So many lives destroyed by greed.
Too many hungry mouths to feed.
The rich blame the poor for being lazy and feckless.
The poor blame the rich for being greedy and reckless.
The wealthiest hide funds in offshore accounts
The poor must work harder for meagre amounts.
People are divided so the markets may prosper.
Whilst queues at foodbanks continue to grow longer
Refugees escape from terror and wars.
Dreaming of landing on welcoming shores.
Condemned by the establishment, who don’t want them stay.
Yet happily spend all the taxes they pay.
Governments are chosen by media manipulation.
Then fight their cause with enhanced reputations.
Our press is controlled by the wealthiest few.
So, who really decides what we see in the news?
These are political issues, but many don't care.
Yet the wealth divide remains massively unfair.
Too many believe there’s no other choice.
So, stand up and be heard, coz we all have a voice.
plane, bus 'n train
elevators 'n escalators
revelers 'n sale-day crowds
is where we meet
STRANGERS!
looking away,
with no eye-to-eye contact
no nod, wink, grunt of 'Hi's',
never ever recognizing
the sharers of the commons
shoved together
withdrawn incognito.
Here for thee be :
The Ten Commandments of Crowd Etiquette
Thou Shalt Honor Thy and Their Personal Bubbles
Thou Shalt Not Partake in Olfactory Betrayal
Thou Shalt Not Greet Strangers with a Nod, Only with Indifferent Defiance
Thou Shalt Yield Thy Seat only to the Ill, with-Child, Frail, Aged & the Lovely
Thou Shalt Stand Thy Ground, Letting Others Squeeze Pass Reluctantly
Thou Shalt Not Covet Another’s Seat or Space
Thou Shalt Keep Thine Phone Silent at Thine Side, and Do Not Speak
Thou Shalt Bear No Grudges for Shoves, Humphs & Grunts in Tight Spaces
Thou Shalt Honor all Queues, Despite their Length and Thy Lateness
Thou Shalt Yen the Zen of Strangers in Common Humanity
On a nameless night, under a sky sprinkled with extinguished stars,
Thoughts trickle like oil in the engine of an old dream,
And I, a lost acrobat, sway on the thin thread of life,
Trying to grasp in my palms the essence of a world that smolders quietly.
You don't have to write to feel poetry in your veins,
It's there, in the smell of gasoline and the smoke rising to the sky,
In the eyes of the one who fills tanks with untold stories,
A poet without words, dancing among car queues and time.
I am an artist of the trapeze, not fitting into molds,
With my heart suspended between a yesterday and an uncertain tomorrow,
Each leap a long verse, each catch a moment of grace,
For between falls and flights, true poetry is born.
So, in the silence of the night, among ticking engines,
I wonder, who am I to name my art?
A trapeze artist of destiny, a dreamer in the shadow of light,
Or perhaps just a soul that knows how to breathe poetry without words.
Inflamed beneath a midday fear, that novelist's story unfolds,
Shone angles trending 'neath the Earth to switch sparks till cold,
Zeal queues the chosen to fire calm suite blissful psalms dreams swirl,
Gemmed Ivory and Ebony, host o'er our bejeweled Pearl.
Cerise bond Earth and Sun transcend comes precious Grace our King,
Brahms strummed an awesome, clueless stray queue cheer chorus sing.
Queue cheer chorus sing. (Refrain)
Cerise bond Earth and Sun transcend comes precious Grace our King,
Brahms strummed an awesome, clueless stray queue cheer chorus sing.
Queue cheer chorus sing. (Refrain)
Queue cheer chorus sing. (Refrain)
Queue cheer chorus sing. (Refrain)
White flags with invincible dots of black.
Dark clouds covering the sky's slack,
Hunting down every tear shed
only to end up faking the perfect smile.
Lines; lining up to make longer lines
in queues of different shapes of life.
Lines; lining up in ascending order
in comparison to different stages of life.
Longer; it increases,
As life pierces with spears,
Then sobers up in tears.
Long — longer than infinity,
With past passing batons,
Creating different seasons,
From falling to rising,
To rising to fall,
Then failing to succeed…
Longer; again it increases,
Fitting into each season,
With happenings happening for a reason
Because
He — the Maker — takes these long lines
to mould the perfect shape
That will align with the lines needed
To make it all radiate at the finish line.
The civilization of askers
Waits in the world of deciders
The queues tend to go faster
The lost need to find their finders
Any road needs an excavation
Some fenced pits of debris
What looks clean needs contamination
Regardless if some may disagree
I need to take my annual tests
Maybe I’ll get new prescriptions
I won’t mind to get more rest
Can’t give you a thorough description
How do I feel about this old day
In the world of deciders
The askers should know their place, they say
Maybe the web needs more spiders.
Around around around iwe igo
more fake poems fraudsters show
autistic infamy
the ability to see patterns and queues
who do you think you really fool?
other than old farmers who do not care
his chickens cluck as much as you click
ai ai woah
ai ai No!
Bonus Verse added completely free for your reading pleasure!
And I
have to say
no more Jaywalking
wheely stop it
simply obey
averse to noise
people talking loudly
whilst yet accepting what is
we make peace with incongruity
recognising the looming gap
between desire and reality
yawn and then move on
averse to religious dogma
we wonder at the insecurity
devout brandishing their gods
making conversion a life mission
so what it is a pastime after all
although harmful if we reflect
spreading virus of delusion
averse to people pushing
in queues and on the road
aggressive me-first approach
these animals in human disguise
we look at as though it’s a test
though we’re trampled upon
we nod in understanding
averse to not being averse
we review our consciousness
which has shifted into passivity
owing to recognition life’s a dream
but to make this dream beautiful
surely we too must spread love
gently admonishing the crass
The Ivory Tower
the talk of the city,
a seat of power,
in want of pity,
the clueless lack words,
add adjective stirs,
queues belated verbs,
a scheme to wreck,
your human nerves,
guesswork's an illusion,
stall tactics delusion,
your decency challenged,
you're thrown off-balanced,
and insecure is definitely assured,
they have control,
your life they own,
like a cat, they'll toy with you
they'll tear you up and enjoy the view
till you're one of them,
... a child of the damned,
A drop of summer, pleasing--over there
I thought it wanted me, no want of ground
but want of me, instead a pleasant sound
of birds merging and darting thoroughfare
seemingly clueless of their doing-dare
o'er crowds busy about, looking spellbound
course to escape amiss ahead turned round
to freedom with the banners released to air.
In the opened venues queues roundabout
every which way as the buying frenzy
curtailed from end to pass the noontime lunch
crowd slowing and going but caterers doubt
that the dinner crowd will be as lengthy
till gathering increased, gave them a hunch.
Afar off as Luna disturbs the briny sea air, its pallid
lips farewell kiss of former throne fairs to absence.
Heir apparent solace a crown restored as its Hymn
privilege rejuvenates Sol's nurtured Hawaiian Isles.
As guests, while a tad, in Hawaii's wild, there they'll
see groundbreakers of Plumeria painted plumes don
guest guessing tree colors that rival Picasso's rarity,
Rose Period of benevolent hues missing silent blues.
On yonder rise further untamed, yielding in strength,
the Bird of Paradise, queues surround a mound. Find
true value in their weight of numbers enabled on top
of the tabled bouquet than solo left alone--so lonely.
Siding with soloists that orchestrate scents, like that
of the Gardenia, Puakenikeni, Kahili Yellow Ginger or
Pikake/Jasmine and Tuberose many more aromatics
redolent a symphonic scores, an orchid won, adored.
i was chosen for the next moon landing
and my co-passengers arrived at the meeting
in lightweight space suits
but i wore my black leather jacket
to show my contempt for space
i speak to anyone in similar attire
in supermarket queues i've jumped
to tell a co-customer i like that
the world beard and moustache championships were postponed
due to the covid-19 pandemic
tailored jackets are in
and jacket potatoes are overrated
can't wear a fedora 'til your seventies; i
am the Fonz jumping sharks on water skis
in my leather jacket
but i'll tell you who's not cool -
the flapjack octopus
i took the kids to a magic show
i wore it there;
to show my contempt for fun
anywhere without you
aint that pretty
but i keep my peel on you
cold and wet in new york
the wind like a proverbial knife
crowded train
queues at the bus stop
pulling down the ball and chain
Unreal faces behind newspapers
commute at your peril
On Jerusalem's shinning spectre
London wastes away
On bus Non speaking Englishman
in England's fair open land
The border centres have a heavy load
from your tired, tireless migrants
Tent cities erected in West End
human capital indivisiblely wasted
Crisis queues at A and E
14 years of Tory waste
The Bird of prey
on England's blight
Give Labour a chance
invest in peoples power
stop unequal development up North
As millions of Congolese stood on the queues to vote,
Thousands of politicians waited to hear the outcome.
Some failures will think to push some people to march,
Telling them more lies as they are always against the truth.
Related Poems