Long Corruption Poems
Long Corruption Poems. Below are the most popular long Corruption by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corruption poems by poem length and keyword.
Imagine there is no pandemic, vaccines and creation of controversy and lies
Imagine there is no wearing of masks and breathing difficulties
Imagine there are no social distancing and no people going to sleep in hunger
Imagine there are no barriers between the rich and the poor, that there is no one better than the other
Imagine standing hand in hand helping the needy as much as we enrich the wealthy
Imagine if corruption was punishable as much as stolen goods by he who does so only to buy drugs to recompense the apatite and that materialism wasn’t a song of praise and worship from those who have status
Just imagine if we all go to bed and there is no one hungry or impoverished and that the universe circulated the same for everyone
Imagine a Nation so united fighting together to stand together knowing that the Janitor deserves the same respect as the Managing Director
Imagine the value of education eliminating disadvantages, creation of thieves and desperation of people
Imagine IQ not calculated as being clever but caring and loving
Poet
Masego Nkuna
I was staring out my window last night
Thinking of something fun to write
Something cool So I don't sound like a fool
We all know how kids can be cruel
To be accepted is the number #1 rule
I started to write about the climate
And how protests turn into a riot
Personal info is no longer private
Then there's Hollywood sickness They can't deny it
The other way is where they look
Innocence is what they took
The core of our existence has been shook
People missing out on a sunset
All for the internet
That's everybody mindset
On a serious note
I'm gasping for air I'm starting to choke
The man has his fingers around my throat
Big brother is watching there is no hope
Get me a rope!
Cant forget about drug distribution
With no solution to the plastic pollution
That's my conclusion
Bullied kids filled with anger and hate
With shootings in every state
That's enough to make you shiver and shake
No turning back it's way too late
The future generation is full of snowflakes
Make no mistakes
They will do whatever it takes
To rid the world of all it's hates
Pump the brakes
We're going to fast
Moving towards a head on crash
Open mouth insert foot
There's no such thing as half way crooks
That's trump
I'm stumped
There's a bridge I jumped
I'm fallin
I Broke both my legs now and I'm crawlin
Billionaires and they're little friends
That's the trend it's not pretend
No prosecution if you have money to spend
What kind of message is that supposed to send
Castration is what I recommend
Father of nine
Online
Messaging young girls for a good time
That's a crime
That can damage a family for a very long time
Teens on the world stage
Displaying rage
Just like a dangerous animal trapped in a cage
They are traumatized at a very young age
Their future is bleak
It's time to turn up the heat
And hit the streets
And scream and yell! At everyone they meet!
Seven days a freaking week!
Planes falling out of the skies
They don't know why
I think I'll pass, I don't wanna die!
We can't deny
That the media lies
Opiate epidemic is on the rise
No surprise that it's Ruining lives
The Earth is sad I can hear it's cries
Well that turned out to not be fun at all
I need some psychiatric help who can I call!
"Help one another in piety and righteousness,
and do not aid in sin or transgression—
for Allah is severe in punishment."
— Quran 5:2
O Arab States,
you have turned away,
given Palestine the cold shoulder,
wrapped your silence in silk and oil,
while the cries of children
still pierce the night sky.
You speak with forked tongues,
a double shadow
that smiles for cameras,
yet trembles before power.
Your words are staged,
your grief rehearsed,
but your hearts—
bartered for blood money.
Do you not hear?
Gaza is burning,
its ashes carried
into the prayers of widows.
Israel strikes your own kin,
your brothers,
your sisters—
and you stand watching,
statues of marble,
cold, unflinching.
You, who could open your doors,
but close them instead.
You, who could offer refuge,
but deny it,
while history writes your silence
in ink darker than night.
Since October 7th,
the world has seen it—
your absence,
your hesitation,
your betrayal.
The blood of Palestine
runs through your hands,
not by sword,
but by silence.
And know this:
what is sold cannot be forgotten.
The cries of Gaza
will haunt your palaces,
echo through your deserts,
and rise on Judgment Day.
O Arab States,
your wealth will not shield you
from the tears of orphans,
nor the memory of betrayal.
For Allah sees.
And the blood you sold
will weigh upon your names
for generations to come.
Welcome to South Africa
A country paralyzed by chaos
Where dictators are called leaders
With corruption as a norm in a steam
Of empty promises of political lies
A nation crippled by "Nyaope"
As unemployment leaves youth with hopeless dreams
Defeated by the powers of poverty
A country where education is just another waste of time.
Welcome to South Africa
An environment where parents have lost kids and kids have lost parents
Dominated by starvation of African children
Weeping around barefooted in extreme temperatures
A country where graves are habitats of young souls
A place where diseases comes in all forms
A nation where mental illness continues to darken the future of the coming days
A society with the highest rates of crime
Welcome to South Africa
A republic of freedom known as the rainbow nation
Where the struggle continues even though the future is doomed
Because meliorism is our inspiration
Tears in my cheeks
A lament of prayer in my heart
May God bless this nation,
South Africa my home.
April 20—Standup Comedy – The Insult Comedy Tour!
How and why he
Remains so popular
With some Americans
Remains a mystery.
He remains me
Of an old-time insult
Comedian, Don Rickles
Who was infamous
For insulting his audience
Who loved his edgy comic stylings,
As he cruelly mocked
everything and everyone.
But, over time, people got tired
of his routine
And his style of humor faded away
But he has resurrected
The insult comedy routine.
Going to his rallies
Is akin to a religious revival
For some people.
They delight in being
Part of his whole mad
Carnival scene.
but for many of us
the T comedy tour
is no longer funny
if it ever was.
There is something strange
There is something peculiar
About this five letter word
This word can make one quiver
Five letters that makes you shiver
It's one word that sends chills down your spine
It terrifies, it petrifies, it creates fear
Court why is it never fair
It makes you not want to appear
Lies, truth all piled into one
Court is an Irish stew
Waiting to be serve
Waiting to be heard
Court is definitely a pot of Calalou
Crabs, herbs a messy delicacy
Designed to fulfill
Witness,jury, you and the judge
Waiting to be heard
Waiting to be served
A decision to be made
Your life on the line
Hanging be a thread
A solution that may alternate
The rest of your life
One man , one decision
Court what a place not to be.
(The Merry Adventures of Robin Good)
Sherwood's Forest legendary, leading man
up, down, tricking eggs between branches
slender, slander, his voice is growing thinner
twisting, turning heads 50 shades of green
Master of disguise reaching for the top archers spot,
A bard, with uncanny precision, ROBIN nonstop
Splitting his opponent LIKE A BOSS!
Aiming arrows, where broken women sit
Creating fantasies, for his band of hypocrites
A serenade, of jealousy and mayhem
A poetic outlaw, generously taking what others earn
Wearing black tights, the hottest profile, sipping wine
A lust beyond Dorthy's Rainbow, a venomous poem
Somewhere, covered in leprechaun's gold
His chest is cold
- Yet warm from all the hands caressing this bard,
He is the best, gravity has no weight on his pen,
A soundless soldier having his way with his sword,
Executing those who challenge him,
Breathing life into many empty accounts
Giving voices and self-encouragement
With no time to drop down this bard from cloud nine
A dissipation of air fresheners and hello's
Painting pain just to pretend it hurts the person
A fragile voice whispering in the shadows
Slithering Secrets;
From this hooded bard who carries no face,
A mask of lies, taking what belongs to others.
Robin of honor, graveled by his peasants
MISUNDERSTOOD in every fashion, yet he preys
Pipping dreams away, down an infested rat's path
Shoving Little Johns hopes down the list
Robin is no common criminal, just a bard
Wearing a dark cloak, when in disguise
taking from the greedy --- giving to the needy
Thank you for enjoying my story
Robin Good and his network of Merry Men
2-3-16
Don't just eat that do something
How long have we warned you?
How long have you ignored?
How long will we be side tracked?
We know who the culprits are,
There's no shame in their game.
We can call out their names,
They are not hiding; the disregard is blatant.
They can stop the one, they can stop the two.
The masses must rise, and organize
Before we are too weak to rebel.
This is not a quick sale.
We have been investing in this for a long time.
Keep thinking there's someone watching the barn.
F.D.A., C.I.a., FBI - H.A.A.R.P. “nope”:
They are not on your side
They are frenemies.
"enemies with a smile"
“you think they care about round-up”.?
Or genetically engineered foods, do you?
Think they care about serving you" bovine cows",
Or chickens grown in six weeks with no beaks,
Do you? ...
Do you think they care about?
Confiscating your seeds?
Do you think the food you eat has nutrition?
And the confiscated seeds- were confiscated
With good intentions, do you?
How long before or children inherit more diseases
To please the greed of the pharmacies?
Do you want to watch them suffer?
While they heave, and can hardly breath.?
You can only for so long make this be about color,
Class, or race, as you turn away your face.
How long have we warned you?
The corn the tomatoes the oranges
The trees the grass the water
The fruit the veggies the air...?
Do you care - do you?
Stand up now
Write, call, speak, fight...
By any means necessary and...
"don't just eat that"....
” do something”!!!
Copyright © vicki acquah year posted 2013
The whiskey's gone down
Like words you never said
Your vengeance a game
That’s danced in my head
I keep running, running
From the price of the past
While you brew your revenge
A storm none can outlast
In the rear view mirror
I see your agents close
Like shadows creeping,
But I’ve already chose
To run, free like the wind
Run, I’m never coming back again
Run, this heart’s had its fill of pain
Run, chasing shadows in the rain
Would you like to know
Who I’ve been talking to?
And what I told them
During pillow talk, too?
Did I hurt your feelings
Telling the truth?
I was rather uncouth
But so were you
Now in between sets
On the big screen in the bar
My music plays
Exposing an open scars
Run, free as the wind
Run, I’m never coming back again
Run, this heart’s had its fill of pain
Run, chasing shadows in the rain
Call all your agents
And Government lawyer pigs
Bring out your bent Judge
And hide under your Adelita wigs
My whiskey highball is nice and neat
Earl Grey with lemon is a real treat
I am watching your G-Man creeps
Watching me drink
When alone in Asian lands
Not pub crawling in Dubai sand
You are never alone
Like an Obama wedding drone
With a Government schlep
Following your every step
Run, free as the wind
Run, never coming back again
Run, this heart’s had its fill of pain
Run, chasing shadows in the rain
So here’s my goodbye,
With a twist in my breath,
I’ll take your cruel game
And bury it with death.
In the shadows I’ll fly,
You won’t find me again,
Just know I’ll keep running,
While you are in your prison den.
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.