La Noche sin agua --- I spill my loving lips
Dancing, laughing and celebrating life
I am his queen, aka' dulce Nina
A night he must not forget
Lunesta ... Suave ...
He savors every moment;
Then questions my capabilities
Suddenly I feel like a refugee in my own house!
History and bad company, repeating itself
He wants to ruin the beauty of leadership
America on top, Latinos on the bottom
"Legally," he says, he'll welcome me
Law abiding, I pass the proper speech
Stereotyped every time I share my race
Casting my poor nationality under the Rio Grand,
A wall too tall, in which my people continue to build
After I give him my all
Children, love, support
The best tortillas in the house
He offends a lifetime of memories
I'm a skillful woman, I dance with no music
I love to work, I take the field
Picking cotton, like there's no tomorrow
I will continue to paint rainbows
And enjoy every color in my garden.
Today, I've forgotten what Mexico looks like
However, that does not cut him from
accusing my race of planting too many trees
Calculating, calling Latinos criminals,
Forgetting his own sin, he wants to win
Insinuating we're robbing the American Dream
This is where I belong!!!
Go ahead and build more republicans
I'm already on the side I want to be
Born and raised in the USA
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
"A Broken Demo"
In a desperate cry for help
She hires every jeweler
A cheap sheep crying, Wolf!
Using old repeating politic
utilizing lies * manipulation
To cover the Glass Paste on her face
Diamond-like - Stonecold and Crooked!
Her true shape -- unveiled -- predictable
A Thief Among The Mines
In a world where certainties are few---
A shallow cut - with high class
no shape --- no spark, a dark mass
Smashing success when opportunity hits
The worst gem in disguise
The diamonds in her eyes -- gone -- expired
If you look, you will see
A twisted reflection in her evil grin
A sinister smile -- waiting to win
Her Vice - a victim --- her puppet
blind * believing her lies
Cutting the light performance -
-Without realizing most see past her history
We the people are more than a cubic step
Lighting the madness of her soul
Just remember, every day she sits on her pedestal
Without a twinkle --- she stares into night
Knowing nothing she stands for is right
Innovation - incomplete
A man-made she-demon trying to wear white
Like the swan, dying every night
She refused to hear the trumpet play
A new moon soon will open our eyes
EXPOSED --- Diamond CUT
Hillary Will Not Be President
#The Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
Snow is falling and floods are flowing,
people dying and children keep crying,
but he's just an ordinary man,
sitting there watching TV.
Icebergs melting and penguins starving,
men in suits talking and big guns firing,
but he's just an ordinary man
playing on his smartphone.
Storms blowing and seas are raging,
children starving and refugees leaving,
but he's just an ordinary man
at home warm and free.
He seems confused,
Daffodils no longer bloom in Spring,
bumble bees have stopped buzzing,
butterflies have stopped floating,
confused birds have stopped flying and
factories have plumes of smoke burning,
but he's just an ordinary man
sitting in his garden all alone.
So who is he to fight?
He just follows the rules he is told.
Instead of trying to be something he is not.
Because he is just an ordinary man.
The Silent One
11 January 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
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.
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.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
Undone for all to see ... human fellowship, peace created
Every life has a beginning ~ brothers and sister
regardless of color or disease
For all the beauty that haunts our dreams
Can we turn the truth ... something more clearly
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
written on time’s page
with finite syllables of dust
he spelled my heritage
from earth to sky
along an umbilical line of faith
we fluttered from the lips of fingers
fully form for purpose
written on an invisible calculus
that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa mind
I have an argument
against the beginning begotten from a bang
before atom or element
I have an argument against force and natural laws
at work without mass or embodiment
for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
I have an argument
that the singularity could not become more than fragment
of energy again if a single atom explode
its forces flocking away from fusion
for energy fission to explode
flimsy as spiders web
dethroning my majesty gulped
in primeval slime unlinked history from love
minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering
the whip cracks louder than pain -
and on our black blistered backs … crumbling
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain
they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
for all our labors, lost, and grievance
what bang can buck the strain
and bring us broken souls to glory again?
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
No matter with
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!
Copyright © Bassam Aljasem | Year Posted 2012
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.
Copyright © Anna Lee Stedman | Year Posted 2012
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
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
It is there with them
Is where you should be
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008
From a dark angry cloud
By a storm wild and loud
On history's hardest rock
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
From a leaf, to swell
The hill down, and tell
My victory in the sea
Tell me history from the sea
Short as wounded memory
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.
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2011
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
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
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
One nation UNDER GOD.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007
Man so mighty and wise
still has to define this
that another living being's life
has the same value as his
written in stone
these highest places
where power reigns
gripping so tightly
draining the meaning
out of good intention
Those stones are weeping
as grass grows quietly around the edges
are best listed
to be used like lines in the sand
some seen on the skin
most are though beneath
a cross marking
this land of the free
that the privileged paid for
from sea to sea
with the lives of lesser men
and their women
up for "grabs"
best when big breasted
beautiful and begging
feeding their daughters
dreams of a better tomorrow
when that white clenched fist
stops squeezing her tits
lips against her
drooling over her
in her ear
What lines of defense
Those lines lie on paper
written, signed and etched by those
elected and chosen
statesmen stating authority over your body
serving their purpose
the good Word stenciled in stone
carved out in flesh
swept under the rug
serving their purpose
as grass grows quiety around the edges
Keeping their hands clean
they wipe their mouths red
blood on their stained sleeves
the polish from their shiny shoes sully
stripped of the value they once held
when they stiched us all together
and brought so many strangers home
How white clenched fists
hold power and privelege
held so high in esteem
like our stars
the threads shaking
as if stripped naked
and forced to wave
above that Capitol Hill
holds a tattered gown
Copyright © Sarah ROSEN | Year Posted 2017
The Pied Piper from New York City – Part Two
This is quite despicable and very inappropriate for someone holding the
“Highest Office in Our Land.” The Pied Piper hides his treachery by
Wrapping himself in the glory of the “Stars and Stripes.” Talk about
True shame! He should look in the mirror!
The “Forgotten Man” who represents those who fell prey to the inflated
Promises and mindless propaganda of The Pied Piper, should not at all
Be surprised later when they suddenly discover—they’ve been “had,”
Sadly, forgotten by their Pied Piper,
Replete with his famous Trademark Attributes:
A shrill-accusatory voice.
The Pied Piper, as new-style politician, is also mired in some other
key controversies with his family that are worth mentioning.
Since coming to Washington, DC and ascending to the White House
on January 20, 2017:
The Pied Piper and his family have viewed the nation’s capital and
the people’s house as,
“Luscious Juicy Plums—Ripe for the Picking!”
And, the Pied Piper’s various plans and actions since his ascension
to the presidency are certainly not done necessarily in favor of the
American people—if at all!
Characteristically, he enjoys playing to people’s “Fears,” rather
than taking the higher road that any good leader would do, by
appealing to the “Better Angels of Their Nature.” For sure, an
Abraham Lincoln, he’s not, nor shall he ever be!
Indeed, the Piped Piper has done some very naughty things,
among others, already to his credit and ignominy:
His poorly-conceived and implemented Muslim travel ban.
Playing “Chicken” with the U.S. Congress on the state and
quality of American healthcare.
Using the White House as his own personal ATM machine.
Becoming the “Patron Saint of Nepotism” with the inclusion
of select family members on his staff. (What’s wrong with a
little nepotism, eh?)
Engulfed in multiple business conflicts of interest, both foreign
Revelations of potential collusion with Russia and Russian
surrogates to interfere with the 2016 presidential election.
Blatant violations of the Emoluments Clause of the U.S.
And he’s just now quashed executive branch protection of the
DACA Dreamer Immigrant Program.
All these very naughty things are: tragic, thoughtless, sad, stupid,
and grossly reprehensible!
With all this, I now rest my case!
Yet, I would like to encourage everyone to reflect for a
critical moment on “The Fragile Nature of Democracy.”
“Democracy,” itself, has been viewed and likened to:
“That Most Precious Fabergé Egg.”
We all must devoutly cherish this most precious Fabergé Egg
And protect it always from the unscrupulous actions of the
Pied Pipers of the World!
For us to do otherwise—would be unforgivable!
Need I say more?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2017 (Political Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017
Tiptoe, tiptoe, what they say is not what they say it is . . .
Cameras rolling, take one, action!
“How stupid can you be? You’re fired!”
He told a judge quite candidly.
In take two, from his office on Fifth Avenue,
He tweeted, “Nobody has more respect
For women than I do.”
On take three
During a press conference,
“We’ll blow terrorist Al-Baghdadi
Out of existence.”
Then he stood, saluted the flag, and
Ordered General “Mad Dog” to protect the land.
Tiptoe, tiptoe, what they say is not what they say it is . . .
They say Doomsday is coming,
Polar caps are melting,
An asteroid just missed us today
Iranians want a bomb
To explode in Armageddon,
And North Korea tested
A long-range missile yesterday.
Both sides are wrong...
Beware, or pay dearly,
To the victor belongs the spoils,
For in the land of the free and
Home of the braves,
A new boss man's in town
Fake news on display...bad men raining down
Tiptoe, tiptoe, what they say is not what they say it is . . .
The boss is riding, guns ablaze, shooting at the sun,
Stirring up flames all across America, Russia, and China—
The whole world’s wondering, who's this character?
Wake up and smell the coffee!
“He's the forty-fifth President today,
Top dog in Washington,
Who can activate the nuclear bomb.”
With the greatest memory around...
He says America will be great again
Then placed a ban on Muslims coming in.
He made it clear to Peña Nieto,
Bad hombres must go,
That a wall on the border
Will stop the illegal immigrant flow
Tiptoe, tiptoe, what they say is not what they say it is…
Copyright © Arturo Michael | Year Posted 2017
Paul, Peter and the Tweeter
Why not choose,
a billionaire leader?
One who is not
an eloquent speaker.
he robs Paul to pay Peter.
The bold rich need tax savings,
forget about the meeker.
From a distance,
we watch the kingdom teeter.
Him smirking on high,
he thinks "What could be sweeter!"
Why oh why,
did so many choose that cheater?
Global temperature rising,
things aren't the same.
Scientific facts need hiding,
isn't that a shame?
There's new logic he's applying,
says coal dust isn't really flying.
Even though the fish are bitter
and you can't see them under the litter,
no one can turn down the heater.
"Fake News" he says,
check out T-Man's Twitter.
The Country is "Great Again",
cause he ain't no quitter!
Yet people are making less than their babysitter.
Good jobs will go with free trade,
might as well become a waiter.
Otherwise you’ll starve sooner or later.
he wants to build a wall.
Mexico will pay,
so build it tall.
You don't need them at all.
But no one left to pick the fruit,
or to be at your beck and call.
Watch it all fall,
for sure the economy will stall.
No one buying nothing at the mall.
Klu Klux Klan standing tall.
If they ask him,
T-Man will let them guard his wall.
Look for all the signs,
a leader who's a hater.
A logic lacking debater,
If he pushes the button,
we might become a large crater.
He'll spin it and tell those left,
"I'm the great emancipator!"
If you don't believe him,
You’re just another disloyal traitor!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
They dragged her away
Kicking and screaming
Arms outstretched towards
My little sister
Who lay dying on the ground
Her lips parched
Her eyes sunken
Her wasted arms reaching out
“Myreik, don’t leave me!”
My father pulled her away from
The young soldier’s hands
The one who had violated her
The one who now sneered
“Keep moving….she will be dead
I hurried after them
Stumbling through my tears
Afraid of being left behind
I turned for one last look
There she lay…her eyes closing
Left behind to join the
The dead along the path
That night I didn’t hear her cry
Or complain as the soldiers
Dragged her away
She was beautiful
With eyes the color
Of the sea
Eyes that danced
Like stars on a clear night
Eyes that smiled
Eyes that embraced
Eyes that spoke
What words couldn’t say
I fell asleep to the sound of my father’s weeping
“Wake up,” I heard her say
As I fought to keep my dreams alive
My eyes fluttered open
I closed them to the hungry faces
I closed them to the filth on her dress
I searched her eyes
Calm and glassy
They looked past me
In them I read
Tears sprang to my eyes
Tears for the death of my sister’s body
Tears for the death of my mother’s soul…
My mother’s eyes
My mother’s eyes...
They haunt me still.
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2012
~My True Story 16 Years Of War~
!6 years of living in fear every minute, 16 years living with barely
any electricity,water, food,hurt from humiliation standing
in line for hours to maybe obtain a loaf of bread for my children,
some days due to lack of water, we would shower from the pouring
rain on the roof,and for us that was a good day.
The fear of being stopped at a barrier from the militia, and if they
decide to kill at the time, we would have been a good target,
agonizing each day not knowing when a lost bomb would
penetrate our roof tops,or bedrooms,running down for shelter
at our neighbors first floor home,sometimes days in the same
clothes no food,not even a drop of water,as we could not move
from the hilarious shelling,bullets aimed at us the innocent who had
nothing to do with politics and war.
We lived without once hearing a siren so we can run to the
shelter,nothing indicated where the shells will land,we had
sometimes to cross the street to hide in our church,or other
gatherings to escape the guerillas.
The only way to know if I can go to work and kids to
university,was listen to the radio just to guess which way
was safer to drive,many times over the years, bombs landed
not far from my car,had to leave and run underneath it
as a protection,my eldest son was once kidnapped for 3 days,
once the banging on our door so loud, they came to take
my children to fight with them, because they lacked
men on the field.
Days I would arrive late to work due to the bombs.
My fear progressed as I was doomed and sensed disaster.
In summer we had no air condition due to no electricity,
in winter we had no heating,days we slept with our winter
coats if we were not already in the shelter,16 years of war
we slept awake.
My strength out of love to both my children,they graduated
my eldest became an architect,and the youngest became a
Had to send them away at a very early age,left alone with
my husband at the time. My duty was fulfilled when they
A happening that happened during that war,was my secret
for years and years,I hid it,I kept it alive inside of me,not to
allow anyone discover how I died and lived only because of
my love towards my children,I was hiding for years,now only
something stirred deep in me,a voice,begging me to come
at peace within myself,is the only way to write it down,as
enough is enough,no details,I will write,none to ask what,
why,when,who,only the rape happened,my spirit and soul
agonized,now I am a free woman.No more tears, no more
Today in a new country of freedom accepted me 25 years ago
as a political refugee, I am very happy, my children are safe,
As we did survive 16 years of a major war in our country.
Freedom is so beautiful,feeling safe having showers,eating,
variety of food,getting a heater to remain warm,air condition
during summer,driving with no fear,walking with a sense of
freedom,it took us a while to return to normal,
the truth became beautiful due to the transformation of our
inner spirits,living in the depth of darkness for years took
sometime to regroup our inner souls to run far from darkness
and live into the light again. Free At Last.
7 September 2014
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013
Primose path leads to the slaughter of American
dream delete pause proficiency with internetty
webbegone after thoughts of yahoo googleyed
interred intracacises that shed benign capsules of
mom entary apple pie delquiences cooling
the soul shopping for the next alias avenue of
pointless me procurement mauling an ongoing
onerous dildodate vis a vie meme.com/me in
an engaging omnipresence of sextext no tact
spell ckeck chicshicshakplak no sense tic tac.
Talk? Walk? Balk? Chalk? Sue? Sulk?
Dinosaur diligence posse with the senior
gestages gestulating, we r forevre 21 and ying yang
dung. Yes, good f ing luck with that!! Look at your
petridish parents and see what box u check to lid close
and abscond with the lost liberal leftovers. That
is you in reverse in a few carnal years after Hilter youth
children decide to screw us as the new
generation which skewer post present parental postulates
to the oldster outhouse outlets so u can be "youf" free. Little
do they notknow as they cumulatively co opulate
that they set the stooge stage for no thanx ahole actions.
The DOS does'nt fall from the Apple tree. Leave it,
love it, learn it while ye may, the kid crisp cosmos of
offspring social dicktates are biting at your heartbeatbit
empty elmo enterprises. Pause parenatal prenatal
preferences prepearing perinatal persons pretasking
postnatal practices, in which you have veno papa preparation.
Think before you For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge and Analyze
your ass-incarnate initiate. Borrow berofe u basterdize,
condomize before u copu culminate, decide before
u dicktate, envision before u envy, fail before u foil,
grasp before u germinate, halt before u hinder,
illuminate before u illerate, jump before u jinx,
kill before u keep, love before u lay, meaning before
moaning, neutralize before u now, obilerate before
u ooops! presence before predicament, quit before
quake, resilience before ridiculous, sanity before
sexusensuality, thinkth before u thumpth, utilize
before u unionize, victory before victimization, we
before want, xx nor xy, zen before zeal. Pocket
passion files fly in the face of ruined reason residules
to the point of pronounced perplextion plagued
prominantly with no recall references to problematic
protocals for near north normalicies in my buckeye
life measures of simpatico silly symbiosis sublime
of mini me monophile mucous made misdemeanor
milktoast memories. Pass go, collect $200.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
Urgent Call for Love
The evil axis has been burning
Who rules the land? It’s now very vague.
The second son must get out of old Al Sham
And meet the hungry jury in The Hague
The puppet is hanging by his last string
And the judgment day is sure to come
Forty thousand martyrs will be singing
As they join me in my urgent call for love.
The war machine is pregnant and is bloated.
Money births an icy, rigid son.
He grows up in the muck of all this madness,
It arms its addled brother with a gun.
In my world, war is not an option,
Let’s end the chaos with a silken glove
Murdered angels soar among the heavens
Please join me, in my urgent call for love.
I’d love to build a mass market dart board
With mug shots of the Senators and House
I’d load it on an App and shoot the darts off
With the quiet, perfect clicking of my mouse.
How can these servants bow before their master?
When Moses had already freed his tethered load?
Make them testify before the one judge
And answer to our urgent call for love
Some years ago a scholar lost his lectern
Because somebody stole my vote away
He spoke his truth in defense of climate
And was told let’s fix it later, not today
When the perfect storm came a calling
It blew our measured lives and hopes astray
My Mother, here’s an olive branch and white dove
I surrender to the urgent call for love.
The pleading skies and rivers, they have warned us
Their voices rose to wail their tortured song
The veins of life, they have been all corrupted
And darkness has been blinding us in fog.
Insanity bathes in its make shift chambers
It soaks in a vile and filthy marble tub.
Please join in my call for our salvation,
I am humbled, in my urgent call for love.
Brenda Atry 1/1/2013 copyright pending
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2013
In the fifties leaders told
an innocent trusting
to duck and cover.
Years later they felt
for the easy way
they let their fears
It had worked so well
that with ignorance
and forgetfulness that goes
and the arrogance that goes
and a populace drained
and hyped by televised fears,
many rushed out to buy
Now in a land
birthed in religious freedom
we argued over mosques
while desperate matters
are left unresolved.
Somewhere in this land
a jackass is braying.
Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2010
On Election night, twentysixteen
I saw a strange and surreal scene
I looked cross the great harbor at Lady Liberty that night
And I knew right away, something wasn’t right
I saw Lady Liberty and she was crying
Because the America she loved, now was dying
She once welcomed millions to this golden shore
But now they ‘re not welcome here anymore
I thought of Ellis Island, where they once came through the doors
Millions of feet crossing the Great Hall’s floors
They brought their hopes, they brought their dreams
They brought their plans, they brought their schemes
They brought their laughter, they brought their tears
They brought their love and they brought their fears
They came with their families or came alone
Some names we know, but most unknown
They joined the huddled masses already here
The marginalized, the forgotten, the second-class tier
The wretched refuse that made this land great
Yet met with derision, scorn and hate
the First Peoples of this Mother Earth
forced off the land of their ancestors birth
forced to flee, run and hide
one step ahead of the Genocide
those that suffered from old Jim Crow
pleading for rights, met with a NO
When they were polite and asked with a Please
They were met with a Noose thrown over the trees
Many worked hard and were met with success
Their children grew up to be America’s best
Many here now forget where they came
Their immigrant ancestor, can’t remember the name
Can’t remember the ancestor that came here by boat
Can’t remember the issues or the last vote
Once we were great but that’s in the past
Don’t blame us that it didn’t last
Our country is changing from sea to sea
Too many people not like me
The only way is to take it back
go out and stop them, go on the attack
The others are the people that caused our pain
Push them all out, again we will gain
So he vowed an America, that’s once again great
To get there, he said, America must hate
Hate those others that are not like us
Put them again on the back of the bus
America first! and thats not all
protect ourselves, lets build a wall
We can bring back the greatness of a past day
All we have to do is chant U-S-A
The lamp beside the golden door
Doesn’t seem so bright anymore
It sounds so simple, but it’s really so Grand
An idea we once used to build this land
E Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One
An idea that that’s Sinking with the Setting Sun
By John Gordon
Copyright © John Gordon | Year Posted 2016
When I think of the plight that children face all over the world
I just want to cry
Hunger starts and ends their everyday
As many of us continue to waste away
The scraps that we toss could save a child’s life
I’ll tell you the human race is nothing nice
We have no problem spending trillions on war
As children starve to death outside a millionaires store
They put locks on the dumpsters to keep them out
To greedy to give what they are throwing out
I watched a show just the other day
That showed Children just wasting away
Right there in their mothers arms
As I ate my giant bowl of lucky charms
Pirates raiding off the Somalia Coast
Because their children’s eyes are hollow as a ghost
If my Children were starving these words are true
Captain Hook wouldn’t hold a light to you know who
I think in the overhaul scheme of wrong and right
Mankind in general has lost all sight
Could you imagine kissing your child’s last breath?
The rich get richer as they starve to death
So as you all tuck your kids into bed tonight
Kids all over the world will lose their fight
They will simply lie down and die
To hungry to fight to weak to cry
Shelters that feed the Hungry are in every
town, when was the last time that you gave
something. No person is any greater than the
depth of their compassion. To give is to receive
for there is no greater blessing in this life. Keep
what you need and give the rest and the Lord will
make sure you never run out. God Bless, MJ
Written for Sami's contest
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
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
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
And destroy mentality
Of people only wishing to make money
Any which way
While Using up all of society’s communal resources
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
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
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
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
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
Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013
(based on Aldous Huxley's book "Brave New World")
Clink clink clink clink...
Test tubes prattling past
along the chrome plated production line.
Glistening under fake fluorescence
humming in harmony
with the magnetic motors
of conveyors, centrifuges and camshafts.
Biological blobs of gamete goo,
vials of vile biology,
a tempest of sperm and ova,
neatly confined to a pyrex womb.
Organised, sanitised, harmonised.
All equal under Ford.
Or at least until your fate and fortune
are forced and fixed at forty metres.
Not nature (abhorrent),
not nurture (disgusting),
not what you know,
not who you know,
but the viability of your cell.
Destiny by DNA.
What will you be?
An Alpha Aryan?
A Gamma gopher?
A mass produced Epsilon?
Will you be genetically enhanced?
Or poisoned and asphyxiated?
Perhaps you'll be discarded
as excess bio-matter
by the second trimester
at ninety metres?
Or survive to be hatched
at one fifty metres?
Neatly sown along furrows
of sterile steel cots.
Rows and columns,
ranks and files,
levels and floors
of battery babies.
weaned on sleep whispering,
embracing their place in a perfect society.
United by soma!
(a gram is better than a damn)
Disease designed away!
All praise Ford!
Everyone is happy!
But nothing is perfect.
Bernard is cursed.
Excess embryonic alcohol
injected at one twenty metres.
Someone wasn't paying attention.
Beta's hypnopedic haikus
Alphas lead the way
Grey matter, grey uniform
Alphas rule wisely
Betas work less hard
Mulberry clad skilled workers
Glad I'm a Beta
Gammas are stupid
Wearing green! Ugly as trees!
Ignore the Gammas
Deltas are dummies
Khaki clones, oxygen starved
Brutish, black robed underclass
John's suicide soliloquy
To be or not to be?
I cannot be.
So I decide not to be.
How can I be noble and suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
when the arrows have been broken
and the slings put aside
by this ugly utopia?
Should I shuffle off this mortal coil
and enter the eternal sleep
perchance to dream without soma?
Will I enter paradise
paid for many fold
with barb wire and thorns,
with torments and trials,
with utter utter heartbreaking longing?
What sense does this make
when paradise lies at my feet
that I've not suffered enough to deserve?
How can I earn the love
of the woman I love
when she gives her love so freely
to myself and others who scantly earn
the meerest slither of her golden fruit?
Love so sweet to the lips
but diluted by banality and promiscuity
to the tasteless sterility of boiled water.
Yet I still yearn.
And when I attain my unimagined dream
I reject her with anger
and sow the seeds of confusion
in her innocent eyes
and watch the weeds of fear
choke her very essence.
What demons have hatched from my soul?
What has this world manufactured in my heart?
And so I seek solace in solitude.
A lonely lighthouse keeper
in a stormless sea of soma civilisation.
Absolution with abject poverty,
the stings of self flagellation
barely noticed against my rented heart.
The madness of mixed up mantras.
Yet retribution comes from a hornet's nest
of helicopters carrying the inane.
Spectators of the spectacle.
Curious about the curiosity.
Fascination with the forbidden.
Cultures sparking across electrodes.
Moths drawn to taboo's acetylene flame.
I curse them! I curse them all!
I was born savage, then made savage.
Marooned on Prospero's isle
by insanity's tempest.
I can brew and boil
and billow and burn
and cast down purifying bolts against the outside world.
One asylum to another.
Never knowing peace.
O brave new world, that has such people in it.
But this world is not for me.
BNW society is divided into five major classes. From highest to lowest: alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon
Original BNW quote - sleep conditioning for Betas - "Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."
Bokanovsky is a fictional process of human cloning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokanovsky%27s_Process
Hypnopedia is the process of sleep learning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep-learning
Gametes are cells used in reproduction (sperm and ova) - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamete
Soma is a drug mass produced by the BNW government - citizens are sleep conditioned to become addicted
"a gram is better than a damn" is a BNW mantra used by its citizens to encourage non-conformists (i.e. are unhappy) to take soma
John was a savage rescued from a reservation by Bernard Marx for his own political agenda.
Bernard Marx was a physically and mentally imperfect Alpha misfit reportedly caused by excess alcohol injected into his embryo during his hatching.
John's soliloquy is a parody of Shakespeare's "to be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet. Since John learnt to read from an old copy of Shakespeare's works, this seemed appropriate.
In BNW, Henry Ford is revered as a god - the Christian cross is replaced with a T (as in the model T Ford, an early affordable mass produced car).
Written 10th April 2017
Entry to "brave new world" contest
Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017
“Laws of the land enslave our people”
Sunlight glances off the flint tip
As justice swims through the air
The belly of the bow stave
Carved in yew
Whose nock, twined in hemp
Bonded in beeswax
Burns with the passion of man
Forged in the forest
Practiced on the buckle
Freedom flies true
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2012
In the mirror on Vishu morning I see an Indian woman
whose Brooklyn mouth can't form Hindu prayers.
Should I bleach my skin to match my voice?
Should I scrape my tongue to match my face?
I've resigned myself to my fate--
forever asking the sky
In a language my children will never recognize;
with an accent my grandparents will never understand.
I am what my parents feared I may become;
a child whose soul has turned Westward;
a woman whose only memories of Diwali are the flickering lights.
Copyright © Anamika N | Year Posted 2013
That Indian boy, unwashed, in rags, and black,
(India is, as in Art we say Nobel Laureate; in Might they call it ‘Nuclear State’)
Walked by the Dal-lake’s breezy bank,
Playing an unknown song on flute;
Carrying balloons on a bamboo stick,
Flying high in air,
And around his shoulders a worn dirty bag—
The naughty school boys irritated him,
Punched the balloons
And searched in the bag.
Copyright © fayaz bhat | Year Posted 2014
What is life?
Life is just eating, sleeping and making sex
to show your identity
that, you have strength enough
to produce kid, to earn your bread and butter
to nurture your child
And to prove the society
that, you have not added any extra burden
etc, etc, etc........
Am I right ?
No, no, no, no......................
Then, tell me "What is life ?"
Life is playing cricket, playing tennis, playing football
and playing other popular games
to show your talent
in front of the people
that, you have strength enough
to make record after record
to create a space in the hearts of people
to generate crores of fan
to reach new heights
to earn million and trillion dollars
etc, etc, etc.........................
Am I right ?
No, no, no, no.......................
Then, tell me :"What is life ?"
Life is doing politics
defeating opposition and capturing power
enhancing growth and accelerating development
and to show your strength
in front of the people
that, you have muscle
to do anything you want
by creating turbulence to execute your need
by killing democracy to capture chair
by mudslinging to cover up your weakness
by blaming rivals to increase pressure on them
etc, etc, etc...................................
Am I right ?
Then tell me "What is life ?"
You may be a player,may be a politician, may be an actor
whatever you may be
first of all you are a human being
you should have,
a prudent brain, to read the face of innocent
a broad heart, to house billion hearts within you
two strong arms, to extend support to the needy
you may not have any penny
but, If you will have a sacred soul
to feed a poor by saving a single bread from you
time will definitely come
whole world will salute you.
Am I right ?
Then, tell me "Is it life"
Copyright © Manmath Dalei | Year Posted 2016
This misty sky
a reflection of our misty life
in its sucked up, clouded vision
without any sense of perception,
its hopes, its desperation, its life,
clinging, slipping, dropping away
from view, from all of us,
droids and prefects alike,
to see through the mess,
too brain dead to think aloud,
to escape from this sick world
of profits in money not in hope
or dreams or love or life,
created by our bosses to protect
and huddle us from the harsh
realities of unknown centuries
and create our own 'civil'isation,
our life our hopes hanging on their walls
The misty sky is all in our sight
I want to be on the star shining bright
Copyright © Gareth Heslop | Year Posted 2009