Best Caste Poems
O foolish Amerikan klan,
who hath Klux bewitched thee with pale poof?
Kluless to the celestial truth,
Love immutable is infinity grand
Children of the Aryan band,
what doth the dark star say unsooth?
Thy divided house is quaking from the foundation to the roof,
as incantations of hatred are caste by thine hand
Stir madly the black cauldron with thy ladle iron brand ...
knowest not, thou Jim Crow vows are dove uncouth?
Universal love is the relativity proof,
yet thine mathematical impurity will cancel thy hexed land
Inverted cloud 9 chanting brings triple digit reign; slow death quicksand,
cursed cause invoked by thou warlock heirs of John Wilkes Booth
Mix the enamel pox potion from thy bittersweet Cain rotten tooth,
let angry spirits from boiling brew be vomit spilt upon thy Endora strands
Thus, the mirror of time will show the cold reflection of thy fool’s errand;
ought not all ayes idol-ly stand by, and watch thy seance plight aloof?
"The ways in which we apply these [empathic] abilities
to controlling the excesses of growth and expansion
[by nurturing multicultural synergetic balance]
over the next century
will be the greatest test
of our evolutionary [democratic Win/Win]
sophistication." D Holmgren, Permaculture, p. 73
Sophistication is not
jingoism
nor tokenism
nor nationalism
nor sexism.
Democratic evolutionary sophistication
requires developing holistic integrity,
invites and nurtures polypathic
health of interdependent pleasure
and wealth of intersectoral compassion.
Until our League of Women Voters
becomes a Legion of EcoFeminist Speakers and Listeners,
leaders and co-operative
co-invested followers.
Until our democratic national party
becomes an everyday
InterNational InterDependent PolyCultural Health Party.
Until our republican nationalistic party
becomes a cooperatively-managed
EcoTherapeutic Wealth Development Project.
Until each educational and religious system
becomes a polyamorous paradise
for mentoring Restorative Peace,
a remedial safe space
for battered and neglected
abused and exploited
miseducated and disempowered
Republican girls and women.
Until each Town Meeting
becomes a bipartisan win/win part
of EarthMother's CoPassionate Discernment Network.
Until each political campaign
becomes a NonViolent Communication progression
reinforcing our EcoPolitical CoOperative Health Trust
of and for Earth's Peace Wealth.
Until Type A caste supremacist planning
to extend competing Win v Lose Yang
reweaves equivalently
with processing Type B
nurturing Win/Win
caste-abolishing Yin.
Until Left deductive dominance
panentheistically religions again
with Right inductive
mind-passion/body-pleasure.
Until masculine strength with endurance
also means feminist flow with nurturance
through mutual Left/Right bicameral
cooperativity.
Until day
becomes not so much nightmare.
Until "unsophisticated women"
becomes an oxymoron,
a population of zero,
empty vacuous imaaginary population
now singing more resonant harmonies
dancing more resilient memories.
Temple – not an abode of God
Idol – only a piece made by man
To see his reflection in ruse of worship
The Powerful can see power
The Rich can see riches
Poor see poverty
The more one donates, the more he gets
The more one pleads and cries, Grief is all he gets
Rich can sit in front of the Lord
Others will queue in
The rest will scramble for the leftovers
Rich need the temples
To keep the poor content with poverty
Ain’t we a poor country of rich people?
Or are we a rich country of poor people!
Questions lay unanswered, Treasures lie hidden
The Hungry stay naked in open.
Some fast for glory, many die of hunger
This is the order of the day, dear folks
The powerful are the Brahmins
The rich are the Vaishyas
The middle class are the Kshatriyas
To defend or aspire for power or riches
The rest are the Shudras
based on the Varna system in India and the new order
... Suresh M Iyer
The calamity on the leaders of the dynasty was very heavy.
Drona, Bhishma, Arjuna, all faded, all getting sad,
A Suyodhana rose, speaking, 'Veer! Well done!'
He again challenged Parth (Arjun) for a duel,
The Guru hinted at Arjun to remain silent.
Kripacharya said- 'Listen, heroic unknown young man'
Arjuna is the child of Bharata-dynasty-Avatans Pandu.
'It is a Kshatriya, it is a Rajput, who will not fight like this,
How would one jump into the melee?
If you want to fight with Arjun, do not go silent in the gathering
Say something, tell me who are you? '
'Caste! Oh caste! Karna's heart throttles,
Looking at the enraged Sun, he spoke with heroic anger
'Caste-caste rites, whose capital is only heresy,
What should I know? These are my arms.
'Kanak-chhatra on the head above, black-within-black,
Don't be shy about asking people in the world.
I am a sutraputra, but who was father Parth?
Say courage, do not remain silent in guilt.
'You raise the head, you take the name of the caste,
But, with the power of unrighteous exploitation, you thrive in happiness.
Your soul trembled with the half-castes,
You ask for the donation of thumb by deception.
A caste preservationist favors separation
of White from NonWhite races.
Racists come in two varieties,
but both behaviorally support White privileged apartheid,
if not in what we liberally say
about capitalism's free
and irresponsible speech marketing way
then in what we conservatively do
Too comfortable with neighbor-hooded
apartheid school
and patriarchal church
historical monoculturing segregation
practicing our habitual systemic trauma
combative politics of xenophobic mistrust.
Racists favor separation of positive light
v negative dark eumemic cultures
to perpetuate economic
and political partisan praxis
of ChosenPeople irreligious superiority
An ongoing "upper-self" v "lower-othered"
disempowering
unenlightened "winner" v "loser"
systemic trauma narrative.
There is no authentic empowerment side
of love
in this history of racist segregation
because we are all apartheid losers
when we prefer to fly apart
And stronger when we fly together
more polyculturally inter-religious
deep listening enriched
By our choices for inclusive community investment,
when and where we seek divine empowerment
of MotherNature's cooperative multicultured purse?
rather than monotheistic business
as win v lose 0-sum
northern light v southern dark
anthro-privileged
bipolar
oppositionally defiant
caste-preserving usual
Competing to defend
birthright v birthwrong
long separated standing
in life's lesser survivalist
v greater thrivalist
apartheid pecking order
A dull monoculturing defensive position
within Win v Lose strategic oppositions,
entirely inappropriate for organic Gaia's
WinAnthroWealth/WinEarthHealth
polyculturing positive eumemic
pronoia
Healthier and wealthier
and wiser resonant opportunities together
than dissonantly risky
xenophobic paranoid behavior
dark deadly caste apart.
Demons Had Been Caste Out
God, need your great help and to be my guide
While You stay inside me and will always abide
Successfully take me through each poem I write
Whether it be morning, noon or by bright night.
To thank You is what my poems are all about
For helping me remove each and every doubt
Along with all of the trouble I forever was in
Not only that, surely saving me from all sin.
God prepared me to write poems everyday
Taught me what to say showing me which way
Will be best to relay my lethal poems to people
From high ivory towers and each tallest steeple.
Each poem has been sung in Church as a hymn
And such a stunning choir still hear all of them
From tenor, alto, soprano backed by each base;
They even saved a jubilant contralto just in case.
What they did, God helped through everything
Made voices marvelous when they would sing
They even saved a tremendous solo for very last
So out all the demons they were sure to caste.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
PS. So how tight have you been holding
your sides from laughing real hard anyway?
Other women’s fingernails are styled, painted, decorated, clipped and buffed.
Movie star-type nails.
With little stars, stripes, polka dots, dainty designs for the seasons even.
My nails are not these.
My nails are chipped, not clipped.
I cannot stand the sound of a fingernail file.
You know how chalkboard scratching hurts some people’s ears?
I could scratch a chalkboard all day long.
It is a fingernail file that affects me like the rest of you.
I cannot stand the sound of a fingernail file.
I keep my nails in two modes: clean and dirty.
Clean lasts maybe an hour after I bathe if I go straight to bed.
Making dirty my usual everyday nail mode.
Neon paint resides in the corner of two or three of my nails on a regular basis.
Green and orange usually.
My nails are often clay-stained from my Kansas dirt, which is all clay.
Yes, thank you for asking, I do have garden gloves.
Lovely pink ones with yellow flowers and green leaves.
The cloth fingers are torn out.
Which I love, because then I can feel the dirt.
I have loved dirt since I was old enough to have a pail and a shovel.
When I meet my friends, I pick the place, choosing the darkest of restaurants.
Their fingernails glitter and glow in the dance of the tiny lights.
My fingernails laugh, thinking of our next play time.
I don't know when these lines ran off my shouldering lips this morning...
but I guessed they are spirit and being,
home and forest, evil and sorrow.
I don't know that men are made of
two spirits & souls & bodies until
I saw a boy cast out from his clan.
his body remained in the Obi of his
forebearers whilst his spirit went & his
Soul sang a dirge and elegy among his kindred who watched amidst laughter whilst the other of his body, soul, and spirit went beyond.
I don't know why my blood sipped from his tears and flew down to the ground,
I don't know why culture made men insane like the mad masquerade that was bitten by a snake.
I don't know why we rejected our own in the name of caste system &traditions.
are we not same breathe from same god?
I don't know why we sang last night,
I don't know why we made the moon shine on others and cast it away from our brothers in the ditch to cry and die.
and we dragged their shadows to bury in the evil forest where the unseen gods live.
Let me see your palms and your eyes,
The stars are the easing thought there of,
Let me see your lips and hair,
are they not the same colour with that man sent out last night?
The name of every caste is in our mouth,
blood. Water. Spirit. Souls. Bodies.
The names of every Osu is a bosom of every river flowing eastward.
They are the images climbing the sign whilst the world was dancing to a lonely lullabies.
We made them see the stars descending with black roses & yelling & belching.
My mother was a victim,
my father was a victim,
and that piece of a broken boy was also a victim of this hiccupped mayhem.
Yesterday, the town crier said with a prelude light song that two bodies was found in the street & my people cared not but languised in wine &merriment.
This still remain our fate as my brother went visiting his head &was chased away by her father cos he is an Osu.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
The seed of ego and pride continued to generate hatred
Somebody grinded, somebody kept choking here and won
Every human being described himself as the greatest caste
Mankind was everyone's caste, why did every human forget it.
In the face of hollow claims, know how the country is growing
Now the curse of casteism is also suppressing humanity
Do not blame anyone who has set this fire
This spark of poison has come out of your house.
Why did every young man standing on the border save the life of religion
When here, by making caste the only limit, every person died of hatred.
Why is casteism becoming everyone's self-respect
Hey, in the race for this important, nobody achieved anything
Now to eradicate this malice cup root, one has to step up
Casteism is an inundation of fire, one has to burn feet.
I will not talk about caste, nor will I talk about religion
I will not be proud, I will not be ashamed
Just pay that great duty of human being
Bring me happiness in the world, I will talk about that karma.
Villanelle : Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
[He who fears to affix his name to his face or words has something to hide unless the State is after him/her out of fear...]
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
If no tyrant nor king seeks to blunt your pen
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Lenin Mao Gandhi fear not given name
They stand by their word in the open
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Writers and poets sometimes flaunt pseudonym
Slip past the Law to fool friend behind pen
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Some daren’t offend patrons with by-line fame
Wife child ageing mother rights will ripen
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Does the user of the second name blame
Circumstances or his own fears open
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
Fear of being caught outright in this game
May make hidden causes énergumène
Hide not behind caste nor bought courtly name
Not even Maquisards make such a claim
© T. Wignesan – Paris, November 17, 2021
Lights dim
the audience
is silent
a giddy anticipation
charges
the antique air
the air is warm
there is a hum
then a soft
buzzzz
louder and louder
one is stung
then another
and another
a swarm
of bees
invades
the calm
shrieks
and chaos
fill the hall
everyone runs
for the exits
ushers stand
dumb
a glower
of darkness
descends
curtain goes up
the stage bursts
with light
and the theater
is
empty
This ancient apposition
between fear and love,
distrust and trust,
where fear reigns, love has already faded into too-distant hope;
where love co-integrates
fear can naught but evaporate.
Dipolar appositions
are bipolar oppositions wearing newer wings
of more robustly Win+Win polyculturing wealth
impoverishing Win v Lose anti-resilient
not so brilliant
polarizing pathology.
Appositional contrasts speak in transliterating dialects
trusting co-passionate truths of balanced resonance
and distrusting degenerating dissonance,
arrogance,
confusion,
apathy,
absence of sustaining interdependent curiosity,
dipolar co-gravitating courage.
Those who dance through polyamorous designs
for polyculturing love's integrative outcomes,
extinguish LeftBrain's angry anthropocentric fears
disintegrating narcissistic outgo.
Those of us living in the USA
too often hear Republican capitalist dogma
of The Great Trickle Down Theory,
in which those who have most
must get more first
so they can hire more who have least,
although perhaps without proficient wage
and without health care if avoidable,
to spread capitalizing wealth around
so we can become better day and night spenders
on all the thneeds and trinkets offered
in exchange for our consuming lives.
And so it was with raised eyebrows
I heard Donald Trump explain
to us unwashed and un-self-insuring masses,
that he paid so very little income taxes
because it is his sacred duty
to himself
his family
his stockholders,
corporately invested infesters,
to pay as little tax and operating fees as legally possible
so there is more to hoard,
and less and less to trickle out.
So, I guess this carries some tension
with Trickle Down,
becoming, more accurately,
The Upper Caste Constipated
minimal trickling out
of capital hoarding.
But, just in case you are listening, Donald,
which I know you are not,
but maybe some more responsible Republican employer,
I am quite sure that Wharton never spoke this lie
that you have any legal, much less moral, obligation
to retain as much wealth as possible
to re-invest in further corporate greed
to act as little trickling out as possible
while speaking in loud nationalistic patriotic
Trickle Down and Out!
to all us little people,
someday
Preferably after this year's self-congratulatory pay out,
made possible by all us humble caregivers
opening your golden ballroom doors for tips
and cleaning your several stressed toilets,
where yellow and brown
too slowly trickle down.
Dinner scraps, primal deathtraps.
Life’s meal is the class struggle,
and some of us are left starving.
We are the movement of the masses,
a sleeping colossus running on
corporate time.
Dinner scraps, merciless steel traps.
We are measured only as commodities.
We give our lives as wage chattel.
We make our homes or lose them
on the edges of a time clock.
Dinner scraps, societal collapse.
Our mortal scraps are scattered
across toxic bleeding lands.
Our festering, bleeding homes
destroyed for private profit,
now Superfund sites, haunted,
abandoned to enrich a scattered few.
This is nothing new.
Dinner scraps, toxic time lapse.
Planetary devastation from
multinational demolition,
from riotous monopoly capital,
from robotization and trauma.
The entitled elite shrug off their
labor expropriation with nihilistic
indifference and sadism.
Dinner scraps, deadly mishaps,
we exit at our final abyssal gate,
fading as ancient, weary stars.
Our caste defines our station.
Our race marks off our place,
our life and death beneath the oligarch.
Our liberation will erase this hierarchy
only with our unified latent leftovers,
our dinner scraps of unified force.
Published: Dissident Voice 02/16/25
It feels fascinating
that horny voracious passions
dissipate in the presence of fear
of pain and suffering
and ego-defeating loss,
disability and performance anxieties,
wounds
short-term through permanent
satiated energy,
absence of active hope
for future holistic integrity.
In this time of climate degeneration
fear and cultural distancing,
frustrated leftbrain dominant
StraightWhiteMale monoculturing rabidity
looks polyculturally threatening like,
sounds prejudicially like,
feels and touches sacred EarthMother like,
smells and decadently tastes like
Manic
predative energy
inflamed by unnatural sleep deprivation
festering fear-and-anger rapaciousness
Rather than restorative green restorative justice
reviving passion
for multicolored
trans-generational
testosterone+estrogen
yang+yin
polyamorous win+win
inclusive sentient integrity
Of cooperative green/blue powers,
EarthPeace compassion
Not so red dominant
states of capitalistic
monotheistic
straight white patriarchal narcissism,
worshipping a punishing God
made in His own frightened anthropocentric image.