Best Blood Money Poems
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
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.
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
Torture
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.
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.
this is a tale of 3 evil kings...unholy trinity making even outlaws scream
one called pleasure...one called pain...one 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 face...giving 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 lives...like withering flowers in spring
bowing on dirty knees to those 3 evil kings
they sit laughing on their thrones staying drunk on their disease
Machine raw; saws on..
War always wrong, is too true!
All blood; money, lies.)
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
Trails of blood money
Paper trails of paper cuts
A destroyed forest
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.
Coulda been
the Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t tell the truth so much
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man,
if I was kill willing
to have a shogun trigger touch
Coulda been
chief consigliore renown
for the don Corelone spiked crown
But I never wanted to know
where the blood money
was body bag buried underground
Coulda been dark knighted Haman Faustian
All I had to diablo do was unjust be Equus no-good;
give breaking bad Darth Vader viper counsel, wearing a cobra hood
Terminator words that would crush the skull bones
Coulda been the Vice Hand
standing behind the golden chalice image,
ruling drunkenly on the Babylonian Empire throne
Coulda been
the Spartan Hand of the Grecian warlord,
but I loved peace too much
Told the Jezebel whisperers of the royal court,
don’t try to finger me to be the next flesh merchant of death ...
I don’t tear traffick in such ~ City-state grunts suffer enough
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand hatchet man,
if I had promoted Herod cockatrice thoughts
to condor hatch crucifixion plans
If I had been parrot inclined
to whisper
some patriot mischief in Pharaoh’s ear ...
I coulda been
sitting next to the pirate power,
making the brown-nose boot lickers fear
Coulda been
the Iron Hand of the President,
if I truly had a crafty guile mind to
take a sticky dip ...
deep in them pockets of citizen you
Coulda been
the sixth finger of king Midas’ hand
But, breaking the golden rule,
just wasn’t the ambitious rear end
I was willing to career bend
If I was more Balaam money bag motivated —
Fee willing to put a Judas hand under the table;
and with an Iscariot silver patch-eye gaze,
look the other way as freedom get disabled
I coulda been
Pharaoh’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who doused the torch
in Lady Liberty’s hand
I coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who lit the Pilate
in Nero’s hand
Coulda been
the right Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t roar the Judah truth so much
But I was born
a left hand of the Zion King,
who gave a righteous Resurrection roar,
echoing throughout eternity
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©
Form:
I never knew angst to be so devilish a thing
Taking me from a million clean years,
To ABC house of booze, because,
My blood money was abused by him
Wrecking the Kia Sportage I was strapped in
A passenger, pained to point of surgeries.
And on a rainy morning he swore resenting
Driving me to physical therapy,
And before the settlement, made his request:
"...Do my bathroom floor like yours."
And half of what I got was to be his
He carved such rules I broke in time
And kept secret what figures were mine.
But, lo and behold I sat pondering, counting pennies
And the devil drove me to think...
I should drink to that
All I got, and shared, and fail to stash.
Who knew Canadian whiskey would whisk me to detox?
And I, a recovering addict/alcoholic chose house of God
In AA I'd sit with alcoholics sharing what they drank,
How, when, where.
I'd rather say never again.
*
Tuhada Khon Khon,
Mera Khon Pani.....
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
***** 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.
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