Gilgamesh O’Malley left his home in Fermanagh
With dreams of steaming plates of Irish stew.
He ate his last potato last time Sheamus paid the rent.
Since then, there’s not been very much to chew.
The lords of the Ascendancy express paternal care
By flaunting all their privileges of wealth,
While tenant souls like Gilgamesh subsist on gospel words
Unsuited for the maintenance of health.
The famine’s grip was guaranteed by what was done to help;
The landlords’ ledgers chronicled events.
The mighty Earl of Lucan and the rest lived absentee,
Their middlemen kept busy squeezing rents.
So, Gilgamesh O’Malley left his home in Fermanagh,
And climbed aboard a packet ship in Cobh.
He authored his own epic as an immigrant at large,
To brave the flood and find a decent job.
Gilgamesh O'Malley left his home for foreign shores.
Should the Fates condemn your destiny, his fortune could be yours.
weak seek middlemen
church, temple, mosques
offering solace to the fearful
who pray and offer penance
lapped up by hungry ghosts
leading to entity attachment
reinforcing imaginary shame
thus holding us in bondage
in a prison of our making
09-January-2023
Tale of two Cracks
__________________
Farmers Heel crack
S C R E A Ms
Bountiful harvest
is no time to rest
From Farm to Market
Middlemen exploit
Money lenders squeeze
Scheme benefit vanishes
Bumper crops
finally yield cropped price
Farmers lugged
on soil to survive
But best efforts
and worst System
cracked their hopes
created cavities on heels
Unable to crack
mystery of destiny
hung by rope on tree
World calls it suicide
But is a murder
abetted by apathy of society
Land Peel crack
S C R E A Ms
Ecology cycle of
Water-Vapour-Clouds-Rain
callously breached
Depleting water table
meagre network of irrigation
leaving soil parched
Brittle cracked pieces of soil
sliced sand gasping for life
Disregard for Environment
causing floods, famines
drenching, dehydrating soil
depleting nutritious layer
fertile land turning barren
Earth suffers miscarriage
feeding bosom dries
Blossom dies
Flora and Fauna cries
World calls it Natural calamity
But is ecology's murder
abetted by humans antipathy
____________________________
© Dr Hitendra Mehta
Blades blow left then over again
turning, spinning in the breezy wind
a little to the demo of autocratic powered right
only static glitches in the republic cutting of the middlemen;
spin and twirl catch that breeze and gusto of wind
hot air spewing normalcy, progressive ideologies anathema,
rotating blades sharp and precise, cut the fat, hewn a lie,
cooled agitation chills the condemned bureaucracy;
ignite the stretch and roll, the hiccup and the loudmouth yawns
dulled by stilled silent roars, loud and tempestuous hypocrisy
the electrifying pulses, ball, and fire pause and wait
an electro dynamo, impotent bully boys;
list the names as you will,
don't hold back quiet or still
oaths to their inner pride
shout independence, free speech and free will
loud and bold untethered to the skies
there is a little truth in every lie
where we go one -
Do we go all?
Well, maybe next time.
for Biting Satire
contest sponsor Edward Ibeh
3/3/21
I’m a unique specimen,
made of mescaline and ketamine.
And the last living resident,
of an intergalactic settlement.
Burnt to the ground,
by time travelling middlemen.
I came with the cannon,
aiming only to try and bury them.
And when I aim for their president,
I will not miss my friend.
Now I’ve done the job,
I will disappear again.
Like the last living remanence,
of a long forgotten culture.
Disappeared too quickly,
picked at by the vultures.
Bones into dust,
Picked up by the wind.
And we never knew the story,
cause we’re never taught a thing.
Meet the psychedelic poet,
trying to live stoic.
He’s earmarked for death,
and he doesn’t even know it.
I’ve met alcoholic authors,
with bongs in their hands.
Staring out of the windows,
cause they’re awfully prang.
I remember nights doing pipes,
but now my mind is sober.
But eternally restless,
seeking some final closure.
The makeshift king,
searching for the evidence.
I am seeking refuge
And my mind needs the medicine.
I think of you now and again
Out half a world away
On the other side of the globe
Here it’s midnight and for you midday
Somewhere on a Himalayan mountain
How can I possibly relate to your reality
Far from anything resembling a city
With no infrastructure of any kind
No cars no shopping centers
No electricity no electronics
None of the luxuries I take for granted
How can I relate to your reality
Your wealth is a goat some seeds and hope
A little schoolhouse relatively close
As your best prayer for a better future
The gap between the haves and the have-nots
Is nothing less than astronomically absurd
And there’s no trusting the middlemen
Greed keeps robbing those who have less than nothing
Seems there’s fewer godfearing people left on earth
Not many believing in justice and universal equity
I can’t relate to corruption
Concepts of karma swirl through my head
Death remains the greatest equalizer
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Perambulating in Jail
‘Hey you in the middle march on in median mediocrity’
No subversive elements needed no lateral thinking and
no thinking per se is required once you follow the crowd
‘No eccentricity get into that box until no box is required’
So-called traitors poets intellectuals struggle with blame
are deemed the fifth column since we should be all equal
On the battle fields of evil ‘you are with us or against us’
while the golden mean of virtue and reason withers away
in dire misappropriation of the ancient theme of wisdom
‘Stay on the path’ and soon there will be fences and bars
when you will finally accept the message and convenience that
prisons and goal post surely protect all of us simply from our Selves
Unless of course we chose to march in the centre of convictions
behold as treasures the journey without the meddling middlemen
or women who claim the truth from poisoned cages of indifference
April 2017
Heteronormativity in Jail
‘Hey you in the middle march on in median mediocrity’
No subversive elements needed no lateral thinking and
no thinking per se is required once we follow the crowd
‘Eccentricity get into that box until no box is required’
So called traitors poets intellectuals struggle with blame
are deemed the fifth column since we should be all equal
On the battle fields of evil ‘you are with us or against us’
while the golden mean of virtue and reason withers away
in dire misappropriation of the ancient theme of wisdom
‘Stay on the path’ and soon there will be fences and bars
when we will finally accept the message and convenience that
prisons and goal post surely protect us simply from our Selves
Unless of course we chose to march in the centre of convictions
behold as treasures the journey without the meddling middlemen
or women who claim the truth from poisoned cages of indifference
We were in love
And we knew it
It was not lust
But we blew it
Assumptions were made
Middlemen consulted
That was the fall
Of love unconstructed
Love not nurtured
Is love denied
How dare you be timid
Of love divine
Have you found love
Hold on to her
Be not overly courteous
Fight you must for her
We are in love
And we know it
It is not lust
Will we blow it
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