Best Men In Suits Poems
Snow is falling and floods are flowing,
people dying and children keep crying,
but he's just an ordinary man,
sitting there watching TV.
Icebergs melting and penguins starving,
men in suits talking and big guns firing,
but he's just an ordinary man
playing on his smartphone.
Storms blowing and seas are raging,
children starving and refugees leaving,
but he's just an ordinary man
at home warm and free.
He seems confused,
Daffodils no longer bloom in Spring,
bumble bees have stopped buzzing,
butterflies have stopped floating,
confused birds have stopped flying and
factories have plumes of smoke burning,
but he's just an ordinary man
sitting in his garden all alone.
So who is he to fight?
He just follows the rules he is told.
Instead of trying to be something he is not.
Because he is just an ordinary man.
The Silent One
Simple musing
11 January 2018
there’s always a man
who walks into the room
like he owns the ceiling
and the dust in the corners
and the breath in your lungs.
he talks about strength
the way a drunk talks about love—
loud,
with broken glass in his mouth.
the country splits itself open
arguing at kitchen tables,
in parking lots,
in the thin blue glow of televisions
that never sleep.
flags flap like nervous birds.
everybody’s got a war now—
a war on neighbors,
a war on strangers,
a war on ghosts they swear are real.
overseas
bombs bloom like bad flowers
in deserts that have seen too many empires
come and go
like bad bar tabs.
the men in suits smile,
shake hands polished with sanitizer and ambition.
they speak of security,
of destiny,
of greatness measured in contracts
and applause.
meanwhile,
back home,
rent is late,
tempers are shorter than cigarettes,
and the truth limps down the alley
with a busted lip.
power attracts its own kind—
loyal faces in expensive jackets,
men who nod too quickly,
who laugh a beat too loud
and some women.
the room fills with yes
yes
yes
until it sounds like a swarm.
and somewhere
a waitress wipes down a counter
and says,
“they’re all the same.”
maybe she’s wrong.
maybe she’s right.
history has a long memory
and a short fuse.
in the end
no one conquers everything.
the wars abroad fade into footnotes,
the wars at home scar the children,
and the man who wanted it all
learns that the ceiling
never belonged to him.
it was just
borrowed
like the rest of it.
POLITICIAN PERDITION
Do you find yourself analytical
When it comes to things political
Corpulent men in suits and ties
Cheat with promises and lies
With true intent we go to vote
To make choice of ass or goat
Labor, Nationals, Libs and Greens
Strut their stuff like Kings and Queens
Have you met an honest Pollie?
Show me one - I'll shout: By Gollie!
With their hands deep in our pockets
They send taxes up like rockets
The grass withers and crops die
For feed and water creatures cry
While there's water up on Mars
And in ‘swamp’s’ well plenished bars!
Trump - outsider - stands his ground
Trait in Pollies seldom found
He treats leaders, lords and Kings
Marionettes dangling on strings.
Never TelePrompt refined
Opens up and speaks his mind
Straight from heart and off the cuff
Uncut diamond in the rough
Mock his lack of history pure
Never going to be demure
He hits back at thrown insults
I care more for his results
So let’s give an admonition
To bog dwelling politicians
‘Had enough to fill your cup
Drink it down! Your time is up!’
Bloodthirsty men in black
God is great they chant
As they discharge a barrage
Of bullets from a mounted mobile gun
This round they’ve won it seems
Another dad has died
Another mum has cried
Children leave their games to run for cover
In abandoned homes and holes in the ground
Bullets blast apart families who flee to tented towns
Far away war-mongering men in suits
Gather in their noble quest to start another war
Greedy for gain
Their efforts attain only hatred and revenge
They fight a distant war
Where talk is cheap
They’ll send a thousand jets a hundred times
To drop a million bombs
They’ll teach others the art of war
And drones will do their dirty work
The men in suits
Light a fire
They pretend to be enemies
Though they really are the best of friends
Every move, watching the world,
Burn to flames
Public protests for garbage, whilst
Many are killed, destroyed, silenced
Criminals live in wonderland
Innocents are framed
Candles burn but like phoenixes, rebirthing from melted wax,
This world is burning, but nothing melts
Sidewalks are full of people, yet no eyes do mine meet;
Taxis, by the thousands, litter the city street;
The sun is blocked out by high-rises with business men in suits;
I am a lost and lonely cowboy, with no place to wear my boots.
I ride the subway from Soho, up to Central Park;
In search of Mother Nature, pretending the pigeon is a lark;
Surrounded by millions – never have I felt so all alone;
I am bored of Manhattan and I hunger for my Western home.
I came looking for excitement; I came looking for a job;
I came looking for myself – now, I’m just lost among the mob;
Who knew that in Manhattan, with such diversity,
A simple, bumpkin cowboy would get bored with the big city?
I am bored of Manhattan, and all of its pretentiousness,
But I haven’t got the money to return to what I miss,
So, me and my guitar play songs in Times Square,
Drop some coin in my guitar case, so I can skedaddle out of here.
Written and posted 1/5/2016
~*~
My last day was not me knocking on Heaven's gate,
But a bus pulled up to my home, that was my fate;
Told to leave three pieces of advice and to be precise,
And men in suits said, be quick, we cannot wait.
You will not be coming back, so you best be concise,
To your loved left behind, say things that entice;
I said, my dears, think of me, but let go of grieving,
No time for any packing, only time for some insight.
I have learned my dears, to never stop dreaming,
A bus is waiting and slow now is my breathing;
The time has come and soon the clock will chime,
Oh, keep dreaming and things you will be weaving.
The bus will take me to the golden steps I must climb,
I go, leaving all my worldly things, oh what a crime;
I said, don't let seeking money be your only happiness,
In a moment, I will be up above and in Heaven 's shine.
Let go of grief and recall me with great tenderness,
Keep dreaming and you will never know emptiness;
Told to leave three pieces of advice and be precise,
Money, can at times bring your life only nastiness.
____________________________
February 8, 2016
Poetry/Rubiayat/'My Parting Gifts
Copyright Protected, ID 16-754-720-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, My Parting Gifts,
sponsor, Viv Wigley
First Place
ECHOES FROM THE LIFFEY.
I hear it loud and clear,
A clarion call for the Irish,
A call to awaken our inner strength and rediscover the true us,
Even the walls echo it.
Motherland beckons,
The lush green fields needs weeding,
The time for grazing is long overdue for our livestock,
Even Our thoughts needs nourishment.
What happened to the sweat and blood of our forefathers?
To build a home for prosterity,
An enclave with vast opportunities,
A home for all.
The flight started with trekkers of leisure,
Soon it became trekkers for pastures greener,
Leaving in its wake a near desolate land,
Where the old yearn for their successors.
No thanks to the men in suits,
Whose misadventures led us down this path.
An unwinding route of doom and gloom,
A nations nightmare.
Mother Ireland weeps,
Wishing for daybreak to be nigh,
To dry up the tracks of her tears,
And silence the echoes from the liffey.
J.D.C AHUMIBE.
NEWBRIDGE, COUNTY KILDARE.
REPUBLIC OF IRELAND.
I have to go I cannot stay
there are men in suits taking me away
they think I broke into a bank's vault
as if I would, or could, too thick for that.
I leave you love and memories galore
there is one thing would like you to note
teddy looks like he's busting out of his coat
put on weight these past few days
must be the paper diet he's been on i'd say.
be good my darlings while I am away
think of me when all is done.
live life,be happy,most of all have fun.
Penned 6/2/2016
A dear friend says I'm brave to go it solo in the city…
she has a husband - seven kids - two dogs - and a neurotic cat
yet she dubs me brave!
I'm not brave, I'm transparent amidst glass and steel…
night lights the tower windows - eyes watching, winking
lobby doors gobble people only to spit them out again.
At a sidewalk café I'm the superintendent of this concrete esplanade…
watching women in heels, men in suits (some in heels)
poop scooping dog owners - who's the bulldog here?
In sublime heat, under threatening sky, a dry Chardonnay wets my lips…
the paved people mover hosts a carnival of characters
rushing to their next scene - to the burbs' trimmed lawns
where wifey waits, hoping the train's on time,
that the roast isn't dry - that he's in a good mood
hubby, stopping in for a spirited lift, is in the mood for pasta.
Puffy-cheeked clouds let out a thunderous roar…
howling gusts of wind send spittle in sideways sheets
inverted umbrellas rage their angry teeth skyward
drenching the women's trendy doos while dogs pull masters to shelter
waiters scurry to tie down awnings against swirling winds
must keep the patrons dry!
As the subsiding torrent sends steam rising from hot pavement
my reasons for choosing the city are clear…
inhaling the energy of these brume ensconced streets
cast in this impromptu street opera
playing my part in the faceless crowd
braving the amusing summer storms.
6/11/2013
The Religious Mafia.
There was a great tragedy in a small town many children killed
and there was great sorrow. Then the Jesus brigade descended
telling shocked and grieving parents to pray…for what? And hope,
hope for what? These men, in suits and moist handshakes,
hugging everyone… and talking nonsense about God´s forgiveness
and everlasting love. If that was the case what is the forgiving for?
The pastors are telling people what god or his son want, how do they
know do have they a direct contact with the creator?
No, of course not, they are blinding the parents with prattle, asking
them to donate to their church, naturally, so they can all be saved.
It is all about money, financial gains, these people are worse than
automatic guns, which they, no doubt indorse, it is what god want. No?
Dear husband, kiss me lovingly...
this is my last farewell to you.
Hold close those photos...you and me...
to reminisce the love we knew.
My children, dear, farewell I say...
within my heart, you'll always be.
Safeguard my paintings as a way
to keep the heart and soul of me.
Grandchildren, dear, goodbye, you five...
for this deep hurt, there is no balm.
My poetry please keep alive,
so babes of yours know great-grand mom.
February 10, 2016
~1st Place~
Contest: My Parting Gifts
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
Judged: 09/01/2016
Theme: "Imagine that a bus has pulled up outside your house, men in suits knock on your door, and after a brief conversation, you have to leave. Now. No packing your bags, there isn't time. All you have time for is to leave three pieces of advice to the loved ones you're leaving behind since you're never coming back."
London, London the sea is no longer calm
The Wind blows violently
The God’s are angry
There is a new government on the rise
Elected to bring change.
Men in suits that know no pain
Hearts harden, Soul blank
They plates are filled
They bellies are full
Knock, Knock open the door
Innocent babes are crying.
Their eyes are dark,
Their skin are pale
Their decision have already been made
London,London the skies are dark
The nights are cold
The mornings are gloom.
The streets are crowed
The crowd is angry
London, London the sun sleeps
Days are long, nights are short
Our future looks doom.
Great leader’s men of hope
Bloods on your hand
Elected to rule
Yet your decisions can be judgmental and cruel
Seats won by liars and deceit
Promises made
Promises broken
Peace reins no more
A nation crying,
A generation lost,
Revolution is on the rising.
On dry ground came the rains; they roared
Debris was pushed along ahead, the rolling water pushing all
Earth is scoured in the way; the darkened tempest soared
Raw power pushed right through the wall
Clean men in suits were stuck in muck
Their house slid down the hill in pieces moving on
They sat in wonder waiting in their truck
Still in unbelief, how could it all be gone?
Without words, so shocked by all they saw
Where would they go with a home no more?
Their land was gone; the hill was raw
Could they build again; now what’s in store?
Nothing left but moving rocks and earth
Nature pays no mind to man or what he’s built
Storms will carry all away no matter what it’s worth
With a mighty hand all’s leveled buried in the silt
There was a time I believed I was free
But that belief is long gone.
It perished in a shooting of a public place
And the men in suits sent their thoughts a prayers
And then hid behind there bodyguards as they got back into their armor protected cars
It passed away in the streets of the richest country in the world
It’s ribs showing through its tattered tee shirt
As the grocery store poisoned more of the food it so callously threw away
It died in a run down house in the woods
A needle in its arm
Because getting help meant going to jail
Because the sickness was the crime
It expired when it jumped off a bridge
Too poor to do anything but die
While billionaires complained about having to pay taxes
It relinquished its life with its hands up
In the face of a man who swore to protect him
Who would never be blamed for his death
It fell to the ground with a rainbow painted on its cheek
Because in a world so filled with hate
Love is an act of treason
It ceased to exist in an alleyway
With the girl who couldn’t care for the life inside her
So she lost the life within her
And it breathed its last with a sign in its hand
Because changing the world
Can sometimes mean not being not being a part of it anymore