Best Entertainments Poems
THE SNAKE
The terror of night; the terror of day,
The longest creature on earth and sea.
In length, I am fearful to men, In braveness, man worship me;
I have no hands non legs, yet I move faster than others.
In the garden, where I was; man was my friend,
Until Satan borrowed my name;
I gave my name to him without considering the future.
I am not the serpent that steal your dominion non your enemy.
I am in pains as you are; why do you fearfully refused to eat my meat?
Only those that knows my values embrace my meat.
In your markets I am unpopular in demand,
If you want to use me for shoe, Bags or social entertainments;
You don’t remember that you once rejected me.
On God of creation, when will you hear my cry?
The world is against me. Who will vindicate me?
I need my name back, my honor restored, my friendship with man back.
I need my legs and hands back, I am created as you are.
If I have my hands and legs, man will not call me evil.
I am the pride of beauty, my products in your markets speaks volumes;
In the rock, in the forest, in the cities, in zoos, in your sitting rooms I am there.
If you feared me, stop buying products, stop having me as pet.
I have my pains, you have yours, I never accused man of me not having legs or hands,
Yet you blacklist me.
O h my God, come with the wings of healing and heal my hands and legs.
I am one of your creatures , look down upon me and wipe away my tears.
If my legs and hands are kept inside, how can I praise you as others do?
My shining skin, that added beauty to me are your works,
Looking ahead, my future’s beauty reminds me of thy wondrous works.
Written by
Pastor Emmanuel Brown Omojevwe
When equanimity falls to the wayside
And the eyes empirically survey the hillside,
It’s Einstein’s time that I can’t bide,
Mawkish mental masturbation adroitly I chide,
Thy self,
Then my discreet self in its inchoate knowledge of reality,
Like the mass of humanity
Dissembling about Nature,
And Nature in turn disassembles matter, that we build up and think
Matters,
Your death is no grand spectacle even if it seems to be,
wrought cosmologies wield fantastical narratives of eternity,
Even when my hero Nietzsche in his tautology: Amor Fati unfolds itself like origami into eternal recurrence
Don’t get any ideas about permanence.
Take an uncompromising acceptance of reality, isn’t that just akin to Buddhist philosophy?
As discreet markings form abstract symbols of meaning in letters that form alphabets, that form words, that form sentences, that form phrases that compose ideology to compel us and histories, that inform us of existence, don’t get too cozy with them as they have a way of presenting like the Horizon,
The horizon, you know is just an illusion.
I do not subscribe to Pascal’s wager, Dawkins showed me the light,
I do not matter much, but no matter, as surely as I exist nothing is more precious.
All religious cosmologies aside, miraculous evocative entertainments beguiling distractions,
"Cogito ergo sum" Descartes comforting statement.
You bring the inside out,
this doubting mind can be certain of existence, by our certain doubt.
Marriage was intended to make babies
not statements!
Marriage is a covenant before God
not governments!
Marriage is a promise to family and future
not quick investments!
Marriage is sacrifice and hard work
not daily entertainments!
Marriage is a mortgage and college fund
not tax entitlements!
Marriage takes a Father & Mother for a child
not village managements!
Marriage is lived and enjoyed in private
not public amusements!
Marriage is between husband, wife and God
not life partner arrangements!
The young Kumar’s wife dancing bright,
Offering to all exciting pleasant sight.
Making her waist into the vivacious folds,
Throwing the eye glances to the folks.
Her neap tide vest and spring tide bosom,
Unruly, swelling, her case cannot fathom.
Clicking in each step of her movements,
Opening up websites for entertainments.
Kumar’s mind troubled by whirlpools,
Maybe a dandy love-lorn in her pulls?
Leaving his children sleeping uncared for,
Kumar gets busy to spy for wife’s pinafore.
Desdemona remains still erotic but chaste,
Why is there no change in Othello’s haste?
What if messy Iago one scarf steals?
Is there a dirth of scarves in Malls still?
********
** Kumar is an Indian first name and also used as suffix to a name**
============================
**A Repost.. originally posted on 24-7-2005
On a recent visit to Warwick Castle,
We saw the death mask of Oliver Cromwell:
The man famous for asking an artist to paint
His portrait and show him warts and all.
I studied the stern features of the wax mask,
And noted the prominent warts.
He banned festivities, games and entertainments;
Had the joyless people preferred their lives
The way they once were with their king?
Or did they continue to rejoice the regicide?
As I studied Cromwell's likeness I wondered
Had the man who cast the mask thanked heaven
For ridding them of another dictator?
Jack Horne for Nette's Mask Time contest
What do I nurture?
And what do I try to control?
Do I control what I nurture?
Do I nurture control?
And what about freedom
and spontaneity?
Can I control nurturing free choices,
expressions,
entertainments,
performances,
transactions,
relationships?
How much is too much control,
no longer nurturing healthy wealth
of co-empathic integrity?
What do we nurture through our controlled investments?
Our transactions?
Our daily relationship choices
on through to our annual re-assessment voices?
And what do we try to control?
And do we control that we nurture healthier candidates
rather than more pathological pirates
of and for our attention retention?
When riding a compliant horse,
I nurture direction by inviting
and holding
humility.
Our shared control
is through mutually sustained re-invitation,
reweaving of cooperative intents
and subtly communicated purposes
to continue our epic dance
together.
Until we develop time to nurture rest
and control our thirst
and our complex hungers
for yang's control
accompanying
yin's symbiotic complicity.
I am the cloak of absolution that wraps around your thoughts like the blankets on your bed that cling to your never ending desire to be more. Diamond in speech chained in silver I lay before you the objects of your inner most secrets. I am the hidden unspoken that recognizes the mysteries you disguise with such fluidity. And did someone tell you love was forever. There are no measures of time to be weighed in the land of questions which I myself can muster for your concerns if you so enjoy danger.. And why pray tell did you climb back up when you were taken so high only to have the bottom dropped from under you. Behind the reflection of your own eyes you might see the vision of sweetened ecstasy. And if you’re looking in my direction you may see yourself but I am not you. I have been the changer of shapes that can lay at your feet a vast array of distractions served as entertainments that will occupy your desire to devour your pray like the spider you might emulate. And the moon you claim to bathe in well that is my home and the wind when it whistles through the leaves on the tree it whispers the unknown fears that love hides in its garment of seductions and perhaps I might invite you to come listen. So wild and potentially dangerous bring me no fears but what of you wild thing.
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
Grey within the sunlight
Dark inside the love
All proof to the conscience
We forgot
Where are we now in this grand future
When any child any where, dies of hunger
When medication controls the young
And sends it’s tendrils of disaffection into everyone
Should the human story, be written so
In entertainments celluloid war
Portrayed by the gangsters and bankster of bullet and blood
And marched upon the killing fields of propaganda
Is this us
Is this what we have become
To be governed and guided by the faceless
Bloated egos of wealth and greed
To be made ever less
And forced to live under their duress
Cowering now beneath our willing blindness
While the nameless skin tight skeletons
Beg us
For the mountains of food we store in supermarkets
We weep in the anguish of our souls, in silence
The truth carved among us
While we dedicate the boredom of our discontent
To the next phase of pressing entertainment
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
We have become the weapons
And the finger trigger pull on them
For nothing more than mindless acquisition
To live in regret, this age of iron
To pass each day and each life
Burying the truth in an evidence of sand
We who lived
We who survived
Did so by the death, of our brother and sisters
In some far off and foreign land
Where out of sight
Became out of mind
Lounging about in my entertainments room,
Interesting centre of vigour, vitality and boom,
Venturing in when I just don’t know what to do,
Inbuilt comforts, no shocks or surprises new;
Never proposing alternate hobbies or films,
Grinning merrily at me that I get my whims,
Ruthless in its validation of my eccentric choices,
Over it, giving no quandaries or strange noises;
Old kin, waiting from my random relaxation,
Mellow with my sci-fi extraterrestrial fixation.
Spider crushed my
fair experience, no more
arcade rides for me.
{I'm too old for these entertainments any more.}
it's not at our opt to stay
And
Live this life,
Poverty offered
A land,
We breath trembling
Our bodies,
Hearing gunshots,
Fleeing,
Screaming
Stepped With knife,
Hollering for help,
Honestly it gets us
Filled with worries
Trailed blood indicating
Wrecked,
I see no breathing
Nor trying,
It seem Departed.
Sobbing when she have been
Forced into it,
Her feminine spoilt by pirates
While she acts delinquently for rescue,
Arching left ensue
A many desired explained
By entertainments,
Spending on eyes attired
By compliments,
Repined avail filled
Inferiors astonishments.
Hood life gone us astray,
Good life come approach our way
The rat tiptoed to the house, picks up a thread
While the soft spoken black cat is, still, in bed
Sleepy, but, she is to battle it, to win, for today
To gain her breath, in solitude, for another day
At first, she will fetch water, from a sacred well
Passing through the silent field of fears, of hell
While the sympathetic morning moon watches
And giving her consoles, with uplifting touches
Of hopes, to warm her shaken, but noble heart
From the cold of early morn, that torn her apart
Before the fading moon could bid her goodbye
Her tiny feet has swollen red, like a chicken fry
The rat sadly waves her bye to the fading moon
She kisses gladly the first crow, with her broom
To sweep the scattered butts, of Marlboro Light
Before favored kitten come, and give her a fight
She uses her magic matches to light the sticks
Delicately set at the center of a three big bricks
Eggs and bacon, with riz Cantonese to prepare
The boiling silvery pot, patiently, waits her care
While the family feasts, the rat runs to the room
To fix the beds’ pleats, and then, she will zoom
To clean the ruin of wars, on the two slab tables
Before, she finds herself drown, in little bubbles
Her paled skin got burned, from the blazing sun
While the soft spoken black cat enjoying the fun
Of watching, the afternoon entertainments show
That the rat never sees, for she has list to follow
But, before the day ends, the poor rat was bitten
By the soft spoken black cat, left.....right up to ten
That made her soul cries, under the mango tree
Hides her tears, in the dark, no one will ever see
Only when the soft spoken black cat’s gone away
Thus, the rat feels happy, for she has time to play
In a world, where no creatures exist, but, just her
She now lives in illusion, in her own, fake laughter
The rat has beaten many times the first cockcrow
For the soft spoken black cat, not to live in sorrow
Till she left her, nothing, but full of fear and wraths
Forever haunt her, even if, she takes dozen baths
O God, the rat has a phobia, ‘cos of this black cat
Won’t you ever pity seeing her sleeping in a mat?
Or when somebody, with shot, scratches her tail?
For I cannot stand, seeing how human beings fail
When all opinions are the ink of newsprint
Repetitious in the speech
A presented little gift
Wrapped up in the tinsel glittering eye full
Of something called the truth
But is bought the cheapest wall paper
To cover up all the crack inside their proof
Religion is the grand avenue of neon
The bright and sucking casino of a thoughtless heaven
The immediate acquiescence
To accepting disavowal and asking for forgiveness
A panacea for the sickness
An ever ready cure all
For the chill we feel inside the retina of our soul
And all the countless implications
Wrapped in the need for some ready cash
Become the excuses we use
To explain the seeming lack of love
We become the property and commodity
Of the society for sale
Slaves to the mediocre shadow of ourselves
Survive; it’s the least you can do, while you are alive
It’s the most you can achieve
In your precious and be-gifted life
To cling knuckle white and bleeding
To the dogma of your skin
Competing with every human
For the little you have been bequeathed
There is more sorrow in the numbness
Than any of us can conceive
How split and unrequited
How fearful we believe
And how desperately we see
When perception hangs on beauty
And our tears echo from how much of beauty, we really need
Even though entertainments and all their useless possessions
Fluffy warm us in our overly implied contentment
Keeps us from detecting or even questioning
The chill we feel inside the retina of our soul
When we
together
worry we
(not they)
don't have enough time
to recreate a healthier happier wealthier climate
this is Left/Right balancing time
to notice and recalibrate
transubstantiate
our DNA/RNA solidarity
transformation consciousness
to adjust our LeftBrain dominance
from anthropocentric shortage
toward 1/(0)-cobinary empty long
to fully belong
abundantly empty
timelessly polyamorous
not too much egoLeft resonant thrival
for too little ecoRight resilient survival
not too soon YangAlpha
or too late YinOmega,
for Win/Win reweaving
AnthroEarth's co-pleasuring flight
impassioning polypathic spacious might
feel our time lies too still,
too boring,
lacking good humored engagements
and vitality
and passion
too much stagnant dull
secularized divestment
not empowering sacred time
fulfilling organic space
Actively hoping
these are our opportunities to look deeper
for permaculturing cooperative opportunities
to replace competitive WinLose condemning and mistrusting
Earth's dialectically climatic enculturations
Avoiding systemic trauma's self-alienating
and original sin's ego-monoculturing
supremacist-yet-paranoid
dissonantly divesting outcomes
veiling WinWin regeneratively healthy
tranformatively wealthy
transubstantiated bilateral Anthro economic
Earth ecological
empowering and enlightened politics
enticing deeply rich socio-therapeutic opportunities
for less vicarious fear of risk to self-esteem
more freedom to actively perform self and other
bilateral entertainments,
re-engaging cobinary cooperative gift-it-forward miracles
reweaving EarthBound pains and longings,
promoting future health
abundant gains and belongings
by learning from past pathologically dissonant angers,
fears dulling into boring passive monotheistic
patriarchal paranoias,
chronically dissonant distances from
regeneratively balancing resonance
of panentheistic
Gaia Hypothesis
matriarchal pronoia
promulgating peak experiences
of long-suffering belonging bliss.
I see that some people
enjoy the experience
to be in a spotlight.
It’s a strong need
for some who long,
await the right time
that may generate
another meaning,
another sense of pride.
It’s an issue to deal with,
it’s a personal need;
like those in entertainments
the important thing to have
is to be popular in their craft.
In our ministry, for instance,
there are some who love
to be known with the people
and share their gifts and talents,
along with their looks and charms.
Oh, it’s really a kind of tapestry
where personality gets its chance
to roll into the hodge-podge
of being in a limelight,
spotlight, or in a cynosure.
Again, it’s a human journey
an issue overriden with pride;
that craving for a real answer
to get the attention of others.
The joy of being in circulation
the prestige that one can claim
there’s a magic of attraction
like a glu that cements all –
between one’s need and inclination.