just paisley….

justice is being emasculated by coerced testimony

Justice is Blind by kayenblurr on deviantart

an american sentence written in support of troy anthony davis who after seventeen years on death row and multiple stays of execution,, is still fighting to be granted his right to a fair trial…..

this poem was inspired almost word for word by a comment i left on a post by chris casey called do dogs go to heaven? on the society of midnight wanderers.. chris also has his own blog called naked blogger novels,, and with a name like that  how can you resist clicking over for a view?

Doggy Heaven by Valerhon on deviantart

i want to go
where ever it is
that dogs go
when they die.
as to join them there
could be life’s
only,, real reward…

it just might mean
i had achieved,
something akin
to the unconditional
brand of love-
that they spend
their whole lives
trying to teach us…

i cannot help but think,,
that if there is a god,,
and he had the wisdom
and the foresight
to create a lowly
domestic animal
that practiced a form of love-
so superior,,
that it put the gods own
brand of love to shame-

that he will understand,
that i for one,, choose
to spend eternity
where ever it is,
that dogs go
when they die….

courtesy of friday five on poefusion

filthy frowsy fingers filched,
a farthings worth of farl.
ffloyd filbert’s fledgling pilfer
fetched, a flivver,   tho’ fairly foul..

forthwith, instead of fortitude
a fricative force of flatulence saw fit,
to fill first his flaccid midriff- then
inflame his frickin’ feckless bowel…

*****

flivver -  something of unsatisfactory quality or inferior grade.
fricative - audible friction produced by forcing the breath through a constricted or partially obstructed passage in the vocal tract;
frowsy - Unkempt; slovenly Having an unpleasant smell; musty
fledgling - young, new, or inexperienced
farl - a thin, circular cake of flour or oatmeal

“Asiyefunzwa na mamaye hufunzwa na ulimwengu”
“one who is not taught (the ways of the world/life) by his or her mother will be taught by the world.”
translated from kiswahili by tafsiri hii

little boy lost by ~sunnysummers on deviantART

as you sit patiently
in your prius, sipping
highly antioxidant
organically grown
locally distributed
naturally decaffeinated
unsweetened black,
bai hao yinzhen
white leaf tea

the highly offensive
chemically imbalanced
freely radical
heavy metal wearing
artificially colored
son,, of someone
you have never met-

might well be
carving out
a ransom note-
in blood,
and razors edge…

“sustain me!”

***

authors note:

sometimes i cannot help but feel,, that we have lost our focus- entirely…..

Net geboren Fien by Inferis’ on flickr

you will
never know,
that the scent of
baby powder
transports me back
to the first moment
i held you in my arms….

(inhale)
(exhale)

in an instant,,
i am, once again,
breathing in the scent
of the waxy white vernix
that protected
your fragile foetal flesh
from the waters
of my womb..

and reminded,
that you should never
have had to protect
yourself,, like that..
from me..
again..

this was inspired by my dear friend mary a kaufman,, who’s site, meander with me is a constant source of joy and inspiration…

old man by nofreemilk on deviantart

unhindered by his sightless eyes
in hindsight’s eternal dusk
descanted dreams, slick as snapshots
seen, no longer with his eyes…

Woman by ~xthekillingx on deviantART

i have
immersed
myself in
bittersweet, molten
chocolate..
i retreat,
further and further,
into its comforting sweetness..
it covers me,, cools and hardens
to the touch..
the wick of
my soul has become
embedded
in layer after
layer, of whipped butter
crystallized sugar cane
masticated cocoa..
it no longer coats me,
but has become me.
even the heat, of your stare
cannot penetrate
this hard candy shell,
this dark armor,
deep inside which,,
i hide….

word vomit by slightly-strange77 on deviantart

at the core
of my being
there is no poet..
i do not see the world
in metaphorical rhyme.
i do not see
god, in a swaying
blade of grass,,
or the smile
in wrinkled old eyes..
at the core of my being
is an emptiness..
an aching
i often seek to deny.
thru my pen,
it’s been known,
to expell itself..
and that dross
becomes
the poetry-
that is mine…

dana and dave seemed to think this postcard poem wasn’t right for postal poetry… oh well,, i think it is “just right”,, for just paisley….

a photo/verse collaboration that straddles the pond…
photo by chris rollason and verse by paisley...

the ever amazingly talented rick mobbs has offered up yet another piece of his artwork that jumped right off the page and bit me….

supernatural bridge by rick mobbs

eve stood before the serpent
in her pointed, red, pierre dumas
crossed her arms,
shot a “huh uh” look,,
at him and said,,

“you’re gonna have to up the anti,, dude-
that’s all that i can say
cuz that goody two shoes angel,
that stays just beyond them pearly gates,
has offered me a pair of prada’s
for my soul….”