Shortsighted Poems

THE CHOICE WE MADE

We stood at a crossroads
With a choice that could define us
To rise and prosper together
Or to pursue wealth in isolation.

We were handed guns
But also tools— hoes and ploughs
Intelligence, skills, and sustenance
Rum, gum, and nicotine.

Yet, we abandoned the plough for idle lands
Traded intelligence for transient pleasures
Found profit in selling our strongest
And embraced the folly of shortsighted gains.

Now, our fertile soils weep for the plough
Our mines cry out for careful hands, not machines
Our brilliant minds hunger for true nourishment
Yet all we grasp is the meager bread of the day.

RICH AFRICA, POOR AFRICANS

Midst of a Mist

blurred in midst of a mist
deep, dark woods
in diaphanous, thick, heavy air
enshrouding shrubs and trees
in translucent pearlescent smog.
spooky outlined murky shapes
look surreal, like white ghosts.

I am afraid to take uncertain steps
in unseen fear of stumbling.
Shortsighted vision does not foresee 
a golden sunshine in the arcane paths
burgeoning a new silver dawn ahead
with welcome notes of  birdsongs.

I choose to stay lost forever...
in midst of my comfortable mist zone.

Time-Related Hardship

Speaking quite frankly, I must say,
The burden of time grows heavier each day.
Reason stares cruelly, but I can only view blankly.
Growing angrier, shortsighted, and cranky.

In the past three hundred and sixty-five days,
Each moment seems to bestow the weight that stays.
Tasks pile up, deadlines loom,
Tick-tock of the clock as impending doom.

Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months,
And before I realize it, another year confronts.
I cannot escape it, no matter how I try.
The burden of time only multiplies.

My youth is long gone, never to return.
Anile age creeps in, and I start to yearn.
For the days when time seemed to fly by,
When life was simple, I didn't need to try.

But now, with each passing moment, I feel the strain.
The weight of my responsibilities drives me insane.

Shoeless Shermans Shortsighted Tale

Shameless shady shepherd Sherlock shushed shoeless Sherman
so surely shabby sharp-eyes Sheila shellacked sheep-headed Sherlock
Shaken shallow Sharon shadowed shapely shipwrecked Sheila
Shadow-man shilly-shallied, shifting shopworn Sharon’s sheep
Showy Sharon sharpened a shortened sheath, shaving Sherlock
Sherlock shuttled shell shocked Sherman, showing his Shenanigans
Shoddy Sheila shocked Shelly, shaking sheep into Shangri-La.

Stars In the Dark

Pain
Expunge
Green darner
Waltzing in mist
at midnight cobalt.
You're crazy by night sky. 
the stars upon which you stare.  
despite those shortsighted white specks,
Spruce-colored asteroids might have formed.  
same as the whacked chords of a bird's wrecked wings,
harmony of the growth, qualm the heartbeat. 
Sonic whispers and moonstruck cosmos 
Which once enthused a warm dreamland 
pectoral phantasmal crave 
drawing on sapphire rocks,
heart hellish drumbeats. 
Red silken shows.
Seas mourning
waft grief 
air

Written: December 12, 2022

Our Greatest Hour

The midnight seashore breeze come’s calling…. 
With it’s subtile perplexities intertwined with lure 

Remindful of days and moments once frittered 
Climbing and straining our way to grand future 

Which we were certain would somehow be better 
Than that very moment we then held in our grasp 

Now shown in recollection upon more solemn reflection 
To have been far sweeter than the success we now clasp.  

So now in this moment upon same scented breeze 
Float longing’s of our past and treasured memories 

Twinged with regrets of our shortsighted desire
To surrender our days in our rush and aspire 

To stand here today with possessions and power 
Having trampled the moment of our greatest hour

Taller Than Twice

Taller than twice 
I chose who I want to be 
I will never stop my train
I know my destination
Is far from the many 
No wonder am winning
I must be hyping 
I must be who they dream of 
Cos behind my back 
Alot words that stabs my soul
Has been vomitted
By those I love and trusted
The world is deep 
And that is why 
I chose who I want to be 


Taller than twice 
I am born to write 
Cos the world needs 
To read a true map 
Of a living soul 
Whose intention and source 
Could be seen from love 
Am living so I can tell 
You the meaning of suffering 
I can prove to you the act of pain 
So again and again 
I refuse to be short 
And shortsighted by men
Of no equation 
They glitter but they are not gold 
They think they shine 
But they cost nothing 
They need to fly 
But got no wings to jump
It impossible to avoid their noise 
But it possible to show them 
Where they belong 
And let them alone to 
See there level 
Am at the edge of the tallest 
Doubt me if you can

My Blue Dress Is Not a Fashion Statement

With inspiration born from noted malcontent
I composed, dismayed at the reason to vent
In defense of poets, I am inclined to defend
I'll wear a blue dress to commend, not offend

I've been waiting for an auspicious occasion
Putting it on took not a smidge of persuasion
for there is a cause requiring a special dress
a situation with which you may acquiesce

It's been hanging in my closet for over a year
Perhaps a titch too tight and much too sheer
Not the kind of thing I often wear, I confess
Not a fashion statement; my symbolic dress

Garbed in blue silk, my sentiments are divided 
for innocence and impishness have dually collided
I'm championing those who were rudely slighted
and call "foul" to the action of being shortsighted

After discovering the facts, I cried, "Oh, my gosh!
What poppycock is this disrespectful pish posh?"
No poet should be subjected to such degrading
It's never kind to disparage in a public upbraiding

I had no plan to wear a garment of blue, and yet
I've zipped it without a smattering of regret
to give a thumbs up to poets who were spurned
by an insulting rebuke that none of them earned

Knight In Shining Armor

You wanted
a knight in shining armor
that I could never be
but you were too shortsighted
to realize that I knew the path
to your liberation

and you turned a blind eye
when I tried
to point out the road home
ignored my every whisper
as the clues 
went blindly unexamined

Global Warming

Hot air…
We’ve got far too much of it
Rising from the un-drained swamps of Washington, DC.
Shortsighted thinkers must face long-term problems.
Masses of turbulent air from the right and the left collide
With much thunder and lightning
But without a noticeable result.

Let’s “make America great again”.
Not by buying up Greenland 
(There’s not enough ice left there to cool the rhetoric!),
And not by burying our heads in aging coal mines
(They’re not deep enough to stifle the coughing sounds from above).

Rather – greatness derives from leadership
Looking forward boldly, not backward with nostalgia.
For when the winds of change start to blow loud and strong
It is better to raise a sail
And steer bravely towards the sunlit shore
Than to hide in a storm cellar.

Hillary Elementary

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did I hear
Your emails were given without any care
The powers that be have relented this truth
To empower your foes with the absence of couth

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did you say
More "glittering generalities" one could absorb in a day
Just listening and knowing that the general facts
Have no fidelity or sincerity when down to brass tacks

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary your words should take heed
Perverting their meaning by twisting their deed
To make claims of human kindness with your heart fully filled
With the ice of deceit and a soul that is nil

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you seem larger than life
But the facts of the matter are way more than rife
Your little mind, soul and heart is piteous at best
To think you can fool all of us is one naive, shortsighted and ill-advised test!

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you're like a chick out of its nest
Your posture cannot cure, nor your clothes deceive the best
Of the denizens of state that require you to be strong
When deep down inside you indistinctly don't belong.

Three States of Aggregation

If water is life, death is ice, indeed.

The frost does not call for a long walk, 
but it turns plain water into diamonds, though.

Only a month ago, 
the lake had a staring contest with the sky 
and apparently, the lake blinked.
You didn’t have the slightest chance, the lake: 
the eternal sky always outstares 
both you and me.

How nice to hear diamonds crunch underfoot! 
I feel the frost is nipping my fingertips, 
but the sun is already warming.
Soon our blue eyes, 
yours, beautiful and elongated, 
and mine, shortsighted and small, 
will stare up again.

And then, 
when the time of this world will come to an end, 
we turn into steam and get back to the sky... 
There's something comforting about this thought, 
isn’t there, 
my dear lake?


15.04.2019
Intensity Poetry Contest
Julia Ward

Mother Earth

Why are we - the great creation causing so much devastation,
The intimidated nature of an implicated nation, 
See we’re evolving as a planet but together didn’t plan it so rather than unite it’s like we feel compelled to fight.
Our fixes are shortsighted for a world that’s been so blighted,
Is anyone concerned that we never seem to learn.
We call this a democracy which really means hypocrisy of a convoluted prophecy which is actually bureaucracy, 
The masses keep on moving always scared of what their losing ,
Thinking that they’re choosing when In fact they’re just abusing.
Have we triggered our demise, can you hear the planet cry,
No point looking to the sky your better covering your eyes.
Should we not try to transition from our terminal condition,
What’s the point of this admission if we’ve lost sight of ambition.

Playing the Long Game

Shortsighted ambition
is the wide path of many
Greedily get how much you can,
anyway you can
Snatch it from the poor,
the widow and the orphan
Ungodly ... beastly 
Porcupine fingernails
pick the shark teeth
Light the short fuse on your anger ...
when you don’t get what you want,
when you want it quick
Curse the clouds when it rain,
curse the dry ground when the famine came
It never occurred to you
to spiritually play the long game ...
Eternity is what I’m talking about
You spat out righteousness,
whenever that holy word foamed in your mouth
Playing the long game,
some don’t have the patience required to win
Coming up short on the losing end,
it’s always God they choose to blame

Barking Dogs

Beyond the din of vexatious dogs that bark,
The winds of change blow ominously.
Foreboding signs that upon us make their mark
Bring unease and much anxiety.
There is nothing we can do in this dire state
But pray someone stops our dark, impending fate.

In history's pages are precious lessons
From which shortsighted leaders may learn,
Choose when to keep our peace and when to make war,
For lives lost,  we can never return.

Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~09.27.17

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