He stood, arms, legs, outstretched, seemingly biding
in that lambent light against, darkening grey
where summer heat and storm are oft colliding;
in some time, the rain will come, yet not today.
Ancient dust will settle on his naked breast
slowly bake between the Sun and human sweat;
as his shadow slowly shifts from East to West
he knows, again, his payers have not been met.
Strong, resilient, iridescent
Trapped in folds, they are translucent
Culture cultivate grafted right
Pearls don't sparkle they reflect light
Mollusk secretes nacre layers
Wild pearls fetch prompt giga payers
Placed right they are prettiest sight
Pearls don't sparkle they reflect light
Implant good in delicate soul
Ego, pride, hate, lust can play foul
Turn to true source to be moonlight
Pearls don't sparkle they reflect light
Kindness, faith and love are virtues
Rare, admirable true values
They attract source and return bright
Pearls don't sparkle they reflect light
Slavery is all over the world
The Filipinos are victims of slavery
We have been slaves by Spaniards
We have been slaves by Japanese
We have been slaves by Americans
Our government are fighting slavery
Poor people, we only have government
What if government is the one oppressing
What happen now, the left leaning
The yellow hardliners, the red loyalist
The Lower House, the Senate are united
In oppression, one in corruption, in united team
Oppressing the people, political persecution
Of Political enemies and peoples of faith
Politician have been blinded by money
Which money of the people, tax payers money
Mainstream media is now fostering fake news
The people are smelling silent dictatorship
The people are feeling silent Martial Law
Drugs, crimes and smuggling are proliferating
My country is going to be an anarchy
My country is going to the dogs
My country is going to the crocs
My people is in quandary right now
God, please intervene the affairs of my country, Philippines.
Every year government allots humongous amount of money to schools for buying new books. Alas! bought, catalogued..library decorated with shiny books! End of the year, many of those books are not even touched! Keeps happening year after year! Are books being irrelevant in children's lives?!!!! What about tax-payers' money?
This many guys dislike its mention
Including an owner of mansion,
From avowed lover walking away
And next time block his coming their way…
For even the steadfast tax payer
Regular payment not his prayer;
One could swear there’s no Tax Payer Max
Who wouldn’t want the rules to relax!
As often as not tax evasion,
To depletion of wealth aversion...
What makes a citizen a patriot,
Long prattles about it like parrot;
‘Very proud’ the delivering voice
Though doubtful over it would rejoice…
In US a political risk,
Your rival handling the matter brisk
In Nigeria treated like God’s tithe,
Easily, payers like struck snakes writhe…
Tax payment states its own energy
“Mass non-payment nation’s elegy.”
They are the first, and they will be the last I realized
In a symphony, wrapped infinitely of endless eyes
Dots hitting dots
Dots eating dots
In a rippling dark sea covered by ice
Stars are the payers of time and timings ultimate price
To see one of them fall, is like hearing a chorus of angelic flights
Their descent in the night skies, personifies a crippling fear of heights
Popularly, the Body of Christ;
So, watch your thanks giving after a heist,
Each Sunday Christians surface in a church,
They have joyously gone there for Christ’s search
Every day in one power-packed prayers;
They’re a permanent debt for us, payers…
No one easily joins a church choir:
A sure voice Good and Bad ones require;
The real church has to be shaped like a Cross,
A winder they now mount ones that look gross;
Of a truth a painful artistic loss;
Some in their churches sing Secular Ross…
Yes, a part of the church is The Nave
And that’s exactly the section I crave!
Why should I stay in a Church’s Transept,
If I’d gone there earlier for The Precept…
Nothing wrong about the vast stone statues;
They’re there as strict reminders of virtues;
My prayers after every church sermon:
They would disappear demons and mammon.
A peerless purveyor
pared pears on a pier.
Pierre, his au pair,
peered on, it appears.
Not payers, both players
prayed pious petitions;
For the nonce, no pence brought,
naught came to fruition.
A time-tested spiritual banking,
Higher and higher one goes in ranking,
Slammed doors sweetly unlocking,
Hindering barriers unblocking…
From the wall one has been flung
And like a bag on a peg hung,
One beautifully bounces off,
Once more cooking better-off
Your trifle not with Malachi 3:10,
God having it written with His Pen;
No chance rubbishing of the injunction,
For whomever must get beyond our junction.
Tithe never is by rude force backed,
Wherefore their payers have often slacked;
Of course, to hellfire straight,
Who even does so late…
As much a robber,
Who could another clobber,
No less, The Shameless Looter,
Who easily turns A Shooter.
Welcome, to my country.
Where we experienced load shedding.
No Wi-Fi, petrol sky high.
Politicians fighting battles to stay on top,
Less money for you to shop.
The poor has to beg and plea,
Daily on every corner and street.
While politicians’ lives a rich life,
From tax payers, they milk every dime.
We are a box of smarties,
While politicians sleeps with different parties.
During election they pick and choose,
Which color to use.
We are not the rainbow nation anymore,
Some parties’ mayhem caused it for sure.
hokeyschmokie
tellallthefolkey
kashismissbiss
enessthingsoupth
eeumpiresnose
okey.....enough about that:
universal health care
is more important
than politicians
money or us
against them
that is looking after your citizens...the tax payers....the CONSUMERS!!!!
stan sand
A pensioner's long walk today,
Yes, the mailman's been, no yah!
What bills did arrive this way?
Postman, postman, stay away,
I am putting up a sign,
"BAN THE BILLS!" about frigging time!
if all bill payers went on strike,
Bills would go down, not upwards hike!
Yes, it's that dreaded long walk again,
Should I throw the bills down the drain?
A gutter too far, or in the bin?
Bringing us bills is the postman's great sin,
Can't afford that, can't afford that,
"I'll shoot you, postman, now don't come back!'
is shooting postmen a capital offence?
"BAN THE BILLS!" on everyone's fence!
Cackling old hens posing as journalists-
thinking themselves angles of light,
lay poisonous eggs filled with lies
and gestating hate-
riling against common sense,
and the rooster crows at noon.
Idiots, entrusted with government
destroy our country and way of life-
while the majority just watch
as the little foxes spoil the grapes-
and the rooster crows at noon.
Tax payers labor in the fields
and are penalized for success-
while pompous boars in congress,
slopping at the public trough,
grow fatter on vile swill-
and the rooster crows at noon.
Cats play games with mice
then kill for fun-
our youth play violent
videogames-
and the rooster crows at noon.
We are dishwashers and bill payers, we have day jobs and night jobs.
Some of us are retired, I am not, because I know too many
who died after they did that.
They lost their purpose, and before they could find another one,
they gave up, and left their earth life.
We do not have any more time than the rest of you,
but we grab it up and use it in full force.
We have chosen a life few choose. We are word players -
writing on napkins and paper plates.
Grabbing whatever is near at the time, jotting down phrases,
rhyming words, and lyrics.
We knew that we could and we can, and we do because our souls
will not let us not do.
We are the dreamers, the schemers, the world lovers,
the imagination people.
We are the ones who invent the new things, and
tear up old ideas to make room for new ones.
There is a driving force that tells us we must.
I call mine Trixie. She is an inner voice that yells at me.
She has crazy ideas. She cajoles me and coaxes me.
She holds me down until I yell “Aunt!” so I follow her lead.
We are the poets.
A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
As the hunger stricken wobbles the ground.
Oh! the old retinues that feed besides our ribs.
Come again with their unbearable tax payers,
While the labourers' stomach rumble!
The ignorant chieftains stare from above,
While the Kwashiorkor kids parade the streets!
Farmers clank their basket and hoe,
For nothing to bring homewards when the farms never yield.
As the hard labour tastes no fruit,
Wife and daughter, are forever famished.
The sailor that despoil us,
Snatch the bouquet of our feast.
As we wallow in our hollow labour?
Leaving us despondent at the edge of the farm,
Oh! We are made for you to drain,
When the basket of yam fully stored in there yard.
The old retinues release starvation from its dungeon,
As hunger flay around street, whipping!.
The rise of commodities in the Bazar,
A loaf is bought at high price.
And the grain is untouchable!
This is a prosy prose for deity to mourn,
How housewives turn to modern beggars,
While the toddlers sleep with void bellies and empty jars!
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