Long Highest bidder Poems
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This poem is not meant to be a speech nor is it written to offend or give anyone blame.
It just a mere observation of how today leaders choose to bring civilasation back into the slave trade.
What a confusion of misconception when one term is mistaken in conversation.
Horrors of slavery now waterdowned for modernization.
Underpaid abuse workers identified as no different from mass excavation from African nations.
How can slavery still exist when slaves broke the law back then.
And now modern slaves can use the law to protect them
Still we debate how to eradicate slavery.
Without the admittance of our desrire for more for less
Still we debate, but not on how propaganda can work for our interest.
How can shackles and chains, branded and slained
Be compared to smuggle and threatened, low pay and mistreated.
Imagine generations of babies born into slavery with no prospect of ever knowing anything different
Imagine seeking refuge, better life but being tricked into cheap labour.
Absolute sub human bondage that we wont tolerate for our wildest of wildlife
Force to work long hours with minimum pay so stakeholders can get their share.
Cotton picker slaves, plantation slaves, breeding slaves, game slaves under institutions designed to seek maximum gained whilst inflicting maximum pain.
Started out seeking refuge and a better life but conned into taking a different path of trouble and strife.
Sold to the highest bidder in auction houses, record kept for compensation and ownership.
Smuggle underground,whilst living next door in total hardship.
Nowadays, topic,how to end modern day slavery.
Back then was how to universaly enforce it.
Nowadays slavery,redemption and even compensation.
Back then not even criminalization only normalisation.
Slavery means seveitude multiply by desititute then magnify it by four hundred years equals privileges with blood stain riches.
Exploitations means, starting with gratitude trick into solitude minus Non Gratis equals affordability without resposibility.
Please stop trying to rewrite history with mystery
Inorder to patronized your higher devious morality.
Hashtags.
Used to promote to get more attraction to a desired cause
To create a movement , to even open doors
But - like most things it has its flaws
Used to manipulate for narrative control
Stories of real life trauma
Plastered on social media
To be auctioned of and sold
To the highest bidder- usually a politician
Their favourites, those that contain stories of racism
Not because they care
But for emotional manipulation
Used to make them look like a 'diverse hero'
Claiming to love everyone
Yet create policies for a mandatory stop and patrol
'Coincidentally' in only black neighbourhoods
Most hashtags aren't even harmful
If used for the greater good, it can be very useful
A way for slogans to become a movement
One example - #blacklivesmatter
To boost, to help go viral
To become a worldwide sensation
After all you can never have enough people
To tackle this centuries long issue
Yet human nature makes people resentful
When they aren't the centre of attention - when they aren't popular
Usually the oppressors, they can't stand feeling inferior
They'll twist a cause to suit their reputation
After all what's a campaign without deception
Love you shine day and night, sending your light into our thoughts.
Spreading your love with words, that sound kind and have some thought.
Like a director in a movie, your words echo with power, like a bird singing near the window.
That try to direct the listeners with the power of your voice, making all think twice, about who is naughty or nice.
Is it love or hate you direct, can it be you just want to catch.
Catch up the light, the power within, to use them up and then kick them in the end.
Sell them to the highest bidder, and let them go at your whim.
Love and light, are so beautiful, please hold them like a glass, and treasure each one with love and care, don’t drop them and break them to pieces.
Loves choose the path of love, and let the birds fly free, don’t cage them forever, let them be, if they fly home to you then it is meant to be.
True love, please even if you say they all belong to you, let them be free to pick and choose.
For in the end, God sees, he will be the one to shift through all of our deeds.
Lifting prayers to God, for all the ones that walk on a road home.
The house came with ghosts.
Not the subtle kind, either—no
wistful sighs or cool drafts,
just full-blown poltergeist tantrums.
Cabinets slamming at 2 a.m.,
spectral remnants of old arguments
rattling the windows, the smell
of burnt toast no matter
how thoroughly they scrubbed.
Still, the buyer had insisted,
"It’s got good bones."
And it was true: the skeletons
were stable in their stasis.
Antique mahogany banisters
curved like ribcages cradling
the heart of the house. Windows
leaded with panes' frames
mettle enough to turn an afternoon
light into prayers. A fireplace
cozy enough to roast the marrow
of an ox into paralysis without
its animal sense even noticing.
But bones have a way of remembering.
She hadn’t counted on the ruinous
creaks of staircases groaning
as if mourning her descent into ruts.
Nor the basement walls whispering
stock tips from the 1920s—sell
steel; buy radium.
She certainly hadn’t considered
the attic, where—let’s just say
she never liked Victorian dolls,
and now she likes them even less.
Why buy? Why outbid?
Pride, mostly. The rollercoaster
of the auction, the plummet
into calamity sweetened by
elbowing the slick realtor
with his laminated grin. The thrill
of the gavel’s fall, the weight
of a binding contract. She didn’t care
about the dangers of yellow wallpaper
or the weeds growing through the parlor floor.
She didn’t even really need shelter.
But sometimes the juiciest deals
aren’t made with forethought,
only with hunger.
And what’s the value of hunger
without a little haunting to shatter
your comfortable sense of status?
Auction of emotions;
Shouting inside,
a switch that keeps getting flipped;
Calm to the highest bidder,
when is my chance to fly?
Sold so fast seems I just can't afford to buy it;
Is peace designed for the rich?
Grasping for harmony soaked in a sea
of chaos, as I drown lying in the rain;
Natural levee suddenly fails me
and everything inside comes flowing,
so fast I can't seem to control it;
Closing my mind to the reflection
of dead eyes on teardrops;
Flash flood of feelings rush me,
so I try to dance;
Grasping for harmony
soaked in a sea of chaos I try again;
A battered bidder in this auction of emotions.
There’s a tale that I must tell
Of a heart that I knew quite well.
This heart dwelled within her chest
And had given its very best.
Love and compassion had filled this heart
But it was taken advantage of from the start.
This love and compassion was given
Freely to children in pain
But to the adoption agencies
It was just a game.
“ sell the child to the highest bidder”
You work for us - we have no quitters !
Take them for all the money that you can
This is part of the company plan.
And promise them what you must
For in us they put their trust.
If they want a particular type of child
Then they will have to wait a while.
We can give them what they want
If the price is right.
But it will not be overnight.
If they just want a child , and there
Is no preference to how it must be.
We will fill the contract gladly.
We have black children, white children
Oriental too.
We’ll do what we must - to satisfy you.
Now her heart was overflowing
And she knew where she was going.
She went to the D C S where her
case she would rest.
The Department of Children s Services was
Already building a case, because
Of so many civilian complaints.
Now with the case pending
Where to place them, the judge was rendering.
“ I will take them if I can, for I have more
Than enough land.
I have a ranch with more than enough rooms
Give them to me it’s not too soon.
Do a background check, which I know you must
For in the system I put my trust.
One month later, they was living under their roof
For the courts had gotten the proof.
She raised the children like her own
And to the courts it was shown.
Now she can share her heart, and the children
Can have a brand new start.
LOVE AND COMPASSION RULE !
George Washington would never believe it and call it a crying shame. I have observed the prohibition of prayer in public schools. Free speech is not free but is for sale to the highest bidder. Moreover, there is an attitudinal atmosphere suggesting that any speech that is not my own should be abridged, censured, or abolished. Traditional norms and family values are dropping like flies under the spell of pesticides. The Bible is considered to be narrow-minded hate-speech. I have seen people terrorized, their civil rights decertified and denied. Moral values have been devalued, set aside, and liquidized; Constitutional rights are diluted, disputed, and no longer solidified. Whatever happened to the great 'thinkers'? I have noticed the terminal illness and demise of noble ideas. Education is being replaced with political persuasion and propaganda.
Abraham Lincoln would never accept it and call it a crying shame. Minority rights are being revised, realigned, reassigned, and redefined. I have witnessed human rights ignored, disregarded, and not prioritized. The cultural revolution is forging ahead in jet-propulsion speed like there is no tomorrow nor time of reckoning. Belief in evolution is man's best hope for a future without accountability. There are no absolutes nor need for resolution. Majority rights are brought into question, unguaranteed, and in retreat. Equal rights are desired but unclarified, undefined, and unobtained. I have beheld the orchestrated disappearance of common sense, and before long we shall be worry-free because 'Big Brother' will always come to our defense. Alien rights are well protected, highly promoted, and unwisely provided. There is a free admittance of subjectivity and the utter rejection of objectivity. I started to weep when I realized that sanity is being burned at the stake. I'm hoping and praying that we return to our senses before it's too late.
07062018PoSoupContest, Personal Favorite Poem Written In 2018 Poetry
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire, 5P
' Yah ' in ancient Hebrew
This is the name you were known by
During the ages mankind not by your will but their own
Choose to deceive man
And call you not by thy name
The truth was re-written
Powers were conceal, what a selfish deed.
A generation betrayed
Brought as slaves at the highest bidder to be trade
A price so priceless
A generation so divided
Names forgotten souls lost.
Father I am tired of these chains
Its time for the great change
Let your words re-arrange
Deliver thy people
Break the curse
Loosen thy chains.
Call us out by our names
O' ISRAEL', you should be ashamed
We are to be blamed
We sold our brother
For a pot of gold
We should of been told.
You know you are to be blame
The blood of my ancestors
Are written on the walls
Your hands are stained.
O' ISRAEL even though I was brought
Sold into slavery
Abused and torn
Raped and Ridiculed
Rob and denied
I now cannot deny, I am to blame.
YAH,
Forgive me,Self
Lead me astray
I can no longer deny
My eyes were betrayed
My heart was broken
My mind was clouded
I am so ashamed.
he’s the cream of the fetid crop drop my dream off at the bank and cash it in sin grins demons demonstrate and deify stratified simpletons who caress videos with pornographic poverty mediocrity meditates on mushroom clouds stalking world peace foreclosed homes stripped fixed and sold to the highest bidder the inane riddle chuckles in every direction rock-stars teenage cop cars crowd the camera-addled peasant lanes fire pistons plug the hole first down and ten yards to go score and win next season begin again push push push once more beyond the wall hear the women call they want you with a painted smile to finish the last cracked concrete mile denial of the loss sets in as he gets ahead of you and there’s nothing you can do except sit at home and stew over the fences you fell through
Parad(em)ise
Dangling from a stolid chandelier of empty shadows
Her threadbare strings attached to vacant promises
Jemima has tried every angle of escape and refuge
Her make up faded and the jester’s façade burrowed
Deep into macabre deluded weather worn charades
She tries to gloss her lips but all she draws is blood
The empty bottle of juniper spirits by her naked thigh
A cannula of channelled happiness on desiccated skin
She powders her limp face in the vapour of a light bulb
Wired on Tungsten filament’s flushed out enlightenment
Beyond reproach and one line closer to a final curtain
She smells the fetid dungeon’s stench within and gags
Draped in the puke’s perfume and sickly acid bilious scent
She walks no further than the seedy river’s edge’s contempt
Offers herself free to the highest bidder and bids farewell
Just as the fairy tale fails to fall on prowling taste’s demise
One lonely taker strikes her bust in one fell swoop at last
Takes her dearest ink pumped skin that spelt ‘Only For You’
06th February 2019