Long Corrupted Poems
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(A lone voice whispers)
Did you know that demons prowl like a clan of hyenas while you sleep?
They come close, creeping in from the dark shadows and sniffing for the odour of your soul.
Their presence may signal that you are becoming increasingly corrupted by the insidious manipulation of society as you grow older.
They seek the sweet smell of cabbage, a feast to collect, much like Bob Marley, as your soul grows weak.
As you carry more and more unnecessary chains and baggage.
So the question is:
Will you pray to your God of choice to strengthen your soul?
For when you sleep, the night dwellers come prowling, creeping in to seek you as their ultimate goal.
For they look for corrupted souls who are drawn to all things wicked, linked to defilement.
As they use soul metastasis to help their wickedness grow, like falling black snow.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Procedure was followed,
But with corrupted vision
Procedure was followed,
But a life was stolen
They will claim it was for the good of a people,
Whilst hiding behind accountability,
They’ll claim it’s to protect -
But it’s an excuse to murder
When you give a gun a badge,
Laws become an option,
And crime becomes a given -
The badge becomes a ‘get out of jail free card’
And consequences are given to a different player
Power holds the monopoly -
And when you land on it’s property,
You either ‘pay up’ or allow ownership of your life,
Power is a game, and control is the prize
Procedure was followed,
But not without casualty,
Procedure was followed,
But not without the lesson of who controls who
Procedure was followed, because procedure was biased
Procedure was followed, to keep black at the bottom
Men cannot be trusted
emotionless and hardened,
They tend to be aggressive
Then thoughtlessly are pardoned.
Promiscuously driven
With ego swelling large,
They're loud, endowed and over proud
And in your life they'll barge!
They see vastly different
They see a girl- a prize,
Their honesty is always great
Until they just tell lies.
They'll blame you for everything
They'll treat you as a game,
They're really not so interesting
Predictable and lame.
Hence before you run away
To whatever you have lusted,
Take heed of what I say...
For men should not be trusted.
Now, I could back this poem up
With proof of evidence,
As damages that most men do
Is astronomically immense.
Though I’m sure when they do read this
They’ll hate and much resent
The honesty and forthrightness
From a poetess unbent.
Yes we need to put them in their place
Before problems rise again
Wars and violence amongst our silence
All due to stupid men.
Though I wonder Joe and all that know
Andy and Big Randy
So I’ll admit just a bit
Men can be soooo handy !
And I’m fortunate to know
Good mans’ integrity
The ones who care a very rare
And voice this literally.
Though I’ve generalised and chastised
The ones not up to speed
I’ll be fair and I’ll share
Men…I know we need.
They’re great when they are good
Respectable and kind
They can be the bestest friends
And ease our worried mind.
Baby boys so wonderful
And innocence impart
Uplifting me, will always be
Forever in my heart.
The he whose not corrupted
It’s him I do commend
And loyal I will always be
To a good true friend.
How brothers I have missed you
Through the push and shove
And I am grateful never hateful
For platonic love…
Here here I’m not so sexist
Indifferent, a goner,
As I think of he who strengthens me
'tis he, I love and honour.
Garnering a generous measure of goodwill
Influencing worldwide compassion
Verily extolling love,
Inspiring hope and trust
Nonviolence and brotherhood, and
Glorifying the Blessed Spirits.
Gratitude and thankfulness when
Offered by a contented heart
Dedicating one’s life for the betterment, and
Longing for camaraderie among fellowmen
Yearning to find joy in a happier, simpler life.
Gone then will be hate, lies and transgression
Restoring faith again in mankind,
A flickering flame in this dark world
Corrupted by greed and mistrust
Enlightening the pathway to deliverance.
~05/15/21
~Contest: Giving Godly Grace
~Sponsor: Regina McIntosh.
When I was a child, some aliens abducted my dad.
They experimented on him and they drove him mad.
They returned my dad and their experiment changed his personality.
A once peaceful man started beating my mom and he even beat me.
Before the abduction, Dad was a man who never spoke cuss words.
He started swearing like a sailor and I couldn't believe what I heard.
Dad decided to rob a bank and he was shot and killed by the police.
Those damn aliens ruined my life, because of them, Dad is deceased.
About thirty years later, those damn aliens decided to return.
I decided to teach them a lesson they wouldn't live to learn.
I convinced the government to fire a nuclear missile and blow their ship out of the sky.
Those damn aliens corrupted my dad and it gave me a lot of pleasure to watch them die.
When I think about what those aliens did, it still makes me cringe.
It was the greatest day of my life when I was able to get revenge.
it is dark in my soul and yet
obscurity is piercing like a laser beam
an eerie cacophony endures
the silent screams of a sledge hammer
pounding destruction and oblivion
display bizarre connections
lost in time space and emotion
gloom mingles with a wicked shadow
a corrupted vice proves second worst
for the latter would entail
complete
apathetic
sadness
and he will not accept such defeat
without a fight
of reason and senses
while some feeling at least
is better than complete numbness
for a while poetry might drag the writer
down the drains of a confused script
might inflate context over contingency
pen metaphors and distraction
in order to arrive
at some kind of understanding
if it proves true itself however
and once the surface is pierced
purulent festering will ooze
and form new foundations
built on reality and vital composure
after all abandonment can hold the key
to a lost heart and perished composure
08th June 2023
Isolation.
He lived In a house that was never his home
He lived without a key and a place to call his own
Silence.
His mind his only friend
Dark just like his surroundings
His crime:
Not giving in to a system who tried to control him
Not allowing the system to indict him Of a crime he didn't commit
Said crime - a stolen backpack
A boy with hopes and dreams
Ceased.
His mother found him
Deceased.
Rikers.
A prison for the worst of the worst convict
A place that was supposed to harbour the most hardened of criminals
Or
If you want a free entry pass
Just be an innocent black man
But that was who he was
Until
The system punished him
For his lack of compliance
They corrupted his mind with psychological violence
They stored him in solitary confinement
When released years later
He was never the same
Physically he may have been alive
But mentally he had died
That was until he committed suicide
However most including I saw it as a systemic suicide
This isn't just poetry.
This is truth.
This is reality.
But most importantly this is the black experience
This is a true story based on an innocent black boy
His name was, is and always will be
Kalief Browder
FIFA was run by crooks and became the mafia.
They selected the world cup hosts of Qatar and Russia,
but who was corrupt the most, South Africa?
All three countries never qualify but large quantities disguised
in paper envelopes allowed each one to catch the worlds eye.
As host South Korea played Italy and it cannot be denied
that during the match legal acts were wrongly disqualified.
Goals were disallowed and the flags were raised for offside,
I'm not an Italian but even I watched that match horrified!
England's Lampard scored and it was seen by the blind,
but no goal was given with the ball four foot behind the line.
Argentina's Maradona once scored a goal using his hand,
missed by the linesman but seen by thousands in the stands.
There was a disruption that occured with the Brazil squad
on the day of the final against the host nation France.
It doesn't require the intelligence or the wisdom of a God
to recognise France weren't crowned champions by chance.
The current hosts Russia have just beaten Spain,
but can I please ask for someone to explain,
why that clear penalty wasn't awarded
to the visitors in the dying minutes of the game?
A Columbian player headbutting while VAR review,
just a yellow card was given, this law must be new.
Every World Cup there appears a trail of clues
suggesting there's an influence that is out of view.
FIFA officials fixed competitions
and corrupted the beautiful game.
They did it continuously on repetition
until caught and put to shame.
Yet it feels corrupt just the same, I think it will not change while FIFA remains.
3/7/18
Money has no color,
whether it came from Black, White, Asian
or any other tribesman, a dollar is a dollar, not more or less.
Money doesn’t smell,
therefore, it weighs the same, whether it comes from
marijuana dealer’s pocket or holy temple’s offering basket.
Money doesn’t have a heart,
that’s why its size is the same whether it was earned
with sweat and tears or swindler’s easily made filthy lucre.
Money doesn’t have a face,
whether it came from hypocrites, wicked or honest wage earners,
they circulate in the market place without distinctions.
Money doesn’t have eyes,
that’s why if it was pulled out from a brand-named hand bag
with slender fingers or a old beaten purse with stiffened fingers,
they dance together hand in hand.
Money, though, is a quantity but not a quality,
money from wealthy ones always shines regardless how they
were made, while money from poor are treated contemptuously;
why is that so? Probably, money invented by men has
now become an uncontrollable monster, and goes,
to make a new myth, leading this corrupted world.
Although money is a quantity,
since the time when money controls men, the size of money
became a standard and the weight of the money became a status, virtue and dignity.
And now, after men have accepted the paradox of money
as a course of nature, it became impossible, even with collateral,
to go against the current of the river. Rather, for weak or strong,
bad or good, or even dead or alive, it flows only downward
pushed by the rushing water.
—The Hymn of Women—
O Lord Son of God, you really are standing there after you have defeated the corrupted world with your tender flesh
O my Lord true Son of Man, you really are standing there after subdued by the wicked minds
O my Lord great soul, you who did not break the poor women’s
vulnerable heart, really are standing there with a compassionate
gesture after you have crossed over the abyss of death, the river
that the dark prince reigns
O Jesus the most precious name, when your flesh that is torn
and wounded turns into a glowing candle to shine the darkness
from the cross high above the prince of darkness kneels before you,
the flame of life in us burns forever as a candle light that never wanes or dies.
For you sinless blood cleanses us and your open wound eases our pain,
O my Lord; the horrifying shout on the cross now echoes in our heart
with the echo of great passion, the desperate cry that once pierced us quickly
now embraces our soul with the hug of great fervency
For the Lord of resurrection is standing there in the early morning soft sunlight,
for the king of glory the true life is standing before our very own eyes with open arms, our sorrow turns to joy, we celebrate
For your victory over death, the Lord, we praise your name ‘Christ Jesus’
we worship you the Lord of resurrection