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 Jan 2015 Judypatooote
ajit peter
A screen on the wall
A picture on buildings tall
To the heart doth call
Till our feet stall

A beauty with a smile behold
A story of a product unfold
A lie in cloaked by truth untold
Till by our greed sold

Played for the human charm
Leading the heart to warm
Unknown to desire in heart born
Useless after the wrapper torn

A crying child in the street
An embarrassed parents defeat
A guilt wrapped treat
Tempting addictive defeat

Eden had a tempting tree
Our stores give it free
Oh why doth not our feet flee
Advertisement an adversetisement to be

Ajit
Sometimes television  Advertisement  just temp us to buy things we do not need plus many products are not as shown in advertisement
Your worth
not in flowers

or tombstone's depth
or height,

but in the heaviness
of the heart,

the haunting look
from old photos.

I dreamed of you,
not as last,

but younger,
child-like,

wanting to caress.
I search for you

among the tall grass
and bright flowers.

I recall
your last words,

final hours.
A FATHER TALKS TO HIS DEAD SON.
 Jan 2015 Judypatooote
Traveler
When I was but one
Trapped in this verse
Clinging to the lowly
In line with death's birth
For the many I did bleed
Never to be reverent for my deed
Such an empty sacrifice of vanity...

Possibilities  extend well beyond reason
Even magic cries out treason
The knowing knew yet could not prove
The feeling felt beyond itself
The dreamer dreamt in waking hours
Was not the heart the true source of power?
A conjured thought manifest
Such is god and nothing less...
Traveler Tim
re to 03-17
 Jan 2015 Judypatooote
Poetic T
He is the prankster of cold,
He has a frozn touch but a
heart warmer than the sun,

He loves the smiles that his
Touch brings, upon those that
Love the flakes that fall from above.

He is a true friend to those
children that believe, that
When jack frost arrives, there
Is nothing but cold fun.
 Jan 2015 Judypatooote
Joe Cole
You can be destitute, dressed in rags
But you're a tycoon with pencil and pad
Your office a park bench under the sun
Your income the poem or song yet unsung
Your boardroom the corner of some shopping mall
Where multitudes gather
When you, the writer calls
No microphones needed
Nor fancy backdrops
The words of poetry ring forth
Crowds now do stop
Amazed that a man
Unkempt, dressed in rags
Can bring peace to the masses
And new heart to the sad
All this with no money, just pencil and pad
This poetic  tycoon
Shone in a world so sombre and sad
You don't need wealth or even a great education. All you need is a love of words and a love of people
Then you to can be a king, a queen amongst men
 Jan 2015 Judypatooote
Joe Cole
He was just a boy
Yes, just 16 years of age
But he wanted to follow the colors
Just to prove that he was brave
But he was just a man child
A rifle in his hand
Yes the rifle gave him manhood
But the mind was still a childs
In Flanders field he learned the truth
Of the transition to a man not youth
But the mind was left behind
Wounded by a shell by enemy fire
And all around him men did die
His courage was spent and gone
Scared, in pain
His shell shocked scrambled brain
He wandered from the field
In tears, in fear he cried out for his mum
Battered in body, battered in mind
The boy could take no more
Three days later they found him
Hiding in a farm
At rifle point they took him
With biting ropes around his arms
Poperinge was the place the courts martial
Then took place
The boy just stood there silent
Shaking, ashen faced
The fateful words were spoken
All cowards have to die
'Thus before the firing squad
You must say your last goodbye
And so on that fateful morning
In the stable yard
The young boy in tears was tied
To the post by previous bullets scared
They pinned a white card upon his breast
For the firing squad to see
The command to fire was given
And a sixteen year old boy
Met his final destiny
This actually happened, the British army executed a sixteen year old boy for cowardice as an example to others.
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