Best Tankers Poems
Voices and screams wailing from the face of the world,
There is nothing but the days of Sodom and Gomorah
Soils of syria turns to ashes
The world is now a melting pot,
Jets and planes rocketing the face of the sky Visions from Sango are no more
Oh shame !
where the word love have gone
That world of tranquility and harmony without destructions,
Without tankers and hummers from united states trolling the lands of Sudan for peace in wars they start
In Ethopia my sisters are dying Alshabaab ravage the land ,dry bones are living in subjugation
In the name of power and sovereignity M23 turn to bullies
Everyday is a blood bath, (le) fleuve congo flow with hatred
Skies have gone grey with the mist from barrels
Mother is crying in Afighanstan for her baby son his life expectance reduces to 24 hours and living life is now by grace not by choice
Even the air we breath some one wants to take control and gain popularity out of it
I see power hungry turns our brothers into good guys with bad hearts
Yesterday it was father now its my own brother
Why is it that power turns to corrupt absolutely
Boko Haram is seeking all virgins of the land
And to my aquintances may be its only i left to fill this hole of earth and
I guess to vultures gone are the days of hunger
But why is it that we presume to be free but everywhere in chains
We work for them and they eat for us
They sing for us and we dance according to their tune
A giant magnet for young and old
Its many mysteries to unfold
For dipping toes in ebb and flow
Revealing wonders deep below
Calm and still like mirrored glass
Then raging wild a storm can blast
Giving pleasure, causing grief
Magnificent colour of Barrier Reef
Tossing sails yet lapping the shore
Sinking ships in times of war
Sometimes dark, it’s strength foreboding
Tempting too but fiercely goading
A home to fish of stunning hue
Reflecting the sky in shades of blue
Underestimated in its power
Challenging man oft forced to cower
Innumerable colours of blue and green
The prettiest shells you’ve ever seen
Home to coral iridescent and bright
Displays of foam in whirls of white
Dashing the coast in waves of thunder
Giving pleasure, then pulling you under
A background for artists, a playground for tots
Sometimes frightening, sometimes not
Dividing the world in all its glory
The source of many a heartfelt story
Healing the soul when darkness calls
Noisy too when seagulls squall
Shattering lives with remorseless pressure
Beckoning man to false endeavour
A home to many all afloat
Enormous tankers, a tiny boat
Unforeseeable eddies and tides
A gentle sail or risk-full rides
Relentlessly breaking on distant shores
Enticing man for evermore
A means for adventure, for voyages afar
Under sunny skies or a million stars
An erratic, moody source of fear
Taking lives once held dear
A timeless home for hidden treasure
For searching men, unequal measure
Plentiful food for man and beast
A meagre meal or a giant feast
A workplace and a surfer’s delight
A vast beyond - a beautiful sight
A constant means for flight or flee
The amazing, unpredictable sea
The swell and surge of surf
whispers tinnitus conched
on titanium sunken tankers
that rock restlessly on far reef,
as children play unheeded
building imagined bastions,
nursery rhymes drown
turning back cnut tides.
Inevitably,
sand shifts in an hourglass
that plumb the memory's depth
with rosy pictures in ruby flourescence
like monochrome holiday snaps
stored in old bashed biscuit tins
that mother would open on grey
overcast November soaked Sundays.
All oceans are drowned
by the sea's past dregs,as cerulean and cobalt waves
steer towards safe harbors,
tantalized by tinto tinted sunrises
like a rocking pendulum
that plays a metronome symphony,
playing lullabies, rhythms sound
when der holle rache sings
and the nocturnal queen echoes as the dawn breaks.
Translucently, ephemeral light
glistens on children's limbs,water singing as they play,
momentarily soaked in perfection
as delicate beams dance over their fragile bones.
Now amber-crafted moments, Capri's crimson breasts
waves, nestles close to succour infant swells.
Yet magenta lips pout in rock pools,
the breaking and wombing
of waters now birth new journeys
that drive towards a vortex rush.
Defiant boats chase, turning tides in lucent rays,
navigate between lava laced volcanic outcrops
into distant remembered horizons.
Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
by Odin Roark
Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves
Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks
Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes
Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'
Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey
The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts
Of time’s new-century-plague
Ignored
As oil gorged tankers find port
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes
Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission
Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
Water Shortage
I have seen the future
Water famine and revolutions
Wars over water,
No not the kind of balloons
Of water people throw at
Each other, nor
A wet t. shirt competition,
But real war with blood that
Runs into dry gutters
Rustlers who kill animals for
Their blood and leave carcasses
To rot in the field.
Chilled blood with a chaser of water
Only the rich can afford.
The unwashed masses, with
Plastic Jerry cans, overturning
Water tankers, shower units
Have been dismantled.
Yes, I have seen the future and it stinks.
6 a.m
It is time to wake-
After being bludgeoned by sleep.
A quick brush
And a quick wash
Off to the bus-stop in a quick rush.
It’s another day
To work for a pay
Loose soap lather-
Sticking senselessly by the tip of the ear
And white Vaseline still to sink in the hair.
This life is a rush
Get late and get fired
No one cares if you are tired
Or couldn’t spare the time for a notch.
Brown suit,
Black trouser
Loosened zipper
Man! You are a walking sleeper.
We all filed-up
Looking like men heading for the concentration camp,
Yawning helplessly from an unfinished sleep.
This city life,
Is just a life of strife.
We hop on the bus,
So eager to seek solace in its confines.
Heads hanging loosely,
Snoring trumpets at its crescendo.
11 p.m
Free from the day’s toil
But held captive by Lagos traffic.
Sweating and panting from heat,
Squeezed like a crumpled note at the back seat.
Dinner on third-mainland Bridge,
A stick of gala and Asala*
With a bottle of water to quench the hunger.
It’s business time for the street urchins
From Iyana-oworo to the bridge that links Alapere,
They disguise as beggars-
Or hide in the shade of dark like scavengers
Watching out for victims to prey on.
The day weans itself away;
Broken down vehicles,
Long tankers stealing the lanes,
Pedestrians ignoring the bridge,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
Tanker horns blaring like hooting train.
Six to Eleven of our lives
Stolen by the struggle to survive.
Office pressure and less leisure,
Street madness and no cure.
Traffic Thieves,
Problematic Passengers,
Howling Hawkers,
And Lazy-ing LASMA**
All add to this insanity.
* A Yoruba dialect for Walnut
** LASMA reference to Traffic Officials of Lagos State
© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke
From Valhalla’s fortress of spears and shields,
Valkyrie riders make their daily runs…
Crossing Bifrost to Midgard’s battlefields,
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Flying from Valhalla on their war horses,
Thundering hooves beat like old battle drums,
Odin’s blond daughters watching the forces--
Harvesting warriors till Ragnorak comes.
Legionnaires, Pikemen, Hussars and Spartans;
Storm Troopers, Crusaders and Saracens;
Musketeers, Vikings, and Gladiators;
Watusi, Cossacks, and Conquistadors.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
They’ll harvest the best till Ragnorak comes.
Valkyries search for those to stand vanguard,
Recruiting Odin’s Einherjar armies.
Warriors pass Valgrind to live in Asgard--
Honored to be served by the Valkyries.
Hoplites, Commandoes, and Mujahideens;
Samurais, Yeomen, and US Marines;
Guerrilas, Dragoons, and Panzer Tankers;
Grenadiers, Mamelukes, and Bezerkers.
As long as men hear the sounds of war drums,
Valkyries harvest till Ragnorak comes.
I'm sitting along the Bosphorus
watching the russian tankers pass by.
They are big,
so am l.
Nature has gifted humanity with so many wonders to see
One of them striking our attention is the sea
Admire the turquoise waters created for mankind
For it has a soothing effect on the mind
Since ages the sea surrounds the land.
Flowing around the neck like a garland
The splashing of waves,low and high tides
And the production of foam all constitute a feast for the eyes
Lo! appreciate the sun kissing the horizon
It is setting for another mission
An important source of livelihood for fishermen
The sea feeds to a large extent the man
The extraction of corals, pearls and jewels
Allow the villagers to prosper and live well
An ancient and primitive means of transport
Boats, ferries, oil tankers,ships connect different ports
But through it sometimes God manifests His wrath
To remind those like Pharaoh who deviate from the right path
However, many have been engulfed in tsunamis
Which are beyond the control of our destiny.
.
WHEN CURSE FLOWS
Oil! cursed prosperity
That tar of riches
Glitters but not gold
A curse no the Niger Ogoni Land
A blessing to the Arabiyya
But they fight for it
Killings us for it
Not us alone, but all
The glorious land cries too
From its leaking throats
As it wears the black mask
Its daughters and sons choked
War, cheating and hunger
All as thanks from its prospects
Oh mother Ghana, coast of gold
Beware, beware
Before the tankers arrive
When they do, just one thing
The blessings all away to wonderland T
he riches to heavens of theirs
Beware mother of mine.
Credit Crunch
So they rob the money
Ain't that Funny
Banker,Flankers,Tankers
Fingers in the pot
Political situation hot
Slight of hand, diversion
Laundering, pondering
Dollars devalued
Pumps run dry
Petrol prices sky high.
Weep little peasants
Learn the lies
Under employment
Over indulgence
Credit cards blaze
Fictitious accounts,
Spending craze
Bim, bam , Wham
Credit crunch
No more caviar for brunch.
Porsche parked, others jump
Pension crisis, Banking slump.
Brinks Matt robbed !!
And no guns pulled
Faces change, government bull
Play the card, Tell a story
Worldwide crisis, escalating prices.
Bankers paid, government sway
A con trick is a con trick
Watch the play
Another angle, another drift
What if? What if?
Then move to the present
Unemployment rising,
Increased border crossing
Refugees , returnees
And don't forget
The deportees.
Holy Moses we are Sunk!
Run to the tax havens
Lets do a debunk.
See Ya!!
I speak not but spit snot
I speak not visual-vocals in void
…..But 2 evoke thy psyche
Utter not hollow heart bit whispers
Breath out immortal echoes to fuel empty tankers
4 we must lampoon that baboon low with its high tennis courts
In deep ink I print my blistered body
The de-caff in the Book Café decolonized my coffee-pot
Illiterate me can now Braille the author’s palm and comprehend. …
I read the rainbow so need not my plastic coat for his rain is dry and over
He remembers his grandmother
sitting next to him on the couch during naptime;
his two-year-old body restless and jumpy.
She would yawn a tremendous open, lion’s mouth
yawn and shake her mane of hair that fell around
her shoulders . . . and he would wait for the roar that never
came. Instead, her measured breath would flow out into
the sigh of the breeze through the trees or the swell
of the ocean - the earth’s inhalations, it seemed.
Years later in Iraq and Iran, as missiles whistled
overhead, the roar of tankers and hard-scrabble
footsteps loud in the night, he puts
himself to sleep
with the memory
of her breathing.
Fire, fire around us…
Fire burning from the top of the mountain,
down to the sea surrounded by fire…
Grass, brush, and trees are just glowing ambers…
Fire fighters on the ground while water dropping
helicopter are all around, drawing up water from the
sea, brought back to drop over the hot spots …
Here come the water tankers they are a blessing
between them and the helicopters we should soon see relief…
Such a shame what fire does, and it was that
idiot playing around, like to look at the flame dancing…
Water shred gone homes burnt to the ground
and yet that idiot is still running around…
What justice we should have to put these fools behind
bars, lock them up and throw away the key…
Firestorms are nothing you want to see, and when the
season gets hot and dry who are the nut cases that televise…
Newspaper and newscaster should learn a thing or
two keep there opinions to themselves for all they
do is let those idiots know when prime time to burn…
When property is lost you can rebuild but
when a life is lost they are gone for good…
By Sandra Lea Hoban
©2012