Some claimed that Camelot was noble,
a place built upon the stony ground
of good-intentions,
it was new and fangled,
it was progressive
in a time of little progress.
I have seen it, I was there,
always there was the choking fog
of intrigue,
even the unintrigued grabbed their throats
least subversive thoughts escaped them.
Old King Arthur was deliriously inane,
the people pitied him and did not love him,
some said he was an alien lizard being,
some claimed that he was soulless,
or so it seemed,
and yet he was forever babbling
about restoring the soul of the Kingdom.
Corruption grew like a malignant Ivy.
The women of Camelot were constantly angry,
their anger made them fat with a wishful bile.
Many females wanted to be men,
yet strangely enough they hated the menfolk.
The men were fragile and sensitive,
Merlin had cursed them
with the fey magic of 'Low T'.
Trust me, it was a great day
when the kingdom fell
to the massed hordes of disaffected
and disgruntled Goths.
Fresh blood was drunk from royal goblets,
children with wooden swords
chased the pork out of feral gangs
of squealing hogs
until they were as nakedly pink
as plucked chickens.
When a millionaire
Wants to prey on you
And you reject his offer
_______________________
To do your own thing.
You will become a living
Dead on this earth.
April 28/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Message:
The little progress
Of some poor people always
Be the threats into the eyes
of majority rich people
Because of egoism
And secret jealous.
Majority rich people have
The principle to take advantage
Of poor people in their entire lives
To remain poors.
Killing poor people who refuse
To obey their principles always
Be the best option to cause
Fear among poor nations
And continue exploiting them.
I can't breathe normal,
Fighting for survival.
Fail to speak a word,
Although trying so hard.
Let me leave this place,
Heal my scar and its trace.
I don't want to survive,
But I am still alive.
My luck has gone upside down,
I have become a king without crown.
Destiny has its own rules,
It follows its own schedule.
Present scenario looks miserable,
Little progress makes me disable.
I have no chance to revive,
But I am still alive.
Some days are left,
I have to repay my debt.
Nature is so cruel,
Defeats me in duel.
I demand some years,
Can't stop my tears.
I feel unhealthy vibes,
But I am still alive.
I
The scripture I read
Rebukes lust and greed
My Lord will forgive
Change how we live
Love God, love people:
Not pastor, church, steeple
II
I have Hindu family
They offer their homily
On forgiveness too often
Basics of love, shun
So, I write poetry
To add to missionary
Tools, a biblical education
God offers ALL SALVATION
FOOTNOTE: I am a missionary in South Africa at this time. It is common in this diverse country to focus on popular themes of Love, forgiveness, charity. But many pursue lives besot with addictions to drugs and illicit sex, yet get government "welfare" based on child- bearing. Family stability has not been connected with family welfare payments. It is both sad yet an opportunity for our small team. Our desire is to help folk value their/ our environment, too. All aspects of this work show little progress, but I preach all truths in the Bible. Shalom shalom
Seaweed, fragmented shell as cannonballs
in maelstrom hurled upon the shore.
The bellowing wind cast all asunder
as Summer’s shoots from shifting sand were torn.
Such was Autumn’s storm.
The sleet was blown in horizontal sheets
as figures double-bent fought step by step
to make but little progress, homeward bound.
The sky was lost in billowing grey, forlorn.
Such was Winter’s storm.
Relentlessly the wind swept off the ocean
with yet more rain to swell the sodden peat.
A daily deluge on embattled land,
with hope yet stirring seeds of life newborn.
Such was Springtime’s storm.
The grey skies shift to blue, and now a breeze
is heralding a longed-for transformation.
With rainbow colours Mother Earth is blessed
and all the islands of the west caressed, reborn.
Sweet Summer knows no storm.
Confronted with this year's grim virus scare
our spring was lost to common joys we share-
new hope with summer rays?
But summer came, and much remained the same;
death numbers down, but normal, cannot claim-
perhaps by autumn's blaze?
Now heading there- though, little progress made;
most schools and other start-backs, still delayed-
will wintertime amaze?
How many phases must we end and start;
or will poor headway keep our worlds apart-
will then- next spring rephrase?
The cycle of this virus is unknown;
into the realm of guesses, we are thrown-
with this pandemic craze.
Told wearing masks could be for many years;
not good to hear, as true hope disappears.
God, please send brighter days.
August 1, 2020
Premiere Contest: Tail-Rhyme Stanza
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Global girth seems to gain all the time,
Giants garnering world's every dime,
The rich grab all the pie--
Why the poor poorer die
In the world, piling wealth's when no crime.
Fine, lemon you find sweet is sweat lime,
Nor crime-- your thoughts of ‘I’,
Go savour your sweet pie,
Pay heed not to puncture poor man's rhyme,
Listen to their sighs to spare a dime.
_____________________________________________________
The fight against inequality is not only making little progress but is losing ground. The rich one per cent is slated to control more than half of global wealth by 2016, says an Oxfam report. World’s 80 wealthiest pockets (85 in 2014) own $ 1.9 trillion, the same quantum shared by 3.5 billion poor. The poor are hurt in two ways: They get a smaller share of the economic pie, and due to extreme inequality, there is lesser pie to share. Every year the elite at Davos talk of good intentions and the poor in hope listen. The global elite gloss it over all the time.
______________________________________________________
Happenings | 01.01.15 |
From my youth,
I knew no goodness
Teach me His truth
So that I will meet success
I hope I'm making little progress
From my youth,
I knew very little at first
Teach me Your truth
Or I'll remain in thirst
I thirst for His spirit - to renew my faithfulness
I have a nourished heart
But, evilness broke it apart
I had an energetic soul
But agony took its toll
And now I pray
To Him who mends us all
To save my young heart
From the fear of losing control...
Do I still have an innocent,
Young heart?
I’m locked inside a place so very small
I do not fit inside it physically.
And yet it somehow is consuming me.
At times, I feel I can’t break loose at all!
My arms and legs were not bound up by rope.
I’m not behind some door with heavy chain.
In fact, I am not forced here to remain.
So why do I stay trapped like some big dope?
And can you guess what has a hold of me
and steals my precious evenings hour by hour?
Whatever could it be that wields such power
to rob me of the time with my TV!!!!
A little progress I’ve begun to make
as less and less I’m trapped here recently!
I’m taking baby steps. It’s up to me
to free myself. Poor habits I must break!
I must stop being such a nincompoop!
set limits on myself; take better care
of me; get sleep, and not just sit and stare
at this small box that drowns me in the Soup!
(note: this is not a slam against Soup, but rather
just my frustration at myself for devoting so much of
my time to it; I honestly love every minute I am here!)
For Dane Ann's Contest:
"Being Trapped and Breaking Loose"
Red paper poppy
Emblem of the fallen
Symbol of the fields wherein they lay
Made by those returning
From their living hell
With broken bodies and shattered minds
Colour of their comrades’ blood
Worn by the ever grateful
Determined that “ Lest we forget”
The memory of their sacrifice should ever fade
The poppy, living where so many died ~
Freeing those they loved from tyranny
A principle wherein loving sacrifice
Buys another’s liberty and peace
“A war to end all wars”, yet not the case
As man’s inhumanity to man continues
And nations send their sons and daughters
’Cross seas and continents to fight again
While diplomats fail to bring the longed-for peace
Mothers weep, families shatter and
Small towns lose a generation
Those who died must surely wonder why
We’ve made so little progress
Why the peace for which they died is yet to come
Peace among men starts with peace within one human heart
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