Born then drawn on your birth certificate
A full legal name and identity.
Some simple, short or long and intricate
It follows us always and plain to see.
We learn early on how to write our name
In simple letters or cursive styling
Our name travels with us as plain or vain
Through academia, records, filings.
What of streets, buildings or on monuments
Or long-faded through time and forgotten?
In directories high, like parliaments
Or lineage with children begotten?
In the end, but one written name alights
Is it written in the Lamb's Book of Life?
You call them leaders.
They arrive as liars.
They leave as criminals.
They promise greatness.
You believe.
They promise change.
You believe again.
Is America great?
Is Europe honest?
Is Africa free?
Every continent—
the same deception.
Their lies are sweet
because you taste them
with closed eyes.
Institutions have fallen.
Not by force—
but by ignorance.
We crowned actors.
Not realists.
Not truth-tellers.
How can a man lead you
when he cannot lead himself?
How can a nation trust thieves
with its future?
The rich evade tax.
The government smiles.
The poor pay the price.
Your sacrifice feeds their luxury.
In parliaments,
in congresses,
in the United Nations hall—
theatre.
Nothing more.
Their speeches—
calculated lies.
Their promises—
weapons of comfort.
Poverty is engineered.
Misery is profitable.
Your worship
is their power.
They mastered deception.
You mastered obedience.
Look closely:
What we call “global leadership”
is a monument
built on crime.
Wake up.
False kings rule you—
because you let them.
They rise in suits, not in truth,
Whispering honey into the ears of youth.
They promise bread, and break it twice —
Then sell the crumbs at triple price.
These are the kings without a crown,
Their thrones built on a broken town.
They speak of peace with sharpened knives,
While trading bombs for children’s lives.
Parliaments of puppets sway,
Dancing lies in grand display.
They sign their names in blood and oil,
Then toast their sins with peasant toil.
They steal not once, but every breath —
From schools, from homes, from limbs of death.
And when the people cry for aid,
They build a wall and call it “trade.”
But the soil remembers every scar.
The stars record who these men are.
For thrones are rented, not divine —
And justice drinks a patient wine.
A time will come — not far, but near —
When truth will no longer cower in fear.
No flags, no laws, no gilded rule —
Just hearts awake, and none to fool.
The lesson was don’t speak with a mouthful,
And not at all when grown folk speak.
My pitiful plate burns on my lap,
So too does my sister’s on hers.
The dinner table sits too small to invite children
So we fade to silence and grow deaf to conversation
In teacherless rooms, with vulgar blackboards
We, of broken shirts and dirty shoes,
paper planes that take flight with spitballs
and enough noise to drown church bells,
Ink-stained hands too mutual to laugh at,
We grow communities around a kid’s desk.
In corner offices and parliaments
that stink of Hugo Boss and bare smug,
The people I gave my sacred election
reek with exclusion.
at the table, they decree our lives
While we fade with brooms in the back.
Tomorrow, we will sit at the table.
we will dance atop it with bare feet
‘til the world turns sweet
with our benevolence
we will build the table anew
we shall carve it glory!
Do these crows have a name,
What do they talk amongst themselves?
Do they gossip as to who makes the best takeaway dish.
Do they go to school and learn numbers, wear masks during air travels.
Do they tell their kids,
"Work hard today, god shall take care of you" ?
Do they have calls for prayers?
Do they debate in parliaments?
Do they have social media?
I want to talk to a crow,
Tell it sorry.
I have shooed it away too many times.
I want to understand, what makes them tick,
How they handle rejection, hunger and much more topics under the sun.
Maybe Siri or Alexa can help me with translation, but I am sure a lot shall go in translation.
Maybe the crows shall understand better and offer their wisdom!
No wonder why I have this naked head
These weak claws, Neither have I ever
Wondered why I feed chiefly on carrion
Rotting carcass dressed by fellow humane
Ages past starving, preying, pitying shame.
Carrion bird been termed, so wary I envy
The keen and noble eagle whose social unit
Portray efficiency and tranquility in plays
How he is gifted in soaring up highs spred
He preys on fresh flesh, he hustles nothing.
Vultures we been cased by mother nature
For we toil yet others birds emblems might
We long for the deprived freedoms, denied
And fed on their remains. Avarice being no
Shame for no honor is related to my name.
Black birds whom seize by violence, preys
Like us, feeds greedily stood forth our Sire.
Corrupt ravens whom disperse parliaments
Owls on the watch, waiting to grace thier
Chance too, damned birds of disgust, cursed.
5 January 19
Lowlifediarist
In parliaments of war and glory
You moved in ways marking life's truth,
To seal a vow of destined mission
Guiding your path…a brazen, uplifting voice
Sparked by this incessant passion which ignited
A nation besieged by roars of combat.
For you came providently into a world
Ripped by shadows of battleground's unrest;
As the taste for liberty against a Fuehrer's tyranny
Sought brave callings to round the fire,
To wrestle, capture, and break this nemesis…until
A gathering of storm strode along
Barriers of Dunkirk's dilemma, unity among
Friendly nations, and decades of unequaled integrity--
Oh, such ultimate victory hailing mankind's spirit !
In modern times' need for a righteous governance,
Society whispers your name... another comeback, yet
After long moons of patriotism, of unflagging devotion,
Heaven’s stars called your name…
Finally, resting among divine kings.
Tribute Verse Contest of Brian Strand
The Palace of Westminster is crumbling,
the state of democracy stumbling.
Lurching to the right reaching for Brexit,
how is Parliament going to fix it?
With toxic asbestos and unsafe wiring,
they'll have to decant – with sea level rising.
Establishment migrants where will they go?
Austerity bites back as if to say no;
if shelter and housing you won't provide
you'll have to get used to coping outside.
Parties splintered, body politic fragmented;
who belongs with us? Where are we headed?
The crumbling state of Parliament's fabric
is witness to all of something symbolic.
When the mother of parliaments can't decide
where to take itself, it feels like it's died.
Blame the others and we'll be double crossed.
Your Majesty, when you've gone I fear we'll be lost.
Mongrels gyrating on the edge of town
This it now- its going down
The chant electric, the doomsday count
It matters not that no one speaks a word
We knew it was coming, but you havent heard
Just know how I loved you , go fly little bird
A mass of hungry hatred flash of glimmering blades
Blood of the martyrs, murder and Hades
Dance of the hyena, foul flinging dung
Clinging our candles only looking up
Feeble little fingers summoning the Light
A promise in our prayers armless in a fight
This is my cry, tell it to the world
From the podiums and parliaments
Dont believe a word
A blessed soil which perspires cashews and coughs out black pepper,
its global banner of rice is raised so high
which is only beaten by one.
Specializing in the juices of the commonest limbless reptile
with cuisines highly recommended by the parliaments of health.
From dragons to birds;
the turtle to the horse;
the minds of its people have well been bonded to these,
making historians marvel at which exactly
helped in denting the American military pride.
No Title
There is a reason why
Just let the brain roam
It is in the morning in town
The ground green
The sky blue
I look up high
I wonder when I too die
I accept and move on
To all it is common
I forget and pay for the coil
I want to make a meal for the gone great
To buy candle and light the air
Then to all fallen soldiers R.I.P
I carry on till I pass on
I also remember to buy a cake
For a time in life
With the Greats of Great.
Back at my tin roof
My radio makes me laugh
That an African man is turning into a woman
Again I hear of bullfights in parliaments
Then I confirm power madness is permanent
The news is too much
I tune to another channel
'Welcome to power poetry'.
My mind feels free
I decide to take a pen
Try some lines
'' If I write about the end signs"
I'll sound a preaching poet
Better preach than conform
To a night in the light pretending to be the light"
I stop and read through
I stop and realize I am not through
There is no title
And it seems simple
So I don't stop
I write.
Then the meal
The candle
The cake
To the greats R.I.P
One Nation.
8 social class groups;
63 million people;
50,000 millionaires; and
100,000 homeless.
One Nation.
One Nation.
Two parliaments; two assemblies
6 mainstream parties;
650 MPs; (27 ethnic minorities MPs); but
35% of the population never voted.
One Nation
One Nation
14 million children; 25,000 schools
7% of pupils are in private school;
31% of MPs attended private school; but
3.5 million kids are still in poverty
One Nation.
One Nation
134 Prisons
90,000 Prisoners
145,000 Police officers; but
1,000 deaths in police custody without one conviction.
One Britain;
One Nation?
Mike Concise © 2015
www.mikeconcise.com
Note: The political idea of One Nation in British politics was coined by Benjamin Disraeli (1804–1881) and used by countless politicians since, to refer the duty owed by the 'better off' to help those less well endowed and fortunate. That irrespective of class, Britian should not be two nations of rich and the poor, but rather one, united society.
Maths is known as the King of subjects,
Not political science,
Teaching political science at schools a waste,
Like drawing a picture of a tasty fruit,
The political scientists not going to the parliaments,
They can't oust the politicians from the parliaments!
Hand a pen ,break the silence.
Let the world hear our voice.
Write a song, create a poem.
Hand the tool for our future.
This is the high time to act, to react.
Too many people, too many lives.
Had wasted and gone so fast.
Through terrorism's act,attack.
Hand a pen, tell the world.
Children are suffering around the globe.
No food, no shelter,no clothes.
Will there be a future,where is hope?
Nation stands over nations.
No clear visions, full of illusions.
Poverty seems has no solution.
Industries causing pollution.
Hand a pen, speak your mind.
Royals are ruling,ruining lives.
Dictators,parliaments,ministries.
Why they can't solve these miseries?
No division, fair consumption.
Spread the wealth in proper distribution.
No partiality, kill crabmentallity.
Pull each other hands to serenity, equality.
Light the torch, spread the news.
This is the moment to hear our views.
Wear the weapon of restoration.
Hand a pen, make a new dimension.
I take the time
To try and meet a politician
who I believe is wise,
I find him easily
but not alone.
But of two different personalities,
a wise man is found In a place,
secluded and coiled like an isolated insect
and his reason for making decision
On his own like wise men do
But he is surely a fool
who develops the art
of listening and making
decisions simply on a basis
of majority opinion,
a mass leader-a fool,
who is sent to work
in establishing our fate in the parliament.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.