Best Administrative Poems
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
It All Started With A Parade
All walks of people crowding the streets
Like moving vessels of a mighty fleet.
Jolly Diana, a wake-up call at dawn;
A throng is gathered down the town.
Cadets go marching, called the corps;
Gutsy kids are watching from above the roofs.
Steps are drummed to a cadence;
As marshals yell to the human stream.
Big brothers joined in uniform
They are soldiers, the kids assumed.
With ecstasy without disguise,
Pride and innocence seen in their eyes.
Some beat the drums and others blow horns;
A gal is leading with a baton.
with Flags of colors and banners too;
To a festive town around they go.
Church bells tolled and clergies joined,
And so the teachers and policemen.
The politicians and constituents;
The village folks are coming in.
The air is filled with festivity
There's so much fun all through the day.
From one entertainment to another it leads;
But it all started with a parade.
Date and Time of Writing:
March 01, 2012
10:14am - 10:48am
February 28, 2012 is the 40th anniversary of Barangay Liburon in Carcar City, Cebu, Philippines from being a Sitio of Barangay Can-asujan to an independent *Barangay. Being new to the community, I had the curiosity of how the community people conducted the celebration. I have the honest comparison of my ecstasy being a 3-year old kid in 1974, having the first consciousness of a parade in commemoration of Sogod, Southern Leyte annual town fiesta that was then held every 15th of December (later moved to December 21st). As a sort of reminiscence, and how it differed to what I observed of the present kids observing the parade, led me to the writing of this poem.
* In Philippine political setting, the Barangay is the smallest administrative division. It is a community of about 800 square hectare more or less, subdivided into smaller villages called Sitios. The Barangay is headed by an elected Barangay Captain with a counsel composed of eight counselors.
Inside the room in the administrative offices floor
of a plush hotel, an unmarried middle aged lady executive,
showing a lottery ticket, told her secretary
that she won five hundred dollars. She wasn’t happy.
Inside the cold storage of the same establishment,
a male storekeeper, a daily wage earner and father of three,
was all smiles as he showed a ticket and promised to treat
his mate to a beer. He won the same amount.
Now these two anecdotes happened within the same week.
What struck me was the stark difference in their reactions
upon winning the same amount. The executive said,
“I don’t need the five hundred, I want the one million”.
The storekeeper said “Thank God, this is heaven-sent!”
Looking back, there was only one thing I thought that minute:
It takes more for those who have more in life to be thankful,
and it only takes little for those who have less to be grateful.
Who between the two has learned the secret to being happy?
15 October 2015
Giving Thanks Contest
Sponsor: Ed Ebbs
He was a man of no name or personality
but a dot within dots on a graph
yet, the point of a plane surface he occupied
was the very edge of -3 sigma on a normal curve
or coordinate Y<0.1 : X<0.1 position on the wide plane,
so insignificant that hardly he was noticed in anyone’s eyes.
His assigned number for a statistical purpose was 2,
nevertheless, there was no hidden or specific meaning to it,
merely an administrative purpose; it was just like a number
assigned to an inmate whose individuality or characteristics
were totally deprived.
Number 2, when multiplied with infinity indefinitely
grew a pair of wings on his back,
the 2 flew away somewhere no one knows
where it may be, flapping his huge wings.
Save Malaysia Today
S - Some time ago, there was a sovereign fund named 1MDB...
A - All too soon, there were mounting allegations of suspicious activities...
V - Various allegations hinted of serious financial and administrative irregularities..
E - Ere you know it, the hot potato that is 1MDB is fouling up the economy...
M - My country Malaysia today is a nation of highly stressed daily living….
A - All my countrymen are suffering from a drastic rise in the cost of living…
L - Lives everywhere are struggling to cope with a falling economy…
A - As the drastic price rise in raw petroleum has pushed up pricings..
Y - Yet the government saw fit to introduce after 1st April 2015 GST, a pervasive
6% sales tax …
S - Sure enough, consumer prices immediately spiralled upwards as GST is a
cumulative form of tax…
I - In fact, the high petroleum price and this new sales tax has effectively double
the cost of living..
A - All Malaysians are increasingly disenchanted with the top man in the political
office…
T - There is a most historic gathering today of politicians in an effort to save the
Malaysian nation..
O - One impossible gathering of leaders from the ruling political party in cahoots
with the opposition …
D - Demands were made through various speeches presented by all the political
bigwigs in attendance..
A - All were in agreement that illegal donations, GST and 1MDB were linked to the
top minister's silence …
Y - Yet to be seen, will this gathering and a Citizen Declaration be just the spark to
save Malaysia?
I know a country,
With three set of citizens,
The rich,
The well fed slaves,
And the hungry free people.
I know a country,
Where graduates are jobless with buried hopes,
In this country, so many lies told are believed to be the truth,
Religious intolerance and extremism causes discrimination,
And there is over dependence on crude oil than agriculture, education and youth empowerment.
I know a country,
Where corruption, favouritism, tribalism are never against the law.
In this country, the educated ones work for the illiterates.
The government spends money in fighting terrorism,
But can not really feed the poor masses they are protecting.
I know a country,
There, during the time of accountability,
The administrative office would be set ablaze,
The financial records would be erased,
Even mysterious animals do swallow millions of money,
And nobody will say anything.
I know a country,
Where the security agencies molest and kill her citizens more than diseases,
In this country, fundamental human rights are abused and neglected,
Election is never free and fair,
Underdevelopment and embezzlement of public fund is the order of the day.
This country might be my motherland!
But I'm not really sure.
Tell me why I heard someone once say that we were all equal regardless of race.
But every time I turn on the T.V. I see people getting shot up all over the place.
Black, white, red, and mixed aren't we all supposed to be treated the same?
It's a disgrace that the people who are supposed to make you feel safe are the ones shooting you dead ass in the face.
Hands up please don't shoot me but that don't seem to matter.
When I ask why this stuff happens they just look at me like excuse me did I stutter?
So tell me why all this happens and yet we get no ing justice.
How many more bodies will it take?
How many more sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, and nephews?
How much more bloodshed?
How many more people who can't breathe?
How many more cops being put on administrative leave?
How many more names?
How many more hashtags?
How many more questions do I have to ask?
How much louder does my voice have to go?
Or what, because I am a black girl no one should listen?
Justice In America
by Edmund Siejka
Sam, the lawyer
Needed a real job
Short on cash
And unable to find work
He did what he knew best
He sued the government.
The job he wanted
Held promises of security and a steady check
But it required knowledge of government regulations
And fluency in Spanish
Sam had neither.
Much to his dismay
He was not selected for the job
Infuriated
Sam filed a request for a hearing.
Over his strenuous objections
An Administrative Law Judge
Found that Sam did not have the combination of specialized experience
To help him do the job well
And denied his claim.
Brooding over a long, cold winter
Sam decided on a plan
In early Spring
He filed an appeal before the full Commission
Complaining that the Agency’s reason for not selecting him
Was merely a pretext for discrimination.
Sam further argued that he could have easily learned how to perform the job
Because his was an attorney
With credentials clearly superior to the other candidates.
In a rather short three page decision
The Commission
Concluded that Sam’s legal education was not so exceptional
As to undermine the Agency’s decision not to hire him.
Recognizing that discretion was the better part of valor
And realizing that his money was better spent
On the basic necessities of life
Sam left the State of New York
And relocated to Florida
Where he now sells used cars
To elderly widows.
The government and its people stay on antagonistic sides
but what stimulates the rulers’ infidelity to patriotism
can easily be bought by any, over the counter.
They are desperately in need
of sailors to guide through the storm
yet for some reasons,
nurture a belief of so called anointed but empty vessels.
Structural human developments
siphoned by leadership’s exhaust pipes,
desecrating humanity’s sanctuary
for corruption to sell in wholesale.
The public treasury flows down
non-stop even bypassing its bladder,
as materialism and the quest for good life
break all of conscience’s administrative protocols.
Survival instincts undergo inflation
for civilization to suffer a recession
to this end, unity’s objections are overruled
by Nepotism and favouritism.
Social growth is blocked
and always in need of foreign catheter.
A direct current links poverty to the mindset and way of life,
giving a clear evidence of an economy
in desperate need of reconstructive surgery.
My dad fell head over heels in love with my mom during their college years. Mom was a petite, a dark haired, dark skinned little angel would could warble a song like none other, with a smile that earned her the name, Sunshine! Her real name? Angel! He was a tall, handsome, fair-skinned, bearded man from a far off land named Persia. He spoke no Arabic. She spoke no Farsi or Armenian, though her father was Armenian. The very first words she ever said to him were, “Are you alright?” when he was thrown off the maintenance truck, probably because he was staring at her and not holding on. They fell madly in love…..Only later….later did they discover that she was 10 years his senior. She looked much younger. He looked much older, and this was the Middle East where age MATTERS.
A strange twist of fate
My love not defined by years
Why should it matter?
She broke up with him and she broke her own heart in so doing. He tried to stay away. Not only was she older, she was part Arab, and his mother would NEVER approve. Armenians married Armenians. If they did not do so, the race would die out. She threatened him in a letter. “If you marry that Arab, you are no longer my son!”
Forbidden…your love
My heart in state of turmoil
Family demands
The age difference was a chasm that was impossible to cross….but he loved her. He adored her…her smile…her tender heart...her beautiful voice. He begged her to come back to him. “I cannot live without you.” She had been longing to hear those words. They married, and everyone named them….the love birds. When Mom got sick with MS, it was Dad who cared for her, who wouldn't put her in a home, who shed tears for the woman who had borne him three children and had been a support to him during his years of administrative and pastoral work in Iran. He bathed her, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her soiled clothes, took her for rides…the only time she felt free! He carried her down three flights of stars on his back when he had to rush to the bomb shelter….Don’t tell me love is bound to age! NONSENSE! I've seen with my own eyes…a love that defies all odds…and remains strong…to the gates of death.
My Angel is gone
The sweetest joy of my life
When you were my wife
Eileen Manassian Ghali
?
When the battle seem lost, and hope not nearby.
I'd remember my mother's voice saying to me
'Omo mi, you sef like your peers will go to school
So you can have a better fighting chance in life.
Like my peers,
I wasted four years of my adult life running
From pillar to post;
From fellowship to writing impromptu test.
To more test, homework and eventually
The 'oga kpatakpata' of them all examination.
I shut my eyes, heart to the happenings
Around me, I and something within me;
Somewhat a force worked hard daily,
So that I won't end up disappointing baami.
But the miles to gaining one's full strength
Is never close by.
To God I did my best,
But oga lecturer said
In the university system,
You have to scratch backs to pass, and
My parent didn't have enough hands to spare.
Throughout my curriculum,
I waged wars with hunger and despair.
I wore feigned smiles to class and played
The role of a merry - going fellow
Whenever I passed the administrative blocks.
'If I had known earlier that school was not meant
For me, I for kukuma nor go waste my time there.'
Goodbye friends and foes alike.
For the love you showed me
Whilst we were together, was insincere and spiteful.
Please now are forever take your eyes off me, you ruthless liars!
For your passage through this process was bought
With gifts both in cash and in selfless service to humanity.
Now If my father say to me,
Son why didn't you do what your mates did
In school to pass.
I'd reply my father saying,
But how do you expect me to live with myself.
For lying to others I can comprehend,
Not otherwise.
So please mama even though the world spite me
Love me dearly, for if I lose my sanity .
My fate will be far worse
Than those who are but only dead.
Richy Talaranta X Pa Shakespeare
Plentiful the storeroom as I return my kit
Everything an Airman needed for a career
Returned this last day
Air Force veteran is my new name
Retired medically for service injuries
Duty to Queen and Country
Until I could no more
And still it hurts to walk away
Aviation was my life’s passion
Destined to this career
Administrative duties
School, and a new beginning
Training and development consultant
Reinvented myself again
Airman always in my heart, until my life’s end.
© 2014 CM Davidson
Note (for the contest "Beginnings Matter" (Richard Lamoureux):
This first poem was somewhat intimidating, as I had not written in several years (almost two decades) for personal reasons. Deciding to submit this poem was actually quite cathartic (once I finally hit the submit button), as it signified that I had moved beyond what silenced my pen. Not only that, but the content of the poem signified a large portion of my life having come to a close and with closure came reality. That was more intimidating than putting proverbial pen to paper; reality is, once I came to that realization, I felt pretty good about posting this initial poem to "the Soup".
Soon she won't be our great secretary
Which to all of us does seem so scary;
As audacious, administrative assistant
Performance is persistent and consistent.
Also, forever in future we always regret
Her going away which we had to let
If longer with us would stay for a while;
You would see us still wearing a smile.
In church, we were wiggling and squirming
While we did listen to Father Dave's sermon
Which quite a congregation they all drew
We even found Lovett sitting in front pew.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetryoup.com
PS. Lovett is our church secretary
who will be a full-fledged parishioner
again at the end of April 2014.
Tears, But Eyes Dry
Encompassing anger, irritation, frustration, pain, tears!
All a visible reality, except tears! None, none, visible!
No tears! No tears! Yet, relentless crying, crying.
None showing, no tears flowing, only on the inside.
Different day - same story, same family, same !
Same issue - no solution: more nag, no quit!
Irritating, and annoying: old drum; same beat, same tune.
Sun to sun; moon to moon; seeing no ending anytime soon.
Administration possession - on your life, it is wisdom;
On mine – ceaseless, uninvited, inappropriate intrusion.
Marriage! Marriage! Someone told you, I’m bound for cage?
“Cage” is by choice - no matter age; but, better is stage.
Time and season for everything; mine will come; not your time.
If she is to be, she will be; not your; nor my control; time divine.
My life is not open for your administrative control.
Your “unwanted input” is taking an undesirable toll.
I care for her! I love her! So, what!?! Is that sinful or illegal??
I will continue to stand by her; and will help her, in total.
We’re not together: don’t care what people say; or who you listen.
I’m living for me, not you; it’s my heart’s issue; the only begotten.
End
By: Dion Penville
As they leave,
They leave for us
Calabash full of sorrow and agony
They leave for men a plate of frustration
And desperation.
As they leave
They leave for women nothing
But cups of tears and fears
As they leave
They leave for old ones a basket
Full of fruits of ultimate death and shame
As they leave
They leave for workers a big bowl
Of empty promises, unpaid salaries
And incessant strike actions
As they leave
They leave for students a stabbed
And crippled students’ union,
Ramshackle and “Renopainted”
Halls of Residence
As they leave
They leave for our generation a loss compass
From which we can find and rediscover our
Moral values, valuable culture
Instincts of deliberative governance and
Leadership cum administrative acumen
As it is
We are living with fear of gbu-a-gbu-a
Of daylight gunshot of the emboldened to
Extort, encouraged to maim and induced to kill
Ultra-fascists campus cult groups commissioned
To crush all seeming oppositions
As is it
We are living with:-
Biochemists without reagents
Microbiologists without modern microscopes
Linguists without modern language laboratory
Computer students without
Being opportune to hold a mouse
Physiologists without bloodbank.
As it is
We are living with
Dike archaic books and non books materials
Students and staff basking in the euphoria
Of stone age and ancient facilities.
As it is
We are living in a garden that detest truth
Genuine intellectualism, dissent views and
Contrary opinions but rather nourishes in
Multi-colour ignorance, white lies,
Ever green concocted disortions,
Oceanic blu-i-sh sycophancy and reddish intolerance
Which is only reminiscences of the black jackboot
Days of the Abacha junta.
Alayande Stephen. T
20th,September,2005
6.00am