In the Courts
She had been caught stealing bottles of perfume
and was a regular customer in her local Boots
the magistrate called her a professional thief
but she swore and said she didn't give two hoots.
He was known in the paper as the crazy Arsonist
as for some reason he liked to set fire to a school
when the Judge said he was a menace to the community
he just laughed at him and called him an old fool.
The paper had called her'a lady of the night'
as she liked to ply her trade on the street
it said she was a single mother of six kids
and she only did it to make ends meet.
Three armed robbers were sentenced in the Court
and they had all received Ten years apiece
but they'd lived the high life whilst on the run
and had property in Majorca, Ibiza, and Nice.
His charge was one of drink driving
but he claimed that he'd only had one or two
the Policeman said he was unsteady and slurring
but the defendant replied that was because he had Flu.
It said he'd been a member of the church for years
but the vicar had caught him in bed with his wife
the reverend said he was sorry he'd lost self control
but was accused of chasing the naked man with a knife.
In The Courts is in the local paper every day
and you can see why it's such a popular page
like when the Judge asked him why did he do it?
he replied because he thought looting was all the rage!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Postcard Pete
When Pete Moaner heard everything was going digital
it didn’t go down with him too well,
he decided to make a protest
and wonder which way was best.
The more he thought about it
and all the things he’d miss
he got angrier and angrier.
No more love letters with s.w.a.l.k. on the back
to hold onto forever never letting go,
the bills he didn’t mind
those he could do without.
Now for his protest it had to be strong,
something no one would forget.
He bought up all the saucy postcards he could get
and wrote on everyone and signed them P.M.
then sent them off to the power to be
and every computer company.
He sent them by the sack full
but none of them had a stamp.
If they were going to stop people
from writing sweet nothings to one another
the postage they could pay.
Eventually the law caught up with him
when he tried to deposit a truckload of cards
at the local post office.
The newspapers had a field day and dubbed him
Postcard Pete the protester.
The judge asked him when he went to court
how do you plead.
Guilty your honour
as I did it four our society.
Your honour would never get
those scented love letters
from your lady fair
if everything went digital.
You would have nothing
in future years to fondle and hold.
No paper to sniff the scent
of her erotic perfume,
no more mementoes
when you grow old,
that’s why I did it sir
to help people like you.
The judge nodded and called Pete to his bench.
Did you sign any postcard with your real name?
No your honour I couldn’t do that.
I signed them all from the P.M.
The judge looked up and in a stern voice said;
case dismissed through lack of evidence
unless someone wants to call the Prime Minister in.
Postcard Pete left the courtroom
his protest was done.
No more love letters through emails
and on that we’ll have to wait and see.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing At All In the Paper Today
Nothing at all in the paper today!
Only a murder somewhere or other;
A girl who has put her child away,
Not being a wife as well as a mother;
Or a drunken husband beating a wife,
With the neighbors lying awake to listen,
Scarce aware he has taken a life,
Till in at the window the dawn rays glisten.
But that is all in the regular way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today.
Nothing at all in the paper today!
To be sure, there's a woman died of starvation,
Fell down in the street, as so many may
In this very prosperous Christian nation;
Or two young girls, with some inward grief
Maddened, have plunged into the inky waters;
Or father has learnt that his son's a thief,
Or mother been robbed of one of her daughters.
Things that occur in their regular way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today.
There's nothing at all in the paper today,
Unless you care about things in the city--
How great rich rogues for their crimes must pay
(Though all gentility cries out, 'Pity!')
Like the meanest shop-boy that robs a till.
There's a case today, if I'm not forgetting,
The lad only 'borrowed'--as such lads will--
To pay some money he lost in betting;
But there's nothing in this that's out of the way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today!
Nothing at all in the paper today
But the births and bankruptcies, deaths and marriages,
But life's events in the old survey
With Virtue begging, and Vice in carriages;
And kindly hearts under ermine gowns,
And wicked breasts under hodden gray;
For goodness belongs not only to clowns,
And o'er others than lords does sin bear sway.
But what do I read? 'Drowned! wrecked!' Did I say
There was nothing at all in the paper today?
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Identity Crisis!
When born, I was called “baby”
And later they called me “Abby”
Within 5 years they called me “student”
And for 7 years, like that I spent
Then they called me “teen”
I loved it and felt like a queen
Then I was called “woman”
And those times, were the best
Then some one tied a knot and called me “wife”
I hated those times, it was horrible and gross
In years I became “mother”
It was beautiful but tough
Then being called “grandma”
My times got better and better
Then at last I was called “old”
And my body was frail and cold
All this time I wondered,
Where my identity has gone
Some where in the middle, I had lost it
Through the ages, I had a crisis
An identity crisis to say!
DECEMBER 23,2008
poem by Sania Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Order Is Called
Some may find it a difficult task,
To argue the rules of correctness...
In a court of law,
When the prosecutor shows up drunk.
The jury is passing a joint of weed between them.
The bailiff is masturbating!
The plaintiff is sharing a 5th of scotch.
And the defendant appears in a clown suit!
When the order is called for all to rise...
At a rascism charge proceeding,
A prostitute comes from under the judge's bench.
And 'he' is the district attorney,
That everyone recognizes as the local minister!
But silence is demanded...
As the national anthem is played!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Widdershins
Edgar woke as the bedside clock
Chimed in with a spate of news,
The Greens were jumping through hoops again
At the culling of Kangaroos,
The Greeks were rioting in the streets
Cut off from their Euro links,
In Egypt, there was a vague report
Of a Spaceship, over the Sphinx!
He yawned, rolled over to kiss his wife
Fell onto the bedroom floor,
He'd always slept on the right of the bed
But not on the left before!
He staggered over and pulled the blinds,
The sun streamed into the room,
He frowned, it never shone round this side
‘Til late in the afternoon!
His wife raced out of the bathroom, slipped
A comb through her auburn hair,
‘You're going to be late for work again! '
He scratched at his head, and stared.
‘It's Saturday morning, June, ' he said,
‘It's Thursday, ' she replied,
‘Don't you remember Friday night?
Just check the TV Guide! '
She poured his drink from the coffee pot,
He'd always favoured tea,
The sun was a-rising in the West
In a pure absurdity,
He caught the bus that he'd always caught
But it went the other way,
Instead of a route through city streets
It dropped him, down at the Bay.
He called at the Bay Newsagent
But they hadn't a paper there,
They only had one from Friday night
It was called, ‘The Evening Star.'
‘What day is it? ' he asked the man
Who gave him a funny look,
‘Wha' da ya think, it's Thursday;
Now go off, and sling yer ‘ook! '
He wandered along the promenade
And he found a handy bar,
He needed a drink to calm him down
From the jitters he'd felt so far:
‘Just give me a Beam & Coke, ' he said
To the Barman's steely glare,
Who poured him a Bloody Mary
So he turned and he left it there.
Over and by the Harbour wall
An old man sat in glee,
He said, ‘Now I've been a fisherman
Since nineteen fifty three,
I've never seen tides that turn like this
A high come in on a high…'
The sea crashed over the Harbour wall
As the old man let out a sigh!
Edgar pricked up his ears and said:
‘So you have noticed it too!
I thought that I was the crazy one,
The world's turned into a zoo! '
‘Have ever you heard of Widdershins?
I mind it happened before…'
But the old man wouldn't be drawn again,
Just stared at the further shore!
Edgar managed to get back home
As the clock was striking six,
The news was due to be following on
From the kids Ventriloquist,
And the bulletin they read that night
Said the Spaceship seemed to have left,
Had winked its lights as it took to flight,
While the sun sank in the West!
20 June 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cop With No Badge
Cop with no badge jumps out at me,
as I rode my bike to safety.
He had no lights flashing on his car,
thinking he was going to capture me
and take me far.
Then another one did cross my path,
he also gets out with no badge.
First cop asked me questions
“Have I ever killed anyone? ”
“No, I replied, I live in the ghetto
just for fun.”
What, the ______ kind of question is that?
I showed him my Barnes & Noble badge.
Then he got cocky
and called in another One,
She had to search me for a gun.
Then to top it all off,
writing a ticket like an anal cop.
A ticket for not having headlights
on my bike,
Well, they kept me so long,
it became night.
In court the judge laughed
with everyone else,
judge said he was sorry and
put the ticket on the shelf.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.7,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You and Jackson Pollock.
How's the girl
with the red beret?
your sister asked
she'd seen you
and Janice
and her gran
on the way home
from school
she probably walking
with her friend
following behind
and Janice said
I made a picture today
out of cut up
pieces of paper
and the teacher said
it was the best
she'd seen
her gran said
Now now Janice
mustn't boast
I expect
there were other pictures
equally as good
But teacher said it
not me
Janice replied
Did you make a picture?
her gran asked you
her eyes falling on you
and taking in
your look
like a rabbit caught
in headlamps of a car
in the night
Yes
you said
I made a picture
of a morning sunset
out of red and yellow
and green for the grass
and blue for the sky
Janice smiled
and touched your hand
surreptitiously
her small hand
feeling along
your skin
Did you make it
out of cut up
pieces of paper too?
her gran asked
you sensed Janice's fingers
squeezing into your hand
No
you replied
I did it with water colour paints
and what did teacher say?
her gran asked
she said it reminded her
of a Jackson Pollock
whoever he is
you said
looking at Janice's red beret
and her hair
coming from beneath
so wonderfully
unlike your
short back and sides
and unlike her hair
with its red coloured
hair slides.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Candice,
If you can't sleep:
*
Make your bedroom more comfortable, keep it cool and quiet.
*
Get up and do something else. Then, go back to bed.
*
Drink warm milk or hot water before you go to bed.
*
Take a warm bath, read a little or listen to some quiet music in the evening.
*
Get fresh air and exercise during the day, but remember: exercise before bed can keep you awake.
*
Go to bed and get up at the same time every day.
*
Don't take naps during the day.
*
Avoid coffee, tea or soft drinks after 5 p.m.
*
Don't smoke or drink alcohol in the evening—it can keep you awake.
*
Don't eat spicy food in the evening.
If you often wake up during the night to go to the bathroom and can't get back to sleep, try not to drink very much before you go to bed.
But remember: if you need to take medication at bedtime, it is best to take pills with a full glass of water.
If you feel lonely:
You can spend time with other people by:
* Becoming a volunteer at your local school, hospital, church or community centre.
* Joining a seniors' club at your local church or community centre.
* Taking a course at your local school or community centre and learning a new activity.
You can also call and talk to a different friend or family member every day. You may want to write a short letter to a friend or family member who lives far away. Sometimes, just writing to someone can help you feel that this person is with you.
If you feel anxious, tense or worried:
* Try to relax by breathing slowly and deeply.
* Take a walk.
* Choose an activity you really enjoy doing, like listening to your favourite music, and do it.
* Tell a friend, family member or your doctor how you feel.
* Join a support group so that you can talk more about your anxious feelings.
* Take a relaxation or exercise class, like yoga, at your local school or community centre.
* Take a course and learn how to do an activity, like needlework or woodworking, at your local community or seniors' centre.
For more information, please contact:
ariel escalona, the sleep expert...(ha ha ha)
your friend,
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clarence Fawcett
The sudden death of Eugene Carman
Put me in line to be promoted to fifty dollars a month,
And I told my wife and children that night.
But it didn't come, and so I thought
Old Rhodes suspected me of stealing
The blankets I took and sold on the side
For money to pay a doctor's bill for my little girl.
Then like a bolt old Rhodes accused me,
And promised me mercy for my family's sake
If I confessed, and so I confessed,
And begged him to keep it out of the papers,
And I asked the editors, too.
That night at home the constable took me
And every paper, except the Clarion,
Wrote me up as a thief
Because old Rhodes was an advertiser
And wanted to make an example of me.
Oh! well, you know how the children cried,
And how my wife pitied and hated me,
And how I came to lie here.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A picture in the paper
A picture in the paper
~
it was your face
caught my eye
led my mind astray
there was something
I am still unaware
as to how best explain
but there in the paper
I saw your picture
became distracted
my mind wandered
as if aimless
a merry little way
into a thought
now I sit here
and remember when
if not quite how
I turned that page
you caught my eye
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paper Boy
Roy orbison
I walk down to the blue side of town
Where there's no happiness, no joy
Down at the end of a long dark street
I saw a little paper boy
Paper boy paper boy
I've got bad news for you
Paper boy paper boy
Me and my baby are through
She was my love my one and only
I feel so bad i'm oh so lonely
I'm looking for my love
I've got my own headlines for today
They've been the same since she went away
"one dark haired angel disappears
She's been missing for a million years"
Paper boy paper boy
So long goodbye
Paper boy paper boy
Thanks for listening while i cry
I feel a little better now that someone knows
But i will go on looking forever, i suppose
I'm looking for my love
Extra extra read all about it
My baby's gone and i wanna shout it
I'm looking for my love
I'm looking for my love
I'm looking for my love....
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind your language Billy!
Old Billy just loved to swear
he really liked to cuss
he'd use bad language everywhere
in the street and on the bus.
He would even swear in church
effing that and effing this
when the vicar told him to stop
Billy swore and said give us a kiss.
He swore when he was stone cold sober
but even worse when he'd had a few
old ladies often told him to mind his language
but Billy would laugh and say screw you.
One day though he wouldn't stop cussing
so a Policeman arrested him on the spot
when asked in court why he was swearing
Billy replied because he was too effing hot.
Sadly Billy choked one day while he was eating
but even in death his swearing would never die
because on his gravestone are written the words:
I EFFING KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE EATEN THAT EFFING PORK PIE!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Did You See His Name?
Did you see his name in the local paper,
Stole a tin of beans,
From a cut-priced grocery store.
The judge said he must pay,
So he put him on probation,
And the paper gave his name.
Did you see his name in the criminal section,
And the center page.
Gave his name and his address,
They stopped him doing it again,
So they put him to dishonour,
And put the man to shame.
He lost his little job,
His employer was absolved of blame.
His world just crumbled down,
Incidently, did you see his name,
In the obiturary column,
Letters edged in black.
Life was much too hard to live,
So he brought it to an end,
In his gas-filled maisonette.
Because he couldnt stand the strain.
La-la-la-la-la
Life was much too hard to live,
So he brought it to an end,
In his gas-filled maisonette.
Because he couldnt stand the strain.
Did you see his name?
Did you see his name?
Did you see his name?
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Window
Broken Window
“Stand aside, the shop keeper impolitely said,
paying customer first.” Mother and I stood aside
and waited it took long busy now before Yule,
she had a card from the social to purchase boots
and jumpers and I was getting fidgety and upset.
Finally we got our stuff in a brown paper bag,
time was hard fancy papers was for those who
had money. I was seven but the humiliation was
gnawing a big hole in my guts, mother said:
“Beggars can be choosers” I was silent.
The local paper reported about a broken shop
window, oddly nothing was stolen, I smiled
proud of my mother, she had a job nearby
cleaning the office of a tropical fruit importer,
in a good mood now she smoked a cigarette.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not The Perpetrators Of The Crime
I caught a burglar in my home,
He was armed with a knife,
When I asked him why he just replied,
You'd better not give me strife
I told him I would call the police,
If he refused to leave,
He looked at me then laughed and said,
What will that achieve.
He said he'd claim it was all my fault,
For trying to get him nabbed,
Because I'd threatened him with arrest,
That would justify me being stabbed.
At that I drew my firearm,
I warned him I would shoot,
He just stood there laughing,
He didn't give a hoot.
He told me he would have me charged,
If I did him any harm,
He also said he'd sue me,
For causing him alarm.
He pointed out that I was cruel,
For locking all my doors,
He said It was inconsiderate,
As breaking in gave him sores.
Because he was classed as vulnerable,
He said he'd make the claim,
That I was the one harassing him,
He said I'd get the blame.
I told him that I'd had enough,
It was time to call the police,
He laughed and said, go for it,
It's me they will release.
I looked at him and said, you're mad,
He replied, that talk incites,
You've not only hurt my feelings now,
You have breached my human rights.
Just at that the police arrived,
He told them he was shattered,
Then claimed that I'd assaulted him,
I had left him bruised and battered.
He told the police he was on drugs,
A method well tried and tested,
For when he said I'd terrorised him,
It was me that they arrested.
As he walked away after being released,
He said he was full of elation,
I'd be hearing from his solicitor soon,
With a claim for compensation.
He claimed not only would he win,
But I'd be paying the fee,
As he'd never worked a day in his life,
His lawyer was entirely free.
Society is in meltdown now,
The victims are forgotten,
The scum can do whatever they like,
To the core our system's rotten.
When will the do-gooders realise,
Criminals are nothing but slime,
It's the victims that should be protected,
'' Not The Perpetrators of the crime ''
Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Thieves Like Us
Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glorious Isolation
It was a sad little street,
houses all terraced
lined up like soldiers
with no front gardens.
Two up, two down
we called them
and nowadays
well, they’re hot!
I wonder at the world
with its price wars,
its property market,
its values.
Years ago your house
was your home,
you had local friends
you had roots.
These days it’s not cool
to all live streets away,
pop in and chat,
have an open door.
Folk move away,
find jobs elsewhere,
become isolated
and up market.
I phoned my sister
the other day.
We used to share a bed,
bottom to bottom.
I said, “how are you,
what you up to.”
And d’you know
she replied.
“I’m in Manchester
in glorious isolation”
Sign of the times I sighed,
with saddened eyes.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Brown Paper Bag
Brown paper bag
Squalid incomplete
slumped to the side of the street
Like unwanted sacks of garbage
She left her track her smell
And like the brown paper bag
She had travelled well
She had a whole world in her head
Her first love
The man she wed
And the drink and the smoke
And the four o clock bloke
That returned with a bottle in a brown paper bag
And better days before
When she had carried her first round fruit
When the brown paper bag was waxed new
And he carried his bride to the door
Then the four o clock bloke
Full of stale wine and stale smoke
With a bottle in a brown paper bag
How he called her a hag
And that first punch to the floor
And the brown paper bags fell by her side
Crumpled and stained
And the liquor cans and the four o clock man
Who never spoke
Left her broke
Bones shattered in pieces
Flesh bare to the wind
Body out on the street
Skin tanned dirt brown
Hair matted locks
And two brown paper bags tied with string to her feet
yvette m smith 11.2.09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Vampire
A fool there was and he made his prayer
(Even as you and I!)
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair
(We called her the woman who did not care),
But the fool he called her his lady fair
(Even as you and I!)
Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste
And the work of our head and hand,
Belong to the woman who did not know
(And now we know that she never could know)
And did not understand.
A fool there was and his goods he spent
(Even as you and I!)
Honor and faith and a sure intent
But a fool must follow his natural bent
(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant),
(Even as you and I!)
Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost
And the excellent things we planned,
Belong to the woman who didn't know why
(And now we know she never knew why)
And did not understand.
The fool we stripped to his foolish hide
(Even as you and I!)
Which she might have seen when she threw him aside --
(But it isn't on record the lady tried)
So some of him lived but the most of him died --
(Even as you and I!)
And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame
That stings like a white hot brand.
It's coming to know that she never knew why
(Seeing at last she could never know why)
And never could understand.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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