Ana Kreigel

Judged and found guilty

Part three Ana Kreigel

The jury is in and sentence is due,

For boy A and boy B both these two,

Boy A gets life for the one that he stole,

His the main part his dominant role,

Boy B gets just a little bit less,

After all he took flight from their horrific mess,

He will not accept his part in this deed,

Did he not understand he would not be freed?

Reviewed it would seem while being held in good care,

Given the best of all it doesn’t seem fair,

For the life that was taken to just serve some time,

To one day be free and still try denying,

Blame one another for this disastrous deed,

Hoping a not guilty verdict would see them both free,

As both now reside in their comfortable cell,

They’re part in this murder each one knows well,

Yet the victims in this are all those involved,

Parents and children and how this act evolved,

Ana kriegel is dead her name in the news,

Let’s protect her killers their names we can’t use,

We do not understand and we ought not to try,

It makes no sense that a child has to die,

Yet die she did at the hands of these two,

As we count our blessings knowing this truth,

The media will scream it’s too much or not enough

Life given or taken is always so tough,

Pray it’s enough justice and she may now be at rest,

For the murder of Ana kriegel a full sentence is best.

insulting poets (for a very insulting chip thief)

Insulting poets!

Ah sure anyone can write poetry, if they’re willing to try.

Just pick up a pen, grab some paper, and let it flow.

A historic statement from those who’s pen is always dry.

From those who’d have you believe they are truly in the know.

Poetry is easy just put some words on a page.

Ridiculous to think you might have to serve time.

Learning to recite or perform on a stage.

Learning meter, rhythm, style or rhyme.

Learn to send a message within those words.

Put effort into structure so that others will know.

Sure anyone can shout over a microphone and be heard.

No knowledge required no history in tow.

Yet why frequent readings each and every week?

If anyone can do it find better ways to spend your time.

Other than try to ridicule the meek.

Perhaps hide the fact within yourself all is not so fine.

Untrue to say “anyone can write” poetry on a page.

Your ignorance shows by the remarks you utter.

Your blank facial expression shows how you disengage.

You say poets writers are a bunch of nutters.

Still you return week after week.

For an hour you live through someone else’s word.

Insulting words are all you speak.

Forcing yourself over others to be heard.

Every poet here has set themselves a task.

At every level to try their best.

Over time improving their poets mask,.

Their work laid out put to the poets test.

So no not everyone can poetry write.

Not all can put words on a paper slip.

If poetry serves to have you contrite.

Stay home we’ll send you your chips.

doghouse

 

Doghouse

Well, he’s in the doghouse and has no idea why,

It’s a familiar place he won’t deny,

This is where she said to go,

For what reason he still doesn’t know,

Yet here he sits in his newfound home,

Quietly sat just left alone,

Came home from work as he did all week,

To be told to him she will not speak,

Not for weeks after what he has done,

And just to enforce it there will be no fun,

And still no clue why he is sent right here,

The more time passes the less he is clear,

While in the doghouse he decides to just wait,

His life his time she says contemplate.

To this place of now comfort he has been sent,

Silently hearing her shout and vent,

So often here now it feels like his home,

No one to talk with here on his own,

With a thousand jobs flying about his head,

He forgot to do something while she lay in bed,

But he did recall that this drove him mad,

For he had given her all that he had,

And while in this doghouse he formed a plan,

Promised he would be a better man,

As she waited for her man from work to come home,

Intending to the doghouse send him again on his own,

With the light now fading and still no sign,

She wondered was this by way of design,

No man came home at the end of this week,

Now she must go and him try to seek,

A phone call later and directions were sent,

A new house built where no one could vent,

No screaming nor shouting in this his new place,

The name on the door showed horror on her face,

Here is my home fit for a man or a mouse,

Henceforth be known as the peaceful doghouse.

dawn to dusk

 

When dawn turns to dusk

friend leaving her job sadly 

As this day ends and dawn calls dusk

A vacant space will be felt by all,

An eerie confusion will become a must,

Who if any will answer our call?

Faces look wondering who will now smile?

 

As light starts to fade and the moon brightly shines,

Dawn sadly leaves hopeful hearts and minds,

We are grateful to you for the time you have spent,

So helpful and kind hearing to all who vent,

Troubles and woes no longer voiced.

 

The space now empty where you would stand,

Asking all without favour if they were grand,

How life was with them on each given day,

Hearing intently what they had to say,

A caring look enough to beguile,

 

A little less light will now grace our day,

Business as usual will continue to stay,

As you leave this place no longer stand here,

We will surely miss you this much is clear,

We wish you every and the best of choice,

 

Faces look for who now may smile,

Troubles or woes to whom will they voice,

Who’s caring stare will now beguile,

Who shall offer some or other choice,

As you dawn, call dusk your one of the best.

 

So, dawn turns to dusk, and you leave our sight,

Having given to so many a smile warm and bright,

Here’s to you for playing your part,

And showing one and all you have a good heart.

Held dear by so many good health and God bless.

Christy (punchy) o Donnell

mammy's only child

 

Mammy’s only child

My sister say’s her mother loved her, strange as though it seems,

I tried to recollect this but only in my dreams,

She say’s she loved her dearly, of us a baker’s dozen,

I thought she had a soft spot, for a distant cousin.

 

In all the years she knew her mam, her memories are intact,

Mothers favourite she is heard to shout and this she says is fact,

Her mammy loved but her alone and dare you contradict,

With all the rest of us she says her mammy could be strict,

 

Perhaps I said she humoured you, while you were growing up,

Kept you smiling long enough, until you grew enough,

To see that there were more of us, younger but like you,

Thinking mammy loved only us, hoping it were true?

 

A resounding shake of her blonde hair, and swift decline of truth,

Her mammy loved but her, she had no time for the youth,

Nor all who dared come after her, as she was the only one,

None of us could call her mother, until sister dear was done,

 

So, we grew up without a mammy, no one there to call,

Until said sister was away, and our mother we would call,

Then 12 of us would share said sister’s only mam,

Each night we prayed she’d marry some woman or a man,

 

My sister told her family her mam loved only she,

And smiled her way through life, as happy as can be,

None but her existed in the eyes of her dear mother,

Neither nine of her dear sisters nor one of her three brothers,

 

My sister says her mammy, showed her only love,

held her in such regard beside only God above,

yes, she loved her dearly amongst her baker’s dozen,

I still recall well talked about, not-so-distant cousin.

15- 03- 24

Christy o Donnell

(Which sister huh?)