Best Saboteurs Poems
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada
We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more
Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.
My descent was gradual, sedge meadows with wondrous pink orchid variations visited by never identified damselflies, my head starting to swim; erasing time, giving way to a dark canopied wetland of black spruce, difficult to traverse, sloping deer trails the safest path to take, avoiding quick-mud holes. These trails are popular in the forest, as signs reveal, death struggle remains, the saddest.
This is the area I saw the hairless half ape/half wolf like creature block my trail, stopping to look at me deeply, then vanishing like a ghost, without even a ruffle of plants.
Sometimes a plant, flower or insect calls to me "come closer" so I approach with caution; my hand carved heavy oak staff probing for danger, strong enough to ward off bears and badgers, snakes & insect saboteurs, intent on my demise.
With compass and topo I chart my course, knowing each time I visit these wild places in the forest off Lake Superior, it could be my last, so I bring back natural, wondrous souvenirs that fill my day-dreams, content once more, cleansed of my sins by Her Majesty, the forests off Gitchi Gumee.
Authors note...never venture into these wild places alone, always be prepared with survival equipment in your pack.
If anyone is impatient, by chance or choice,
Or too impatient to read my poems,
S/he must read this poem—at any rate!
Hopkins once heckled God:
“Why do sinners’ ways prosper?”
And did not stay for an answer!
The answer is:
Sinners, whether saboteurs, burglars, assassins,
Or any other characters of their ilk,
Seem to exercise far greater patience
Than virtuous humans!
Murderers are an exception,
Notorious for their impatience—
By courtesy of Daniel Goleman!
What is patience?
A deceptively simple question.
The dictionary equates it with waiting,
Putting up with annoyance,
And also associates it with work.
Its opposite is impatience,
Whose synonym is haste;
And its symptom restlessness.
Patience may be regarded as a frame of mind
(Based of course on some personal philosophy)
In which to wait and or work:
The spider is exemplary in both these senses.
Instances of waiting are aplenty:
Waiting for solution, resolution, results, etc.
But what do we do in the meantime?
Only patience and positiveness can tell us.
For Michelangelo, as for Newton,
Patience meant work,
Working presumably against odds
And towards perfection,
Which, in Gandhi’s idiom, is karma.
Work, then, becomes pleasure.
But waiting endlessly, eternally
(For whatever it may be)
Is something inconceivable, at any rate,
In God’s scheme of things.
Surely, there is some mistake—
Maybe in perception,
Or interpretation or computation.
God may be subtle, as admitted by Einstein,
But could never be wicked—as Satan was!
The time has come my dear for us to part
It was not my intention to hurt your heart
Our goals and views are just to diverse
I scratch the surface but you totally immerse
So many people love you, I feel I can't compete
You'll always be the driver and I in the back seat
Abundance of comments and praise for you awaits
While I wither in the shadows your limelight creates
I promise to protect you from crazy saboteurs
Please remember my heart remains with yours
06/13/2014
~For PD's contest~
THE DIE IS CAST
“I See,” said a blind man to his deaf Spouse, emphatically
I hear the S-rhetoric She replied Sarcastically
The symptoms and signs of Stagnation
The Syndrome of intermittent Systems and Structures
Signing and later whining or wining
Structural adjustment and subsidies
The insatiable appetite for Sausages and Swine
Speculation and Smart Partnerships Scenarios
Synergies, Song of Science, Strategies, Solutions all Send Shivers down my Spine
Stock exchange and Streamlining just Sentimental
What with Solo driving, Sole proprietorship of Strings of businesses
As the faith of the Servicemen wavers, the Sales are reportedly Staggering
A Slump they call it but there’s Something Sinister
Swing into action to Subjugate these Saboteurs?
My Spirit faints But rejoice oh my Soul
Share the Spoil of the Wicked, Shillings and Swiss Francs or $ollars
If they call this Scathing, what is Stealing?
Smelling, a Stench!
Servant leaders, Surge forward to foil this Sunlight melancholy
For a calm Sea never made a good Swimmer
Study the Science of the Soil and the oil
When funds are Squandered
Guillotine the Small witty cashiers, the sardines
A Sacrifice of sorts, Scape goating and Summary Sentencing
“Where are the big bully Signatories, the Sharks”, a Senior Citizen asks?
Scot free, in Singapore in another Symposium
And who will Sub-due the enemy? Where are the species of valour, women of virtue?
Behold the Son of David, Save us!
Saviour, open your eyes and See, take our Prayer Seriously
With You on our Side we can Salvage the Situation and Scale walls
They surrendered to Virtue all they had, tears
They gained from society( 'twas all they yearned for) tranquility
They sang songs so serene:-
"Oh, blessed is the shunner of all forms of evil!"
And perched on tower-tops
While the city went out and commenced
Jumping walls topped by sharp-edged-jagged pieces of china and glass
Door-breaking and stuttering rifles.
In eloquent gestures and mazy motions,
They recited poems pregnant with emotions:-
"It took yesterday's madmen to
Build a better today
One cannot make a fundamental change
Without a certain degree of madness!"
While corrupt preachers, politicians, policy-makers
Reiterated their usual rhetoric.
The rhytms and rhymes of political ruthlessness
They painted pictures so loud:
Black guns circled and crossed in red.
They stuck the paintings on hospital walls,
Schools, churches, playgrounds and market stalls.
Patients, nurses and prechers
Vendors, doctors and teachers
Were awe-struck as the questioned, "Who are they?"
I whispered, "Youths, to Vice and to Crime Unknown."
Their soles maimed sinuously the city tarmac
Their voices pierced the polluted atmosphere
Their banner sang volumes:-
"USE COMMON SENSE NOT CRIMINAL SENSE!"
While the peace saboteurs used violence as a tool
To keep the elite few
In top rule
Shunning majority rule
And treating the majority as one fool.
Thus, at Africa Unity Square
The march on Harare ended sincere.
Huge was their number, and their agenda clear
One of them whistled a tune
It lasted till noon.
Then I heard a whispering pulse
In my ear
A whispering pulse
Of evil eroded clear,
"Youths, to Vice and to Crime Unknown."
Anarchy is witnessed,
Strategy is called for,
Youthfulness is called upon,
Execution is on the roll.
Motivated by materialism,
The conscience is sold out
Indiscipline rules willfully, and
Fear is the air to breathe.
Scenes of violence all over
Generated by the “gods”
Yes, the "gods"and barbarians of the “science of power”
Leaving nothing but an eyesore
Venoms of influence are pryingly invited and spat out
Igniting a scene of social unrest, and
They sit in the comfort of their abode. Whilst,
Observation becomes the ally of their misdeed.
Horror is witnessed
Sorrow is the bitter taste.
Terrorism yet to be invited and
Saboteurs, oh yes, Political Saboteurs pry in their abode
Rationality conflated with conviction is consulted
Options are laid nakedly on the table
Complex is the choice to be made
Yet, a decision must be made.
Let them be combatant of their own combat.
By,
Augustine A. Harun Jnr.
AJ Harun
Obsolete is the byword
that keeps us buying anew,
products that last forever
simply would never do.
Paydays come in many forms
some junk is another’s treasure,
so creating problems to be solved
makes sense by the repairman’s measure.
There are industries of industry
who perpetuate themselves,
flooding markets with one thing
keeping others on the shelves.
This breeds the disingenuous cause
of saboteurs and fixers,
spawning each other endlessly
pitting inventors against the nixers.
Exhaust pipes made of mild steel
rust out and fail routinely,
planned obsolescence creating need
proving the point supremely.
Somewhere somebody is planting a bug
in my computer or my lung,
where a technician or a doctor
gets paid to see it undone.
And somewhere somebody is saying a prayer
to stop this insanity,
of misguided and opportunistic
cannibalization of ingenuity.
Initially intended as a lyric, I wrote this in iambic pentameter. I'm interested in any
feedback, much appreciated. Enjoy.
Your distant posture softens when I near,
Despite the pledge that you are quite content.
That smile returns, your eyes shed their veneer,
Remembering those wild nights we spent;
Our bodies burning with enlightenment.
We drank the sacred wine and freed the dove
That soared through our unstable atmosphere.
And for awhile it nobly thrived above
The saboteurs determined to appear;
Contriving doubt and casting out its spear.
You met your share of charlatans who knew
The secrets to the alchemy of love.
The rumors of their magic were untrue
But still the fantasy fit like a glove
With just a little tweaking and a shove.
I pardoned guilt and from inaction rose
Onto the pedestal I overthrew.
But all the deities that I impose
Have failed to move me where your spirit blew.
Condemned to dust because they were not you.
From day to night the hours politely went,
Like nervous children shifting in their rows;
Afraid of what the silence might present.
Perhaps a revelation to suppose,
Depending on the future that it shows.
she knows naught of a life that is her own,
so giving all she has to mate and brood ...
and tho deep-down within, she burns alone,
for just one treasured passion that is hers,
her kids and husband, precious saboteurs ...
require her love, and selfless fortitude.
a dream of dancing feet is now the haunt
of little feet that danced into her heart,
and one knight, true, her charming confidant.
so maybe, one day, she will twirl her toes,
but she has no regrets, as goodness knows ...
a wife and mother ... play the grandest parts.
BORN IN THE MIDDLE EAST
By Eddie Egbelo Ntebri
Alas thy has been born; from thy dark mother’s womb
To inhale the venomous air from thy bleeding ambiances
What a conclave; concealed by dusty decisions
Dejection and pity shelters thy unpolished skin;
Leaving thee with regrets of a propelling heart
Thy nostrils filled with the breathe of human plasma
Thy ears shielded by war songs
Oh! What a derisible human nature
Fractioned by poverty and hunger
Petitioned by freedom and peace
Oblige by blood and sickness
Appraised by saboteurs and oppressors
Dictated by tyrants and impostors
Delivered by a murky womb
What kind of life awaits thee?
A life of rumble and hurricanes; surpassing the humble spirit of sleep
A life that beseech the passage of horrid times
A fountain life of crisis in melodies
A life that grips fear as the solitary courage for survival
A life that expects a bullet in every sunrise
A life of dismay and objection
Hold back thy tears from its drip
Human history surely needs to change its course
In-plant within thee the spirit of believe
Hope lies beyond the valleys
Sing songs of triumphant victories
Because thy blood will surely be thy peaceful covenant
When fate clashes
With destiny or
Your illusions
Clamors with reality
If hope and dreams
Are saboteurs
Then what happens to
Your future;
If in this life, you
Cannot face the
Challenges that
Appear and
You live inside
Your head,
Huddled up in fear
In your own little
World of illusions
Where you get treated
Greatly.
You have become a
King inside
Your world and
Your status is quite
Stately.
As long as you stay
Tucked away-
Inside the castle in
Your mind.
You'll never have to
Meet the fool
That plays you in
Real life.
There is a fool out here
That looks a lot like you;
He even he sounds
Like you do too.!
Could this fool that we
Witness with our eyes
Somehow be in your skin:
Or is there a pretender
Out there:
Pretending as if he's you?
We, your friends want to ask,
Is he of some kin?
Because it seems there's a
Fool out there acting
As if he were you...
African Proverb says
“You have become a
King in the land of illusions
While in the land of
Reality you remain a fool”
the worker bees buzz &
the management, the authority figures,
crunch down the boots
on the backs of us all
tossing crumbs & wanting
better production, faster pace,
silence (no talking, only work) &
for us all to be company whores
dedicated to the cause of
profit for the few who sit atop the pyramid of
this specific little corporate tyranny---
such is the nature of the beast
such is the reality of the empire
such is the “successful wonder” of capitalism &
those that want it to be this way
see nothing changing, for like so many
disgusting traditions which people cling onto for dear life,
they’d be so sad to see it go &
even more so,
ever so sad to share anything with the rest of us or
get down in the grit & dirt themselves
to actually work for a living---
and as the machine churns,
most workers think that there is nothing that can be done,
many have families & do not want to rock the boat,
while many have plans that extend for years
roaming round their heads like marbles rolling on a slick
hardwood floor &
they’ve all drank the kool-aid,
they’ve all signed off before the actual body does
so that the mind will not stir
(bearing any thoughts that what is being done here might not be
just, that what is being done here just might need to be dismantled)---
a worker who knows that
to interrupt the flow
a worker who knows that
to get in the way of production, is to put a halt on profit & to
put a halt on profit means that every cog in the chain of command will get
spoken to & eventually chaos will arise,
is an anarchist who understands the beauty of
sabotage.
simply deciding to leave out steps in a process needed
simply deciding to ignore quality overlooking &
simply deciding to destroy whole bits of product when the
heads are turned for a brief moment,
will begin to bring the place down---
for the saboteurs in this game are only true agents of change &
when those who have been oppressed in the company have had enough,
starting to wreck it from within,
like a fresh new cancer,
watch all the company’s horses &
all the company’s men,
try to put their little company
back together again.
A Forgery of such style
In a touch shall call,
again, to sigh and fall.
To the Ageless Jazz leap,
'round midnight
A Generique Portrait
Consumed out of Love
Never wasting their pretentious time,
Claim to reveal your elite taste
True colours with bile chased
Poloroid of Authentic appearance
Easy to Fake
They talk all TS, Magic lanterns and
Michaelangelo
By public confession in Adoration of Dr Kaligari, The Somnambulist and stencilled spirals
That early editing, Knocking cells on continuity or giving the audience creative control in
image's connections. Montage from Intellectual graphic matching of Codename Saboteurs,
Features fading to their namesake. Emotional etched through out Vertov's Working
Documentary (“The Kinetic eye”? Following Moscow's Day by the people , early stop
motion as he explored Moving Image , Back when Trains sped at the audience .
Between these lines Hopefully a syllable address
of modest articulation.
For the Outsider , Crafting World by his Blend of Diction..
Sit for Short Spell
Do I need to be in lead or left behind
Or end up lost where no one can find
Perhaps exactly where I want to be
Half way between you and also me.
Middle of roader really could be called
Over hill and dale things have hauled
Ending up at dearly beloved's door
Seven years ago and then four score.
Troops were in Gettysburg so I heard
At Appomattox Courthouse was word
War had been over and finally done
Still are all in debate as to who won.
All of this started to set the stage
For twenty-first century and computer age
When World Wars were finally complete
And our enemy Germany we did defeat.
We have lots of looters and saboteurs
That all of us now must have to endure
While we in America have much compassion
Middle East has been home for any assassin.
How much longer must this have to go one
Until whole world is wiped out and then done
Some say right it truly may be hard to tell
So what we should is sit for a short spell.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran