"avaricious" poems
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
It is the 30th day of the months in Kenya
State and corporate capitalist have now paid their workers
Wages or salaries or stipends or emoluments all being remunerations
While the rural bourgeoisie and urban bourgeoisie have also paid ex-gratia
To relatives come over-aged workers who have declined retiring
For the fear of looming starvation if at all they go home, where they were born,
Nonetheless; proceed they receive will do nothing whatsoever
As it will be stifled by the monster of desperate consumerism;
So fat and gullible in this tiger of land in the region called Kenya;
The terror peddling rent, courtesy of ruthlessness of the landlord
Bills of electric power in their full monopolistic gear
Bills of water devoid of quality, indifferent dysentery monger
Wages for maid who keep on usurping the food of my child; milk
Bills for gas, all of it redolent of comprador bourgeoisie in fashion,
Hotel and bar bill - a surreptious one, as the bar girl only knows
Airtime and renewal, TV channels and other screen capitalistic ploys
Family trip to local resort in a feat of foolish consumerist venture,
Money to the old mother at home and, sometimes depraved but patient father
ARV’s money to my *** aids stricken sister at the village, my aunt also
Tuition fees for my son at the kindergarten, who goes to schools but learns nothing
fees balance which my wife has to pay at the tailor to ransom out her dress,
M-Pesa and M-Swari loan repayment, this only for Kenyan 30th dayers
They know the agony of dealing with Kenyan mega-capitalist safaricom ltd.
This consumerism and **** consumerism,
It is the menacing bane of the Kenyan poor
It is the avaricious tube which siphons back
The hard earned money from pockets of the poor
Back to despotic account of the pitiless world pigshotry.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
A demon masquerading
as the almighty dollar;
she is cunning,
and she is tricky.
She is beguiling,
and she is illusory.
Deceitful and avaricious,
yet believers follow
aimlessly. To have her
in your possession is
nothing like how it
feels to be stripped of her.
Those who succumb to
her seduction are granted
luxury and leisure;
the pledge to idolize
her mindlessly is
engraved into our brains.
Indigence, starvation;
the deprivation of the
green goddess is malicious.
Free yourselves from the hold
she has on you; from the
worldly power she possesses.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
I met you in the time between embers and aries
when the sky darkens early and the leaves decide to depart from branches
when the cold grey dreary fuels me emphatically
and the cold crispness reminds me I am so delightfully alive
In those fiery red orange embers to the grey bleak aries
was I thus enflamed and envigorated by you
When I met you in that time between embers and aries
and we traded soft whispers and heated glances,
salacious banter and satisfied stares
in that time between embers and aries
where I hungered for all of you
exuding avaricious energy
to slake myself with your scent
and delight in the way my fingers dance through your hair
and revel in the way I trace my desire across your skin
my embers and aries are stained with you
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 5:14 AM UTC
On a crazy high, I share whole of myself with you, gladly
your melting heart I took over fully, do you feel it as a loss?
when love makes us so insane, we go berserk like wild fire,
avaricious kids, now we are, usurping each other in parts,
where will it all lead, my love, baffling it is, but elating all the same
would we be just the same ,or less; perhaps more than what before?
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
I sleep in pitch black rooms and wait
for candles to light themselves
Thoughts the same shade of dark.
Counting sheep as they hop into slaughter houses of gluttonous, avaricious men who trade their humanity for pocket change.
While satans minions work with circumspectivness to reap what their slave-like bourgeois have sewn living with a motto of
Yesterday is history tomorrow is a mystery
In the Meantime fribble prodigal sons of the privileged ponder their inheritance
While the daughter of a currier burns her fathers letters because something's are best left unknown
and the candles remain unlit.
But beauteous animals still roam free in the wild,
little kids still smile.
There's hope in the heart of each child.
Sitting in seclusion and coming to Ambiguous conclusions is always productive
So When did the key to success become failure?
when wasn't it?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.
Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.
Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.
Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.
Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
LIke Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.
The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgement
continues to see . . .
Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pullies
like the stone jaw of a back-hoe.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a ****** daughter.
And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault
. He should have known!
In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.
Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspriation.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.
I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .
Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he ***** her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.
2.6k
Black Girl
Black is beautiful shouldn't be anything new to you I know TV's confusing you but you need to just think it through, lightskin dark skin every shade of sister in between you're all beautiful women playing for the same team. Your hair is perfect ***** natural and curly blonde hair and blue eyes don't make you anymore girly. Enough with TV's fraud me and my squad out here looking for our very own Felicia Rashad. Shout out to Disney for making a black princess who didn't rep our women at all. I'm just looking for Nefertiti an African Queen a woman who's skin is like coffee love like caffeine who's mind is sharp and focused on that green but does it all for the family her day one team dog that's my dream, a women who cooks like like my grand mama and hustles harder than than Mrs. Obama. Black butterfly your skies the limit lift your spirit against the malicious avaricious ignorance. The world is spiteful and stupid you're all beautiful that's can't be disputed, be proud of your eyes and hair be proud every morning you wake up and take a breath of fresh air be proud for every test you ace be proud of that beautiful skin stretched over that beautiful face.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Metaphorical stringency
Idiotic transgression
Coat this democratic autocracy
Flailing capitalism slowly drowns
Splashing freedom in the face;
Obeying party goers
Stand as if a wall,
Indeed they are
A rich, extravagant barricade
Of outcasts
As pariahs under cloak
Stab the new age constitution;
Egocentric totalitarianism will sway
At the sight of a metaphysical blade
And the ghastly crown
Will topple to the bottom
The country has shed her lizard skin
Regurgitating for her new flock
Feeding a new set
Of avaricious minds
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Crème brulee, a careless mind,
singeing, burning albeit caramelized
like a politician never normalized,
crawfish should never be apologetic
there's an avaricious food chain
in there somewhere,
gun shot without hardly knowing
right from wrong
conceal that powder trail
dig down to Bayou.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Rancorous, lethargic, avaricious, psychotic,
Enthusiastic, mystified, serene
Does a planet?
A galaxy?
A multiverse incorporates
Secrecy, security, nine or more parallel universes
Eyes are awake
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
It's hard to change any cult
More so the jealous from the occult
Faculty of the melting mold of mind
Zealous of inflicting conflicts of all kind
To the just and graceful among mankind.
Brazenly different from vogue dears
conspires to inspire its rogue peers
To smear even slur on godly seers.
Constantly configures to figure out,
Anything, by any means to spy out
The faintest attribute of the virtuous
Contributes to trigger the rash jealous
To fling out and pierce the gall
to gush out to spread and stall
The arteries, nerves to blood-en
the face and the cheeks to redden
Nose and the chin to harden
Ear lobs to burn and burden.
The jealous is well known
Yet the cause is unknown
Why does it vent its ire
Dent and impair the fair
Engage in freelance
To abuse in parlance
In parliaments of vanity fair
The evil avail many a company
Of gluttons, covetous avaricious
sloth, sensuous pride and many
Engage merely to rage in ferocious
Fire, the fuel of the evil in the savage dark ages
obsessed in rampage and carnage
All celebrations become aberrations
Of the essence of celestial presence
The din dares to dampen the spiritual
Asphyx the specifics in fad rituals
It is difficult to change the cult
of the stinky melting mold
of the evil minds that find
new felony ways to inflict conflicts
To the just and graceful lives
of the peace loving among mankind.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
If he lacked polish and was avaricious without any limit,
he could have taken her by force and justified that she provoked,
knowing from each move she made,
she was teasing him, and taking it to the extreme,
he may have gone over to the top, any moment.
They stayed in two rooms adjacent
in that backwater resort, a breath taking delight,
in the mornings she paraded
in front of his room, skimpily dressed,
as he came out, her beauty seemed to overflow
from bra top and she encouraged him in many ways
by suggesting many possibilities of pleasure.
A waiter comes and knocks at his door
he gets a complimentary drink, his favorite
courtesy to her(obviously she has made meticulous research)
along with shrimps and clams cooked in olive oil.
When he came out for an evening stroll,
at the far end of the compound, in the shallow part of the lake,
she was taking bath, with an exhibitionist flourish
when he smiled at her visibly timid, she amorously pursed her lips,
she was in an adventurous mood, like nature at the time of bloom.
"Seen your paintings, loved those sensual nudes
reminds me more of myself, in front of a mirror,
obviously they are all seekers of pleasure, I am sure.
I am a singer, they say my voice seduces, all
you to me do the same when I see you as the painter,
in flesh and blood" she paused for a breath.
"If I lacked polish, my paintings wouldn't have the magic,
you speak about; it's not deliberately created, that's impossible.
It's pure poetry, that oozes by itself, a blessing I earned.
There is no wanton desire here. Magic of the sensual
is charged in the atmosphere.I feel it all the time,
be it morning, evening or night,
the possibilities of pleasure is limitless.
Express the best way one deems fit, be liberated."
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:36 AM UTC
Meaningless and insignificant,
Superbly impermanent,
The avaricious
Materialism of men..
"Progression" you say?
It's a squandering premise.
Break through the stimulus
To produce a new genesis.
Break apart and break away,
To produce a new genesis.
Break apart and break away,
But be not the nemesis.
Originally written 7/21/11
Revised 10/20/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Washed up on the sandy beach
amidst the summer rain,
The mighty king of the Pacific
lay in persecuting pain.
The creature wailed with ***** prowess,
but his health was soon to wane,
And by the morning that came after,
sovereign was reduced to stain.
Vultures from the distance
ripped apart his tender flesh
With spit to sear his wounded majesty
and claws to tear and thresh.
The wicked gang of savage butchers
in a loathsome, boorish mesh
Would make a swollen, seething carcass
of our one-time Venkatesh.
Three days after passing,
fallen Caesar, set to rise,
Was then revoked his Heaven’s passage,
and left wallowed in demise:
A body plagued by every virus;
swarmed by avaricious flies,
Stranded, rotting, in the Earth realm,
‘stead of claiming his due prize.
Hurricanes, October,
brought the wrath of Davy Jones
To wreak an evil-minded havoc
and to thrive on victim moans,
And dash the Herculean skeleton
upon the crags and stones
To rain on thousands with the splinters
of his elephantine bones.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Human.
That is what we all are.
But sometimes,
we can be more.
We are heroes.
Courageous,
benevolent,
and sprightly.
We are monsters.
Cruel,
******
and avaricious.
We are mice.
Meek,
timid,
and reserved.
We are flamingos.
Peculiar,
distinctive,
and eccentric.
Sometimes,
I believe we forget
that inside,
we are all alike.
We may not have the same hair,
eyes,
or personality.
But our skeletons are similar,
and our hearts are the same.
No matter what,
at the end of the day,
we are all
Human.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
If you walk in a road
If you want someone to help
Asking him for address
He may answer you with bless
The most are looking with soreness
They thought that you are bad Dishonest
They saw you are the worst
Or they might be avaricious.
One worry to say welcome
As he counts with small thing
He may tie his hands
Not to be entered in his sinus
He may be poor and had nothing .
But he must had hoping
And big smile as it was said
Smile at me and I want nothing.
He might be a thief and planned badly
He wanted to steal you even your money was needy
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and asked
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory tasked
Through the thick deaths of half a century;
And thus he answered—”Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of sextonship,
And I had not the digging of this grave.”
And is this all? I thought,—and do we rip
The veil of Immortality? and crave
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight?
So soon, and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton’s thought,
Were it not that all life must end in one,
Of which we are but dreamers;—as he caught
As ’twere the twilight of a former Sun,
Thus spoke he,—”I believe the man of whom
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Was a most famous writer in his day,
And therefore travellers step from out their way
To pay him honour,—and myself whate’er
Your honour pleases,”—then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket’s avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as ’twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently:—Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I—for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a softened eye,
On that Old Sexton’s natural homily,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame,—
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
1.2k
I buried her beside the clematis
Before the old untidy oak. The sullen wind
Began its circuitous hiss
A mocking presence. A cruel portend.
With fevered brow I pressed
The dark soil down, my quaking hands
My anguish succinctly expressed-
Stubborn fingers torn into blood-red strands.
Putting the ***** away, I went back indoors;
Her corpse still fixed in my sight, I made tea,
Sweat seeping from my pores,
As I drank, my hands again shook visibly.
A storm broke over the nearby hills
Roaring rolling sounds of shame,
Walls of rain thudding on my window sills-
The resonating thunder repeating her name:
‘Lucilla! Lucilla!’
Came each profound clap
Her voice within: ‘You killed me. Murderer!’
Long after the lightning’s crisp rap.
I had loved her with my infinite core,
Her screams scoured my teeming brain,
It pained me as I smashed her beautiful head on the floor,
Her rapid blood fading down a drain.
I died inside as she died my hands upon her neck,
Panting, protesting her undying love,
I gave her cheek a tender peck
Crying that the disinterested gods above
Knew I loved her too.
But, when a woman cheats,
What could an honest man do
In the face of numerous public deceits,
More so when his avaricious friends
Sample her like old women squeezing
Oranges in the market place? She trends,
Or did, for only one, distasteful, reason.
I did what I had to do. I had no alternative!
As was my due, I punished her with death,
And now subsumed in grief,
I strangle in my own dark breath
Now, each night I watch the clematis climb
Study its coiling struggling vines
Fixed in that cold, cold time
And the shallow grave on which the cold moon shines.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Secrets of Wysteria flow in the vessels of my brain
And so I do not hear, nor comprehend the calling of my thought’s train
Vowing to never be held again in constrain
Eradicating the rotten fingers pointing to my disdain
Muses of bruises, callouses, and roses
Excuses the clueless, hung in ruin’s nooses
Flagitious tongue sharpens itself with sprawling centipedes
Rusted teeth from perilous mandibles bleed as it feeds
On the oozing, ****** veins of the wicked ****** as it pleads
Maybe these are too much for one’s avaricious needs?
Mindful, careful, piercing the syringe of refrain on plump flesh
Yeuking as the substance flows on blood so raw and fresh
Amid all, the past and future gather in Sheol’s pavilion
But missing is the presence of present in emblazing vermillion
Yet fleetly missed as the siren descanted her composition
Somber statues of ivory pretense witness with volition
Saints and snakes tear each other’s throats in a languish cotillion.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 8:15 AM UTC
When abruptly, suddenly, and unexpectedly the day
Became the darkest night, countrymen and friends
We didn't know if we should run while saying hello
Farewell or goodbye. The earth was shaking until infinity
Incessantly like afternoon trains coming from countless
Directions. The hour was vital. We were searching for the gleam
Of a hope in order to escape from the supernatural snarl
Where thousands of lives have been lost. Material goods
Are not important, we see ourselves leaving as we
Came. We must recognize that money is futile and peace
Is the most precious thing that we need. The past
This is where stealthy, fleeting and volatile happiness resides
It's like the end of a world. Oh! Every being is useful.
The fault or the rift opened its big mouth to engulf babies
Adults, dogs, cats, houses, buildings and entire roads
That was the apocalypse, which was the end for thousands of citizens
That disappeared like smoke in the bewitched clouds
The trains were invisible but people had risen their hands
In the air, climbing vehicles without doors and tires. Heavy feet
Weighed ten times more than an elephant. We were going to
Unknown destinations. The dumbfounded and deafening cries were
Ubiquitous. Mother Earth was shaking. She shook like she was
About to sink into the sea where the ebb and flow landed
At the skirt of the curtain, where smoke and cloudiness met
Happy are those who have been saved and who live in peace
The earthquake is an infernal avatar that brings sorrow and regret
Haiti, our country has lost lovely people, dear little children
Due to the selfishness of avaricious rulers who are drowning in hypocrisy
We keep saying aloud: poor Haiti, impoverished country. Yet we don't stop crying
While wondering when the tears will cease dropping, melting away and exuding.
Copyright © January 10, 2021, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 10:49 PM UTC
The bad world
If you walk in a road
If you want someone to help
Asking him for address
He may answer you with bless
The most looking with soreness
He thought that you are bad Dishonest
He saw you are the worst
Or he might be avaricious.
He was worry to say welcome
As he counted with small thing
He might tie his hands
Not to be enter in his sinus
He may be poor and had nothing .
But he must had the hoping
And big smile as it was said
Smile at me and I want nothing.
He might be a thief and plan badly
He wanted to steal you even your money is needed
the toughts of the worst increased .
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
This hour of the night feeds me pain; I grieve for her, in vein
a river, when she did flow nearer, I floated on, one could hope
only for an ablution, she washed away sedimented pain,
then, in a hurry broke away making waters muddied,
making things unclear, she becomes a rush towards other destinations.
A flower of arresting beauty, a scent never forgotten,
one would be horrified by the thought of plucking her to keep for oneself.
but as one stands watching, she withers, loses color, falls after a while
as a fruit, she entices, eaten by passing avaricious birds
she is reduced to seeds strewn near and far and peeled off skin.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
In my first and final year
Of higher education
At a party of familiarity
I did not aspire to find my limits
And yet
I exceeded them
And lay in a whirlwind,
At the night's close,
Which ****** the air from my lungs
As I forgot how to breathe
Avaricious sirens bore down and
Led me to water
Hooked into my veins
So I couldn't refuse to drink
And a doctor told me
That there were always better options
Than drinking myself away
Naturally,
I grinned and laughed
As if the very idea were preposterous
And yet, couldn't look him in the eyes
"Trust me,"
I assured the man
"That isn't the plan"
No,
The truth is I never had a plan
No grand scheme
To end my suffering
I just slowly taught myself
Not to to take care
To cut myself off
From my lifelines
So that when I did finally find my limit
I wouldn't have far to jump
...but, truthfully
I never wanted to jump
I wanted some calamitous wind
In the form of a stranger
To come along and push
Yet, against all odds
For reasons I cannot discern
I've found
Those who wander into my life
Don't push, but pull
Pull me down from that precipice
Sometimes on accident, or
With intent
Of saving a life
But no matter how grateful I am
To be held and reassured
I always find myself back
Overlooking the sea of my past mistakes
Ready to drown myself
In the towering waves of regret
I wish I could find life worth living
On my own
For myself
But, I find myself living for them
Those who hang on to me
Keeping me balanced
Keeping me
From finding my limits
And for now that's enough
That's enough
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC