Long Grassroots Poems
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Ah at last camaraderie restored within the Oval Office!
Whew... now with president er... Chief
tenderloin hoof and mouth
knick knack paddywhack shah row'n nah
diseased Trumpen proletariat -
ever so..., (think huck Cain Abel) -
phloem with his tree men diss
anti semitic, biased,
cutthroat dagger type bull leaf
eager, ready and willing
to give Democrats endless good grief,
(a substantial Casanova chock full
of McDonald's fast food beef),
that wily rotten thief
(machiavellian hedonistic commander
with playboy special penchant
to lend wind blow dried hair courtesy queef),
his princely (Jared jarhead) reign no end,
(I reckon at least bajillion years) in sight,
yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief
the meritocratically jaded, general electorate,
who try bringing good things to life - reef
fur to moost recent impeachment acquittal
asthma tongue in cheek persiflage leitmotif.
All Joe king ass hide, I really dread
locked worst case forty sixth oaf with
absolute zero governmental effective cred,
which scariest horror story scenario...
unfathomable, incomprehensible, amenable
to coon sitter seriously joining grateful dead
volunteering bon voyage euthanasia led
by tried and true straight
and narrow grim reaper
me more than willing
to enlist underground
grassroots movement instead
populated courtesy dark shadows
lovely numbskulls and crossbones
think Zombies patrolling
devoid of talking head,
nonetheless not frightening compared
to heir apparent of Fred,
whose real estate Mogul prodigal son
on warpath to shred
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
no matter *****sapiens
turning planet Earth,
wind and fire more'n politically blood red!
Middle aged man in Docs,
vintage leather jacket and
grey haired pubes around his cock.
Ill fitting tour shirts rekindling a hazy past.
Barrowlands, The Bunnymen. Hammersmith Odeon,The Clash.
U2 at University pre Bono crawling up his own ****.
Danced and hugged on stage with Terry Hall,
arrested for d&d outside Bradfords Great Hall,
after watching John Cooper Clarke supporting The Fall.
Life reinvigorated by the post punk explosion,
no longer searching the NME gig guide,
but a Spotify recommendation.
or an even sadder email notification.
A pre gig meal opposed to a walk home pie in a barm.
Ear buds for the tinnitus and Bisoprolol to keep calm.
Heartbreak to watch the talent unrewarded,
by a government devoid of a cultural foresight.
Stifled opportunities
through Tory Brexit lies,
Allowing the corporations of Cowles and the EMI’s to
reap million upon million,
leaving the grassroots unnurtured, venues struggling to stay open.
Our greatest export,
an industry broken.
The Bench Warmers!
I Always confused
About the ladders we called
I wonder, where things went wrong
I'm thinking thinking
I keep asking myself
Where are the sensitive young adults?
So saddened the future leaders Are now the future robbers
If I could asked
Where does it started?
All around it is from the grassroots
Our class Reps are the yam beetles
Our school and departmental presidents
Are now the maize weevils
Our so called honourables
Are just the bench warmers
They are not
Ambassadors of this nation
They just destroy layers
The so called senators
Are just the noise makers
They are termites that destroyed treasures.
® © 20/7/17. Abdul Wakeel "Young Writer" All right reserved.. I'm a writer of progress..
Form:
The Peripheries of Love
by Michael R. Burch
Through waning afternoons we glide
the watery peripheries of love.
A silence, a quietude falls.
Above us—the sagging pavilions of clouds.
Below us—rough pebbles slowly worn smooth
grate in the gentle turbulence
of yesterday’s forgotten rains.
Later, the moon like a virgin
lifts her stricken white face
and the waters rise
toward some unfathomable shore.
We sway gently in the wake
of what stirs beneath us,
yet leaves us unmoved ...
curiously motionless,
as though twilight might blur
the effects of proximity and distance,
as though love might be near—
as near
as a single cupped tear of resilient dew
or a long-awaited face.
Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Magazine, Boston Poetry Magazine, Triplopia, Shadows Ink, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Emotions Literary Magazine, Grassroots Poetry, Poetry Webring, Poetically Speaking, The Poetic Muse, Poet’s Haven, Poetic Voices, Nutty Stories (South Africa) and Gostinaya (in a Russian translation by Yelena Dubrovin)
In Oslo's winter, a prize is awarded cold,
To those who fight for peace, in a world grown old.
The Nobel Peace Prize, a symbol of what's past,
A reminder of hope, in a world that's lost its cast.
From Gandhi's dreams to Tutu's broken voice,
Laureates rise, where compassion's a dying choice.
A fleeting beacon in a sea of pain,
The prize commemorates peace, but it's hard to claim.
With wreaths of laurel, and a medal's empty pride,
The Nobel Prize, a stage where heroes stride.
For efforts bold, in humanity's shattered name,
A tribute to peace, in a world that's lost the game.
May it mock the wars that won't cease,
And highlight brutality's relentless disease.
In its place, let empathy be a fading glow,
And nations pretend to care, as hearts grow cold.
In conflict zones, where sorrow's carved in stone,
The Nobel Prize shines, but peace is gone.
A call to lay down arms, in a world that's deaf,
A path to healing, where love's a distant brief.
With dialogue and talks, the prize is a jest,
Bridging gaps, where understanding's been crushed.
A spirit of forgiveness, in the face of endless pain,
A step to reconciliation, but who's to blame?
From grassroots screams to leaders' hollow words,
The prize honors those, who peace absurdly pursues.
In every corner, where humanity's heart beats weak,
A Nobel tribute, where compassion's just a speak.
The laureates' stories, of courage told in vain,
Inspire the world, where peace is just a name.
Their legacy lives, in the lives they couldn't touch,
A ripple of hope, in a world that's too much.
Peace is a myth, in a world that's lost its way,
Where hearts and minds, in darkness stray.
The Nobel Prize points to a lie ahead,
Where love and kindness, are words long dead.
In a world of blood, the prize is a cruel joke,
A shared despair, where peace is a broken stroke.
Across borders, cultures, and creeds apart,
A Nobel message, in every shattered heart.
With every award, a story's told in grief,
Of bravery, where peace is a lost relief.
The Nobel Peace Prize, a symbol of what's gone,
A call to mourning, where hope's a dying dawn.
May peace prevail, but it's hard to see,
And brutality's shadows, still hauntingly be.
In the Nobel spirit, let hearts be numb,
For a world of peace, where love's just a slum.
Ever pass a street garden
On the lower East Side
You know the kind
Long and narrow
Squeezed between two tenements
Ever wonder how it came to be
Who made it?
Where did it come from?
Odds and ends
And garden tools clutter one corner
Benches are set aside
A children’s swing waits at the far end
The garden is not magnificent
Like the ones you see in suburbia
But like every garden in the City
It beckons to you with a history of its own
Take a long look
When you peer through the chain link fence
See the rows of growing green things
They didn’t happen by accident.
Grassroots activists fought to stop the decay of the lower East Side
Squatters took over abandoned houses
Theirs were marked by struggle
Hardship
And violence
They and kindred spirits captured the activism of the 70’s and 80’s
From Alphabet City
Running along Avenue A to Avenue D
They used terms
Everyone understood
Affordable apartments
Living spaces.
Neighborhood volunteers
Worked the soil
Hunched over
Hands black with dirt
Digging past bricks, rocks and rubble
Breaking up the ground
Feeling the moistness of the Earth
In their fingertips
Their whole being
Sensing the beginnings of new life.
a limning rush of sinister
fiery angry flames bent avast
analogous copse,
where every limb bough, bore full
roaring furnace hot blast
spewing weighty incendiary volcanic
magmatic eruption out classed
Krakatoa, no longer the benchmark,
sans most powerful trajectory arc
this latest supernatural phenomena poetic
pre sent dent trumpeting not don
shearing, slamming,
and stripping off tree bark
(most definitely paging the innocuous Clark
Kent, where like loess lain
during Pleistocene Epoch
rendered, manifested dark
kenning shroud likened
to world wide webbing em brace
where lava floes easily did
(like a poetic souped up Chevy)
out to chase innocent prey
smoothing over (akin to mason,
or gigantic glazier) clearly shining deface
of planet Earth with a smooth glassy like face
though starkly barren, bereft, bilked
every last trace of civilization
nonetheless exhibiting amazing grace
which global catastrophic event poo tin brake
fast upon ONE haughty, egoistic
arrogant *****Sapiens chief drake
particularly Reich king machine "FAKE"
superman usurping free reign crowning himself
totalitarian American tyrant,
bare ring his right arms
emulating gesticulation sans dictatorship
of the Proletariat make
pact with credo of Karl, Harpo,
Groucho, and Chico Marx,
where mortals DID NOT quake
especially empowered youths
asper grassroots action they did take.
(A lone voice whispers)
As a person, you must know
Deep down
You're part of one of the most spiritually
Illuminating
Literary movements there has ever been
A gift sent to you for self-expression from The Great In-Between
A means to pull down old towers with new or old siege hooks
Open closed doors
By maybe writing a blog or book
To walk through anthills and moors
Of poetic stanzas
To find who you really are
As you pause and really look
For above all things
Magic in poetry is real
A form of rebellion from the mundane
A resolution
A Bonanza
To push back boundaries in a form of grassroots resistance
To power and social control
To be able to purge the destructive nature of humanity and the need to share its beauty
To those watching on patrol
As they go
For you are so gifted
So never be afraid to share your Illumination of the soul
For someone somewhere
Always needs to be lifted
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Image shared under fair usage policy
11/14/22
It needs to be correctly retold
The problems came three fold
In came an extreme cold
Across the land beginning to seize hold
Giving nearly ever leaf mold
Nearby a market where there was meat sold
Experienced first hand or seen through a peephole
That was thousands of years or just a week old
In order to get it done, didn't always need gold
Droning on
According to you it was wrong
But not to GOD
Nor any dog
Regardless moving along
Staying strong
Beyond dusk and dawn
This world's f***ed up, I'm gone
Why do they always bandwagon?
What happened?
Zero if any compassion
Nobody asked them
Yet so quick to voice their hate about my actions
If only you could imagine
Sad that they laugh and backstab quick
My impact is
Like that of the Kracken
Combined with a Dragon
It's often a crap-shoot
That's the truth
Having nothing or everything to do with Black boots
Grassroots
Or Jackfruit
Feeling sad with the blues
Why is it that far too often it's bad news
Date my wife
While I
Renegocate my
Lovetract
Don't treat my
Wife like it's a
Contract
Hi welcome to the
All Pro Wrestling
Specail Edition
We have exciting
Action scheduled
The exciting and
Well talented
"Beyond Normal" Plank Samson
Verses
"He Heard What You Said" Brankus Belkins
The Bronx City Reject " Simbol Calm
Verses
Kaubous Impression and his manager Delgrin Vilceus
The Heels with Big Beefy will challenge The Grassroots
( Heel One and Heel Two). ( Alfalfa and Buckwheat)
"Make Visible" Denmark Sattire and Snowboard Monster
Verses
"Everybody Except Me" Nuance and Mine
Will meet "BigBarrell"Bark Rassy and "Mi Gorgeous" Gelps Understudy
In the main event
Challenger " All This" Gembo Saffron
Verses
" The BigSky " The World Champion