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Terry O'Leary Aug 2014
The darkness, now descending, floods the city as it dies
while shadows lurk in legions 'neath the looming Evil Eye.
Its frozen stare envelops all, it penetrates and pries,
denouncing loathed dissenters to the keepers in the sky.

One’s inner thoughts are well descried before they’ve passed one’s lips
and cruelly crushed with grim contempt twixt despots’ fingertips;
but if no taboo-idea’s found, with which to come to grips,
the stymied Eye dispenses pus as fabrication drips.

The Eye peers down upon us now, to conquer and control,
and mark our every movement, whether hiding in a hole
or preening like a purple parrot perched upon a pole.
Our welfare and our happiness? No, certainly not the goal.

While phantoms fade, then reappear within the urban sprawl,
the gloom (adorned with Evil Eyes which pierce the livid pall)
pervades the ache and agony that poets sometimes scrawl
of plenitude to penury, how life endures the fall.

And should the herd dare whisper words of freedom's fragrant bloom
or murmur sighs of worriment at earth's impending doom,
the Evil Eye will squint a bit at those who so presume,
condemning nascent unchained thoughts to wither in the womb.

The Evil Eye bores everywhere, a tattletale to Kings,
who scrutinize their puppet people, strumming on their strings,
extracting secrets of their souls like spiders plucking wings
that flutter with the hangman’s knot as the corpse of freedom swings.

Yes, Princes rule with tungsten fists wherever they may roam
and sip from golden goblets, nectar, sweet as honeycomb
while peons (stripped of mind and soul) stray never far from home,
with faces 'neath the iron boot, ****** deep below the loam.

And peasants pass, parading by to fill the golden urn
with pennies for the afterlife wherefore the faithful yearn,
though screams of babes with empty eyes are never of concern
to those who covet silver coins, eyes cold and taciturn.

To hide the pains of purgatory, far-flung distant shores
(on islands of containment) cache the dingy dungeon doors
and inquisition water-boards that buoy their holy wars,
while sandmen drape our eyes with dust, with rainbow metaphors.

We’ll know the party's over when there's little left to eat
and all the learned scholars, lean, stay silent when they meet -
the Eye, withal, will spawn distrust on matters indiscreet.
The signs are all around us - even sheep no longer bleat.

                        Epilogue
One sightless seer scans the skies and mourns the heretofore.
Nine limbless men descend the stairs to find there is no floor.
Eight tongueless women babble, telling tales of nevermore.
Four earless children drown within the ocean's muted roar.

When hope becomes defiance, ask: Will bedlam soon arrive?
Will doves appear above us all? Or drones to guard the hive
while fed with milk and honey by the Queen and kept alive
to gut the gale below them? Will we let the Eye survive?
Mark Toney Oct 2019
~Dedicated to all victims of bullying, which include girls
& boys of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds.  (That includes me too.)~

Yvonne was very, very, very happy.
She loved her mother.
She loved her brother Phillip.
And she loved swans.
Oh, did she ever love swans!

She loved the way they looked
With their smooth, fluffy feathers,
And colorful beaks of orange, yellow and red.
She would watch them for hours
As they glided over water
In the pond at the park.

Her favorite thing was when two swans
Would get close, ever so close,
Head to head, forming a heart
With their beautiful, curved necks.

Her next favorite thing was
When baby swan cygnets
Would bunch together,
Closely following behind their mother.

She loved swans so much that she
Made a song about them.
Yvonne called it her Swan Song.

“Oh, lovely swan, as you swim in the pond,
Your baby cygnets play—I could watch them all day!
Whatever I do, when I think about you
I wonder if you think about me too!”

Yvonne sang her swan song
All the way to school in the morning
And all the way back home in the afternoon.

Yvonne loved school too.
She was a very good student.  
She studied hard for her tests.
Her grades were very good.
Her teachers were impressed.
Yvonne was helpful to her classmates.
And she was very, very, very happy.

One day a new kid showed up at school.
His name was Harry, and he seemed kinda cool.  
The teacher welcomed Harry to the class
And told everyone to be nice to him.
Harry was a little bigger than most of the kids.
And Harry didn’t smile.  He didn’t say a word.

Harry sat at the empty desk next to Yvonne.
Yvonne was excited about making a new friend.
“Hi, Harry.  I’m Yvonne.  Pleased to meet you.”
“Shut up!” Harry said.  “Leave me alone.”
Yvonne wondered why Harry was so mean.
In fact, he looked rather scary.
“Scary Harry” thought Yvonne.

Every day Yvonne and her friends would try to be nice to Harry.
Every day, Harry would be mean to them.
The only kids Harry liked were the bully kids,
The ones who were mean like Harry.
Harry was bigger and meaner.
Soon all the bullies were following him.

Every day they would pick on different kids.
One day they started picking on Yvonne.
Scary Harry taught his bully friends
An awful poem about Yvonne.  
They would shout it out when Yvonne came to school
And they would shout it out when she left for home too.

“Yvonne sang her swan song
She worked so hard all-day long.
When she came home she fell down
'Cause her legs didn’t have any bones!”

Yvonne was very hurt by their horrible, hateful poem,
And she would cry and run away as fast as she could.
Scary Harry and the bullies would laugh and laugh
And keep shouting it over again and again.

They also made up an awful poem
About Yvonne’s brother Phillip.

“Her brother’s name was Phillip.
He had such big wide hips.
When he tried to drink from a straw he couldn’t
'Cause his mouth didn’t have any lips!”

Yvonne was no longer very, very, very happy,
She felt fear, stress and sadness all the time.
Fear made her not want to go to school.
Sadness made her stop acting like her true self.

She no longer wanted to go to the park to see the swans.
Stress left her stomach in knots.
She found it hard to sleep.
What could she do?  
What would you do if this happened to you?

Yvonne did not want to be a tattletale,
But decided it would be best to tell her mother.
Yvonne told her everything.
About the new kid, Scary Harry, and the bully kids;
About them bullying her and her friends;
About the awful poems about her and Phillip;
About her fear of going to school;
About her sadness over not wanting to see the swans;
About the stress leaving her stomach in knots.
She told her mother everything,
And then she cried and cried and cried.

Her mother wept with her, and when the time was right she asked,
“What do you do when they bully you?”
“I start to cry and then run away” sobbed Yvonne.
“What do you WANT to do when they bully you?”
“I want to hit them hard and make them stop!”

With loving eyes, her mother replied
“Yvonne, I am so sorry for you.  But I know exactly what you should do.”
“Really?” Yvonne asked between sobs.
“Really!” responded her mother.  “Listen closely.”
Placing her hands gently on Yvonne’s shoulders,
Her mother kindly looked into Yvonne’s eyes and said:

“You can beat a bully without using your fists,
If you don’t react to their bullying.  
If you don’t react, the bullies will lose interest.
Don’t retaliate, or be mean to them,
Because that will only add to the problem.
Act confident, don’t be afraid.  
Bullies notice when you’re afraid.

Walk away, don’t run.  
It shows you have self-control,
Something the bullies don’t have.
Don’t walk to school alone.  
Walk with a friend.

Since bullies love secrecy, tell someone.  
Tell a teacher, just like you told me.
Even though you may feel like a tattletale,
You shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

Yvonne hugged her mother long and hard.
She was so happy she had finally told her mother.
“Let’s go to the park and see the swans” her mother said.
Yvonne, her mother and Phillip went, and had a wonderful time.
Yvonne felt like singing her swan song again,
So she sang it loud and strong
In the park by the pond and all the way home.

“Oh, lovely swan, as you swim in the pond
Your baby cygnets play—I could watch them all day!
Whatever I do, when I think about you
I wonder if you think about me too!”

The next day at school,
When scary Harry and the bully kids
Shouted the awful poems,
Yvonne remembered everything her mother had told her.
She even told her friends, so they would know what to do.
And she told her teacher too.

It didn’t take long before the bullying slowed down.
Scary Harry eventually stopped being as scary.
Yvonne was once again very, very, very happy.

She loved her mother more and more each day.
She loved her brother Phillip.
She loved her school too.
And she loved swans.
Oh, did she ever love swans!
4/24/2018 - Poetry form:  Narrative - This poem is dedicated to all victims of bullying, which include girls & boys of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds. (That includes me too.) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
"One lie weakens a thousand truths."

"Karma finishes what revenge neglects."

"Time heals, steals and reveals."

"The future is uncertain, but we play a part in its design."

"Help when you can. Pray when you can't."

"If your life is out of focus, it's time to change the lens."

"Instincts over impulse, always."

"The only thing better than a second chance is never needing one."

"Fear is a light sleeper."

"The devil is always looking for a dance partner."

"You can't change the past, but it can change you."

"Some are born with a silver spoon, others with a pitchfork."

"Even the smallest of pebbles has its place in the sand."

"Every tear has a name."

"Write your failures in pencil; your triumphs in ink."

"Hope is always listening."

"The best companion is your imagination."

"Two things you should always trust: your gut and your God."

"Scars speak every language."

"Only I think like me."

"We're remembered for three things: the times we did good, the times we did bad and the times we did nothing."

"Every underdog wants to be top cat."

"Love never travels alone."

"Hindsight teaches when the test is over."

"Dreams reveal what memories conceal."

"The problem with the world is the wolves outnumber the sheep."

"You can't spell tragedy without rage."

"Intuition is your strongest ally."

"Focus on the valley and the hills will disappear."

"Never trust an idle thought."

"A wounded animal always shows its teeth."

"When you ignore pain, it ignores you."

"The past and future are distant cousins."

"We're all buried treasures waiting to be found."

"Moonlight is for lovers and devils."

"Temptation always invites itself to the party."

"Everyone's story has a secret."

"Scents and songs are nostalgic reminders."

"Time is a tattletale."

"There's a special place in heaven for those who suffer on earth."

"We're connected by smiles and tears."

"Sometimes all that's left is a penny and a wish."

"The mirror mimics what the mind imagines."

"Tomorrow is a wild card."

"My favorite exercise is sleepwalking."

"What the blind man sees, the sighted man seeks."

"The ego is a phony friend."

"Luck will take you as far as fate allows."

"Two things that never forget: elephants and broken hearts."

"My train of thought has no conductor."
Brent Kincaid Feb 2018
I’m sliding down the ladder of life
Doing the Jacob thing in reverse.
Most of the people I meet now
Are either medical doctors or a nurse.
I’m in that phase where my hearing
Is about as good as my vision.
I don’t walk all that well at all
Due to my aging condition.

That’s the way things sometimes go
You might be clueless or you might know.
There may be signs so you can guess
Or you may find yourself a total mess.

Looking back over who I have been,
Like most of the young, I didn’t forsee
Or take much to heart the chances
That things like this would happen to me.
I thought myself invulnerable and
Incapable of ever growing old
Callously heeding no elders’s words
I simply refused to be told.

I thought the warnings I heard
Were from some clueless wags
And burned candles at both ends
Until the wick began to sag.

Now the creamy sooth skin,
Or what version I once ever had,
Begins to betray with brown spots,
And I admit it once made me mad.
But I have managed to accept
Many of the shortcomings of tomorrow.
It’s the loss of mobility I dislike;
That delivers me so much sorrow.
Amethyst Fyre Nov 2016
I can't imagine what good could come of telling you
What good could you even do?

I can picture you two
chattering mindlessly
and all the while the thought takes up your brain as its resident haunt
You know what she won't

Even if I make it clear
that under absolutely no circumstances can my mom ever, ever know
what if you let something slip?
what if you decide my best interests for me and tell her willingly?
the more people a secret is whispered too, the more cracks there are in ears
the harder to control the court
my teeth set on edge just thinking about how
this whole well-rehearsed world could come toppling down
with just a few words.

I think the only reason I really want to tell you
is so that I have an excuse in your eyes
for not being what I should be
for not being the perfect leader and for letting things fall
to give you a reason, something other than me to blame for my failures
but that's not justice
even kings and queens must be held accountable for their crimes
A death sentence started from my own mouth

Off with her head!
the people will yell
Sorrow Cain Sep 2015
[ ]
Have you ever wanted to speak out,
And tell your view,
To let someone hear,
To let someone though,
The cracks in your shell,
Let the light come in,
To let them understand,
What you are feeling within,
To finally let out a breath,
For your secret's out,
Because now someone will understand,
Someone knows what you are about,
They know your desires,
Your Feelings, Your thoughts,
What you want to become,
Why people know you nought.
But if you tell the wrong person,
Your life might become hell,
For some people don't have empathy,
Or guilt as well.
They might tattletale your secrets,
Betray your trust,
Tease you day by day,
Eventhough it is unjust.
Just tell the right people,
Or none at all,
Which is why humans could be better,
To help people who call.
Sic semper tyrannis ad mortem
("Thus always I bring death to tyrants"
by infamous by John Wilkes Booth).

Trump’s tyrannical unsubstantiated
usurpation unleashes ugly Uber vagaries,
venomous vitiating, viva voce vulgarity,
wakening warring wicked woebegone
wretched Xerses, yawping yelping
yipping zeal.

The Doomsday Clock lurched thirty
seconds closer to midnight. As conclave,
sans Atomic Scientists’ Science and
Security Board (advised by Governing
Board and Board of Sponsors – including
Eighteen Nobel Laureates).

Alarm bells clang; declaring emergency
fiasco grips hearts; indoctrination
jacked knifed kraal; linking mankind’s
nemesis; opportunistic Pandora; queuing
rockets; spewing torpedoing urchins;
Versailles visiting violation vis a vis
weathered wracked…xing yanked
Armageddon

If twittering Trump’s troubling trends
trawls toxic, then tinder testy testosterone
terribly tells tattletale taking atrocious,
burglarious, calumnious, disharmonious,
egregious, ferocious, gregarious, hellacious,

ignominious, injudicious, ludicrous,
malodorous, noxious, obnoxious, pernicious,
querulous, rapacious, salubrious, tenebrious,
unctuous, vicious, wamefous, xylophagous
yields zany zealous zippered zombies.

Prognosticators warn with more urgency
deleterious, dicey donnybrook dumbstruck
fatally feverish, fiery, foolishly frenetic, horribly
humungous, jaggedly jittery, jumbuck Kaiser
kamikaze Kant, kerosene kindling kleptocracy,
kneading lawlessness, learns lessons leaving

lousy luck, nurturing nattering nabobs, peevishness
provoking, puck, Quaking quickening quotidian
rabble rioting rousers, rogues ruthless seismic
spasms strike terror, tinder tomahawks torching
treasures, tidily trickily, troika trove truck.

Cobalt blue eyes per president; pierce panorama;
   pessimistic perception processed
decisions made heavily impinging lives, sans
   people across America,
   laser focus personal quest
quickly embarked, whence twitter feeds ***** riot
   with tweets hinting of political unrest
sprung from provocation fostering folks far and wide

   to speculate motives donned vest
Commander in chief wields iron fist foisting
   wharf air tumultuousness harboring ship of state
   foisting risky business viz electric cool aid acid test
sites set with “full speed ahead”, and
   “**** the torpedoes” fueling
   anarchy, chaos and enormous repercussions

   within sea of humanity wrest
in pieces slung with barrage on behalf of self anointed
   supreme ruler re: Stars and Stripes
   indulging angry rants foment civil chaos,
   where trumpeting hooligans dressed
as hooded lambs curry pandemonium
   proudly straining breeches qua exploits best
exemplified thru prophesies predicting schisms

   starting as faults hair brained baddest
dread locked bunched braids presaging
   deadly mortal Kombat inciting global Jihad lest
the reins of totalitarianism clutched tight
   by septuagenarian who covets ability
   to wield mutant ninja turtle warrior clout
   more precious and priceless than fine
   spun golden toys alas cooped in the attic,  
   or goodies in ***** trapped treasure chest.
teni Oct 2018
we all do things
we wish we hadn't.
it's part of human nature.

some people do things
and push it aside
and act like it didn't happen.
those people
never grow.

others own their mistakes
and make sure those affected
know how truly disappointed
in themselves they are
and how they wish they hadn't
made that mistake.
those people
deserve even the slightest respect
despite how royally they ****** up.
[call me the queen of england.]

it takes courage
to be your own tattletale
but it's more mature
and braver
than hiding from your wrong doings.
please punch me in the ******* face and kick me in the chest i deserve to be hated and treated like absolute **** i'm begging you please inflict as much physical pain on me as possible please
Razors, did you know they show a kind act of love?
Picture me at 18, not taking life or myself seriously enough.
Well not as seriously as some would take razors and love.

See, I discovered one day just horsing around on a carousel ride
of trauma, that we can all chase dreams, but few of us will catch them. I discovered I needed to be careful where I was dreams to.

Careful like I was in love, careful like I was using razors to chisel through the ground until I reach the earth's bones. I also
discovered, rubbing razors and love the wrong was can feel as if you had a brush with death.

See, God got it wrong, love should barricaded by stonewalls instead of hearts and songs. Love is messy, and poetic, and it carries a ratchet razors that I often use.

Understand cuts are messengers too, and they tattletale and dry snitch every change they get, about my anger, my fear, and my secret stash of razors to a world that couldn't possibly understand.
What the hell didn't they get the memo?

That I am looking for someone to feed on and stay full off of.
because I can't love normal, just insane and misunderstood. Someone to understand, this is why I stay quiet barely hear.

I got voice as loud as silence, and in the bedroom I make as much noise as a butterfly. Ironic they call me Navah the Butterfly, because when I speak it's poetic and no safe words.

Just someone else's slit wrist pouring out of me, O Negative premeditated blood drops to what is really wrong with me.
And I confess, I sick and creative. I am something you can't just simply sleep off, so sweet dreams.

and it is going to take more than razor shape words and music that sings to what's between my legs to fix me it's going to take God!
Running from every direction at once just to come and hold me.

And I will tell them, I don't know how to stop using razors or a world around as a mirror a world that is someone else's heaven and someone else's hell. So Sometimes I play the hero and the villain as I try to pick up the pieces of myself 5 at a time to put me back together again.

but Cant so I hurt with razors for now but one day I will hurt with kindness and I will be amazing! And I will teach my how not to use razors
Angela Mirisola Aug 2016
Anxiety
is like the ugly sweater
the aunt you never see
gives you for christmas,
except eventually
it becomes part of the lining
of your skin,
and no matter how many times
your mother tells you
it’s okay to take it off
and shove it under the bed
until next time you see her,
you can’t.
So, you have to wear it under
all your normal clothes
and pretend you don’t notice
when the tiny fibers of the itchy wool
peak out from underneath your favorite shirt.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror,
I see the colors of the
anxious fibers speckled
in the subtle bags under my eyes
when I can’t sleep.
Sometimes allergies look the same.
And I am selectively permeable.
So I can pick and choose
which molecules of information
penetrate the pores of my skin.
But sometimes,
attached to my contact lenses
is an anxious fiber
or two
and my tattletale eyes
share my secrets.
Melody Jun 2021
Your circumstances were never up for
Auction to all these tattletale devils.
kain Jul 2019
Or maybe I'm a dancer
Just for you and me
My pirouette
Might well be poisonous
But I'm sure you'll
Fall for it anyways

I'm an art to your
Lovely bones and parasols
When I strike water
I really strike blood
And my self harm tattletale
Will never be enough

My chemical heart
Is just one nick I'll sew
Into your patchwork of scars
Don't worry about the
Aftercare
I heal wrong no matter the day
I can never find the right words.
The first cup of morning joe to the music of vamping crows , the songs of tattletale bluebirds and homesick geese
Frost glows in the sunshine , lighting pasture stubble and winter greens
Woodsmoke covers the valley as gray squirrels multiply their -
tally
Beagles burr in the naked hardwood , a feisty swamp rabbit up to no good* ..
Copyright December 30 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Bluejays conduct the morning opera-
in 'Hill Country Winter'
Shivering wrens on rooftop tin
Tattletale robins , chortling pekins &
fluffy hens tap a do-se-do dance in the-
southern wind ...
Bell cows & coonhounds , cackling murders
atop quaking oaks..
Hickory smoke following the red dirt road ..
A chugging , clanging tractor with a heavy load ...
Copyright January 12 , 2022 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
KV Srikanth Jun 2021
A sinking ship
The rat makes its trip
First one out of the disaster
An art no one should master

It speaks of character
You have none if you're a ditcher
Liar in every layer
A human being cannot go lower

Snitches get stitches
An adage for ages
Repairing broken bridges
Not an option for these acts of Cowardice


Tattletale another name
Saves his skin in any game
Reveals secrets about the same
Has no self respect or shame

Looks appealing
Playing both sides
Roll of the dice
A matter of time
Before cut to size

Keep away from people
Who play you on the double
Wont blink before letting you scramble
Lifes greatest preamble

Information barter
Seeming benefits to cater
Wanting to be popular
Nature by itself regular
Rewards for being an informer

Caste creed and color
Dont separate man
With life on the line
Those who can
Can of worms not split
Stand apart from the rest

Opposite of loyalty
Anathema to Gratitude
Quality to loathe
Take an oath

Keeping the secret
Builds character
Friend turned foe
Tests your role

Never buy you future
With secrets to offer
Closets in your cupboard
Wont take long to rebound
Third Eye Candy Jun 2020
Stung by lurch and frequent impurities
slumming in my mind’s eye, like a tattletale
on a hot crime… thumbing through the entrails
of a fabulous tumult on the Meridian
Of Never.

I keep my Love in a Bag Of Moons.

Frozen rivers have a spine
But only the Sun has a river
To Inspire.

— The End —