Tag Archives: poem about justice being served

Time Holds the Key

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Time Holds the Key

The detergent of time washes away
the travail we feel so keenly today,
constantly munching away at our pain,
over and over and over again.

The hemp that was used manufacturing rope
to bind up our hands and tie up our hope
once placed in a pipe, might free up our minds
to journey down roads of alternative kinds.

Life’s journey is kooky. Thus, each generation
achieves some sort of new fenestration
to escape from the bondage of years that are past.
Thus proving that no form of bondage can last.

Freedom and justice must be more than talk,
for though time holds the means to unlock the lock,
there must be a hand turning the key
to open the door that sets justice free.

 

Prompts today are kooky, thrifty, hemp, munch, constant and detergent.

United States

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United States

As I peruse the system, I cannot help but balk.
Instead of fixing fissures, they just bring out the caulk
and stuff it in the spaces, obscuring every crack,
not finding it expedient to deal with what we lack.

If we could come together in more than just our name,
looking for a way to fix instead of just to blame,
we could start on the road  to our founding fathers’ aim
and prove for once that politics is more than just a game.

It’s become unexpected for our government to work.
Various private agendas cause senators to shirk
the purpose of their being there—to work the problems out.
Instead, each chance to work together turns into a bout.

Republican or Democrat, their whole agenda should
be to make our country fair and safe and good.
Bring mercy out of hiding. Make lady justice proud.
Surrender guns. Thereby decree,”No violence allowed.”

Take back the halls of governance from the N.R.A.
Accept that we’re all brothers, be we black or white or gay,
transgendered, brown or red, no matter how we look or talk.
If our true aim is democracy, we’ve got to walk the walk.

Prompt words are unexpected, peruse, system, balk and game.

Turn About

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Turn About

Your claims that you are virtuous are hard to reconcile
with the lurid stories told by victims of your guile.
Each one, in the beginning, considered you sublime,
an assessment always altered when they’d known you for a time.
All your avowed compacts of fidelity and marriage
voiced in times of passion in the backseat of your carriage
never were remembered in the glare of a new day.
Your women were like handkerchiefs—used, then thrown away.
All hope you’ll get your just deserts, with someone doing to you
what you have done to others—to first woo and then eschew you.

 

Prompt words are virtuous, compact, sublime and reconcile.