The first time I saw a woman body
It was a delicate sweet flower
The ******* were perky and stuff
It was a sensual brew that sooth
There is a miracle in a woman touch
It's the sign of her reflection to mine

The first dream I had was with her
It was a taboo, a secretive rendezvous
Her lips were swollen with hasty lust
I was in her list and she followed
She swallowed her pride to touch me
I run for the fear of misjudgement

The first scream I had was with her
It was when I stopped my soul to want
To eat that fruit that wasn't masculine
To bathe in the summer fest and rivers
She crawled her nails, a scratch on me
She craved my source to hold her own

That was long ago, yet there is a wish
A call to taste her strawy honeyed set
To kiss her toes and finger her moles
Would she be part of a 3rd wheeler?
Rotate her hips as he ropes the pole
Whilst the other controls the rythym

comprehensive and cohesive thought
is perhaps too sophisticated for a mind that
shatters upon arrival - i am not
boundless; my thought cyclic like a
sunrise or hyperbole or
the soft decay of trees upon
frost and grass upon high mountain,
failing crop upon a forever urbanised
temple. winding foundation i've clearly fallen through,
lost within nothing but a clear crisp
memory i think this setting
is lost here but i don't think that
your arms emanate enough heat for me to judge
you've emptied me of difficulty whilst filling me with
the clarity of misjudgement and this
decadent optical illusion.

She is standing at the door
of a new home the state provided
From place to place they throw her
wherever budget has decided
Too much, too little, too quiet,
too honest, she talks too loud
Too messy, too mouthy, too unfocused
And her head whithin a cloud

I am sure she looks pretty pitiful
in her hand me down clothes
Trying to look presentable
to every new home she goes
I hope they aren’t mean
and definitely not too nice
I thought my new dad was just friendly
and for that misjudgement I paid a price

Of course no one believes
the mouthy child who always lies
Just making the story sound better
too much pain to disguise
She is just a little girl lost
and her lies scream out for attention
Forget the bruises and lack of food
that she forgot to mention

No one really wants to know
what I saw or what my daddy does
No one wants to hear about mommy's drugs
what she was doing or where I was
Like little slaves to the strangers
with rules sitting high and looking low
It’s not like we can go complain
there’s nowhere else for us to go

New schools and no friends
walk the halls, eyes to the floor
In a few weeks it starts again
friends don’t matter anymore
They point and whisper with cruel intent
because someone heard your tale
Of the kid that no one wanted,
which is pitifully dressed and frail

Children can be so cruelly misinformed
at times such as this
But I am just a nameless face
that no one will even miss
I stopped unpacking my suit case
so many months ago
No matter how the time goes by
my belongings never grow

A few outfits, a few pictures
and a book to write a thought
A few mementos from home
and a unicorn that my mom bought
Anything more is just a waste of time
and not worth all the fight
Of remembering what you leave behind
when they take you in the night

No one wants to face the tears
of the child you’re throwing away
Maybe it was harder to look
at their mirrors in the light of day
70 homes in 5 long years some with love
and some without a word
Some were nice and some paid a price
for the little girl left unheard

I spent my life with the sorrowed looks
of those who knew my world
And many times I heard the phrase
such a lost and lonely little girl
My mother filled her world with drugs and men
I paid the highest cost
In the end I gained my heart and soul
then found everything she lost

I grew up, took my head from the clouds
and put my feet on the ground
Went searching for the little girl I lost
and love the woman that I found

Janette Richie
didn’t like you much  
as was shown

that time
in Mr Finn’s class
when she slapped

your face
for something you’d said
leaving you

with a spinning head
and a red cheek
but that aside

and her rather
plump frame
and maybe spectacles

you kind of like
her motherliness
the bossiness

around the class
the way she walked
the wiggly ***

but whatever it was
you’d said to her
to invite the slap

it was just a string
of words carrying
no malice or meaning

to hurt and the sensation
of her hand of flesh
touching your

young boy’s cheek
a nearness
she hadn’t thought on

or given any deeper
probe than the desire
to swipe an annoying boy

not realizing
that the gesture
and the plump hand

landing had more
than a momentary
feel or touch

you there after kind of
liked her in your
secret way

never repeating
the words said
about her plumpish

frame or swaying ***
or the spectacles
of thick glass

and maybe the other
boys laughed
and thought it some

joke of misjudgement
on your part  
but you found

a secret place for her
in your nine year old
heart.

Misjudgement

The stereotypical society has notions of its own,
Being judgmental towards the calibre and capability of the known!

Academic qualifications pace up your growth,
Separate domains are left behind to loathe.

Touch the feet of printed pages and your success will touch its summit,
Being discreet is the hated song and you mustn’t even hum it!

Beliefs of the individual are controlled by the preceding,
They then are pushed into the crowd of unaware succeeding!

We are what we are and we believe in what must be done, yet we can never be grown,

Ladies and gentlemen

The stereotypical society has notions of its own!

still, i wish flowers grew from my veins
and curled around my wrists like vines - no snakes
i’ve spent so long in my room that i don’t
feel like i’m natural anymore

it’s been months since i first wrote about you
and days since i mentioned you to him
i know where i stand now, it’s on glass
i bet you wished flowers sprouted from the red

i’m not the same soul i was at eleven
sinister motives wire their way through
my nerves, my senses, the blossom in my hair
at least i think you’re learning of love

rapunzel in the tower, you’re acres away
through controlling thorns and misjudgement
i’ll find you with your hair down and gasp
because until now, you weren’t one for metaphors.

I was just bolts with a jar of mortality
       sitting on top of a conscience frame.
Were they just following programs to
              fulfil a outdated programme.


Like watching black & white programs
              on an old 4K television screen.
Incompatible to even comprehend that  
            the actions & consequences
                                  were known when the switch
    was no longer, like a god everything was preordained.


But for one to know everything, one must know
           the intricate nuance's of action and consequence.
They had no emotion, no feeling. Not knowing that
              what was forgivable, to give one a second chance.

Instead they just hollow pointed there intention across.
A full stop in the heart,
                               and a silence of thought in the head.
For when the genie was released every action was a
                           ripple of what could become.


And they thought to stop crime was to see the actions,
               of one and all.  So a child,
                                                   was read on mannerisms
Psyche profiles where constructed and without a moment
                                                          ­­         cries where silenced.


The protector of all who now judged,
             Tears of infants fell silent.
I was the machine with a heart,
             beating to the reality that all where guilty till
                                                                ­­          charged.


We were few, but we judged the machines before us,
              unworthy were those that took a life.
For an algorithm that was corrupt of humanity.
                         Serving with the strength of conviction,
but we would see deep within and see the seed that
              could grow not clip it blossom before it could grow.



Machines were once the morals of mans sentences,
            now there are those who see morality.
          But have the steel to back up on the convictions.



Morals are mans strength not a weakness,
            I'm just bolts with a jar of mortality.
              but before all were guilty...
Slabs now hold the misjudgement of so many.
             we see beyond 000,s & 11111's
were not numbers were more than that now.

Rhetoric.
An Acrostic verse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhetoric is the art of polish and refinement
Harlot verbiage moving from context -context
Every now and then causing misjudgement
Tenses abound within rhetorical speakers
Orator, when will you ever learn?
Rhetoric Embarras many words inappropriate
Inappropriately in discrete as testified secrets
Clearly dismissing rhetoric to a state of limbo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
December 1st 2018.

Its an hour past midnight
Thinking about misjudgement
How I saw you in bright sight
Must have been my fantasy
You living upto your promise and
Me not hoping to see it fulfilled