Long Looter Poems
Long Looter Poems. Below are the most popular long Looter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Looter poems by poem length and keyword.
1. Aztecs-black sun. The eternity of souls.
2. Five stages of an eclipse.
3.Total eclipse-3 minutes. Deep twilight.
4. The moon has a temporary crown (corona) that celebrates its victory.
5. Viewed from predestined location
6. A fated portent by the ancients.
7. A natural phenonoma in the present.
8. Next in north and South America, also Pacific in July 2019
Looter Eclipse
When darkness turns the day to night
The triumphant moon bedecks its glittery crown
Feeding upon the ancients fear of doom and gloom
Their dread of harvests wrecked with troubled soul
A daytime moon that mocked their sacrificial rites
With cursed prediction for ill fated times ahead
Punished by the idols of the time
For some iniquitous crime to languish in dire Hades
Secured the time and place of modern solar eclipse
The throng awaits with polymer shades adorned
Amid a gleeful buzz of expectation
To view the phenomena of sun obscured
And loyally watch its five stages
When day becomes a dusky shade
In matter of fact observation
Ill portents dismissed and banished
They see the crown upon its lunar head
But not the sneak thief upon the ground
Who rifles pockets, loots their bags
The eclipse’s glory takes its place
And he escapes with all their booty
In portended fate of dire acclaim
BLACK AND WHITE
The skull and crossbones, in black and white
Recognised by all as pirates on the high seas
For many innocent victims, it caused a fright
Ordered on deck to get down on their knees
Sometimes, crew and others never survived
Booty taken and all such evidence destroyed
The pirates’ discipline was seen as contrived
With fair shares all round that they enjoyed
Then there was a new category of freebooter
With a royal grant to steal the enemy’s gold
But still, in the end, everyone was a looter
Some was kept for themselves, we are told
But in the first truly worldwide merchant fleet
That distinctive flag or ensign was an exemplar
Sailing under holy orders, and quite discreet
Vessels that belonged to the Knights Templar
In this groaning wreck we dare to call a country,
the destroyers still walk among us, unashamed.
Babangida once swaggered in khaki terror,
his iron fist crushing tomorrow before it could breathe.
He ruled as tyrant, blind to every future seed,
power in his palms, yet the nation he bled and looted dry.
A servant for a season, he and his circle served only themselves,
then retired to stolen mansions, fat on the marrow of the land.
He hounded honest tongues to the gallows for daring to speak truth,
while arrogance dripped from his lips like poisoned honey.
Millions he impoverished, helpless souls left to rot,
their dreams ground into dust beneath military boots.
“Maradona” they called him, but never a name of honor,
only a slick trickster dribbling the people’s hope into oblivion.
Now he bows his gray head in the quiet shame of Minna,
too afraid to flee the Nigeria he helped murder,
where criminals like him are strangely shielded by the same broken law.
Destruction has not paid its dividend; the ruin stares back at him daily.
He dares not walk the streets his regime never bothered to pave,
among the multitudes he defrauded and left in chains of want.
Men without vision, who stalled a giant with guns,
turned promise into mockery, greatness into jest.
Obstructers became our leaders through the barrel’s threat,
institutionalizing corruption like a dark, evil genius.
Systemic failure took root, and still it spreads its venom
in this same mess we stubbornly call a country.
Babangida, where are the guns that once ruined us all?
Are you happy now in your twilight silence?
Can you stroll freely among the ghosts of those you killed,
or do their shadows still whisper your name in the night?
Boneheaded barrack boys, drunk on docile masses,
apprentices without brains, idols of every profligate thief.
Generalissimo of morons, bearing arms against hope itself,
you looted the Gulf windfall and left us beggars in our own house.
Detestable men and their fickle friends, protected still by guns,
afflict this land till this very day.
In this groaning wreck, this mess we dare to call a country,
the destroyers live on, and the wound festers.
GOEBBELS, PROPAGANDA TECHNIQUES, USA StYLE
He may be dead but his methods in practice
today.
The media, TV, and social, censored in every
way.
All spew Leftist philosophy,night and day.
Let's not forget Hollywood, the newspapers
even Netflix, too.
We, the truth uniformed, truth-starved, human
zoo!
Even in our sports the snake of censorship has
had its way.
Team names changed to placate political correctness,
it must have its say!
I am for rioting but only on Zoom!
Using Hollywood sets, let them all go Kaboom!
The honest, the non-criminals, they get hauled
off to jail.
Like that asthmatic mother, manhandled by the
police and she was quite frail.
Watching a football game was her
crime!
Oh, excuse me, she is an asthmatic and cannot
wear a mask at anytime.
You can be a conscious less looter in the USA,
an illegal immigrant, kill police or be a sex
deviant, too.
But God-fearing, patriotic freedom loving,
Americans, sorry, the hatred is all against you!
Best we pray, we don't become a socialist nation!
All bets are off, we will then be a twin, to that
hideous, Venezuelan pitiful sensation.
" A lie once told remains a lie.
But a lie told a thousand times
becomes the truth."
Joseph Goebbels
September 29, 2020
2:30 pm PST
Four years before George Floyd met death
Tony Timpa drew his last breath
A cop pressed a knee into his back too
Tony cried warnings, the warnings were true.
Tony was white, George was black
A knee in Tony's back wasn't a racist attack
In neither case, was killing sought
It was a bad police tactic, that cops were taught.
If we talk of George Floyd also recall David Dorn
When protests erupted, then riots were born
You can cry "no justice, no peace'
But a looter shot David, made his life cease.
David, a black man, was trying to protect a store
That too is a story we should not ignore
To some, black lives matter only if the story resonates
So many other stories buried in these United States.
Don't just care when the outrage aligns,
Think of the lives falling between the lines.
EMI LO KAN (It's My Turn)
What is "Emi lo kan"?
It is a selfish assertion,
It connotes one's right,
the selfishness that makes a man
put himself first before his nation.
To put one's ambition and personal interest
ahead of that of the common good...
It's adherence to individuality
rather than positive collectivity.
Do we take TURNS where power is SHARED?
Emi lo kan (It's my turn).
I am next in line!
Whether credible or not credible,
Whether accepted or not accepted
Whether by hook or by crook
Whether by sweat or by blood
Whether by money or by influence
Whether by threat or by manipulations.
Whether by tricks or gimmicks.
Do we accept SELECTION instead of ELECTION?
Emi lo kan (It's my turn)
Herald the voice of a dictator,
The tone of a tyrant.
The song of an enforcer.
The power of a Political wizard.
The declaration of a looter
The audacity of a principality.
But hell has no fury like a woman(hueman) scorned
And the stance of a frustrated masses.
Why should we accept DAMNATION instead of SALVATION?
Mr Emi Lo Kan, its not your damn turn!!
It's our turn (the people) to possess a new Naija????
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©? 1st March, 2023.
Let’s get set for yet another reset
Tiffs with each other riffs of what ifs
Definitely brother not your best bet
Wallow mounting mountain of debt
Follow internet fountain jet of regret
Caught in vaunted haunted silhouette
They tighten the net frighten bloodlet
Swallow your pride or with ease can forget
Beset our society on its knees under threat
But won’t get het up…so please don’t fret
Wild child.. don't the proverbial bed wet
Implore ignore being a bore.. the teacher’s pet
Or commuter the computer your tutor & suitor
Just be a looter and a future freebooter cadet
Don’t now vet all the people you’ve met
Vow over the small stuff you won't sweat
Don’t tease somehow have a tete a tete
Pleas to seize every day the appetite whet
Might not be a breeze but helluva wheeze
Cos tomorrow could be your best day yet!
What’s In A Word
Humor: by Miracle Man
November 25, 2021
Today, much time is spent on word substituting,
we’re currently being asked to cease using the word looting.
Hoodlum sympathizers have deemed it a racist word,
but to me, looting’s appropriate, and much preferred.
Some waste time lobbying on a better word campaign,
but taking from another what they've labored to obtain.
In every sense of the word you've become a looter,
and must plead your case before some prosecutor.
Over time words evolved and many are now taboo,
and being called white privileged, I find offensive too.
But I tend to agree and, as always, a straight shooter,
smash and grab is more refined than just plain looter.
“Fools live to regret their words,
wise men to regret their silence.”
Will Henry