Best Loots Poems
~Captain William Kidd~
(Narrative )
Once a long time ago there was a great Scottish pirate
And his name was Captain William Kidd,
Legend has it that he was fearless and he couldn't wait
To get his hands full in all the loot, somewhere he's hid.
King William of England praised him the highest, first-rate
And said "My dear Captain Kidd, he's the best and he's so great"
Of course he did everything the King told him to do and it was agreed
And gave him more honors and ships, for piracy to lead.
History and legend portrays him often as bloody and ruthless,
But I think that maybe that wasn't all true
Of course he sank many ships and their loots he did seize;
And many of his foes finally with his sword he also slew.
Captain Kidd! Captain Kidd!
Where are all the charts that you drew, and all the loot that you've stole?
Captain Kidd! Captain Kidd!
You'd sailed away so many times, in victory with all that gold.
Captain Kidd! Captain Kidd!
You're in big trouble, where's that treasured Island that you drew?
Captain Kidd! Captain Kidd!
Your crew sailed without you and that made you so blue.
Captain Kidd! Captain Kidd!
Sail Away! Sail Away! Sail Away!
Before they come back, and do away with your head, Captain Kidd
Sail away! Sail Away! make it quick, just sail away.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2001-2005
January.03.2016
Author's notes:
Captain William Kidd (c. 22 January 1645 – 23 May 1701)
He was a Scottish sailor who was tried and executed for piracy.
The greatest pretender in the sky
is a thief in wings
and sings and sings in purloined folly.
A burlesque bird first loots a throat
then coddles every stolen note
and assembles every syllable
Then one by one in choral mime
as though true specie in the air
acts with incipit pompous dare.
And what honest notes could sound
that author care the see
that invention were an honest gift
achieved with authenticity.
Hey blokes…do you really know what life is…?
Like living in the ghetto…any memories of Soweto…?
Maybe you can’t…make me a chant…
Yes…I know…because I grow…
In the streets…where my feet…
Would meet…the dead…and the underfed…
Where food variety was scarcity…like living is atrocity…
Where poverty…like a sin…makes u thin…wary and dreary…
Like soldiers in Iraq…on the attack…from Sunnis, and Shiites…
But have to fight…with all might…not knowing when…it will end…
The audacity of hope…or is it dope…the scope…?
The choices have limits…gods dam it…just give it…
Sufferation...infection…addiction…
Prostitutions…institutions of frustration…
Thugs…drug…bugs…some hugs…
Shoots…loots…rapes…some escapes…
Prison walls…jails calls…sleepless nights…fights…would frights…
When police…with sirens…is the signal…to stay in…
The guns…the cries…the lives lost…can you tell me the cost…?
From ashes to ashes, dust to dust…my homie…it does get foamy…
His blood…on the curve…it shatters…my nerve…
And so is my faith…will I await…my date…?
With history…which often seem like a mystery…
Is revenge the only consolation…as reflected in the penal conditions…?
What did I do mate…hate…?
My will was to kill...but still…any adrenalin fills…?
The crack…no lack…of stack…
To execute the mission…what is the decision…?
Snorts…gets torn apart…
This homie…he knows me…from birth …
The same school…the rule…from my parents…and his…
Live and let live…learn to share…and care…like boys…with toys…
Remember Slomy…he was before me…
Lock away…everyday…in handcuffs…
It’s tough…the stuff…in my hand…no contraband…
It’s a weapon…it’s loaded…it’s heavy…like my heart…
Beating…competing…a life…to take…
Whilst he dies…I awake…the stake…
It is high…why…?
He’s gone…am I a pawn…or a victim…of the system…?
What will be the gain…only hurt…and pain…?
While my memories linger…what was the real rearranger…?
Of my destiny…does it sit next to me…?
And what is your view of the danger…stranger…?
Oh, queens, aces beside them and kings,
An' all the minions serve them and jacks.
I do not get excited, I don't play w/the things.
A voice – “I'll take all, if you don't object”.
Diamonds, clubs, spades and beautiful hearts –
symbols of sway, eternal suits,
forced to being shuffled by infidel hands –
those fiery came from infernal loots.
And they are choosing the following trumps,
laying above the stifling suffering world
of the rest covered, beaten and slumped,
swinging round an' round in a devilish whirl.
An' the pack is being shuffled by the hands on an' on
'cause of friction they get vile gambling spark.
Devil's laughing at me in his own Babylon,
I'm not in his hands as one petty card.
A criminal child.
A criminal child,what could be more annoying?
Daily he fails the excellence of the cradle:
His school fee he spends in beer parlour
The hostel bill he lavishes in the city casino,
The cheque for books he exchanges in brothel.
A criminal child,what could be more annoying ?
He joins his gang to rob and flog his dad,
He loots mum’s wardrobe for precious jewel,
He goes under his mask and rapes his sister,
He prays daily for their deaths to take control.
A criminal child, what could be more annoying ?
He turns his father to tenant in the house he built,
He turns his mother to a staff in the firm she owned,
He makes their cars memories of things of past,
Their wardrobes now rags like falling banana leaves.
A criminal child, what could be more annoying ?
Every knock at the door takes them to firing square :
Police they think, what again could he have done ?
He puts tears on father’s cheeks hour by hour
He implants sorrow in mother’s heart everyday.
A criminal child, what could be more annoying ?
The prime’s toils he squeezes down the drain,
Though like horses they run, they lose the race ,
While they snore in dreams, their waking hour is void;
What can be more annoying than antics of a criminal child?
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest’s name: What annoys you.
Sponsor : Frank H.
If you see father Ken Saro Wiwa
Tell him about me as a mouth to his songs,
Tell him that they have removed the meat
He gave to us and gave us grasses;
Dirty grasses to replace our milky meat,
We are not cows, then, why would they bring
grasses for us to chew in public ?
Our smokes are restricted from moving out,
Our kitchens have turned to oil wells,
Our mother's mortar taken far away land.
Tell Buchi Emecheta that we have no water
To drink even land to farm our crops now.
Our air is stinking with dark sticky viscous liquid.
They said it is a mixture of holy gases,
Its looks like liquid and solid hydrocarbons,
Impurities of surphur, nitrogen and oxygen!
The words coming out from their teeth suck.
Exploitation of our wings are done by the cows;
Beautiful cows in a beautiful dresses to suite.
The search for oil has killed many with Geologists.
They eat Naptha here and there with Kolas,
They wear paraffin oil as their bangles,
Petrochemicals are the eyes that loots their pride.
More funny cows are sitting on crude now,
More cows own more oil well than the goats.
When will the goats be given chance to speak?
If you see father Ken Saro Wiwa beyond,
Tell him that our creeks are baptised sinfully,
Our hands are tied behind us to keep shut.
If the going get tougher and rougher here,
If the sky visit us as promised with a new rain,
We will break out from this caged pleasure
To a place of rest looking at the rising half sun.
---- Another Voice stronger.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Tenebrous night steals autumn days,
Invading ink subtracts the breath of light,
With tarnished mingling edge,
With dusty dusk’s laments.
Tenebrous night of immutable grave,
Infiltrating melanin loots the golden glow,
Where criminal and crucifix sink,
Where dream and delirium drown.
We are merely complexions of being
With frivolous hearts,
Chalking pigment lines to cleave
The cloak of skin we all share,
Chasing the encasing that divides us.
Across the planet, lines of disparity,
Lines of uneven imparity,
Across the globe, lines of ruling class,
Lines of the toilers and indigent class.
We are merely complexions of being
Carving rich from poor,
Along lines of race and class.
We dread what may come to pass.
Tenebrous night our final gasp,
The tenuous squandered
Dwindling light we grasp.
Published in Dissident Voice: November 28th, 2021
Donation or Corruption
Hahaha....
In mainland China, corruption is a capital crime....
Public and municipal officers have been executed for being less than clean...
In Bolehland, Land of Infinite Possibilities, Cash is King, ...
Even being caught with the hands in the cookie jar is not stealing.. ......
MO1 was found with 2.6b in his bank accounts, what a steal...
By claiming it was donation, he got off the hook like a slippery eel......
The world's biggest kleptocrat has perfected corruption to a fine art...
None can hope to outdo what he had achieved with such finesse in his art....
He loots the country's coffers with his merry gang of thieves...
Then lavishly giving out cash monies to buy widespread loyalties....
Political bigwigs, now much tainted and blinded by ill gotten riches...
No longer care how fare their electorates and supporters on the ground...
Gone were their fiery zest to better the country's image and economy ....
Puff! Into the thin air goes their credibility, accountability and trustworthiness...
All's that left in places are weak willed politicians serving only their own self interests...
And two timing political opportunists looking out to loot and plunder....
While propping up their much tainted leader as their benevolent benefactor....
Boo hoo hoo... what hopes are there for Bolehland......
(The final part of my serial "Do Not Listen" poem. I had written this months ago, but hadn't felt confident about posting it--until now and with a few edits.)
___
Do Not Glisten, Child! of my early past.
Do you still desire to shake this Hand of the Age
so black in depth and red from nightshade?
Rather I would buy you a milkshake from a Rocket's,
and dip for but a short time in our unified happiness. To face or not to face
the sun indifferent as the Boatman?
When she's isles,
the secret plane of reality is that negative abyss, et al..
Destroy all the clocks and time does not fall,
Saturn's mind is a wherewithal,
the seductive lilting Southern drawl
loots itself a mighty hall…and they act surprised. So very surprised
to see their blue as red on the linoleum floor.
Oh? Had you not predicted thusly,
when you two strode arm-in-arm along the thoroughfare,
with that stupid smile embracing the air?
And what hear you there? Indeed.
The mermaid's melody, the siren's sonata
all starving for accompaniment: the percussive heartbeat of hope:
Seven kingdoms
and a last fraying rope. A last
fraying
smile.
Ha ha ha! Why do I laugh? You know full well, but since you've asked!
Black Stereo, black clothes--black month of June! Black Yin
completely black!
Rain thine essences down upon this lowly serf,
show me the footage of a black cat
with a caramel nose, soul of heaven,
pressing lovingly into my chest, kneading,
purring and licking my rose
cheeks blooming above dead Western Gilgamesh,
then Garuda me as you open your mouth to dream
'n' out ‘n’ out ‘n’ out dives soundlessly...
The Unraveling.
I cannot wait for quietus debate, barreling down like
Do Not Listen. Clog
goes the weasel,
clogging the years, so silence the seas
and clog your arteries
with this sweetest dessert: iced love drizzled with liquor, sprinkled
with broken vein glass:
A Nobody’s Wish to Eat.
Part Two
Till October comes around with its bounty
The granary stuffed to the full
Lush fruits still pulpy and juicy
Ripen to a filthy rashes on skin brashness
The greenness of innocence
Turned to an over-ageing dun-yellow
Tell-tale sickening silliness
Soon detached the firm leaves will lie
Thick on the ground spurned and trampled
Earlier than the appointed hour
No matter
Recourse to pins and stitches
Breast uplifts
Straightened nosebridges
Dead Indian women’s chevelures
High straining buttressing stilts under heels
And thick sticky chemical tasting paint
Squeezed carcasses concentrated musk
Furs of bludgeoned seals and foxes
Haute couture paid through bankers’ loots
Or the easy secret service paid trysts
Through hard-earned tax payers’ sweat
In five-star deluxe hotels
Will lengthen the hour
Yet
In the boudoir
Yes
Pity the woman
She has but a score years
from teen to thirty-five
Before men take her
for a whore
Some women know this well
And cleverly work to use this sell
She’ll kick and thrust her lolly chops
from bum to cheek
In the later Heaven’s southwest sky
Fascination oozing from her loins
The sacred portals of propagation
Bruised all over under fire-dragon skies
Bloody a limb or two out of joint
and the gnawing ignominy
Of having relented in June
Sowing your wild oats
with the blessings of 13.7 billion years
The trained and disciplined chromosomes
Without the company on whom to work her wiles
and sap nourishing energy to continue
She’ll seek the riotousness of her ilk
and at autumn’s summit
At the height of smoldering flesh
When worms and germs
will make a merry feast
Of the beast in her meat
Let her fade away with her booty
Seek not to set right wrongs
You have only yourself to blame
For thinking easily entered gamboling
Will not be made out to be your aim
For weren’t you then the spirit consoling
© T. Wignesan, May 10, 1987 (rev. 2012, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)
I’d love nothing more than to sit with you
and share a meal split just for two.
I’d order the rainchokes topped with loots
and dip them in your sharkflower shoots.
But sitting in this divine café
is not exactly safe per se.
Which chair to choose can be so tricky-
Sitting down here could make you sprickly.
Avoid the red chair but not the blue:
Unless you see stripes on a figgy-doo.
The chair you chose loves all purple sprink
so be sure you do order that coffee to drink!
A dinner with you for two sounds great!
But as you can see I’m already late
for all of the chairs waiting next in line
to be pulled up, then placed behind.
The dol-yapper seeds will snap with joy
when I bring the next girl and bring the next boy
I will pull up a seat and pull up a chair
and a dinner for three I will start to prepare!
-5/8/2017-
Please pull up a chair (Suess style) contest
When the stomach of a child
Who has overfed rumbles, it is not
In memory of the empty hands of the past
Or what the future holds in hand
It is to mock hunger by saying all is well for now!
All is not well for tomorrow’s grinding hunger
When the Ministers of chronic poverty
Are the symptomatic children of gluttony.
The politicos eat their fill of the national cake
Down to their kin, while the dry crumbs
Are earmarked for poverty alleviation.
Today, like yesterday immemorial
They formulate policies, sign MOUs
Host conferences, organize seminars
Then publish readymadecopypaste reforms
Before the press and assembly
On how to terminate the gene (ration) of poverty.
But then, await aids, charities
Foreign loans, Sani and Diezani’s loots
Which are then looted again.
Only for the political meme
To procreate poverty, a social gene.
All is not well
When inflation drowns and hunger mounts.
You who eat until your every anatomy become fibroid
And then you say all is well.
Have you ever heard or felt
The roar and bite of empty stomachs
Or the crackling ribs of raving hunger?
And have you felt the hopelessness of trying
To perceive the aroma of tomorrow’s break of fast?
We cannot live by charities
Palliatives and crude empowerment alone
But from every sustainable development
Infrastructures and industrialization.
Our palms cannot always be spread under the sun
Awaiting bronze coin and silver manna.
No more nagging stomachs, colourless eyes
And furrowed brows
No more the darkness distributed by PHC
No more the public wealth shared by NASS
And their fellows, the contractors
No more business monopoly, hoarding and inflation
No more the love for foreign lands and goods
To the detriment of the homeland
No more insecurity, hate speech and division
No more fraud, immorality, tribalism and mediocrity
No more laziness, vain speech and promises
No more the birth of the almajirai and abandoned projects
No more the suit, cassock and agbada ministers of poverty!
1. Aztecs-black sun. The eternity of souls.
2. Five stages of an eclipse.
3.Total eclipse-3 minutes. Deep twilight.
4. The moon has a temporary crown (corona) that celebrates its victory.
5. Viewed from predestined location
6. A fated portent by the ancients.
7. A natural phenonoma in the present.
8. Next in north and South America, also Pacific in July 2019
Looter Eclipse
When darkness turns the day to night
The triumphant moon bedecks its glittery crown
Feeding upon the ancients fear of doom and gloom
Their dread of harvests wrecked with troubled soul
A daytime moon that mocked their sacrificial rites
With cursed prediction for ill fated times ahead
Punished by the idols of the time
For some iniquitous crime to languish in dire Hades
Secured the time and place of modern solar eclipse
The throng awaits with polymer shades adorned
Amid a gleeful buzz of expectation
To view the phenomena of sun obscured
And loyally watch its five stages
When day becomes a dusky shade
In matter of fact observation
Ill portents dismissed and banished
They see the crown upon its lunar head
But not the sneak thief upon the ground
Who rifles pockets, loots their bags
The eclipse’s glory takes its place
And he escapes with all their booty
In portended fate of dire acclaim
I am looking for dream interpreters.
My name is Goodluck
Don’t swear yet please, don’t “****”
I am no president or “less”
Neither am I clueless
Parents christened me Goodluck
So if there be name sake as me
Well, that is bad luck
Like I said,
I am looking for dream interpreters.
I had a dream last night
I saw ancestors.
Breathing fire like dynamite
Asked me if I am insensitive
Or just clueless
Out of respect for ancestors, I asked them
‘Insensitive to or in what?’
“Insensitive to or in what???”
Was their angered response
“Even in this, you are still clueless”?
Their lead speaker asked
“Okay, fine! Mr. clueless” he continued
Under your watchful eyes
The plane you are saddled with,
Cries out for a pilot
For the auto-pilot can’t land it
And you are a clueless pilot
The ship you are saddled with
Cries out for a captain
For you have broken the compass
And an inevitable sink might come to pass”.
“Mr. clueless” he continued again
The streets of Jos,
Blood has become a river.
Have you seen the butchered women…
Pregnant
Have you seen the opened bowels…
Slain infants.
Religious insurgencies on the instant
United Nations office and police headquarters
All crashed landed with a bang…bomb
Churches are smashed, even mosques
The blood rivers of Jos has flowed beyond us
Now, it’s a national flood above us
Yet your greed is on the oil well
You have weakness for debt accumulation
SUBSIDY!
Your greatest height of insensitivity
What happened to profits of yester years?
Same old promise of good roads,
Good education, a better tomorrow
Yet, forty billion, a former house of reps
Single handedly stole it.
Are you leeches never ever tired of loots?
Or fear of insurgence of the deprived youths?
The people raped by empty promises of bandits
If you are in all these things clueless
Then our dreams for the country is hopeless
All leaders before you
Have creatively out done you
Hate has come to the surface
And you have lost your grace”.
Then from the dream, I woke up!
Somebody help!!!
I need dream interpreters.
THIS POEM IS FOR THE NIGERIA PRESIDENT WHO CAN’T FEEL THE NEED OF THE NIGERIA PEOPLE
some where there are colors we've never set eyes on yet .
some where there's the love we always cried for but never felt yet .
between the experience and the kneeling here goes my humbleness feeling .
who are you the Dr asked ?
I replied with a question you mean the tag or the purpose?
all his pseudo science trembled into a state of nervous
somewhere not far by far ,there lies the tree of life
but where you all went wrong it's one tree per each life
do you wanna know the purest form of making love
a fountain dived under the blanket of eternal beauty
hungry roots waiting for the essence of giving that never loots
a spiritual cowboy missed the beauty of the tactile
infant feet ,abandoned grass .....graceful boots adolescent infantile
life is all about biting the fruit ,without picking the fruit
life is all about adoring beauty but not taking it home
the .most capital crime is the word "mine"
synchronicity ,numerology and the quest of making what's ours ...mine
the promised tickled the hallucinations of greed ,eliciting the chosen complex
they named the condom durex ,they stripped feelings out feelings hence it became durex and sex
so long the fountain and the root
the modern man with a long ,laughed the hyenas
the modern woman said I solved it all ,it's physical and emotional can you please us both
flied the albatross
the modern man with the dead head moth tattoo
the one eyed caterpillar flew out of modern love's dying mouth
Tamer Hossam