"integrities" poems
Spinning in its apogee this world has lost its rhyme
It’s denizens deflecting and defacing precious time,
Sidestepping crucial issues and responsibilities
While elected fools to office flaunt abused integrities,
It’s all integral to disorder running rampant in the street
Where shades of retribution lead to fear of those we meet.
Where production slows to stoppage causing systems now to fail
And the single voice of sanity is the fool who yells "Curtail" !!
Gone to Hell the Good Old Days, gone the repartee
Lost communication in this world of misery.
Aleppo lies in ruins, unconscionably true
And blame imparts it’s levity on all including you,
The sin of ******* conscience where we turn the other cheek
Where ignorance is innocence as kids die in the street.
Blame Syria and Moscow, Blame Isis and the Yanks,
Blame everyone who turns the other cheek …to mutter quietly, “no thanks”
Blame ignorance, intolerance, the hate and Jealousy,
Blame God for his indifference and mediocrity.
Aleppo lies in ruins and the world just doesn’t care
For as Christmas joy approaches, we switch our focus there.
Isis is the apogee, the focus and the fulcrum
Isis is the dark abyss that treads the path to Hell
A Caliphate catastrophe inherent in equation
A tipping point reaction as respondents toll the bell.
Where East and West throw shards of death to strut the stage of destiny,
Where man tip-toes the edge of an apocalyptic end,
The rest of us stroll corridors of detached halls of apathy
Intent upon a peaceful life where violence rarely rends.
Aleppo lies in ruins in a patina of concrete dust
Children die obscenely in the rubble of the street
Obsession paints the hatred bright, on faces of the warriors,
Oblivious to the carnage they cast at Allah’s feet.
Aleppo lies in ruins, unconscionably true
And blame imparts it’s levity on all….including you!
M.
Hamilton NZ
9 December 2016
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
On days where salty tears lick my cheeks,
or they hide just behind the cages of my eyelids,
I feel full, not hollow.
Preferable, perhaps, to the emptiness found
in staring blankly at life and seeing
the still run down like paint and the moving brake like cars
all around, helpless to stop it
as a mind crumbles into broken acceptance.
But a cup can only hold so much.
A *** can rumble angrily on the stove for only
so long before its contents spill out,
slipping and darkening down the sides
before dying away against the heat below.
Sure, we're contained, maybe like tea kettles. But
all of us have holes that whistle,
a call to what stirs inside, and I
am no different.
Every day,
my small heart shivers and shakes,
petrified by even the idea of my own steam escaping.
It rattles at the threat of an exponential scream
of evaporated failures and aborted thought
wrapping itself around my tongue and teeth
before spilling out to float in the present air,
only to hang itself
like a fog over everyone's perceptions.
I guess that's the difference between us and tea kettles,
or cups or pots.
Water moves forever in its cycle,
falling down as rain, or snow, or sleet, or hail, or
rising up into the air to mesh with it seamlessly,
adapting beautifully to the pressures of its natural peers.
But water is not sentient. It does not remember its past,
does not consider its present or future.
Water speaks a language of unquestioned togetherness and
a blissful absence of mind.
Maybe our folly is memory.
Our puffs of commentary marinate on the brains of others,
and, maybe for the worse,
ourselves.
They float around in a haze of the brain,
eroding at our integrities,
some fogs never cycling out until we rattle
for the last time.
Unlike steam, unlike water, we ponder our past forms
and our personal sins sometimes forever
until we sizzle against time's heat,
burning out at the mercy of nature
and our own kettled minds.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
Your truth is to blame for my insecurities. That tugs and traps my heart in a never ending sticking, lashing pain.
And because of you, I continued to decay inwardly through transparent hurt. Hurt that gave me the courage to suffer daily despite the effort to conquer the distasteful fear. That built-in machine , that wreckage of my soul.
Dusk til dawn I lay in my cold and wet bed of tears . Giving myself up to the distant voice that fed on my weakness.. Night and day it tormented me, comstantly writing wistful memo's to steal my commitments. I was distraught, a wrecking shame to my faith .I was a disappointment to the dignitaries and a lost cause to my integrities.
I had no hope, being restless and destroyed. I was covered in my own blood. Which bled from my eyes to my toes,that stained and uncleansed my skin . I was in a frenzy for eternity . Pitying myself in confusion. And just when you thought I was over, at the end of my misery .. I made a decision ... I decided .....no more...
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC
Too much pride leads to shame
Humbleness is tossed to grave
we're tripped under the dark secret of evil tongues
A Christian nation without sight
We live on the surface of pains
A pain of yesterday that's stuck in our memories
Like broken vows
Our integrities are over shadowed
The dark dreary reality of our culture is fading
We are sinking in the deepest part of ignorance
Power holders use it as weapon to **** the poor
How can I laugh?
When leaders are killers
They dance to the cry of innocent souls.
We are Liberia
The backbone of Africa
It's time to take toes
I can see a sparkling new Liberia
A Liberia that'll live under the canopy of culture
A new beginning with peace
Where happiness will ruin
And equality will whisper in every ears
A dawning tomorrow is loading
With no echoes of evils.
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 4:31 AM UTC