"I heard it on the news so it must be true"
history lessons from twitter friends
getting facts from social media-
a fool's paradise, this garden of eden.
if you don't follow the sheep
you are deluded,
blinded to reality.
so, you live in a place where-
ignorance is bliss.
a place where-
paradise is built upon selfishness
and the broken dreams of others.
a place where-
celebrities become the new consciousness of fact.
mr and mrs average sit inside the box
never venture out-
always staying safe on the inside.
so they feed off what is given
then nourish from untrue myths-
and get fat from the ignorance of others.
the media-
telling them what to fear.
the government-
telling them how to live.
the man in the street-
telling them how to feel.
the man on T.V-
telling them what they want to hear.
it`s all just lunacy and hypocrisy.
leaving facts behind with the true reality.
they become closed eyed and closed mind
blind to the real truth
false myths is all they come to believe
and all that matters is more time
in front of a lighted screen.
They're selling tickets
to the execution
front row ringside seats
for an electrocution
there for the thrill of the kill
ghouls who want to watch him fry
who knows why they're compelled
to view condemned die
God forgive the man
who throws the switch
which pulls the plug
makes criminals twitch
he and Old Sparky
are best of friends
lighting up felons
to the bitter ends
but what kind of everyday
man in the street
for hire volunteers to pyre
people in the hot seat
Consider the man in the street if you will
what's he doing there standing stock-still
maybe like the chicken he's crossing the road
and half-way over with nothing better to do
only slowed to admire the view
perhaps he's pushing his luck
for remaining stationary no doubt about it
he'll be hit by a van car lorry or truck
let's hope it's not so as hearing them coming
the man in the street beats a hasty retreat
making hay he hits the ground running
and his narrow escape's a clean getaway
to dawdle or dilly-dally down all his days
People come and people go
and how the times do change
but something here needs to be done
it should be rearranged
preachers pundits politicians
won't ever set things right
the man in the street can make a difference
if he takes up the fight
so many souls lost at sea
tho' they're on dry land
action speaks louder than words
they need a helping hand
and I'd rather see one good deed
putting things back on track
than hear one more kind word
a verbal pat on the back
I prefer to see
one good deed done willingly
lip service carries no weight at all
none whatsoever with me
Will pens
(I'd have to think
when last I dipped mine in ink)
and sad to say
pencils go
the dodo's way
become extinct or obsolete
(oh no)
to the average man in the street
as if it weren't for junk mail
no matter how large or small
never mind trees and ecology
wouldn't have no mail at all
when I was young still a nipper
a lot more lively
hale hearty and chipper
had pen pals galore
now they're e-pals
it's done with thumbs
some folks use keystrokes
and I'm not sure
if anyone
writes letters anymore
Bullingdon Club, US Version
The Bullingdon Club is alive here and well
And because of it, we are all living in hell
Trump and his minions lie, cheat and steal
From Americans asking, “Dear God, what’s the deal?”
These bullies caused riots, our capital stormed
Yet Trump and his cronies from trouble have wormed.
"Buller, buller, buller!" they shouted to the siege
In allegiance to their entitled, orange-faced liege.
“I can shoot a man in the street and nothing will happen,”
Trump declared while he ate and his body did fatten.
No one believed him–then came insurrection
We were sickened, but it just gave Trump an ********.
These idiots continue to follow this creep
His words and behavior cause good people to weep
As nothing seems to touch Teflon Don
The Evil in America, the true Devil’s Spawn.
Whisper not in my ears 'Iam poor'
shower no charity to speak it louder
make me no tool for you to be known
for my toil will humble your shine.
Allure me not with goodies I care less
skeptic am I who gives me free
for you take more than I do receive
with dubious minds men share luxuries.
Am a common man in the street indeed
genius were fed by me in the world
rich were made on my toil and sweat
countries formed for men of my tune.
thoughts of survival guides my muscles
lives on me waiting , make me go on
A simple life yet a lot it demands
loyalty, honesty and love to crown it.
In love I rest and wake up serene
moments I live kept in love's achieve
and when I die I have run my race
race of a man as destined to be.
when I till & sow earth gladly blesses
when I water ,seeds smile and sprout
theyknowing me, will return at last
nestling with them loving their roots.
I never searched self , nor did I lose
for me thoughts are living and life
nothing beyond it, mattered my head
for I still love a sparrow more than a jet
DICTATOR – SUCCESSOR - DICTATOR
Absolute power lies in his hands,
How his chest expands!
How long does a Dictator last,
This era should now
Become the past.
His greedy ego,
Should not be fed,
The people all agreed and said,
His hedonistic ways,
Have left him
But a few days.
They all know,
That he must go,
His spies advise
That he lays low.
The masses, the army,
The man in the street,
Ready to march,
Bringing thousands of feet,
So angry, so vengeful,
So ready, so united
Everything’s planned,
It has been decided.
A coup erupts,
The Dictator’s out,
A unanimous decision
Which carried clout,
And in his place
Comes a cunning clone,
Who assertively says
All the land is his own!
The hearts of the masses
Immediately sink,
How stupid
Were they ever to think,
A clone, accomplice
To the Dictators deeds,
But fully aware ,
Of the people’s needs,
Would be re-active,
Sensitive and sane of mind
Not so –
Clone and Dictator were one of a kind.
When my words are read
by the common man
No higher praise could
any writer ask
The awards and the accolades
from the intellectual elite
Pale in comparison
to that man ‘in the street’
When my words are read
by those ‘salt of the earth’
My spirit is lifted,
and I’m home from my search
Both steadfast and loyal
to themselves and to me
No more could I ask for
—no more could I seek
(Villanova Pennsylvania: Watching the New Hampshire Primary- February 9th, 2016)
Everyone is remembered by someone,
For two generations they say,
How long is the memory for those who have gone,
Before all that they were, has just faded away.
If you’re famous for being notorious,
Or a general for being Victorious,
History will have a note we can find,
And you always will be in the public mind.
To the man in the street, that does not matter,
As long as he’s included in his families chatter,
And his characteristics are passed on to his kin,
Means he’s always remembered by them from within.
Everyone is remembered by someone,
For two generations they say,
How long is the memory for those who have gone,
Before all that they were, has just faded away.
If you’re famous for being notorious,
Or a general for being Victorious,
History will have a note we can find,
And you always will be in the public mind.
To the man in the street, that does not matter,
As long as he’s included in his families chatter,
And his characteristics are passed on to his kin,
Means he’s always remembered by them from within.
The flotsam
From the deep of unconscious float up pieces of memories,
like torn pictures of a past, I can’t recall.
I see a child standing on a chair seeing his image in the window.
A man, in the street below looks, up smiles.
A war plane flies right through the house and disappear
Old dreams and forgotten memories have no beginning, no e;
they can’t be expanded and made coherent.
A mighty surge of fear passes through me, an unremembered
memory absorbed into my nascent brain before I was born?
The unborn but is silence it can’t be articulated into words.
I listen to an ancient hum to understand a future that has
no conscience of the coming.
Love doesn't run.
Love stumbles through like the drunk old man in the street.
Love is slow like the crippled old lady who tries so hard to live own her own.
The one thing love does not know is how you truly make this girl with scars feel.
Love doesn't figure the things I believe.
Love walks in a crooked line.
Love felt like some fairytale once we first started.
Now not so much.
Love is just some cruel word that crushes me inside.
Knowing you left without a simple goodbye or I'll be back soon.
Love doesn't run.
it simply walks in a crooked line.
Love hurts like the blade that hesitatingly touches her skin.
Love seems so sweet like the berries we pick in summer.
Love seems to walk sideways.
Love never stays with the girl who tries so hard to keep her man
Love doesn't even live in my heart anymore.
Since you left without warning.
Love doesn't run...
it moves so fast sometimes even too fast...
Love does not run...
P.oor men suffer all the injustices in pains
O.rders never fit in with their plans
L. abour day and night but ea like ant
I. nappropriate weather conditions, bombing and restlessness
T. otal bondage for the common man in the street
I.mportant riches of the economy to the rich
C.orruptions a blessing in disguise among the looters
S. ave our soul we all pray and watch
I sink into plushness
Of soft silky lushness
Of dreamy round clouds
Of angel veiled shrouds
I fly up to meet
The Man in the street
The rich golden hue
Underneath my soft shoe
I fall down to find
The One of a kind
The Beauty within
The resplendent skin
I reach up to grasp
With deaths’ last gasp
The Hand held to me
As the Man sets me free
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