Physicists teach and talk
Physicians heal and walk
Physiologists exercise and specialize
Psychiatrists dramatize and immortalize
Psychologists observe and internalize
Therapists diagnose and mobilize
Radiologists scan and rock
Pharmacologists and Toxicologists mix and match drugs and block
Paleontologists, Neurologists, Meteorologists, Politicians, Philanthropists, Philatelists and the rest apply PHYSICS too... patch, flock and jock!
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!
To make money do what you may
And let no rules come in your way,
Capitalism blares
As laissez-faire declares
Wild ways to thievery,
Packaged nigh cleverly
For robber barons of today,
Who should look in mirror
To reflect on error
And ponder, made they are of clay.
____________________
Happenings |19.11.2024|money, business, mirror
Poet’s note: US, who has charged an Adani company of financial misdeeds, needs to look into its own history of capitalism. The first two lines of this ditty talk of what laissez-faire was and still largely is. A list compiled in 1934 named 26 robber barons (a German term for knights who charged illegal tolls from travellers along with other forms of thuggery). The list includes Andrew Carnegie, JP Morgan, and John D Rockefeller-- who later turned philanthropists and promoters of art to earn rubber stamp of public approval. The country reminds us of a cat on a pilgrimage:
Upon killing hundreds of mice,
A cat is out to wash her vice,
On holy pilgrimage
To pop up her image,
Poor mice paying her laundry price.
Happy New Year to come
Promises are made
New Homes
New Cars
New Life
New Meals
A New You
From the Old to the New
New Jobs
New Plans
New Careers
Remember, Jesus at hand.
New Clothes
New Degrees
New Shoes
New Hair
New Styles
New Friends
New Start
New Days
New Lands
New Names
New Times
New Bosses
New Beginnings
New Businesses
New Year Resolution
2023, in the making
New Thoughts
No Tuition
No Foolishness.
Debtfree
Finances increased
Businesses abroad
Shout out loud.
Happy New Year
Fewer tears
Longer healthier Years
Blessings abroad
Jesus Lives
Hands are lifted high
Miracles, Healings
In The Name Of Jesus.
Homeless people have been taken care of
Donations are overwhelmed
Philanthropists, Missions
Seeing the Visions.
Released from Danger
No more confusion
A great outcome
A positive report
Non Negative atmosphere
Non-anger, forgiveness
New environment
Entitlement.
Happy New Year
2023, will soon be here
Smile some more
Peace, Love, and Joy.
Note: Happy New Year to everyone
Jesus Blesses.
Money & Thoughts
By: Tom Wright
1998
Strange,
how money [or the lack of,
and appearances,
influence our thought patterns,
often affecting our actions towards others.
When the affluent dare to be different
they're referred to as Individualists,
or often called Eccentric,
with "a mind of their own".
When they help others
they're called Philanthropists,
and everyone seems to know!
When poor men dare to be different
They're often looked upon as Indigents,
Vagrants, "Rustic" or Bums,
"Without both oars in the water".
When they help others
They're considered stupid
and no one cares for
"It couldn't have amounted to much".
Thoughts about my great friend Wagon John
I write about nature ,about me and you
My verses are directed to your senses
Theres beauty of nature that it enhances
Human errors they magnify
I implore them to come to right track to wrong say bye
I write for kids
Bid them todo good deeds
I write on nature with its grandeur
As to different places I venture
Fascinated by hills I go there often
Although in winters ones bones stiffen
Then I write about human nature
How they vary in appearance n nature
Some are born to be philanthropists
Some cut people's throats n wrists
I entertain n thrill
their reviews sometimes grills
But what do I get
After all the effort nothing I can bet
Doesn't lead anywhere
But still I will be there.
I am a refuge here!
In this foreign land-
Of luxury of darkness
Where darkness
Laughs at me
Angry winds,
Bite me like scorpions,
Mosquitoes,
Drink me like a pot of beer
Bed bugs, my nocturnal guests,
Hold conferences
To celebrate on my ribs
Jiggers,
Rip my feet apart like cakes,
In the sage-master’s kraal
Philanthropists, my only hope
Offer mockery of aid
As they drink bottled urine,
Slumber in glass pots,
And make sheen- beings
To count stars endlessly!
Surely I am alone.
In my own country,
In this world,
I am alone, alone and alone
With no one to care
In this refugee-land!
Of luxury of darkness
Where all is,
Dark!
Dark!
And dark!
As I sip on aged Cognac
swirling in circular sadness,
contained within cup made
of broken stained glass memories,
I witness.
Witnessing Cloud 9’s silhouette
surround this glued enigma.
Lionel Ritchie was the rock for this moment’s bliss.
“Truly in love,
with
you.”
Emanating across cathedral uncertainty,
breaking its glass.
This was a celebration of priceless Silver.
A currency only earned by the Philanthropists of Love.
Creating justifiable fantasies
with attainable dreams.
It was amor, maintained.
While I sip on Cognac’s remnants,
mixed with retina’s loneliness,
dripping
downwards
with smile craving soul-pack solution,
I exhale.
In “Deep Sigh” Symphony: No. 9.
With my ventricle chambers
kissing subconscious on forehead,
in preparation for dream come true.
Because one day,
that will
be
me.
© Drake J. Eszes
I hear howling wolves growling in the gutter.
Rivers of torn flesh pour forth from the gates of sin.
Philanthropists boast with a nasal mutter.
Subliminal shrieks create a rising din.
I sit rigid in suspended animation.
Skin pulled apart by great demonic wolves.
A punishment I shall soon double in revenge.
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