poetryrepairs #239 v17.07:083

VERNON WARING : The Universe Tilts & other poems juror number twelve
Hush
I don't have a poem today.

for your reading pleasure, verse
from new and established poets
poetry requires a mature audience,
if you are under 18 years of age, click here Big Fish


juror number twelve

that's him... squinty eyes, maybe thirty or so, trim, fit, hair combed neatly, parted just right mister congeniality with a real estate license, he's a trifle flirty but he seems proud of his pretty wife and two kids - plus one in the oven - the family ensconced in a new rancher in the east falls section of town never served on a jury before, doesn't want to be foreman or assistant foreman, just wants to absorb the experience, to fulfill his civic duty, to serve, just wants to lean back in the deliberation room and listen and learn on the lunch break, he talks basketball, coaching a swim team, obsessing about his days in a garage band, some think he's a little young to be so nostalgic but those shifty eyes - a faded blue like the sea captured in an aged watercolor - and that fast fading smile reveal something else, something nameless... malevolent maybe? a few wonder what he's really all about juror number eight whispers to number six that twelve's a ringer, the one who screws things up, the one who plays reasonable doubt tricks right before your eyes like a smooth magician, he's the one with the chip cemented firmly on his shoulder, he's in this for the sport, the mind games, the unfolding drama number twelve spells it out for everyone: the cops always lie, why believe anything they say? and don't believe that guy with the new york accent who had clearly tampered with evidence and tried to cover it up ...and then there's the defendant's best friend who sold him down the river, sold him out right there on the stand! don't be sheep, don't trust flimsy reasoning, this whole justice system reeks of injustice, look at what they think of teenagers, parading them around in the hallways here in the courthouse... young kids handcuffed, walking around in leg chains, they're victimized too in their own way, what about their rights? think about it! i said think about it! juror number eight had to be restrained from choking him right there in the middle of deliberations, they almost called the guards in to break things up, the men and women confused, terrified he's become the belligerent bully who says no while the others say yes, the only voice that goes against the other eleven, but he's not a champion, not a noble iconoclast, not one of the twelve angry men, just one angry man against the world, the contrarian with a hidden agenda, the wild card, maverick, odd man out he's juror number twelve, he lives to explode the case, be the juror who hung the jury, eleven men and women dangling in the town square, sunlight streaming down, heads swollen, mouths agape, eyes wide open, the last minute of the last act

poetryrepairs #239 v17.07:083





Hush

Now we wait for the whisper in the universe the voice to transcend all other sounds We hush to hear the message Someone will speak to us Someone's voice will embrace us in our darkest night of despair Time has ceased All creatures of the earth are still The birds are sleeping The fish are at rest All seas are calm, undisturbed All warriors have replaced their weapons with prayers and thoughts of peace The glittering components of all the celestial galaxies are in perfect alignment All of the people in the world have gathered hopeful, longing lingering on the edge of possibility anxious to find the majesty of forgiveness the mystery of our purpose the meaning of our lives Everything in place Everyone waiting for the whisper in the universe

poetryrepairs #239 v17.07:083





I don't have a poem today.

I don't have a poem today. I'm waiting for the "block" to break. My pen is filled with ink. Nothing seems to come to mind. I can barely think. My rhymes have just meandered Out the kitchen door. Inspiration took a day off. My life's become a bore. The headlines don't excite me. The president didn't call. The queen did not invite me. There was no mail at all. The pope just went fishing. Congress is on a break. My lottery tickets have disappeared And I can't stay awake. I guess I'll stay in bed all day And enjoy a lengthy nap And maybe have a dream or two To get me back on track. I don't have a poem today Or wait...I think I do... I'll call it "I don't have a poem today." And foist it all on you!




thank you for reading poetryrepairs
please link to http://www.poetryrepairs.com/v17/083.html
link to POETRYREPAIRS




All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading





Our Dancing Poet Logo! FIND GIFT BUY GIFT
http://www.zazzle.com/poetryrepairshop



No state organ: POETRYREPAIRS
accepts NO money from federal,
state, or local governments.
READERS maintain poetryrepairs
PLEASE
NO READING FEE FOR SUBMISSIONS. DONATIONS, while appreciated, WILL NOT INCREASE CHANCES OF BEING SELECTED.


I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian


free counters

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- Oxford English Dictionary


read more poetry

083poet1

083poet2

083poet3


top