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Long poem by Elaine George | Details |

Tea and Poetry in the Ides of March - PART ONE


Beneath a misty veil of ‘Euphoria’ by Calvin Klein, she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of wanna-be Literary Giants who are members of an elite writer’s group, as she drives along a winding road studded with potholes smaller than most of the ones that have rutted most of the roads she has traveled in the past—

Potholes created by a harsh environment that made it impossible for her to move in a straight line. Potholes so big, that at the age of 16, they forced her to detour from University Row to the foot of King in Saint John, New Brunswick, where at the end of the road, she found a way to earn a living working in a tea factory; where her ring finger was nearly severed as her dreams of a better life gushed red streams, high into the air with every beat of her heart.

Where through the eye of a needle, her life hung by a thread, a life-line that pulled her back from blackness as pain radiated in that pulsating flesh, as those rough edges were forced back together behind a fence of snipped, spiky, black barbs (remnants of that thread), left to remind her there was no escaping from the foot of King.

Yet she was grateful. 

Grateful she had survived.

Grateful she was able to return to work the following day to operate a machine that required using her feet instead of her hands.

Grateful  she still had a job and a roof over her head after the door to the place she once called home locked her out and left her to lie in a lumpy bed in the seediest part of the city in a dilapidated rooming house with all the luxuries a minimum wage could buy.

 It was winter and the room was cold. 

With her can of stove-oil having long-since gone up in smoke, she put her coat on and pulled the thin bed-covers over her. 

In the gloom,  she saw a ray of light (a small white slip of paper) lying on the rickety nightstand (a doctor’s prescription) yet unfilled that would have to wait until next payday. 

 Eventually those black barbs were pulled out, one by one, from their crusted, ***** pockets, by a doctor who told her not to be such a baby as her screams ran out into the waiting room. 

She relives these visions, as she has a thousand times before as she rounds the bend on Regional Road 45 that runs between soggy mud-clad fields covered in pig manure from where a willow weeps tiny green leaves in this record-breaking heat of March. And she wonders how something so beautiful can grow from something so ugly. 

And she knows why the willow weeps as she contemplates this strange phenomena in the Ides of March and chooses (like Caesar) to ignore the warning signs. And like the willow, she bends in order to follow the winding road; her hands gripping the steering wheel until…

The wide shank of her wedding band (designed to cover the past), catches on the thick, calloused scar tissue of her ring finger, reminding her again of who she really is. 

 And she asks herself, how she dares to dream of acceptance in a world of intellects, when the truth is she never even finished high school.

But she did graduate from a Bookkeeping program at Vancouver City College, when she was 22, and took all those night school courses while she worked during the day.  

What about all those correspondence Law courses she took when she was in her thirties (graduating with honours) and the night courses she took while  working in an insurance office to become a Licensed Insurance Broker? Surely they must count for something? 

 Yes! But you didn’t graduate from University; no prestigious initial follow your signature, and the only Master’s degree you can claim is ‘A Master’s degree in Disguise,’ says the little voice inside as sweat begins to leak through the foundation of the Revlon mask she wears today in an attempt to cover the thin skin these intellects will otherwise surely see through.

“But I have proof I am worthy of their acceptance,” she replies. Sitting there on the seat beside me, in my briefcase is my self-published book of poems; some of which have won International Poetry Awards and money, some that have been published in other books and magazines. Surely that is enough.

Up ahead, an enormous metal, hexagon-shaped, red flag wearing white letters says STOP. She stops and looks in all directions and, seeing no danger, crosses the point of no return to an afternoon of tea and poetry with what she hopes are birds of a feather.

***
CONTINUED IN PART TWO...


Long poem by evrod samuel | Details |

The City And The State Of Play Today

THE CITY AND THE STATE OF PLAY TODAY

No one worries about morals today 
They follow the rules they create
So to them all is ok
Those on the outside looking in 
Are the only ones feeling queasy 
As avarice and selfishness triumphs
So easily 

Good corporate citizens they claim to be
Industry awards abound on their walls
As thank you tokens from themselves
Yet society harbours a lot of ill-will
As it feels the often brute force of 
The raid
 Grab 
And destroy mentality
Of people only wishing to make money 
Any which way 
While Using up all of society’s communal resources

Sharks abound
The waters are forever bloody as they 
Know no fraternity and would gladly 
Cannibalize anyone with no influence 
The ability to upend competitors
A cherished characteristic 
In a bullish machismo drenched environment 

Bullet proof psyches
Absorb and repel any pangs
About unfairness
Blocking any regulatory or chattering classes’
Attempt at nirvana and equality 
They employ better paid lobbyist 
So always have the upper hand 
In influencing policy 

The gravitational attraction of money 
Towards another even bigger pot of money 
Numbs any cautionary instinct
That would take a long term view 
The thrill of instant riches
Overpowers common sense 
And even decency 
Fat cats they all wish to be 

The slickness of glossy tongued lobbyist
Who spin wrongs till they become rights
Embolden oestrogen low males with no inbuilt brakes
To take risks that eventually cost them disgrace 
They are champions of graft not of society 

Loopholes in legislation
That were built in by too friendly politicians 
Coupled with ambiguous suits and claims
Cause far reaching hardship when the good old days are long gone 
The villains only muster some phantom national pride
 When begging for a lighter sentence 
Some are forgiven
Others fatally wounded by an unforgiving public

Lots of money can be made both legally and illegally
As one racket is closed another materialises instantly
The conveyor belt of dishonesty
Overwhelms bureaucracy 
Who is not David to the goliath that is money

The ethos is wealth
The acquisition and the maintaining of gains
Not often acquired through hard work
There is no limit of acceptable financial comfort
For the millionaire always wants to be a billionaire
And the mega rich super rich

Money must always be hidden from the taxman
Shareholders want tax free dividends
Investors want tax breaks for buying with other people’s money 
Infrastructure and new runways must be built 
But not from the pocket of those who wish it 

With their hands outstretched
And always wanting more and more
From a government too eager to please 
We have a tax system geared to the advantage of party donors
And non-domiciled moguls and tycoons
Who know no philanthropy unless it is tax efficient 

Disadvantaging society by  
Never paying their fair and moral share 
The largess they reap so selfishly
They wish not to share 
Wages are low
Taxes are nil
Only the investor wins as we pay his bills

Fast paced expansionist dogma
Is preached within city limits
Only the highest paid
The biggest company
The greatest profits
Are allowed 
They are held up as ideals that all who
Wish to succeed must follow
Gunslingers they all appear to be
Rushing in to capitalize on the wanton success of their peers
The cloud of misery left behind 
Is never seen for the look forward 
Never backward 
Hindsight is never welcomed in this parasitic environment 

The political will to weed out these reckless demons
Is lukewarm at best 
The revolving door of government creating opportunities
For industry and industry gratefully accepting politicians post government 
Ensures that self-interest is king 

An economy built on flawed assumptions of wealth creation
Is one that must forever be in hyper-drive
Creating ever expanding demand and supply 
That is as real as a thief’s conscience 
When taking the rings off a dead persons fingers 

Money must always be made for 
There is no alternative 
Wealth is good
Poverty to them is laziness

The city is not the heart and soul
Of the nation
It is but one player in a system skewed in its favour
We all must share in the wealth of this country
To ensure its longevity  


Long poem by Brian Terry | Details |

The Debate

A Debate

The Atheist
I see no reason for a god
Indeed for any type of god at all
I look around at all the churchmen
The pompous richly dressed ones
And wonder what their founder would have thought
And then at the other end
The shabby unpretentious lot
More primitive, more fundamental and literal
They have however one thing in common
Unshakeable belief in their virtue 
and in their God who’s always there
Despite the evils and the sorrows in this world
They prate so endlessly
About sin
Sin as defined 
in their narrow mind
They cheerfully pray that we can overcome some other systems of belief
by force sometimes.
How can they justify the killing and the torture of other humans?
by their beliefs they are all God’s creatures.
Nobody knows for sure how life was started
But from a simple single cell
We evolved until we’re here
But few accept the clear evidence for evolution
And what about the soul
Of which they speak
What is it?
Where did it come from?
Where does it reside in us?
Where does it go?
Or does it die with us?
That’s if it’s there at all

The Agnostic
But my friend you’re just as bad
Your position, or as so stated, is rigid and admits no other view
I’m with you
I also reject the Churches
They are only human constructs
And have been a source of evil
I don’t know if there is a God
A personal God who cares for us
Or any other sort of god
But until I know for sure
I keep an open mind
Where did we come from?
Again I do agree with you
Why did the first cells appear and how?
I do believe and have some evidence
That there is something in our nature
Which yearns for more
Is this a soul?

The Theist
You really are quite wrong
The simplest hypothesis
The one with least assumptions
Is that something outside of us
Maybe two string theory ‘branes
By chance collided
And brought our universe into being.
Or maybe some vast, uncaring intelligence
Caused in some way unknown creation and then
Left uncaring, uninterested.
If there is an environment friendly to some form of life
It seems to start but we do not know why or how

The Believer
This cannot be
My holy book tells all
There is a God
He cares for us
It says so right here
He created all
Us and the animals
And gave us dominium overall
You worry about the sin and suffering
You cannot know God’s purpose
How dare you take HIS holy name in vain
All three of you will burn in hell


The wives
We didn’t marry for philosophical debate
We married, as we thought for love
He spends all day and often all night
Thinking about, what to us, is unthinkable
What about us?
What is our function?
Is it just to cook and clean?
To run the houses?
To do the shopping?

We all decided that this was not good enough
We started to go together to dinners and to dances
We each met a man we called them Hedonist
They made us laugh and feel like girls again
And then one day
We found there were not four Hedonists but one!
This was a shock
But after long and painful talks
We decided that we didn’t care
And would just share.
After all we did not love him
Nor he loved us
We all became friends but with privileges
But never more than one at once!

The Hedonist
I listen to them talk
Their weighty conversation
It is so bloody boring
Never any realisation.
I do not concern myself with such considerations
Life is far too short
And anyway I’ve got to know their wives
Such fun
They are bored stiff with their deliberations
And bored indeed in bed
So one by one I’ve wined them
So one by one I’ve dined them
So one by one I’ve danced with them
And one by one I’ve slept with them
There’s Stella, Dorothy, Abigail and Claire
They set the rules
No commitment
Just good fun
Fine by me
As long as nobody gets serious

At that so important final moment
They don’t cry out
To:
A random quantum fluctuation
Or an entity full of hesitation
Or then a again a being so barren
Or even worse a jealous god, primitive man’s last bastion
But no
They shriek out loud
Sometimes my name
Or sometimes it’s just Oh you bastard!
Or sometimes it’s just Oh you animal!
Or now and again Please stop O stop you devil
Then I know my duties done




Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

The Stricken Corridor

Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees 
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.

The night rain wet the ground with sadness 
washing  away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of  its infectious dew
And  I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again. 

I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up 
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.

An unknown burden overshadowed  me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.

I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a  plausible answer 
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that 
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.

I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves  spreading out on the troubled ground 
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor 
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.

A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of  freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom. 
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around. 

I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water 
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely  dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.

I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for  a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed  and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.


I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties 
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.

As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he  illustrates his painful story.

He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where 
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform  where the wedding ceremony
was about to  take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            ©2014 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

THE NATURE OF THINGS

The Nature of Things

Birds ATE Worms,
Worms Tilled Soil,
Frogs ATE Flies,
Bees Made Honey,
Fish ATE Worms,
People ATE Fish,
Cats ATE Fish
Butterflies and bees
Pollinated.
Grass Grew, and the
Dandelions flew
al aroun' all aroun'
and Were Welcomed,
Life was simple back then.
Preying Mantis fought.
Snails made slime.

And the green grass
Still grew sublime
The trees bowed in dignity
and neutralized  the
Pollutants in THE AIR...
Then gave US the Oxygen
we breathed,
and the red clover grew
all aroun' all aroun'
Even the rocks did their part ,

Filtered the water and trickled

it down,to well up Into Springs...

Purified...and the red clover grew

all aroun' all aroun'

That was the nature of things...

when men loved naturally.

Until the disorder.

Who ordered the disorder.

If you if you do not know now.

Oh well!

I won't Tell --To bad for us all.

All I know, It was not that long ago

OK, I Will Tell ..it is

M o N S A N TO...Monsanto !

Now what we gonna do,

wait for our Karmic potion?

What goes around comes around...

and the red clover is

no longer all over-

and the green grass no longer grows

all aroun' all aroun'..

"Round up I would say.

"Agent Orange", the other nay

Every dog will have his day,

stay out the way

of other peoples karma .                                                                                                                             
Always ring the

alarm when you see

or smell harm

believe in your Intuition.

This is my last poem

In which I will speak

of times past,or will

I speak of blue skies

and babbling brooks.

I will tell you that truth

was written in books.

I will speak of air raids,and braids.

I will tell you how we went from

Empresses and Queens to slaves,

and from Stewards and

Kings to our graves.

I will inform you that people need

to get back on the right tract.

Will ask you to find your

dignity and take it back.

I will ask you to be vigilantes,

and stand up. Before we all fall down.

Before no more green

grass grows allaroun', allaroun'

I would ask you to draw lines and never

let anyone cross your boundaries.

I would tell you that the

herbs and the vegetables

were our medicine,study them

and get to know them again.

I would implore you to

question everything.

You are more than able

And never follow the crowd.

read the labels

We use to have Songs like

Black and Proud, or War by war.

War (uuugh) "What is it good for"

I would say so much to you

and send this hug to you.


Today I might be dead

and gone, but call on my spirit

and I will come.

Blood Sweat n Tears sang

"there will be one child born...to carry on"

Know that this battle can be won.

And no matter what

stay true to the real you,

whenever in doubt

Shout...the ancestors out ...

We are only a dimension away.

And that my friends is...

"The Nature of Things ".


Long poem by John lawless | Details |

I CAN'T BREATHE - a rant

I CAN’T BREATHE

I am being suffocated by causes.
Will we march Quixote-like
enraged by the spinning of the windmills?
We protest the wars carrying placards
while expecting others to carry arms,
praise God and worship Jesus while
condemning all others to eternal damnation.
How many would offer to abort – an abortion –
by offering to adopt the child at birth,
feed the hungry at their own kitchen table,
stage a “die-in” in the lobbies of academia
demanding they empty their cash filled
endowment accounts – and give to the poor,
clothe the naked, drill wells for the thirsty.
In our effort to “Celebrate Diversity” are we
selectively excluding those who are just
too diverse for us?  Must we sacrifice our
history and culture on the altar of inclusiveness?
Perhaps, in time, our exhalations will become
toxic to an environment devoid of trees to
balance our co-dependent existence.
Why are the rights of the 1% minority less
important than those of the 99% who claim
to be in the majority.  Are not politicians corrupt
by the very nature of the political power structure?
Should we vote blindly because we do not
listen – only hear what we want to hear,
sit in the eye of the hurricane of apathy
warning all of the dangers outside of it,
tax the poor to fund programs for the poor,
subsidize farmers to grow less to keep the
prices high, rail against compromises in
the privacy laws while posting our lives
on Face Book, twitter, and u-tube.
Have we forgotten the cries of the oppressed:
“No more genocides, no more holocausts”,
turned our backs, averted our eyes
lest we see the horror we negligently condone.
Will we black out all our bumper stickers,
discard all of our tee shirts, assist the
elderly shopper in reaching the high shelf,
pick up after our pets – or even more
spiritually – pick up after someone else,
speak to the disheveled panhandler –
if only briefly - to say good morning,
contribute more than money and
three cans of tuna to the food drive,
assist voters to the polls regardless
of their political leanings, allow those
who do not see our concerns as having
any real value their opinion.  Will we(I)
be their when the marches are over,
the media bored with the cause, the
placards torn and faded, the enthusiasm
waning as work, school, exams, life –
and the living of it – move us back to
the eye of the maelstrom, the safety of
conformity, the “peace” of acquiescence.

Or will we scream each morning
“LET US BREATHE”.  Let us breathe
life and passion and power into our
day, reach out and “BE CAUSE”,
stay the course lest the ship lose
it heading, run aground on the shoals
of false satisfaction at how involved
we were, how much we accomplished.

Will we breathe the breath of truth,
of freedom, of love, of peace, of unity
across this land reaching to the shores
and forests of our world, reaching to
touch the hand of that stranger
who lives next door.


John G. Lawless
12/13/2014 



Long poem by Nsamu Moonga | Details |

The One I Love The One who Love Me

It is a Sunday morning.

The day before was still,

yet eventful and surprising:

sacredness met in holy places

and inspired persons.

Petrified trees and slave traders’ bedrooms;

cattle grazing and the ancient one sleeping.

The quiet sounds of lit boats by night,

and the sounds of men returning home

to meet with the people they love –

those who love them.

They sing and dance around their catches.

The wind carries the sounds miles on end,

conspiring to bring home love never possessed.

 

The one who loves me never says goodbye.

I am lullabied by the twinkling of the boat lights,

an assortment of colours.

I am awakened by the voice of the one who loves me –

The one I love –

in the sound of the waves of the lake;

the colour of the lake speaks primordial presence.

 

‘Good night’ and ‘good morning’ are not words any more.

They contain the eternal call to 

being still and knowing that where I am is eternal Presence.

I am here to learn how to be human as if for the first time.

I am drawn back to the place

where I learned to walk and talk;

the place where I learned to love and laugh;

the place where I learned to live and leave;

I learned to query and question;

search and never be satisfied by little.

 

The one who loves me – the one I love –

has known this journey even before it began,

long before I imagined it.

It began in eternity and ends nowhere.

 

I arise to the awareness that love is 

not for the knowing.

It is in the little awe at the 

sight of the vastness of a lake;

hearing the sound of the morning wind,

the sound of the waves knocking on the

door of the lake;

delighting in the brightness of the colours of the birds;

in holding on to the fear of otherness in

animals we call wild;

in the cuddle of the one who loves me –

the one I love;

in a mother embracing her child to security;

in the fright due to a sinking boat;

in the courage of a night-time fisherman;

in the drunkenness of a dreaming young man;

in the playfulness of a kapenta seller;

the closeness of a child on mother’s back;

the silences of the winding roads;

the inquisitiveness of a little child;

in the confidence of a babe;

in the enjoyment of song and dance of a grown-up man;

in the pleasure of friendship;

the communion of family;

the embrace of loving spouses;

in the laughter of young lovers;

in the trust of daring divers;

the sacrifices of trench diggers;

the freshness of cold drinking water;

shared dreams and fears;

the strength of the dam walls;

trusting the bridge will hold you;

the welcome of the shrines;

the generosity of those we love;

the daring of the swimming child;

the warnings of crocodiles and hippos;

the heat and the sweating;

the savour of food and drink;

in the beautiful places and the ugly;

the contrast between pools and the lake;

the pain of returning to business as usual;

the tear on parting…

 

The one I love –

and the one who loves me –

truly never says goodbye.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Alligator Charm

She maneuvers gracefully without fins or flippers
creating no ripples in deep blue waters
sneaking calmly upon jittery preys
and disguise herself in the middle of the day

A sudden thrust from beneath the fog
she buries herself under a leafless log
with open jaws and gigantic teeth 
aiming directly at a block of meat 

Drifting towards his muddy feet
abruptly a bird landed on her choppy back
scaring away her most prized prey 
shouts and screams echoes from dreams
and she waits patiently the entire day

Many lessons to be learnt 
many concepts to understand 
but this deadly creature continues to expand
laying eggs in every corner
and breeding in every type of temperature 

Silent river swells beyond the challengers might
spanning more than ten thousand meters deep
rocky mountains or dry land 
no one can understand this poisonous creature's plan

Swollen lymph nodes crawl silently a shore
while thousands of optimistic hunters 
drift mystically to the center
pursuing the bloodthirsty alligator

She breath venomous substance in the air
threatening countless life far and near
smiling and waiting patiently
to capture her stalwart preys 
who have missed the track
and have gone astray

On the shore you are powerful and strong
but in the water you appear less than a man
maybe a sardine or a paedocypris progenetica fish
but you are on the menu for the evening dish

You have been running around seeking for answers
but turn to God your only friend and  honest partner
spend time with him for a day
listen carefully to what he has to say
and he will show you the way

Exuberant vegetation in or near the water's 
This is where she enjoys privacy and peace 
In the early morning and daylight hours
she lies flat on her stomach
waiting for you to cross 
do not intrude or surprise her
less she rip your pride apart

She lies in an open space with gigantic jaws agape
You could never tell that she is waiting for a significant prey
She camouflage and blend with the environment 
drink French wine, eat ice-cream, lasagna and Kebab 
enjoys family fun parks and modern entertainment

She is aggressive from March throughout September 
and fires up energy from the heat of the sun 
if you approach her during this time 
you are bound to loose your mind

Why should she hunt for food all night?
When she can just open her mouth without a fight
she will sit there for several hours and wait for you
And without warning capture you in her sticky throat

Father gator has taught her one thing
the best way to catch her prey
is to be friend with him
you can use a bait-hook  or a trip-snare trap
but she will never fall into that useless wrap

She doesn’t have to hunt all night
she can swallow you in broad daylight
raw fish and beef lungs If she gets you 
               You'll be done
 
                                                   ©2013 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Increments

A thousand myriad voices           scattered on the wind
decry the human suffering questions will it end
tents in desert dustbowls        waiting upon the rain
lives molded in emptiness     how long can they sustain
 
Pandemic the diseases          a viral biology
man himself constructed          in tubes technology
outpouring chemicals     no plant life can escape
pillaging our resources         our planets incumbent rape
 
The corporations interest    aim profits in their greed
a force it must maintain             your pocket book exceed
desires  that are mercenary    have plans to you expunge
trash outstrips the landfills     the poor in countries plunge
 
The maintenance of property     with empty homes in rot
homeless children hungry   sleep in a parking lot
media insinuates                     you need be owning more
earning of the dollar          the dream you're living for
 
I have seen starvation          exists a different kind
a famine of affection     to others needs be blind
hedonistic pleasures          force decisions to ignore
repercussions down the road     contaminates hardcore
 
The disappearing species          on land and in the sea
ones  we've not discovered   may know them never be
chem. caused deformities               in humans also plants
cancer causing agents    saturating our advance
 
Facilities  explosions            toxic substances are spread
how much can nature take                 before our planets dead
we all have mankind's mind     we know where this will end
to destruct this machine                on man we can't depend
 
Aspartame and PCB's     nitrites not a few
pollution of the food supply        detriments not new
the really scary thing           as this accumulates
greater will its impact be       if prevention waits
 
As mans wars continue        a plan for our demise
we barely see the surface        that our governments disguise
there's a conspiracy      our morality to drown
if you hold to virtue                  their aim to take you down
 
In streaming videos          what's immoral implant
willingly absorb them            its profession is extant
the onslaught overwhelming          the pressure to conform
if you don't run with them        you aren't considered norm
 
The barrage of information           to absorb your time
new gaming now is free        to keep your mind online
even I use this tool         to reach inside your thought
every truth you hear            is seeking to be caught
 
here little there little           every piece in place
to clean up our planet     must destructive thought replace
errors inclination       mans  programming like a map
where is the intervention        to spring us from this trap
 
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

To The Youth

To The Youth Of The 21st century 2011
12/03/20110 Comments
 

The under 30 crowd needs to check the over 40 crowd, what kind of mess are they leaving these struggling young folks in...Still teaching them that Materialism, Hedonism and Egoism, is the order of the day ,never taking up the cause.      " "Yeah Party over here"."shake your booty", spend your money on Gucci, and do not forget to blame the youth. Tell them lies  about being good, tell them go to college and go to church.Then you will get a good job, and you wont be beat down, or go to one of those new prisons they are building for you. You teach them to Ignore facts,and speak only opinions,opinions like. "remember boys and girls...all authorities are not all bad"   I remember even as a  burn victim,in the middle of my pain: I remember the fireman pushing up on me. I felt so vulnerable, I couldn't even talk..memories of that,overrides the pain. The point is they take advantage of the vulnerable so why mention the few that might be good, causing guards to go down.  Like they did with the pedophile priest and the people never rose up. Pretending things were normal kept children in harms way,basically no one wanted to leave their comfort zone.

How many hangings and killings, abuse of authority will the masses contend with before the truth is owned ? Younger ones watching the Older ones passing down those Step and Fetch -it...messages ; Cowards, blaming the youth.When they should be asking them for forgiveness for dropping the ball. But instead they drop opinions,ignoring facts... and blame the youth for acting, like they act. This generation is left out in the cold. Trying to survive a new war with outdated ammunition. This is to my young people...I love you...I will never give up on you; But do not amuse yourself to death .Find your serious side,In serious times....take care of your business and then have fun!

This environment is friendly. Organize survival groups... learn to ignore the losers. Use your Wisdom And intuition.Pay attention to details... and know your enemy. Do not react to buzz words...know what " Buzz words" are.! We shall talk later on that ! ...Oh ..Never ever disrespect the givers of life.. your MOTHERS SISTERS OR YOUR WIVES...Even if she's the worse woman you have ever seen. Never rape,or delight in others pulling trains.Take your rightful place. As leaders, remember, most of your road was paved by slaves. Slaves who could barely read if they could read at all!  Not much has changed knowledge was even lost!  You need to know how to plant and grow. Entrepreneurship is what you need to know. OK ok ! we shall talk later. love. love love...No ego, no hedonism,no materialism. Remember do not "humor yourself to death".


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