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Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

Thats a sin

A whole new twist to the same old story
Evil scientist in their laboratories
Creating monsters that live in the night
I often reflect on mankind's plight
As mankind drifts further from his soul
We seek things to fill the hole
The path of lies forever bends
Truth is straight and narrow my friends
As I see it getting bent in every way
I simply find myself compelled to pray
What will become of our sons and daughters
Will their souls be led to slaughter
As scientist seek out another way
To disprove what the bible has to say
Trillions spent in search of a ghost
Another theory of true reproach
Rainbow stars now fill the skies
I wonder what is hidden inside their lies
We can now place a robot up on Mars
But can't help the drunk at the local bar
Trillions more spent on a new space station
But we can't feed the hungry right here in our nation
Seems to me before we go further conquering space
We should maybe try to help out the human race
Our quest for knowledge has drove us insane
We are now so smart we don't use our brain
Our nation was founded "In God We Trust"
Our government says "Let it be covered in dust"
Even this lowly creature up out of the pen
Knows in his heart that thats a sin

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

DEMOCRACY



Oh Democracy,* 
You, most desirable bride among  
Political systems,
Your suitors many have been throughout 
History  
In every part of the world, you were the one
They were after
But
You declined their proposals, despite the fact
All suitors, to charm you they have tried, 
With great honors and by putting your name 
Next to theirs, to allure you to sanctify their 
Biased politics
Thus
The oligarchs
The Despots
The Tyrants
The dictators
The totalitarians and
Many more
All 
Have declared themselves your fervent 
Admirers, your ardent devotees to you and to
Your eternal principles 
By wrapping themselves in your
Heavenly gown and calling themselves your 
Beloved ones 
But you unyielding remained
For
You knew that no one has succeeded to measure up 
To the ideals your wise father, SOLON,** has set
And to the glorious values with which he 
Nurtured you, those superb principles: 
Of Virtue
Of justice
Of ethics
Of freedom 
Of equality
Of autonomy 
Of self-knowledge
Of responsibility
Of lack of self interest 
And 
Of the paramount devotion to
The common good and the happiness
Of the people you serve!

It is for that reason, you, oh Democracy, 
Seldom have shown any favoritism to any of 
Your suitors, for all fell short of
Your lofty aspirations 
Thus 
You were, unfortunately, for very
Lengthy periods of time mistreated, neglected, subjugated and
Exploited by your pretenders:   
The immoral
The unjust
The dishonorable  
The Ignorant
The power thirsty 
The war mongers 
The money seekers,  
Who 
Chose to ignore all that you stood for and  
Disregarded the common good and the
Happiness of the people they supposed to serve
For to promote their own interest and those of 
Their cronies  
Thus 
Ruining the chances of any true democratic 
Society to be established  
For that reason, oh Democracy, I understand you now
Why a spinster, you, have chosen to
Remain!


© Demetrios Trifiatis
 16 OCTOBER 2014

* Democracy is the combination of two words: Demos and Cratos . Demos means the People and Cratos means Power so Democracy means “ Power to the People.” It will be helpful to read my poem “ THE BIRTH OF DEMOCRACY” for a better understanding.

**The concept of Democracy is deeply rooted in the Greek Psyche! We see it in the Mythology where Zeus, the supreme God, is just “first among equals” Then appears in Homer’s poems but the father of Democracy is asserted to be Solon, the Athenian who was one of the seven wise men of old. Solon, 7th –6th centuries B.C. was the theoretician that established Democracy. Solon considered the pillars of Democracy to be Justice and Virtue. So every politician should be Just and virtuous and his main objective would be to safeguard the wellbeing and happiness of the people and that of the state's plus the wealth to be distributed justly among the citizens. Knowledge, responsibility, self-control, self knowledge, sacrifice, equality, had do be characteristics of every citizen. Plato said that “Virtue worth as much as all gold that is possessed by all people put together and all gold that is still in the ground.” To that Aristotle added that “ every politician has to be forged on the anvil of virtue.”         

| Details | Political Poem | |

Cosmetic Critique-Part 2

Pinned beauties.
Drilled customs.
Feminist wrote"Complex Formatting"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inspiration :- My University Reader

| Details | Political Poem | |

Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 



Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

Crying In Whisper

In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
Is nothing,
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
Every second,
No matter with
Thundering bullets
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

| Details | Political Poem | |

Historic Perspective

Battered
From a dark angry cloud
Beaten
By a storm wild and loud
Splattered
On history's hardest rock
Heaven
Smile at the little flock
For as a drop of water 
Curls to become a river
So I gather my dreams
To trickle like a stream's
First fall
From a leaf, to swell
To haul
The hill down, and tell
My victory in the sea
Tell me history from the sea

This month
Short as wounded memory
I hunt
Myself, stalk their history
To find all I have lost
Just to tally the cost
Of being black
Of watching the clock
For the hour.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

L'Italia del Nonno - Drunken Pen Contest

It's addsurd! Who's going to veliebe his lies? Who's going to bote for him? Plutocracy in these times? To besmear American reputation?... with just a cl-ass... exercising its power by birtue of its wealth...and the legislators...aligators... those who considered themselves... the best...to receive... hiccup!...from lobbies. Or is it Oligarchy? ... or Aristocracy? It's one of those "cracy." Or is it this glass of wine? The old Lady from Arizona had endorsed him. Ha! He must not ve bery happy with it. Wrinkles of xenophobia... legalized discrimimination. Excuses, lies, and negligence... Somebody has to pay for the vroken dishes...in doggy perceptions without style... knocking at the door of their prejudice... trespassing upon their addsurd generalizations ... satisfying their own prommmiscuous imagination...they tend to destroy the ebbidence ... coloring just coloring, coloring, coloring. Pickpocketing their errant misconceppttions... their exiled spiritualility... their mind in poverty...guilty of  larceny, of stupididity, of biolence...On the other hand, an extended hand at traffic lights trying to get what they could ...some change...coins...rusted coins which were never thrown into a fountain... no need of wishes. Trevi fountain and Anita, Marcello, Federico...La Dolce Vita. L'Italia del nonno. Another inmigrant but in another country... Argentina, where foreigners went to work the land and were accepted with open arms. L'Italia del nonno. I need to go to visit his streets, his old towns, his Mediterranean sea, his Sicily... Rome and the Trevi Fountain...Anita, she reminds me of another woman... I thought I had forgotten her and her plunging necklines...sophistitication, style, glamor...lip balm, lip boosters, lip conditioner, lip gloss, lip liner, lip plumper, lip primer. Arden's Red Door never considered  the gag reflex for a pearl necklace. That's elegant; I should use that line. She should use the makeup remober at the morning vefore she wake up to sleep. Sleeping veauty: a porcelain...gorgeous outside - empty inside. Was it Arden or Rubinstein? or Lauder? "Pleasure"...her perfume still lingers... memories from a vuried past. She used to call me but I let her go. She knows how to cuckook. I miss her Cannelloni and Lasagna.L'Italia del nonno... The land that he had to leabe...Nero, Caligula, Machiavelli, Dante's Inferno,The Borgias, Mussolini. Hiccup!... Who's going to bote for him? Re-election never sounded so good...

| Details | Political Poem | |

Gold Fever

Gold Fever 

History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race 
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry

Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness 
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed

To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control 
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population

History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro, 
Pray in silence to The Church

Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream

The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all

We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder

And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven

Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding

Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention

An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream 
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word

And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean 
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain

If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be

| Details | Political Poem | |

The Narcissistic Neanderthal

Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
     you  plunder through life taking no prisoners,
             with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
      tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
              What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your                                                       
      circumstance;  narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any                               
               tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede  integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free - 
      a lover of women among inept men, 
                but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with   
      runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.  
                So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting  shame,
       littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
                How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
        and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
                 From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,

I am free.

| Details | Political Poem | |

The Colour of Love

The Colour of Love

Kaleidoscope of spectrums
On the outside... looking in
There’s only one colour—Love—
Bound by prejudice.

Archaic transmutations
Bequeath this cancerous blight 
Upon each generation
For mass genocide.

Rose-coloured glasses can not
Tint the mind of the insane…
Only the revelation 
Of true love unveils.

deborahburch©
07/24/2012 

| Details | Political Poem | |

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

He Was Once a Politician

That's not my elephant! my father said to me
Mine is pink with wings, funnily, he likes to eat spaghetti
I think I'll call him Ella, named after a girl I knew
We danced at the 2nd graders ball, her dress was so see through

My father was once a politician, until his marbles began to set
I visit him as often as I can, introducing as if we'd just met
But somewhere in his confusion, he can recite The Bill of Rights
And once he does he smiles, to me he can still delight

As I turn to leave, to wave goodbye, in his eyes I see a tear
Still reciting The Bill of Rights, smiling from ear to ear
With Ella from the 2nd graders, he smiles in self triumphant
As he points towards the window, it's not pink, that's not my elephant!


| Details | Political Poem | |

Conversation

I saw you walking towards me and as you came near,
I became aware my bag was open and tried to subtly tuck it, closed under my arm.
You looked at me with a smile that said more than hello,
put your hands up beside your head, an exaggerated gesture of peace, and walked on.
I dropped my eyes.

You stayed with me all of that day.

I told you how small it made me feel, that you had seen your reflection in my eyes and recognised an altered image.
I apologised deeply for the fact that you saw this image, reflected a hundred times a day,
I wondered what that might do to me,
and understood your sarcasm, why you wanted me to feel ashamed,
and I told you that I did.

I recounted a story a man once told, about travelling and seeing a young boy,
with ice blue eyes, and blonde hair, cleaning the urinals he was about to use,
and how uncomfortable this made him,
not because there was someone cleaning the urinals,
but because, this someone had blue eyes, and blonde hair,
which meant the boy was better than him.
He realised he believed this,
as a sophisticated man,
and he didn’t know how to change it,
it was what he had always been told.

I remembered some one telling me,
she felt no shame in stealing from me,
because all I had, I only had through thievery.

I spoke about hearing a man talk to a crowded room,
saying that he acknowledged the fact,
that he only had what he had,
because others were deprived,
that he has benefited and continues to,
by standing on the backs of others who were forced onto their knees.
I remember a women in the crowd,
who thanked him,
with emotion heavy in her voice, she thanked him,
and told him he had healed a part of her,
by owning his privilege.
I wondered aloud what owning this meant,
and if it came with a responsibility.

I told you that I felt dirty,
when spoken to as if I were older than I am.

I remembered someone who I considered a friend,
telling me he would kill me, for skin alone,
if a civil war broke out.

I spoke to you about the woman,
who told me she was successful,
and she was educated,
and somehow it felt like, and was secretly considered, a betrayal,
a rejection of the self,
and sometimes she hated her success,
and that she was split inside herself.

I tried to make coherent sense of the many exchanges I have had,
with myself and others,
about shame, about guilt, about anger,
about silence,
about a solution,
and I cried,
we cried,
and I told you that I wished,
we could have this conversation.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

Hey, That's My Money

Well, I see that Congress is proposin' another trillion dollar spree!
Those inept buffoons must think money grows upon a tree!
The treasury is crankin' out bales of twenty-dollar bills,
Doin' their part to cure (and inflate) the nation's many ills!

Funds were 'loaned' to help carmakers, now they're hollerin' fer more!
A ton of dough was 'loaned' to banks, but ain't nobody keepin' score!
Millions was designated to help home foreclosures to abate.
Where has my money gone?  I've seen minimal results to date!

Funds are proposed fer more sand fer the beaches of New Joisey,
And city officials want a water park out west in frigid Boise!
Frenzied lobbyists are scurryin' about fer a portion of the pork,
To build an emergency landin' strip on the Hudson in New York!

Money is probably well-spent fer roads, bridges and agin' sewers,
But spare me the cost of subsidizin' sports arenas and sozzled brewers.
Lack of foresight by the banks and politicians got us in this mess,
Now they cover their boondoggles with my money, nonetheless!

Hordes of politicians gleefully gather at the bottomless trough,
Elbowin' others fer largesse they claim will make us better off.
Is there no end to compensatory spendin' and open-ended lendin'?
Hey!  That's my money you fellers are so very inept at spendin'!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

Failure

They are in meaningless session again
Not seeking to serve but to practice the deception
Not seeking to lead but to mislead
Taking black and white, creating gray
Don't wave that flag if you do not honor it
Oppression by omission. You have given
                  NOTHING
But rights to the dissidents and wrongs to the citizens
Hear me now
I cannot replace the spine you're missing
               ONE NATION UNDER GOD
If you cannot accept you cannot lead
If you cannot lead you are the problem
                    THE FAILURE
Authorizing condemnation and treason
Banning prayer and patriotism
Once filled with victory and pride
Now mired in failure
Represent or resign, serve or secede
Make a stand for once or fall forever
We no longer will tolerate
                   YOUR FAILURE
One nation UNDER GOD. 

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

BRAVO

Bravo!
His messages are always elaborative. We converse as if we know each other well. He is a famous poet on the Soup. He writes his verses with depth. Bravo, Richard Lamoureux you are one of the best! I like when you spread your wings to write a poetic text. His philosophy intrigues. His words are high literacy. Rick I will call him via commenting but he is such a Ricky through inner strength. Bravo, Richard Lamoureux for being the one I tribute! I love when your libretti smiles uplifting my spirit and making me feel worthwhile. He can be quite cynical. My respond is to explain some more. Richard is what I call him then. I know he is talking to me as a friend. Bravo, Richard Lamoureux! This is a tribute to you. I will close now. I hope you frame this and hang it high. Let the world know you shine. Your motivational and inspiratory poetic voice is precious. Bravo, Richard Lamoureux this tribute is to you! Continue to instigate; this encourages another to write. _____________________________________________| PENNED ON AUGUST 17, 2014!

Premium Member Poem | Details | Political Poem | |

How, When and Why


According to my neighborhood, 
(All experts on the topic), 
Opinions vary, none too good, 
One called it "Catastrophic". 

Exterminators sigh, refrain 
Condolences, I'm sorry. 
At City Hall, they're shocked, exclaim
They have no such Department 
 

To know that squirrels are running wild, 
I hear them as they scamper. 
An attic is a sacred place, 
Secure, not meant to tamper. 

Their next move, chewing all the wire 
And gnawing through the rafters. 
I hear them squeak a vermin's choir 
And hear my own crazed laughter. 

That life dare heave this final ho, 
But agents know thier timelines. 
The hours when the house is shown,
Their outdoor play, the best time.

I also left the scheduled due
When freight train horns will pass through.



Gene Bourne
08-26-14




.


| Details | Political Poem | |

Old Tea Bag

Such pleasure it gives yet thrown away
believe me it will happen to us all one day,
the only way out sadly is not alive
the secret being when in; how to survive,
my place of abode the teapot nice and round
in it one needs to ready the journey bound,
to leave one’s comfort zone mashed and up the spout
there’s always a way when need’s be; to get out!

© Harry J Horsman 2014

| Details | Political Poem | |

Enlightenment Births

 



                                 Reason in season.
                                Philosophers thrive.
                                    Ink flows free.
            


For the contest: Enlightenment 
Sponsored by:- Marvin Celestial 
7th Place

| Details | Political Poem | |

Aliens Choking on Oxygen

I was here I was here First I was here First Take a breath of oxygen Your choking on confidence The lights are on but you cant see Slit wrist Bleed You took my life from me Let us come back You stole the air we breath Let us come back I was here first Choking on oxygen I was here first Choking on oxygen I was here first Choking on oxygen You took my life from me Let us come back You stole the air we breath Let us come back Choking Like Aliens Choking on oxygen
to hear the song search youtube for "Aliens Choking on Oxygen" Heliosonic written by Sara Perle and Omar Masri

| Details | Political Poem | |

POLITICS

                             POLITICS


Propriety demands - we do not speak
Of others, either strong – or weak
Lest in the foray of the quest
Insiders, fall from grace, of safety’s nest
Take residence alongside taloned beast
Intent on making you the winner’s feast
Cloned puppets denying there are strings
Surrendering their truth to cell phone rings.


John G. Lawless
8/26/2014
for Judy Konos
How’s Your Acrostic? contest

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Blàr Chùil Lodair - The Battle Of Culloden

16th April 1746
The day a country ceased to exist
British Army, Hanoverian scum
Defeated our Jacobite's
Scotland is on the run
 
Our Tartans banished, bagpipes no more
To lead our troops, to frighten the foe
Cumberland's men hunt us down
In every village and every town
Massacred, slaughtered
Wiped from our earth
Erased from the country of our birth
 
2000 men died to fight for their right
Against the British Armies might
Cameron's MacDonald's and Fraser's slain
Many other Clans, population drained
The survivors facing Hanoverian bans
Led to
The Scattering of the Clans
 
The Clan Chiefs lands, vast and many
Asset stripped, taken by the enemy
Alleged traitors tried, treason their crime
As Hanoverian Scum, on our riches dine
 
In the aftermath, many Scots left their shores
To distant lands to open new doors
Many writers on here
On their Ancestors scan
You may be here, because of
The Scattering Of The Clans


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php

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The List

The List

I was waiting by my mailbox
To hear news from the Soup
I know they like to keep me
Somewhere, in the loop
I couldn’t wait to see, ME !
Somewhere at the top
Of The Hundred best read poems
That reader's thought were Hot

While I nestled in my chair
Took my subtle writers pose
With my thumb under my chin
And my finger, side my nose
I started to peruse 
The list presented clear
While looking for My Name
I found it wasn’t there

Perhaps an over site
Could sure explain, a lot
They failed to read, the comments
And all the praise, I got
But then, it came to me
Those guys are really smart
My poems are so good
There’re simply off the charts 

                                           By JTCurtis  


| Details | Political Poem | |

The Devil's Advocators

Politics is a dirty game,
So indeed is religion --
One screws with your mind,
The other with your soul;
One promises heaven on earth,
The other, heaven after death!

Trust not these savvy pundits,
These breeders of
the ghosts and the goblins,
These keepers of
the deities and the demons.

Like leeches they'll
latch on to your fears
and to your gullibility,
Until they have sucked
you dry of your free will,
Your aspiration, 
Your wealth.
Oh, what not they'll do
to restrain your free spirit,
Bogging you down with
your fears and your guilt.

Seen open are
their murky minds,
Seen open are
their shallow ideals,
Seen open are
their cheating hearts;
They tout love, freedom, peace
wherever they go,
Yet spawn nothing but
hatred, violence, misery.

One is politically religious,
The other, religiously political!