Long Profligate Poems
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For what manner of beast,
sad creature,
mad monster,
deeply dark angel east,
does everyday accompaniment
seed cold contempt
instead of breeding warm sacred resonance?
Should beloveds
not expect to grow in sublime stature
not despite, but for humored respite, flirtatious flaws,
fallen fractured nature, merely human
after and before All.
Divine epiphany,
fully-flowered gods and holy-climaxed goddesses
relinquishing anti-divine powers
redundantly secularized,
now old bad not-news,
Flaws adored
because of these robust fractures
of opportunity
to remind Belovers:
Silent patience bleeds fatigued compassion
heading toward disgust,
self-shaming,
other-blaming
for missed transcendent mindful bliss
Of anima--
dark animal angel nature
Away from all this daily mundane muck,
life not as love would design us
but Earth's timeless generations
have invited each of holy us
uniquely to let go of contemptuous patience
with ourselves and other-selves,
ego-beings and eco-becomings
To grab hold of curiously courageous nature
here in this deep dark in-between place
Where human nature grows most profligate
and naked
and vulnerably courageous
To consider all missing facts
of life most fully unconsidered
and to love, regardless
as if each sacred absent moment,
each transitioning year,
were our health wealthiest last
and final 20/20 revision
Since we first sacred emerged
into social
and cultural
and eco-political light,
divine and mundane,
sublimely sacred and routinely worthy
of good-humored contempt,
And,
most cutting double-edge of all,
this courageously curious humane nature
spiritually in-between
already old
and reasonably new
Conserving empires
while masquerading liberal inspirations.
No matter unseasonably
blustery March like weather
prevails across my neck of the woods
(Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
and across the main body
of these United States of America
particularly original Thirteen Colonies
global warming alive and well
and promises to return
with a vengeance
after station identification.
Find out pertinent ice age accouterments;
gear up as soon as possible
with suitable and necessary arctic trappings
by accessing without delay
https://icetrek.com/equipment-guide.
Researchers used data on Earth's orbit
to find the historical warm
interglacial period that looks
most like the current one
and predicted that the next ice age
would usually begin within 1,500 years.
Now back to regularly scheduled program
donned and trumpeted as poetic blurb.
Incumbent onus warrants immediate action
to stem tide of global warming
or erect breakers to thwart dire crisis,
cuz figurative and literal tsunami
in the offing gathering strength.
Plethora of humans (think overpopulation)
directly linkedin to planet Earth dire strait
re: environmental catastrophe, née debacle
teeters along brink tipping point inevitably
pitching civilization headlong into oblivion
*****sapiens (minus those living off grid)
admirably self sufficient unto themselves,
perhaps ecological intentional community
while yours truly, one guilt ridden wordsmith
laments impacting minimal carbon footprint
(courtesy these thankful little feet size nine+)
nonetheless psychological torment wracks
lovely bones garden variety/generic human
specifically comprising complex edifice me
Matthew Scott Harris riven with loathsome
abomination, constipation, indignation, et al
mustered, tethered, yoked into capitalistic,
commercialistic, consumeristic ditto et alia
versus altruistic holistic, simplistic again re:
call synonymous words regarding contrast
between belching, exhausting, and polluting
(naming three adjectives describing impact
predominantly nsync with prophetic albeit,
profit oriented profligate, profane paradigm
unleashing immense global carbon emissions.
A Nation, wearied, sapped traumatized.
This vast exotic land, fringed by lush emerald jungles
A spark rising from the west, once looked upon by all,
A giant?
No, faded glory.
Vistas of burning star and torrential rivers
Once revered, now a derelict of crumbled epitaph
Africa, This burden weighs heavily on your brow,
These monsters slow the speed of your growth,
Stunted by greed,
raped by men,
is this a country?
where profligate band of men overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude,
Where gangsters and criminals reconvene every four years to loot.
Lords over conquered Lilliputians
Their mission obvious,
their strategies similar,
their inducement a bribe.
Lewd lords, banished the reputation of the ancestors,
Greedy goons imposed themselves as godfathers
The urchins in Lagos to the desert of almajiris of Kano
From cult cloned rivers to the borders around the Delta
Felons, fit for prison makes the rules,
And the people so docile watch a drama of an unending bondage
No resistance?
Where are their men?
To stay the impending doom of the unborn innocent citizens
There are no heroes yet, they never let them live,
A nation, where criminals becomes governors,
Bandits as senators
And a never-ending interest from dullards to rule a people.
And four-year’s tenure makes rascals twice richer as the masses beg for sustenance
Mobilized by kingpins, barons and bandits once decorated with honor
There are no heroes here, they never let them live,
monsters fit for jail order this path for their greed.
A people battered by long years of oppression
What a nation! Countries of Africa be not like this,
Mocking an incomplete incubation from colonial oppression
Sending their offspring to a second beggarly bow to slavery,
Oppressed by wicked mere mortals gathering dust as riches
Yet in the same country
Many races live there,
The Proud,
The fierce,
The warlike
And Yet unable to break free from subjugation from their new tyrants
All the riches and the uncontrolled lust
the alluring world can offer humans instantly,
will never affect the truest believer
who dares not embody the devil waging war;
not to wear fine clothes and lustrous gold,
not to be admired or be vehemently worshipped,
not to stand where an impostor will cruble into dust;
Lucifer won't convince him or her to stray!
Hope vanishes without faith,
their dark road is even blacker than smoke
as they shout out what's unclean,immoral and unsacred;
even the fire can't melt the thick ice,
and the hammer isn't able to break
the shackles as they deliriously dance;
amid millions of innocent souls they profligate...
to pierce their flesh to make a lasting effect!
People who declare themselves gods,
are anxious to be seen in the spot-lights...
displaying what they possess,telling what they crave!
They prefer to be shackled by bondage,
live to extremes,and pay the dearest wage...
living to satisfy desire for a dangerous purpose,
to harm their bodies and bring calamity on themselves;
it's unimaginable the afflictions they brave!
Hope vanishes without faith,
you must protect it with your endurance;
your Creator has given you a choice:
live by his unchangable commandments,
or die without knowing His will;
ignorance stems from a lack of knowledge...
be the one who favors obedience,
to serve a God who asks nothing more than grace!
Our Shame,
"PRESIDENT" & "LEADERS"
Full grown men,
old,
devoid of vision,
Lacking in wisdom,
wicked weaklings
protected by paltry paid gun men
great grandfathers,
unwilling to train Younger Leaders.
Untrained themselves in morals & reputation,
Liars,
Tired & fickle in frame,
feeble. opaque, lacking imagination,
These exalted clowns,
drawn from rickety defeated military,
All but a weak one from the creek.
Gangsters,
Elevated as Presidents,
or Governors and Leaders,
We are Trapped,
fooled by cynosure of degenerate,
immoral men, destinies robbers,
watching the drowning of a once rich Giant.
confined felon,
demented through age
rogues as Presidents, Senators, Governors,
Protected by corrupt Police
and a demystified compromised Army,
Oppressive DSS, Abusive servants of the masses,
robbing the future of unborn kids,
denying all in the midst of Plenty,
shaming us all.
We have no Leaders Yet.
None since 1960.
Profligate band of men,
overtaken by fraud & moral turpitude,
A merry-go-round by failures,
sixty Plus years after Muzungu,
Illiterates still in charge of our destinies,
Despised in Ghana
scorned in Zambia
Overtaken by Ethiopians
locked out by Botswana
Denied by Rwanda
disgraced in Libya
Mocked in South Africa
Bared in sane countries
where corruption is an indelible blot,
incarcerating the guilty away from sane men.
These crooked Old recycled Failures,
Destroyed, ruined and damaged destroying still.
unwilling to retire in their dishonour,
Killing, abusing and incarcerating Young men who dares tyranny.
A former Giant,
Now a Crawling Giant of Africa,
Beggarly borrowing amidst plenty.
Over two hundred million divided mass,
waiting for “godot” .
procrastinating liberty for fear and docility
A country of Countries Ruined by Military men
masquerading as democrats through tyranny
A Cancer in Africa.
A glib giant of the river borders
The discerning ears of the ancient Power, we mourn
Where caravans cascade to unseen voices
And the rumbling of avalanche bullets invades our peace
This mind captured it with a piercing eye
From river “Nun”
ere wasting wore garbs of gloom
this savage brandishing of the source of livelihood
Wiwa's blood spills, as the Khaki boys obeyed their paymaster
Profligate bands in union vexed by demons hunt sane men "like partridges"
With arms, murderous Pirates just for greed offers bullets as our prize
Subdued our river for gain never known.
Ruined face-stretching pains like coverless carpet
A reservoir of floods tumbles through the eye gates,
Our rich resources ploughed by strangers,
Where is Royal Dutch Shell? or Schlumberger, where is Chevron, Total
when we are hungry,
when we die, of pollution,
where is Petrobras, Equinor or Agip
when we mourn the damage on our offspring
we are silenced by the tyrants in Aso.
Insipid insanity of blood brothers ignored safety
Our tyrants cared for the gains
and for gains, Wiwa was murdered,
And a Massacre in Odi
Kill them all, says the goggled tyrant,
Take the gains to Zurich, I will spend it tomorrow,
but like Mobutu, he never lived to count the cash
For their greed, we die.
As these Lords watch the drama, smiling at our folly
From the coast of ivory, where children groan in pain for jewels
to war-ravaged Sudan, famished by the same burden
and like Esau, we trade the future for ephemeral
And obliterating while reenacting the trade of yore
unending wars for greed, a blinding greed
Who will save these captives from the taskmasters?
Cocoa harvested in Ghana, Indonesia et al, yet not a chocolate plant
but this coffee is not from Ghana,
the Chocolate bar is sent back at the dollar price
Nigeria is rich with crude
Yet they meander around a refinery from far off climes
Congo is ravaged in war, who supplies the arm?
Oh! for a taste of Freedom
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.
Scoundrels of the Senate,
once more your faces rise
paid to nod yes or nay,
lame ducks waddling through power’s haze.
Canker-ridden minds,
incorrigible rapscallions,
political impostors drifting far
from the raw cries of the street.
Maggots feasting on hollow honor,
damp squibs in temples built for trust
dishonorable “honorables,”
rotund circles of rascals
fit only for the gallows’ rope.
They clamp greedy hands on bloated figures
while the masses groan in penury and dust.
Myopic spendthrifts,
architects of the nation’s ragged ruin,
yet too blind to guide even the clueless.
They imposed taxes by military decree,
deaf to pleas, blind to rightful protest.
tyrants unleashed marching killers
on the bloodied streets of Lagos.
Their swollen gains are carved
from the pain of millions unemployed
the beggars, the homeless,
the hungering, the slowly dying.
Profligate band of quipsters,
queasy brains feigning wisdom,
bootleg scoundrels play-acting at parliament,
benighted, unskilled,
insane in their stolen robes.
Go now, you dunces
"Senators are no thieves" they say,
"legislators are honorable men"
So they proclaim.
but their reputation lies muddied and devoured.
ask the people they know too well.
Your names are etched forever on the web,
insignia of corruption plain for all to see.
Your pride has faded into ash.
Honor, once cheap to sell,
now demands a price too steep to pay
not with money, which you banter away.
Glory in your fleeting pomp,
your mansions that will outlive your names,
your coffins on wheels they call cars,
your billions hidden in Zurich vaults.
Tremble at the thought of facing the people,
and dread the final mockery of Truth.
When your time collapses,
history will laugh at your reign of folly.
The tears of the masses will find you,
and in regret’s cold light,
sufferers will remember the avoidable pain
their poverty born of your pride,
your betrayal of the true master: The People.
Welcome to your coming misery.
The masses will stand and watch you fall,
rascal usurpers of seats of honor.
Do not dare call them fools.
Jequetha’s Storm
Early one morning, Jequetha, sat listening to naughty by nature lyrics.
She knew that it was a special day, for she saw her sign in the night sky.
She was forlorn by the sounds which she heard around her.
Sad sounds of men and women in pain, inflicting wounds self doubt in retaliation.
And the screams of children crying out for the earth.
And she began to pray, “Mama Mary!! Black Mama who guides my steps! I feel a
storm comin’! Make it right Mama!! Make it right!”
And as the tears ran down her face, she knew she had a place in the beginnings
of things.
And her mother came into her room and said, “Baby, you’s gon’ bring the
whirlwind!!”
“Cause there’s mad men who done gone crazy and they believe that troops can
solve the cracks and sores deep within. But you will be a balm, baby!! For
Gilead shines through you. And because of you the world will know of God’s
mercy. For God’s angry, but God’s love too !! God’s love too!”
And Jequetha rose up and ran out into the night stars begging the forces of day
to force the stars to shine brighter, for lighter days are coming.”
Lighter days are coming, for storms are not always the end, but sometimes the
beginning.
Innocent men dying on crosses are nothing new.
Innocent men on rows of death sentences scream out to the cosmos for a
requiem.
And God smiles, for many think they know the one! But they shun the son, who
built the sun.
Fast and Pray, that’s what the angels say.
Cause a storm is comin’!
For sons and daughters shall prophecy and the birds will fly in formations of war
against black widows weaving webs of deceptions.
For all tyrants will know the heat of honest requiem.
And all valleys will be brought high, through the songs of Yoruba angels shouting
Metakayase.
Buddhist Christian prophets rise from the south and come west.
Bipolar warriors heal with profligate abandon.
And University Deans step into the war zone, to bring the scent of victory.
I tell you a storm is coming!!
And it shall be wondrous!!
And it shall change the face of clone armies of greed, feending for the next nut, to
spew relentless jism over single mothers working 3 jobs.
For sons and daughters shall prophecy and the world will know revolution.
The mean temperature for January two thousand and six (thus far)
noticeably above the norm for this time of year
prognosticators foretell various forecasts per this third planet from the star
which inhabitants upon Mother Earth burden of responsibility must bear
billions of people wanton pollutants ratchet up barometric millibar
dialing up greenhouse effect, which serious scenario scientists fear
correlation from profligate offal ways traced from freed genie in the jar
no longer stretch of imagination affects mankind did sear
since day of reckoning whence Prometheus set stage for war
pitting mankind against Gaia messages we fail to hear.