Whistleblower Poems - Poems about Whistleblower

When exposing a crime, is treated as committing a crime, one thing is self evident in general. You are being ruled by criminals....

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I’d rather be a whistleblower Fighting for the right Then just another thistle grower Plucking out of sight A whistleblower blows to be The keeper of our crimes A thistle-mower painfully Is catching hell at times The whistleblower wants to break The folk who fake on us The thistle-grower wants to make The poke redeem the pus Oh cautiously but selflessly The whistleblower blows Oh warily but carefully The thistle-grower...

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Always stating the obvious, While others remain oblivious....

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My barn is now full to the gills With the sweet sounds of musical trills. We’re making tin whistles And writing epistles, But it’s likely not paying the bills....

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When I'm gone and I'm back If it's true Do not put me in the land Of our hollow heroes. Reinvent me; Pass me through a lab no matter how crude To become an inventor Take me through the the furnace of war Refine me into a real general. Let me go through the sprawling fields Where birds twirp to fill An abundance of the earth, Make...

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Whistleblower Blues ?? Here in Bolehland, some one blew a whistle on some perceived wrong doings... And this land of peverted justice, the very act of such whistle blowing... Is a magnet for police attention and intense investigations... Incredibly not for exposing the wrong and criminal acts... But for the greater offence of breaching the Official Secret Act... Even to the...

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A pugilist and a whistle-blower I never thought much of boxing but I liked Muhammad Ali`s forthrightness steadfast stood against the storm of hatred and vilification when he didn`t want to join the Vietnam war even though he was banned from pursuing his craft for three years, the best years of his age. It took a long...

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dwellings of myriad ragtag! over the fluid moors I salute you not hoping to see you again till treasure of divine tings and syllables greets the new dawn of calming noise in shadowy slumber we remain vaporizing as trees fall down endlessly and expressly averting a salvation down the spiral of empty skulls anarchist moods and petty pains man is a silly thing made of...

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Of that there is no matter of doubt When the truth pursuits justice He, the man claims as defender In his never -ending agony An art which thou cannot see Thy sentences unknown to thee. To cease what is wrong, is prejudice, is lie The truth be never swallowed, be never shadowed In partial blindness...

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