Best Beneficiary Poems
If I were the president,
in our fatherland, no citizen will be a bastard
and mutual respect, our networking web.
If I were the president
the people will be my senate
and their satisfaction my template.
If I were the president
all sectors will be cycled with excellence
all human needs will be met with kindness.
If I were the president
cremation of human disasters fully executed
our mentality will be built in love.
If I were the president
good ideas, I’ll romance
into reality, I’ll convert.
If I were the president
life will be a comfort zone
with every compatriot a beneficiary.
If I were the president,
the simple flow of Life would be applied;
basic made basic, luxury made luxury.
If I were the president
health, mobility, literacy and justice
would be rights, not privileges.
This third world I see
would be transformed to the first, I dream of,
so God……… Make me the president that we need.
Categories:
beneficiary, leadership, patriotic, philosophy, poetry,
Form:
Light Verse
You wear a crown forged in centuries of silence,
Not of gold, but of tears—each gem a wound,
Each jewel a stolen breath from lands unnamed.
The sun never set on your empire, Charles,
But neither did its shadow.
At seventy-three, you ascend a throne
Built on the backs of broken nations.
Malawi mourns not your reign, but its own hunger.
India remembers not your coronation, but its famine.
Africa, a continent whose blood was turned to diamonds,
Watches as you sit atop its bones, polished and silent.
How do you sleep in palaces older than justice?
With tapestries woven in denial,
And wine poured from the vineyards of suffering?
You speak of duty and devotion,
Yet your people starve under the illusion of unity.
The Commonwealth—what a beautiful lie.
A brotherhood of beggars before the banquet of kings.
You, heir not of wisdom, but of conquest.
Beneficiary of crimes so old they have become invisible.
You inherited the silence of the looted,
The riches built on the rupture of every sacred soil.
Where are your solutions, Charles?
Not in the silk of your robes,
Not in the gold leaf of your signatures.
The world cries out and you respond with ceremony.
You nod while oceans rise and children die in their sleep.
The kingdom is an echo chamber now.
Its walls grow thinner with every truth told.
The time of kings is passing—fast, fierce, final.
And your name will be carved not into stone,
But into the conscience of a world that woke too late.
Go, if you have mercy,
To the corners of your kingdom and kneel.
Not to be worshipped, but to weep.
Return what was stolen—not for glory, but for grace.
Because when the people rise—and they will—
History will remember not your title,
But your silence.
- A Voice from the Voiceless=
Categories:
beneficiary, abuse, betrayal, history, sin,
Form:
Free verse
"Images"
The God that never was, puts one shoe on at a time
And spends four hours in the make-up room
Putting on mascara and eye liner for the darker look
Occult man of seemingly rebellious nature
Is deified by the masses that show up to performances
He, a man of strong portrayal even at a skinny 155 pounds
Grows stronger with every compact disc sold and the overuse of base
Blowing out of a sound system which rocks the car next to you
While you wait for the light to turn green
Abandoning social mores of quietness well into the night
The appeal grows everyday for a man really just making a living
Out of his fans age group they have no idea what he is
Whether the media builds him up or tears him down
As a good guy to hate and a bad boy at heart
Any press is good press, though infamy might be better for sales
Topping the charts and making parents sick of his songs
He is a beneficiary of childhood splurging and so inclined to be
The adults wish for a mere fifteen minutes of his fame
So their children would listen to them with the same respect
But who were they when listening to cassette tapes?
And the bands of the eighties put on make-up then
A man of mixed persuasion people are drawn to his ambiguity
The role model singing about jail time and Hennessey
A toughness to some is a weakness to others
It makes you wonder if the man knows who he is!
Whoever that is and for all it's worth
There will be more than enough of him to go around
In his image that is larger than life
Categories:
beneficiary, life, social,
Form:
Free verse
THE SUCCESSFUL MAN
Every successful man had his first time
What happened that day was his experience
If he trailed,then he became resilient
But if he thrived,he became consistent
Every successful man had his first time
Every successful man had his first time
When he trailed,
he refused to flatter-close his eyelid,
when he was feeling drowsy
He was at will and top
to lift that which the world said was heavy
Every successful man had his first time
Every successful man had his first time
When he thrived,
he refused to sigh
Until he inhaled the last air
he refused to smile
Until he felt the last tear drop
Every successful man had his first time
What then is success?
Success is how the beneficiary defines it
Success is the ability to revisit
Success is the willingness to conquer that which is conquered
Success is the zeal to awaken that which is dead
Success is the courage to say never
Success is the stamina to stay forever
Success is the patience to await regardless
Success is the readiness to climb the impossible stairs
Success is you and I
Success depends on how high we can fly
Success depends on how best you can try
Success is what we deserve before we die
Categories:
beneficiary, inspiration, inspirational, star, stars,
Form:
Lyric
Here's an oxymoron
that's sure to brighten your day:
being the selfish head honcho,
in the end never pays;
purchasing personal glory
at the cost of a friend.
But being selfless
helps out everybody else
(and as an added bonus
even yourself)
NOTE: Haven't written anything new since I left Idaho, so I thought I'd share an older poem instead ...
Categories:
beneficiary, analogy, deep, philosophy, uplifting,
Form:
Grook
Her smile is unfit, as it illuminates beyond the masses,
a misfit in a world of hollow and half-hearted expressions,
The connection to comeliness, its source, not here –in there, away from the
world, but evident to all in it,
It doesn’t fit; I don’t want it to, to make repulsive beauty to compel
compatibility, not I
Let this oddity rivaled by no other be with no other,
Exposed for all its imperfections, her smile is faultless in its reflection,
Wrought in purity, her smile is unfitting, this world has no place for it, unable
to comprehend, it only tolerates it -though in her smile, I extol
Her smile is not right, it’s wrong -it’s so wrong!
In a world where good is bad, dishonesty is rewarded, and
obnoxious behavior celebrated,
Her smile is not harmonious, nor is it congruent in this,
the space it finds itself
So much for honesty and charm I guess, but her smile is laced with both,
as it exudes outward in the form of facial light,
Shining in a world hidden behind shaded lens,
Though in my heart there’s connection, interpretation, processing,
Her smile and my heart intertwine in a mesmeric negotiation, a tacit form of
photosynthesis as her smile sustains and quickens the tempo of its beneficiary
Her smile is tragic, a tragedy unseen since the demise of young love in Verona,
A beautiful tragedy: a flower’s last bloom before death; the serenity in the eye
of a deadly storm; life lost to save another; pure love given yet not returned
-so tragic,
Tragic, there is no pedestal high enough to place her smile on,
So tragic, the sum of all the world’s beauty is soundly out match by her smile,
Tragic, the smile I see, isn’t seen by all,
So tragic, at best, this turned about world will only ever squint in its presence,
Tragic, her smile is so unique; therefore one of a kind, meaning sadly no
replica exists,
So tragic, my angst at my heart’s inability to arrest her smile’s every beam of
light, at best exhibits my selfishness,
Tragic, my definition of you -I mean...her smile…counts for so very little
Written in Afghanistan -28 JUL 2013
Categories:
beneficiary, how i feel, i
Form:
Free verse
A crippled mass of beggars
Each at the corner of every street
Deformed by cruel and greedy hands
They perform their daily feat
Of scrounging from the passers by
The people in their cars
Their pathetic, doleful entreaties
Oh, how my heart it scars
Yet who is the beneficiary
In this profit-full career?
I'm sure it's not these limbless souls
Whose lives are not there nor here.......
Whose plight we don’t wish to hear
Categories:
beneficiary, angst, introspection, sad, society,
Form:
Verse
A lullaby when he begins to speak magnetism of energy lures my heart to beat, for a man I have yet to meet. The imagination of him portraying a beautiful illusion of this love he seeks.
Me giving birth to the love he thirsts to bring my love forth, the new beginning of anything worth binding I am trying.
I am crying my lullabies in compliance I am ready to give my heart to you,
Only if my fantasy could come true, my dynamics of my twisted mind dealing with my emotions driving my heart forces.
Maledictions of a curse illusion my heart lurks for his affection.
I sit patiently without delay or difficulty to hear his lullaby to me.
My heart as a pariah an outcast of desire, forever I will be a wallflower.
Tears drown my insides remembering his goodbyes multiply, invasion of his lustful infestations.
Left behind with a broken lullaby once again, the record plays.
Deceived by another fantasy, who is this man that haunts me?
He knows just what to say because he knows what I have been missing,
for that love and affection.
I crave a lullaby I will sing this to my grave.
If he could truly love me as he sings, my heart will forever play his beat.
However, I have yet to hear this man speak the words of love to me.
His actions leave me lost with defeat. The words that he breathes simply not meant for me.
My heart will be his beneficiary who holds the key to the woman he will meet.
By the time, I am done with the lullaby the tears will have made the ink subside.
Temporarily insane an illusion these words became.
Categories:
beneficiary, boyfriend, fantasy, girlfriend, hope,
Form:
Light Verse
In the night within the silent darkness
Cried a fallen angel,
From the waves of the wind soaring from afar
There he rose from the ground below; hopelessly.
Known to him was only pain,
As he came from beyond the borders of sadness
Still dared fear, thence uttering of patience,
He became the sole beneficiary of his faith,
Carrying his dreams on his dropped shoulders
Evidently, his were the tears of a forsaken orphan.
He derived from a land of broken dreams
Riding on the horns of hopes all demised
Hoping to be a trustee of your ears
As he fears your heart already despises him
Unknown to thee, has he a strength greater for his frame
Thus he refused to carry himself pitifully
Through the strife he dragged his feet
And lonely cold nights hardened his skin
So you listen to these eastern winds blow, and hear the echo,
Of those distant cries as he sheds tears of a forsaken orphan.
Deprived as he is; the protector of his dreams
He who isn't here to live for centuries
Just a mark of his own is all he needs
A stain of good fortune that he seek to leave
In the memories of those who follow him
Spoken in tones. notes on a board
Nay! not his name in shining lights
He beseeches you for a silent place to weep
Those sentiments in his head, in tones that might not soothe
For they will be the last tears of a forsaken orphan.
Categories:
beneficiary, deep, depression, dream, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Unpleasant sounds,
Pains and sorrow,
Voices roars in the air,
Booming of a gun,
Thou shall not kill,
Not in their dictionary.
The tussle for power,
Shattered and scattered roads,
Fears in the mind,
Humans on the race,
Tears drop means nothing,
Generations' gone and more still going.
Hunger at its peak,
Animals go into hiding,
Great leaders taken to the
Faded land by death.
Fathers(soldiers) shoot other children's father,
Darkness at its peak,
Voices without sound yearning for peace,
Peace to weak to stand.
The struggles without end fears peace,
War on seeing peace sighs.
From behind it came like a bomb, bum,
Was that?
The UN,
Their flag bears peace,
To promote internal co-operation,
Bring nations together,
History broken,
At last we can shake one another hands.
Rehabilitation started,
Nations assisting nations,
Peace and security at its peak,
Promoting human rights,
And fostering all-round development,
A better world for you and me,
And education aids peace,
The UNESCO came on board through it,
And paved way for education,
Reducing the illiterate in the world.
Brought Africa to lime light,
Gave rise to educated ones,
Breaking the barriers in Nigeria education,
What seems increasingly difficult was made easy,
Nigeria now boasts of educated ones,
It made Alvan what it is today,
I am a beneficiary,
Hmm! How do we appreciate the UN?
Categories:
beneficiary, anniversary,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
My brother David met William Geris
A former head of state of Utopia
Having dinner in the city of Paris
They talked about big things
David had plans to run for the state Judiciary
So he discussed it with William Geris, He said
Go ahead David, for me that will be beneficiary
Play the music and let them dance to your tune
Get to the poor folks and promise them heaven on earth
Woo them with sweet words of a better tomorrow
Breaking the cycle of poverty and a prosperity rebirth
Promise them free education and free health care
You need to go to all the churches
Promise them every valley will be filled and every mountain made plain
You need to be charismatic to show you are ready for service
And don’t forget to say your long prayers
You need to hang out with the drug smuggling gangs
To really show you are one of them
Tell them to give you the chance to emancipate them from death pangs
And know well, they love to break laws and ransack state properties
You need to link up with Organization for Youth Ablaze (OYA)
“A Change you can see! A Change you can believe in!!”
Now that is what I call the ‘advertising phase’
Promise them of gargantuan jobs and scholarships
You also need to hung out with the financial gurus
A kind of ’Dating’ before Marriage
Sound it aloud, they are the ones with the clues
Cars-Yes! Gargantuan contracts-Yes! Meetings at some posh hotels-Yes!
Pull the wool over their eyes, indicting songs of hope and peace
But when you lose the election insists on a recount
A diversionary tactics of getting the opposition votes cease
“I’ll slap you so hard that your teeth will come off”
Mr. Geris is this what is on the ground, you call politics?
It looks like I will be a schoolboy fantasy and a sketch cartoon
David, my son most politicians have with them a bag of Poly-ticks
I call it the absurdity of the absurd Poly-tricks
Categories:
beneficiary, africa, america, philosophy, places,
Form:
Quatrain
three issues are at stake in poetry writing at present: first, whether or not we can write an emotionally charged (subjective) material/topic such as love (loving, not loving, not being loved), freedom, and justice effectively with artistic objectivity. This is more complicated by the notions of choices (and voices,) individual self-determinism, self-sufficiency, and individual sanctity over collectivism.
Voices say this: Humankind have Choices, Choices have Consequences, Consequences have Risk or Reward! It is those Voices (heard or unheard) and Choices (risk or reward) that make lines or volumes and make us who we are as Poets--living and dying with our Choices!*
Second, we poets are of a tender-heart, vulnerable, and victims to violent shifts of response and emotions that relationships bring to us. We are sensitive, however, so being, we are beneficiary of human benign neglect and gross oblivion around. We do a great deal out of something ignored as trivia!
Third, whether we poets are misfit in a misshapen society or we are misshapen at a misfit time, really I am not quite sure myself! But one thing I am certain about is this: the poet struggles with SOMETHING more than his/her own myth: to be able to see the relations of the unrelated, to curve out a creative originality, and to muse about if pleasurable pain (painful joy) is bearable and if living and loving truly is ever possible of to date! For no wrong life can be lived rightly!
Poet,
Less than that, what good is Poetry for?
*Listen to the Poet and Folksinger Leonard Cohen's "Choices"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBDKKFJuXos
Categories:
beneficiary, culture, emotions, feelings, poetry,
Form:
My life passes by in an instant,
A lighting strike,
An immediate presence then gone,
What has brought me to this point,
I will miss you my love,
The wind at my back,
The sun in my face,
It was hot that day.
A bead of a sweat trickles down my cheek,
The silence of dead space follows me,
In my gut I know it wasn't my day.
The buzzards await their meal,
I realize,
Honor is the foundation of my word ,
Action is the beneficiary of my tongue.
My neurons a slave to my ego,
The executor of my thought ,
And as I count my paces,
I realize this is me!
I am greatful to know,
I am truly alive.......
Categories:
beneficiary, analogy, assonance, beautiful, beauty,
Form:
For my love, I woke up this
morning after having a reality
dream.
I got my thoughts together
knowing that taking you to the
bank to have you sign has a
beneficiary is the best thing to
do
Yes my love, I know your
looking at me as though Your in
disbelief. But you say why right
now? Why your only in your
40's. Are you trying to tell me
something mother ? Do you
need to tell me something? I
reply my love, NO you see I
had this dream which I thought
I was not dreaming. So much
financial things left undone so
therefore I decided to try and
make that reality dream not
become reality and not take life
for granted.
Categories:
beneficiary, lifeme, dream, dream, me,
Form:
I don't know
that love has a
bucket list,
a program best
to follow...and
writers do seem often
inclined more amorous
of
text...
especially us poets, flag
carriers of the heart,
seldom an emotion
not expressed
by pen in part
like an accountant
tallying feelings
numbers his bread
and butter
one has to wonder
if the physical and
the sheet ever entirely
meet
did the composition
a real body fullest greet
or sometimes is writing
Love's happy-face hiding
fearful retreat
“how much do I love thee?”
I have not read Browning's
reply in equally great verse...
were I the beneficiary
my cry of joy would
blush the very sky
a splash of passion never
to be rivaled nor dimmed
for all the world to see
therefore, Elisabeth
was it so deeply also
Robert's eternity
was such fond declaration
the height of shared human
affection
or mere sonnet of romantic
poetic perfection
the heart
too often
a heart of letters
Categories:
beneficiary, emotions, heart, love, poems,
Form:
Free verse