Best Ill Gotten Gains Poems
Compassion Within Us, Placed By Divine Hands
Compassion, weakness or a curse
or expression of mercy's heart,
I denying Love, which is worse
than savagery this world imparts
became blind in my silent pains
an enigma, lost, out of touch
treasuring my ill-gotten gains
my lies held firm, my needed crutch.
In ignorance racing along
my repentant soul yet cried out
I running from world's teeming throngs
destiny's hand, life turned about
compassion's touch, came not too late
*I am the master of my fate.*
Written 3rd February 5th, 2020
For famous poetic lines 2 poetry contest sponsored by Silent One.
The ending line in this new sonnet: **I am the master of my fate.**
is in reference to the line chosen:
"I am the master of my fate" - written by William Ernest Henley
Credit given to William Ernest Henley for his fine verse and the poetry
and gift of power and imaginative verse it inspired.
Claiming
In the gathering darkness
The land opened its mouth wide
To swallow all the wind
You boasted
To swallow up all the ill-gotten gains
Darkness devoured your face
And adopted your greedy soul
Dancing wildly were your limbs in the air
Like a puppet pulled by Satan
Blowing over my ears was the wind
And your screaming
The higher the roar was
The deeper my sorrow was
It was dignity
That was thrown into the bottom of the hell
Oh, Land of the Free
You have presumptuously deemed yourself the mouthpiece and policy maker
Of the world
How overconfident
How impudent
Who makes you...
Oh, King of impertinence
Regulators of the human race...
The monarch of the agitated sea
Who are you to dictate MY household’s wishes?
As with the Roman Empire, your greed and moral deficiency IS your destruction
Your sins are hidden behind plaster, ramshackle, and termite-infested walls
You sit on your throne of deprecated morality
You twist your neck and roil your head in an idiomatic cistern of ethics
Oh, how those merchants whom seek shelter under your fiscal confidence...
Will wail and rip their outer garments, as they witness your
great
Collapse
Nevertheless, just like men whom seeks the warmth of a harlot’s bosom
They will easily turn their face to the next woman of ill-gotten gains
The leaves are dead
The birds are dying
Fish are lying
Trying to catch their breaths
On the shores of the world
On unknown beaches
Deaf dolphins and whales
Gasp in polluted waters
Beaching themselves trying to live
Land creatures are having their problems too
People and animals are dying every day
Thank you fake progress
Polluting corporations deny climate change
though they continue to pollute the air and water
Impervious to peoples health
Can you hear life on this planet screaming in despair?
Big business and their shills repudiate apocalyptic signs
Killing all hope that living things in the future will survive
They hoard their ill gotten gains in secret accounts
Hoping to outlive the catastrophe and chaos they have wrought.
Do you hear the silence of the dead?
DIRTY HANDS
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Little boys playing with mud and silty sands
Will return to their houses with dirty hands
Mom will scold them, but knows what to do
A little soap and water, they’ll look like new
Soap and water doesn’t clean off all stains
Especially those amassed from ill-gotten gains
Those boys will grow to men and go on their way
Confronted with selections each and every day
All have the choice, a conscious creed election
Conduct with principle or live with deception
Ethics apply, rules obeyed, as society demands
Tread the line cautiously avoid dirty hands
A quick gain of treasure due to fabricated facts
Will no doubt lead to more disingenuous acts
Wealth will grow, applause and fame may follow
Despite images to the contrary the core is hollow
Conscience is muted a false illusion commands
Its always the same for those with dirty hands
Predation of the ignorant by well connected gentry
Swayed by promises that usually come up empty
Lifelong politicians rise to the top of the heap
Fooling the public with promises they never keep
Attaining the apogee and the attention it commands
Could not have been possible without dirty hands
Wealth and power is the ultimate goal
Dirty hands are the symptoms of a toxic soul
As a nation, Malaysia is but a mere 28 million strong..
Diverse as she is, we as citizens sing together her national song...
Entitled Negara Ku or My Country, we all arise to pay homage as we sing...
With nationalism in our hearts, many a stellar citizen stands proudly...
Every time the song is trumpeted in any prize giving ceremony...
We are but a small country yet we all have big dreams...
How else can you explain our presence in the world stage ...
In Datuk Lee Chong Wei, the badminton world sees a supremo...
His skills and flair for his chosen game is second to no other..
His counterpart, Datuk Nicol Ann David, is just as stellar....
9 years of world status as number one in Woman Squash...
Her achievements eclipsed all other woman players in squash..
But what is this, what disaster brings upon us this latest atrocity...
Our democratically elected Prime Minister from the Razak family...
The venerated Najib Razak Prime Minister Elect and Finance Minister...
Voted and fingered in the whole of Asia as the worst finance minister ...
Decades of painstakingly brand building of the nation of Malaysia...
Many have witnessed how Malaysia emerged stronger in turbulent Asia..
After the ravages of the severe economic crisis back in the nineties ...
The colossal quagmire of an entity called 1MDB, touted as a sovereign fund...
On the back of government guarantees, it secured billions and billions in funds..
After many a mysterious and incomprehensible dealings and wheelings...
1MDB is now a hot potato under suspicion as a conduit for money laundering..
Worse still it is widely perceived to swindle a nation of her citizen's money...
And horrors, the financial minister may have ill gotten gains in his accounts...
With a 50billion deficit and counting , 1MDB is set to be a colossal disaster....
Who is that Finance Minister? He has to be the worst in the whole of Asia!!!
http://malaysiansmustknowthetruth.blogspot.my/2016/05/malaysias-prime-minister-najib-razak.html
you gotta join in the struggle for the ill-gotten gains
of the movers and the shakers on the streets Wall and Main
we will take what we are due like the Sioux we'll count coup
on the heads of the masters and their double-talkin pastors
on the bankers and their chumps and the phonies on the stumps
on the bosses in their offas and the supers in the sweats
no more settlin for the scraps at the foot of the table
no more truck-wide income gaps ablin biddies to wear sable
at the time that we have won they will know that they are done
and we'll be sittin pretty like Scarface own the city
and the ones who called us chums they'll be fightin for our crumbs
wonderin how the heck that happened while they're suckin on their thumbs
(chorus)
first restitution
then redistribution
sweet retribution
if we don't stick together like those birds of a feather
we will never take our place on the seat of the throne
where who you want you can punish and the rest throw a bone
Quite often I catch myself
Watching old movies
About America’s great wars
And find myself humbled and awed by the sacrifices
Of so many countless souls.
Since our War for Independence
America’s been engaged
In one momentous battle after another
Which some have argued and always will,
That some of these have been for ill-gotten gains
And needless blood was spilled.
Never the less, I readily confess
I’m envious of our heroes
Who fought and died
While others have survived
With deep seated wounds and scars
That may never heal.
One can only imagine how
They must think and feel.
And although I also did my duty
For many years in uniform;
Never once did battle find me,
My mind or body torn.
For which I’m thankful beyond measure
And yet wishful I might have been
Closer to the killing fields
Like so many other good men.
As I walked down Mulberry Street, my pack and the shoes on my feet.
I see a nickel, penny a dime an empty bottle of wine.
Fletcher the old drunk, smelling a bit of a skunk still I smile and wave.
Punks have placed Graffiti on a wall, claiming ownership of this urban sprawl.
I stop for a bit and have a quaint sit on the remnants of a flower box.
I light my last smoke, watch some odd folk, they walk to the beat of their drum.
Exhaling the sweet mist of nicotine addiction, happy this is my only vice.
A dandelion grows through a crack screaming for me to take poetic note.
A Mercedes parked in front of the attorneys office, ill gotten gains.
Trash blown into the inner recess of the arched doorway in which I sit.
A drug store receipt a note perhaps a declaration of love or don't forget the milk.
The cast iron manhole cover states proudly, Made in Chicago.
Ahead lies the Mulberry Street Mission a line already forms.
Where dinner and biblical mumbo jumbo are being served.
The old woman greets everyone with a smile and tells them Jesus loves you.
I'll wait until she goes inside I don't want to argue.
The wind blows and sunshine falls on my face.
I notice out of the corner of my eye a normal folk (Non-Homeless).
Taking their own cigarette break enjoying the same sweet addiction as myself.
Our eyes meet in acknowledgement of we are the same, for the moment.
The Mulberry Street bus rambles by spewing noxious fumes.
The city's wind artwork slowly turns hoping someone will take notice.
My last long draw on my cigarette, I grab my pack and pull myself up.
then One foot Two foot I resume my journey to the Mulberry Street Mission.
(In Memory of Fletcher Campbell 1940-2015)
She works sixteen hours a day
unfortunately she has no pay,
forced by her traffickers of evil
non compliance, expect upheaval,
she accepts chores through fear
emotions turned off, sheds no tear,
she’s forced to humiliate and shame
herself, so feels that she is to blame,
her only hope would be to escape
under constant threat of gang rape,
we all see her daily, we’re ignorant
just a cleaner just another immigrant,
we don’t expect such evil to be sustained
ill gotten gains by exploitation maintained,
we don’t bother to ask of her well-being
why should we, laws protect human being,
only her and her perpetrators really know
there’s no escape, they’ll never let her go,
her family are also at threat over seas
children, and sisters she will never see,
she must show strength and bravery
she’s a victim of modern day slavery.
COPLA 98 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
Bad Guy nations club for protection
Of their ill-gotten gains and power :
Yet they too serve
On and off they do good and function
In worlds which tilt in their favour
Power reserve
Their hegemony put to the test
Brings out the worst in them as allies :
Greed cunning vice
They club together to avoid contest
Of sharing the world’s goods with all lives :
Break the blocked ice
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Burundi
Elusive it is the dream of peace
and the Burundi the president is seeking a third term,
but the people say NO, and fight for
a fair election, in dusty streets.
Africa has had enough of presidents who will not
give up power and lucrative ill-gotten gains.
People of Burundi, I salute you.
...But his lust for life remained unfulfilled,
’till one day he ran into One-Eyed Bill,
Leader of a group of rough-hewn men,
Grant decided to throw in with them,
They roved the territory, on the prowl,
For ill-gotten gains won by acts foul,
The rush of the hunt, the thrill of the steal,
Doing whatever, whenever you feel,
Made Grant wonder aloud with this phrase,
“Do I really want to settle down someday?”
Until one day when a bank job went wrong,
They were chased by a posse, thirty-strong,
Riding for hours, they found themselves in
The dead-end of a blind, desert canyon,
There the posse closed and opened fire,
A short, lopsided fight did transpire,
Outnumbered five-to-one, impossible odds,
Even for criminals good with a rod,
As Grant fell dying, the sheriff did proclaim:
“We’ll settle those thieves down today!”
Grant was buried there, on that spot,
In a shallow grave covered in rocks,
One day his lover came out all alone,
Carrying with her a small funeral stone.
Said,“I guess I was never to be his wife,
He was too taken by living his fast life.”
Then she placed the stone at his graveside,
Across the front of it she’d had inscribed:
‘Beneath this rock, my sweet Grant does lay,
He has finally settled down this day.”
This is the latest news about some enterprising individuals...
Making their reputations with a big bang while others slumber..
Presumably amateurs for they dabbled with fire crackers...
Theirs was an outrageous act of crime that was no laughing matter...
Their little stunt of exploding a Automatic Teller Machine or ATM..
Yielded cold hard cash of some cool RM70,000 from the exploded ATM..
It happened the wee early hours in some obscure little sleepy town ...
You can bet your last dollar that this little caper is now the talk of the town..
In the swirling aftermath of this crime, the local inhabitants had no idea..
Who were the criminals who smartly embarked on such a novel idea...
What an explosive way to withdraw money, illegal money galore...
A quick getaway in the wee early hours, none the wiser who they were...
Looks like the horse has flown the barn as the police hastened into action..
A little too late, the burglars have flown the coup and from retribution...
Only time will tell if this audacious criminal gang will be finally hauled in..
But the fact remains, they have made an instant fortune of RM70,000 all in...
Not a bad haul, a rather tidy sum in cold cash for the gang members...
Undoubtedly they will be splitting their ill gotten gains altogether....
As long as these gang members keep away from the long arm of the law ....
They will get to enjoy the spoils of their heist, until their funds run low...
Then it is time again for another such caper in some small town...
For there are numerous such cash dispensing machines all over town...
The maxim crime does not pay does not hold water for these criminals...
Very soon the local internet media will be abuzzed with their next haul...
http://www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2016/05/11/robbers-blast-atm-escape-with-rm70000/
What am I? I am nothing!
What colour is the sky? What colour is the sea.
Are they seeming the same colours as you and me see
I think the sky is silver with a lining?
But to you maybe Blue. The earth to me looks red.
Maybe because of all the reckless mining.
The birds are many colours but mostly grey.
I see the world in Black and white.
Because the colours have faded.
No promises of protection for the grass the trees.
The ice is melting. Why are all the fish hunted.
Extinction is foolish we all agree. But no one listens.
Not to you or me. Only politicians with greed.
The people who have money want to uproot the trees.
For the currency signs before their blind eyes.
They live behind fences and doors to keep themselves inside
While counting their ill gotten gains.
Their big mouths in a permanent grin
All the while telling us to work harder
or we are committing a sin.
They feed us religious freedom is to keep us in chains.
For our own good they make laws for their friends.
All the time they judge us on lies.
And we follow like sheep. Because we are weak
One day when we wake from this innocuous Dream.
And we see what fools we have been.
It will be too late to save the dodos the unicorns.
The people indigenous to islands and lands.
Who we should always defend and make a stand.
Isnt this why we live isnt this what tax is for.
We still live in designer caves made out of square rocks.
Our carriages are killing us slowly with an invisible smog.
But every day we wake up and reset, we are just biological robots
It has taken us billions of years to get to today.
And we waste so much time on wasting away.
So live long and love always. Never waste another moment.
not ever not even today.