From nation to nation
All around the world
The Ruling Class
Though many times outnumbered
By the rest
Sit bathing in the sun
In their Ivory Towers:
Born to Richness
Whilst millions of Poor
Just starve to death.

Hordes and hordes of people,
Without clean water
Or food
Or a stable roof over their heads.
No medicine, or Education, or Anything
That Costs.

Governments give “Aid” to other governments
To “feed the poor”,
But we all know what happens…

What we need is a “Government of The World”,
Or some Benevolent Despot to Rule us all.
Anything must be better
Than the impotent UN
Or these shambolic “nations” –
Puppets of Globalisation.

Revolution threatens –
It often does –
Until the rulers appease us
With token concessions
And brainwash us
Though The Media,
So called “Education”
And Religious Dogma.

When will we learn?
Where is Democracy and Love?
But, bound by Political Correctness,
Woe betide if we Complain.
The Cold War continues,
So all we can do
Is soldier on
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
But it won’t reveal my inner mystery
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.

My Latina nature sometimes precedes my personality
People try to tell me who I am and they whisper, “I bet she…”
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me

He says, “I know about you Latin girls…” but the only one who can enlighten me about me, is me.
To them I’m nothing more than another Jenny from the Block, but I’m not here to entertain you, let me educate you
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.

My curls exude confidence, beauty, and *** appeal; they keep secrets, create dreams, and remind me how bright I expect my future to be
My hair does define me. But not as you define it, as I do. I am everything I believe my hair means
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me

Latinas are fierce, they are fire, and they are dangerous. Maybe we’re that way because you won’t let us be.
Can I just be me? Why do I have to be the person you want me to be?
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.

I’m tired of society’s shackles, so I ignore what society expects me to be
I love my curls, I love them when they’re frizzy, unkempt, and unruly. My curls are me.
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
~Karina

Millenials.
The world ******* hates us.
We whine for a living
We feed ourselves with Xanax and Prozac
To remind the world that we are broken
Problem? I don't think so

We accuse the world of being awful
We accuse life, a life we have not lived yet
Of being too cruel when we are the ones
Who cut ourselves open for a heart we long to love

We look for the kiss that will heal our self inflicted injuries
Well, dear millenial, "there is no tyrant like a brain"
We will keep cutting ourselves
Keep drinking ourselves to sleep
Keep poisoning our mind with this "Golden Age Thinking"
Until we understand that
We are stuck here.

And life does not need to be good to us
Life owes us nothing.
Poetry and Paintings won't save the world.
Do it yourself

She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

Lips make the sweetest promises
That could hook me like a lure

Lips make the dearest promises
That I am loved and cared for

Lips make the kindest promises
That I won’t be lonely anymore

Lips make the greatest promises
But…
I’ve heard them all before

The fast tempo of hummingbirds in flower buds
Loud repetition of woodpecker thuds

Buzzing hum from hardworking bees
While robins sing in synchronized keys
All accompanied by the swishing of leaves in the trees

There is no better symphony
Than that of nature working in harmony

Shadows flee
Under Sun’s brilliant light
To be exiled
Back to the confines of night
Darkness‘s prisoners are
Released its hold
To bask in the freedom
Of sunny Gold

.

Take this, this poem
with torn, tattered edges
Stuff it in pockets
of jeans faded blue
Tell all the people
who teeter on ledges
Nothing is worse
if you have not a clue

Shatter this pen
flowing ink made of fire
Charring the castles
where dragon wings fly
Fanning the flames
that a sad heart has started
When every stanza
now ends in goodbye

Fracture the vase
that once sat in the window
Emerald green
with a chardonnay shine
Toss me the shards
till you see I am bleeding
Now have some cheesecake,
a nice glass of wine

Bury these dreams
so they fade in the morning
Hidden from sunlight
and coated in dew
Roll out the leaves
in the cover of autumn
Springtime for me
is now long overdue