I walk the city streets with heavy feet,
drawn in grave thoughts of all I dare not ask
of kings watching on high with hearts concrete,
and sons who taunt from eyes through steely masks.
Their laws are not the laws of decent men.
These tyrants rule steadfast with ill-intent.
Like Herod’s bloody rule in Bethlehem,
the massacred are fallen innocent.
And when shall I awaken with my voice,
to speak for those who have no voice to tell
of brutal acts and minds without the choice,
to think of life above the depths of hell?
Still, heavy are my feet with soul and heart
as lips in protest slowly start to part.
Saddam Hussein has outlived all adjectives,
A demagogue, an anti-Christ, a dictator
Was he the hero larger-than-life images
A tyrant, Baghdad butcher, a monster.
Raising one’s voice against him will result in,
One’s daughter raped before his own eyes
Even they can lead a Kurdish woman
To sell her body to feed her two kids
One leader for heroism lampooned as a clown,
The Second, no doubt, a salesman of used cars.
The third, waging bloody wars, seeks the crown,
Fake cries, political motives, baking their breads
Undoubtedly it is about the politics of oil surely
Man who raised Saddam became a Saddam purely?.
Third Place winner
Contest: Devil made me do it by Thvia Jetley
Note : as an experiment i took a random article from the newspaper and extracted phrases from it to eventually form this sonnet. A fun exercise!
Economic purists say, relief should,
Never have been given in the first place.
Whether that is true or not, perception,
Has always been politically good.
Sensitive issues, as they have and could,
Ever been percieved as assisting in grace.
Relief to be aboloshed! Reflection –
Affordability is understood.
However, now it is to be removed,
People shouldn’t get alarmed, the market
Change to this would deem, respite is disproved.
Any mortgage taken out – we regret.
For seven tax years by that date – and yet
We believe this is the case – hmmm, approved!
Will liberty ring out again,
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies;
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory,
is respect just a word,
spoken,but never heard:
How long,how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when ,when, will ego bend the knee,
the victim is not me
my friend,my friend,it's we.
Who rings this bell of liberty
truly sounds,our culture's death knell.
THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;
and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.
They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!
And when the fire consumed all that it could
the winter of their lives was understood.
No more this verdant sight no more the sound
No more the heart of mist at nature’s dawn
No more victims of constant pressure found
No more the fool of man’s enactment borne.
To worship a foundation so ancient
The last bastion of one’s ancestor
Then one bears scars of prudence so poignant
When complied to appease the molester.
Our Fathers who wove within nature’s loom
So soon eras of memories destroyed
When at the mercy of Europe’s new broom
Leaving many dreams retrenched redeployed.
Hearts and minds linger still at Purple Haze
Ghostly cascades of falling tears amaze!
For all the farmers systematically force from their lands
in a orchestrated albeit subtle way
after the UK joined the European common market 1970's
A Poem about of one of those farms "Purple Haze"
Copyright HarryJ Horsman 2010
Through the warm jungle you can hear every cry.
Crackling gunfire trickles in the echoes;
Why this place fell and crumbled, no one knows why.
There they all fall in place like a domino.
Welcome to the jungle, filled with death and ill.
A jungle of fear, a few dare to challenge.
A smoke, a radio, anything to kill;
At times, there were fires that went unchallenged.
The smell of sulfur roams through this jungle air.
A surplus supply of shell rounds in the jeep.
Bugs, trash, dirty clothes, all I see everywhere.
The monumental hill is too big and steep.
Men were lost, but never forgotten prayers.
Some make it home; some make there way up the stairs.
How will it be to have freed the weak
to stand as their sword, to carry their shield
how will it be to see their tremble revealed.
Imperialist power court with cheek
the downtrodden fools whose wealth they all seek.
America, Russia, China concealed
that their help came with poisoned wells and fields
that the air can burn, the fish die in creeks
ask 'Nam how freedom was bought and brought.
Go to Tibet, feel the Communist zeal
the temples they have felled make farmyard walls.
Have the strong helped the weak, power's begot
pain, let the weak grow strong, let them not kneel,
if you ask for help, the wolf hears your calls.
Does it really matter who actually eventually wins
As we voters give our lives, do they give us their skins
Do they really care about who votes them into power
As we voters give our lives, in power, us, they devour
How many do remember, where they actually came from
And do they walk our walk, when voted in sing song
How can we trust their hand, their smile when they need us
And their continual door to us closed, all because we make a fuss
Our fuss we make is not born, it's created in our lives
How many of us remember, it's in their voted strive
When does our strive resist, to be taken as we exist
For many days to weeks, we're in continual wanting persist
Whether Democrat or Republican, when elected look into voters eyes
Or be forgotten from hence you came, and in us we'll soon despise
My brother-in-law keeps egging me on
"Get active in political races
If you wait too long, your chance will be gone
Politicos hire familiar faces”
Tim always thinks he knows what’s best for me
And he just assumes I’ll take his advice
After all, he’s blessed with a PhD
Knows how to avoid paying market price
Though some pursue careers with great gusto
Following my heart is more important
Political favors I can forego
Pursue no payback; suffer no torment
If you become the devil’s advocate
You might lose self respect, lickety split
Dedicated to John Freeman in honor of his Sonnet Contest
The faded shacks stretch 'neath the stained grey sky,
As stagnant urine and disease creep in.
Hunched at the pyramid's tight base we lie;
Looked down upon by our superiors.
In this poor life we’ve been condemned to die;
Forever stuck in our unwanted caste!
Our tummies are filled with what can’t be sold,
Our hopes and dreams just playful fantasies.
Drained from its soothing warmth, the Earth feels cold.
Where, I ask you are the democracies
That stop worthless things like me getting sold?
We’re all just pawns, broken by society.
Unlike the wealthy, we’re easy to find;
We are the untouchables of mankind.
Why does hatred bloom where two lovers stand
vowing only to cherish each other forever?
When it is love and hope that brought them together,
why do hoards of people want their union banned?
Just because it is a love they cannot understand?
Does it somehow make their lives a little bit better
keeping different drummers from marrying ever?
And here I thought we lived in a free land.
Why must we put restrictions on how people love?
Why does homosexuality scare people so?
Consenting adults should be allowed their own choice.
I’ll leave moral judgment to the heavens above,
but this is one thing that I certainly now know -
a union of any two lovers is a cause to rejoice.
Written and posted on 4/29/2014 for Craig Conrish's "Miltonic Sonnet" contest.
The weather will soon be getting warmer.
Watching economics and politics,
I’m teaching myself to be a farmer--
Anticipating an Apocalypse.
It’s time to rototill my backyard lawn,
And remove decorative plants and weeds.
My ‘raised bed’ ‘square foot’ garden plans are drawn;
Ready to plant heirloom vegetable seeds.
It’s time we start providing for ourselves!
The government’s nearly in bankruptcy.
It’s foolish to expect grocery store shelves
To have food during a catastrophe.
Go buy your trellises and garden string.
Plant your future meals, because here comes Spring.
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.
They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.
There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off. Who knows?
For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.
Arise, you song birds sing in morning dew;
The flow’ry host to colour fields and furrows,
And sap of Spring runs gold in willows veins;
As tender leaves unfold to speak of birth,
Fresh mountain ranges iced give life anew—
While waters melt and stream through cricks and borrows
The gleams of light will melt the winter strains
Though spills of oil have quenched the songs of earth.
The corporate sting of greedful revenue,
Has bankrupt natural wonders—greedy farrows
The eagle has no pow’r to save her eggs,
Tall forests fall and crush the robin’s hue
When flow’ry petals change to black on yellow—
The spotted fawns arise with warbled legs
Call no toad a man,call no man toad,
Till he begins to live without a code;
And calls no definite address abode,
As he shamelessly jumps from cold to cold.
Call no man a toad,call no toad man,
Super man makes home,but toad makes leaps;
The man-toad’s pledge dies so soon on his lips,
But real man lives for what he says he can.
Pain is his gain who boasts in total toad,
And says sure morrow my cargo shall come;
How blind is he not to see the real qualm
That gold in toad’s hold is but a lost load.
Leader today,decampee tomorrow,
Bad bane of my generation sorrow.
Date :5th Oct.,2014
O writer! Your quill quivers in its mark!
As a light shines in the gathering dark
While people struggle towards some vision
To attest them truths is your sole mission.
In prose and in poem may you reveal
Festering lies and felonious deals
Despite those who censor please persevere
Your ink is the ichor your foes fear!
Banishment is a writer's objective
By this we know our foes were attentive
By their displeasure our work is measured
And one day our toil is truly treasured.
Take up your quills and prepare to question
The quest for truth is a path to heaven.
I gots to go on down to Applebees.
I gots to watch the big game on TV.
Oh, its much better than January's
Superbowl, March Madness, the history
of boxing or Tiger Woods teeing up.
We'll toss down a couple of brews and eat
our way through the evening hour and top
it all off with a chocolate dessert.
All the while on the overhead teevees
we'll watch our boys, the desert commandos
rush over the dunes on their neato humvees,
and shock and awe those Bhagdad a--holes
with our technology.Tonight we will
root for our side to bomb them all to hell.
Raised among walls, of popularity from gone sages
This place, o’ gods of gods born of mothers of universe
Of human destiny, here infused for ages
Whence civilization soars, it rules even the age of my verse.
This place garnish o’ galaxy, like palace of hades
Of tiles in crystalline, in eye balls flow
Of alchemy, nations drink from its silver cup as their poverty fades
Creaking sounds of gold and wares, little little starry stars glow.
Olympus, siphoning lands, o’ air-raid subjection
Mutiny spell, sprays of orthodoxy rejection
O’ many men preach, of breach the current from here dazzle
Of many walls envisage victory, to razzle.
Oh! Olympus, never allow what I hold of you to flaw
For, nations make you victim of their law.
Uche Chidozie Okorie
She walks amid our dream of brick and stone
dreamt yesterday, then made for time to share,
the spirit of our past, she walks alone,
but she will touch your hand if you are there.
Past cobbler's dens, and Printers Alleyway,
down by The Tannery, the five and dime,
and bakers who arose before the day,
she's known them all, through pages of our time.
And she can sing you dreams from songs forgot;
they made our nation cling to unity;
in lessons sweet, in times where we had not
enough of blood who made our dream to be.
She walks, she is our dream of Liberty,
to welcome those who died to keep us free.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Our ecosystem and wildlife can no longer be ignored
The devastation caused by the Gulf oil spill must vastly be restored
As anger and frustration surges across the Coast
The depletion of our environment, indeed we fear the most
Several past months, many lives have been erased
In the midst of these disasters, we can only look to faith
Now let us pay a visit to some underlying factors
Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and other natural disasters
It was not in their intention for a high tech failed invention
Yell still they don't take into account the consequences of their actions
Efforts to contain this oil spill is more doltish than we have known
What more massive debacles can this single Earth condone?
Many local residents are now suffering from depressions
So think about what lies ahead, our future generations
From the north silently it comes down the river,
invisible, radioactive, combining with *acid rain.
Nuclear power, cheap energy, a cancer giver
and all we love will end, if we don't chose to refrain.
So fueled by greed, we chew up the earth for coal to burn,
blackening the skies and butchering the mountain side,
all so that we can drive SUV's with total unconcern,
laughing at the third world, on the globe, we stand astride.
The black-outs, *brown-outs, oh the anarchy of light's blight
creating a sickly yellow miasma's where few stars shine.
And cities of cave dwellers who never see the night,
turn shades of puce and pink by neon lights malign.
Soon, I'm sure, we'll redefine the nature of what's pure,
and Seri's *app will tell what game to eat ...and the cure.
The generous seas do roam vividly,
And sacred words spoken earnestly.
People suffer and people go to war,
I just hope these words will go afar.
Yesterday I published a FREE book,
Indeed a feat of altruism, no crook!
I suffer in silence in every moment.
I have no money to publish a stunt.
I was just hoping for word-of-mouth
And email propagation as loudmouth.
Book is at: http://bookbooster.com/newage.htm
I accept feedback just at: firstname.lastname@example.org
OFFICIALLY THE MOST ELOQUENT STORY TELLING POETRY BOOK EVER WRITTEN
-ALL NON FICTION- (This spiel typed in the spur of the moment - God Bless you)
COLD WAR ARTIST
The art of such intention is fatigue
At living lies outside the scope of death,
To wear in the last blitzkrieg
A shroud meaning artist, a wreath
Of columbine in the hair, but the kitchen eyes,
Carbuncled knees betray the giver’s art.
Down on the doorstep, she’ll scrub your lies:
To her gift of total self she’ll add a part -
Your own tongue sliced and severed on her plate
Of 20th century design – taste
The dust of pointillism, the cubist fate
Of newspaper and cello here embraced –
The emptiness filched from the master’s past:
Mankind’s death wishes, home to roost at last.
published IN MEMORY OF HER, Dublin, 2008
beams of mid-
relaxed on their
trap us their
experts of the
A fiction of
promises bind in
To be gently
spilled on the
nods from our
And in trash
cans, those art-
rust like my old
Leaving us to
drown with our
anointed liar is
on course for
the next tenure.
DRIFTING IN THE HALE-BOPP
The puzzle comes apart deep in the sky;
calls nothing that is concrete to the mind;
as far as we can tell and meets the eye
the reason for the tail's not ours to find.
We stand confused, and only guess at why
the wonder of it all has stilled our voice
did David Korish ever really die?
and is it all worked out, with little choice?
Mount Carmel but a coming of an age
the catostrophic ending of mistake,
what hope is there to ever quell the rage
appeassing what is wrong, for honors sake?
Is there a sign that's ever flown the sky
or is it just a dream where-in we die?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Plagued by agents of disinformation,
smearing objectivity with a spoof,
as if a lot of followers equals confirmation,
a lie told often enough becomes truth.
Rumours of the Swine and depopulation,
aliens, free energy and speculation,
aur silence and tolerance bring ramification,
we need to stop for a day of contemplation,
it does not take long to realise who control’s each and every nation.
Beneath the facade of illusion,
the puppet master reaps with his confusion.
WAKE UP...tick tick tick... ... ...
Promises were made when you sought my vote
I swallowed your lies and it gets my goat
The changes you vowed did not come to pass
Where are those tax breaks for the middle class?
And what became of "peace in the Mideast"?
November will prove voter support has ceased
Congress exempts itself from their own mandates
No equal rights in these United States
Partisanship leads us down a dark road
The Tea Party's kettle is set to explode
Republicans, Democrats, please take heed
You've targets on your backs; soon you will bleed
A quick ticket home will be your reward
We the people won't buy lies anymore
*For the Outrageous Rhyme challenge
I dedicate this poem to them who are ignorant and making statements on innocent girls that were raped and killed in India.
Disturbance creates crystal ball for heeling flirt.
irresponsibilities perform failure of skills and spreads dirt.
reliabilities of options confirm the intellect of a utilizer,
that runs a system; a person becomes consultant or an advisor,
firms establish a uniform asks young girls to wear a short skirt.
conversation counts in matters also smile draws relationship,
Academic education and experience fails if it takes nudity step,
the system is based on production, progress and growth,
time is value, money is source that never counts someone's hurt.
personal skill counts in an interview to differ a colouring shirt.
caste, colour, religion, language or a boundary that never counts,
if corruption or selfishness profound fails if honesty not in account,
something is different unaffordable that attitudes fail to apply,
we develop injustice, forcible manners in our daily amounts.
ONLY THE STRONG WILL SURVIVE
God gives not peace, it's only dreamt by man,
in all the world ,brought from catastrophe,
all things are made, since time was first began
by things upheaved so new life comes to be.
The weak must fail, be eaten by the strong,
and losers die the death along the way,
so new life grows, even if it is wrong,
there is no time the poor will have to play.
The lion who will lay down with the lamb,
will have a feast before the day is done,
and all the world will never give a damn,
nor care about the giants and their fun.
The hunter takes his aim and fells the dove
the weak in life are only dreaming of.