Long Poverty stricken Poems
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poetry eludes my soul
when I desperately want to embrace it
when I watch dahlias blossom and dance in the wind
poetry glowing in my mind dances too
when at tranquil dawn idly lying in bed
I listen to pitter-patter of falling raindrops
when sun-god appears on his chariot driven by seven horses
illuminate horizon turning sky into flaming vermillion crimson
with my elated heart I dream poetry
poetry abandons me
when at darkest of nights I stay awake looking at the bare ceiling
wonder why unfair and cruel words still cut me mercilessly like a knife
why do I feel like a candle inside me melting till there is nothing left
fragile petals of a wilting rose ruthlessly sprawled on the hard ground
why do teardrops fall like tiniest pearls created by hurt and suffering
in a poverty-stricken country early quiet morning crows caw harshly
the young boy I see on the streets painting the exterior of a building
a torn shirt on a skeleton body shivering from biting cold
beyond my comprehension how he survives
poetry leaves me
Africa my Africa; of resources rich.
Aggressively wooed because her potentials enrich.
Africa the bride, historically bid for.
The continent dark with opulent fields to explore.
Your labour past prospered farmers of the Occident.
Your hidden value takes the gaze of the Orient.
Not even the world's giants can your 'dwarfness' ignore,
as they compete for potentials concealed therein.
You seek for succour but your abundance lies herein.
Your pleasant shores will no more the brain drain witness.
Your lush green will spring forth from your feigned wilderness.
Africa my home will her charming beauty unveil.
No more will your poverty stricken let out a wail.
Weapons of mass destruction
a time for mass production
this is the way the world will end
in silence, this is the way the world
is ending in violence
chaos, religion, and super media
stars in a new world order
of electric cars and topless bars
fury for the masses
shatter the hourglass
as shadows are coming to pass
move foundations of rot
Lord of the despair hear the fury
the fury for the Masses
See them pave the fields
of gold, green, and dreams
in blacktop for a parking lot.
Poverty-stricken housing
built on the backs of…
Our Native Son.
First Nations run…
The first man of this land.
Time will watch seasons come
As the money will burn out
running out of time out of sanity
to watch this landscape
escape from light of morals
let reality fade, resting on one laurels
burning the flame, all there is shame
break the rock shattering of the tower
fury for the masses feeling the power.
Swing the hammer watch it strike fire,
fly into a bright brilliant sky, desire
money for the need, the need of the masses
This is the way the world will end
maybe in microbes or strip malls?
This is the way the world is ending
in the Power of Greed and entropy...
Lock and load the weapons of mass chaos
feel the bright sun explode
Reflecting in eyes gleaming watch
the bomb come as a cloud of death rises
watch the mother pray
Fury for the masses.
Money for the need
the need for speed
watch oblivion coming
watch the union of families breaking down
watch the government crumble in all its technicolor shades
the hope of the poor a better life dream, decaying
lock and load let the guns explode
Lockstep to the Government food chains
a world blinded by a kingdom of fools
hate rules, a child cries
Fury for the masses
this is the way YOUR world will end…
Degrees of Poverty
“How will my vow of perpetual poverty
Cure the absolute poverty-stricken?
Or shall I give to the relative poor,
So they may exercise a standard of living
Until my riches vanish through their greedy intentions?
“And why place this yoke on my salvation?
Will being less fortunate make one spiritually inclined?
Are not the needy prone to blame God for their position
As the jealous rich hoard and share not their possessions?”
The rich young man steadfastly remains, unflinching.
Then pleads the ruler, seeking eternal life
From the Son of Man, Jesus Christ.
“If not you, then who is good?”
But he is rebuked by the Lord for his chatter.
Saddened, he refuses the call to follow the Saviour
But faces Him with sorrow and says,
“Do you take me for a fool
To give away my riches for you?”
Instead of asking Christ for forgiveness,
He asks what he must do to enter heaven.
Then, Jesus responded to his disciples, saying
That eternal life is only possible through Him
And earthly possessions can hinder entrance.
***
References:
Matthew 19:16-30 (Parable of The Rich Young Man).
Mark 10:17-31 (Parable of The Rich Young Man).
Luke 18:18-30 (Parable of The Rich Young Ruler).
Still not done with our kingdom
Ours is peopled by the low, the high
With abundant wealth that surround us
We still munch the stench of poverty
Like we swallow our daily ”Garri”
Though still in our Master’s Garrison.
Taken aback became my ordeal
When I saw the boys in the area
I wept for them the “Area Boys”
They are the condemned, the hopeless
The wretched, poverty-stricken, the destitute
Turned hoodlums and Tax Collectors
How do we say of them the forceful Tax Collectors?
The ones that saw a laptop for the first time
I was besieged by them as they sight the box in my hand
Shocked, as they told me not to camera them again
For people “camera us” with it for registration
Still in our kingdom,
Millions still dines with illiteracy
Ignorance has eaten deep into our fabrics
Fourty-seven years after cutting our teeth
Our senses still blurred with poverty
We can hardly drink “Garri” twice a day
Hunger they made our friend without our consent
Starvation they made our life-long companion
Misery, they made the daily toga of old and young
Shall we still stand akimbo watching helpless?
Alayande Stephen T.
02.29am
3rd February 2007
NB-For Area Boys at Mile 12 depicting the high level
Of educational degneracy of the Nigerian populace.
Gazing deep into my eyes, into the dark
she offers flowers on threads upon my hands
for coins to keep her warm through the night,
wondering where else to go from here
torn slippers walking along bare streets,
past 1am with no exact home to go.
I ask her to buy some food, some soup;
the 6 year-old girl shakes an unkempt head
counting thin bills, dreaming of school
without reservation or taste of fear;
and her face smiles at the comfort
of confiding that a good teacher
she raves to be, someday
leaving me alone and discontent,
my faith in life she dares
as I cup the tiny buds sprawling
on the ground like trickles of prayer,
a hallowed whimper to the gods
for one heroine who longs for calmer stars.
. ……….. .
*in praise of streetchildren who survive each
poverty-stricken day to live their dreams
by nette onclaud
for David William’s Heroes and Heroines
3 june 12
You, my love, you
Entrusted me into the burning arms of fervor,
Rested your knowing fingers upon skin ever glistened with tears
Graced the breath I dared to breathe when moments masterfully collided
We stand upon the edge like devils daring nature’s wrath
Your heels wrap around the very rim that border you and I from the air
The sky blue black vapors swirl into dark wonder vanishing, the stars like eyes flashing
As you whisper fiercely in my ear, daring me to push the limit
Begging me with pupils that reflect my own desires
Your entwining smile rivets in me nerve beyond present night
I squeeze the angels out of you in one melodious measure of movement
Encumbering you in all of me, rattling your frames
A lasting forest tall as terror thrilled upon a demon possessed storm
I push us off the sheer edge,
As we spiral in the depths of the ocean’s welcoming mouth
The weight of our past and present sufferings melting into complete passion
Cradling us in the bed of her deepest, darkest waters
My lips meeting the substance of your future words
Your tongue running along the traces of silence ever kept
Deep into the screams of inner woe, embellishing warmth from head to toe
Surrounded by the echoey, treasured lines of your heart,
Mastered from the very start
You lift me high into the love falls
Splashes of poetry dispersing my hair all around
Our eyes staring into each other’s
Locked into a world like no other
With revitalizing surety otherwise crippling,
With the deep dip of your sexy soul and perforating body,
I enter the realm of your rapturous reality
Captured willingly in your picturesque hungers
Through the very tunnel of your never-ending eyes…
The penetrating roars of your fulfillment take me by surprise
Yes, you, my love, you
Took me there tonight…
For down within those depths with you I would have eagerly allowed
The sorrows and agonies of my doubts to succumb
For inside the ancient oceans of your poetry do we love
We prevail as seraphs released from the prisons of poverty-stricken despair
Their descending smiles fermenting scents of eternal ecstasy
---
~For Justin Bordner's "Make Love To Me In That Ancient Place" Contest
~Thank you again for inspiring! Lots of love!
Telling "White Lies"
My mother got born November
thirteenth, nineteen hundred thirty five
within poverty stricken household
of Canarsie, Brooklyn, the youngest
(most mollycoddled) of four siblings,
experienced grinding poverty, no
matter maternal grandfather (Moishe
Kuritsky), a tailor he lacked drive
(and felt neutral about stitching
together gainful employment)
to support his family two parents +
remainder offspring, he helped sire
lacked positive role models, none the
less gumption taught her to strive
at tender age livid with rage to escape
caricature living poor, thus sought
employment when/wherever sheik hood
if necessary fibbed to survive
plus rash of healthy nurturing, and
absolute zero constraints, perhaps five
or thereabout years old attested
much later, suspected her papa did jive
with unspeakable improper behavior
(nobody dare discuss taboo issues),
yet intuition awoke within immoral
conclusion Harriet Kuritsky did arrive,
and perhaps resorted to stretching
the truth (fibbing a "white lie") the only
recourse available plied sweet innocence
knowing little or nothing about birds
feathering their nest, nor little about
buzzfeeding activity in beehive
naivete flirtatious coyness advantage worked,
I bet young thang did connive
and probably never did contemplate,
deliberate, generate and wrongdoing,
where mother of necessity spurred
angelic demureness strategy to contrive
securing bare necessities, hence fast
forward, when unsolicited advice given
to this sole son, or either sibling, (an older
& younger sister) tactics upbringing did deprive
ma mum of positive role models, hence
only blueprint to acquire essential needs
serendipitous series of unfortunate events
before Lemony Snicket did derive
school of hard knocks, (I do believe
formerly called Abraham Lincoln High)
rather than impugn, judge, revile, et cetera
kernels/nuggets of wisdom memory did revive
within my mind for rhyme, nor reason
blunt honesty, not always best policy
despite ten commandments
to husbands with many a wive.
Life lesson learned meant blurred line
between mendacity and truth
courtesy upbringing mommy dearest
if repeatedly drummed into me noggin
brutal honesty will bring nothing but bupkis,
or if you prefer the Yiddish spelling bobkes.
Our love for our resilient Haiti
Remains steadfastly unconditional.
Our love for this beloved country
Remains obviously emotional.
For a quarter of a century,
The others did not do too much,
For this yesteryear paradise island.
For more than a dozen years,
The incompetent and spurious leaders,
The opponents and the exiled ones
Also ruled this precious piece of land.
So far, no significant improvement…
Corruption, theft, piratry, poverty,
Kidnappings, death, mismanagement
Lies, excuses and misery …
This is not the hell that our forefathers died for…
I can tell you more, I can prove you more.
God Almighty, there is a constant and eternal search
For real leadership, unlike the bad ones
That we have had unfortunately over the last centuries.
We are tired of seeing Haiti among the poorest countries.
Our love for Haiti
Is sadly emotional.
Our love for this poverty stricken country
Remains simply unconditional.
Copyright© January 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
It is the cause of all acts of terrorism,
including but not limited to suicide bombings.
It is the cause of most crimes running rampant in all nations,
including but not limited to child exploitation,
human trafficking, mostly women,
but generally both male and female when trafficking children.
It is responsible for all the wars throughout the world presently exploding,
making more richer and more powerful CEOs of war profiteering corporations,
including but not limited to all the corrupt politicians,
and lawyers and so called "Honest" businessmen.
It is responsible for all who have ever been,
poverty stricken, starving and dying from malnutrition.
Without the need for money all of the above would no longer exist.
If we are to evolve for the better, society must go moneyless,
with a new set of values also established,
that isn't motivated by greed or monetary profit.
I'll say it again like I've said it before,
"Money must one day go the way of the dinosaur,
or it will be the cause of all of our peril for sure."