The lure of lucrative jobs
In foreign lands
Excites desperate souls
As they see a better future
Than in their homeland
Recruitment agencies
Operate from shady joints
Promising dream jobs
With perquisites to match
For these gullible customers
Human traffickers
Pose as messiahs
Enticing innocent candidates
From rural areas
With tempting proposals
Once on board,
They exploit the poor souls
By confiscating
Their travel documents
And short-selling their skills
They are not petty criminals
It is a well-oiled machinery
That perpetrates
And perpetuates
Such atrocities on migrant labour
Many agencies chip in
To run this recruitment mafia,
Negligent government agencies
And casual outlook of courts
Add to their woes
The hapless victims
Pay a heavy price
And get sucked into the vortex
Of a vicious circle
They did not bargain for
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
BIO
He was, at least in his youth
A growing lad, and far to go
Pushing a boundary or two
And trying everything new
Fine with putting on a show
Yet keen to pursue the truth
A band, marriage and twins
Study, and multiple careers
From research through I.T
Recruitment across the sea
Consultancy over the years
A few losses and some wins
Now at an older physical age
Albeit still with active mind
Recalling those ivory towers
Writing consumes the hours
With regret, to be left behind
It’s overdue to turn the page
Johnny was a teenage boy,
Young and bright, so excited.
Playing in the grass and mud,
Shining smiles, so delighted.
As he went to school that day,
Something broke, the world descended.
Countries tore each others land,
like wars in playgrounds, just pretending.
The year was 1939,
Europe fell, into chaos.
Johnny turned 15 that year,
Eyes so bright, dreams contagious.
He turned up to recruitment branch,
Passion high, determination.
Training started that same week,
Shining eyes, dedication.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
Golden canes of ember light,
Shooting stars, through the night.
Fire from artillery,
Golden orbs, dazzling light.
A thousand footprints filled the mud,
Gaping holes, filled the soldiers.
Johnny’s dream was fading out,
Piercing eyes, hands get colder.
Dreams of playing in the grass,
Safe and warm, daddy’s shoulder,
Now he sits, he kneels and prays,
Covering, by a boulder.
Johnny wanted to be a tin soldier,
Johnnys gun was in his holster,
As he lied, on the grass,
Army of children.
On a mild Spring’s night
In the heartlands of Ulster
A prodigious child was born
For Ireland, to save her
A man of modest means
Yet formidable wit
The mystics he joined
A cause to commit
In poems and paintings
He found self expression
Yet through a noble pursuit
Would leave his impression
He traversed the country
On a campaign of recruitment
To free the impoverished through struggle
And the Co-operative movement
With Horace Plunkett and Connolly
He struggled for justice
Yet the Gombeens and the despots
Outweighed Caesar Augustus
Though Russell did not stop
In this quest for social reform
From misery to prosperity
One sought to transform
But the inconsiderate dogma
Of the Irish Free State
Meant to delay his mission
As the ‘Homestead’ must wait
George William Russell grew older
Crippled by usury
To wretched cancer, succumbed
Rest in peace, ‘AE’
One Summer night, just around dawn
A Motley Crew came to town
But there was something that filled with dread
They were all very dead.
The folk scattered to all sides
Escaping dead of all kinds
Skeletons and Zombies too
Some jokingly howling "Booo".
And so madness has begun
"Scaring people is so fun!"
"We will get you very soon!"
Roared the monsters to the tune
Of screams and chaos all around
This small and usually tranquil town.
With each bite their numbers grew
That's recruitment for this Crew
People hid, where they could
Be it house or shack of wood
Makeshift weapons were made in haste
No deadly object thrown to waste
Every owner of a gun
Got a chance of crazy fun
Those that were too scared to fight
Begged the others with all might
"Someone call an exorcist!"
"No, an army! I insist!"
But the army wasn't worried
The town just had to be buried
So they sent their pilot ace
Who flew over and bombed the place.
Beyond the imposing and the high iron gate
The picturesque setting of the Oxford University
Situates the hedonistic oriented Bullingdon Club
Founded more than 200 years ago.
The socially exclusive students get the invitation
To join the Club as its elite members
Many of whom have attained prominence
And position of power in Britain’s political arena.
The ill-famed Club is known for
Its wealthy members and their notorious behavior
Partaking in the boisterous rituals such as
Vandalizing restaurants and students’ rooms.
The Club’s colors are sky blue and shining ivory
Seen on the tailcoats the members wear
For the annual dinner where the drunken revelers
Greet each other chanting “buller, buller, buller”.
The Club has survived the roller-coaster ride
Lurching between frequent recruitment crises
And nearly facing the shut down
But the buller has a way of bouncing back.
The distinctiveness of its haughty members
Reflected in their one-upmanship attitude
Took them to eminence along the tough tracks
The outside world is skeptic about their dubious traits.
____________
April 7, 2023
Contest : Bullingdon Boys
Spoinsored by : Joe Maverick
Your country needs you lads, let Lord Kitchener tell you more
Come forward, join the ranks and we’ll send you off to war
You’re fighting for salvation; you’ve got Jesus on your side
Remember that in battle; let the shepherd be your guide
Join up with your pals lads and march in time with pride
You’re Ulster Presbyterians, so, the lord with you abide
We’ll muster at the Shipyard so that everyone can see
Then continue to the Farmyards and the local Factory
You’re young, or even younger, than the army will allow
You look a little older since you smoke tobacco now
We’ll put you in a uniform and show you how to drill
We’ll teach you to be brave and then train you how to kill
Say goodbye to your family and prepare to sail away
You’ll fall in on the Western front and join the great affray
Although you may be seventeen, we’ve made you into men
Yet most of you will never see your mothers face again
His army-recruitment-day,
Had become his predicament
As his loving wife was pregnant…
A dilemma shadowed upon his way
Yet, within him dawned a silver-ray
Hence, ahead, for his nation, he went.
Later he said to his only son
Whose wife too was expectant
To make the right judgment…
For, a life lived for one’s nation
Is the greatest ever under the Sun
As it brim-fills one’s contentment.
These two army-men are but none
Other than my father and me, his son.
I’m opening a factory,
Recruitment starts today,
I’ll describe you the Person Spec.
Send me your resumee.
You have to have experience,
Of doing magic tricks,
And no exaggeration,
How you use your magic sticks,
For ours is a wand factory,
With each a special touch,
They’ll all work very well,
But don’t rely on them too much.
The manufacture’s easy bit,
The black with a white trim,
But putting magic into them’s
Not just done on a whim.
You have to have some power,
You can use and then pass on,
Cos we don’t offer refunds,
From the factory once they’re gone.
Each power is acceptable,
Working here, you’ll get fond,
You’ll make some lives get better,
As you make each magic wand.
And if they are misused at all,
Then each one we’ll retrieve,
And we will only employ those,
Who in them do believe!
Complete your application form,
Try hard to impress me,
You can use David Blaine or Merlin,
As your referee!
There is one stipulation,
That the wands can’t be used for,
They can’t be used for COVID,
Because Trump would claim the cure!
WORD FOR TODAY: FIT
Previously unrecognized recruitment errors are now taking a HIT
They huffed and puffed but lacked the passion and required GRIT
Firms now realize that while talent is good; the cap must also FIT
Recruits that don’t fit the team might eventually drag it into a PIT
Patience is required to nurture new hires; initiate them bit by BIT
The bad ones will be sieved away but the good ones wear the KIT
© Wole Popoola 2017
Army Life
There’s no way out, if a sabot hits,
Your blown to smithereens; small burning
Bits: you think it’s fine, an end to life,
What about your kids, your wife?
They don’t tell you this at recruitment drives,
In the army only the enemy dies, but that’s not
True, here’s a tag; some return in a body bag
There’s boredom too, so be advised, you’ll spend the
Days, counting flies; and why d’you think they tell
Such lies? Best not say, they have their spies!
But it’s not all doom and gloom, a good start here,
sweeps life’s broom; laughs and spills and boozy
fun, temper life with a gun.
But eyes when joining must be open, not just for
Glamour, glory’s token; just remember why your’e
Here, bloody battle’s, no place for fear.
creation, inspiration, philosophy, spoken word,
INVENTIVENESS ©
Philosophical prophecies do go down---
But lose ground recruitment when congested….
And curtail some ‘guilds’ to inventiveness!
Guidelines ‘stagnate’, if borne not for quest beyond---
Who in the ‘know-how’ understates these new interpretations?
What, why, where, when ‘next is it to be said again and again?
And just ‘who’ is to invent the here and now, and the next?
Alluring juridical ‘redoes’ of various pantomimed brands---
Begets and do offer, for limited ‘life’ sake a' shelf' date...
Inspirational ‘rides’ on diversified musical ‘merry-go-rounds’!
Am I not gangsta enough?
I can tote a gun
And pass the smokey barrel to friends
Am I not ride or die?
But walking suits me just fine
Flags and community aren't my thing
I'd rather slit your throat metaphorically
To watch you leak shame
Recruitment is for pussies
But my incentatives on souls is the worlds
Oldest yet newest proffession
Just discovered...who might be
A killer with warm blood
Children At Risk
children are at risk when they can
physically hold a gun
forced recruitment of guerrilla groups
is not unknown
and occurs mainly in the third world
some return home
with help of pulleys
and improvised shear legs
with difficulty are able to move
the fallen portion of their bodies
mutilated by mines
in the lost cities of African
South America
they were capable physically to hold a gun
now if opportunity
they can take a pencil and a paper
and go to school
to learn how to read and write
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