Corruption. Poems - Poems about Corruption.

old tv box

old tv box
emerging from snow
with its rustic culture

If Mother Earth Came Forth Today

If Mother Earth came forth today
she'd throw her hand up, and would say.
"Oh my dear world what have you done?
Look closely at what you've become."

Humanity with no regard
to live in peace can't be too hard!
Destruction, pillage, selfish greed,
all comes from want, and not from need.

You strip the trees, the soil is bare
You mine my lands

Monkey in a cage

You’ll Pick out everybody’s problems but you wont help your self 
You’d rather sit alone in pity then take care of your health
You act like it’s everybody’s fault you’ve got nothing to gain
using Magic capsules to escape your own brain
Can’t give yourself a break so you wanna do it over again 
Someone help this monkey

Blessed Are

Blessed are the poor in spirit, they say,
But the world kicks them down every day.
Crowns of hope crushed beneath gilded shoes,
While rulers feast and pick and choose.

Blessed are those who mourn in the night,
Yet no hand comforts, no eyes catch the sight.
Tears mix with ash on streets that burn,
While the powerful whisper, “Nothing to learn.”

Blessed

The monetisation of black death

The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for

The Not So Great Debate

The not so great debate in America today
Is that even though liberal people fear for their lives
They dare not violate the progressive ethos
Of victim first
And so argue round and round
That everything is okay and only getting better.

The irony of course is this obfuscation
And soft-core tyranny is actually illiberal.
But words today no longer matter
Labels being fungible
On

He was'

A man of sorrows, and familiar with such 'He was afflicted, he came to
His own ' yet they would not accepr Him
He was punished for their sins.'
Innocence was no protection.'

Slanderella

She came down screaming, cloaked in flame,  
A bolt of spite, no soul to tame.  
From hilltop high she cast her spell—  
The art of slander, taught too well.  

They built her shrines in whispered breath,  
In gossip’s grip, they danced with death.  
Her tongue, a blade that cuts

Justifying Plagiarism

Seems plagiarism, isn’t a crime
Let’s copy lines we deem sublime
Perhaps from Shakespeare
Or wit Edward Lear
And poet’s deceased a long time

It's pointless alerting admin
Cos stealing work’s not deemed a sin
It’s really not fair
To steal works out there
It happened much to our chagrin

Known clichés which are now passé
Just copy them and post away
Then act with denial
Sit tight,

MY DREAM FOR ZIMBABWE

I wish I could speak Shona fluently
Trace the paths of old Zimbabwe
From the ancient cliffs of Chinoyi
To Nelson Mandela Avenue’s concrete.

But wishes, like dreams
Are shooting stars across the night
Lighting the sky with fleeting grace
Yet slipping beyond reach.

So I dream still
Of the misty beauty at Victoria Falls
Of a land where children laugh and learn
Well-fed, and free

The time I looked at god

There was a time I looked at God with sea water in my eyes, drowning in a river of problems. I asked Him, with the last piece of devotion I had, why the Bible never told us that hell is not in the darkness beneath the earth, but in the light of the earth, right

TO RIVERS OF BABYLON AND ZION SHORES

TO RIVERS OF BABYLON AND ZION SHORES    next                   (Apropos Of A Nona Tanka)

Be aware of this,
We’ve all survived worse:
All ethnicities;
Present day oppressive times
Will also be overcome:-

We’re not a kingdom,
All here are here equally,
And destined

Tightrope

I walk a rope that hangs in air,
It moves with rules I do not see.
Each step I take feels watched, not free,
And I forget who I used to be.

The rope is soft yet too tight and pulls me back,
Like Kind Hands hiding quiet chains.
It bends around but doesn’t break,
And leads me through the same old

Poetry Thief

Mara loves to steal from others
A skill well learned with no druthers
Paraphrase one word or two,
Hoping no one has a clue
Her poems formed from another's

Mara cannot hide behind her word crime
And pretending to, is a waste of time
Poems and words can be traced,
to a new plagiarism case
She needs to stop and find a new pastime

Ceiling of doubt

I was told the sky was endless,
But mine was a feather away
A low lid of shadows.
Every step echoes in a room
That was never meant to hold me.

Still, they say, reach higher.
But my hands find only fog,
And my faith slips through it
Like water through open fingers.

In despair, or deep sleep
I open my eyes
But I’m blind
Feeling my

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