Stanza 1
They say protect and serve like a promise carved
Flaw, but the streets has memories otherwise.
Stanza 2
I've watch protection skip neighborhoods
Like they were erased from the map,
Leaving mother's holding fear like breathe.
Stanza 3
Service shows up armed
Before it learns your name,
Turning questions into
Warnings.
Stanza 4
Safety becomes a privilege
Even when you do everything right,
Because suspicion wears a familiar face.
Stanza 5
Communities protection each other
With no badge and no sirens,
Just caution stitched from survival.
Stanza 6
So I ask again
With no bow in my voice,
Protection and serve who?
Gossip is junkfood-
Cheap talk dressed up like a
Meal,
Served by people who stay
And seasoning them
Hungry
For somebody else's
Downfall.
It hits quicks
Salty,
Messy,
Leaves the tongue filled
In things you can't swallow
Back
People snack on rumors
Like chips in a defective
Bowl,
Crunching half-truths
And seasoning them-
With their own self-doubt.
They pass around
Somebody's pain
Like hors d'oeuvres
At a party they weren't invited to.
But I spit fire now-
Clean fire,
Classy fire,
The kind that burns off
Nonsense
Without lowering itself
To their level.
I don't eat lies
I don't serve them.
I don't sit at tables
Where truth is elective.
Gossip is junkfood-
All flavor, no value,
All noise, no weight
Truth though...
Truth is a plated dish,
Made slow,
Made with hands
That know precisely
Who they 're feeding.
Now I see you,
Your true form unveiled.
A part of me,
Corrupted.
As old as I,
You were always there.
A growing sensation in me,
Awakened by my growing body.
You gave me no love,
Only lust and longing.
This I know now,
Before I was blind.
I've got you in my clutches now,
And though you struggle,
Clawing at me,
I know I can't let go.
It's for the best.
This pain is temporary,
Less than you've inflicted before,
I was just under your spell.
Soon this will pass,
And we may rest.
On the other side of suffering,
We will heal again, changed.
Expectations
By Dustin Branum
And when my angel betrayed me
It was my demons that saved me
While the devil enslaves me
Although you might think I'm crazy
It was Lord thou savior that played me
My own flesh and blood's degrading
I thought I was Destined but maybe
Lost soul, and the death of a baby
Dark, cold, and angry they made me
The ones that loved me now hate me
One gun one bullet one shovel they gave me
Six feet down in a hole they laid me
Their masquerade
By Dustin Branum
9/21/26
The things they say that is
They ain't
The things they say that was
They wasn't
The things they say is up
Is down
The things they say is right
Is wrong
The things they say was then
Is now
The things they say is now
Was then
The things they say we can't
We can
The things they say will end
Has just begun
Off the land and into the pit, September rolls around.
Simple days have long since gone upon the family ground.
Stolen pride-dignity.
Gossip hounds' voices sound like trumpets to the games.
I'm in the pit, grease to my neck, not hearing the marching band.
But thoughts intrude, they are so vain, adding layers to the pain.
My dream is muddled in murky grey as the selfish look for more.
Holding on till morning light, body spent, truth ignored.
I'm but a serf upon my land, the devil has the upper hand.
So as September rolls on through, my thoughts no longer good.
Purple bands upon our hands, the grease hides all the pain.
Dreams alive for those who stare, not a clue of something wrong.
For in this pit and man-made hell, I'm struggling to hold on.
Stress like devil's electric pain, the blood beats through my veins.
Beats of heart like coffin nails erase the final stand.
In the box the farmer goes, absent from the land.
Rob a farmer of his love, you steal his soul.
There's nothing left, they're asking why, but refuse to understand.
a man of towering stature,
mercurial temperament
well-known, his avarice
for absolute power,
a dreadful reputation
for intimidating underlings
in brutal fashion,
unsits the current king,
takes control
of the kingdom.
there's not iron gate
he cannot get past
the strongest of towers,
he could tumble down
his favor cannot be won
by a silver coin.
who has the the courage
to challenge his authority?
he mutes the loudest,
makes whispers
out of their screams,
he fearlessly
takes on giants
he puts away crowns
too heavy for his head
yet, his shadow fills
any room he walks into,
it makes
the proudest bow low,
still, he can never touch
anyone's light,
or steal the love
foreign to him
She sees in bearded baba
a radiating white light
follows him with trust and peace
alone in the bed meets him
for mantra in the ear
only to discover
a rapist narcissist
reciting his ode to sex
in three-word phrases
It was the cool of the night of January 15, 1966
This was the night that changed the trajectory of
a young nation Nigeria
While the 5 majors were striking, Brigadier Maimalari
was celebrating his marriage.
The majors struck terror into the jars
Who struck a tale of terror and of wages
It was the cool of the night
That Nigeria got its first blight
Ever since Nigeria has not been the same.
This is the 60th anniversary of the 1st military
Coup in Nigeria.
(Written on the 15th of January, 2026)
the homeless man who is begging for money
most believe he must be a drug addict or convict
what if you lost your home, your job, your spouse and alone?
you could end up beside him, lost and hopeless
the cheaters, liars and dishonest people
most think they do not know or associate with them
as they sit in the church pews every Sunday
pretending to be honest, pure and holy
some are teachers, bankers, police officers
a facade to fool the best judges of character
Wow, the simple pleasures of life!
Remember when just a tan suit was the highlight and topic of discussion on all the news channels?
Yes, a tan suit had the volume turned all the way up and had them in a complete uproar, not no scandals, no corruption, no Epstein files, no bribery, no delusional post and memes, no need for greed, no late night rants and raves, no self obsessions… just a lil ole plain tan suit.
Well, things have truly changed since then, because look at where we are now, smh.
But, as you can see, this what happens when you turn leadership into leader ssh.
Wow!!! What a difference in a day, a person, a country and a mindset.
I hate the feeling of my tongue on my teeth,
The way my breath hides underneath.
You think a smile is a sign,
To cross my boundaries, blur the line.
You reach for me, one by one;
Until my trust is overrun.
You twist my words into a game,
And somehow I'm the one to blame.
For you it was but a failed attempt,
But to me, it's thoughts I can't repent.
I sit here with a pit in my stomach;
While you move on, still living free.
You were nothing more than a friend to me,
I said that clearly, repeatedly.
You say something strange, I look away.
I change the subject; you laugh and stay.
I trusted you to respect my wishes,
But you turned my silence into permission.
You act as if I owe you touch,
When I never promised you that much.
Even now, I cannot help but think,
I replay each word you made me drink.
My voice is mine, my body too;
I owe no part of me to you.
American wasteland.
It’s a party you’re invited to.
Plan on unstable conditions.
We put incompetence before security,
and disguise your losses as little things.
The corruption's open, unmistakable and court approved.
We’ve undone the shackles of constitutional checks,
and we’re steadily enlarging our jurisdictions.
Independence will be costly, but dependence is invoiced too.
We’ll watch the social thesis melt, as resources dwindle,
and everything becomes more expensive.
If you’re still uncertain of the issues,
you may have the ears of an ass.
You’re all-in whether you know it or not,
and the canaries have stopped chirping.
Is democracy still a plausible success story?
.
.
A song for this:
The Adults Are Talking by Mila Smith [E]
act like you know (feat. Muni Long) by Master Peace [E]
Blood on your hands
The heart of a killer
Corrupted your senses
How does it feel?
Blue eyes turned red
Vomiting on a pile of leaves
But the trees don't care
So how does it feel?
Trading pearls for ebony
Clutching them no longer makes sense
Because this isn't you
I wonder, how does it feel?
The angels flew away
And even demons grimace
You belong to neither
Pray, tell me how does it feel?
If I had my hammer the blows truly and swiftly would land.
Bereft of implement overlong and injurious my task.
The deed, parting and depriving me of it, from your need or greed?
Corruption Categories
Definition | What is Corruption in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
fraud, nepotism, crime, exploitation, malfeasance, extortion, graft, demoralization, misrepresentation, shuffle, shadiness, venality, racket, payola, squeeze, crookedness, payoff, bribery, unscrupulousness, jobbery, skimming, breach of trust, bribing, fiddling, fraudulency