"betide" poems
Blondes illuminate
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.
Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded ***
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.
Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.
Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.
Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.
Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.
Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.
Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.
Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.
You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.
Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.
A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.
For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.
Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.
In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.
One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.
Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.
Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.
So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.
Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.
- by Bob B
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.
We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.
Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.
3.9k
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite
Ballad of Hamilton beginning—
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!
From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my “winsome Marrow,”
“Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow.”
“Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, ’tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow’s banks let her herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward with the Tweed
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
“There’s Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There’s pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?
“What’s Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder.”
—Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;
My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!
“Oh! green,” said I, “are Yarrow’s holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O’er hilly path, and open Strath,
We’ll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.
“Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow,
The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There’s such a place as Yarrow.
“Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it:
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We’ll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we’er there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow!
“If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,—
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
’Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!”
3.6k
I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek
Who can no longer dream;
But now am all behindhand, waxen weak,
And dazed amid so many things that gleam
Yet are not what they seem.
I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work
Kept wide awake by care
And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk;
I work and reap not, while my life goes bare
And void in wintry air.
I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear
Viewed on the sunny side;
I hope, and disregard the world that's here,
The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide;
I hope, and I abide.
3.1k
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.
And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
3.1k
Going Off To War (a/k/a Washing The Dishes)
When its time to wash the dishes,
I make proper preparations for this serious business,
I strip down to my skivvies (shorts, in a prior generation)
Cause there will plenty blood and gore afore too long
Soap and water flying about, the ceilings and the walls,
Not to mention big, big puddles on the floor.
Multi-colored sponges of sizes varied,
Some Brillo-sided, like extra armor on a tank,
By Dawn's early light, turn the clear water
Into a heaving, breathing soapy concoction.
Woebegone and woe betide, dried and sticky maple syrup,
You are no match for super-strength orange dishwashing solution,
Of the Greeks did praise, a single dollop packs a mighty wallop!
Ain't afraid of any stain, decomposing, half chewed, culinary rejection.
Don't even bother with rubber gloves, cause that's for sissies.
The dirtier the better, cause I love the sounds of
All out war, the rushing water, the futile screams of
Grease departing this world, down the rabbit hole,
My gleaming, victorious sinking of the enemy shipping
You think I am the first to celebrate in verse
This storied fight of right over dirt?
Recall please this famed couplet, for now be known its true inspiration!
"Oh, say can you see by the Dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?"
Though Men Like to Load the Dishwasher (You Didn't Know?)
Is another poem of a similar ilk, when technology is unavailable,
It is fact verifiable and unassailable,
That if you give a man some room and some privacy,
Ignore the shouts and war cries from the kitchen emanating,
Male aggression can best be expiated,
When playing war games in the kitchen, a live action movie,
A video game that never grows tiresome,
And violence is necessary, for the enemy's complete annihilation.
Thank you my dear, no medal need be awarded,
Scored this poem as my just reward.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The sheep beside me graze;
And yon the gallows used to clank
Fast by the four cross ways.
A careless shepherd once would keep
The flocks by moonlight there,
And high amongst the glimmering sheep
The dead man stood on air.
They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:
The whistles blow forlorn,
And trains all night groan on the rail
To men that die at morn.
There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night,
Or wakes, as may betide,
A better lad, if things went right,
Than most that sleep outside.
And naked to the hangman's noose
The morning clocks will ring
A neck God made for other use
Than strangling in a string.
And sharp the link of life will snap,
And dead on air will stand
Heels that held up as straight a chap
As treads upon the land.
So here I'll watch the night and wait
To see the morning shine,
When he will hear the stroke of eight
And not the stroke of nine;
And wish my friend as sound a sleep
As lads' I did not know,
That shepherded the moonlit sheep
A hundred years ago.
2.6k
Shuffling sidewards
Off he walks
Heavy black trenchcoat
Eyes on stalks
Custom trousers
Eight legs wide
Henry the Half-Crab
Woe betide
Awkward scrabbling
Can't hold keys
Narrow little doorway
Tangled knees
Toilet adjustments
Bean bag chairs
Henry the Half-Crab
No one cares
Can't be an astronaut
Never play guitar
Can't use a keyboard
Won't go far
Hiding from the fishermen
Far from shore
Henry the Half-Crab
Somewhat raw
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Come, Autumn, on September wings
Come, the quixotic aura this season brings
Welcome, the golden harvest, and its plentiful reap
Welcome, turning of the foliage, falling to paint
golden streets
Transpire, crisp air, with your sway in timber tops
Befall us, pumpkin skies, where the sun drops
Betide to me, the lull and composure from you,
calmest breeze
Make yourself known, won't you please?
Recieve gladly, the crackling of fire beneath a silver
moon
Embrace the little things, for they will go away
soon
Welcome, fall, the enigmatic emotion as the season
starts
Welcome fall, with open hands and blithe hearts
Come, Autumn, with the romantic feelings you stir
Come Autumn, I hope to be lost in the ambience
that is her
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.
We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.
Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.
Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.
Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.
We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.
“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****
It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.
Paul Butters
© PB 1\1\2019.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:03 AM UTC
Once upon a dainty hill
sat old castle of a young king
not busied by ***** thrills
but in the realm, fair Muse did sing
sorry as such
to trouble you sire
but farmer, lady and great squire
are, unto you, to enquire
how it is the sun makes such fire
to this the young king
furrowed his brow
and scratched his chin
and pondered how
eight days did pass
and woe betide
the pressing question
found no bride
the elders of the castle old
let fairy tales of disorder unfold
a great dragon they say
lit the sun
after finding itself lost
and on the run
from a shadow giant
of world unseen
but the tales of course
were all but dreams.
A little voice
filled the air
with light and weightless
soulful flair
a blacksmith's girl
of simple dress
excuse me sir
i must confess
this minor stir
has caused me stress
the young king bade her speak
and with that, the child weak
stood atop a wonky box
with certain eyes and wavy locks
dear people
i now must say
that it is on this cold and fateful day
my mind has led to such dismay
as I have learned to trust none of you.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Once when we were kids
Mum had fun throwing a dinner party.
I could tell because
there were stains on the tablecloth
but no one was crying,
and the food upgraded from sausage rolls to Sushi and Olives.
I want one-
-You can't, Mum said they're for adults-
I want a Olives-
said the back of my 4 year old sister as she went to try the
New Thing.
The Olive was carefully chosen and examined with 4 years of culinary expertise,
swirled around a gummy mouth and
promptly returned to its post.
It was yuck -
she informed me and her breathless twin from the safety of the veranda
after weaving her way through the adult legs strewn around the Good Lounge without even so much as a
'woe betide you child if you're in here again.'
So we sat and thought about parties and Good Lounges and woe betides
drinking juice,
and watched our Uncle fill his plate with sushi and olives,
singing tonelessly to ABBA
before spilling his beer on the floor .
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 9:09 PM UTC
To Gods acre caught in the storm
Of the angels immolation harried
Like welcome strangers to the feast of
The good shepherd, the world
The flesh, the devil take the hindemost
Vigilantly stalking Earthly tears
Encrusted jewels upon Hells vestment,
The harbinger of death wearing a garland
Of skulls fashioned off of Heavens tomb
Splendiferously graven upon lonelinesses
Stoop spirited as shooting stars the
Pitched candles of sovereignties saintly hands
Resting between lives enlightening the broken
Lamp of truth purging the liasing humours of
Illuminous damnation unfrocking priests
Under colour of nothingness epitomising
Faiths elixer yonder the gate of unfoldenment
Breaking butterflies on the wheel
Of rightousness unabating delving the vale
Deciduously to show the cloven hoof woe betide
The levity of Man Friday billowing in the
Teeth of the wind.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
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
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
A carnivorous beast lies pitted deep inside.
It devours its prey, gorging till it subsides.
Living in the heart of man, this beast doth reside.
It stalks upon carnal thoughts yet to betide.
A reincarnate knight seeks a kingdom of glory.
To vanquish the beast: his reoccurring story.
Oft' has the beast left the field torn and gory.
Yet, the knight strives for resplendent victory.
Fanfare pierces the soul; the champion sheathes his sword.
Returning to his dais, the knight returns as lord.
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 3:14 PM UTC
With slink-and-slide, they wink and glide,
But offer not a growl or purr.
The shift and sift of stripes alight,
As sinewy grace takes to the night,
And all the forest dares not stir.
All that's left to do is hide.
It's a matter of pride that carries the stride;
There's more to the fury than just the fur.
It's not just of claw or of jaw that leaves us in awe,
It's the grace and the pace that they carry their paw.
That, while there's power enough to be but a blur,
It's with a stoic grace that these creatures betide.
You can call me a dreamer--that I pine for their life--
But I'm not the only one who seeks freedom from strife.
And while they're out there, burning bright,
There's no shame shared in the forests of the night.
So call me crazy for wanting to be free,
But I'll say with pride, "A tiger's life for me!"
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
You know nothing – she said,
Stepping out of the flames.
At that moment I knew
We ain't playing no games.
With desire I burned.
Her immaculate blaze –
Nothing else did I yearn.
Pure as pharos her gaze.
… And we danced, and we swerved,
Glints and flickers beside.
So august our verve
Which no woe would betide.
…In a flash she took off –
The mirage molt away,
But my sorrow paid off –
I live on for the day.
11-3-2017
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC
While putting on her shoes she remembers
Father calling her from a far room to
Prepare for church, to wear her best, and to
Shine her shoes. She slips her foot into the
Shoes, placing a finger behind the heel
To lever in, the foot sinking down with
A tidy feel. I want to see my face
In the shoes, Father would call back then, and
She remembers spitting phlegm onto the
Black leather of her shoes and brushing with
The old yellow duster Mother used to
Polish the furniture. She pushes her
Other foot into the shoe, ********* it
In with ease, sensing the heel fit in snug.
She gazes at her black shoes, unpolished,
Unkempt. How Father would turn in his grave
To see them as such, she thinks, drawing a
Tongue licked finger along the toe of both
Shoes. I want to see my face in your shoes,
Father would bellow, his loud heavy tread
Entering the room twenty years before,
His hawk eyes scanning her dress, her hair, her
Shoes. And woe betide you, my girl, if they’re
Not shiny, Father said, towering tall
Over her, peering down overhead. She
Sits up staring at the door of her old
Room. No more shoe inspections; no more smacks
And smarts. Father’s silent now, Father’s dead.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC
Life is a mixture of sunshine and rain,
Laughter and pleasure, tear-drops and pain;
All days can’t be bright, but it’s certainly true,
There was never a cloud the sun didn’t shine
through.
So just keep on smiling whatever betide you,
Secure in the knowledge God is always beside
you.
And you’ll find when you smile your day will be
brighter
and all your burdens will seem so much lighter.
For each time you smile you will find it is true
SOMEBODY, SOMEWHERE will smile back at
YOU!
And nothing on earth Can make life more worth-
while
than the sunshine and warmth of a BEAUTIFUL
SMILE
በፈገግታ ውስጥ የፀሃይ ብርሃን አለ
ሕይወት ናት ድብልቅ፣
የመሰቀቅ፣ የመሆን ፍልቅልቅ፣
ደሞም ዝንቅ፣
የውሽንፍር የፀሐይ ጮራ፣
የእንባ አዝመራና የመከራ!
ብሩሕ ቀን ዘወትር እንጠብቅ፣
ግን የለም
ፀሐይ፣ ደመና ሰንጥቃ
ያላለችበት ብቅ!
ሕይወት ብትወጠር ብትታጨቅ፣
በሁኔታዎች ያሸረቡ ልብ እንዲወድቅ፣
ገጽታችን ይብራ በፈገግታ ይድመቅ፣
ሸክፈን የእምነት ስንቅ፣
እግዚአብሔር ብዙ ከኛ እንደማይርቅ!
ስትስቁ ቀኑ ብሩሕ እንደሚሆን ታያላችሁ፣
ደሞም እንደሚቀል ጭነታችሁ!
ለፈገግታ ስትሰጡ ቦታ፣
ታዳብራላችሁ ለእይታ፣
የሆነ ሰው ከሆነ ቦታ፣
እንደሚከፍል ውለታ፣ የፈገግታ!
እንደማራኪ ፈገግታ የሚጥም፣
የሕይወት ቅመም፣
በመሬት ላይ ምንም!
(በሔለን ስቲነር ራይስ)
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
It's a travesty to tolerate
The ugly mores of men,
When everyone's allowance
Condones release for them.
Where everywhere provision
Is made for man to shove,
And woe betide the meek
Who don the feathers of a dove
The world applauds the forceful,
Rewards are rich for he
Who tramples over daisies
And holds aloft the key.
Who forces his attentions
And speculates the win,
Despite the devastation wrought
In winning it for him.
It's a travesty to tolerate
This bovine charge of man
When all can be achieved
With an accommodating plan,
When compromise and levity
See consideration's way
Where success can be attained
With out bloodletting on the day.
I hear the snort of your derision,
Feel the snigger in your smile,
See the curl of lip descending
With your slit eyes of defile.
For this portraiture is global
The fighting man is King
And he who deviates
Is left bereft and vanquishing.
Sadness is the matador
Who casts his scarlet cloth,
To be shredded and impaled
By a maddened bullock's wrath.
To be tossed aside, asunder
Like a lifeless ragged doll,
Like mankind's brute tomorrow
When the final drums do roll.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
29 November 2009
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 7:17 PM UTC
Thou Messiah preaching Change, art thou true to thy words?
Fighting bribery and corruption yet with cheap sentiments,
Judgeth thou not thy biased - honest actions to be corrupt?
Thou that prophesied an economy of sweet change,
How is it that thou considereth not the masses interest?
Inventor of Change, thy prophesied words art without works;
Even thy supporters yearn in regret for voting thee in.
Is this the change that thou for long prophesied?
I yawn tears for the future of Nigeria and her unborn child.
Thou art trusted to be the man after the peoples heart
And loved by all cause of thy prophesies of change,
But how be it that thou art different from thine own self?
Savior of the people, why art thou adamant to the peoples cry?
Thy poisonous deeds have caused much great pain and suffering,
Why not invest thy ears on the sweat of the poor and helpless?
Did ye deceive the ants and termites that voted thee in to save them?
Remember thou thy words and promises made before being elected.
Thou surrounds thyself with chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions,
Woe betide thee for thy conscience have refused to judge thee.
Art thou not guilty of prophesying false prophesies of change?
Thou that killeth the rosy wealth of the nation's pride,
Why doth thou not consider the sufferings of the poor ants?
I mourn for the bitter death of the nation's sweet economy.
Savior of the people, why art thou so heartless a Messiah?
Howbeit in thy regime, hunger and suffering is the income of ants?
The marketplace has become an ocean of expensive - cheap items,
Cost of petrol waxing hot and higher amidst the harsh economy;
Savior was thy coming to destroy or redeem the helpless ants?
Thou promised hope to educated ants and graduated termites,
Yet not an iota of thy prophesied promises or words art come to pass;
Chancellor of Change, judge it if thou art true to thine own self.
Thou that prophesied promises, howbeit thy words art not fulfilled?
Mind thee the poor ants and termites voted thee in to save them,
Messiah did ye deceive the ants with thy deceptive - genuine lies?
Savior thy heresies has become a poisonous venom to the poor,
Wilt thou not resign seeing thou be not true to thine own words?
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Confusion allusion
Factual illusion
What’s done undone
Confide beside
Unknown betide
Not lost but won
Decision derision
Conclusion delusion
Condition revision
What fun!
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC