Best Looted Poems
You have raided my night again,
as the burst of a sudden storm,
sneaking into my loneliness,
at the most unexpected hour,
plunging me into swirls of pain
too deep for expression,
leaving me in utter disorientation.
I now drift aimless with muddled thoughts,
through the dingy avenues of the past,
never once able to sever the chord,
that binds me so tight to those memoirs,
exposing me to torrid heat
with my soul, burning down….
like a piece of smouldering coal.
Sleepless are my nights.
Dreamless are my days.
Like the sundown shadows growing bigger,
with every stride I take,
the farther I move, the closer you follow.
Can I convince you ever again,
I never meant any harm to you.
How wearily have I watched the flies,
lured by the dazzling light,
char into diminutive specks of black,
by the scorching tongues of flame.
Still, why did I let you burn,
in the flame of my accursed passion?
You were like a flower admired from afar,
afraid of even the gentle breeze coming near,
lest it might jolt the delicate frame,
and shake the petals down, sooner than due.
Yet vulnerable turned the moment,
when all of a sudden, it started to rain.
Like a child, eager to play in the puddles,
you ran out into the pouring rain.
All soaked through and through,
You came in…. awhile my gaze,
rested on the filmy fabric,
seductively clinging to your curves.
Then, that wild surge…. beat me down.
And Alas! Under a magnetic pull,
surrendered your fragile self with ease.
At that moment of self-abandonment
looted off all that you held chaste.
Never surmised, you were crying,
when I felt your cheeks, so wet.
Now I know, it was agony,
not ecstasy that I, then, beheld on your sentient face!
You refused to respond to my calls.
Unanswered went all my anxious queries.
Like a hibernating toad,
to some dark underground cave, you slid.
Abruptly, alerted on call,
by an alien sound, far from familiar
I hastened to the casualty ward,
and saw you lying limp,
with drops of blood, still dripping down
from your slashed wrist,
staring at me with an open mouth!
As I watched you lying still
with your eyes refusing to flutter,
I knew my world tottering below,
and my heart, set ablaze,
into a funeral pyre.
When starlings were swimming in the azure lake,
When bats and owls began their nocturnal ride,
When all the Earth under a dark blanket lay,
And man and beast into sweet repose retired,
My Muse, like a sweet temptress, came to me
To set this captive free, to give free rein to my fancy.
She sang into my ears the lovely strains
Of a placid melody, bathing me in sheer delight
Creating in me a passion too intense
To articulate my disjointed thoughts
Into vibrant melodies of beauty and love.
Soon fireflies of thoughts came flitting,
Like bees around a looted honey comb.
In a butterfly net, I trapped them all.
They clustered together in a clumsy heap,
Making my darkened zone bright
With little arcs of shimmering light.
I placed them carefully in an ordered strain,
Word after word, in meaningful sequence,
Fashioning them into a beautiful symphony,
Arousing in me mystical spells of joy.
When your Muse comes knocking at your door,
Delay her not, but let her in
And go for a merry ride with her
Into some sleepy glades where silence resides.
There, let her magic wand kiss and caress you
From head to foot and all over,
Awakening your fancy from deep slumber,
Parading before you, scenes of beauty and wonder,
That, songs of passion are born from you
Gushing forth in streams of honeyed dew.
So, write on....!
Given in appreciation
but taken away on request
translated to foreign land
but asked to surrender everything
employed to serve unknown guests
but asked to behave brainlessly
taken for a tour as personal effect
but chained for whims of tourism
Today young girls of the world
are chattels of people’s wishes
They are dustbin of weird whims
hijacked, negotiated, looted, lied to
are groundnut paste of pleasure
nothing in this world they are
but chattels, empty scraps!
In mount caves of the West, rich of looted gold
Sleep scaled beasts of fiery breath and poisoned wings
But son, look to the Eastern seas and there behold –
The majestic and the true, the great Dragon Kings!
They ride trains of cloud through azure skies
Bringing rain to bless the wilting land
Through epochs they have climbed, the most wise
A thousand years clutched in one clawed hand.
It is an orb of pearl that they have earned
Some say it fell from a blossoming heaven
The Imugi that catches it is to Dragon turned
Entrusted with power to guard kingdoms of men.
No wings do they need that flap and scare away;
For true kings don’t rely on anything but their might
They breathe not dark fires; their souls shan’t decay
Carving rivers and seas, they bring hope and light.
So son, you need not fear of the dragons in false lore
That fly through towns, destroying with fire and shade
Instead, watch for these emperors prevailing through yore
These are the true Dragons, and their lights never fade.
___
FYI: The dragons I am speaking of here are those from Eastern tales -- the Asians have always viewed dragons as benevolent creatures that bless and benefit mankind. Here's a link to a graphic pic to guide your imagination... http://www.mtv.com/movies/photos/d/dragon_wars_082807/dragon.jpg
In the mid of my garden
I sat on my fav chair to pen
Scents of newly bloomed flora
Bestowed metaphors plethora
Yes, let us pen,
Said my brain...
When I was about to pen
Gorgeous gomprehanas grinned
Oh! Those dancing violet crowns
They're the princesses enthroned???
"So what, you pen!!!"
Said my brain again
I meditated, words amassed;
Took a note, ideas blasted
But brisk babblers suddenly crossed
Shouted, spoke and Sang verses long
My poetic thoughts they looted to jolly along
O! I couldn't help, my dear brain
Again I sat down, closed my eyes,
Took a deep breath;
Mesmerized by the rhythmic breeze;
Then, a grasshopper stepped into the scene
His piercing song tore my mind's screen
And the ideas lingering awhile were cleaned
Sweet disturbances they're
Won't let us write or read
But not to be hated
As they make us breath the happy air
Bloody sweet disturbances they're
The Rationale behind our smiling faces
Feb 15 2023
QUESTIONS OF BALANCE: A JEREMIAD
Why is it at 70 politicians are still underage
To assume political offices
And at 30 youths are overage to begin a professional career?
What divine strength hath a leader at 75
When a mandatory retirement awaits civil servants at 65?
Why should the government empowers the youths with $75 in 2 years
And expects them all to have own businesses
But civil servants who earn over $300 per month in 30 years
Are finding it difficult to own a garden or a store?
How is it our politicians could expend billions
To defect, campaign and give kickbacks
But would wait until the World Bank borrows them some millions
To provide a borewell drinking water?
How can they say the national treasury has collapsed to employment
Yet billions are looted and millions wasted on foreign fantasies?
Why should the achievement of our political endorsement
Be signed to MOUs as though we lack understanding?
Why should our lawmakers make laws that hound the masses
And not against their own chronic excesses and excuses?
Why should the wealthy politician vote a project for the poor
Assigned the execution of the project to himself and loot the funds?
Why do our lawmakers never make laws to free the masses
From poverty and political swindlers?
Why should the agency that fights corruption be corrupt?
Why should gluttons preside over the meager meals of the masses?
Why should the leader not serve today and the servant lead tomorrow?
Why should professional bandits be our bankers?
Why should 5% of public servants consume 60% of the nation’s wealth?
Why should a politician be a party leader, counsellor, chairman, governor, senator… still desperate to lead
And all behind his trails are poverty and anguish?
Why should a politician with obscene wealth hidden somewhere
Tell his people that their poverty and problem is Hausa, Igbo, Christian, Muslim, APC, PDP…?
And why is our nation over-laboured by multiplets of cultural, social
Political, religious questions awaiting caesarean responses?
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind!
“Poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone.” — Lawrence Ferlinghetti
When starlings were swimming in the azure lake
When bats and owls began their nocturnal ride
When all the Earth under a dark blanket lay
My Muse, like a sweet temptress, came to me
To set this captive free, to give free rein to my fancy
She sang into my ears the lovely strains of a placid melody,
Bathing me in sheer delight, creating in me a passion too intense
To articulate my disjointed thoughts into vibrant melodies of beauty
Soon fireflies of thoughts came flitting like bees around a looted honeycomb
In a butterfly net, I trapped them all clustering together in a clumsy heap
Making my darkened zone bright with little arcs of shimmering light
I placed them carefully in an ordered strain, word after word,
In meaningful sequence, fashioning them into a beautiful symphony
When your Muse comes knocking at your door
Delay her not, but let her in and go for a merry ride with her
There, let her magic wand kiss and caress you
From head to foot and all over awakening your fancy
From deep slumber, that songs of passion are born from you,
Gushing forth in streams of honeyed dew,
For poetry is a life cherishing force!
Nov. 23.2022
~Placed Third~
Poetry is a Life Cherishing Force Contest
Sponsor – Sotto Poet
Re submitted for Brian Strand Contest. No.1170
Beneath the cold glare of the desolate night,
They came, greedy and insatiable white creatures,
Cloaked in prim pretense,
Every curve of their features seemed to express a fine arrogant acrimony and harsh truculence.
Expectation darkened into anxiety,
A thousand unutterable fears bore irresistible despotism over our thoughts,
Men, ladies and children collapsed into a dreary and hysterical depression,
Leaving us drowned in the deep reticence of the colonial sea.
As arbitrary as a cyclone and as killing as a pestilence,
With a sweet voice caroling like a gold-caged nightingale,
They looted our abundant resources,
And abolished many of our African customs and traditions.
They enslaved us!
Underdeveloped us!
And reduced us to nothing.
Gleams of sunlight, bewildered like ourselves, struggled, surprised, through the mist and disappeared,
Half choked by a rising paroxysm of rage,
The hollow ring of their fundamental nothingness were defined,
With the blood in our eyes, matchets, bows and arrows and diplomacy,
Then the fight and chase began!
The hailings in the coridor of corruption
to the echoes of silence in the streets
Sirens whispering tales of wars
marines marching on looted lots
Justice is strangled by corrupt claws
Listen to the thunderstorm of civil lies
Masses keep mute in the well of woes
dreaming of dead democratic dividends
Ghosts pay the piper in Abuja malls
Poor traders dance naked in Alaba markets
The mother hen crows in the mourning
Our golden eggs are in one battered basket...
Strangers preen in the pomp of power
Danger sleeps on the lawn of loyal lies
Listen to the tales of ego from the west
He beats his chest with his tied claws
Echoes of error ran the errand quickly
gushing out of the gutter of grandiosity...
He belongs to nobody and picks nobody
Somebody actually belongs to somebody
I do not know the poultry she belongs
His living room and kitchen are his choice
She is confined to care, clean and cook...
Why bury the glow of the golden egg
washing down the wealth in her womb?
Why rock heaven's roof with tantrums?
She is not just the bed sinner of your world
but the queen of all golden layers
and players
even if she belongs to the other room.
By Dawne Zacharias
There was a time on July 4, 1776
when freedom rang deeply in the hearts of 56 men.
Men of means, prosperous men, who enjoyed much
Ease and luxury also very respected
men in their Communities.
They came together with a firm reliance and belief in
a Divine Providence and said they, " we mutually pledge
to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
They knew even in the success their lives would be one of
Hardship in a struggling new nation. If they lost, they
would hang by a traitor's noose.
5 were captured
12 had their homes looted and burned
2 lost their sons in the Army
1 had two sons captured
9 died in the war for freedom
by bullet or hardship.
They considered Liberty of
greater value than their own security,
They had made a pledge.
To be born free is a privilege.
"While many are silenced by authority, some are voiceless as they have no courage to protest. But some prefer voicelessness for convenience sake which is a graver offence" ~ By Poet
In a world of much noise and cacophony
Some are fated to remain voiceless,
Due to reasons forced or voluntary.
Raising no protest, they yield to their fate
Watch the meek docile lambs that move,
Behind the shepherd to be huddled inside
Food and shelter are all they need,
And they abide to be shorn with no dissent.
Silent are the beasts that trot along,
Miles on end through rugged tracks.
Blissfully ignorant of what awaits,
They stagger lamely to the slaughterhouse.
Mournful is the voicelessness of the slaves,
Flogged and beaten to bear the yoke,
Stifled is the cry within their throats,
Never once let out to break the calm
Heart rending is the voicelessness of the dumb,
Trying in vain to utter fleeting thoughts,
Through signs and gestures crude to view,
Lisping and blabbering in broken sounds.
Fierce is the silence that lingers on,
The ones subdued under stark threat of life,
Gagged and tied unable to moan or move,
While looted of all that is hoarded in life.
Silence turns golden for the sober man,
Who remains sedate when taunted or abused
And shuts his mouth with great restraint,
To prevent a brawl from brewing up
Voiceless lies the dead beneath the sod,
Actors who once rocked the stage,
They exited out from this turbulent world,
To be shrouded within crevices dark.
Chose a Title; Naïve Faith, Sponsor – Edward Ibeh – 8-27-25
Naïve synonyms: callow, guileless, innocent, pure, genuine, honest, simple, sincere
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Naïve Faith
Callow faith walks with wide eyes
In playgrounds littered with stark cunning
When adorned innocence
Seeks to soar where angels fly
Not blinded by fool’s gold
Nor looted by evil’s glittery tinsel
Or minds darkened by drugs of ebony
That plagiarizes honesty
With rationalized temptations
In ravished glamour.
Artless faith, clothed by incorruptible purity,
Shivers when simplicity senses
A wrinkle in infinity -
Guileless belief skirts gullible’s traps
Clothed in a gift of sight.
When beastly motives
Try to sideswipe honesty
With glitz and jewels of paste
Dangling shiny promises with dark underbellies
Naive faith, clothed in discernment,
Sees with candid clarity.
The rose still blooms despite attacks
By mold or mildewed rust
The sun still wakes the dawn
Even when eclipsed
Crowned by a faultless corona
As stars refuse to enter black holes
Faith embraces the innocent.
SONG ABOUT THE EARTH
Vladimir Vysotsky
Is the earth, as they say, burnt and dried?
Will a seed, as they say, never sprout?
Has the earth, as they say, really died?
No! It’s taken a lengthy time-out!
Mother Earth will forever give birth,
Its maternity isn’t a fiction!
Don’t believe that they burnt down the earth,
No! It’s blackened from grief and affliction.
Trenches, running like scars back and forth …
Bleeding guts black shell-craters expose …
They are open nerves of the earth,
Which unearthly unhappiness knows.
It will stand wars and grief — any thing!
It’s not crippled, though booted and looted …
Don’t believe that the earth doesn’t sing,
That it’s quieted down, diluted!
No, it’s singing as loud as it can
From a trench, from a wound, from a hole!
Since the earth is the soul of Man,
Boots cannot trample down the soul!
Translated by George Tokarev
© GEORGE TOKAREV 2001
Ride, ride, ride thou figure from the East
In thy curse hath many a mother wept
On thy brow the furrows of distant steppes
Yield unto a steely mask of doom
Destruction follows in thy path and yet
Methinks I spy a flicker of regret
Extinguish it lest humanity engulf it betimes
As distant lands fall under your encompassing sway.
A fire burns, a coward trembles in his tent
What's won is rent from hands too numb to feel
The surging, coursing power of thy grip
Let slip thine enemies, let thy repute
Incite counsel of war then savor the fruit
Of a thousand-footed gathering of days
The purpled way, the jewel-encrusted chalice
Of wine claret. Drink to your heart's content.
If I were thou and thou wert I my friend
I should not pause to see the ground below
For lonely be the lofty heights, perpend:
Far art faren, far remains to go
Nor bride, nor bairn, nor comfort in repose
Hath sped thee on thy way from whence we ride
The rudest nutriments, the barest clothes
Sans bed, sans friend, sans tout, bare ground thou lie'.
Now polished steel glistens, mirrors gray
The slanting dome of sky's inverted bowl
Oiled leather on black courser's velvet skin
And restless hooves an inch in sodden loam
A leathern mask, five halberds thus skyward
Stand, barren hillock's strange reeds
Sprouting in the wind-swept smoke
Of morning's hasty decampment. Thus proceed
These men unto a destiny untold.
Of Indus, Asia, Europe, northern climes
Of snow, of sand and vine, the watery strand
I sing. Dismount and pluck the crocus sweet
But brief, then crush beneath thy heel. Spur on!
Ghengis Khan!
Of Afrique dark and thrice-looted Rome
Thy story-tellers may rhyme and make song.
Home, home rider from the East return
Scorch the earth and burn to cindered ash
Laugh with all the mirth thy new-found freedom
Might yield unto thy solitary path
Unlearn the lessons civil, richness hath
Bone and marrow, thew and sinew softened
Thy courser turn the sod, horizon calls
Spur on! Sing thy song, thy name live on
Ghengis Khan
HELP! HELP!
She is sinking,
Sinking into the abyss of despair.
Her brain is striken And her mind is stifled.
She has been enervated.
Her integrity is being manipulated,
Irrationality acts as spring board to moral decadence,
Opacity then entangles her efficiency
While her eminence sleeps.
She became vulnerable.
Poor thing, she is raped, maimed and looted.
Has she not been violated?
Does her plight warrants a revolution?
However, she demonstrated.
She shrilled,
"No!", "No!"
She pleaded with her predators.
All these were to no avail
Her future seems gloomy
As the predators succeeded in orchestrating yet another tragedy.
Engulfed in this evident realm of adversity.
She sits and ponders
With tears flooding her miserable cheeks.
She then cried,
HELP! HELP!
I am sinking,
Sinking into the abyss of despair.