Best Overseers Poems
The puppet pranced
The strings frayed
A jackass brayed
As poppin’ hoppys
Sat and rose
In ballet dance
Of well browned nose
Applause and “clapture”
of Stockholm rapture
A mocking strut
Of failing stature
Overseers jaundiced eyes
Pundits seeking pulitz prize
Dissect the metaphoric frog
Wash it down with pints of grog
Amidst the spin of liars din
They shout pick me let’s ride again
Update quickly twitter feeds
Sating lustful twitter needs
Condense a two hour monologue
Into a twenty-five word blog
Check the facts, don’t be a chump
It’s just another “word soup” dump
John G. Lawless
©2/8/2023
Ghetto me be a bleating poor refugee,
albeit I’m Goshen rich in faith
Got a manger stall in the USA,
Pilate shepherd of the Cesarian peace
Time stamped stillborn delivery
tis iron Roman numeral four C
Furnace cast existence: bane brand bound
Babylonian condition, a marketplace sound
Fleeced heritage ... sob separated,
I am just the latest stolen cargo generation
being cerulean cloth asphyxiated
By legion overseers of an ungrateful nation
These pyramid gnash, link bled bones
twas being Pharaoh oppressed: Prey worked to death
in a Memphis factory plantation owned
Where noxious hate suffocate poverty-cuffed breath
Be daily double tasked in a graveyard shift
Those pale hearts so addicted
to the golden flask, err tilted
Drunk on power, they cull with a siren sift
O miry, downtrodden me ...
temporally chained to this wavy treachery
Verily, a wretched place for a black sheep —
such cotton weary misery!
So after four centuries of Cain deluge,
I do still tearfully seek
A rainbow ark sacred place of refuge
promised to the meek
Tears of our fathers of old
A silent cry through whips of toil
In rain and in the frozen cold
They work the harvest of the soil.
Tears of our fathers of old
The men that lapped the morsels
The tasteless bread of mold
A fitting feast to mongrels.
As if joy was a distant glow
Or freedom,infinite moons away
Death's heartless striking blow
Was a sweet and wonderous day.
At the cruel hands of the overseers
Their sorrows renewed each day
A beast of labour in many tears
In the stinging sparkling ray.
Through history's ruthless pages
Forlorn are memories that gathers
Through the past century stages
The tears of our fathers!
I aim always to make money
My plantations have made me wealthy but
Along the way I might have lost my humanity
In the meantime I will love and enjoy my money
I did not start the trade
As a second son I needed to make my own way
So I turned with no regret to slavery
I am colour blind
I see only a commodity
That can bring huge returns
Prosperous is all I want to be
I do not get my hands dirty
I have the ship captains and
My agents and overseers
To do the soul destroying work for me
I count my money
And my conscience does not bother me
I am human
The slaves are but savages
I am stronger so they must do as I say
I work them hard
For profit is the only way
Sugar and cotton
Are my gods
I create a supply for there is a demand
On black suffering I do rely
I shrug my shoulders but never sigh
My conscience is easy
It is not a lie
They sit high – very high
in their echelons of such great importance,
where they can look down
on us
(all the millions of us excluded
from their exclusive group) -
from the penniless and the ever-struggling souls
to the middle class and even
to many of the upper classes -
Oh, the countless souls they have convinced
that their falsehoods are truths.
With money and with powerful connections,
and with the "so-called" science of those they bribe
to push their falsehoods,
they have insinuated themselves
into every organization of great importance,
where their ultimate purposes
can best be carried out.
The “Cancel Culture” originated with them,
for they try to silence those who oppose them.
They cause their messages
to be imprinted on the minds
of the masses through endless repitition
in the conventional media that they control.
This constant regurgitation of their messages
becomes the belief system
of nearly the entire global community.
They talk and talk and talk,
feigning interest in OUR best interests
as they sit high – very high
planning out an end game
which does not really
have all that much longer
to be played out.
March 3, 2021
for Beata Agustin's 'MY SIGNIFICANT 2021 POEM ' Poetry
My only dramatic monolgue of the year and also one of my most significant poems.
WAKE UP CALL
Wake up Congolese, wake up
It is morning, the sun arises from the east
Open your eyes and wake up.
I am Kongolo Congo, born near the River Congo
Grew up in Congo Uvira, using the Congo franc
Now I am a Refugee in South Africa.
Wake up Congolese, wake up
Yesterday Congo was the private garden of the Belgium King,
It became the province of Belgium;
It became the land of Congolese.
Today it seems as the plantation of a Congolese leader with his overseers.
Think of the future faithful leaders, oh! Congolese.
Wake up Congolese, wake up
Congo is very rich than Belgium but Congolese are too poor
Congo is the ground of the wars because of spurious politic
Congo is belatedly because of the hypocrite and selfish leaders
Congolese starve to death while walking on the golds, diamonds, and cobalt.
Congolese die poor while sailing on the gas and petrol.
Wake up Congolese, wake up
Congo is the middle and motor of Africa
African leaders do you focus on Congo
Congo made Belgium beautiful place
Congo can make New Africa City than New York City
Congo is like the heart of hearts.
The original version of this piece is too long for me
to post in its entirety, so it had to be sectioned off. Of
all that I've written, I am most proud of this work due
to its historical accuracy. I hope you enjoy it as well. It
was an honor to write this.
Lying in this shallow ditch I hear as they arrive, the
miracle of God is all that's keeping me alive,
and it is that belief in God to which each day I strive,
surprised at this much faith? Just simply gaze into
my life.
Was born in 1800, month October 2nd day, and knee
high to a hopper when my daddy ran away,
before you climb your soapbox and begin to think
that way, remember these are times when all the
black folk here are slaves.
Imagine being sold like stock, to work when cold or
hot, the overseers beatin people if they're old or not,
do not defy the owner, best believe you will be sick,
of getting 10 to 20 lashes from the master's whip.
My last name wasn't given at my birth and that's a
fact, my given name's Nathaniel but they choose to
call me Nat,
the surname of my owner Samuel is what I claim,
you put it all together yes, Nat Turner is my name.
I think about Old Bridget, that's my grandmother you
know, they snatched her out of Ghana, brought her
here to freezing cold,
she ran the Coromantee who were known for slave
revolts, she watched the seeds get planted in me
grow and take a hold.
I thought myself the lucky one for I could read and
write, it brought me to The Bible and I learned to
read it right,
then spent my childhood years admidst the Spirit up
above, it fit my needy soul just like a mitten or a glove.
I ran away at first when I was only 22, I should've
stayed away because I really wanted to,
but 1 month later, picture this it's me a black man
free, a vision told me that I should go back and that
was key.
The visions I receive I know are messages from
God, Old Bridget had religion shining deep within my
heart,
I will inform the brethren and won't stop until they're
saved, The Prophet is the name that I was called by
fellow slaves.
As 6 years pass of this I know it never is too late, the
hands of the Almighty have me primed for
something great,
I carry heavy shoulders for a man of 28, until I
worked the master's field one faithful day in May........
To Be Continued
Weep
When will you cry?
Will you cry when they kill all your dreams
or when the sun stops
setting? Or when you cannot have kids,
or when they cancel your wedding? Will it bring
you to tears when there's another 911
or you get a bill from your overseers that makes you
feel forlorn; Or when they whisper softly"
there's something wrong with your newborn" Then
will you cry? Will you cry when the poison from
the food kills your body’s natural
protection, and leaves you no longer immune?
That is around the corner waiting and will be
here soon; Doctors with
"C" averages, taking out your body parts;
Will you weep then? What
will make you cry, what does it take to make
you stand:
Misdiagnosis? You are not exempt.
Missing children or grandchildren, babies
without bottles, missing; Vacuuming pedophiles
body parts!
When will you get sick of this manure?
What will make you fight these horrors
back? It happens to Jill and It happens to Jack...
Perhaps you don't want to fight, perhaps
You think it only happens to blacks,
or browns, or poor whites; No, you don't want to
fight, you feel exempt;
But there's a tear out there waiting,
it has your fingerprint! So
keep on thinking it can’t happen to you
nothing can affect you, you have it all sorted
out, and life is not fair, but we are
breathing the same air!
So, if you think these
conditions will only affect others;
And you have your paper
money tucked safely in the
bank, you live in a different world....
so, you think! Again, I ask; What will make you
fight, what will make you cry,
When things come to the light...
when things to the light?
Your safety net has holes
in it, you are slipping
through the cracks, paper money is torn
worthless, dried up trees!
Life for others is not fair, your luck
is running scarred;
We are breathing the same air!
When the lights come on
There is nothing more to see, you
knock but can't get in;
Your names first on the list.
Your money was not that long; The
Kidney that you needed, went to one
who had much more!
Now you die from waiting, it is so
aspirating, the playing fields not even;
But now it is too late, you can no longer
wait.... So, you Die.... And so, you Die!
In winter's cold grip
In the land of the Angles
The Good Christians came
Against their will to a trial
In a grand city
Called the Ford of the Oxen
Good will be slaughtered
By the hands of hot fire
The hands of the judge
The home's ruler was their judge
His stare was piercing
That went with flaming outbursts
And with his red hair
And the king's false overseers
Were the proud jury
Against the thirty Christians
Who came years before
Who came to spread medicine
To heal the ones sick
Cleanse all those with leprosy
To raise the ones dead
Cleanse all those with black demons
All without a fee
But to the judge and jury
This was dark poison
That spread about pestilence
And the Good Christians
Were flees spreading everywhere
Now in England's robe
Eating away the fabric
The thirty Christians spoke thus
"Blessed are those ones
Who suffer from sword or flame
From rope or prison
Or from winter's sheer coldness
For the sake of light
For Christ and goodness itself
For they are Christ's own
They are in heaven's kingdom"
The jury looked on
In their long adorned white robes
Clenching their own fists
Feeling their ring in their palms
"Heretics!" They yelled
With that word, the trail ended
They were now guilty
Still they sang a song of life
"Blessed are those ones
Who are reviled and hated
Rejoice and be glad
For great is the light of Christ"
As red flames rose up
The king in his ruthlessness
Had all of them flogged
In the sight of the cattle
And had their brows burned
And drove them from oxen's ford
And they stripped them all
To wail and die in frost's grip
Or be still in pain
But they kept singing with joy
The king shut his mouth
For hot anger chained his lips
His freckled face scowled
All the cattle were ordered
To have no pity
And walk to the other side
If one is in sight
And not pour good oil and wine
On their bleeding wounds
And not let them find an inn
To find some shelter
They were in winter's cold chains
For nature herself
To be executioner
Those few Good Christians
Still had the spirit in them
And looked to the stars
Just as Christ laughed on the tree
They joyfully laughed
They went to this world laughing
And left this cold world laughing
Even--------when life is like a vapor, and uncertained
When-------the day of death shall come
I------------remind myself, I am not dead...I...
Am---------not...
Dead-------; I never had my grave
I------------know my life...
Shall-------come to pass, but Heaven with the Lord...am...
Ever--------joyed!
Live---------in everylasting life with the Lord
With--------Him, anything is possible and granted evermore!
The---------Lord keepeth His promises, and ...for...
Lord, He is the Lord, the Overseers!
Amen
Again I say...
Amen--------for.........................................................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...God!
There was a aseason
When love was love
the educated are uneducated
hunger was hung in daylight
when sins were seen in scenes
There was a season
when poverty was prohibited
obscenity totally abhored
the gods are justice par
excellence
when people peopled with
purpose abound
There was a season
when earth has no earthlings
Rivers Niger and Benue were
at peace
Augusts were filled with
august events
WaZoBia means come
when there was a country
We are in a season
when the winter wins
people sums in summer
harmattan harms the poor
when things are no longer at
ease
We are in a season
when vultures are in
parliaments
religious overseers become
coffers seers
bards are turned to harbingers
when the falcon no longer
hears the falconer
We are in a season
When iniquity is ubiquiteous
democracy raped in public
gaze
tyrannism is re- christened
and democratized
when the center can no longer
hold
We are in a season
when the blind are experts in
colour prediction
the lame are announced
winners in relays
the deaf hears the sound of
gun- shots
the dumb lead in religious
hymns
when one is man of the
people in disguise
We are in a season
when the things above are
above us
the things beyond are beyond
us
senses no longer makes sense
modernity embraces
immorality
when heaven and earth lack
rapport
We are in a season
when kings are pimps
queens becoming madams
the good lack goodness
the bad bar the bards
the ugly remain ungodly
when things have fallen apart
I see a season
when angels will live in Los
Angeles
food will become free in Free
Town
people will go to overseas through Amansea
people will differenciate a
truth from a fact
when policies will not be
politicized
I see a season
when battles will be battled
death will become dead
immortality will be mortalized
when time will be made
timeless
I see a season
when penury will perish
praises sung in paradise
sickness will become sick
holidays will be made
holy days
we'll have a common
idiosyncrasy
when the arrow of
God is awaited
There was a season
We are in a season
I see a season
The apostle Paul God's holy servant
addresses God's chosen holy people
speaking with true royal authority
looking to God from His holy steeple
God here speaks to His very own
all of those God regards as saints
draped in the shed blood of Christ
the righteous badge God has known
The people of God are His elect
chosen before the world began
in faith endowed with divine righteousness
God's blessing put on sinful man
For this sin, God sent His beloved son
to be the sacrifice our sin to atone
on the cross, Jesus paid the price
acceptable to God who accepts no clone
God's word speaks of the holy necessity
without holiness, no one shall see the Lord
every unholy being God will reject
make sure your sins are under His sword
("Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus,
To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are at Philippi, with the overseers and deacons:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.")
Philippians 1: 1-2 (ESV)
Commitment to Christ and to His church* He cares...
Calls for courageous devotion to the Creator God constantly
Carrying Christians toward communion midst His concern
Ceaselessly championing Christian charity-cause:
Compassionately freeing sin-chained captives
Cheerfully comforting the chastened conscience
Crying against carnal corrupt competition!
*Acts 20:28 Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all the flock, over the which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to feed the church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood.
April 1, 2019
McCain
We'll defeat terrorism as it should be fought
Never letting Satan's horde chase us to our door.
Safeguarding our borders and system of life
As our forefathers sacrificed before.
Never be afraid to be proud of America
And march with the brave, faithful and just.
Refusing to summit to the will of our enemies
Standing firm to preserve what we trust.
America has survived all attempts to destroy
Knowing the cruelty and sorrow of war
And we who remain must help keep her free
For those who can march no more!
Those who wish to be President
Must practice what they teach.
For their people need inspiring
To believe what they preach.
Take heed therefore, unto yourselves
You overseers of the flock
Or the voters shall cast you out
For your futures are not of rock.
Life may place us in deep waters
Though it doesn't wish us to drown.
It's our past record that lets others know
Who we are as we smile or frown.
If you wish to be remembered
From the truth you must never part.
Power corrupts the best of us
When we stop listening to our heart.
By Tom Zart
This Cosmos knows all must escape the war.
The sky beckons peace for the Bard's journey,
Hoping there will be joy forevermore.
Music, dance, poetry--art is beauty!
Raise a cheer for nature's forest bounty.
Let's gather memories that are gleeful!
The green woodlands breathe with vitality
And gift to us a rocky pocketful!
Awen drifts through every breath of nature,
Kindling the mind with vivid ideas,
Flying forward to chase the bright future.
Bards guard pure hearts as meek overseers.
Every balm that will make us feel better
Spills from the Cosmos' wildest pleasure!