When popping a letter in the post
before you lick it and stick it
consider all the trees which would go
to grow a bigger and better thicket
if we don't wait it's not too late
what with black rain and red tides
while fossils fuel our vehicles
petroleum product-propelled rides
turn a new leaf is my belief
as going green keeps this planet blue
Shank's pony makes all the sense in the world
it's quite the right thing to do
Caught up in the sticky gears
of this greed and grime machine.
Greased by our doubt and division,
fueled by fears and confusion.
No doubt it is a blood machine
carving and taking-never caring
trampling and raping-
never planting or repairing.
It's a Petroleum machine
looking far ahead but eyeless
never glancing behind at the destruction.
Sniffing out the next victim
never sated, always breeding,
Plundering and pillaging, the soul of
we
the people.
The machine nibbles away at our right to bloom
our right to own, to defend, to speak
to manifest the dream into reality.
The machine can only be beaten down
by the unity of the we.
Before posting a letter
and you lick it and stick it
consider all the trees which would go
to grow a bigger and better thicket
if we don't wait it's not too late
what with black rain and red tides
while fossils fuel our vehicles
petroleum product-propelled rides
to turn a new leaf is my belief
as going green keeps this planet blue
makes all the sense in the world
it's quite the right thing to do
In Africa's heart, a giant lies,
Nigeria, blessed with riches that surprise,
Petroleum, gold, and califonium's might,
Lead, iron, bitumen, and limestone's sight.
But amidst this wealth, a paradox we find,
Lovely people suffer, while leaders' greed entwines,
Abject penury, a constant, gnawing fate,
While politicians milk public funds, an unborn generation's weight.
Foolishness, indeed, to hoard and not to share,
As children, women, men, and youth die, with no one to care,
In stampedes, they scramble for crumbs from philanthropists' hands,
A nation's shame, in every corner, where food is shared, they stand.
Who will rescue us from predators, who prey and exploit?
From leaders, who, with impunity, our future destroy and loot?
Of late, tens of children and women died, in a desperate bid to eat,
Their cries, a haunting echo, that our conscience cannot beat.
Women wake, with hopelessness, their children's future unsure,
Are our youth lazy? Our men idle? No, their daily toil, a story untold,
Their income, a meager sum, that cannot meet their demands,
A giant of Africa? Ah, what a mockery, what a sham, what a stand!
Arson not ruled out as Emco chemicals are being tossed all over the north Chicago cab company on Sheridan road where the contents of the tailor shop was being stored remembering Tony Boloney Anton Goracia North Chicago cab driver the many days nights spent after the arson murder of 8 wow 1984 Christmas Eve history repeating itself march 1998 fire blazes to cover the tailor shop contents amazing how to get away with arson murder of 9 use emco chemicals petroleum camphor the blazer and there you have do you sew the fbi questions what do you know about arson murders payoffs bribes during elections choose your fire chief watch the fires ignite and keep your mouth shut for 40 years eyes wide shut pay corruption I wore wires pregnant for the Fbi this covered up arson murder of 9 persons today I am blessed I survived the car bomb meant to silence me while they try and rule out arson again
Can we not fear that nowadays the world is somehow
too an Internet room for us to search and find news and to
interconnect with one another so much such that
anything stir especially slur or slack?.
More to that the narrow or morrow or swift nature of the
roads and some of the ways for instance?, shape like
mirror like petroleum jelly like picture like stone or like a
sort of jewel.
We know that war has made history but is it not
something that is testing human's ability to control and
solve?.
Yes, what is the damning sense of the mundane now
, silence or pretence?.
A blossom has become laughter has become a smile
has become a petroleum has become a campaign
has become sometimes a kind of fascination?.
I weep why should the peaceful world bubbliiiiiiiiig?.
A blossom has become laughter has become a smile
has become a petroleum has become a campaign
has become sometimes a kind of fascination?.
I weep why should the peaceful world bubbliiiiiiiiig?.
Bone ash hills
The new kills
Surfer fills the fishes gills
Helpless creatures of the septic sea
Is this the way you were meant to be
Chemical foam waves
Petroleum roam beaches
When will we learn the lesson it teaches
The cold winter suffocates the world with its icy breath
dark petroleum horizon, trembling bodies - chattering teeth
Sparkling snow crystals have yielded silver, nothing was spared
I am not too keen on witches,
But I would love their broom
When I'm feeling downhearted
Up in the sky, I'd Zoom
The speed would excite me
With the wind blowing in my hair
The magic of the broomstick
Would erase all care
A broomstick has no gears
Engine, steering wheel, or wheels
It can Zoom anywhere
Over dales and hills
It needs no maintenance,
Petroleum of any kind
It is independent
It has no worries on its mind
You would think it was uncomfortable
Perched up high, flying on a stick
I would sit side saddle
Like a witch, MAGIC!
I wish you all happiness,
And a feeling of contentment inside
When you get downhearted
Take a witch's broomstick for a ride.
How could our god given rights
be taken away by man,
when he never had
any power to do such act.
Involuntary actions goes
against moral laws,
which nobody can escape
it's wrath.
All executive orders that have been
emanated by the president, it
contravenes against moral laws
and our free-will.
These orders are intentionally,
to strip us away from our rights,
which was given to us by God.
Executive orders 10990, 10995,
10997, 11000, 11001, 11003,
11004, 11005, 11049, 11051,
11310, and 11921
gives an unprecedented
level of power to the President
and the federal government
to take over all
fundamental parts of our
economy,
health,
transportation,
air craft,
farming,
electrical power,
fuel,
highways,
education,
mineral,
petroleum,
and so forth on.
This is what established the government
and put itself above the law.
The democracy
became a communist,
socialist, capitalist, and
fascist deliberately.
Each executive order brings
ramifications and effect
to our nation and us,
due to our own ignorance.
We must become unified
as a whole and destroy the
enemies before they
destroy it allies.
They are testing the sirens
the ones that warn of tornados and such.
No sirens wailed
when the industrial unit blew up
in a ball of fire. Too sudden,
you can here that wind-train coming
but a loose spark in a petroleum tank
should convince us
that we rarely hear death
until the bodies catch fire.
I's going to be a fresh sunny day
but later
strong winds from the north
might take some breaths away
and never return them.
Suddenly out of a clear sky
we hear the screech of ghost trains.
the local theme park has had
an accidental mishap,
some kids are heroically saved
some go missing
carried away by a north wind
that has yet to arrive.
I have been technically dead
and technically alive.
Escape clause, minor glitch
in my truth-machine,
but a kind of life does occasionally permeate
my real life.
I like the click and clunk of a well-made
flint ignition petroleum lighter.
‘Zippo’ light warms hands in a cold woods.
Sometimes I am the flint
sometimes the light - we all are I guess.
Before I was dead or alive
I recall signing a contract,
a ‘life’s purpose’ document
which I instantly forgot.
I still search Mind for reasons
still don’t know squat…..
but wait, I got here,
(arms akimbo, wagging my chin),
soon I’ll be leaving on a ghost train
and I’m gonna be upset,
because my much used ‘Zippo’ collection
is probably worthless.
The highway overpass vibrates.
as traffic and wind careen through.
A good view. Suicide starts to sing;
a wind-dervish rattling aluminum wings.
On the branches of peripheral nerves,
small birds stretch plasma necks,
warble high in the catbird seat
of her wall-eyed mind.
An ugly stream of cacophony,
a vapor of petroleum and rubber
bursting into bombinate blooms
that scour her skin.
She breathes it all in,
watching from a crows-nest
that sways leagues above her head.
A rocking-chair of vertigo tips over,
faraway toes curl a flaking concrete.
Her blood singing of endless roads
and this last dead end
at the edge of hope.
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