"verdict" poems
When his Gillette slices the Cake you give
And your Ribbon shows what a Prune he was
It's time to kick his Sorry *** and Live
Then realise he is below your Class
The School Council has met; and Verdict's sent
To advise the Nerds which Athletes are bane
But if you give an Artist a worth-time's spent
He will give the Cherriest Mood insane
Try to open your Doors, dear Fruitful One
For once, know that Other Hearts do exist
If you can sing where the Hill's Grass grow some
Then you know which Plate is worthy to fix.
Now in this Picnic my Noodles grow full
From this Prune-Cake made and sliced from his Soul.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
|**“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”**|
you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work
plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure
not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined
turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
and
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear
mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion
happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable
breathe poems constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud
taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising
all nonsense you plead,
indeed,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from
*******
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
I look forward to you looking forward to me, bringing out the best in me. The best comes to those who wait, so, repeat after me, and do exactly what you see, and it will *** to be; eventually. Cause you coming after me, is our destiny. Giving you a helping-hand like you are right next to me. The right-click; my tongue flick, your upper-lip, licked. Hitting your **** until your lips split; you'll flip, when I flip the switch, feeling so devilish, touching you made me selfish, feeling you made it; worth it. My frame of mind is picture perfect; my plan is to hurt it, your level of pleasure my verdict. The sounds; your screams, your moans; I heard it.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
WHEN the jury files in to deliver a verdict after weeks of direct and cross examinations, hot clashes of lawyers and cool decisions of the judge,
There are points of high silence-twiddling of thumbs is at an end-bailiffs near cuspidors take fresh chews of tobacco and wait-and the clock has a chance for its ticking to be heard.
A lawyer for the defense clears his throat and holds himself ready if the word is "Guilty" to enter motion for a new trial, speaking in a soft voice, speaking in a voice slightly colored with bitter wrongs mingled with monumental patience, speaking with mythic Atlas shoulders of many preposterous, unjust circumstances.
7.5k
Love is a public hanging.
I build a beautiful platform
with eloquence
***** the instrument of my demise.
Fully conscious of my impending end
wrap the rope around my throat
she screams the guilty verdict
and soon I dangle,
twitching in the desert breeze.
I'm an immortal criminal, and I never learn,
a perpetual repeat offender.
I’ll soon be swinging from the gallows once again…
it's just a matter of time.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
a shadow lurks to where I go
trailing me, inflicting doubt
on the path ahead
to the great unknown
it grows bigger
and my feet plant themselves
in resonance
soon I will become its slave
heeding its words as truth
denying my mind a clear verdict
only to bring me closer to the shadow
and cower in its safety
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Long before she was born
The balance, the societal scale,
The ground upon which her wobbly feet
Will learn to stand upright and walk steady
Had been socially disintegrated.
Arms with which her clay mind
Is to be molded and framed
Had been morally fractured.
The ‘responsible majority'
Saddled with the making of serious decisions
Had decided against her-
The minor, with fewer rights
And a body like hers-
Double jeopardy, I will say.
The verdict always the same,
Unanimous more often than not
Guilty!! Is the girl child;
If she grows too fast
Or he touches her inappropriately.
So she learns from her early days
The skill of helplessness
All through the pain and the shame
For it is always her fault
Always has been
Long before she arrived
©Belema .S. Ekine
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
He will not light long enough
for the interpreter to gather
the tatters of his speech.
But the longer we listen
the calmer he becomes.
He shows me the place where his daughter
has rubbed with a coin, violaceous streaks
raising a skeletal pattern on his chest.
He thinks he's been hit by the wind.
He's worried it will become pneumonia.
In Cambodia, he'd be given
a special tea, a prescriptive sacrifice,
the right chants to say. But I
know nothing of Chi, of Karma,
and ask him to lift the back of his shirt,
so I may listen to his breathing.
Holding the stethoscope's bell I'm stunned
by the whirl of icons and script
tattooed across his back, their teal green color
the outline of a map which looks
like Cambodia, perhaps his village, a lake,
then a scroll of letters in a watery signature.
I ask the interpreter what it means.
It's a spell, asking his ancestors
to protect him from evil spirits—
she is tracing the lines with her fingers—
and those who meet him for kindness.
The old man waves his arms and a staccato
of dipthongs and nasals fills the room.
He believes these words will lead his spirit
back to Cambodia after he dies.
I see, I say, and rest my hand on his shoulder.
He takes full deep breaths and I listen,
touching down with the stethoscope
from his back to his front. He watches me
with anticipation—as if awaiting a verdict.
His lungs are clear. You'll be fine,
I tell him. It's not your time to die.
His shoulders relax and he folds his hands
above his head as if in blessing.
Ar-kon, he says. All better now.
by Peter Pereira
.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
You're Cute
*And so the verdict was passed,
She liked just a couple of my poems,
I visited her page and reciprocated,
Just like her cuteness was as well in her poems.*
:-)
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
I thought y'all said no bullying !
So why would these words seem to excite,
they banned Farrakhan from social media then passed the mic to Trump,
how bout that first Amendment Right.
I thought y'all said no bullying !
But it's like we never heard it,
police **** blacks on purpose all of the time,
then come out with a not guilty verdict.
I thought y'all said no bullying !
But you lie at what you say,
people are losing their jobs in droves around this country,
because they don't believe in being gay.
I thought y'all said no bullying !
So when it comes to a rule they bend it,
all guns **** but Biden wants to ban the AR-15,
ain't that infringement on the second Amendment.
I thought y'all said no bullying !
These distractions are getting out of hand,
why does my son have to see a grown man dressed up like a woman in the public,
when I'm in the process of teaching my son
how to be a man!!!!!
I THOUGHT Y'ALL SAID NO BULLYING!!!!!!
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 5:42 AM UTC
You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because, in one of the
spun sugar fragile sequences of the events in your life, it works
out. There is a place, somewhere amidst star stuff and cosmic
collisions, where you are not the problem daughter or the
biggest disappointment or the most regretted kiss. There is a
place where you sink into a desk in your eight a.m. class and
a boy with bags under his eyes and a hole-y sweater pulled
over his knuckles says, "hi." There is a place where your father
comes back from the war with sand grit in his eyes, blood
under his fingernails and lets you save him. There is a place
where you live in India, where you aren't afraid to love, where
everything hurts less, where you stopped punishing yourself for
the faults of your parents. You are a girl. Not a dart board or a guilty
verdict or the final, desperate ****** of a sword through
someone's chest. You are made of the same stuff as Marie
Antoinette and Catherine the Great and Elizabeth, and you
can command the winds too. You aren't going to **** yourself
tonight because no one ever asked you about the scars on your
thighs but that doesn't make them nonexistent or unimportant.
You aren't going to **** yourself tonight because you've grown:
stronger in some ways and weaker in others, but you are still
a result of rhapsodies in violet and trees bowed to the sea
and soldiers with wind burn on their cheeks. Tonight, you are
going to wrap your own arms around your own chest and
breathe, swaying silently to no music. You are going to
memorize the sound of silence, and you are going to listen hard
for the even, jagged, pitter patter of your heart. You are going
to thank your body for waging war against itself, you are going
to apologize to your head for bruising your heart. You are going
to feel the roughness of the floor and the vastness of the entire
world and all of the eventualities spread before you. You are
going to remember that this is only one, that atoms and
molecules are flighty, whimsical, prone to selfishness and
longing for the promise of stability. You are going to press your
lips to your own wrists and know, as surely as Anne Boleyn
knew when she walked to the guillotine, that no one can save
you but yourself. You aren't going to **** yourself tonight
because you are not an accident of the multiverse. You are
purposeful and beautiful and young and reckless with your
feelings, but you are not a mistake. Listen to the trembling
of your heartbeat and breathe. You aren't going to **** yourself
tonight.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
I died on a Tuesday and found my way in the news
Caught between a commercial and karaoke singing girl
Was the appearance of the killer but they only had his shoes
I approached the desk and rang a little bell
Saint Peter took out a pen, found my name and said
"You're not on the list, you must be looking for Hell."
I tried to appeal for trial in Heavenly Courtroom Twelve
Judge Jesus and Judy had to declare a hung jury
And during recess I had to find a bed in Purgatory Hotel
In Room 237, I met a man named Avery
He was a little cynical and said that this was typical
That "it took them 18 years to finally save me."
In the morning I finally I got to hear the verdict
Led by a jury of peers such as writers and queers
They said hell awaits those whose life isn't worth it
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
He lies flat on the rooftop
looking at the stars.
Useless worlds birthing and dying
he muses
the colossal magnificence of waste
if atrophy is the verdict
why create a complex web of universe
just because someone from an island
would stare at them
in awe of the beauty
seeking a key to the riddle
himself a grain of dust
lost in reading the firmament
and not grasping
of what significance
he is
within his shrinking space and time
in an expanding universe.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 10:32 AM UTC
Settle down, the court is in session,
The esteemed Court of Validation,
Where I stand trial for being
And thus must attend this hearing
To seek the sublime opinions
Of the wise Jury of Champions
Who've been there done that.
Please lecture me on how to act,
Tell me how I must dress,
What to say under duress,
To brandish my success,
And my worth attest
To finally be accepted among civilization
With a stamp of approval from the Court of Validation.
Here comes the verdict for the Judge to read.
I'm guilty of possessing an identity.
Therefore I'm sentenced to a lifetime of conformity
To the status quo established by society.
But Your Honor, there must be a mistake!
There has to be another path to take.
Sorry child, this is the only way,
Or else you'd be imprisoned in the Cell of Dismay.
Embrace your fate without hesitation;
Indeed it's a gift from the Court of Validation.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
5? 6? 7?
(can’t be certain when exactly)
14.
17.
18.
He told me that it was okay.
Some will flinch at the touch.
Some will go into a daze.
Some - I - will crave the touch of strangers, and many at that,
to replace those days.
He told me that I was special.
I became careless and reckless
with love on accommodation sheets.
While I mistaken their meticulously placed words
for love that I thought was finally peace.
He told me that it wouldn’t hurt.
It’s 2:52am and my timeline is flooded
with girls and trials and underwears passed around in court
as if it mattered for the verdict.
The bags around my eyes are flooded
with tears of anger and hatred
as if to beg for some kind of justice.
They told me that I should be flattered.
But the thing is we haven’t been okay since.
It did hurt but we still needed ******* evidence.
We were already special before they took away our innocence.
And now all we can do is get angry and hurt and wince
at the stories like ours that social media has evinced.
We hope to god our daughters will never have a jury to convince.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
Purge your unclean self
Your existence does not depend
On the judgement of others
You are the beauty created
For something long before you were born
Life depends on you
You are what you aspire to look like
Appearances fail when you forget
That time is an illusion
Seasons are fleeting
But you will reign red-blooded
The eyes follow every angle
Seriously believe in your immortality
The skinny boy on the runway
Believes
Invincibility
Inevitably forever
This is heaven
This is hell
Death is forever
Life lasts beyond eons
Your beauty is worn on your soul
Be it an old familiar jacket
That has toured the world
Be it a minimalistic shift
Worn moments before you were deflowered
Photographs will create the verdict
You will be weighed
You will be measured
Perfection is possible
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
Something don't feel right
something is coming down
something going on below
something...
has all gone wrong
and the bomb is about to blow
mankind went after nature
and thought he won the race
but the verdict coming in is
that we're all headed
for death row
now we all are wearing
masks of ignorance
pretending we didn't know
it was gamble every time
we picked between two evils
to lead us down
our long descent
we like to blame the snake
for all the fruit we poison
but we knew all along
we were sleeping
with the devil
while dressing up like sheep
ba ba the witch is dead
don't you remember
we bunt her for our sins
and ate all of her children
because we feared
they were descendants
of the wolf
yet we still think
we hold the blessing
of the glory of some god
as if our acts of treason
against the higher power
have gone unnoticed
our hands may be clasped
in prayer
but behind the curtain
we're watching war
fist **** mother nature
like a *****
imaginary lines divide us
from one another
as we volunteer to spill
each others blood
until the oceans overflow
with all our spoiled milk
the coastline is moving in
and Noah can't build an ark
big enough for our ego
we're going to have to start
believing in evolution
because we're going to need
some gills
and hope Atlantis is kinder
to us than we have been
to each other
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
I wait alone
wrapped in paper
shivering amidst cold
the door pressed hard
against my chest
this time a year ago
I met a similar fate
the verdict returned
cancer
a word my mind
has deconstructed
reconstructed
discarded
as my past
tears erupt behind
my eyes
how can I afford
to fight again
at what cost
and during
a pandemic
the door **** twists
as she emerges
eyes averted
my throat scored
in pain
"It's benign,
come back
6 months from now"
unable to move
I peer through haze
minutes tease silence
then with
trembling fingers
I dial his number
Aiden answers
"Mom, you okay?"
nodding tearfully
with newfound certainty
I finally whisper, "Yes!"
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 6:00 AM 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
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
And so it begins
I can taste your release on his lips
Like it was my own tongue
That had gotten you to moan
So sweetly
So innocently
Innocent -
As if you weren’t the bi girl
Sandwiched between the sexually confused
And the dominating alpha
My turn now
To be innocent with your mouth
And to be guilty
With a man pressed against my backside
A verdict
That we agreed on unanimously
Because nothing is more thrilling
Than being wrong
With two people who are so right
One more time
Let’s make a chain with our bodies
He’ll stand
You’ll kneel
I’ll lay under you
Until we morph into one
Connected by the wetness between our legs
And against ours lips
Again
And again
Changing the three of us
Into familiar strangers
Intertwined in seductive affairs
Because baby
Two is comfort
But three is company.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
Bougainvillea flowers flutter
In the faint echos of the past.
For,
the artist's palette
fails to hold
the clandestine shades of the night sky
or
the embryonic legends earth camouflages...
Silent stars
still fall
where remaining fantasies
crumble.
An ancient verdict lasts,
cobwebbed and leather bound,
left in time's fraternity.
His verdict hazed, but bright:
It shall rain when April comes
and you will cast your mind upon
the flowers left in the dust.
Open your chest,
and I will greet your eyes
once again.
It's been long...
It's been long since you saw more
than a Bougainvillea flower's flutter.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
Oh, the sensation, the media frenzy,
The spotlight, the fame, the hullabaloo,
When anti-evolution laws
Were challenged by the ACLU!
The year: 1925.
The place: Dayton, Tennessee.
To say it was an extravaganza
Wouldn't be hyperbole.
For many people it was hard
To find a way to reconcile
Biblical accounts with science,
So science found itself on trial.
A young teacher, John T. Scopes,
Was willing to face prosecution
For breaking a Tennessee law for having
Given a lesson on evolution.
The "Monkey Trial" it was called.
The challenge meant swimming upstream
For the feisty lawyer Clarence Darrow,
Who helped to lead the defense team.
A prosecutor was William Jennings
Bryan, who with no apology
Loved to stir up outrage against
Evolutionary biology.
Defendant Scopes quickly found
It wouldn't take long for him to know
What it was like to have a part
In a multimedia reality show.
The courthouse received a make-over:
Platforms for newsreel cameras were built;
Extra spectator seats were added.
They were playing the trial to the hilt.
Concession stands sold food and drinks;
Toy monkeys were on display;
A chimp was dressed in a suit and fedora;
The clergy also joined the fray.
The media and the public loved it!
The country watched the trial progress.
What would win: science or scripture?
The answer was probably easy to guess.
After an eight-day trial, the jury
Deliberated. Nine minutes later
They had their verdict: guilty! How
Could someone question THEIR creator?
Scopes had actually never given
The lesson. That's what he later said.
Strangely, five days after the trial,
Williams Jennings Bryan dropped dead.
Laws later changed, but even during
Current times, some people feel
That stories from the Bible should be
In science textbooks. Now THAT'S surreal!
-by Bob B (11-6-18)
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC