Long Entitle Poems
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Mi conflicted wid how fi vote
It look like them politican yah will destroy anybody fi a vote.
Mi look to the sky and wonder ... God, a yuh one cam show mi how fi vote
JLP rock with scandal and PNP playing political chess wid people life!
Mi conflicted wid how fi vote!
You tell me after 25 years the PNP bring up Mrs Warren mistake ...wait a second, Mr. Paulwell you have a few mistakes of your own! Since we must fire her ... I guess we shouldn't vote fi yuh!
Mr. Paulwell is only you alone have youthful exuberance?
Mi have a problem with that
We must put you in Jamaica House and tell this 57 year old woman to go home because of a mistake 25 years ago?
Distasteful political games!
Only you entitle to make mistakes?
Seriously Mr Paulwell!
Where is Norman Manley ... we need the voice of the dead to speak ... Sir, we need yuh help
Them a destroy yuh party
I guess the party that was built on "putting people first" just forgot its mantra
It's anything for a vote these days
Where are the values and attitudes
Where is the heart
I guess the new mantra is "win at all costs"
Distasteful political games are at play
Any price to win...by any means to Jamaica House
You will not get my vote on the back of a woman that has given back to so many including me.
Distasteful political games!
Where is your heart Mr Phillip Paulwell
I guess power has taken its toll on you ...
It's party before people
Using people as political pawns ...
Distasteful political games!
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
I dream a dream
With my Father
That had made me
In his image
He gave me
Grey hair and brown eyes
Every body tells me that I am a
Young handsome men
Who has grey hair
Yes I am wear that people
Are entitle to their opinion
About my self
I don't agree with them
I feel that is ok
Also I am not a young men anymore
I have aged already
Every single year
And I Can't stop that
Because my Father
Made life that way
I dream a dream
With my loved ones
Every single night
When I am sleeping
Yes I have been missing my loved ones
For a long time now
I wished that they were alive
To see how fast I have matured
Today I have grown more religious
I don't go to bed without praying for my father
Every single night
Also I am one of my Father's child
Also he gave me a beautiful life
Here on earth
And that life I live every single day
Here on earth
Please Father don't let me die young
Because I want to live until I am 80 years old
Have you ever eaten an apple
By sitting on a speedy bicycle?
Difficult? Sympathy is like sizzle
Shouts when not got in coddle;
Smiles if given in time subtle.
Shrewd! With poor does giggle
With rich it does struggle.
How can I, Poor Soul, entitle
Sympathy with me in puddle
Of sadness which hardly ignoble?
My friend, Hardik, never finagle
Stood by shoulders to face unstable
Time, with me, removing a pustule.
Sympathy can’t be won at a raffle.
They’re virtues divine which ripple
With love of God even in middle
Of sufferings, and appear in bubble
Lasts for few moments in swaddle.
Sympathy, moves slowly like turtle
But reaches surely like Rakesh recycle.
Hardik or Rakesh will never diddle
You in need, let it be Prafulla baffle.
I found sympathy for peons little
Swanking abound in both to fiddle
Sonorously growing quadruple.
You hear the term bandied about,
used to justify everything,
this catch-all phrase, ‘social justice,’
its praises some constantly sing.
It has become their shibboleth,
to oppose it is heresy,
should someone not buy into it
you will hear the chorus of “Reeeee!”
They claim it is the moral path,
agree with it or be cancelled,
but even quick examinations
reveals it as a load of bull.
And worst off their bad ideas
undermine actual justice,
since that is individual,
‘social’ justice can never exist.
Human beings aren’t ‘collectives,’
groups themselves are just abstractions,
you do not answer for others,
or pay for the things that they’ve done.
If you look like a known murderer
you don’t go to jail for their crime,
yet these ‘social’ justice nitwits
use this principal all the time!
They claim that if your skin is pale,
then by nature you must oppress,
even if you have done nothing
that entitle others to redress.
They claim that if your skin is dark,
a victim you always must be,
even if you have suffered no crime
and are going through life nicely.
A moral mind would look at this,
say, “F-ck off, leave those guys alone,”
since neither committed a crime,
there’s nothing to condemn or condone.
But to live and let people live
is not something the left abides,
so they go looking for problems,
some evil that they can ascribe.
They scream sh-t like ‘unconscious bias’
to turn good people into fiends,
it doesn’t matter you’ve done no wrong,
they need to make you feel guilty.
They dig out past wrongdoings done
by people who are long since dead,
then scream that, somehow, it’s your fault,
that those sins belong on your head.
But you are not responsible
for a past when you did not live,
these things are no genetic, no,
you’ve no reason to feel like sh-t.
You’re only a criminal if
a crime is committed by you,
and you’re only a victim if
you’ve suffered from crime, that’s truth.
You cannot just look at some group
and declare they are good or bad,
you judge people one at a time,
to not do so is bloody mad...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
If the spirit moves me;
Then I'll be moved;
If the spirit moves me;
Then I'll dance;
If I praise Him loud, with my voice;
And the crowd, disperse;
I know that I have done just my little;
Cause my little means a lot;
If I have just faith as a grain of;
Faith as small as a grain of a mustard seed;
Then I am entitle to praise and worship the King;
For I've been forgiven and there's no more fault in me;
I am free, free, for if the spirit moves in me; (In me)
If the spirit moves in me
Then I'll dance, I will praise Him loud with my voice;
For this is my choice;
I understand in this modern times;
I won't be living on, living on a mountain;
No one to feed me and I won't be eating lamb; (I understand)
I'm gonna dance, and I am going to speak to my mountain;
I understand and it will be moved for the Lord God commanded;
Don't need rhythm for the groove, I will just dance;
So I hold my head up, and I just witness
to the world I'm safe and secured in Jesus;
08/21/2017
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.