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Blood Money

Red cents fill the coffers of the rich.
It is the blood and sweat of others,
yet, no longer enough, no longer enough,
worthless as the silver-less lie of a dime.

It is the blood and sweat of others
melted with base metals, base morality,
worthless as the silver-less lie of a dime
not filling the hollow holes of their souls.

Melted with base metals, base morality
a growing virus among the bone weary, 
not filling the hollow holes of their souls,
both, rich and poor, suckle an empty teat. 

A growing virus among the bone weary,
yet, no longer enough, no longer enough,
both, rich and poor, suckle an empty teat,
red cents fill the coffers of the rich.

**re-vised ;) hope it's clearer!
*an unrhymed Pantoum
  Poet: Debbie Guzzi 

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

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Africa my beloved continent
Beautiful and attractive, many
Came as visitors yet their aim was to
Dig gold and platinum
Everyday they dug to reach her belly and they
Flee back to feed their own blood and sold us her the remains
Gold jewelry, we buy from them. Question is
Have we done enough to protect our mineral resources
Instead of preserving them 
Jealousy and greed overcrowded our judgments
Knocked each other for blood money, in exchange for what?
Lavish lifestyle our colonial had to offer, we
Moved from Ubuntu our African core value
New dawn sets but we failed to see the light because
Oppression impaired our vision
Pain we suffered taught us nothing for we did not
Quit selling our minerals in exchange for ammunitions
Re-unite Africa and fulfil the dream of African reminiscence
Shun greed, slavery mentality. In solidarity let me and you fight to
Tone down corruption and 
Undo damages implanted by our colonial
Viva African renaissance viva
Winning this battle calls for unity and mental strength
Xenophobia and racism will not be chronic diseases any longer, i'm
Yearning to see a better Africa for all human race, with
Zest I shall wait in anticipation for Africa's 're birth.

Copyright © Bongani Zungu | Year Posted 2015

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The typewriters tap,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
like a fourth estate rap
to provide us the pap
(that serves as a snack with a rat-a-tat-tat)
in a newspaper scrap
crammed with meaningless crap
from the editor's yap
(spewing flimflamy flak, booming rat-a-tat-tat)
after gashing a gap
in the daily recap
with a snip in a snap-
sounding thundery clap
crackng rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

And the talking heads speak
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
of the news of the week,
tweaking tongue in the cheek
(with a click and a clack like a rat-a-tat-tat),
thus ignoring critique
'cause they're mild and too meek
in the midst of the reek 
to report of the wrack (except rat-a-tat-tat)
whilst the pundits (oblique
when protecting the chic 
of the upper class clique
at the top of the peak)
chatter rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

The NRA ghouls
plug a rat-a-tat-tat
while their blood money tools
fill the Hill’s vestibules
(where deceit behind drapes drips a rat-a-tat-tat),
spreading folly that fuels
frenzied hands of young fools
bringing guns into schools
(at the drop of a hat there's a rat-a-tat-tat
splashing blood in warm pools)
for now anarchy rules
(which the hype ridicules
'til the temperature cools)
hailing rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

Lawless cops, cutting loose
with a rat-a-tat-tat
spraying bullets profuse
without any excuse
(just a split second splat with a rat-a-tat-tat),
splay a rattled recluse
like a Thanksgiving goose
gushing cranberry juice
from six slugs in the back (with a rat-a-tat-tat).
To redress such abuse,
bend the branch of a spruce
with a neck in a noose
while Death's drums beat diffuse’
rolling rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat.

War brings freedom to all 
with a rat-a-tat-tat
(well, excluding the thrall
with fear, facing the wall
[ often smacked with a bat, throbbing rat-a-tat-tat ],
until feeling the call
to creep out of the kraal 
biting back with a gall
[ with a tit for a tat and a rat-a-tat-tat ],
or to mangle and maul
if still able to crawl
and be part of the brawl
in a freak free-for-all,
midst a rat-a-tat-tat and a rat-a-tat-tat).

Holy warmongers praise,
with a rat-a-tat-tat,
any soldier that slays
and all rockets that raze
(the drones zoom with a vroom and a rat-a-tat-tat)
leaving smoky arrays
of gray ghosts in the haze
cloaking mute cabarets
(hushed, the hip and the hop, by the rat-a-tat-tat)
while ol’ Cerberus bays
with mankind in his gaze,
so society prays  
as it rots and decays
(Satan's trumpets of doom blare a rat-a-tat-tat)
until one of these days
in a flash through the maze
mighty mushrooms will blaze
with invisible  rays,
fin’lly braising the craze
of the rat-a-tat-tat,
   and the

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2016

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The Righteousness of God

He was in a life where he was always at odds cause he didn't know he's the righteousness of God. He was living the life of a straight up thug, fast women and guns, drinking and drugs and it all started when he was a child, with on discipline, cussing, fussing and running wild. living in a broken home where he was all alone, had a mom but no dad and life was very sad. Mom was doing all that she could but that still was no good, while going from man to man, hoping one would take a stand but not one would lend a hand.

Still, mom would say, God is good things will be alright but he didn't believe the hype. Having to go to sleep with little or nothing to eat, he got hard to the core and wasn't taking it no more. So he learned from his peeps got his degree from the streets, he got into drugs and lived the life of a thug and started hangin, slangin, and cold gang bangin. he thought, life is good I'm in the land of honey, but it was all blood money. You see we watch the lives of the rich and famous and we want the same things so how can they blame us.

So he put God last and put his money first but that turned out to be a curse, cause he was in a life where he was always at odds cause he didn't know he's the righteousness of God. Instead, all the people see, is a menace to society. The police are out trying to put him in a cage, while the other thugs are out trying to put him in the grave. He's running from house to house in need of rest, his peeps are getting tired of him starting to call him a pest, he's praying to The Lord to get him out of this mess.

He's got his mom so worried, he's breaking her down, she's wondering when he'll be put in the ground. Now his girl is leaving, says she's had enough, he wont even be around to see his kids grow up. He felt so alone, like there was no one he could trust, he had lost all his so called friends, he felt like the walls were closing in. He thought, I'm all I got left, forget them all I'll do it myself. He went to do a deal in a place that was hot, he tripped and let his guard down and ended up getting shot. As he laid on the ground he started to pray, as he felt his life slowly slipping away.

Then he fell into a dark place, where he knew he didn't belong, he couldn't see anything all he could hear was moans and groans. Lord please get me out of this place I just want to go home. Lord I know I done a lot of bad things, I thought it was the only way to live, now I know I was wrong and I am asking you to forgive. But now it's over I've played my last inning, then he heard, no my son this is the beginning. He came out of that dark place and into the light with his eyes wide open and feeling out of sight because The Lord Jesus had come into his life.

Now there's a voice in his heart and he can clearly hear it, only now he know that it's the Holy Spirit. Things have changed since The Lord has brought him through, he's no longer in the dark, his life has become brand new. And no longer in that life where he was always at odds cause now he know, He's The Righteousness of God...   WOW.

Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2015

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Boob Jobs And Bomb Jobs

Boob jobs and bomb jobs

Sisters in arms those **** and those weapons of massive 
destruction sex and death go together in dynamics
thermodynamics psychodynamics fused on the playground 
of this life of this poem on which I’m allowed to feel strong 
and weak just the same at the same time or other places of mind

Not unlike the bombers and boobers maybe who view bosoms 
and blow-up jobs as signs of strength and maturity feeling free
when desperate signs and times should call for desperate
measures action not words not boob bomb bust enhancement

In the theatre of our thoughts on the surgical table in the 
euphemistic dramaturgy of holocaustic warfare and precise 
incisive operations bright neon lights cover up the darkness 
inside of us inside the vast realms of consumption consuming 
hypocrisy perversion envy and so they may shine spotlights 
on the difference and the differences in equality and opinion

Plastic **** and erect stand up nipples tucked tummies botoxed 
facial facades oozed from shiny scalpels steeled galvanised armour 
represent our swollen clitoral phalluses of meagre mindlessness

Skins consume the charioteers the chatelaines and prostitutes 
of commerce for a brighter future advocate by proxy exterminations
those genocides killing humanity life dignity blinded by the shadow’s light

Some tighten their skins some cannot save their skins are skinned alive 
when bloodstained medals shine purple hearts onto misguided proud 
uniformed chests tummy in chest out in the Forces and by the surgeons decree

Breast enhancements cost money and so do wars and destruction or do 
they not really let stocks and shares soar to the sky and generate the wishes 
for bigger larger more swollen Egos portfolios milky glands so oiled in war

Is the military-industrial complex not that busting panacea and miracle mirage 
so that gold grows on trees and wallets explode could it be prudent to recall
from psychology the inferiority complex that drives so much of human pathology

One hand feeds the other and would there be bombs without the need to 
enhance bosoms would there be boob jobs without the blood money of 
colluding wars some might declare that both bosoms and warfare are
sexy quite shiny and glitzy rather titillating instruments in the same process

They both shine coeval disorientation loss of balance somewhat
round at the edges but ragged inside both straight in your groin 
and face and rather elusive of what lies underneath under cover

Engraved in collateral destruction and fake posturing ablated 
breasts by shrapnel enhanced disguise with surgical prescription 
and precision the drooling drones and clones of our times preside 
over boobs blood guts and gore and they camouflage destruct
sponsored by bankers and bonkers and the paradigm of greed

The grim reaper measures she harvests beauty’s bounty 
glory masquerades mascara sexes up destruction regresses 
resembles yields economic satisfaction in glossy brochures 
in air raids shelters of the flights of fancy with yet another zealous 
strike or flash into the vanity’s heart of cosmetic deal ordeal denial

Glistening scorched muted veils and cover-ups portray shabbiness 
on the money sided square of that equation at the broken circles 
radiating from across the chest the mammal glands the treasures
of one world and then another linked by world view of so called 
progress science security fuelled engrossed and disembowelled 
by capitalism’s deepening depressing and depressed rewards

Decomposing human flesh and matter under grave grave yards 
over grave yards on the poorer spewed out holographic consequence  
of madness **** **** up on minds and hollow shallowness wrinkles
simmer into the lime light’s trenches when juxtaposed with tummy tucks

It’s a glitzy world some cannot want not see for gorged out eye balls 
for the insane sanitation the two sided Janus headed perpetrating 
divisive and bank rolled monsters in greedy shiny suits and shameless armour

Glitz boobs bombs and capitalism come with decisions and a price to pay
conscience wealth poverty arrogance impotence lost perspective hedonism
liberation indoctrination and they go along come with quite some heavy burden

Enlarged tissues and options for choice big small healthy dying decomposing
compassion feed the system tucked in swollen malnourished hungry scabby 
tummies lifted faces screams in horror for some basic justice charity on 
the other side of raving medal metal incision exclusion and provocation

24th July 2016

Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016

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3 evil kings

this is a tale of 3 evil kings...unholy trinity making even outlaws scream
one called called called power
they bring death to the game to destroy and to devour
marked with madness like the number of the beast...flooding the horizon as they dominate the least

in rides pleasure with a smile on his candy coated curses to the victims of the day
the first one's free but soon you'll have to pay
on the devils playground...that's where his children turn to clay

in rides pain as pleasure disappates...loves turns to hate and sunshine to storms
with bars on dirty windows and triple locks on steel doors
laughing loud with lunacy he makes walking timebombs tick and tock
with sour soul sadness some get sick and some get shot
once standing together now they're turning on each other...son against father and brother against brother

in rides power on a horse called hate...blood money flows as rage takes the stage
selling their souls for their only earthly options...adding fuel to the fire of their anger filled addictions
fiction to friction...telling lies in mad infernos...slow soul burns and their spirits glow

like nuclear radiation destroying countless lonely withering flowers in spring
bowing on dirty knees to those 3 evil kings
they sit laughing on their thrones staying drunk on their disease

Copyright © anthony beesley | Year Posted 2010

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Chemical Fire

Chemical Fire
Burn baby and give me some sulphuric hydrochloric acid smoke,
your fire gives me toasted tiktox and crisps me up nicely.
Boom goes the roof when 55 gallon drums go flying and it’s all ballistic.
The money shot is when the boss’s office goes up like a frigging rocket.
He was sat at his desk and went to the moon. 
Chemical Ali won’t be coming back anytime soon. 
Question is where is his ten million dollar profit?
Was it hidden in an empty oil drum on a pallet of dangerous chemicals?
All the factory is ablaze, three workers died and two were injured.
They should have got blood money for working there,
no risk to life was greater and no boss more meaner.
As flames reach a hundred feet and smoke a mile in the sky,
hindsight is way too late.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2014

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Judas Kiss

Thirty pieces of silver
My soul condemn to hell
Even in the presence of God
One can feel left out
Jesus how I love you
My life I surrender for thee
But something wasn't enough
I needed more than even God could give
Even God could give
Envy? Jealous? Recognition
One of twelve is never just one
To Gethsemane garden I led the arm crowd
And my sign was the kiss
I will kiss my Lord to condemn Him
"Greetings Rabbi"
As I kissed the face of my Lord
Judas kissed crucified God
The weight of thirty pieces of silver
Burdens the mind
There is no repentance for such guilt
Return the blood money but it is refused
Throw it down
And the silver splatters
Against the temple floor
Like drops of blood
Spewing from the cut throat
Of the white white lamb
The sound of silence deafens
Nothing can hear your screams
A rope and a tree
And the earthly Judas ends
Hanging into the bowels of hell
Judas kissed Jesus
For thirty pieces of silver
And Judas kiss of betrayal
Brought forth Salvation
                                                " Judas kissed Jesus
                                                   and Jesus said to him
                                                   Friend, do what you are here to do."
I did what I was here to do
Judas kiss.

Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2014

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Trails of blood money
Paper trails of paper cuts
A destroyed forest 

Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015

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Kick and Scream

Hate is awarded by exposure. 
Love is punished by judgment. 
Why does society gravitate toward the negative? 

Darkened rooms and lit screens
full of ***** and visions of bloody scenes.

Everyone loves violence,
With wide eyes they watch with gleeful astonishment.

Waiting for the kill shot;
Taking bets on who the victor will be.

It's not society, I'll tell you that.
As far as I can see,
the only victors are gun runners and pimps.
They're the ones making all the capital-

gains off you and your family's remains-
because you let them,
because it's what you asked for.

blood, money, and sex.
Drugs and rock and roll,

You sold your soul.
Now, your asking for... a rebate?

Waiting in line for a free dinner plate.

The Devil has his hands around your ankle
and he keeps tuggin.

Why don't you kick and scream-
and start runnin? 

Because they'll say you're soft?

You're nothing but a frog warming up in a pot.
Too ignorant to know that those flames are hot!

But I'm telling you know those are flames beneath you...
Is the sinner inside you.
You need to jump out
before your death meets you.

-James Kelley 2010©

Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2010

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Polemic: America, Land of the Dead

Every 16 hours a woman is shot
by her husband or boyfriend

One American is killed with a gun
every 15 minutes

Over 80 Americans are shot and killed 
every day

7 children are “unintentionally” shot
every day

33,000 Americans are killed by guns
every year

Every day 55 Americans kill themselves 
with guns

There were 330 mass shootings
in America in 2015

This is a public health issue
This is a domestic security issue
This is an every-single-citizen-is-involved issue

You could be next
or your spouse or partner or child
or mother or father or sister or brother

74% of NRA members favor background checks

46% fewer women are shot to death by husbands
or boyfriends in states with background checks

48% fewer on-duty cops are shot in states with 
background checks

51% of NRA members favor 5-day waiting periods

Most states have a 24-hour waiting period to get a tattoo 
to buy a gun there is no waiting period required

States with waiting periods before gun purchases
have 51% fewer suicides

In Texas 
no permit is required to own a handgun
no registration is required for owning long arms or handguns
no license is required to own firearms
there are no assault weapons laws
texans can carry concealed weapons if they have a permit
with no training or educational classes required

Most states are the same – trapped in oblivion

It takes 1,000 hours of training to be a yoga instructor
to buy a gun in most states no training is required

In most states there is a limit to the amount of Sudafed
you can purchase but no limit on guns and ammunition

The shooter in Aurora, Colorado was able to purchase
6,000 rounds of ammunition online without any question

The Stop Online Ammunition Sales Act of 2015
which required face to face purchases of ammunition, 
licensing of ammunition dealers, and reporting regarding 
bulk purchases of ammunition would have prevented this 
purchase of 6,000 rounds but it was killed by Republicans, 
the NRA, and its merry band of cynical lobbyist-whores

This is suicide on a national scale
Americans are killing themselves 
with more and more frequency

Where is the unrelenting national outrage?
where are the pounding national protests?

Where are the demands for investigations into the profits
of the NRA and the gun and ammunition manufacturers

This is all BLOOD MONEY profits made on the corpses 
of delusional and catastrophically misinformed Americans

What is more sacred the Second Amendment or human life
what does the meaning of freedom mean when you are dead

The statistics noted here were taken from the Brave New Films documentary, “MAKING A KILLING: Guns, Greed, and the NRA.” 

To find out more, please visit

Copyright © Barry Levy | Year Posted 2016

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My Clementine Oh my darling

Indulgences Indulgence my clementine                                                                             murder sublime your father sold you for a dime                                                               for some wine and a pair of shoes                                                                                   lost in the wine of the purgatories blues                                                                           you cried for grace but drowned in the rivers vine                                                           your father’s embrace he sold you for a dime                                                             catechism number nine died once for all your silver                                                    recalls a story Judas’s blood money a filthy pilfer

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

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Jesus on Trial Part II

Judas Iscariot would later feel great pity. The sad state Jesus was in he was able to see. The thirty pieces of silver received as a fee, would be thrown in the temple, considered “blood money‘. This made it illegal to hold in the treasury. Judas would then hang himself from a branch on a tree. The money would be used to purchase a potter’s field. All this was as the prophet Jeremiah revealed. . Governor Pontius Pilate would later see Jesus. This Roman would hear all the charges from Caiaphas. “Are you really King of the Jews?” was Pilate’s question. “It’s as you say” Jesus said in reciprocation. All further questioning resulted in reticence. Pilate would wonder why Jesus maintained his silence. The Roman governor would view this as a strange thing. Pilate said, “I can’t sentence him. He has done nothing!” A normal custom done during the Passover Feast, would be a choice of two prisoners to be released. Among one of the selections that would be Jesus, there was a convicted murderer named Barabbas. Pilate asked the crowd which one they were willing to take. Barabbas was the overwhelming choice they would make. After Jesus was flogged, Pilate would say to the crowd: “What shall I do with Jesus?” He would ask them quite loud. When asked this question, nearly all of the crowd replied: “You should take Jesus away, and have him crucified” To spare the life of Jesus is what Pilate had tried. However, they all reiterated what they cried. “Crucify him” was what the people shouted to say. A time later, Roman soldiers took Jesus away.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012

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I Do Not Envy The Poor

I do not envy the poor in the land;
What does my life has to do with their stinking lives?
I do not envy the needy in the society;
Their lives are one of my dreams to change,
I do not envy the drunks; their lives are most
Pitiable condition that I know .
What honey does the eyes see in watching a
Stinking bra that exposed itself like a rotten corpse?

I do not envy the deaf and dumb because
They could not hear the stinging words that
Dances to torment us and, take away our peace.
I do not envy the cripple men out there 
Because they could not walk the long distance
I walk to and fro from my work place.

I do not envy the blind ones in the street
Because they could not see the pains we see,
But I pray that God's mercy guide them more.
I do not envy the dead ones in the mortury because
The sun nor the rain harm them not like it does to me.
What more is left to withstand in the wine that has already lost its taste?

I do not envy those in the hospital because
They are in conformed situation unable to move,
I do not envy the politicians because they loot our money; what does my life has to do with blood money?
I do not envy those that has no hand because they
Work not as I kill myself everyday and night in the name of government work in building my nation.

I do not envy the beggars in the homeless street 
Because they earn money without struggling but,
I must be myself and act as God has created me.
I do not envy elders that hide keys to our tomorrow,
Ignorance made them to do so with dark heart.
I do not envy people writing love song because 
I do not have a love song in my throat.

I do not envy the talking parrot because he only
Make noise which can not be seen on pages,
My words are on papers to be read by all even the
Parrot himself; whose mouth call down demons.
When the next generation comes, let it be told
That John chizoba vincent, a poet came without envy.

My fellow poets with pot heads and kettle eyes,
I do not envy you at all, not even in the darkest 
Part of my heart which smell like a rotten corpse;
I do not envy any not even Dangote, every one has his own lane and part to play in life before another phase opens for all of us.

I do not envy those that earn more than me,
You reading this, I do not envy your eagle eyes;
Every day your eyes arise searching for what to feed itself with, I don't envy you.
I do not envy the oil in the Nigeria' pipe,
I do not envy your wife, I have my own skirt;
I envy nothing, I envy nothing because it kills.

(C) john chizoba vincent

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

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It comes with a price usually lost lives
so lets call it blood money 
this money been threw a constant tug of war
and it don't matter how many
just look at the lives lost 
look how much your American freedom cost
and I been a soldier yea I know the creed 
but like Biggie said "Niggas Bleed Just Like Us"
so I guess true lyricist bleed whether alive or dead
but enough said, and if you been threw the struggle
you know what I mean it ain't about the green 
but how you carry yourself 
It ain't what you know, but how you use it
and real niggas gotta feel this yea tru shhh!!
and forget my skin color,
lyrically I made my words fade to black
and I was brought up on ounces of that good in a nap sack
but just because physically you a street nigga mentally
that ain't where you gotta stay at
freedom is between the mind set and the imagination
the difference between taking responsibility 
for your actions, and just laying back contemplating 
your business & procrastinating and look around you 
everybody fears someone or something 
and if they say other wise they bluffing
everybody is leaving this earth one way or another 
so I suggest my sisters & brothers 
you stop chasing this highly anticipated blood money
because with the right motivation 
you can be everything you want and more
you're already free well your spirit is and 
that's the only thing that matters where I'm going
forget being lost, at age 17 I was found and finally set

Copyright © Corey Ross | Year Posted 2007

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Tonight when I think of the people
I cannot tear you out like a page
For men and ideas are the struggle
Ideas can only explain our rage.
There should be a Lumumba day
In Africa, wherever the Congo flows
Some vision as foundations stay
Some death are meant alone for heroes.
Those colonial advantage is dying
The blood money looters now cough
Tell me why the Congo is not danccing
Lumumba, I fly you as the flag aloft.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012

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Triumphant Leaders Part 3

Toussaint they dance in Louisianna, and New Orleans
Omitting to say that these two places are blood money paid
Unto the colonies, snuffing your revolution by any means 
Subtle French diplomacy that history would parade
Solutions of lies in the revolution that Crispus made
Afro-centric leader, pioneer liberator, O that you could see 
Images of this decrepit shadow, the deal made Haiti to be
Negro colony collapsed like a mildew rag upon a golden sand.
Temple here again another citadel of freedom in the sun.

Let the great Dessalines call from his slave barracks again
Organize him with them, make them all fighting men
Unique in the vision that Boukman intuit theology revived 
Visions some racist philosophers native animism would deprive:
Existential, mythical, ontological, the awakening more than
Revolutions fleshed by blood, the black man mind lifted up
Tents and tennacles of the genius that sailed seas of sand
Unrope again the slave from sugar tea in that Liverpool cup
Rebel intellectual, great Toussaint, Napolean's luster fades
Eclipsed by the glory of your name across the new decades.

Federick do you think you people now forget how you paved
Erosions in the great emancipator's cause, until he relented
Digressing from the act of enslaving men. The West craved
Expansions of their new fronteir, on the back of the tormented
Remnants of the Atlantic trade, but you kiting in war winds
Instigated through fly of words, a subtle shift of rumbling breeze
Call for that genius, they sent you to Haiti, cutting the string of sins
Keeling towards a black liberation without the bended knees.

Due to you are laurels, when Afric's children in their van
On to brighter future, rise from where the day began
Under dark bush of morning, where a slave use to sit
Gathering knowledge and self teaching the burden to acquit
Let children today learn, education is not a white light
Africa's lamp was the dawning of the culture that brings might
Straddling the seas, O race, be a Douglas, set wisdom in your sight.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

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Burning rocks had 
a near miss. The 
questions splatter 
the blood-

to inspire and break 
you inside and out. 
Unbecoming, to end the 
relationship. The story?

begins of an introvert. 
The ungreen grass waits 
for your wet toes, 
to breathe again.

The blood-money was 
very high, after the? 
violent end of a  
blade run.

My pillow is soaked of 
a moonfall. The anguish 
of a bodyless grave 
was haunting.

Satish Verma

Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2016

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Mommy why does my country bleed

My daughter asked me today 
Why did my daddy go away
I had to hold my tears 
It was hard to see that my husband had missed so many years
His little girl was now in front of me asking for her dad
God help me what can I say that won’t make her mad
Your daddy had to go be a superhero like on tv
That’s why he’s not here with you or me
He is out fighting the evil forces that would try to hurt us
Don’t worry he will be back soon in that you can thrust
Mommy you sound like what my teacher in school said to me
She said America is the land of thrust and home of the free
I hugged my little girl and off to eat dinner we went
I was hoping that her moment was over and she had nothing left to vent
But once more she turned to me and ask
Mommy why does everybody look so sad
I saw on TV all the people began to bleed
I stop and said hunnie what do you mean
She said their eyes are bleeding 
As I turned to look at what she was seeing
I realized my daughter was referring to tears
Is this what you mean hunnie is this part of your fears
Yes mommy their eyes all bleed
At that moment I realized what America had us see
My daughter thought tears were blood and that scares me
She sees everyone cry over the lost souls of this war
I cannot believe this country has taken it this far
Mommy the kids in school say that’s where daddy was seen
Mommy I don’t want to be part of the people in the country that bleeds

By Anexis/Angel Blood Money Poet

Copyright © Anexis Denis | Year Posted 2010

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I am alone in a room full of strangers

I have a fear of impending danger

But the funny part becomes that they don’t see me

They are partying and carrying on wild and free

I scream once and then again

Nothing no moment not even a friend

I scream more through the halls

But no return just my empty call

Suddenly a man with a cloth appears in front

He says you will fade away for you they won’t hunt

I fall to the ground crying please no

He just laughs in my face because he already knows

No they will not forget me I will continue to shout

My screams will go on till someone reaches out

So again I shout hear me see me people please look

But nothing I was the fish writhing on the hook

I tried to run

Hoping my impending doom would not come

I ran down a hall of mirrors and fright filled my eyes

I was slowly disappearing the man had told no lie

I cried and cried while he laughed

His vicarious laugh was making me mad

I scream no go away

And soon as I did that the whole room began to fade

I awoke and realized my eyes had been deceived

All this had been a bad nightmare I cant believe

I called everyone I know to see if they could hear

They found me crazy carrying on about this fear

I can hear you what do you mean

I smiled and laugh dear god thank you it was only a dream

by Anexis/Angel Blood Money Poet

Copyright © Anexis Denis | Year Posted 2010

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Toy Soldiers

Here the wooden soldiers were to stand

They waited for their command

Although they were not real 

They spoke and thought as if they could feel

I wonder where our general is I wonder where he’s gone

We need a leader who is brave powerful and strong

Without him we are just wooden and must stand still

No general to call us and have us do his will

Their eyes began to brighten as in walked their leader

Though something was wrong with him they wondered why

Why does our leader fall to the ground and cry

The young boy stood and walked to his army which he could command

The one place he felt safe where no one would lift their hands

To his soldiers he started to say

Help me destroy him take him away

My Wooden soldiers you will protect your general until he mends

To battle we will go and fight until the end

The soldiers knew what was wrong with their leader now

The pain that was inflicted on him revenge they vowed

We will not let you down our general we will comply

All of us will protect you and we understand why

That scary monster that hurts you him we do not fear

We know he has been attacking you throughout the years

He lined up his soldiers and prepared for the final fight

The monster that haunts you will perish tonight

The soldiers were prepared and set-up by their rank

Suddenly in walked the monster and to his knees he sank

The soldiers saw as the monster came inside

To their surprise he had their leader’s eyes

Away went their general with fear and tears

The monster that hurt him was finally here

No more screams were heard as the boy was taken away 

In a dark room quiet the wooden soldiers lay

A child’s imagination was broken that night

All because he was too young to fight

Had his neighbors spoken when they heard his cries

That innocent young boy might still be alive

by Anexis/Angel Blood Money Poets

Copyright © Anexis Denis | Year Posted 2010

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Assyrian Babbler

Emerald shiny baubles
attract wizard eyes ...
Balaam al-Oz
Assyrian acquisitions
be kryptonite-colored vanity
Ownership is an Alexandrian transaction,
a Grecian war rhetoric reaction
Gehazi greedy ... 
take all that your Philistine soul see,
as much as your twelve fingers can reach
Sennacherib eyes bald eagle beady,
tilt the full treasure chest pirate empty
Hard diamond negotiator sue for peace,
brook of deceit bubbling sulfuric words acidly
Assyrian babbler
baring the saber sharp tiger teeth
Asking for more and more
shiny baubles ,
more than a Rab-shakeh heart could ever need
Baal belly lust consume:
Pure Pul gluttony, covetous Jareb vomiting
Iscariot greedy ...
betray any and everybody
for the precious metal blood money
Venusian discovery:
Jupiter begat Mars,
typical mythical anti-hero morality
Pharaoh pyramid schemes,
beryl baubles 
shining in Caesar’s coffer coffin dreams
Kill the Tyrus body ... then kill the Magog zombie spirit arising:
don't vow pitbull loyalty to a low-born licentious liege
Count the death cost for the Sisera hostile takeover campaign,
calculate the Tartan war price for the protracted siege
Assyrian babbler
don’t wanna pay for the Wall
No more dead presidents
jaded green leaves gon windfall
Assyrian babbler
you’re gonna pay for the Wall
Taxing dead presidents
levee green sacks gon Jericho fall
Assyrian babbler
give the last tour of duty trump call 


Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018

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The Diary Of Lord Kellington (6)

I waited in one of the cities dark and dangerous alleyways.  The vile odors.  The Gads 
knows what forming puddles around my best leather boots.  The ones with the shine to 
blind the eye.

There she was.  A common strumpet.  Drunkenly making her way towards me.  Jingling 
her purse of meager coins.

Blood money.

Obtained by logging men on the heads whilst they took their fill of her.  Only to have 
her sell them to sea Captain's that do not ask questions of where their crew came 
from.  Or whether they were willing.

I could feel the evil in the air about her.  I heard her heart beat and felt her blood pulse.

She was delicious.

Not a drop wasted.  

As I sit here, the thought comes to me, that I shall
be damned.

But wait!  I am already damned and I thrive within it.  I not only thrive...I revel in it.

Now where is that odious, rangy, mouse burping kitten gotten off to.
GADS!  She is up the draperies once again!

I will calmly go get the ladder, which I had to buy just for these occasions.  I will place it 
up against the drapery staff.

I will climb up.  Gently coaxing the little flea bitten darling to me.  She will hiss and claw 
like the vixen she is.

But, alas.  I adore her so.

~Lord Kellington

Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010

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Headless Tree

I lie on a giant rock in the middle of the river bed
staring at the tree without a head
Dry stump shooting above me
Inviting one another into  their bed
Their nude bodies pressing against each other
hugging and kissing one another
They stand side by side on the river bank
holding and shaking each others hand
and  sucking the energy from the land
Two trees sprouting in the  hot air
looking dry empty and bare
one without a stance and the other without a branch
Adorn with menial clothes on their backs
They stand upright among the crowded pack
With limbs shorter than my  hands
They  stand amid the  guilty ones
waiting on the dreadful decree
All the other trees around them
has branches that cover the vast land
but the headless trees stand  presumptuously
with  naked trunks and no leaves to cover
Their upper torso and bloated knees
They say that silent river run deep
And it is very hard to compete
But  fish are swimming  quietly under my feet
And they are looking for something to eat
The cardinal has returned with a strange beat
It made a loud cry as it flew by
The loggerheads are swimming around
They too have seen something profound
Spring has come and gone 
and the noisy crickets have taken over
It is very hard to see them on the trees
You have to penetrate them very deep
The water stands still in the river
and it appears as if it is not moving
But at the end of the silent river 
you can hear it trickling and gushing over the rocks
The trees have absorb the intense heat 
waiting anxiously on a hasty retreat
The wind is silent too and it cannot break through
Sweat is dripping from my tired face
I wonder why I came to this  dreadful place
I dipped  my hands in the dirty river 
and splash water  all over my face
To cool down this wicked temperature
It feels like hell is brewing in America
The mood is  very somber
and the behavior is improper
The land of milk and honey 
has been reduced to blood money
Trapped in a minefield land
without nothing in my hand
Every night I pray in the dark 
for God to take me to the mark
I got up suddenly and walk along the trail
and there they were waiting for me
close to the roadside under a tree
Three peculiar deers were standing there
A mother deer and her two fawns
looking exhausted curious and sad
As soon as I dew near 
they got excited and scampered away
The river is drying out
and the rocks are swelling in the heat
They are getting bigger and bigger 
and in no time everything will be over
They say that silent river runs deep 
And here I am staring at the headless tree. 

Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2017

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Mother taught me

Mother taught me
When pride cankered me to climb
Trees upside down before the crowd
She scolded me
The higher the monkey climbs, son
The more he will
Expose. Her lessons truth has won
Feel now the thrill

For when took gold
And tongue, and people from the land
Nothing was left but tears and dying
Of human soul
All that gold was cankered with our blood
Things fall apart
Everywhere, the old systems melt to mud
Mother was smart

Blood money gone
Misery shakes the clouds of coming dawn
Confusion fold the banks that genius brimmed
A naked fawn
Alone and vulnerable, shivers in the sight
The trigger pressed
And Europe gropes through thickening night
Greed is careless.

Suicide haunts fear
Of the coming apocalyptic readjustments now
The wounded fawn rushes to the cliff, but blind
Nor can it hear
It is not the hunter but the wind in its chase
It's climb too far
I made impotent cannot rescue or its debt erase
Time healed my scar.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012