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.