"exporting" poems
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
Exporting distortion
Because I’m not broken
Days running in
They’re carved
Imprinted
I starve.
Tainted relief
I feel free.
Each veil
Remaining beneath
Exporting Distortion
Because I’m not broken
Restoring
All the power
I grab.
Reinforcing
All the power I have
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 3:33 PM UTC
Famine had come to our shores
The poor and weak it claimed.
It was our staple, the potato, which failed.
There was no lack of grain.
The landlords were exporting crops
While they watched their tenants bide.
A crueler death than Cromwell gave
Back when he let God decide.
The Wealthy were the Protestants,
centuries in the ascendant.
The victims, mostly Catholic,
of native Celts descendant.
Starvation is a lingering death.
It is not quick or kind.
Green Grass was, for many,
the last meal on which they dined.
When our neighbor, Kitty Kelly, died,
too proud to take the soup.
We boarded ship for old New York
And left behind our youth.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC
alt. i.e.:
never give a monotheism to
the egyptians -
those ******* pseudo Nubian
camel herders know
jack-shit about
the value of encoding
sounds (can't match the mandarin,
their pictographic
became extinct like
the neanderthals) - or to put it
for a milder palette: here's
Ra's rhubarb... and here's
Gengen-Wer... now
match-up the rhino horn
to the donkey's tail
and the elephants trunk
with five blindfolded men...
they should be happy to have
a logic named after them,
happily dancing into Egyptology...
you get the picture,
i know the Mamluks defeated
the stinking horde of Genghis...
but i'd hardly think it necessary
to export Islam into africa to
get some sense on the matter -
look what happened when
christianity was exported from
egypt (the nag hammadi library
found by a shepherd in Osama's caves);
exporting Islam into north Africa
and hence further west
created the Shiah schism where
Islam belonged (in the east);
beware the setting sun;
believe me, it's personal, i'm not
******* on or burning flags
for the Cairo taxi driver to mind...
this is bedroom secrets' anathema.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
Exporting distortion
Because I’m not broken
Days running in
They’re carved
Imprinted
I starve.
Tainted relief
I feel free.
Each veil
Remaining beneath
Exporting Distortion
Because I’m not broken
Restoring
All the power
I grab.
Reinforcing
All the power I have
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 4:40 PM UTC
His name was Father Harrigan.
He was so poor at the seminary . . .
Ireland’s flagship seminary,
Erin’s last remaining seminary,
Maynooth College near Dublin,
Once a network of theological schools
Exporting priests worldwide,
Struggling today to
Produce enough priests for
The shrinking next generation of
Irish Catholics . . .
He was so poor upon
Sacrament of Holy Orders,
He accepted a first post to Argentina,
Where he met a young Pope Francis,
“The Talking Mule,” as he was
Mocked back then, back in
The student lounge,
Universidad del Salvador,
A Jesuit institution,
Buenos Aires.
But I digress.
Father Harrigan made friends easily.
It wasn’t too long before
He had his choice assignment—
His coveted next assignment--
North America--specifically the
Boston Archdiocese,
For any ***** Irishman
A land of carnal opportunity &
Never Ending Corn Beef
& Cabbage Bowl®,
($Ka-Ching! Finally making poetry pay!$)
The Olive Garden.
Southie was where it all got
Started in 5th Grade, Elementary,
Our Lady of Tipperary, the
Spring talent show.
His mother convinced him to sing
One of George M. Cohan’s tune, i.e.
A tune by His Eminence
“Yankee Doodle Dandy,”
A song called "Harrigan."
**“H, A, Double-R-I, G-A-N spells Harrigan,
Proud of all the Irish blood that's in me . . .”**
What better way to ingratiate
Himself to his parish,
Or his parish priest to his family?
Father Seamus Harrigan:
Built like John Candy, RIP.
A fat Irish slob,
A captive of his appetites,
Including one for boys.
That guy should be given
Kennedy Center Honors, for
Giving the gift that keeps on giving:
That first exquisite *******
Which in subsequent years
Defined my taste for women
Capable of perfection.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
Seeing guns as a right
means you must have one
to protect yourself
from others just like you
The illusion of opportunity
to make yourself wealthy
by dint of your own effort
when it's all just a lottery
Passing off privilege
as some born vocation
while your downtrodden masses
rot in poverty or prison
Say taxation is theft
to underline your greed
while you live on stolen land
hate those you put in need
Deny health care for all
because you don't need it
it's better they die in pain
than be obliged to the State
Exporting your dystopia
all around the earth
so the rich get richer faster
and the rest increase in dearth
Cynthia Pauline Jones 3/10/2013
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
socrates was executed in democracy, de facto argumentation in favour of democracy as utopian or workable utopian is flawed; it's like the equivalent of advertisement (2d) of dog food (3d).
the most uniform definition of oursevles
based on the unitary currency,
when faced with what is a priori
to what’s relatable is crafted
by: machina ex non-ego,
i.e. the machinery we submit to,
even though we were not involved in constructing
the machinery... we have to identify ourselves...
nonetheless...
the kantian concept of a priori and a posteriori
is limited in the greek deus ex machina
and the hyphenated expression:
a- priori and a- posteriori (the a- of atheism, i.e. without).
but imagine it simpler:
machinery not from me... tax credit breaks...
the traffic code... morality of any sort...
the need for pyramids...
it’s not the socratic inquiry of knowing yourself...
it’s about finding yourself...
that’s where psychoanalysis becomes crucial...
if you want to define the ego ex machina
you’ll get the upright citizent...
you want the machina ex ego... you will not get
any stability, and freudian / jungian judas selling theorem
like typing in the digit that was designated a repetitive index...
you’ll just get an individuation of the individual will...
shortened to: ‘what’s your ******* problem,
care to wear my shoes and walk a mile in them?!’
all crimes are commited on the basis of ego ex machina...
all coformity is based on the machina ex non-ego
(the communism of marx lived by all the slavs
in the 20th century... all the capitalistic intervetion
from adam smith...
odd that democracy should be coupled to capitalism...
and that the chaos of democracy should
eat the only political counter known as republicanism
with the economic model of republicanism as
communism becoming extinct due to john paul ii);
america never wants to export
republicanism, the good politics of rome...
always the **** part of ancient greece...
imagine how the elders of afghanistan will
accept the politics of youth (democracy)
should ancient standards be replaced by experimentation...
exporting democracy and not accepting
the republicanism of specified geographic regions
will always lead to mini-wars all the ****** time...
try exporting american republicanism...
oh right... afghani republicanism thinks
it's superior... and democracy just becomes
the no-man's land in belgium
between the dug-up trenches of the brits and the germans.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
I imagine life with wings
flying through crisp currents
feathers pruned neatly
a world beneath my shadows.
I imagine life from the trees
swinging through depleted canopy
beating chest in frustration
a face of humanity turned wild and cold.
I imagine life in the oceans
extracting oxygen from the depths
blasting the surface with great bursts
my song traveling vast distances.
I imagine life snaking the deserts
burrowing for protection from predator and sun
searing pain from the vestige of limb
all part of the natural plan.
I imagine the Earth from beyond
a shining jewel, polished by debris
exporting our imprint by stamp
sealed with approval,
delivered by scope.
I imagine looking back at an affected world,
alien and foreign, hope for diplomatic relations
logic and reason, replaced by treason
as minds were affected
corroded to core,
a shining jewel no more,
the blast not heard,
another tree fell,
a capsule launched
with seed and tears...
caught by passage of time,
an evolution takes over,
who shall be the next to record?
http://www.robross.ca
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 3:29 PM UTC
☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮ ☪ ☮
Bearded and furious, quoting some prophet
they rage in the streets of their failed nation-states
exporting dysfunction, subversion and violence
the hordes are empowered—they’re now at your gates.
They fume as they gesture, in ***** pajamas
and brood over battles from centuries past.
they **** for their Caliph in murderous dramas;
the next ****** tantrum will not be their last.
Republicrat/Democan? Satan to them…
They care not an angel what party you vote.
Your well-meaning efforts are lost in translation—
they’ll just as soon slit your good liberal throat.
Scandinavia’s day-dream, once Nordic, once bright
is consumed in the chaos and vanished as smoke.
Santa Lucia receives violent darkness for light
as statistics play dead to her national joke.
The Ishmaelite deity (Arabic sin)
is a vicious excuse for extreme misbehavior;
a wind of aggression, demonic conception
enraging dead souls against Jesus, Our Savior
Let destruction descend upon Mecca/Medina.
The angels rejoice—may the righteous side win;
for the judgement of God on an evil religion
proclaims that earth’s joy is about to begin.
While the minarets topple, midst filth and manure
in a cleansing display of immaculate hope,
the muezzins are silenced, the pilgrims are stalled
and the muftis are starting to mope.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮
Exporting democracy, whorelets and song
You dwell in the center of endless supply
as customer-king you can never be wrong.
Your choice is the answer—now shut up and BUY.
Gadgets with touchscreens and upgrades to boot –
Distractions and playthings to dazzle the eye;
Your choices are regal, your credit assured;
Your country is closing soon. Shut up and buy.
The Ishmaelite hordes are released from the dam
the sluice-gates are opened, the waters descend.
Our Empire, ignorant, closes its eyes
Babylonian currencies bank on the trend
Mohammedans know that the West is a Beast
and the least of their worries—their Caliph is nigh.
We shop as they’re chopping; expanding their brand.
The muezzin is wailing now: shut up and buy.
They hear and obey while you’re watching the game.
The refugee nations, with time on their hands,
flow over the borders demanding attention
Malign infiltration. Deception expands.
These newest dependents refuse to assimilate
whining of racism, milking the state
Government, clueless, declares them immaculate.
Holy diversity Batman—it’s late !
They wait for their moment. You’re scared to offend.
it’s the Christians you wish would oblige you and die
The Muslims, you know, are committed to peace
and that’s something to celebrate: shut up and buy.
No borders no flags, social justice, no war
(nor knowledge of history, conflict or God)
Universal utopia, scaffolded lies
crashing down (but you’re busy defining jihad)
Poor traumatized victims. Concern never ends
It’s our fault they are here: it’s a charity high.
They laugh in your face with your back to the wall.
Your nation’s invaded so shut up and die.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:07 AM UTC
Take me back to the days
Where the feel of texture and distinguishing colors among Africans didn't matter
Where the only word was black, and not pale or darker
Where the only weapon was loyalty upto royalty actually smarter
Where mother tongue superiority excelled the rest was after.
Where rituals and ceremonies were significant in culture
Where oral traditions activities was a preservation of history.
Where inclusivity wasn't done based on tribe, status or age
Where inspiration and education was passed from generation to generation through storytelling.
Where people performed rather than spoke
Where the media was the speaker's tone, volume, and cadence
Take me back to the days
Where people did not blame nationality, ethnicity,
culture, economics and education
Where there was no colonial **********
Where there was no concept of slavery, racism or discrimination.
Where Africa was rich in culture and not the fallacy of primitive and a backward jungle
Where Africa was peaceful and not a race with guns and violent.
Where shouting am black and proud wasn't important because color didn't matter.
Where respect for elders remained an unbroken cornerstone in african culture
Where birth, marriage and burial rites was honored.
Welcome to today's Africa
Where exporting and importing of cultures have become the trend
Where cultures travel through deserts, cross trade routes and through immigration borders
Where exchange disregards our notions of geography and race.
Where virtues such as hospitality, empathy, courtesy and respect is long gone
Where the only thing left are byproducts of culture.
Where multiculturalism has faded and everone hails on becoming one
The richness is not in Africa looking like Europe
What makes the world beautiful is in the diverse contributions
Welcome to today's Africa
Where culture is paraded on an image of drum beating
Where media's notion is dancing naked or eating bush meat
Where in the midst of it all culture lost its definition
Where there is no importance in defending a territory with no boundaries.
Where technology dominated our land and mind
The struggle lies in reclaiming what is rightfully ours
I refuse to fall and cramble because I'm for the idea of sameness.
In the mind is where it all starts
I put no blame on culture, not my affliction.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
String like vapors move erratically
With the slightest quiver of joy
Woven and interlaced with the
Most benign thoughts of petulance
Deep and warm purple crystalline
Structures jutting out from the ceiling
Beckoning sorrowful emotional
Tapestries of childhood terrors
Immense crystal looms ever so fast
To increase productivity thinking not
Of domestic market forces let us set
Forth to foreign ports in distant waters
Exporting fear is the name of the
Game we play as we idly lay about
In lukewarm blankets that cover us
With layers of facades sprinkled with hope
The internal placebo is passed off as truth
The external stitching is connected with
Saturnine fibers of immense darkness
A duality is lost to a perpetrator that is long gone
The fabric of time remains in the past
Unable to think of the prosperity to be had
Washed out and faded the vibrancy flows
Out his sore blistered blood drenched hands
Onto the floor where the old one would knit
Quilts of silk and iron to protect the boy
From the assailant that bends bones and thought
No longer armed with the quilt that once preserved
The boys sanguine esque demeanor
He lurks in the low places for a crone
That he can call upon to be his tailor of wards
Alas, that which is seeked is found
An opaque tri-color cloth made of a liquid
Unknown to me appears and whispers
Sounds of the great blue oceans of afar
It sings the song of greenest meadow
It mumbles the laughter of the reddest of deserts
The voices stitch together a fleece of gold
To be worn by the man troubled with neurosis
Omitted from thought the man is colorfully liberated
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
A bridge broken from one side to another.
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.
Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.
A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.
Danger
Danger
Danger
Do not approach
This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.
Overheating
Overworking
Overdoing
Over
Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.
"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No.
No. Because it's broken.
Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting
Crackling
Clicking
Clattering
Clanking
Clunking
The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.
It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 9:14 PM UTC
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.
Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.
A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.
Danger
Danger
Danger
Do not approach
This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.
Overheating
Overworking
Overdoing
Over
Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.
"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No.
No. Because it's broken.
Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting
Crackling
Clicking
Clattering
Clanking
Clunking
The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.
It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 8:05 PM UTC
I have not found misery
But contentment and liberating Light
amongst ladened pygmies I stand head and shoulders above
So lets pity the Dividers
and the sordid indulgences of shysters
charlathans liars blamers decievers scallywags and larcenists
Tis the sweat off my brow
my aspiration and endeavours upholds
as does millions of others who in honest toil thrive and profit
Sham politburo hooligans
state half-wits spit anachronistic slogans
our Witchfinder General seeing silver spoons in meritocracy
Lazies do as lazy does
Never learning but heedlessly agitating
Puerile minds dividing projecting smearing and intimidating
Maniac fantasists deluded saps
Disingenuous failures hiding in plain sight
Cheats and sinners in glasshouses throwing stones
Dime store mobsters
Confused minds in haze exporting confusion
Mired in hate envy and jealousy they alienate enterprise and success
It’s monarchs it’s the elites
Well worn lies and excuses for the work-shy
There’s opportunities aplenty but dumb blamers point fingers
You can’t tell the truth
That you want something for nothing
That you’re the greedy and entitled sourly prodigals
Reds with red faced shame
dunce revolutionaries in Quixotic faux pas
the problem rests in you as you wallow in the divisive stench
whirling in the windmills of your rancid minds
He who took on the mantle stands
he who toiled hard to better himself stands
he who crossed oceans stands and even built more than you
with all your privileges what have you done to make yourselves
feel proud - oh yes, you throw stones and hide hands - bravo!!........ bravo!!
Dec 25, 2023
Dec 25, 2023 at 5:17 AM UTC
GERD has started
To hold water
Though Egypt's
Phony politicians
Were making
Many a chatter
That doesn't
Hold water.
At long last Ethiopia
Is set free,
Shaking of spokes,
Its developmental take off
To decree.
To conflict-exporting
Egypt's divisive wedge
And conspiracy
Ethiopians no more
Give ear
Cherishing a prosperity
Journey dear.
In tackling
A mammoth project
Ethiopia on its feet
That stood
Demonstrated
With no need to aid
From the
Double-standard exercising
IMF & World Bank --
All along
Its ambitious way
Against that stood
To Egypt
Showing favoritism
And brotherhood--
When closing ranks for
A just cause stand tall
The shunned could.
In the fight for
Freedom Ethiopia was
A beacon light to Africa
Whose rays
Did stretch to Jamaica.
Repeats itself history
GERD is reminiscent of,
Adwa's victory.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 8:04 AM UTC