Long Scammed Poems
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We drove in two separate cars a few miles along the ocean shore
I am not afraid, life has been depressing, I just don’t care anymore
We turn down a pebbled driveway, with lion statues guarding the gate
I am shocked when I see us approaching an old Victorian mansion estate
Frank gets out of his car, his blue eyes bright and with a smile on his face
He tells me he just inherited this mansion and is busy renovating the place
He takes my hand as he leads me up the granite steps and into the foyer
He tells me he has a case in town, and has also been working as a lawyer
We walk through a marbled living room and into a nautical themed den
He tells me he has lived here since May as he inherited the mansion then
He then tells me that he has known about me and is distant cousin of my ex
I start to let my guard down, even though I am not sure what will happen next
He looks into my eyes and smiles, takes my hands and gently kisses me
I enjoy his kisses and let him embrace me closer, not feeling afraid only free
He leads me upstairs to his master bedroom with a view of crashing waves
I am so amazed and elated, but I need to slow down and not give in and cave
He takes my hand and leads me out through the French doors to the balcony
We sit in antique wrought iron chairs while sipping wine, just like a fantasy
I suddenly start to feel very sleepy, woozy and faint, not sure what is going on
He then carries me to his large bed, lays me down and the curtains are drawn
I wake up the next morning, realizing I am naked under the covers in his bed
Trying to remember last night, as I start to worry with some feelings of dread
Relieved, I hear Frank coming up the stairs as I start to relax and calm down
But instead an older woman walks in and stops and stares at me with a frown
I am shocked, I ask her who she is and if Frank is here somewhere downstairs?
She tells me she’s the owner, Frank was a contractor hired to do some repairs
She’s been scammed, the job’s not done and Frank's gone with all his tools
I feel a tear run down my face, as I realize I was played and now a gullible fool
11/2/19 The last and 4th part of The Distant Shores Series
Anything You Want Contest
Judged and NA'd on 11/2/19
Writing Challenge - December - Any poem NA'd in November 2019
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Judgment...May?
You've seen the billboards, heard the claims,
The prophet fans religious flames.
He says the rapture will begin,
As Christ returns to cleanse our sin.
He gives a date, just months away,
Says Jesus will return that day.
But when He's done, if you remain,
You will endure horrific pain.
For once the righteous souls ascend,
You'll have five months until the end.
A plague of locusts from the sky
Will make you wish that you could die.
This is the prophesy we've heard,
And many heed the prophet's word.
They now prepare for judgment day,
Which they believe will come in May.
And some believe with all their heart,
That is the day they will depart.
They'll be raised up by Jesus Christ,
And follow Him to paradise.
But if that day should come and go,
And they wake up on earth below,
Will they think they've been forsaken,
If they're not among those taken?
Some will believe they have been scammed,
Others will think that they've been damned.
For those NOT taken will be lost.
And they will pay a dreadful cost.
That is the prophet's prophesy,
He says this IS our destiny.
If one believes he'll face this strife,
Might he not choose to take his life?
For those not Raptured on that day,
Aren't they forsaken anyway?
They're damned, no matter how they died.
So why not commit suicide?
Man can't predict what God will do,
Nor can they know his timeframe too.
A prophet is not THAT by choice,
They first must hear God's holy voice.
For only God knows what's ahead,
When He'll return to raise the dead.
A date no MAN can calculate,
Nor can that man predict your fate.
So hearken not to words of men,
Or prideful prophets urged by sin.
The date is near, it won't be long,
To see what happens if he's wrong.
And this man has been wrong before,
Way back in nineteen ninety four.
Each time he is, he'll pay the cost,
For every life that will be lost,
Over predictions made by him,
The judgment he will face is grim.
For those who cause others to fall,
Will never hear our Savior's call.
Be sure you know the prophet's voice,
And always make the righteous choice.
In God is where your faith belongs,
HIS prophesies are never wrong.
I am a Victim,
Lured by mascara, and by a pretext piety
Induced through lust by immoral vermin
I am a Victim
Blindfold through cunnings to fest on a plowed field,
“Whore scammed”, trapped in a net by the conspiracy of a blemished womanhood
I am a Victim,
Decoyed through the bait of an illusion to nurse the wound of another.
Oh! The Desdemona from whose path I avoided avowal
I am a victim,
Of marriage in Freetown, the offer of credit in dowry.
And the sharer chokes hastily by licentious and libidinous overwhelm.
I am a Victim,
Of a venomous revenge of a late marriage,
The brunt, the consequence of many abandoned lovers lurking still to watch my shame.
I am a victim,
Hauled from far off climes to be used, dumped after use
Suspended in the gale to fulfil an ambition.
I am a victim,
Of a clandestine unanimity of an unbroken vow,
Lust feigned for friendship dictates and plotted through covert text, my fall their aim
I am a victim
Of the conspiracy of “Exes” plotted by the bed lure,
Of hasty overturn to conceal the fraud by a blinded jury
I am a victim,
Defrauded, demonized, humiliated and ridiculed.
A bespectacled gargoyle masked the visages in the loss
I am a victim
They couldn't find in this clime, but must take a trip to seek,
and by secret oath through the court, concealed from affinity save one
I am a victim,
Semen sapped by a desperation to escape a stigma of nature,
And a sorrowing reflection of an impostor on my innocent seed
I am a victim
By revenges of many woes, still waited to plow on a stranger’s lap
Whose seed was taken through anger for mere gain,
I am a victim,
Bore the spatter of grim loss to a burying place and have since never ceased
I am a victim
Of this highest ambition in the vanity fair,
Ousted when a sincere investment was well worn by trickery
I am a victim
of their jeer, of a collective calumny of their bed tattling
of the usurping of fatherhood, of their banter and this grim gaunt wearied
I am a victim,
A reflective victim of conscience.
Of a story not fully told
I went to Heaven…..
Why I went there and
how I got there….
now there’s the story.
Went there to plead my case.
Couldn’t afford an angel so
one was appointed for me.
Unlike Clarence this guy already
had earned his wings – big deal.
My dispute centered around
the definition of sin and the
proper interpretation of
biblical references to mercy.
As in, is it a sin to commit a sin
in the act of being merciful
to a sinner?
How I got there? Well, it seems
that Hell has its own version of
the TSA and it is as easily scammed.
The lesser “devils” work for Hell’s
minimum wage and can be bought
for very little. So, I bribed my “devil”
and slipped out of line, bypassed
Heaven’s border patrol, and - Viola!
They were reading me my rights.
“You have the right to remain a sinner.”
“Any sins you have committed will
be held against you in the eyes of God.”
“If you give up the right to remain a sinner
your pursuit of forgiveness and salvation
shall be considered by the court.”
So, here I am – in Heaven!
Waiting for the angels to call my case.
I told them I was taking this all the way
to the top. No archangel was going to
decide my eternal fate. There would
be no plea bargain, no purification in
the lesser hell of “Purgatory”. I was going to
talk to the Big Guy and tell Him he needed
to update his prayer line as many of mine
were returned with the “error code”
undeliverable stamped on them.
Well, anyway, the view is terrific,
the food is “heavenly”, I’m…..I’m….
sprouting some fuzzy feathered wings.
This could sway the jury or at least aid
me in my escape attempt. I hear that the
“devils” are looking for me and “Big Lu”
is really pissed!
John G. Lawless
11/24/2015
submitted to – I Went To Heaven – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Laura Urbaniak
Climate change became a World
Popular song sung by millions
Of people who are praising
The scientists, mediums,
Wizards and ignoring
Prophets of most
High God.
Was the climate change the reason
Of the recent disaster in Brazil?
When some blasphemous blasphemed
The Lord in some part of Brazil recently,
God got angry and sent heavy
Rains and strong winds which caused
More floods, many people, animals
And things were destroyed.
It was so easy for millions
Of people to understand the cause
Of the disasters which hit Brazilians
Two days after blaspheming the Lord,
But they found very hard to understand
The origin of many disasters which always
Hit the USA and some other countries.
If it is not God the origin of those disasters
Who else always brought those terrible
Winds which had been given names
By some scientists in the World?
The world is really scammed
Standing on millions tricks
Of some professional intelligent crooks
Who are part of the World 's controllers.
When God wanted to destroy Nineveh
Jonah was sent to the King with the message
King heard the prophecy,
Followed the instructions of God
And they were saved.
How many prophets spoke
About the anger of God and the disasters
To come because of disrespecting God.
Many people are lied, continue to sing
"Climate Change" and forgeting
about the punishment of God
because of their billions wrong-
deeds which continue frustrating
the Creator.
Leaders of World ,
It is time to turn back to God
And stop some diabolical worships
Which always pushed God to prove
His anger against many people.
April 09/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Beyond from Walls of Sleep
Deep dormant eyes forever weep
Keep hells behind upon walls of sleep
Dancing demons in rituals necromancing
Glancing of gates admits infernos entrancing
Damned words resonating of souls scammed
Programmed lips through evil’s command
Hellion hypnotic of minds dwelling
Rebellion of thoughts forever yelling
Contortions spread sanctioned abortions
Distortions spread abandoned portions.
...in reverse
Distortions spread abandoned portions
Contortions spread sanctioned abortions
Rebellion of thoughts forever yelling
Hellion hypnotic of minds dwelling
Programmed lips through evil’s command
Damned words resonating of souls scammed
Glancing of gates admits infernos entrancing
Dancing demons in rituals necromancing
Keep hells behind upon walls of sleep
Deep dormant eyes forever weep.
...I took this a step further where the poem is reversed and each line is backward...
Sleep of Walls from Beyond
Portions abandoned spread distortions
Abortions sanctioned spread contortions
Yelling forever thoughts of rebellion
Dwelling minds of hypnotic hellion
Command evils through lips programmed
Scammed souls of resonating words damned
Entrancing infernos admits gates of glancing
Necromancing rituals in demons dancing
Sleep of walls upon behind hells keep
Weep forever eyes dormant deep.
...perhaps no double meaning, but double fun...
This poem is dedicated to my friend Gregory R Barden (the Bard)...inspired by his poem 'A Quest, Maniacal'...Thank you Gregory for your insight...
Music by Disturbed - Hell... Ghost Rider Music Video
Aug.20.2018
A Reversible Poem
Sponsored by: Jesse Rowe
Placed 6'th
1. Betrayal builds up with great energy
winning my man
comes with a heavy bill of cost.
The third, trying to make us two unhitched
brings out thunderous evil from a Timpani
coveting from a loved one
makes her a dipsomaniac
and not even the threat of a deadly flashpoint
will give this heavily envious heart
a strong reprimand.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
2. Friend of a friend
but one heart has been scammed
a serenity watered by amity
but elsewhere loyalty works in locum.
Her good support of me was spaced aged
to make my man a heartless wrong doer.
The three now in a jackboot
is worse than a plaque.
The steam of her itchy romance
burns his instincts of adventure
to get some back door pleasures.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
3. Noisy is the sound
which first started from an enjoyable bongo
he's a commoner you can pick with a coin
from a one-armed bandit
a ‘whore’ is a worthy appellation for her
my weeping heart from this divide
chunks out hatred on them
but unknown to me
in the city of love, their union
has turned out to be a principality.
Bridge x 4
You embrace me, holding her waist by the side
your mouth speaks as your heart looks the other side.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
Freedom.
Is that what you call it?
Being able to walk and talk as long as you are watched and heard,
Having our voices quieted when honor-bound truth creates a hell-bound stir,
Or the fact that divine life belongs to a blasphemous piece of persuading paper.
To me, freedom is unknown
Ripped long ago
Stolen from our flesh, breath, and bone.
Merely convinced we are free
Believing this is how it’s supposed to be;
We paint our life’s pictures as we are told what we need and what to believe.
Holding onto images we continue to create
We build our ego and discard the ability to deliberate,
Freedom is just as we are, hidden behind fiction’s gate.
As the FDA approves of food only meant to save a few cents
Our brilliant minds are weakened and left with a lack of common sense,
Played by approval ratings
Scammed by “Big Pharma”
What is one mans pain is another ones karma.
To be free is to know you are limitless
To love through interconnectedness
To walk pleasantly through trees you were born to see,
The unfortunate contrary of popular belief.
For some reason you believe, to see natures most beautiful scenes, you must pay per person to a fool who simply said this is how it should be.
A fool who claims land as his own, even though we all know, that land had been there long before that fool or his blood had a face to show.
So if you’d ask me if I think we are free,
I would say no.
Furthermore, if you’d ask me, given our vast amount of choices don’t we seem free?
I would say simply, to seem is the difference between reality and make believe,
For believing in what seems does not change nightmares to dreams.
“... The closeness of the place and the heat of the climate,
added to the number in the ship which was so crowded
that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost
suffocated us."
Olaudah Equiano, freed slave, abolitionist, merchant (1745-1797)
We were taken in by roundup-
legends of freedom, sold
heirlooms to pay for the privilege of being
crammed into a tractor-trailer like green-
ware into a kiln. The youngest
faithfully lifted her chin, Quinceañera
memories still fresh enough to almost keep
her balanced within that shifty,
blistering dark until she felt
another sharp shaft of air, a searing blast
of a bone-dry wheeze from the next pilgrim to hit
hot metal like he’d been shot in the head.
The chant began again, Santa María,
Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros
pecadores. Sweat stung our opened eyes,
clarified visions of diaspora, of coldblooded
coyotes packing cargo holds with cornered chattel.
We, the many, shackled by migrant irons. We,
a crop of people, survive only to swelter later
in tobacco rows, on countless estates, behind thick shop doors,
but each Day of the Dead, we will recount:
Mexicans lost to a hardened
geography where even breath is branded,
an absence of just one half-mast flag, anywhere, their star-
crossed national anthem, our costly escape
into undocumented slavery, how long-
suffering dreams either suffocate or hide
scars, why wheeled sloops blaze down border
highways with short-lived payloads, scammed commodities
as expendable as a shipment of spring lambs ...
We have been cheated
of watching the mist on the mountains
of the every day joys
living by waterfalls and mountain fountains
of nature in all of her
majesty in daily display
Civilization has broken
a pristine earth in play
to live in the system
built of tar and cement
the struggle for its money
upon things it is spent
My joy is where lakes
and their water lilies bloom
where the prickly cactus grows
and changing seasons in each room
when the clouds are blown
like feathers about in the wind
where our considerations think
left to men it will end
Will you miss the blue parrot
neon yellow chickadee
gone the toad golden
likely too soon will the bee
the dance of courtships
where flocks move to mate
as the corporations poisons
their death is its fate
So many dead zones
now exist in our seas
left to those who now govern
the worlds bounties now seize
If you expose them
you could disappear
passed executive orders
now make this law clear
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC