"stopgap" poems
I just want it to happen
Like it's a work of magic.
Like some kind of miracle
That cancels all that is tragic.
A spontaneous kind of thing
Without me saying a word
As if you read my very thoughts
As if somehow you heard.
It's a hope I've had all my life.
The perfect lover comes along
Saying exactly what I need to hear
Never puts one foot wrong.
Someone proud to be by my side
That I never have to show the way
And stay beside me as I sleep
At the end of every perfect day.
Because I can't stand any more
Of the things I've had to bear.
The many kinds of disrespect
And the obvious lack of care.
I need that someone special
Who has the gift of giving.
Who sees in me perfection
Your world, life, and everything.
I've had too much of the rest
The other kind of love affair
Where I am just a stopgap
They didn't ever really care.
The love I am looking for
And who you just have to be
Is the soul of romanatic essence,
Absolute perfection, like me.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
The shortest distance between two points of travel.
The fastest method for achieving a result.
Quickest answer for a resolution.
Marrying equals.
All terminology meaning essentially the same thing; synthesis. That is what the two-party system is meant to be doing. It is the point of checks and balances. A check is a stopgap. A balance is a measure.
No one wants to ban personal firearms. No one wants mentally-ill people to own them. No one advocates violence by school teachers to assuage future potential violence. No reasonable person wants children to grow up in a police state school system. No American believes that State and Federal government can agree on what should be done in all states.
We will not be arming teachers. Nor will we be banning guns. There will never be armed guards at public schools. States and the Federal government disagree on so many levels there will never be consensus on change when it comes to this issue. So, change the issue in a way that offers a stopgap as a measure.
The President of The United States issues a proclamation that all land directly adjacent to the front of all public schools will be bought by the federal government at today's market price. That price will be fixed provided the states do two things. Use state eminent domain laws(every state already has them) to file a claim on said properties and assess the value thereof for the federal government.
Secondly, establish police precincts on said property.
Ask yourself;
"How many children would die if the local police were directly across the street from the school at the time of the shooting?"
And,
"Would Conservatives or Liberals be against this proposal?"
Also,
We should all remember that these shooters plan their attacks and would have to plan around the police being there immediately after they begin one.
Problem solved...
...and no one touched a gun(right) to do it.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
I love you a little.
It’s enough, perhaps, to
fit tight in a matchbox and
(my sincere apologies)
tuck into the catch-all drawer.
Tuck into the catch-all drawer
my sincere apologies,
fit tight in a matchbox.
It’s enough, perhaps, to
love you a little.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
August sunlight
coupled with carefree breezes
flit through the well dressed oaks
outside of my rectangular window
and illuminate a stopgap
in the ongoing transience
of the seasons and time.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 5:33 PM UTC
Day in, day out
Think on it more
Figure it out
Think on it again
Maybe you'll learn something
Day in
Work for scraps
Hate yourself
Your education
Day out
Day in
Care for everyone
And it becomes no one
Failing to relate
Day out
Day in
Gaining weight
Curse your habits
Dive right in
Day out
Day in
Try some drugs
Not a solution
Marginally pleasant stopgap
Day out
Day in
Love your parents
Providing shelter
Resent them regardless
Day out
Day in
Wake up exhausted
Fall asleep awake
Simply nothing left here
Day out
Day in
Write another's words
Forget your own
And step in line
Day out
Day in, day out
The future is blurred
Figure it out
Coming up blank
Maybe the cancer is already growing
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
A precious piano stands silent and sovereign
in a room of obscure ambience that hangs from Heaven.
Gathered is a crowd familiar by name and face,
and name and face alone.
A prophet stands a step beneath the piano.
His emaciated ideals are better explained in writing.
The crowd uses his mispronounced prophecies as the material
for their mockeries and their jokes.
A glass ceiling makes them naked to ethereal bodies
that do not care to pay attention.
And if such bodies could speak, they would speak
nothing towards them.
Each soul in the room is selling some
stopgap prescription drug that will last a lifetime.
The preacher is selling God, with all His effete side effects;
the fascist sells purpose with some acrid aftertaste;
and the madman sits in the corner with a thousand low-cost answers,
none of which you can fact check.
“You will see!” the prophet exclaims.
His voice is weak in its strength.
“You will see the rubble of Man’s Creation,
and the fractured bones of God.”
Lucifer enters with a proud gait
and collects the silent.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Stopgap.
emotional stocks wrapped with paper wings,
which burst'd into inferno at the first broken sight of spring.
Baseless transition into faceless thoughts,
Caught in webs of speechless dreams,
laced with poison's tasteless lessons taught.
Stop that.
Think back,
at the wasted scenes graced with cold embrace.
Winter's faces breathe,
Lies stand by your faithless eyes.
instead.
dream,
of flame-less skies.
Stop the gap in nature's lap,
and sit upon her shoulders.
See the skies that breathe your sighs of reprieve,
nigh your dreams seized with whisper'd echos breeze.
Set them free...
p.s.,
you may already be.
but beware.
hopeless eyes are doomed to live with lies, disguised by strife's hypnosis,
ensnared by defeatist blight.
Nov 8, 2019
Nov 8, 2019 at 8:03 PM UTC
Pride designed a precious bower
Granting each discarded scrap
The illusion of creative power
Whatever’s found he will devour
And shape to his mind’s map
Pride designed a precious bower
Now his lover he will shower
With refuse in a shiny wrap:
The illusion of creative power
Is she wooed by his false flower?
Will glamour be her trap?
Pride designed a precious bower
Or will her feelings remain dour?
Knowing he can only tap
The illusion of creative power
Leaving him to hunt and scour
The world for his stopgap
Pride designed a precious bower
The illusion of creative power
Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 2:29 PM UTC