing it,
In the social, local & national politics,
And see our country become the India of dreams..........
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
You see the smile,
I feel its pain,
And the accused stands there,
Being guilty of everything but giving me the love I needed,
Sentencing me to a life of imprisonment within my own jail cell,
As each day passes,
I feel as if I was the guilty one,
Giving you what I didn't want to,
Letting you break down that barrier, behind which I stood,
Little did I know,
That you weren't the person that was going to save me from falling,
But you were the car whose headlights flashed so brightly in my eyes,
Leaving nothing but tears crashing in to my soul,
Stealing each breath of mine while I lay there,
I suddenly became a statistic that day,
She who loved, she who lost, she who felt each part of her heart breaking,
As though it was physically possible,
The illusion of an happy ending, was all that it remained,
An illusion,
This made so many like her live life in its utmost delusion,
When you give your heart away once,
The owner of the sparkle in your eyes then belongs to someone else,
And when they leave, they take that sparkle with them,
That is why you only need to look into the eyes of an individual,
And you will be able to see just how much they have loved and more importantly just how much They have lost in life,
For that's why we all walk without seeing,
Sometimes the truth you see in someone's eyes,
Is more than you could have ever expected,
So frighteningly honest and bare,
And one day, when you're looking at your reflection,
You may not even know whose eyes you're looking into.
Sep 6, 2009
Sep 6, 2009 at 2:39 PM UTC
In a sea of gin you sailed,
To conquer a future you dreamt of
In a hallucinogen induced haze
You exhaled smoke with every breath,
Fogging the world over with your intoxicated ideas
Sentencing rebel thoughts to death
You figured you were in an epic,
The ones where the hero stood against the world alone
But only you were against you and it was tragic
That battle was lost when you sold your heart for a bottle of poison disguised as magic
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC