I am appalled..Sickened.' uncomprehending..!
Why a medical facility 'namley fort sanders'
Small s...' Intentional..) discharged this suffeing
Woman..? How could they.? Are they a care facilty?
Or a scare facility.'? Can any out there advise me?
On the oppresive actions, started by the obviously
Heartless, mean spirited caller. Who requested that
Police attend.' And they did.' four callous minded cops
That mocked, and accused an innocent person with
Sarcasam...In the depths of her despair she pleaded
She called out..Sir..! I am incensed..I am in despair.!
To witness the mental torture..The physical inhibiting
Actions of the four thugs.' Will anybody own friendship
With these pieces of excrenent.!? Slime is above them
Thats how low they live.' I don't want to know their
Names even..' its so toxic their action.' Beyond sick.'
And the pathology.. dept..Are protecting these scum.'
In Knoxville, a place I would think on twice before going.'
With people in charge like this, and others above them'
Yet well below..? Below the lowest level of contempt.'
Bri E. may be so smart, but his meter's opaque
with a density quotient, the Gods might forsake.
Tongue in cheek, web's undone, but with spasms of fun,
and he rhymes, so he wins! Hope no evil Bri twins'
in the closet, past-postal on poems that pose
in-depth pulchritude, content, punch syllable's nose!
Let's leave room - puns play part, for perverse forms of art,
time that melts, colored dots; watch Bri's muse tied in knots!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Does a poem that promotes your humility suggest you're humble?
Hmm! Well, as a grateful immigrant, I try to give Americans a lot
of rope, but I've got my eye on you, Bri! An 8+ to 9- for a fun self-
effacement that sounds fair!
See "Bri's So Smart! !….[ The Truth Must Be Told! ]" a poem by
Bri Edwards on PoemHunter.com!
Evie, born 13th December 1994,
Used to swim competitively,
But she finds little time around,
For business management,
Which she tries to study, sound,
At the University Campus Suffolk,
Because she loves Boccia’s ground,
That’s perfect for her in pairs:
At the Euros she was renowned.
She landed a BC4 pairs silver,
At the 2015 European games,
Such that in Rio fought for a bronze,
But the pair did loose 3-2, no blames,
To Thailand which disappointed,
Both Evie and Kieran Steer with frames.
Tall as they come, this man is 1 metre 85,
A basketball player inspired by the 2012s,
To compete in disability sport so to thrive,
At the high jump, his practice bookshelves.
Loughborough students encouraged him,
To work on his basketball leaps by trying,
To high jump. He was so taken, no whim,
With the London Paras, he was pertaining,
That he became a T44 athlete for team GB,
To qualify with PB of 2.06 at Bedford in May;
2013 also saw him in the IPC, Lyon to see,
Where he took silver, loosing to Poland, ok.
2014 IPC Europeans in Swansea, Wales,
And he got another PB with 2.15m, a WR,
Which would’ve won gold in London sails,
But he had to accept silver, Poland did bar.
Jonathan lives in Reading at the age of 28,
But was born in Colchester well fine, fair,
With a clubbed foot, a week right knee fate,
And muscular imbalance thru his body, lair.
My soul by it is shaken
Like a tree rudely in an arctic wind
My frazzled pretenses fall
Hope, *****, blustered leaves and all
And she still beneath the heaven
Just like that is gone, gone too the heart's din
And I must now believe this
That status and wealth worth nothing, nor fame
Prevent the mishap coming
Nor the cold winds fierce blowing
That all our optimism twist
Death stalks and then coldly strikes out our name
I will let you go, but sigh
Tomorrow as today for the new grief
That children feel and silence
Fear, a vacant evidence
Of all we are neath the sky
Despite our little pillow of bright belief.
Go job the altar of your faith
And learning from him
In silence at the altar wait
Till truth is no more dim
Go tongue the promise like a breast
And wipe your grief
With memory upon the unseen chest
Snuggle a cycle of relief
For there are things that make men
Children again. things
That all the theology of heaven
Does not yet explain.
O could I give heart and flesh to bear
To against this granite grief
Or sit like a friend in the ashes there
And pine too for relief
I too had a son, feather of my wings
And saw him cold, his blood
Driven like a thief from his soul. Stings
More deep the viperous flood
The lost and gall of blame that must wilt
Your little stalk of faith
But I have plunged my love to its hilt
And flinch not from the state
I have worn these rough upon the floor
Before, in petition for grace
And now wears sky, mountain and shore
Causing your suit to his face
So through the night, my brother, hold
Job the altar of your faith
Embrace the Balm in Gilead of your soul
While here prayers' patience wait.