'payers' poems - Hello Poetry

Alexander K Opicho Sep 2014

Moi's Life is Birth Days of Dictatorship

Alexander K Opicho Sep 2014

Moi's Life is Birth Days of Dictatorship

God has enabled you to live long
Up to the rare  age of ninety years
Not as a blessing to you whatsoever
But as a curse of Knowledge,
For you to realize the evils you did
During your reign of terror,
when you were Kenya's  president .

You misruled Kenya for twenty four years
Clinging to power like **** on lion *****,
You plunged the country into abyss of poverty,
You established torture chambers
And gave priority to prisons,
Special branch police and detention  camps,
You planted tribalism with passion
Favouring your Kalenjin tribes,
Inspiring them with the spirit of sadism,
That fuelled assassination and public fear,
Daniel Moi your ninety years are birthdays,
Of nothing else but tyranny and dictatorship.

You walked with government money in your bag,
You used tax payers money to cement corruption
You often behaved as a duffer, but a rigging expert,
You suffocated all government organs,
For you to remain a strong man of power
Your  horsemen were villains of villains,
To make you think that one tribe is special enough,
To enjoy political favour in their maximum stupidity,
You condemned Kenya to linger amid despair and mire
With your useless Nyayo philosophy,
That was self-suspicious and derisive to reason,
Making Universities submissive to KANU,
Your Political part that was a mere terror wing,
Chaired by Ezekiel Barangetuny the illiterate,
Who called Karl Marx as Karo Mariko,
He thought that presidential dialogue is food,
Expensive food sold by Kikuyus in Nairobi Hotel,
Your chief aim was to suffocate education,
Campaigning for villages polytechnics,
While you are  a heavyweight torturer of Dons
You; Moi , your name is a curse and public earache.

Daniel Branch of Warwick bemoans you dearly,
in his oeuvre of Hope and Despair for Kenyan people,
He often cites;You shot Robert Ouko the first Bullet,
In the head before you plugged out his eyes,
You ignored his cry for forgiveness and mercy,
Then you dumped his cadaver in the Ahero forest,
For it to be eaten by hyenas, black ants and scorpions

It is epical knowledge  among Kenyans,
But at most the people of Trans Nzoia and Bungoma
That when Masinde Muliro died in the plane
The King's Horseman was around, in the plane
Wielding ammonium gun in his pocket.

Charles Rubia and Matiba Kenneth were unlucky,
They both went mad while in the torture chamber,
Koigi wa Wamwere aged while in Kamiti  prison,
Raila Odinga lost his daer testicles while detained,
You punctured his left eye, he always mobs dears,
Every minute and second, and i am sure you Moi
You can't regret and feel for him, if he was your son?
Your horsemen thoroughly flogged Wangare Mathai
the Nobel Laureate,she won the Prize for nothing,
Other than her successful staving of  the pains
From the ferocious whips by your Kalenjin police,
You jailed and jailed people in Kamiti and Manyan
As if your were possessed by the devil of imprisoning
Or may  be you were possessed, were you ?

You fuelled the tribal clashes in Molo,
You motivated Sabaoits to **** the Bukusu,
You chased teachers of Kisii,Luhyia and Luo tribes
From your village of Baringo,where people starve
for no other reason that was genuine and patriotic
But out of your urge of ethnic sadism.

you made us to sing lame poems;
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
think about , what were we saying?

You owe apology to the people of Kenya
and all others in the diaspora,
For  the stark misrule and reign of tyranny
You perpetrated on them for two decades,
Your ninety years of life are not a blessing,
But God's timing for you to contrite
To repent and repent  your heinous sins,
I personally wish you not  happy birth day
But humanity wants you  to apologize ,
To those  unhappy families and communities
That you detained and killed their kins.

Advise to Daniel Moi on his 90th birth day

Alem Hailu GKristos Aug 2015

Great Tiding

Alem Hailu GKristos Aug 2015

Great Tiding

Blue Nile echo from shore to shore,
"Poverty in Ethiopia is no more!"

Above all,
From a precipice
To a valley when you majestically fall,
Thunderous over
The damp dell, mountain gorge when you roll,
As usual
With green, yellow and red
Rainbow arched,
Tell Ethiopia loud-
"You children thee very much adore,
A lip service they now abhor!
‘Blue Nile has no lodging,
Yet it loafs a log hauling.' "

Blue Nile, about your deeds to talk
Breathtaking, you served well
The industry without smoke,
But now you have an extra work!
Far
   And
       Wide
Ethiopia will be electrified,
With Blue Nile,
               Gebe,
                    Tekeze... at hand!
Every nook and cranny will get light,
When efforts Ethiopians unite!

The future will be bright,
When a tamed Blue Nile ceases
Unchecked to roar past
Without a respite.

No energy source runs waste
Nor any Plant will suffer a blackout!

Lo and behold Blue Nile will be subdued
For riparian countries' good!

To contribute a brick,
Ethiopians twice you shouldn't think.
Farmers have mounted on a peaceful battle,
To cover the catchment with a green mantle,
To make terrace
On each mountain
Take every pain.
To afforest the depleted f o r e s t!
Thus washing on its sway,
Blue Nile conspires no more
To carry alluvial soil away.

Here of course it is good to recall
The message of Emperor Twedrose.
"Dear guests you are
Amidst people hospitable
Welcome, welcome
Feel at home!
Roam throughout
Abyssinia you might,
On its grandeur your eyes
You can feast.
The vast array of
Mouthwatering dish,
The country parades
You could relish.

In case you wish
For an adventure,
Still Ethiopia
Is a mosaic of culture!

Of course
It will grab your attention,
Ethiopia's being
A cradle of mankind
And ancient civilization.

You will see
To its music titillating,
Comes close nothing!
Moreover fails not
To draw your attention,
The affection
Among people hailing from
Different ethnic groups and religion.
But you can't transport a speck of dust,
Alighted or pasted on your shoe by accident!
So to get an exit,
Shake off your shoe and wash your feet!"

Giving to every dust attention
It is possible to ward off
The problem of siltation.
Besides don't you think
The forests serve a carbon sink?

Blue Nile echo from shore to shore
"Poverty in Ethiopia is no more!"

As though Abyssinia,
Africa's water tower
Is a weakling with no power,
On every news hour,
Portraying Ethiopia
A development backwater,
Also scornfully on a dictionary
Painting its people thirsty and hungry
Have no grounds any!
From a rain fed agriculture
Head on
Making a paradigm shift,
Irrigation when Ethiopia further adopt,
The vicious cycle of drought,
Which poses a threat
To its development,
Will give way to a bumper harvest,
Once more rendering Ethiopia
A cornucopia.

Ethiopians be not cool,
Be not cool
Resources to pool!

Lo and behold Blue Nile will be subdued
For riparian countries' good!

Yet, yet hanging up together
Be high on the alert
Any aggressor to deter!
Many are
Who wear a frowning face,
When development
In Ethiopia picks pace!

Keep open your eyes,
Keep open your eyes
At all time, all space
Where infrastructures
Are put in place.

To the helm of development
Ethiopia will soon catapult,
When its children
In full harness their resources put.
So cognizant of this fact,
Ethiopians allow not
The grass to grow under your feet.
Don't wait
Behind the campaign
To throw your full weight!

For work, roll up your sleeve
Ready for ‘The Renaissance Dam'
Your sweat
B
L
O
O
D
And life to give.
March out for prosperity
In Ethiopia to thrive,
What we need have
Is a bond-cohesive
A

B-O-N-Decisive.
Go all out, go all out,
Us, lucky we have to count
For seizing such a ripe moment.

Blue Nile echo from shore
"Poverty in Ethiopia is no more!"

Come-on let us not beg to differ,
Of course we could concur,
For all of us will agree,
Our pet dream is to see,
Ethiopia industrialized
Completely transformed!

Laying the foundation,
Where on takes off
The future generation,
Is what begs for
Central attention.

Why, Why and Why,
With our hands
Tucked in our pockets,
You and I
Remain standers by?
Also why
Simply watch the clouds
Glide across the sky?
Must we indeed,
Sowing a discord seed
Allow our rivers run wild,
Turning a blind eye to our need.

Wiseacres, though
You may not be on the same page,
Between stakeholders
Don't drive a wedge,
The government proves out
Out to fulfil its pledge.
In life it is not hard
To get sceptics,
Dear leaders talk your walk
Walking your talk!
Prove sceptics wrong
Letting them witness
The actualization
Of the dam agog.

Tax payers, if you have
A tax arrear
See it finds its ways to
The government's coffer.

Taxes being
A development backbone
Must be mysterious to none.

Target also rent seekers
That drive spokes
In to development wheels!

The environment smart Great Ethiopian Renaissance dam that holds promise for regional growth and green resilient economy.Ethiopians are constructing it by themselves with out any aid.

#hydropowerafforestationreafforestationmutu #egyptreparian #contrries

Aaron LaLux Jul 2016

+ Heartburst Anthology +

Aaron LaLux Jul 2016

+ Heartburst Anthology +

Heart Burst Anthology

Writing while my hands hurt,
in intermediate inspirational bursts,
writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first,

until then I’ll author our collective anthology,

and offer no disrespected apologies,
for verse after verse after verse,
until I go from driving in this Benz,
to riding in that hearse,

no apologies,
from me for anything of course,
because I am just a writer,
that writes with no remorse,

why should I apologize when I am not a part of the courts,
I’ve never taken anyones freedom or filed any reports,
I’m not God so it’s not my job,
to decide the direction of another man’s course,

still it hurts,
because they offer no apologies for their crooked policies,
locking young men up behind bars,
for simply being born,
as if life itself is a crime,

all the while,
these boys in blue commit constitutional treason,
they’ve got quotas to fill and time to ****,
so they’re quick to lock a kid up without any real reason!

And the ironic thing is,
it’s all done on the tax payers dollar,
the same citizens that pay the court’s bills,
get locked up and charged fees that are increasingly higher.

Dear Sire,
when did we become serfs on our own turf,
slaves on our own streets,
since when is it a crime to want to feed your family,
trying to make ends meet just to make ends meat?

Everybody’s gotta eat.

so we slave all day and work all night,
something's not right I’m downtown feeling uptight,

suspecting there's a plot and it's sinister,
uneasy feeling queasy thinking everyone’s suspicious of me,
reflecting and feeling like a prisoner,
or at least a suspect of strangers assumptions what’s the remedy,

slavery isn’t dead,
nothing’s been abolished,
the clothes have just changed,
and now the chains are just more polished,

and all this,
makes me write compulsively,
so hopefully when I’m gone,
future generations can read our collective anthology,

written without any filters or apologies,
no disrespective apologies honestly we're making up words,
and adding words to proses similar to concrete and roses,
I told you before that everything is real and that is for sure.

Let me be known,

let it be known,

we are here,
we are struggling and we are human,
we deserve the basic human rights that all peoples deserve,
see it’s difficult to rest my case when the long arm of the law keeps pursuing,

what are we doing,
what does it matter,
what will be will be,
I just hope that we’ll be a factor,

as we're,

adding words to emotions,
that we write with undying devotion,
no need for promotion when you're one with the ocean,
of interwoven showmen golden women and unbound emotions,

the Soul,
has been awoken,
and in return for your token gesture,
I offer you this token poem,

it’s a labor of love,
so I write even when my hands hurt,
and I’ll keep writing till my hands break or my heart bursts,
‘cause I’ve never been a second placer so I’ll take whichever comes first…

– ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ –

Volume 1
The H Trilogy
I just published a new book.
If you could take a moment to check it out,
and even write a review it'd be most appreciated.
All profits go to a charity that prevents child abuse and ****** assault.
So not only are you getting an epic book of poetry,
but you're also supporting a good cause.
THT1 is #2 worldwide right now.
Thank you SO much!
∆
https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328

#dedication #inspiration #motivation #letsgo #blacklivesmatter #alllivesmatter

Christina Rossetti Feb 2010

Brother Bruin

Christina Rossetti

Brother Bruin

A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.

Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.

To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.

What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.

Lysander Gray Nov 2011

The Melancholy of the City

Lysander Gray Nov 2011

The Melancholy of the City

There's something tragic about Brisbane; the city speaks of an older more Romantic time, though the people speak of a newer, modern; more disposable age. It seemingly looks at you with a lost lovers eyes.

Though the city still retains some of its antique glamour; take a stroll down any street in the center and around you will be found the remnants of that age.
Victorian Red-bricks dot the city like proud sentinels, keeping watch over the ever expanding invasion of its contemporary neighbours.
What tales would these monolithic madmen tell is if only we had the ears to listen, who's feet did once trample up the now year-stained wooden stairs, who lived and died and loved and uttered curses and birthed within those walls...and what tales would they have to tell if we only listened?

Ah, gentle reader, you see how your mind wanders at the mention of these thoughts?
The City certainly has its landmarks: the Clock tower of Town Hall, over looking the new modern space of "The Deck" in King George Square, the facade of Grand central station still retaining its grandeur and majesty; now turned into theme bars and a nightclub strip. The old houses littering West End and the strip of red bricks running like a sepia toned river up Elizabeth Street. And of course the dotted remnants of Old City Life being ever encroached upon in the center of the City's smoke filled heart.

The most curious of these is the impression wrought in plaster and cement, white over red, of a window in the city center, with a set of stairs leading up to a place that no longer exists; 50 feet in the air.
Whenever I gaze up at that window, that reminder of the past, I cannot help but wondre who would be staring down at us, on this date in the last century.

"Suffer them not" I wish to say, "for these people are of a different age, with different Gods and values than you."

Suffer them not, ignore their slings, suffer them not.

I love Brisbane.

It's mish-mash of centuries, its people, the tales of its unwritten past, it seems as if the city exudes both a sense of joy and one of unutterable melancholy.

I'm on the train, homebound now to my modern house in the ultra-modern Gold Coast. This is quite depressing. The freedom, the movement, the chance, the ebb and flow of the people soaked tide of the city is leaving fast behind me as this electric trap with seats barrels under facades and tunnels, with enormous neon snakes glittering down from the peaks of modern and ancient towers and we find them reflected in the winding river like innumerable fireflies...dying and twisting and being reborn in the soft moonlight.

South Brisbane Station.
An immortal Victorian construct, still surviving to this day. The same architecture, the same route...different paint though. This Industrial Relic is overlooked by the shining modern whirlpool of THE EYE, a gigantic Ferris wheel giving you the chance to see the city by air, to one side; and a multicoloured, four story glowing monument to the hairdresser franchise god Stefan on the other...which I dub "Stefan's Pintle".

It's garish as hell.

Passing through the night the train goes ever on, powered incessantly by the ticket payers seemingly endless dollar supply.

There's a strange transition from City to Coast, the outerlying towns left in the dust and wake of one and unsure whether they belong to the other. Places such as Kuraby, Banoon, Runcorn, Altandi, Logan and Eden's Landing.

Yet the train ponders on into the night, as it's denizens relinquish themselves to its discretion and desires.
Yes; the train ponders on into the night...

We slowly pass through Woodridge, one of those last bastions of civilisation, neither here nor there. A glittering town trying desperately to be a city. They have a McDonalds. Yay. These places always scare me, and confuse me.
What are they like? Their people? I guess I'll never know, i've never stayed in one long enough to realize.

Welcome to Loganlea, this is a strange place...the funniest thing about it is the fact that it IS a hole. Yet the sign into it shows a shining beach with palm trees and boldly proclaims "WELCOME TO LOGANLEA".
As you draw closer you realize it's pock marked with bullet holes and rust stains.

A train whizzes past, and we find ourselves reflected in its windows, our reality traveling one way; our ghosts another.
Into the long, pale night, coloured by the stars of a thousand distant streetlights. Like a million tiny man made suns; created to fend of the darkness and keep our fears at bay. We truely live in the age of endless day.

The melancholy of the city is far behind now, it's streets, its smells, its people all gone. As we are lost in the brightness of the endless day and the night grows ever long, touching those distant, far between places with its natural, velvet splendour, running its hand down the cheek of time. For there will always be a night, even when we create days, and the city will always be melancholy, and the coast will always be a glittering sequin on the dress of a cheap, soulless *****.

I love Brisbane.

Alexander K Opicho Jan 2014

40 KALENJIN DISTRICT COMMISSIONERS OUT OF 42

Alexander K Opicho Jan 2014

40 KALENJIN DISTRICT COMMISSIONERS OUT OF 42

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

Do you remember one era in Kenya?
During the dark days of dictatorship
When Daniel arap Moi
Was the tyrannical president of Kenya
And darkness of leadership
Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño
When forty district commissioners
Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins?
Whose main work was to spy and terrorize
As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy
Yoke of state terror of tribal torment
When the president claims that
He was not aware of such tyranny,

When we used to sing a lame poem
Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo!
On empty stomachs with no hope of food
No hope of jobs or even education
Street children swelling on the street
In total political nonchalance of arap Moi
As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths
In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was
Overfunded by the poor tax payers money,

Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are
With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience
As you are armed to teeth with modern education
**** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy
Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices
The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya
Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever
Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president
Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya,
Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser
Ignore him and embrace Kenyans
For common future happiness
Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different
He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli
His full badness is measured in absurdity
Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed
Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders
Of Kenya of yore and today,
Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became
A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension
Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap
Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial
Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing
He looks for them on daily circadian
But once he nears their political pigeonhole
Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga!

President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect
You won’t get a pretext to say that
I was not aware or not informed
Please dear darling of the people
The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes
Novate Moi with the people
And your legacy will smile.

Hayley Simpson Sep 2012

They Say (Explicit Version)

Hayley Simpson Sep 2012

They Say (Explicit Version)

They say we are too young to know what true love is.
They say that long distance relationships never work.
They say that being "like us" is a sickness
So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane
          lands and you love me with vaccine kisses.
I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO
Unless you believe in reincarnation.
And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple
          knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4
          months?
Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes.
I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country.
To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I
          pray to every night.
And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks
          of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats.
They say we'll never make it.
They say we are too young.
They say Time + Space = heart break.
I say bring "it" on, specially if "it" means more ***.
I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories
         so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them.
I say Their Mouths + words = shut **** up!
They say a lot of things.
But I say "I love you" more.
They say a lot of things.
But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I honk your
          ***** like a red nosed clown at a birthday party.
They say a lot of things.
But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.

Written (2012)

Author: This was written in Salt Lake City, Utah (while on tour) for all the same *** couples that are not allowed to marry. All the couples that get ***** looks for loving someone.

Arcassin B Jun 2016

Live ,Die , Repeat (collab w/ Chloe Zafonte , Wolf Spirit , SE Reimer , SoulSurvivor , Mr. Zeal , Brando Marcellini , Icy Sky , IrieSide , soulfulcyanide , Dr. Strange , and Wendy Ronshausen)

Arcassin B Jun 2016

Live ,Die , Repeat (collab w/ Chloe Zafonte , Wolf Spirit , SE Reimer , SoulSurvivor , Mr. Zeal , Brando Marcellini , Icy Sky , IrieSide , soulfulcyanide , Dr. Strange , and Wendy Ronshausen)

By Arcassin , Chloe , Wolf, SE , soul , zeal , Brando , icy , irie , soulful , strange , and wendy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AB

Not Even I,
a mere human being with limitations and
Wants and needs to stay away from the business
suits that only want the greed and the finer things
Distributing cigarettes to these young kids is what
Nobody else needs,
To live in this wickedness , you'll see,
Where does the tax payers money go?
Learning all of the secrets that rely on history to
Keep us up and about with drugs that we use on
Our day to day schedules for whatever contingency
planned for,
No sign of a Grail to be explored,

Remembering those who have lost their lives in
The wars that gave us the hope and chance we
Needed to make America great proceeding to give
The freedom of speech a new motive behind it,
That's why I write everyday to keep the demons inside,
Senseless killing in America makes my stomach turn in
Ways that I could not fathom dreaming that I could believe
What lies ahead won't be pretty for us,
I guess that I'm delirious,
Pray for Orlando
When judgment day comes , I hope he cares for us.

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light

WS

i'm appalled with the world the way it is
our politicians carry on with the same old biz
protecting the rich, taking from the poor
usurping the world , like our cheap little *****

our city streets are in disrepair
the infrastructure is in a terrible tear
no education, no social equality
and the bill is payed by you and me.......

we're gonna need a bigger boat
to keep this broken thing afloat
don't preach me your democracy
your lies, you vain hypocrisy

give the people back their right
we're mad and ready for a fight
to take away all of your riches
and shitcan all you sons of *******.

SE R

we need an epiphany
a salvation re-orientation,
for will our judgement be
only what we thought?
or is hell what we perpetuate
on soil, on man, in greed, in hate?
we live as if to win is gain,
while poor lay dying,
shows our shame;
we live as if ‘tis loss to weep,
yet this the joy we each should seek…
in loving well the least of these,
to show in smallest ways,
a lighted path to those who’ve strayed
offer hope to any castaway;
might we in doing bring
heaven to this earthly scene?
for is not earth our heaven’s womb,
a battlefield, a testing place?
is not our call to light the dark,
and take our place among the stars?

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light

SS

Who is there minding the store?
We can't keep up anymore
All the news that we now see
Internet and our TV
Tell tales off horror
Tales of woe
How much farther will it go?
Let's be real! Can we talk?
'Bout a thing called
FUTURE SHOCK
Cause this is true... and it is hairy
What's down the pike
Is downright SCARY!
Politicians deal & flirt
Don't matter if they wear a skirt!
Go to Georgia and you'll see
What is set up for you and me
There's some stones
upon that land
Telling all that they have planned

THEY SMILE AS THEY TELL A LIE
THE ELITE WANT US TO DIE.

While they put on a great show
Underground is where they'll go
Let 'em go and live like trolls
Jesus Christ is in CONTROL.

Please consider this my friends
Everything will have to END.
Forget your prejudice and pride
You don't want to be on
THE WRONG SIDE!
Make a turn. Make a start.
Ask the Savior in your HEART!
Then I'll tell you what's in store

YOU'LL HAVE LIFE FOREVERMORE!

MZ

Something fishy in the air what happen to the black one?
I didn't see the fall until I saw Washington..
Women starting to vote and monkeys are still in the zoo?
In the 1950s they called black people apes but now I'm seeing that it's you..
Sense when did money made you feel like going for president?
"We the People" naa more like the congress are voting for you.
I think it's scam so I turn it to the kardashians,
There I find a better democratic presidential view ...why...cause she looks better lying about Mexicans,

BM

There is no one at the other end of your string and paper cup telephone prayers There is no monumental, unconditional love awaiting you between or beyond the stars There is no concern for you in the imagined patterns of the stars, Nor do they carry a plan or reason for the crashing of waves, torrent funnel winds or the malice of men There is no promised land, no reward, no heaven when you take that final step.

But you do have the power of whispers in your fellow mankind’s ear It IS YOU that carry the ability for immeasurable, inconceivable love It is us who write the plan, who give our lives reason and meaning through it all THIS life, this gift of witness IS your reward, your heaven as you wish.

The tragedies have NEVER stopped. The killing, the senseless violence, the hunger of insatiable wrath………. But nor has birth of life in many forms. In dawn, in spring, in hope. We aware, true to ourselves in dismissing of ego stand strong and confident as the Ying, the light, the counter balance........

IS

Sorrow fills this world to it's rim,
Fathers abusing mothers,
abandoning children,
Mother's cry out in pain,
little ones run in fear....
why is this world in such despair?
Born to love, born to hate, to judge, to accept...
though this concept is hard for some,
we live in this world, just hoping to survive,
Coming to the point where you never know
where love and hate draw the line.

Why do parents fight, and the kids are the ones who suffer?
Why do we make war, to find peace?
Innocent people cut down in their prime,
by those who find happiness in other's misery.
From mothers and fathers whose sons and daughter were
wrongly taken from them,
To those who are punished for being human...
Life as we know it, is going to hell.

Trust, hope, security, love, and respect for humanity
is quickly dying... The future, no longer ours to control.
From bullying to ****, to ****** and suicide, Society is no more.... We pray for things to change... for it's now out of our hands,

IRIE

Movement of time collides
with tear drop melody
darkened angel
to final day symphony:

gun blasts in homeland
enter familiar flesh-
different tongues conceal
common threads that makes us

wounded souls call for God
in bomb dimpled lands-
far from American eyed reach
and inside

amidst spiritual sands

Treading with foot print patterns
around rock’s pure holiness
meditating in temples
laden in gold tributes

seeking truth’s distant comfort

guns blast in homelands
families wonder why-

pain embraces consciousness
dripping hints of salvation
into thick Iron pools
of Christ’s calling

red horse not so distant
seven seals awakening
run back to one
it’s time to find love
...

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light

Soulful

How old is the world?
Old enough to ruin the existance of 1000 suns
Old enough to show you what society is made of
Old enough to had withstood the apocalypse and blood shed of the technology, oil , and war on terrorism...
The world is now ruin
Perhaps I should start fron the beginning
When it was human, animalistic, with plants that existed
To understand this..
We use all the resources and save none for the next generation
We contemplate the singularity of humanism
Only using electricity to say we are wealthy
**** animals so harshly
Murdering outselves to show the superiority of the race of humans
Killing the world in which we live...
Getting deeper in to our stupidity
We solidify a type of money
Paper...
Useless, smelly, germy, filled with hate
The money most people need and yet only few gave
The mentality is simple honestly
Don't give but take
No empathy just fake
Because thats how you make it
The tragedy in "third world country"
The ignorance in those who dont update their ios 7
The forgiveness in African mutiny
And the showing of ******* economy
The people had rights they told you
The people had freedom they told you
The people had justice they told you
Until the the world went to shambles when they actually figured out they had a right to seek and destroy a government....they had the right to seek and destroy a crippled foundation for it was seeking to destroy them,

Strange

They came in guns blazing
With no warning
Just the sound of hell raging in ones ears
So many screams then there was nothing
As the first soul was vanquished from its flesh and bones
Painting a blood mural upon the once white walls
Bodies floated down the crimson river as they cried their final tears
One girl prayed to her gods hoping to deliver one final message to her son
He was two and was soon to be motherless
Another young lad was seventeen
So prideful yet so scared as he curled in a ball screaming for his mommy
"I don't want to die" was their last comment,

WR

Tragedy in life arises at birth Does not cease until Life comes to an end We cannot teach peace With one another Mostly because we do not Agree on religion It seems a bit simple And quite concise All we need to do for peace Is love one another And treat each other right
Tragedy always starts out In a human mind beautifully Equivalent to Eve's Desire for the fruit of Truth upon the tree.

CZ (Chorus)

Every struggle in life we are built to fight
we know that in the end there will be that light.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

©ABPoetry2016

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/06/live-die-repeat-ft-chloe-zafonte-wolf.html

#poetry #wanderlust #theworld #tragedies #collaborations #hellopoetry107 #thegreatest

Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020

crab-bucket intellectualism

Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020

crab-bucket intellectualism

how over pretentious of me...
islamophobia and russophobia...
odd bedfellows...

Mатвей Дракон: profile name...
but it's in russian and no one is willing
to stretch a darkening of humour...
to the extent of monty python...
because there's no canned laughter...

and there will never be...
not since i realised...
those four bottles of cider get me
more drunk than half a liter of
ms. amber... because the drinking
is measured and can reveal itself
in the process - rather than wait,
concentrated... and only expand
into more hours of sleep than
i could ever wish for...

but at least the russians speak of
russophobia as a reality -
the evil genius mantra...
which they are...
but there's no sense of: via irrational
arguments we will counter this
irrational fear...

so... the scuttling spiders announce!
and we will have ourselves
an orchestra!

even i thought this was too much,
too pretentious...
it's not a study... it's teasing...

a study in greek, hebrew, cyrillic and possibly sanskrit... because i'm not a monolingual hyper-inflation that will solve a crossword puzzle... when めば (eye-spot) is already... available? In a name there's a name in oh so many other languages... should i rely on relapsing into "gender-neutral" pronouns i'll cite... the noun-status extensions of letters, akin to a' into alpha... o' into omega... etc.

めば (eye-spot): that much is true...
sudoku...
i have made the following circumstance
plain...
there is no chance of me rising above
this already apparent crab-bucket intellectualism...
perhaps...
burden of rhyme...
it's only a "poem" if it rhymes...
rhyme is somehow identifiable with poo'etics...
ask an anne sexton... or perhaps:
no, don't bother...

she to burdens herself with rhymes -
and maybe she doesn't...
but this endless expectation to rhymes...
yes: plural was indicative of
the irony...
sometimes it's not even available...
to look back at this tool we have been given,
perhaps perfected better -
or not - since most of the time i find
myself: without an inch of belief
in catching some oratory / rhetorical
tsunami to... be the crow that croaks
the most and the loudest in this wake...

at least the russians acknowledge russophobia...
oh they're pay privy diligence to it...
they know they're the evil geniuses of this world...
they allow this irrational fear to sink in...
and then they rationalise it...

too bad for islamophobia...
it's not an irrational fear to begin with...
it's... more or less... a rational fear...
i think russophobia is an irrational fear...
after all: Kiev was founded by Vikings...
and apart from crown russia that's still
pretty much in Europe...
the asiatic branch of russia is too far away
to matter for either st. petersburg
of paris...

it's not convincing to be "reassured" while
the "enemy" persists to look bewildered
as if: no event is ever to happen
in the world - or also include him...
muslims? oh no... oh no at almost every turn
it seems...
sacred cows walk the streets of new delhi
while the people starve...

no dire warning: tiresome from the perspective
of a wormhole -
the count and the next count
the measures and what's to be left
dwindling... which is never a spectacle worth
reserving...
like putting on a vinyl and watching
the vinyl on a gramaphone...
or lighting a candle with a sulphur-sparked
match and sitting and "waiting"
watching while the candle burns...
and feeds a schtick of "anorexia"
absorbs all the shadows and stands at
midnight noon: with no wax to burn...

that feeling of having just ****** off
and then... prostate cancer pains
of having to make it absolutely necessary
to take a ****... to clean the ducts...
i still don't know why this "event"
is so precious for the quasi-cenobites...
it's no big deal...
just another genocide done into
the tissue later flushed...
perhaps if i were... shooting eggs
without the yoke it would somehow
matter...
perhaps i am...

but there's no zeitgeist to be had
concerning something that i make synonym
with wiping my *** asking
for nutella... and a skippy crunchy...
because: that's going to be the decade
defining EVENT!

funny... you ******* for no real reason...
nothing procreative...
gym-bro bollocking and that's not even
as much fun as going to a turkish barber
for a shave...
by then: everything concerning your
being - that is not going to be a moral
tool to raise children...
limbo in ego or the ego in limbo -
and that's never self or i...
but after an *******...
the most desperate need to take a ****...
to flush and make the ducts pristine... wiped
with ***** disinfectant...

about as odd as the bass guitar rising above
the drums - the oddity bass "rhyme"
and please... no guitar solos...
no metallica death to the bass
all that i hear is solo and rhythm guitar
and the drums...
they never got over the death of cliff burton...
or: how the rock band killed
the jazz band... focused on the rhythm guitar
and drums... but no trumpets just the vocals...
but still... no better use for bass?

it's always either: all that's music and...
it was always going to be not enough ***...
enough *** or just ***...
i went down the route of playing the brothel
roulette to catch up with the girls...
who i expect will later play bingo...
and we will probably try to age...
and be all romance...
and the man idiotic will still preserve
himself as unable to lie...
and she will... m'eh ah and all that litany
of sighs find the purse and the penguin
dancing the foxtrot from out
of the antarctica of his own ***...

russophobia: yes, an irrational fear -
even the evil geniuses of moscow acknowledge
this burden...
islamophobia... and... what?
milk and honey and yeast
and comatose black gold of ms. saudi of
the dinosaur arabia plucked...
a leaf... a laurel... from the pages of history
of: who's the good dog willing
to aport on call of command?!
into iraq and iran?

i can't hear a counter...
when it comes to it being anything rationalised
equal to the russian monologue...
claustrophobia and... it's irrational to me...
esp. when long winding...
when the cube talked to a field about...
abstract thinking -
at least claustrophobia is a metaphor
for abstract thinking - the lesser -

islamophobia is a ***** word...
esp. the -phobia suffix...
it's a perfectly rational fear...
given the mouse-and-leans have the gears
the fuel and the poker and backgammon "rules"...
as someone who might appreciate
a well sung adhan more than
an operatic aria...
well...
what's not to love?

at least for some it's known:
a drowning man will attempt to grip
a razor's edge without hope that it might be
an edge of a floating raft...
and they will always purse their mouth...
and waggle their tongue for
the pennies like sand shrapnel from
the payers for the goods...
an emirat sheikh and... the bore of the world...
if only the lottery of oil...
somehow... landed... in mongolia...

this world is a tiresome place...
given that arabs have the money...
and the chinese have: g.i. joe factories...
it's such a drab place...
such a clone furnace of the numbers
of mandarins...
and oh that niqab cinema...
even if you sell me something swedish
in black & white drab...
or some proto-turkic propaganda movie
to convert the "al-qaq" kurds (qa-eee-d'ah?)

welcome to europe... ghetto west of berlin...
back east there are needles...
walking about on the mountains
of camel humps...
notably in west warsaw coach station...
but the ukranians are always rather:
rowing the boat and the boat is always
heading into the furnace...

crab-bucket intellectualism...
these words are words that should be printed
and left on the northern line tube carriages...
like some free journalism paper wipe-my-***-with-i-wish,
why of course!
the highest i.q. renovations bottom-up to the top
always spreschen rhapsodies in wrap...
wrapping akin to:
i imagine the rappers chasing those...
john moschitta jr. is not a wrapper... rapper...
he's the add guy... and no rap on radio
adverts... when the T&S clauses are stressed...
and the muzak is dead and the lift is... falling...
like a ice-pick on the one dancing foot
of a burning burning with epitome given
the name... malchik trotting trotsky...

otherwise: blah - and endeavours into the bland...
some call it a guillotine...
i call it manglonia in england -
tiresome safe -
i almost pray to feel dangerous having
to acquire a straitjacket -
straitjacket bungee jump into conversation
like a rabid hive of the persona non grata:
of the commentary left-overs a priori
to the: walking onto the stage -
and talking with a gag in the mouth...
to speak a language for moths.

Amaru Jan 2010

"Callin'". A Prayor to God.

Amaru Jan 2010

"Callin'". A Prayor to God.

(This poem was written during the first year of the war.)

Lay me down to sleep
Before they push the button.

This ***** ain't tryin to wait for his own self destruction!

People really want peace
but you gotta have war,
because it pays the invoices
made by the White House imposed choices.

We need to be United
but politics and hypocrites
always remind us
that history repeats itself.

As it turns out
itself repeats history.
Repeats history
Repeats HIS - STORY!

It ain't a mystery!
You know what goes on in Capital hill!

What country pays its government more then the people who's supposed to be runnin it?
We do! America!

**** politics!

We down right greedy!
We got plenty to feed the needy!

But we'd rather spend tax payers money
to bomb a country
that at peace
I would like to be.

****-it, if I'm wrong!
Bush, please send my Mom and Dad home.

Realize that judgment day is comin'
and the truth untellers on the hill
are the first ones hit
when God's wrath comes down rumblin.

I got somethin' on my mind
so I speak to you.

God help us
when it comes time to be with you.

You can only tell a lie for so long
before the truth sees the light.

That's when karma
puts it on ya'
and explains your persona
so that people see through your tainted ora.

Life is like a Pandora -
boxed with centuries of pandemonium and disorder.

Blessed are those who are weak
God, to you I speak.

THIS IS AMERICA CALLIN'!!

Thank you for reading!

Amaru
www.twitter.com/therealamaru

b for short Apr 2016

buckets for kicking

b for short Apr 2016

buckets for kicking

I never was the type to appreciate the sanctity of a funeral parlor. Their somber stink of lilies always turned my stomach. No— I need to be among the trees. Plan to take me to a wide open space in the middle of nowhere. We’ll make it a somewhere as soon as we arrive. No newspaper announcement with starched wording and unpolished details. The invitation should be in the form of a mix CD, and the details of time and place will be hidden clues derived from the song titles. Invite everyone I’ve ever made laugh and thank them for me, for returning the favor. If they question you on that, have them count it in the papery crinkles about my eyes. The truth will be waiting there. Set a smile on my face—one that proves how much joy prevailed. Dress me how you’ll remember me—comfortably, colorfully, and untamed. No make-up or hairspray. I want to exit this world just as pleasantly disheveled as a I entered it.

When the day comes to say goodbye, lift me up on a giant patchwork pillow made from the hundreds of novelty t-shirts I wore threadbare in my twenties. Stuff the space between the seams with the pages of my countless journals I always felt the need to hide, even though I lived alone for most of my life. You’ll have more than enough stuffing, I promise. Feel free to keep whatever is left over for a good laugh when you need it. Sew the seams with bright gold thread and cover it with all of the coat buttons I managed to lose over the years. I’ll lead my gracious hoard of respect-payers as we travel to nowhere. Have the children ride on elephants that have been painted the reds, oranges, and purples to match the sunset. Paint their little faces to match if they’d like. There must be dancing bears and majestic tigers in tow too. A parade fit for a lover of life, complete with a marching band that plays nothing but horn-heavy soul to keep the journey a happening one.

Prop me up against a willow tree when you’ve reached the spot. Lay out blankets for everyone to sit on, and hold the service well into the deep blues and purples of the evening. As the sun sets, and the lightning bugs take flight, man the masses with sparklers that will stay lit for hours. Have everyone spell out their favorite memories of me and stand in awe of the ardent glow in every direction. Allow the children to feed the elephants all the peanuts they can handle. Enjoy the tigers’ purr and the bears’ tight hugs. Pretend they’re my very own that I didn’t get a chance to give. Set up an old jukebox nearby so that couples and friends can slow dance to Sam Cooke 45s as the sun disappears into the watery horizon. Pour the finest beers and wines for everyone willing, and tap into that West Virginia moonshine that I’ve always been too afraid to try. Clink your glasses and laugh from the belly as you drink to all of our missed friends and equally missed opportunities. Drink another for me and another for good luck.

As the alcohol curbs the night’s chill, set me atop my pillow at the water’s edge. Line my body with candles, warmly lit and housed in all of the tiny temples of colored glass you could manage to find at the local thrift stores. Before you give me a push, take a minute to appreciate how all of their dancing shades create an unspoken magic against the dark sky. As I drift off into the sea, send a paper lantern up and away—one for every time you’ve seen me smile and two for every time you watched me cry. I know I was more alive in those tears than I could ever be in the curves of my grins. The time will be right, at some point—and when it is, have the limber young bodies climb the tallest trees and shoot hundreds of roman candles in my direction. I want to light up the night sky and go out with a bang more awe-inspiring than the Fourth of July. When I’m less than a bright speck on the horizon, find your way back to where we started. One less than before.

When it’s all over, you’ll find me in the comfort of the warm light in every birthday candle and in the corners of your smile when you find happiness in a moment that you couldn’t buy. In every nowhere you find that turns into somewhere, I’ll be there, missing you too.

© Bitsy Sanders, April 2016

Curtis Smith, a local PA writer had previously written a piece entitled, "My Totally Awesome Funeral." It definitely inspired this piece.

#soul #funeral #elephants #sparklers #samcooke

Hayley Simpson Sep 2012

They Say (Clean Version)

Hayley Simpson Sep 2012

They Say (Clean Version)

They say we are too young to know what true love is.
They say that long distance relationships never work.
They say that being "like us" is a sickness
So, I guess I'll never tell them how my ribs hurt every time my heart beats too hard when my plane
          lands and you love me with vaccine kisses.
I'll take my medicine without insurance because, you only live once YOLO
Unless you believe in reincarnation.
And I have to, because how could we be so perfect, know each others faces like a married couple
          knows the crows feet stories they grown into for 60 year, and I have only looked at you for 4
          months?
Lover, you asked me to come to church with you, I said yes.
I needed to thank him, or her, or whoever for answering my payers in a difference country.
To thank whoever for taking two candle burned pages and making them a book, a bible that I
          pray to every night.
And I may not believe in God but I believe in you and your past, which is chiseled into the banks
          of my bloodstream. The burred edges being eroded away by time and heartbeats.
They say we'll never make it.
They say we are too young.
They say Time + Space = heart break.
I say bring "it" on.
I say I have been old enough to see slow wars silenced by fast hands, see starts die, see memories
         so old that only the boxes in my basement remember them.
I say Their Mouths + words = shut up!
They say a lot of things.
But I say "I love you" more.
They say a lot of things.
But kisses are silent, and or are the breathless laughs and eye rolls you share every time I ruin a
          romantic moment with "that's what she said" jokes.
They say a lot of things.
But I talk way more and my tongue has more use in the subject matter that is you.

Written (2012)

Author: This was written in Salt Lake City, Utah (while on tour) for all the same *** couples that are not allowed to marry. All the couples that get ***** looks for loving someone.

— The End —