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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
-- 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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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)
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Ballistic nukes departed Sayda Bay,
A CIA sitrep affirms French Intel,
A fleet of Russian ships was under way,
Their course at flank arrival point Mariel.
Kennedy and Khrushchev both have calloused skin,
The weeks at DEFCON2, really clipped our wings,
Aboard the sub our nerves were frazzled thin,
A war of nukes was chess without the kings.
The Captain's voice is Armageddon’s end,
ComSubPac orders are to stand us down,
The Cuban blockade ends amidst amen’s,
The Soviets have turned their fleet around.
A year of shaky peace; deceptions bed;
To arms again, our hero JFK is dead.
In the battle of titans
All gets bruised if not creased,
Scattered and ruined.
Hearts in waste endure
Awaiting an alluring alien
To whisper courage and affection not the echo of guns
When the charismatic trash their State Pledge of Allegiance
And contrast the devote of their constituencies
They begin to chase after stray blood which races across sweeping and veiled lanes
They snare at smudged and sinister jumbles of endless corpses of their electorates yet still stroll by
And the toughies in partisan hostilities persist;
Deprived of every aptitude and anticipation for amendment
Vanished in that old cry on sacrificial supremacy daises
Devoid of control and bereft of existence itself
I’m standing at the edge of a forest,
Waiting for the storm to come in.
Lightning flashes in the tempest,
While thunder deafens the din.
The winds spiral in tumultuous ways,
Proving the power of its fury.
A harbinger of the end of days,
Where each city must be buried.
Armageddon shall be orchestrated,
As I pray for our destruction.
The revolution will not be abated,
Anarchy becomes a seduction.
This coming storm will bring the fall,
So give to Greed its pall.
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.
When I look around me today
I wonder what do people see
If they wish they were truly free
If they listen to what leaders say
Taxes are they content to pay
And not just their own,
Bitter seeds they have sown
How will they vote on Election Day
Will they pay for the wealthy too
This they must really want to do
They all seem to be so very blind
They don’t even count the cost
As for liars freedoms are lost
And dreams are left behind
I will strive to remain cool headed and sane,
though many things are making me to go the other way,
Several appeals and resistance have been in vain,
Many times I remain bemused not knowing what to say.
Wastage and greed by the leading class I can no longer endure,
Severe hardship has made the weak to be relegated,
Poverty and disease ravage and life is no longer secure,
Honesty and unfaithfulness cannot be segregated.
In my dreams,I hear voices of many youths weeping,
To liberate the poor from this mess,I will fight,
I can`t live with this or leave this floor without sweeping,
Plenty homes have turned into graveyards which is not right.
Tiny few wallow in wealth,while plenty are being oppressed,
I would do anything to protect them ,say...I`m obsessed.
*Inspired by the song of Meat Loaf "I would do anything for love"*
CONTEST:"Songs of Poetry" sponsored by Debbie Guzzi.
Newly adopted toddlers mourN
Indemnity as locus standI
Event invites the employeE
Rodeo on the wealthy riveR
And the black gold run et ceterA
Nobles with black gold gains remaiN
Spectacles of other specieS
Opener ramains incognitO
Ne'er-do-well holds the horN
No one remembers the mooN
Expatriate the extra farE
Teach the gospel momenT
You lived a king but died a slave;
May your body be food for fish;
May the Libyans dance on your grave;
May your soul be the devil's dish.
You showed no remorse to your victims;
May we give you undue respect;
May we forgive your atrocious whims;
May we use this moment to reflect.
Your removal may be no beauty;
May we rejoice in your demise;
May we not forget your cruelty;
May we see Libya on the rise.
The life of a dictator;
Is the death of a traitor.
We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.
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
Auspicious August was a king of old,
who used aspersion as if it were gold.
Baron Aseptic, he declared: filthy,
and his best virtue, his asperity.
The Baroness called the king audacious,
her husband was very assiduous.
“He austerely cleansed all crime from his land,
King August could not claim something so grand.”
Though true, most ascribe her words to her end.
August assailed the Baron to defend
Pride and Respect. The Baron was astute,
killed his wife to appease the royal brute.
His atonement acceptable, the king
made him Groom in the princess’s wedding.
Can waves of living hatred ever calm
as man persists in causing mankind harm
and wars all fought to seek desire for peace
in order to ensure that all wars cease.
Cannot all see that no war can be won
and serve the needs of all with its outcome
for right and wrong are joined in history
depending on which side one tends to be.
No answer either in diplomacy
for right is only where you choose to be.
Ivor G Davies
It was forty-six years ago today
that the Supreme Court issued its decree:
You should know whatever you have to say
may land you in jail, but your lawyer’s free,
assuming you are indigent, of course.
All men have the right to an attorney
and their confessions can’t be made by force.
They’re entitled to be held silently.
Thus Ernesto Miranda’s conviction
was overturned, since he was never told.
However, Earl Warren’s benediction,
though it set a precedent, did not hold.
Arizona simply tried him again,
and he became a prison denizen.
Burn the gallows to the ground,
Cease to follow fear.
Raise your voice, make a sound.
The revolution’s near.
Some may die for our cause,
But their passion reaps rewards.
Find and fix our nation’s flaws,
Let words ring like chords.
The people become incendiaries,
Waiting to ignite.
Anger rises; on wings it’s carried
To the one who’ll start the fight.
Your leaders have broken a tacit bond,
Now answer to us from dusk ‘til dawn.
SHAN Hai Guan is where he Chinese wall meets the ocean
and the uselessness of building a wall as protection from
thoughts, cultures and new ideas to enter into the soul of
humanity, comes to a halt. We saw that in in Berlin, we see
new walls hastily built in Palestine, where Israel- ruled by
opportunists - tries to keep the truth out. Walls are porous,
and anyway they can´t stop the great inequity that befell
One cannot build walls across seas, and we can´t stop walls
shielding lies. If we shout long enough walls in Israel will fall
as Jericho’s walls did and the rightful owner of the land of
Palestine will win through.
We strive to live as though we’re in heaven –
a state of continuous joy and bliss –
complaining about news at eleven
that tells us about things that are amiss.
We don’t concern ourselves with others’ plights,
except through seasonal contribution.
We don’t want to be troubled by their fights;
we’ll wring our hands only in ablution.
And even the causes that we support
We back by giving our voice to a blog
or following, like a favorite sport,
convictions of our chosen demagogue.
Nothing on Earth can change the opinions
we hold onto like contented minions.
When those words are spoken, written, to be a man or not,
Buzz says the bee, to discover what is he?
When the vortex of brains come calling all to reveal plots,
On dripping lips with open mouths that are caves of echoes, opened with skeleton
The makeup of a man with gray and white matter speaking to him,
Seats of consciousness much more grandeur than the largest auditorium,
Fleshy pods of minds, bodies, and souls, that are glass snakes with broken penis
Regeneration of anger, hate, sorrow, despair, and love trapped in the hearts
Driving on streets with war bonnets making exchanges with Julius Cesear in the
Boxing wrongs reminding us that we are men, and men we are,
Love letters from Sappho, slapping vulnerability, and veneered with eroticized heat,
Ermine men with life lessons spitting out the memories of nightmares,
Graveyards of bones with worm infested skulls, and dreams at rest,
To be a man in life, to be a man in death, here, and there, he must live or die the
Oh, my most beautiful, foreign lovely,
All is yours to deny, no niceties,
I'm lost within your vast economy,
My heart will endure all atrocities;
No action you take will cause my Love's stall,
By my own account, I'm held in your thrall;
I'll run, I'll race, swim, leap, tumble, and fall,
Anything for your heart's gold, even crawl;
Whatever you do, I'll not turn away,
Do as you will, for as you may, you may,
I'll watch you waste tomorrow with today,
Mute witness to your deeds, feigning dismay;
Maiden China, I'll hold open the door,
For all costs, it's your futures I adore.
Mr. President, I want you, to live in my shoes
To do the necessary things that you must do
To work for your money, not speak friendly words
To feel the pain, from YOUR people, not Afghans or Kurds
Oh say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light?
What makes you think this reform is so right?
You have given us nothing, yet you give high demands
You have caused higher taxes, you have no helping hand
Please Mr. President, hear your citizens' plea
This message is from your country, not only from me
Copyright © Drew Johnson, 2009
Breathing depression since my birth
Providence one day whispered in ear
Thoughts itself turned face to mirth
Followed the witch leaving back fear
Reverted the opponent’s good time
Noises kept darkness lit to proceed
Future assures only power no pine
Horny lady plotted map to succeed
Mischievous figure looked so divine
The lessons like prophesy of delight
From nobody to a regime of mine
Thy chapters taught scheming fight
Sinister eyes but transforming my life
Dire alluring acts meant fun no strife!
SHAKERS AND STIRRERS
To illuminate the extraordinary goings-on
in our so tense and deeply twilit terrestrial sphere,
it is necessary to take a long and unhurried
celestial view, one stemming from the stars as it were.
As a bare minimum, observers should note the presence
of a perhaps quite small number of shakers and stirrers,
mixers maybe, groups of men whose secret and sole purpose
is to seed chaos, stymying able mens’ best efforts.
Man is imaginative, a mover and creator,
one who sees a problem, then a myriad solutions,
who sees mud as an opportunity, never a mire;
someone willing, who can and does shape his own destiny.
Good men, who see much, are also blind, for they find it hard
to ascribe destructive motives to the bad of their kind.
(Challenge words : illuminate extraordinary tense
terrestrial twilight celestial stars minimum presence)
They set aside views sometimes avoiding conflict real.
Voicing their concerns to no-one that matters truly,
Ones that stir the pot, while time is what they steal,
These voices in shadows sustain all that’s unruly.
Riding the severity, ripping others minds cruelly.
They have no servitude, just societies recklessness.
Hidden behind the true wealth, fading unduly,
They do not fight for reality, existing in weakness.
Those who ultimately rise for all have great consciousness.
These are the thinkers, poets, philosopher’s existing free.
Each of these set aside and speaks driving from darkness.
Creativity from mind, allows them to speak, others to see.
Humankind has vast distinct differences, of what is freedom.
Unfortunately very few times, do rulers have true wisdom?
Sponsor Dr.Ram Mehta
Contest Name The Spenserian Sonnet
Recalling the days not so far away,
Hearing experts speaking to say,
We had not enough oil today.
There was not five million to sway.
No, no, we had not enough oil here.
We depend on foreign oil so clear.
What do I see plastered in the news.
Millions and millions per day we lose.
What, we did not have is ruining, life.
Millions of dollars spent in strife.
Sea life, peoples lives in peril.
By what we did not have by the barrel,
Now we know; we were lied too, big.
Black Death, we had not, flows from rig.
Where, are we now, is the question at hand.
How are we to feel, upon this lifetime?
Are we to sit, now do nothing or stand?
Up against evil, as well simple crime,
This country became great, not from money.
From doing the right thing, when needed now,
American life not always sunny,
We have become, to greedy for endow.
Our wants, desires, out grew natural needs.
Things have become more important to all.
We have grown much waste, harvested no seeds.
Forgot about love, betrayed natures call.
March forward; bring back our ancestors plan.
Building country stronger, you know we can.
Sponsor Paula Swanson
Contest Name Just poetry
The State of the Union’s like being in shul –
You stand up and sit down or feel like a fool.
Unless you’re Republican, then you stay seated;
That status may change if Obama’s defeated.
The spectacle seems just a little surreal,
For one can’t quite know what the spectators feel.
Despite the applause and the smiles or the pouts,
Most listeners have to admit to some doubts.
The President says that our Union is strong.
Republicans claim that his statement is wrong.
It’s hard to decide what is truth, which are lies,
When both parties are fighting it out for the prize.
If you want my opinion, I claim an exemption –
For part of the time, I watched “Shawshank Redemption.”
HORSEMEN ON THE JORDAN
Deep in the dark, hid from all prying eyes
the horsemen rein their steeds to steady gait
waiting for time, they know how time it flies,
from peace to war, from times in love to hate.
Sure feet tread on, and in a steady trot,
no fear of night--their eyes can always see
as swift as eagles, giving all they've got
they'll fall upon the world most certainly.
Do gooders cry the foul, but they have failed
for man grows weary singing loves old song,
and Jesus was the man whom doubt has nailed
not caring if the truth is right or wrong.
Down by the Jordan they know what's in store
and beat their plowshears to all things of war.
© ron wilson akaveebdosa the doylestown poet
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.
Dear Judy Konos,
Don't think We're down--You're country, tis of thee
For which our Flags been woven and unfurled,
this very thread, it binds us constantly,
becoming still the envy of the world.
In fifty states we grew to all we are,
and though some think God's guidance is not there,
this truth comes shining through in every Star;
Our Liberty of life shows ever'rywhere.
To tell the world, Come you, and learn our way,
there is no secret to how we have grown,
and in God's light, God's light is where we stay,
to guide you to what we have only known.
between each line, God's word is meant to share,
and "We the People..." is what keeps it there.
by veebdosa 04/16/2011 (Dedicated to my friend Judy Konos in New Orleans)
THE FALL OF ATHENS
Let all the wrath, unmercifully divine,
we have to muster, lead us in our quest,
and bring Athenian rule to be in line,
as sure the gods provide they fail the test,
all in our time, for Lacedaemon rules,
have we not made of man the equal to
the sight of death, upon the plights of fools
resisting all the means that we can do?
Their setting sun has risen in the east,
before the dark, those left will have to burn,
their knowledge is their fat, and only feast,
for all they know, they've yet to ever learn!
Now let the blood to flow down from the hill,
as if the flood has come and made the kill.
© ron wilson
A citizen of state and country sir
My words have seemed to print a haenous sculpture
Somehow thy cabinet wishes to stir
My work a threat on citizens to rupture
What guilt doth thee believe that I have writ
To clean the minds of men with skin of mine
Informing them with pride to light their wit
Perceived by thee treason of ghastly fine
How dare thy handcuff flesh that fought thy war
And sentence me imprisonment the same
Shall I confess liberty is a whore
Thus I a pawn inside the "Shepards" game
Thou hath freedom, and with thy freedom mold
Yet thee of lesser God's doth freedom scold
Fair maiden with thy skin a milky hue.
Who rul'd kingdom forty years and more.
The church curs'd opposers this thou knew
'Stiny was at thy side praise Him galore.
Thy faith diffr'd but conscience fled thee not
Cancer would take thee Sister to her grave
Thus leaving thee the crown comm'ners all sought
in dreams; but loyal subjects knew it nave,
to seek the emblem rested 'pon thy head.
Although thou had'st suitors thou weren't a wife
Fi'ry passion burn'd like thy hair red.
Queen chaste married to Christ for all thy life
Embroil'd with the French many a year.
Thou keepest loyal subjects safe from fear
THE WARRIORS AND THE WIMPS
The heat of battle's what manhood is for
when struggle for the right comes to a head
erupting to a world in need of war
and needing change to how we've made our bed!
We cannot sleep in this, it's much too soft,
mistakes brought on by politicians greed,
and so the winds of war come from aloft
aloosening the horsemen and their steed!
The preachers of dead faith wail at the wall
protesting ev'ry battle cry and truth,
though freezing in the night, they heed the call
of cardless, nameless cowards lost in youth.
But when the battle comes they'll take their leave
not caring who is left to ever grieve.
Too late, there's not a one to even pray,
there at the wall, submission is the rule,
they give too much, and play no keep-away,
not holding out, lest they are thought a fool.
while Netanyahu, leader of his quest,
the first so born in bounderies of their State
and made prime minister, whom God has blest,
and given all the keys to seal their fate.
But still the blind stand wailing to the wall,
and ready to lie down, pretending dead,
unwilling to be part of this, the call,
to arm, but give up everything, instead.
From Benjamin their fate is all too clear,
And losing is the only thing to fear.
Who defends us, hollow husks?
Whose body shields our start?
Whose open womb gestates heart?
Are Mother’s, Natures tarts?
What mortal faith denies our grace,
Our tenacity, our verve?
What mortal or immortal Man? defines us?
What progeny has SUCH nerve?
When did Mankind , not Ma kind begin?
When were these false thoughts bred?
When was it decided a vacuum filled OUR head?
When was the pivotal moment, the primary prick?
Why second rate the kinder face vilify and disgrace
Why deny Motherhood an equality of grace?
New Year 2012
At last year’s New Year bash in the ballroom at the hotel, had two
hundred guests, this year 45 guests and the room was chilly and
had melancholic echo of yesteryears. A luxury liners’ last voyage,
ready to be chopped into bit and sent to the voracious furnaces
of China’s famished thirsts for steel.
And we, the 45, where stalwarts from bygone epoch the last of
a shrinking middle class. Too many waiters, too many cooks, they
knew what was coming next, the dole. Who needs a flat footed
waiter or a cook you can’t teach new tricks?
Twelve o’clock we toasted one another but our joy rang hollow in
the big room. The party was supposed to continue till four in
the morning as it had before, most guests left quarter past twelve;
I can only hope the crew, we dastardly deserted, drank the wine
ate food we left behind and had a proper wake.
Over the massive easterly ridge I see thousands of soldiers,
in splendid golden helmets, marching down the slope pushing
shadows, the residue of night, in front of them.
There is a momentary lull as a wayward cloud blocks the sun,
but the attack resumes and soon the army of the new empire
vanquish the whole valley; except perhaps in deep caves.
We are the new rulers; they boast we are the new reality, ah
this hubris do they not read history? Up from deep caves, like
unexplored thoughts, mutiny will come and darken their glory.
Helmets will rust; shiny buttons fall off un- starched uniforms;
when the afternoon shadows get longer, they try to rouse as
the setting sun paint clouds in a bloodthirsty hue; alas, too late.
At dawn the new empire’s army will be coming down the ridge
damning the old order into the long cold night of history.
Staring on with empty sight,
our eyes can See, but they are blind.
We praise the Virtues of our Might,
and end the Freedom of our Mind.
Our hippocritic creed
gives in to Vanity.
Are we really truly Freed?
Descending to Insanity.
Giving in to Avarice,
Driving forward empty Lies,
Fueling Flames of Hate and Vice,
the Flaming, falling deadly skies.
Our mind implodes until we see
Curtal Sonnet Sequence
A woman should be gentle, always kind
Yet he held her down to rape her again
Removing the smile that once seemed to glow
The joy of love had long since left behind
A fragile doll that knew only of pain
Who couldn’t see a way or place to go
At his hands her body crumbled to dust;
Inside her voice was calling, soft and low
It kept her mind from going past insane
And she knew she could and she knew she must
They say the battle is won; we can rest
The girls of tomorrow have greater clout
They’ll live their lives in freedom’s liberty.
We can do no more, we have done our best
The flags of pride have been slowly rolled out
So they can love with true equality.
But while one woman remains hurt, abused
We must all remain strong not turnabout
No woman should be left to man’s slav’ry
We must not let her be tortured and used
Inside a woman beats a goddess heart
A hidden voice that often calls aloud
But we only hear her when we need her most
And she holds us when our lives fall apart
Or if we choose to walk against the crowd
The presence we feel when all else is lost.
And as we nurture our own children through
To fly as freely as a summer cloud
She nurtures us the same at greater cost
So in all we say and all things we do
O nature's Babel towers here 'bove all
Sloping upward with her dense rugged wall
Blue and luminous in her misty dress
She suckles a city at her bright breast.
Yet the laborers are not found that built
The massive frame that brings worship to you
Goddess of the healing spring. We would wilt
Like plants suck dry without your shining dew.
And yet I looking up ponders now still
What volcanic art inspired set your will
In massive metaphor of stones? What fires
Poured out the rivers: opposing desires
From which the Liguanea unrolled?
Beneath your summit still you thrall my soul.