Best Extort Poems
They will take advantage of your calmness,
They will destroy you till you become helpless,
They act like they care, which is rare,
They walk away from you, yet return to extort from you,
They never help in your assignment, but are ever ready for assessment,
They make us feel pain, when all our deeds of work are in vain,
Why do we pay for every indulgence, when the day is full of bad influence,
Struggling to make things possible, just to see them make things impossible,
So sad how you down line yourself all in the name of working and wondering around like a Roach
And all they know is mocking pondering on the outline of your sorrow .
When you walk confidently and talk swiftly, you are more successful, than running courageously confused,
Our hearts were never made for misery, our lives were made for victory.
Life is like a dove, beautifully made with love.
Learn from everyone but follow no one.
"The Embrace"
In the apathy of a
corporate world
Commercial here,
commercial there
I live within air
quotes
Pretending I live at
all
To buy, to extort,
to be the product
I am who they say I
am
All persons, so
impersonal just
thriving outside of
nature
Being the drones of
love and war
Working behind
brick, driving
inside metal?
I want to live a
manhood, able to
love freely
Without the confines
of civilized space
and time
I have this much
time to find a
compatible mate
I have this much
geographical space
to do it in
On a nondescript
morning the drive I
drove, went passed a
woman
She wept herself so
thoroughly on the
side of the road
Have run over a
beaver, she wept so
openly
The regret, what
refreshing regret so
Christian-like
I paused, this was
what it took, a sin
to make me feel
And a woman to make
feelings awaken me
I slowed down the
car in empathy,
rather to join her
in sorrow
She looked at me,
the man, to the
beaver, and then
within herself
We all waited for
someone to twitch
The niche of
emotion, that begun
with her silence
Ended with the words
as I got out of the
car
"It's okay, it's
okay, there are
animals in heaven"
I closed my arms
around her shoulders
And said goodbye to
the corporate world
STICKS AND STONES
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Every epoch has its own bone chilling word
Causing great trepidation when ever its heard
If you wanted to destroy a group or anyone
This choice word would get the damage done
A thousand years ago it was heretic or heresy
Accuse if you had a grudge or coveted property
The catholic church was aware of dogma revision
So in circa 1232 the pope authorized the “ inquisition “
It started out as a process to unify the church
But morphed into a system to extort and besmirch
Corrupt authorities held trials on their own
Their final verdict guilty, was predictably known
The papal trials were mostly honest and fair
If found guilty the accused could pledge his repair
To follow the teachings and dogma each day
Do penitence, pay a fine and swear never to stray
Locals were more drastic with penalties applied
Burned at the stake even if the person had died
Males were accused of fornication with succubus
Females willingly sleeping along side the incubus
No one was safe from the envious of being accused
Tortures with painful devices were commonly used
Confessions obtained with torture an outright farce
Easy to admit anything with a hot poker in your ****
Forward to the present, does the devil even exist ??
We’re too sophisticated to believe in satanic trysts
But we want our own word to accuse and destroy
Being politically correct is the perfect ploy
One word can make anyone cease and desist
Just point your finger and yell “ racist”
(fact)
Miserables witches.
I would think from all the things you try to steal from me and extort from me and my son, you think that it was gonna make you happy.
But to bad it only became a burden load in your life with bad luck like a Egyptian treasure curse.
You should not try to take what's not yours that belongs to me and my son.
Your home are like a fire hazard like your heart, filled with items that you do not deserve to have.
You have no shame for all you've done. That's because you've been taking advantage of people, violating them for so long it leaves you dead inside your soul.
I will be grieving for all the things you have done because that how much I feel sorry for you being that low.
Now I see why so many children lives are corrupted and they future they wind up giving up on.
Now that you mess with mines. I am going to destroy yours. As well as your reputation till you feel the shame crawl through you.
For everything of mines are happens to be one of a kind like myself. so stop being a fool and return me what 's mines for all eyes will be on you until you do.
It's another Saturday night
ending this week
as started
alone again.
I came here
almost two years ago
to my retirement hermitage
but oddly,
and often uncomfortably,
shared with my hurt kids,
mental and physical illness
adopted and then adapted;
an asylum for the perpetually incontinent.
Cars pass by.
Sometimes a loud motorcycle
or two or three or four
or even more
here on the southern boundary
of a county seat
in a State
where rural counties
have been disenfranchised
of political purpose.
Our largest employers
are two tribally owned casinos.
One across the Thames River
flowing past our backyard retreat.
Our second largest income producer
may be the County Courthouse
where attorneys and police
collude to extort voluntary donations
from poor young adults
red and yellow,
black and white,
guilty of speeding
and texting
and smoking medicine
without a license
in Great White Father's sight.
I have been listening and watching
for what this half acre is.
We are not as rural as I had hoped,
with State highway 12 too near my front yard,
but this place is also not urban
or suburban.
What it is not,
whom we are not,
seems more clearly articulated
than any positive definition,
refining our becoming quiet place,
alone together,
shunned by healthier neighbors.
It's another lonely ending
anticipating yet another not new beginning
tomorrows stretching out alone
long retiring shadows
on this southern edge
of a Connecticut County Seat
without apparent purpose
or co-defining meaning.
armies of demented chaos
an abhorrent demonstration
of abbreviations and loss
crying out for retribution
precisely poised to detonate
the explosive that is shame
forcing all to contemplate
who's running this sick game
bleeding massive effort
for zero appreciation
the ego loves to extort
all of beautiful creation
statistics and probability
a mass struggle for control
the raping of all sanity
oh, how emotion takes its toll
Your life is the full world, the stars, sun, and moon.
On your own, you can fight the tough times real soon.
Unsteady moves can't let you up the ladder; never tone down.
Rarely will we meet; we set the lousy goal to impugn.
Tacked and seated, man has doubts around his destiny.
In the universe, all is set by its needs, not by inerrancy.
Memories of agony and misery are not murky.
Emotions disguise behind words, extort repay.
Important to be happy, do what you love, and you will succeed.
Share your calmness, work for success, and greater reward.
Love the holiest stars; you will get a reverse welt.
In the trials of life, sync up to the ethical dealt.
Muttering stops; the sun has faded to that extent.
If your core tilts to life, brave vitality, faith will last.
Time is short; live the life of no one or precept.
Enduring one's own goal, expect to aim too tight.
During your life, believe yet not fall into the urge to defect.
3rd place winner
As they leave,
They leave for us
Calabash full of sorrow and agony
They leave for men a plate of frustration
And desperation.
As they leave
They leave for women nothing
But cups of tears and fears
As they leave
They leave for old ones a basket
Full of fruits of ultimate death and shame
As they leave
They leave for workers a big bowl
Of empty promises, unpaid salaries
And incessant strike actions
As they leave
They leave for students a stabbed
And crippled students’ union,
Ramshackle and “Renopainted”
Halls of Residence
As they leave
They leave for our generation a loss compass
From which we can find and rediscover our
Moral values, valuable culture
Instincts of deliberative governance and
Leadership cum administrative acumen
As it is
We are living with fear of gbu-a-gbu-a
Of daylight gunshot of the emboldened to
Extort, encouraged to maim and induced to kill
Ultra-fascists campus cult groups commissioned
To crush all seeming oppositions
As is it
We are living with:-
Biochemists without reagents
Microbiologists without modern microscopes
Linguists without modern language laboratory
Computer students without
Being opportune to hold a mouse
Physiologists without bloodbank.
As it is
We are living with
Dike archaic books and non books materials
Students and staff basking in the euphoria
Of stone age and ancient facilities.
As it is
We are living in a garden that detest truth
Genuine intellectualism, dissent views and
Contrary opinions but rather nourishes in
Multi-colour ignorance, white lies,
Ever green concocted disortions,
Oceanic blu-i-sh sycophancy and reddish intolerance
Which is only reminiscences of the black jackboot
Days of the Abacha junta.
Alayande Stephen. T
20th,September,2005
6.00am
Fist of crumpled bills, reading through the flavors etched in chalk;
While couples hand in hand, lean on one another and sweet talk.
She orders just for one; Chocolate seems to help when she’s depressed,
The buzzing ice cream lights illuminate the face of loneliness.
Chaotic cafeteria, he’s harassed for sport,
There will be no lunch today; the athletes, they extort.
Racing home to stay unscathed is his daily test,
Behind the baseball field they bruise the face of loneliness.
Flopping with some friends of his, he pilfered as they slept,
Withdrawal had him seething as his craving quickly crept.
Hypodermic and possession; he plead no contest.
He held the slate as they photographed the face of loneliness
“Will she come to visit today?” Trying to remember his daughter’s name.
He sighs, propped in his wheelchair, in his shirt with a coffee stain
“I should probably shower, but who the hell do I have to impress?”
His TV blares as he drags the razor across the face of loneliness.
Inside each of us there are shades of ChAoS…at the very least intermittent negativity
Hypocritical thinking defines so many people
As they bask in their appearance of virtue.
Let us listen to the preacher because only a few can see the utter dissimulation within.
It is a compelling story that society has written…
To distort and extort our souls…
Angst…
We are innately the same, we haven’t gone anywhere new…
We’re just looking at things from a new perspective… Can we do this together…
Remember…inside is chaos, negativity and angst but there is also…
This…
Did you know…
Fear is a state of mind…
Life can feel encapsulated… trapped with anger and misery
How do we battle the angst…
I don’t know…
But there is always…
This…
Let’s start…
We should not recognize a life has ended….
Only recognize a life has lived…
Celebrate…
It is our right
There is power in ritual
Ritual to grieve
Wicked atrocity or not
There is…
This…
This can be a magnificent day if you choose…
This minute shall not be wasted
Simple, it is a beautiful life we can live…
Simpler, when one thing ends… another begins…
Ultimate simplicity…
This is this…
LISTEN TO THE CRIES OF THE CHILDREN;
LISTEN TO THE PLEAS OF THE MOST WRETCHED;
HEAR THE DISTRESS OF THE REJECTED.
WATCH THEM WEEP!
AND SEE THEM DIE……
I WATCH AND PRAY
HEAR AND WEEP FOR THEM…
WEEP..WEEP.. AND WEEP…
THESE ARE FELLOW BEINGS
WHO ARE IN THE FOLDS OF THE WORST!
HERE THEY ARE IN SUFFERING IN SUDAN
BOMBS BLASTING…
LAND MINES KILLING…
FAMINE GRIPPING..
DROUGHT DESTROYING..
AND HUMAN BEING KILLING EACH OTHER..
AND EACH DAY.THE CHURCH LAMBASTS THE SITUATION;
FEARING TO FACE THE REALITY…
THE CHURCHES KEEP GROWING..
AND THE DEPRESSED KEEP LAMENTING..
AND FROM THAT, THE PALACES GROW
IN BROHERHOOD WITH THE CHURCH
WHO IN THEIR TEAM EXTORT FOR GROWTH.
AND NOT A POOR SOUL IS FREE, BE HIM THE POOREST.
WORDS OF HONEY KEEP FOOLING HIM ,EXTORTING..-
NOT ONLY IN AFRICA ARE THERE WEEPS,
I WATCH THAT TOO IN THE MIDDLE EAST
PEOPLE DYING..[WEEPS]
PEOPLE THINNING..
PEOPLE REJECTED.
[WEEPS]
WHEN WILL BE THAT TIME FOR JOY?
WHEN SHALL MAN HOLD MAN IN THE HANDS?
WHEN WILL THERE BE PLENTY FOR ALL?
WHEN SHALL MAN SMILE CANDIDLY WITH MAN?
WHEN IS THE EQUALITY…? [WEEPS]
AND IF I BECOME GREAT FROM POETRY
I SHALL MAKE THEM KNOW NO SUFFERING..
AND CURDLE THEM AS BROTHERS DO….
SO THAT FOR THE GOOD OF MAN I SHALL FIGHT…
OH! I WEEP FOR THEM…
AND FOR THE SITUATION OF GOD’S EARTH…
London has built another special hospital
made for all Nigerian Presidents and Nobles,
and future Aristocrats who will fight corruption;
Since we die not in this country anymore we rather
stay behind to rule as ancestors of tomorrow
waiting to extort the treasured gin of the masses.
You preacher of change spare us this ear
breaking tale our eardrums are not at home
You went to London yesterday for treatment
today, we cried with empty stomach,
you came back with no voice for your people,
tomorrow, you will kill another dream
of dregs of the society and the masses
would praise you as the Messiah of honesty.
You promised us one good meal a day,
many children are eating thrice in the school!
you promised us another light from the sky,
but we saw a flammable one from the sun!
you promised us one naira to one dollar,
our Naira is now greater than Dollar itself!
you promised us our sisters in one month,
but, we only saw them in your words.
Mother stipend taken to the northern barn,
Father was beheaded in the northern arena,
Sister's house burnt down in chaos,
yet, no story was told to the Sun to hear.
This is the misfortune of my land hopelessness!
"Excuse! When is the change?" Mr P.
Another private sin cracking the naked air,
yet my people laughter echoes beyond
as BBN covered the climaxed atmosphere.
Hyenas, ministers of hope and fund.
I know You will attend to us soon after the grave calls,
I know you will hear our cries at the zone of death,
We are all seated in the corner of the door
Hoping in the day we will raise our voice and ask you:
"How far? Where is the change promised? "
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
His life echoes in misery in his tin house,
as the arms of the law crackdown on rioters,
who get their money from politicians.
Selling second-hand clothes is his main job,
but the council officers extort money from him,
leaving him dry, frustrated and teary. His face shows
he's seen a lot in his lifetime, with scars from a failed
leadership system.
His neighbors steal his hard earned cash,
when they have a deathly debt on their necks,
or they have lost all their money on a soccer bet.
The problems in his neighborhood repel back to him,
for he is part of the neighborhood,
no matter how innocent he is. The flying toilets,
garbage, broken sewerage, and broken promises by leaders
are all part of anyone living in the slums.
Some years back a stray bullet pierced through his tin house,
hitting his wife's chest; she now rests with angels in heaven.
His children wander in the streets, looking for money;
by the end of the day, they come, their esteem deflated
with abuses, kicks and broken dreams.
He looks up at the blue sky,
and wonders whether one day the rains will finally
come with his blessings....
Once "City of Big Shoulders,"
Stockyards and industrial concerns:
A man's self-worth measured
By muscle and energy burned.
Today the stockyards are shuttered,
The Face of Livelihoods changed;
From Meat-packing and Manufacturing---
To Financial Services and Video Games.
Serving loyally with blind dedication,
Following only a high school education,
Lifetime stints at one factory or plant,
Today simply ain't where it's at:
Mere shards of memory
Of what life was before
Everyone had a college degree,
And sought work in a plush office indoors,
As opposed to lifting heavy two-by-fours.
Looking back at Chicago's history
Over the last century,
Our task is this simple question to ask:
Have we moved ahead and progressed?
Are our lives any better?
Or have we reversed and regressed---
Spending the prime of our lives studying letters?
It's easy to end a poem on such a note,
Leave the reader to cast his or her vote;
But I'll not finish off with a nod a wink,
I'll let you know what I actually think:
Chicago was rough, Chicago was tough,
Her denizens coarse and gruff;
Not much for culture or fashion,
Artists and poets she was constantly bashin.'
Workingmen reveled in their muscles,
Frequently engaging in tussles
With their bosses over hours and wages,
Oft-ending in fisticuffed rages---
And the workers sentenced to 6' x 8' cages.
Gangsters like Capone and Dillinger flourished,
By slimy politicos encouraged
To extort and shake down
Workingmen all over town,
At deserted sites with nary a copper around.
Sometimes we look back and forget how it was,
When education and the arts were slighted,
And even good neighborhoods were blighted:
Where an ugly picture emerges
Of exploitation and funeral dirges.
So let us be grateful for what we have in some precincts today,
And hope that Chicago's future points to an even brighter day.
Death, thou was once an uncouth hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,
The sad effect of sadder grones,
Thy mouth was open, but thou could not sing
For we considered thee as at some six
Or ten years hence,
After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turned to dust, and bones to sticks
We looked on this side of thee, shooting short;
Where we did find
The shells of fledge souls left behind
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort
But since our saviors death did put some blood
Into thy face;
Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for as a good
For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
As at dooms day;
When souls shall wear their new array,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad
Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust
Half that we have
Unto an honest faithful grave;
Making our pillows either down, or dust.