Best Trafficked Poems
I remember when
Q was part of a Tip
now Q is a one way trip
to crazy town
It’s a place where thoughts flip
and up is down
Where every imaginable
conspiracy is found
Listen to that mind cracking sound
in a basement of a pizza shop
they think that trafficked
children are bound
Democrats demonized
Satan worshipers
Drinking babies blood
Some welcome the insanity
in like a flood
Internet researches
named Beth, Karen,
Mike, Bubba, Bob and Bud
all of them happily
wallowing in the mud
So wether they believe
in the Deep State
or PizzaGate
QAnon somehow thinks
an Old World Order
controls our fate
Slick videos crash minds
as feeble sheeple
bite into the bait
January 6th
becomes their new favourite date
Somehow
they feel truly Patriotic
instead of Psychotic
Crazy takes off like gangbusters
a fuse attached to a rocket
It seems a certain President
had them in his pocket
A gun aimed at the Capitol
and Donny cocked it
They were all dim lightbulbs
and he electrified the socket
So the Q tipped
as we watched on TV
what a crazy trip
“Hang Mike Pence”
dripped from their lips
Through broken windows
the mob slipped
as the fabric of Democracy
was stained and ripped
Still with that darkness over the Country
freedom was only temporarily eclipsed
So while the world watched
and ridiculed
“We The people” found a way
Thankfully the majority had the final say
Yes America witnessed a new day
QAnon, White Power, Proud Boys
and Anti Semites were kept at bay.
Should that not in the end
be “The American Way”?
Categories:
trafficked, abuse, america, angst, discrimination,
Form:
Political Verse
Prince of this world,
you've meddled in the affairs of mankind
since the beginning
From the time of the Egyptian pharaohs,
whose gigantic pyramidal tombs
had been built primarily by slave labor
A living testament to man's ingenuity and cruelty
Then you were behind the Assyrian reign,
carnage was the calling card hallmark
these fierce kings signed whenever they came
But the Babylonian kingdom you really liked a lot,
ancient free market traders and slavers
Their god was commerce;
they bought and sold any and everything,
they trafficked in any and every whatnot
Then came those warring factions of Persians and Medes,
pure lovers of aristocratic indulgences of greed
They would fight you to the death,
until the Greeks came along
and became the gold standard, the best
They loved to preach democracy,
they loved to practice idolatry
For every god you said you had,
those Greeks said they had three
The Greeks fell to the next kingdom,
not so much by war, more through debauchery
But the prince of this world
came out of the shadows,
and was moved to want to rule when the Romans came
They had them lying cats named Caesar,
and crucifixion was their favorite capital punishment game
The Romans learned a lot from their fellow Greeks;
give the conquered their councils,
give them a voice with a vote
Then let them exercise it wickedly,
declaring the innocent Jesus Christ guilty
Oh, the prince of this world
was as ecstatic as a mad despot can be
The Romans were the best kind of servants ---
they were cruel, they were hard
They killed you dead with no regard
But alas, even their mighty kingdom came to an end
Since then, all of his wicked servants
and their feudal kingdoms have served him well
But alas, it was the Roman kingdom
he brooded over the most when it came to an end
And it's been a long time, since the prince of this world
had a Caesar he could call friend
Categories:
trafficked, spiritual, truth, war,
Form:
Epic
Souls in fear of uncertain but rampant chaos,
Where the cities bombed and thousands slayed,
Houses broken and the valuable coffers emptied,
Innocents trafficked and the felony at rise,
Commoners conned and the power misused-
The Almighty! Where is the peace you promised?
For love debasing and wars right at the door,
Infected minds with greed and hatred at dispersal,
Altruism waning and egoism the victorious devil,
Compassion at stake and bliss only a wistful wish,
But antipathy even amongst the esteemed bloods,
Soulless and callous, havens blemished with vices
And enmity on the rise as the blazing fire-
God! Where is the peace prayed for everyday?
Categories:
trafficked, anxiety,
Form:
Sonnet
She didn’t have a fairytale life
With happily ever afters
Or special tea parties
with looney Mad Hatters
She grew up imagining
Prince Charming on a white horse
She was a pretend Sleeping Beauty
who’s path took a different course
Drugs, gifts and deception
Trafficked for human pleasures
No high seas adventures
or searching for treasures
With the smell of sweat and beer
From the next working fellow
She held onto Snow White
and her favorite Cinderella
She wasn’t blond like Rapunzel
With that flowing long hair
Still that never deterred them
From touching her down there
He called her his Pocahontas
His slave of the prairie
Sure she was kinda pretty
But not someone he’d marry
Separation from her people
a heroine needle in her arm
It was the prison prick illusion
That held so much charm
She could escape to her castle
And let her shame drift away
Slip into pools of perfection
While white fairies would play
No one to rescue her
Her Prince Charming was a Snake
So she finally saved herself
By making her own escape
No more Fairytale deceptions
She now warns the girls she meets
“Stay away from pretend Princes
those Snakes run these streets.”
Native women are disproportionately victims of human trafficking.
Residential schools played a role in separating them from their own history, language and stories.
Categories:
trafficked, abuse, betrayal, courage, discrimination,
Form:
Quatrain
I hear the panting of the feet
Like calypso music, breathless and sweet
The rhumba playing in the heart
And diverse tongues caught by the web of art
Same as the mento of the sea
Same as the mento of the sea
Campbell, Sutta, Cliffy and I
Sweet guineps, or mangoes and sun's silver eye
Pressed by the weight of enterprise
We trafficked dreams, but could not name the prize
Poicianna blossoms falling
Poincianna blossoms falling
Youth then, the sweatless memory
Montego Bay, our boyhood bright city
And dusty feet, from street to street
Where at compassions edge we eat
Behold us now bleating with love
Behold us now bleating with love
And, O, I shall come back again
Perhaps to seek, and long for friends in vain
Pyaba and his dancers gone
But still the bright hibiscus blooms the dawn
And withers in the noon day heat
And withers in the noon day heat
I long to climb the coral cliff
I feel the kites excited as they lift
The cares of our hearts skyward, free
Like parasails now o'er the shining sea
And mark the heights our dreams could go
And mark the heights our dreams could go.
Categories:
trafficked, friendship, people, placesday,
Form:
Lay
They've hung on him a For sale tag
He's wearing a stale old plastic bag
And the rest of him is in rags
The whole world passes by him
Stops and stares, or points at whim
Mad Marley stands there everyday
Without a job without the pay
He knew no place but where he stood
On that busy trafficked crossing road
He was waiting for something to happen there
Perhaps the justice that the judges couldn't spare
Of some long forgotten clash of cars
That had claimed his life and all its hours
So there he stood all the time
As the crowd of cars grew in line
Then one day, a day like any other
He saw a car hit another
And out fell a man, the man with the scar
Who had killed his wife and children with his car
A drop of blood trickled down the man's nose
Mirroring Mad Marley's teardrops as he rose
He removed his for sale tag and plastic bag
Took out the bullet that, for these 18 years he had, had
And the rusted barrel of the gun
He had sworn he would use to avenge his son
Mad Marley fell on the pavement alone and dead
With the bullet lodged inside his head
Categories:
trafficked, death, fantasy, imagination, loss,
Form:
Free verse
The thatch up higher
on the P. O. roof
a touch of home
as not aloof!
I estimate my grain of salt
not of default
what e'er is left
within the vault!
The stamp, still cheap
for all the business worth,
a sentinel of giving
Govee's own gloved reserve!
We lose it so, and then deny
our griping was the reason
not defy
our simple freedom, mails reply!
I bartered not the choice
my family moved
but first had voice
and still conserved, the mailed invoice!
The railroad stood as gain, once here
the building same ~ not premature
an older statute would endure
but P. O.'s regulations pure!
So, if and when, the P. O.'s bust
this small town's future
needing . . . . just
a line or two ~ can still amuse ~
will sure seem empty ~ a recluse!
Note : So Many small towns, losing their little collection stations. Seemed like a
composite of fortune ~ just that small letter, or personal note. Even an unpaid
bill at least got to you, to your own hands. With the composite of money handlers
savings are being trafficked into so many schemes. I loved those old buildings, and
the friendly tellers, from down home. They made America dignified!
Categories:
trafficked, community, farewell,
Form:
Light Verse
Out they go, rejected plastic
bags and bottles. Off they float,
dispersed. Where to?
There's no control.
Wind and ocean current swirling,
gathering all those broken
fragments. Human flotsam drawn
together, trafficked at what cost,
deflatable, adrift. Ashore,
caste unwanted.
Are they biodegradable?
What of their diversity?
Can they be reused? Restored?
Evidence of waste upcycled,
more than plastic identity,
or plastic credit.
The refuse refugee - is.
Categories:
trafficked, immigration, lost, political, sea,
Form:
Free verse
A picture drawn with sidewalk chalk
Will always make me smile
And even in this modern age,
It won't go out of style.
When I was young, our pottsy games
Were proudly done in chalk
And passers-by, when glancing down,
Would not upon them walk.
My children decorated rocks
And our un-trafficked street,
Especially on holidays,
Which made the day complete.
There's an artist in the city,
De la Vega is his name,
Who in secret leaves his chalk impressions,
Earning him some fame.
But no matter who the chalker,
There is one thing that is clear,
When a downpour comes to visit,
All that art will disappear.
Categories:
trafficked, art,
Form:
Rhyme
We had stopped believing
Because our purple lords were deceiving
Labouring each day in the scorching sun
Our hearts were burning
Our desires started waning
At times we wish that our existence was done
What purpose is there in life were suffering swallows up joy
And we wallow in misery
Like a tin man toy
So we gathered all our little treasures and embarked on that hazardous journey
With the hope that we will find work that would make us money
With the hope that we will find peace as sweet as honey
With hope that our rainy day will someday become sunny
We do not know what the future will bring
But we placed our hopes in the Lord so we sing
A merry, merry song
Even though we are most likely wrong
To risk it all for a the good life
On ill fated boats we sail
Trafficked by green smugglers
Over the high seas
In the turbulent waves
To the magical islands
We saw gigantic caves
We were almost there
But we were met by despair
Hundreds fell into the monstrous jaw of Nepturn
They were washed away
And drowned at sea
So that I may see the fair face at Lampedusa
Looking at me
I would risk it all
Risk it all for my earthly Elysium
And some day return for my children and wife
I am like a sheep at the abattoir gazing at the butcher’s knife
Why not create your paradise in the middle of hell?
And raise your flags high and ring the cathedral bell
You need not seek El Dorado
You can always find it here
Believe in yourself and don’t be discouraged
And do not be like Esau who sold his birth right for a plate of porridge
Have faith in the Lord
And he will see you through
For fate lies in the hands of the Creator
No matter what you do
He has created you for a purpose
And you are of a divine design
Why not discover it rather than leave everything behind
Categories:
trafficked, africa, war,
Form:
Lyric
FOR GAIL
I stand guard
in the heavily trafficked night
while you search in your sleep
among the bones
of lost loves.
Categories:
trafficked, longing, loss, love,
Form:
Free verse
have you heard the *****festering
about the robot prostitutes in the making?
heard the christians & republicans
whining their way into a “debate”
about the moral concerns that might come about
as a result of having a robot do
what an exploited, sex trafficked individual
might once have?
see, if robots start doing the street corners
or dancing in the cubbies in Amsterdam,
there might not be the chance for any diseases
to crawl their way into those who frequent
this specific kind of escape,
an escape, of course, which fictional characters like “jesus,”
“moses” & “muhammad,” etc. might frown upon,
if in fact,
they were real.
one step away from diseases that have been used as threats by
the religious, is one step in the direction of a more sane, healthy,
humanity---
much like clinics that allow addicts to do their drug of choice
within the confines of a safe, sterile setting,
where if any complications arose, they would be handled with utmost
clinical care,
a robot prostitute will make things safer &
those that still are rotting away with their storybook “gods”
(whose wrath concerning these frowned upon methods of escape
depends upon the consequences which presently arise from their practice)
are twitching in their skivvies---
yet, one might think that these public protestors
would be the first in line to purchase such new technology
for use at home, when the spouse is out & about,
because after all,
no “holy” book covered robot prostitutes,
did they.
Categories:
trafficked, life, drug,
Form:
Free verse
If I think to much
More
There minds are gonna
Break
If I write to much
More
There hate, its gonna
Break
That pack, its circling
Howling
Ready to pounce
If at all
They wound me
Seems
The Dim took offence
To something
Maybe, I wrote
Who knows?
Vengeance
Is there's
Its coming
The ears are back
Laying flat
On the trafficked
I already know
I have already
Seen
Categories:
trafficked, autumn,
Form:
Free verse
No Pictures Taken
I see the pictures sent to me on my Facebook page of places
I have not seen yet in countries I have been to as a seaman
who join the sea out of poverty at home and offered
an education no importance and factory pipes spewing smoke
smelling of sardines and cod liver oil
I recall Costa Rica a small town in a bay the jungle appeared
near and lush ready to hide the town should be human activities
stop. And the cockerel crewed as I got up from Maria`s trafficked
bed running down a winding road to the docks and on my ship to
the routine work with sleep walkers who like me and only saw
the beauty of the land in glimpses of dreams a Paradise lost.
Saddening, there were never any lazy days to walk around and
to take pictures we were not tourists.
Part Two:
Alone in a beautiful park and felt like the eternal wandering Jew
hoping to be accepted by the locals. There was never any time to
know anyone; guiltily I found my way back to the bars, the music,
the Marias willing vulvas` oily route; rum& coke sleep in a woman’s
arms inhale her scent another Paradise lost before the cock crewed.
I look at the pictures of contentment, actors on a stage of life playing
happy to play the tragic roles they need a bit more experience.
Categories:
trafficked, boat, body, books, break
Form:
Bio
when people find a way
to deliver themselves from this
place
for even one moment
with chemicals they develop
for that very purpose,
they will do so,
unrepentantly,
regardless of the penalties,
the prosecution & the
imprisonment,
imposed on them by the
governments
who have yet to find a way to
profit from their manufacture,
so regardless of the highs made
illegal,
wherever they are trafficked
so too are the “legal highs” &
the hilarity of the selling
neath’ the transparent guise of
bath products & home improvement
measures, from smelling salts to
incense,
makes the whole event more
interesting
for the watcher---
because where one is stopped
another springs up &
where that one is eliminated,
three more pop up &
the side-effects do not matter,
the neurotoxicity does not matter,
in fact, no pathology determined
by the doctors who don’t yet know
how to harness the properties
of all the fantastic inventions
of the “mad” ones out there,
will prevent the experimentation &
the release
which comes with successfully
finding ways out of this cesspool---
so party on, mr./ms. policeman,
party on, mr./ms. prosecutor,
party on, mr./ms. judge &
party hardy, mr./ms.
representative of the
state,
because prohibition did wonders for
alcohol, didn’t it?---
keep on applying the same tactics
to everything under the sun &
watch your kiddies going apeshit
getting ****ed & wrecked for
fun.
Categories:
trafficked, life,
Form:
Free verse