Long Blood money Poems
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Coulda been
the Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t tell the truth so much
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man,
if I was kill willing
to have a shogun trigger touch
Coulda been
chief consigliore renown
for the don Corelone spiked crown
But I never wanted to know
where the blood money
was body bag buried underground
Coulda been dark knighted Haman Faustian
All I had to diablo do was unjust be Equus no-good;
give breaking bad Darth Vader viper counsel, wearing a cobra hood
Terminator words that would crush the skull bones
Coulda been the Vice Hand
standing behind the golden chalice image,
ruling drunkenly on the Babylonian Empire throne
Coulda been
the Spartan Hand of the Grecian warlord,
but I loved peace too much
Told the Jezebel whisperers of the royal court,
don’t try to finger me to be the next flesh merchant of death ...
I don’t tear traffick in such ~ City-state grunts suffer enough
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand hatchet man,
if I had promoted Herod cockatrice thoughts
to condor hatch crucifixion plans
If I had been parrot inclined
to whisper
some patriot mischief in Pharaoh’s ear ...
I coulda been
sitting next to the pirate power,
making the brown-nose boot lickers fear
Coulda been
the Iron Hand of the President,
if I truly had a crafty guile mind to
take a sticky dip ...
deep in them pockets of citizen you
Coulda been
the sixth finger of king Midas’ hand
But, breaking the golden rule,
just wasn’t the ambitious rear end
I was willing to career bend
If I was more Balaam money bag motivated —
Fee willing to put a Judas hand under the table;
and with an Iscariot silver patch-eye gaze,
look the other way as freedom get disabled
I coulda been
Pharaoh’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who doused the torch
in Lady Liberty’s hand
I coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who lit the Pilate
in Nero’s hand
Coulda been
the right Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t roar the Judah truth so much
But I was born
a left hand of the Zion King,
who gave a righteous Resurrection roar,
echoing throughout eternity
Toussaint they dance in Louisianna, and New Orleans
Omitting to say that these two places are blood money paid
Unto the colonies, snuffing your revolution by any means
Subtle French diplomacy that history would parade
Solutions of lies in the revolution that Crispus made
Afro-centric leader, pioneer liberator, O that you could see
Images of this decrepit shadow, the deal made Haiti to be
***** colony collapsed like a mildew rag upon a golden sand.
Temple here again another citadel of freedom in the sun.
Let the great Dessalines call from his slave barracks again
Organize him with them, make them all fighting men
Unique in the vision that Boukman intuit theology revived
Visions some racist philosophers native animism would deprive:
Existential, mythical, ontological, the awakening more than
Revolutions fleshed by blood, the black man mind lifted up
Tents and tennacles of the genius that sailed seas of sand
Unrope again the slave from sugar tea in that Liverpool cup
Rebel intellectual, great Toussaint, Napolean's luster fades
Eclipsed by the glory of your name across the new decades.
Federick do you think you people now forget how you paved
Erosions in the great emancipator's cause, until he relented
Digressing from the act of enslaving men. The West craved
Expansions of their new fronteir, on the back of the tormented
Remnants of the Atlantic trade, but you kiting in war winds
Instigated through fly of words, a subtle shift of rumbling breeze
Call for that genius, they sent you to Haiti, cutting the string of sins
Keeling towards a black liberation without the bended knees.
Due to you are laurels, when Afric's children in their van
On to brighter future, rise from where the day began
Under dark bush of morning, where a slave use to sit
Gathering knowledge and self teaching the burden to acquit
Let children today learn, education is not a white light
Africa's lamp was the dawning of the culture that brings might
Straddling the seas, O race, be a Douglas, set wisdom in your sight.
Here the wooden soldiers were to stand
They waited for their command
Although they were not real
They spoke and thought as if they could feel
I wonder where our general is I wonder where he’s gone
We need a leader who is brave powerful and strong
Without him we are just wooden and must stand still
No general to call us and have us do his will
Their eyes began to brighten as in walked their leader
Though something was wrong with him they wondered why
Why does our leader fall to the ground and cry
The young boy stood and walked to his army which he could command
The one place he felt safe where no one would lift their hands
To his soldiers he started to say
Help me destroy him take him away
My Wooden soldiers you will protect your general until he mends
To battle we will go and fight until the end
The soldiers knew what was wrong with their leader now
The pain that was inflicted on him revenge they vowed
We will not let you down our general we will comply
All of us will protect you and we understand why
That scary monster that hurts you him we do not fear
We know he has been attacking you throughout the years
He lined up his soldiers and prepared for the final fight
The monster that haunts you will perish tonight
The soldiers were prepared and set-up by their rank
Suddenly in walked the monster and to his knees he sank
The soldiers saw as the monster came inside
To their surprise he had their leader’s eyes
Away went their general with fear and tears
The monster that hurt him was finally here
No more screams were heard as the boy was taken away
In a dark room quiet the wooden soldiers lay
A child’s imagination was broken that night
All because he was too young to fight
Had his neighbors spoken when they heard his cries
That innocent young boy might still be alive
by Anexis/Angel Blood Money Poets
Form:
Trump Administration Advances Plan to Relax Gun-Export Rules found Poem
The Trump administration
Sought to relax export rules for American small arms,
including semiautomatic rifles, handguns, and sniper rifles.
Because the NRA said
the solution to gun violence
Is more guns
for everyone in the world
Everyone should be able
to buy American made weapons
The best in the world after all
And everyone in the world
needs what the US
Wants to sell
?
The shift,
is championed by gunmakers
who say it
will make them more competitive
in the international market.
Critics argue
an export policy
that favors commercial interests
could put the national security
of the United States at risk
or harm diplomatic efforts.?“
“This decision is also politically tone-deaf
as our nation reckons
with a gun violence epidemic.”
?A State Department spokesman
said that the change
would ease the regulatory burden
on American gun makers
and allow them to compete better globally.
Currently, the Department of State
monitors exports of nearly all weapons
.
“The world of firearms exports
is full of questionable, dubious characters.”
the Department of Justice
and Department of Homeland Security
criticized the change
because it could make it
easier for transnational criminal organizations
or terrorists to get American-made guns.
But the NRA
They don’t care
More guns for all
Is the solution to all gun violence
And sadly, our President
Has sold his soul
To the NRA
Who offered him
Millions of dollars
In blood money
note: this may be too political and in your face but I don't care. I have had enough of this nonsense. We must stop the carnage in our streets! That’s my two cents worth and I am sticking to my guns pun very much intended.
Mr. President?
You are wrong once again?
You said that the tragic events
in Texas?,Ohio, Virgina Beach
And Las Vegas
were not “gun situations”
?But rather were mental health problems
And that in Texas
if there had been no gun controls
?Perhaps fewer people would have died
As the NRA says
the only solution to a bad guy with a gun
is a good guy with a gun
Mr. President
?I know you a smart man?
The smartest man in the world
?According to you
Please contemplate this fact
?According to the latest findings
?It is a gun situation
In fact, the reason the U.S.
?Has so many gun deaths?
Is because we have so many guns
?45% of the worlds guns in fact
And 33 percent of the world’s shooters
?Are Americans killing other Americans
And most of them
the majority of them?
Are White men killing other people
Minorities and women
are almost never the shooters
a strange metaphor but true
Not Islamic terrorists?
Most are in fact?Self-proclaimed Christians
Somehow thinking that Jesus
will approve of their actions
and forgive them their sins
Mr. President?
When will you
come to your senses
And do what 90 percent
of the public wants?
Enact nation wide effective gun controls?
And tell the NRA
?they can take their blood money
elsewhere
When Mr. President
?When will you act
?When will you take charge
And become a President of the people
?Instead of the NRA's ?
note: this may be too political and in your face but I don't care. I have had enough of this nonsense. We must stop the carnage in our streets! That’s my two cents worth and I am sticking to my guns pun very much intended.
Contagion ceremoniously weaves its harvest into a fabric of un-social inclusion
Haunted by lack of humility and lost serenity it serenades through the masses
In God We Trust but who listened to Nietzsche who proclaimed that she is dead
Lest we believe that a deity or other exists and really knows what she's doing
Divinity does not adhere to the faith that we are immune to such a great reaper
Revelations come at a price and blood money changes gloves and sterile hands
Engulfed in statistics and mortality rates we watch breathlessly old news in pain
No human creature is more equal than others when pandemonium is pandemic
Opulence luxury and money do not protect us from the insidious bastard bug
Foreshadow a lesson in morality diffidence acceptance and washing our hands
Alamo meets the apocalypse in cryptic proportions of ignorance and surrender
Loo rolls pasta hand soap have vanished from shelves as have bread and wine
Endangered species need to make offerings with the latter and worship at home
Surreptitious veneration of non-believers stakes false claims at burgeoning altars
Superficially cleansed with an insane amount of fake oaths in hypocritical pride
End stage scenarios roam beliefs narratives and reason beyond any much doubt
Reinvent biblical prophesies as devotes of virgin birth bow to rigor mortis instead
Grotesque gargoyles utter a cynical message on shrines mausoleums and crosses
Ogres whirl a ballet of youthful joy while funeral processions have come to a halt
Deliriously they applaud the harvest and struggle to keep up with all those in line
30th March 2020
Blood money isn’t paid in silver these days,
just transferred to your account
with a sheet of computerised data
to tell you their proffered amount.
I’m standing over the fish sheds,
to my front near empty docks,
to my rear swift running Humber,
to the left the gates and the locks.
In my pocket this little piece of paper
that tell me the price of my pride
and I’m standing out here in the open
‘cos I won’t be seen crying inside.
So many years I served on those trawlers
the boy to man years of my life
I saw so much more of my ship mates
than I did of my children and wife;
stood on the decks in the cold and the fog
and the rain and the sleet and the ice
gutting the fish for your table.
We accepted it wouldn’t be nice.
I worked all those years for a living
because fishing was part of my blood
from, a proud and vital community
surviving both bad years and good.
Most of those years worked for one company,
most of that time in one or two ships
I was a regular deckie
I didn’t miss many trips.
Then they turned and told me you’re finished
with just a swift oh by the way
you were only a casual worker,
don’t get any severance pay.
All these years we’ve fought for our justice.
For recognition of our effort and pride,
Our numbers slowly dwindling.
One by one old comrades died:
And now they tell me this is victory
time to pay for my wasted years
so I’m standing atop of this fish shed
no shame in my bitter tears.
enjoy your cod my brother
but grant me one little wish.
Before you add your vinegar
just think of one price paid for fish.
Judas Iscariot would later feel great pity.
The sad state Jesus was in he was able to see.
The thirty pieces of silver received as a fee,
would be thrown in the temple, considered “blood money‘.
This made it illegal to hold in the treasury.
Judas would then hang himself from a branch on a tree.
The money would be used to purchase a potter’s field.
All this was as the prophet Jeremiah revealed.
.
Governor Pontius Pilate would later see Jesus.
This Roman would hear all the charges from Caiaphas.
“Are you really King of the Jews?” was Pilate’s question.
“It’s as you say” Jesus said in reciprocation.
All further questioning resulted in reticence.
Pilate would wonder why Jesus maintained his silence.
The Roman governor would view this as a strange thing.
Pilate said, “I can’t sentence him. He has done nothing!”
A normal custom done during the Passover Feast,
would be a choice of two prisoners to be released.
Among one of the selections that would be Jesus,
there was a convicted murderer named Barabbas.
Pilate asked the crowd which one they were willing to take.
Barabbas was the overwhelming choice they would make.
After Jesus was flogged, Pilate would say to the crowd:
“What shall I do with Jesus?” He would ask them quite loud.
When asked this question, nearly all of the crowd replied:
“You should take Jesus away, and have him crucified”
To spare the life of Jesus is what Pilate had tried.
However, they all reiterated what they cried.
“Crucify him” was what the people shouted to say.
A time later, Roman soldiers took Jesus away.
Freedom,
It comes with a price usually lost lives
so lets call it blood money
this money been threw a constant tug of war
and it don't matter how many
just look at the lives lost
look how much your American freedom cost
and I been a soldier yea I know the creed
but like Biggie said "Niggas Bleed Just Like Us"
so I guess true lyricist bleed whether alive or dead
but enough said, and if you been threw the struggle
you know what I mean it ain't about the green
but how you carry yourself
It ain't what you know, but how you use it
and real niggas gotta feel this yea tru shhh!!
and forget my skin color,
lyrically I made my words fade to black
and I was brought up on ounces of that good in a nap sack
but just because physically you a street nigga mentally
that ain't where you gotta stay at
freedom is between the mind set and the imagination
the difference between taking responsibility
for your actions, and just laying back contemplating
your business & procrastinating and look around you
everybody fears someone or something
and if they say other wise they bluffing
everybody is leaving this earth one way or another
so I suggest my sisters & brothers
you stop chasing this highly anticipated blood money
because with the right motivation
you can be everything you want and more
you're already free well your spirit is and
that's the only thing that matters where I'm going
forget being lost, at age 17 I was found and finally set
FREE
My daughter asked me today
Why did my daddy go away
I had to hold my tears
It was hard to see that my husband had missed so many years
His little girl was now in front of me asking for her dad
God help me what can I say that won’t make her mad
Your daddy had to go be a superhero like on tv
That’s why he’s not here with you or me
He is out fighting the evil forces that would try to hurt us
Don’t worry he will be back soon in that you can thrust
Mommy you sound like what my teacher in school said to me
She said America is the land of thrust and home of the free
I hugged my little girl and off to eat dinner we went
I was hoping that her moment was over and she had nothing left to vent
But once more she turned to me and ask
Mommy why does everybody look so sad
I saw on TV all the people began to bleed
I stop and said hunnie what do you mean
She said their eyes are bleeding
As I turned to look at what she was seeing
I realized my daughter was referring to tears
Is this what you mean hunnie is this part of your fears
Yes mommy their eyes all bleed
At that moment I realized what America had us see
My daughter thought tears were blood and that scares me
She sees everyone cry over the lost souls of this war
I cannot believe this country has taken it this far
Mommy the kids in school say that’s where daddy was seen
Mommy I don’t want to be part of the people in the country that bleeds
By Anexis/Angel Blood Money Poet
Form: