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winter sakuras Aug 2018
Sometimes I get this sensation
as I take my bare feet
and place them
into tight enclosed shoes
to walk a cold grey
concrete path
still rigid to the shards of
   broken dreams
and promises
scattered along the middle,
the sounds of other people's footsteps
drown out my insecurities
and the
insignificance of
a person who feels small
as I try to grasp at merging
into the person full of
light and meaning
who has a spark in her eye,
     destined to do and make great changes
instead of falling into her own world
of isolation and despair
glancing around myself, wondering whether or not
I actually belong
I don't see my name on the board
with my peers
standing in the crowd,
waiting for the crosslight
to let me walk
walk with them to the other side, but
somewhere along the way
do I get lost
or am I just destined to walk
the wrong path
just so I could be with my peers
who are, of course,
the future
who will change the world
who will introduce a revelation that will change
the biased courses of humanity

but as for me

the deafening screams and words of
other people's
lives, moments, recollections
and livelihoods
cover up my hushed pathetic cries
and calls for help
as I question all that is taking place
in every which way I look
somewhere out there
a mom and her growing daughter
become closer
as my own mom falls apart on me
unknowingly ripping apart my right to establish
an identity of my own
somewhere out there
a dad can tell his children
about his life experiences
of the virtues and humility within that led to
their blessed ways of life now
as my own dad
who deserves, at least
everything the world has to give
works harder and harder every day
and every second
to continue our "blessed" ways of life now

but despite all of that

I am told No-- just focus on yourself
make sure you don't miss the crosswalk
make sure you make us proud--
but they don't see
they are what matters
when it comes to
a kid hoping to grow into a better person

there are colors;

some old and chipped
and falling apart,
on the frames of people's
subconscious
while fresh new colors shimmer
in the evening
starlight atop blue waters
just waiting to be discovered, like a
blind person experiencing sight for the first time

but how can I see the night stars
and fall in love with
the moon's beauty
when I'm too busy staring
at the sun
trying to make my way
up to the very top
running, taking jagged steps,
bent over all broken and
crawling

just hoping to be remembered

as a great sign of the times.
08/28/18

I'd be grateful if people lended me some warm words of kindness. I don't get enough to sustain me these days.
John Tan Jan 2021
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin,
Every time I leave home,
I feel the gentle breeze caressing my hair,
Each time I leave for work,
Yet, the distant morning don’t feel the same anymore,
For things are no longer the way they used to be.

Family & friends are no longer faces I see every day,
Neighbours are no longer people I meet & greet,
And colleagues have now become occasional struggles,
What’s more?
The outbreak has truly destroyed our livelihoods,
Leaving us with nothing but hope.

Hope for all of this to end,
Hope for a miracle in these unsolicited times,
While we push ourselves to the core,
To stay alive in this uproar.
Chris Thomas Jan 2023
"A patient man bides his time,"
Theodore tells the man in the mirror
Tomorrow, all the levees will break
And all the fables will be told
Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers

Livelihoods will be threatened
And remorse will fall by the wayside
He watches as icicles on the awning
Melt away into puddles on the ground
"Warmer every day," he thinks to himself

He hangs up his scarf and overcoat
The way a simple man, with complex demons, is wont to do
And as his wants devolve into needs
And as all his anchors deteriorate to rust
Her smile unnerves a once-settled man

To think of the quality of glove necessary
To hold onto the wagon in this day and age
So Theodore pulls the door to,
Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to gallop in peace
And in pieces

He watches her from across the courtyard
"Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he sighs
And it seems to him as if the snow dissipates
Just from the warmth in her steady gait
Just from the radiation behind her brown eyes

He slides open the dresser drawer
A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends
A place of respite for the weary souvenir
There, amidst all the corroded memories
Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished

"And a lonely man drinks his wine,"
Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable
For there is a time when fathers stop teaching
A time when mothers stop singing
And a place where the sins stop searching

A last breath is deeply inhaled
But never again will find its escape
With a thud that echoes to Seymour Street
Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor,
A simple man, finally free of complex demons
This is a poem about hopelessness, unrequited love, and the sense of loneliness that accompanies every loss.
I
Hear the story of our oil –
Hail to oil!
From the glory days of Drake well we recoil,
To see seabirds flap and shudder,
Dolphins, turtles flop and sputter
With collective dying groan.
Hear our population moan
When the gasoline price geysers to the sky.
Still we drive, drive, drive,
To keep consumer binge alive,
Amid a maritime disaster fast evolving from the spoil
Of the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the gushing and the oozing of the oil.

II
Smell the ancient dark crude oil
Stinking oil!
Engulf the products made refining from a boil:
Guzzle gasoline flambé,
Drive-through fast food every day,
Raise our carbonated toast to Arctic roast…
Then drill more oil!
GM corn and corn-fed beef --
Both born of oil,
The shaving cream I slather on my face is made from oil,
Toothpaste, vitamins and lipstick,
Tires, everlasting plastic,
Come from oil;
All American affliction
Petrolopium addiction –
Truth is stranger now than fiction
And it does not set us free;
We are prisoners of oil,
And as slaves to OPEC pricing we all toil,
For the tapping and the lapping
Of the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the drilling and the swilling of the oil.

III
Soak in news of spilling oil –
Offshore oil!
In grim images of damage that the television splays;
First blow-out slimed in sixty-nine at Santa Barbara Bay
Then ten years next blew Ixtoc
In the Gulf of Mexico,
Two-ninety day gush tick tock
Slick slopped thousand miles away
To Texas shores!
In Alaska’s Prince William Sound
Exxon Valdez ran aground in eighty-nine;
Full tanker load erupted,
Left the rocky coast corrupted –
Prudhoe crude!
Seals and otters stuck in goo
Seabirds suffered coatings too,
Cruising tourists supped in view
Of the oil, oil, oil,
Thickened slick encrusted oil
On the shore!
How it clings and clogs and covers;
All aquatic life it smothers
Marsh and beach are left in cataclysmic mire!
Still we “drill baby drill,”
All our gas tanks gotta fill,
We must shop, shop, shop,
Lest our wasteful lifestyle stop,
So we run, run, run,
Take our car vacation fun --
At the beach…
See the sheen -- how it shines!
Pretty rainbow-colored lines
From the oil!
We love our oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For economy cachinging in the oil!

IV
Hear the praise of offshore oil,
Miles deep oil!
For the goal of independence on our oceans now we toil,
Till ungraceful conflagration
Twenty April rocked the nation
On the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig.
Eleven lives were lost in blast
As the deep crude spewed out fast,
Gushing Hell!
Couldn’t stop it with top ****,
Junk shot, golf *****, caps wouldn’t still
Gushing well,
And the spreading, spreading, spreading
In a steady surging crawl,
Gulf coast residents all dreading
That their livelihoods might stall,
Now the fish and shrimp are ill,
Tourist business will be nil,
And still oil spews…
We must thank God that there’s *****,
For there’s nothing but bad news
And the ooze, ooze, ooze
Oily ooze.
Who will pay, who will pay?
Who will make this go away?
Who’s to blame? Who’s to shame?
Many pointy fingers aim –
Lefty points to rich BP,
Righty points to rock Obama,
And there’s six sticks pointing back at you and me!
We will pay, pay, pay,
At the gas pumps we will pay,
So we can drive, drive, drive,
And keep America alive;
Despite the grim disaster that arises from the spill,
The way we live and spend won’t easily end;
So we’ll still say “drill baby drill,”
Each time our gas tanks get a fill,
And we will shop, shop, shop
To do our patriotic duty --
Spend our *****, *****, *****
For the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the gushing and the oozing of the oil!

Drafted 6/8/10, revised 6/14/10
Best read to the "tune" of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Bells"....with apologies to Poe for repurposing his meter scheme for a theme less cheerful!
we wuz celebratin
40 years of Hip Hop
at 5 Pointz

dashing tags
reclaiming the
lost land

speaking for a
community of peeps
routed from their
last stand

making statements
about remembering

tellin stories
about ourselves

giving the drab
dead industrial
sarcophagi a
a face lift

freeing the
entombed
mummies
to let em
walk with
the living
again

seein things
in a new light

reciting our
biographies

writing an epic
autobiography

splashed across
3D murals

spoken in the
lexicon of
gobsmack
multicolored
neon graffiti

testifying to
the ages with
our urban
hieroglyphs

the symbols of
life in the hood
may history be our
witness to aromas
rising from cracked
pavements teaming
with bodegas,
public projects and
store front fantasies
played out in all its
grueling detail
on the corner of
walk don’t walk

them snaps
real down home
expressions
of real people

until some
capitalist
*******

his pockets filled
with low interest
money

whitewashed
it away

he thinks he
owns the
5 Pointz

he thinks
he can
erase our
memories
with a gallon of
Sherwin Williams

he thinks
he owns our
perdido
graffito

and is well
in his rights
to launder our  
epiphanies over
with the bland
tag of privilege
he thinks his
dollar bills
can buy

we raised this
place from
the dead

that old warehouse
where men and women
once earned a paycheck
was murdered by
Michael Milken
and his posse of well
heeled predators
busy leveraging
livelihoods by
offshoring them
to Third World
plantations
transforming
the natives into
wage slaves
tagging this
strange alchemy
progress

now this
latest incarnation of
Morley’s Ghost stalking
Bloomberg’s Metropolis
haunts the neighborhoods
with a wrecking ball
of entitlement

razing our hood
to build soulless
high rises where
they'll warehouse
dead people
ginned up
on pilates,
chai tea and
elevating
themselves
through life
scoring the
latest fab
yoga gear
on the
urban outfitters
website

the frackers
are gobbling
the land

strip miners are
gnashing away
at the mountains

now the predators
are eating our art

always famished
never satiated
the beast gnaws
away at its
**** scattering
the bones of
of the living

but this
half assed
midnight
whitewash
will never stand

already images
of the holy ghosts
scrawled onto
the Wailing Walls
of 5 Pointz are
bleeding through
the veneer of a
landlords greed

and as the
future tenants
of the proposed
highrise columbarium
snooze away the night
dreaming of leading roles
in star studded schemes

we’ll be taggin
the streets
reciting our
righteous presence
until our last dying
aerosol breath
escapes our
paint stained
hands

Public Enemy:
Fight the Power

Oakland
11/20/13
jbm
http://nypost.com/2013/11/20/5-pointz-fans-try-to-retag-legendary-graffiti-building/
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley

sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast

refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort

the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder

we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation

our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity

privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims

in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper

our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom

what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold

the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh

we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world

Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….

Selah

Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel

Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Blessed Christmastide Greetings
to all beloved HP friends
peace and prayers
to all
love, jimmy
Big Virge Nov 2020
Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s...
Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!!

NO... Away In A Manger... !!!

But PLENTY of DANGER... !!!
In... Peoples Behaviour... !!!

Because Corona’s Brought Flavours...
When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!!

That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!!

So Some Peoples Behaviour’s...
Beginning To Tailor...
Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!!

Because of DICTATORS...
Who Have Now Endangered... !!!
MORE THAN... Livelihoods...
Now Lives Have Been Took...
That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!!

So Behaviours Now Look...
Like They’re Ready To Cook...
MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS...
When Leaders Send Feds’...
To Now Fire BULLETS... !!!

At WOMEN On Front Lines...
Who Now STAND AGAINST...
Racism And Violence...
That Lead To Black Deaths... !!!

By... Taking of Breaths...
By Some YES Policemen... !!!

They’re Behaviours ATTEST...
To Delivering STRESS...
To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!!

So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!!
About Treatment We Get... !!!

But... Protest Behaviour...
Has Got... INSTIGATORS...
Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!?

And... CONTAMINATORS...
Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!!
of Behaviours Now Caused...
By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT...
ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?!

Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE......................

Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ?

What Do They Stand For... ?!?
Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made...
To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ?

I Mean... MASSES of People...
Who Seem READY For WAR... !?!

In... Different Locations...
It Seems That Behaviours...
Are Now Fighting For...

MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!!
IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK...
That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?!

When Clearly Behaviours...
Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!!

But THESE MANIPULATORS...
Have Their Perpetrators...
of Behaviours That Walk...
With Talk That Is FALSE... !!!

From These CORONA Wars...
To These CLOSED Corridors...
Where Decisions Are BOUGHT !

I Dunno Anymore... ?!?
If We’ll Ever ENFORCE...
Behaviours Like Jailers...

For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!!

ESPECIALLY When...
They Are Leaders And Lords !!!

Instead of Behaviours...
That... DESTROY The Poor... !!!

We NEED CASTIGATORS...
And... Coordinators...
Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!!

Instead of These FAKERS...
And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!!
Who Drive These Creations...
of Thoughts That I TAILOR...

To Speak On These Subjects...

Like Peoples’...

.... “BEHAVIOUR”....
They are getting STRANGER !
Raghu Menon Jun 2018
Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But violent and angry at times
At the ruthless manner in which
The man destroys the nature...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But angry and turbid below
At the greed and arrogant manner in which
They carry out "development"

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But sad and lost
at the poor lives and livelihoods lost
At the hands of the rich who creates the catastrophes

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
But helpless and depressed
At the ignorance and stubborn attitude
Of the people who aren't willing to learn from their mistakes.

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
Sometimes overflowing and destructive
Time and again, to teach the humanity a lesson
In not learning from the past, learning from their mistakes
Because, history repeats itself..
And we are suffering today at the hands of the
People who are not creating a welfare state
But extracting, extorting, exploiting the commons
And the common people
To the benefit of a few, arrogant, "smart" rich...

There is something wrong somewhere..
Unless we learn ...
Unless we change...
We get what we deserve...

So if we need a change..
Let's change first ourselves..
Our action, Our decisions, Our choices...
There is nobody to blame..but ourselves...

It is not enough we give our choices
Once in five years ...
And then blame everybody else
For what we get out of our choice...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
He is a teacher, a friend, a father (and a mother)..
A brother, and a God (if there is one)...
Let us learn from him, the nature...

Quiet flows the Brahmaputra
So magnificent and great..
Angry at times..Destructive at times...

Still the lifeline of the people
Quiet flows the Brahmaputra.
Brahmaputra is a river in Assam, and having a male name unlike most rivers having female names. The river is known for its flooding and destruction year after year, due to the unplanned "developments" that is done.  Inspiration: My friend's poem "There is something wrong ..." https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2513480/something-wrong-need-to-start-it-again/
Bob Horton Apr 2013
I – Rain Over the Dying Empire
The Weather Forecast looks grim today
This mess won’t clear up any time soon
So button up your jackets and turn up your collars
And mark up your calendars for a time of grey skies
There’s a storm on the way
We’ll all be blown away
The reign will never end
Until we’re washed clean off the map
But don’t you worry darling viewers
Just find yourselves a shelter, you’ll be fine
Don’t go scrambling in the smog to find hope: it’s always there
It pains me to be the bringer of bad news
Oh! Dearest Public I always pride myself in saying Tomorrow will be a brighter day
But oh! My friends I also promised I would never lie to you
We have serious weather warnings on the way
They will ravage your livelihoods but don’t let them take your souls
We stand strong against the tide of the oncoming gale, the hail and the thunder
If they weather away each tiny bit of all you hold dear
Raise your fist to the angry sky and scream for what is right
I promise, one day, sunshine will be legal again
I’ve tried to make you laugh and I’ve tried to make you cry
But it’s difficult when describing the movements of cold air across the land
If you ignore the hot stuff blowing out of parliament these days
It’s possible to force a smile: a fraction of happiness for hollow promises
They know nothing of how to save the world, they just want to escape
They’re harvesting the strong so they can find another home
Sure, they bejewel their guillotine as it hangs above your throat
Because they think that you’re impressionable but my advice is let them think so
Because Nature wants out of the pact she made when God abandoned us here
And they just want revenge because she’s stronger than they’ll ever be
The Mother they used to love, that they cast down, has come to kiss them with her poison passion
She won’t ask for their forgiveness as she beats them down, begging for hers
I’ll leave you with my darkest secret since you probably won’t see me again
As they surround me I want to let you know it’s been incredible
Striding through the desert carrying you upon my shoulders
And so I’ll thank you and blow a goodnight kiss to you
If there’s anyone they’ve left alive
They have finally come for me
Goodbye

II – The Broken Figurehead Speaks
We interrupt this broadcast with a message from the high command
Good evening noble people, please ignore what you have just heard
And keep on working for our greater good
For as we all know, it is better than theirs
Regrettably, my tolerance is thin for behaviour like that of our darling Weather Reporter
And my mercy is negligible for those who stand against us…

III – Martyrdom for Sunshine**
As I stand above the ocean, with the army at my back, looking out at this sunset
It feels like the first time I have seen such beauty
Though waves gallop into the cliff below there is a malleable peace
It penetrates to the deepest corner of my heart
As they load their guns and prepare to fire, I think of the others who they have killed
And how privileged I am to have the sun as the last thing I see
If God will have me I’ll happily join his angels now
I look down the crippled rock face to the water, miles below
What have I got to lose?
I’m going to learn to fly…
Published: 17.05.2012, The Poetry Society, YM: New Work in Poetry, Issue 7
Michael Marchese Dec 2017
This dot kami’s ‘Nam when I see you’re all neutral
To futile lords still passin’ Acts of Removal
Pretentious performers as if upon stages
Of casting call characters caught up in cages
Like ****** who off-shore **** the poor on vacations
I’m diggin’ up dirt on the founders’ plantations
When bail-outs are ballots and bullets are mallets
Why not be a rabbit hole in Hefner’s palace?
And dare call it talent, a gift or a passion
Just model behavior for slaves to a fashion
Show running the breadlines when crimes are a dime
In the dozens of ***** Weinsteins on your minds

Instead of the felons when court is in Sessions
Instead of the under-oath treason confessions
In rapid succession they feed you the buzz
Until nobody cares what the debt ceiling was
When the roof has been raised for the privatize party
The right wants us dead and the left shows up tardy
I’m sorry “you people” are making me sick
Guess I’ll just pop a pill from the cabinet pick
Like has-been Michael Flynn’s and these Ex-Tillersons
Resource hogs cloggin’ bogs up with smogs of odd jobs
They’re the slEASIEST Slytherins still seemin’ Jesus
Pro-life until *** aid is the fetus
Egregious excesses of who the **** needs this
Huge 2nd place trophy wife ivory tower
Big guns for a stickless diplomacy coward

Here’s my ******* tricklin’ down your faces
You blatantly ****** repeal and replacists
You war-profiteering, grand **** of old Racists and fakers, uranium cakers
Still stuffing the stockings of doomsday clock-makers
With melting North Pole lumps of coal-hearted cash
‘Till every last Christmas trees nothing but ash
As the fascist machine builds its pyramid scheme
On the dreams of the themes of your Disney World screen
But the credits will roll as the talking heads stroll in
The shoe bombs of Terrorist’s livelihoods stolen
But I leave ‘em spinnin’ like Christopher Nolan
Raghu Menon Jul 2015
Oh Dear River
How many faces do you have?

The pleasant calm face
With the undulating waves

The happy face
with the life thriving inside you?

The playful face with the Kids
Swimming in the river?

The vibrant face
During the downpour?

The kind face
Blessing the dark thin fishermen?

Or

The sad face
With the dark effluents let in to you
By the greedy industries?

Or the pale face
With your inflows being reduced
due to the catchments
being encroached
by the real estate mafia?

Or the angry face
With the ***** politicians and thieves
Who plunder your sand
And destroy not only you
But the livelihoods
of the poor farmers and
the water resources of the people?

Oh Dear River
How many faces do you have?

Don't be angry with us humans
because we don't care for anybody

We live only today
and we don't care for tomorrow
nor do we care about
our children of tomorrow.

We are the only inhuman species
On this earth and we wrongly
Call ourselves
As Humane beings..
http://tprmenon.blogspot.in/2015/07/faces-of-river.html
Zach Hanlon Jun 2016
Lives shattered from ignorance.
People struck by intolerance.
Livelihoods are judged from love,
and lives are taken by hate.

A love bathed in terror
is not a love we crave.
A love brought from kindness
was brought down by violence

Love slain by arms and a hatred.
A cry for humanity, a cry of sorrow.
It's our reach for freedom,
and we'll never back down.

For a battle not fought,
is a war never won.
Keep all the names of the victims of the Orlando attack close to heart and never forget this day.
Rest in peace.
Holly Salvatore Apr 2013
Everyone knows what my name is
In this little **** town
And I'd really like to give them
More to talk about
The drop outs
The tattoos
The break-ups
And the people-making-excuses-for-me-just-because-my-mom-died
Will never be enough
Gossip
So here goes
Every barn from Freeburg to Smithton
Up in smoke
No more kindling left to burn
In the middle of the night
And here goes
Every corn field
All the sorghum
All the wheat mowed
Cut down before its prime
Grain-based livelihoods
Grain-based lives
Gone.
And here's to all the old-timers
With their shot guns out
Sitting on the porch
Here's to all the life savings
All the small town banks
I'm about to knock down
Here's to cops who are
Terrible shots
And here's to getting out
Freeburg Famous
My name on everybody's lips
Giving the lifers
Something real to talk about
I listened to a lot of Miranda Lambert last night.
Paul Sands Mar 2015
no more rush for the factory gates

or bleary welcomes after whistle led race

no longer the shouts of “what shift you on mate?”

and befuddled replies “earlies, no, lates!”

the comforting throng of familial mass

at the end of each day that held no disgrace

when a days hard work meant a days earned pay

something they somehow forgot to replace

as our livelihoods fled to cheaper climes

and our citadels of labour fell rotting, debased
simplistic words written back in 2012 but still pertinent in the climate of fearfulness, spite and hatred our so called leaders impose on us
CharlesC Sep 2012
working for others
makes one poor..
special identity denied
one's voice deeply hidden
inner beauty suppressed..
livelihoods are exile
protections are dear
yet servitude keeps rule..

a new time
demands correction
straightening posture
a new discovery..
each of us stands
as connector
of many and one
one's voice found at last
exile ended
though we.. remain
here...
image @ polarityinplay.blogspot.com
phil roberts Oct 2016
I was once called
A communist, a fascist and an anarchist
All in one sentence
Which I thought was quite impressive
And this was because I was a union man
My fellow workers elected me to represent them
In our dealings with management
I was involved in negotiations
About the application of regulations
And other tedious vexations
And on rare occasions
I led disputes and even strikes
And, over the years
I helped to save many jobs
Not numbers
But peoples' livelihoods
Some will say I was a rabble-rouser
An agitator
Some can say as they like
All I ever did
Was stand up for the underdog
And I hope I always will

                                   By Phil Roberts
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
BLAST   —   direct focus on a terrorist virus
that swims in breath and touch,
in globules of spittle and ssnot see,
waiting to plant roadside RNA bombs
in nostrils—from flesh to newsflash fantasies

with

a Fear-O-Meter Lockdown grip
of Crisis Management Economics:
Gaslit Fiat economy crash test dummies
tested within psychosocioschizological
experiments of the psychobacteriological

transfer of power, control, and wealth—

stats data for thinktanks and simulations:
which strategies are best to get the peasants  
to willingly offer up their lives for an illusion
of safety and protection, what causes people
to remain compliant or to become renegades.

Capitalism, the revolutionary meant to usurp
Queens and Kings, corrupted into a negative
Technocratic Corporatocracy: a Royal Trash
death cult that feeds on its young, sacrifices
its youth to scams, wars, and stolen futures:

a Technocrat Herr Doktor drug pusher
that plies the skin of trial control groups
for the venom of Warpspeed fangs—wraps
its coil around a bundle of willow switches
supple with youth, its victims kept alive

as a fuel source to burn in the corporate engine, and kept weak enough to require another fix "For the betterment of the whole."

(Gaslighting fills mandated shower-coops:
"Trust us, you're sick, and it's your fault.")

Pollute people into isolation against an enemy that has never been truthfully isolated and purified—
an Orwellian leap of faith that breaks:
a crusher of foundational laws,
a crusher of critical thought and bones.

"Destroy (transform) your dreams, milestones, and livelihoods for your safety and protection. We are doing this for you. We care about you. These numbers, these awful numbers are your fault! You're to blame! It's all your fault!"

"Make sure to vote for me come next election."

As much as North America is a globalist,
the New World is also its own experiment.
Fortress North America: the Eugenicist Manager founded upon colonialism and slavery that outsources its crisis economics—
highly contagious, bit with its own snake oil,
an experiment observed to show symptoms
of AIDS, North America attacking itself
in many ways, symptoms of having been
grazed and groomed for decades

in contagion-based sociopolitical templates
that result in acquired bipolar autoimmune
disease: past enemies and geists attained
boosted immunity to defend, adapt—learned
to deflect Sun Tzu's Art of War into itself

with its own momentum. "Unrestricted
Psychological Warfare": a process of confusion and doubt that leads to the demoralization and dehumanization of the target enemy via the subversive tactics of propaganda plowing, cultural memetic warfare, the infection of economy, politics, military, scientific and educational institutions and systems—
cybertech and media espionage and warfare,
all of it leading to symptoms of extreme

polarization and social moral tribalism—
a decades-long psychological, physical
and spiritual draining of the enemy
into a weakened, toxic state, barely worthwhile to conquer fully. The enemy does the rest,

finishes itself off with:

Acquired (Red Auto)ImmunoDefiency Syndrome

Red CONtroll COVID-19 debt slavery—
pandemic crisis, CoVfefe crisis, energy crisis,
population crisis, climate crisis, racism crisis,
market crisis, war crisis, terrorism crisis,
ISIS is is cry sis in crisis and crisis
in crisis debt slavery to the State: Toadies

for the "New Normal" Big Pharma-Big Tech
mechanical heart engine that thrums
with a beat that Zooms in on, Zooms out from
false-positive test results amplified

and distorted into AIDS:

Amplified Information Distortion Syndrome

and

an Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome
in conjunction with a near-infinite number
of variables and determining factors—
an Auto-ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome of
body, mind, soul, and political systems
cruising along an acquired, contagious loop
of a negative-sense RNA socialist Autobahn—

highly contagious, highly experimental in
unprecedented moments of crisis and mirrors: reflections of reflections of reflections
amplified and bent
in sleight-of-hand misdirection and deflection with the virus holding a mirror's face outwards

while

an mRNA 'treatment' infects human cells
to conquer and command them to become
bomb making factories that create
SARS-CoV-2 S-proteins—yes, yes, "inactively" teach T-cells with double-think McCure-all bandAIDS to 'help' identify SARS-CoV-2 RNA. Understood. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction

(for the Terrorist within)

"Here's a fast-tracked vaccine that supposedly boosts the immune system that you're being commanded to weaken."

GMO sleeper cells and non-celled sequences
that can attain causality and symbiosis with
drug and antibiotic resistant organisms,
are sold as the cure that ills

and

misdiagnosed and misunderstood symptoms
of anything and everything
in-between that we've known and seen
are blamed on a laboratory Chimera:

the scapegoat terrorist virus designed
to be highly contagious and gentle to its host
for vaccine programs: Mary's Monster attaining the flame of life within
its Promethean host.

Who made who?

Who knew that the FDA NIH CDC
WHO-Fang North American China Flu Clan

flew the fear and media spread. "Wait for our
next update." Live TV, live virus

with billions of shortsighted treatments
adding ripples to an overflowing soup bowl
of trillions x trillions of RNA particulates,

inactive/active — off/on — negative/positive

Switch:

Spin PCR in the Petri dish:
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish!
What a lot of fish there are!

This one has a little yellow star.....

("Mission Accomplished")
1 17 2021
Brady D Friedkin Jan 2016
Suffocation; the torture of life without breath
Debt; the torture of being trapped without way of getting out

We signed away our souls and our very livelihoods
So that we might find treasures deep into the earth
In vain we gave ourselves to this cause
We became bankrupted and we became slaves to our toil
We inhaled our work and it poisoned our bodies
We owed our souls to the company for which we worked

We dig deep into the earth
In search of ancient treasures formed long long ago
Seeking to find riches beyond belief and beyond compare
Beginning a noble crusade for good things
But then continuing on to become a misadventure where there is little redemption
Oh what an ignorant odyssey we had begun!

In a manmade cavern, we dig for riches
Our faces becoming covered with black soot
As we invest into the dreams of the treasures for which we dig
And yet then further and further falling into debt
Until we are not only suffocated merely by the soot of coal but also by our debts
And as if the danger of this mine were not enough before the the mines began to fall onto our very heads

We toil for years upon years in this dark mine of coal
Losing all we knew and all we were for the sake of unsatisfying treasure
Our friends die day after day suffocated by the matter of our toil
We inhale our work and our lungs become so filled and poisoned with the soot of the coal
Many could no longer breathe or bear the pain of the poison in their lungs
And then they die in the depths of the dark caves searching for treasure in vain

Not knowing we had signed a death wish
To toil deep into the depths of the mantle of the earth searching for forsaken treasure
Believing that we were searching for good things
That we truly were in the midst of a noble crusade
Not even knowing of the reality in which we stood
That there truly was a terrible hell in which we were living

To this point we knew not of the soot slowly suffocating our lungs
And we knew not of the blood pouring out of our wounds
We knew not of the utter blackness that covered our faces
Or that no oxygen flowed to our ever so needy lungs
We knew only of the importance of our mission
And the necessity to find the treasures for which we were sent out

But the reality of this deep and dark quarry was a hell never before known
And the unknown need of fresh air was as heavy as a newborns need for his mother's milk
Yet we knew not of the need for fresh air
For our eyes were set on the prize
To mine the treasure for which we had so long toiled
And we forgot of our need to live and seek good things

Not knowing the depths of our manmade cavern and our lostness
Our faces so covered with dried soot and blood
Longing for new air to freshen our dying lungs
And longing for Holy Water to wash clean our coal-filled and coal-covered bodies
Yet we knew not any of this
And we knew not of the depths of our pain and our suffering

Yet then one day we break through the surface of the earth
We see the light of the sun, and we see good things
The light of day shines onto us
And a cool breeze blows onto our faces
Then we take a collective breath of the new air
A breath of fresh air more satisfying than a thousand breaths in the depths of the horrid coal mine

We see something we had not seen in years, freedom
And as our eyes set upon the world which we had nearly forgotten
We see the beauty that we had indeed forgotten
We realize the hell that we had clearly been enduring
And in a moment it all becomes clearer than ever before
The treasure of the coal mine had so deceived our hearts and our judgement and our very sanity

For we knew not of the depth and gravity of the terror of the hell we were in
We thought we were simply searching for gold, but we had truly sold our souls
Digging deep into the depths of the planet toward the core
And we lost ourselves in the darkness and depravity of the shaft
Suffering in blindness and lostness, unable to find any good things
Until finally we found the Light from above

Our debts had been cleared and our bodies had been made new
How sweet the wind was upon our sweaty, soot-covered, bloodied faces as we emerged from the cave
And then we were washed clean of all of our pain and suffering
The blood was washed from our faces, and our wounds were healed
The soot from the thick coal was scrubbed from our flesh, and our poisoned lungs were healed
And we were freed from the terror of our suffering

For out of the depths of the earth with squinted eyes and limp limbs
We emerged into great Light never before seen
And as our eyes adjusted, so did our understanding
The understanding of just how lost we had been
And just how close to death we came with each and every day
But the breath of fresh air, and the sight of new light resurrected us

From the great horror of our past we were healed
And from our ever-growing debts we had been released
We were freed from our self-imprisonment and given new life
And not on our own accord in the slightest
But by the great love of Christ Jesus
For Jesus is our great deliverer
A narrative poem about the great love of Christ through even the deepest depths and the darkest darkness
Coop Lee Jul 2014
the love and romance.
the years lit by artillery.
the wars.

the men did these wild things. these great grand expressions of love and survival.
they’d damage themselves, bleed while moving furniture.
wood splinters better painted red wet warmth.
they’d notch together plum-cut bricks into
crenulations or walls or cathedrals.
home built.

the women: of an ancient woven fiber
and/or old energy, they’d battle serpents into dark and drunk loneliness.
she conspired for a happy life.

death by the meadow.
old woman remembering young woman and
young man,
now old man approaching.
the world forgets, but we will always have eachother.

remember us youths in proto-revolution.
we didn’t believe in what we did.
we lived a lie.
all america.
dreaming and soap opera.
daytime television blastulas.

the wars are fought early, and fierce.
the wars are won and lost on highschool dancefloors.
highschool blacktops. blackboards. breathy
kissing.
spectral codes of light.

and we bloom outward into livelihoods and
incomes.
timelines.
trenches to crawl from shell-shocked and screaming ****** ******.
or not.
but yes -

the world is built on blisters and scar tissue.
nothing is untouched.
nothing is unwounded.
Standing silent, solid, firm, it's job is still not known
And as we stare back from below, our strength has only grown
It will not break me, beat me down, It will not make me bend
I do not care what it looks like or what message that it sends
It cannot hurt me, it makes me think, just what would this thing feel?
If it knew it's purpose, why it's here, would it? if it were real
It's just a symbol, nothing more, it not the thing I hate
It's there because the ownership won't sit down and debate
It represents their feelings and what they think of me
But I can stand beside it and I know my thoughts are free
I stand and wonder what most think when they drive by and look
And think about the extra time and costs that this thing took
It just stares down and  it looks at us, it doesn't say a word
It doesn't listen to our chants, we know that they're not heard
It keeps us out from where we work and want to spend our time
It looks at us without a sound just like a metal mime
It has two sides, one in one out, it won't let us inside
We'd rather that it disappear, we've talked and god, we've tried
I feel that it will not come down until the final day
When our jobs, our souls, our livelihoods are in The USA
It's power stretches miles and it doesn't make much sense
This thing that separates our worlds is only just a fence.
phil roberts Feb 2016
I was once called
A communist, a fascist and an anarchist
All in one sentence
Which I thought was quite impressive
And this was because I was a union man
My fellow workers elected me to represent them
In our dealings with management
I was involved in negotiations
About the application of regulations
And other tedious vexations
And on rare occasions
I led disputes and even strikes
And, over the years
I helped to save many jobs
Not numbers
But peoples' livelihoods
Some will say I was a rabble-rouser
An agitator
Some can say as they like
All I ever did
Was stand up for the underdog
And I hope I always will

                                   By Phil Roberts
Sal Gelles May 2013
freedom of movement
fighting for its rights
out in the air; fists flying
arms wailing
spinning around kicking
just for the sake of movement.
that one element
stuck out more in anything
as it occupied the space it needed
as the spaceman heeded
sang us songs; as the lights speed about.
birthed out of an era
torn by so much
artistically and musically;
livelihoods drastically
changing as considering creatively
that this was how
you would dance to david bowie.
God's Oracle Aug 2021
I am completely honest I am accepting the help from my Christian Brothers and Sisters to at last RENOUNCE to the spirits of Lust, Power, Pride, Sloth, Manipulation, High Places and Violence. I voice out my heart because I have gotten accostumed to allowing this entities to coexist outside of my temple yet have given them permission to utilize my temple whenever I needed their knowledge or expertize or even experience due to their massive years of antiquity. Some of this spirits are a Millennial Spirit with a vast amount of rich knowledge special way to aid it's host on making predictions on other people's livelihoods via astrological, numeral, symbolical allegory of unexplored secrets of the spirit realm. When being able to look at a person's spiritual blueprint and extract his exact 3 most radiant aura colors and if you can suggest a perfect number a number that has meaning in their Life...this can shake the foundations of their empirical and theological or philosophical beliefs...This things are a Spiritual Gift I have unlocked and possess the capacity and capability to allow someone else see their destiny and Life thru a newer more fresher perspective. I have learned that every person has a different spiritual walk either lost in the world roaming this planet with too much ignorance and intellectual theory's that defy God and his existence. What they don't see is that without God our Universe could NOT coexist nor be able to continuously expand and bloom in the vast expansions of the unexplored darkness that is ever so prevelent in the cosmic celestial hosts. Don't you people understand that we are all somewhat related via blood types and ancestral family trees and how we can trace the DNA that proves we all have a genetic molecular modification to our DNA via other unknown entities that somehow gave us knowledge of magik, weaponry, chemical alterations  that can be administered to the human body via energy exchange, ritual accession or even experienced thru drinking, smoking, inhaling, or injecting this Drugs to the human body. Furthermore, knowledge of hybrid breeds of people, astrology, mathematics, science, philosophy, arts & crafts, precious stones, alchemy, spacecraft, portals to travel thru time & space, herbalism, medicine and artificial machinery. What is important to note is that I am relinquishing my temple from utilization from this spirits and in the Powerful Name Of Jesus Christ I command ******, Malpheor, Asteroth, Gremvor, Cthulhu, Sezil and Belial I command thee to leave me be in the name of Jesus Christ and to not ever come back to work within me no longer. I am no longer interested in complying with your requests to use myself as a demonic conduit to allow you demonic spirits be able to work within me...am so glad that I have finally realized that you are evil entities that somehow gave me illusive power that I adored to utilize to feel as if am above others. Now I realize that was pride and ignorance on my behalf...I now will be able to move more smoothly more clear with more clarity and with a special calling to use  my gifts for the good of humanity...now just letting the Holy Spirit to open my spiritual eyes and envision the path layed before me.
I am cancelling all commitments and all demonic spirits must leave in Jesus Name...Amen!!! The Lord Shall Persevere, Endure Forevermore Till my Life ends I'll follow the Lord everywhere he leads me.
Jesus has the power to heal cast and heal desolate temples...he can turns hearts of stone into hearts of flesh...and he is the one that can save your Soul.
Jai Rho Nov 2015
Contrary to popular belief,
we have found WMDs in Iraq,
whose Tigris and Euphrates rivers
once flowed into the Garden of Eden.

But true to popular belief,
these WMDs were not weapons
of mass destruction, in the usual
meaning of that phrase,

They turned out to be wars
of mutual destruction, fueled
by fear and anger against
the most vulnerable within our reach

It matters not that good
intentions guided bombs
and tanks to destroy the
land and lives of innocents

To a man who buried his
family in the smoking ashes
of his ancestral home, or that
vengeful reprisals have no

Other cause, to a mother who
sheds tears upon her favorite
photo of her dead son, whose
body has come home

But whose blood was spilled
into the Tigris and Euphrates

And it matters not
that treasures spent
in futile efforts to fix
what through unfounded

Belief was broken,
by laying siege to
vanquished tribes
to form a nation

Foreign to their own.
And though livelihoods
and communities have
been drained of hope

And promise at home,
there is no end in sight
for wars still fueled by
fear and anger against

The most vulnerable
within our reach.
Ntsika H Sep 2015
Death.. A lesson you spend your life studying for with a guarantee you're going to pass.. Pass away..

Hello, Death? It's me, one of your victims..

Death, let me address you for a moment....

Death, you speak languages that you only understand, but our minds try to console our hearts by giving motive for you... We spend days, nights making excuses for you...

One day you speak suicide.. Half way through your sentence you speak ******... ******, you corrupt a mind to do your ***** work.. Not that would be any cleaner if you did it...

Death, you hide beneath coffins, you run behind bullets and you color the suicide note with tears...

Death, I don't get you.. You don't only steal a life... But you steal our livelihoods as well.. Isn't life enough..? Why do you come back and take tears from our eyes, put memories in our minds so we never forget your act of dismissal..

Death, you're a thief and we all condone your crimes with a church service.. We send one off to a place beyond the sky.. A place far from here... But still, that never seems to be enough..

You feast on lives like it's a buffet.. You get served with a plate full of life, and you're a fool of life cause you keep taking it away from us, as if our plates aren't full of problems..

Death, you coward.. You only look us in the eyes when our time comes.. Where were you when you sent us a warning? Funny, I opened that letter and it only had half your signature on... When I looked over to show my brother the letter, there you were running behind that bullet.... As the bullet pierced his skin, you pierced his soul with your sword of damnation.. You never killed him.. You killed us... Cause that's what he was doing when you ran behind that bullet.. He was standing up for us.. For me...

Gone, never forgotten..
Julian Delia Apr 2018
THE DILEMMA OF A GENERATION

Mohamed Bouazizi
Represents not just the struggle in Tunisia
But of an entire generation –
His life was a consolidation
Of a series of injustices
Of economic apartheid.
After all, let us not hide
And call this tragedy what it really is.

Mohamed’s life and death
Was one of many terrible examples
Of the depth, the breadth
Of the gap between the rich and the poor.

If you think to yourself,
“I’ll never be that desperate,”
Think again;
You are fortunate
If you’ve never worked and worked until your fingers chafed raw
Yet it was not enough.
You are sheltered
If you’ve never experienced
The yoke of the owners of the world.
You are blind
If you do not see that we have ‘freedom’
That is built on top of mass graveyards.

This yoke
Has served to choke
Not just Tunisians,
But everyone who was not born with wealth
Or the opportunity to make it;
The millennial’s dilemma
Is common across the globe –
Do I lose hope?
Do I succumb
To a life of fast money and being numb?
Do I stop caring, focus instead on the life I can enjoy?
Do I ignore the stolen livelihoods, hushed, covered up and coy
Do I fail to think about the exploited labour
Of suffering human beings,
Of the ****** of my country’s neighbour?

Do I simply sidestep my knowledge of all of this?
Complacent, lacking the will
Unaware, perhaps lacking development of the skill
To realise that our world is dying
Not a slow natural demise
But of humanity-induced suicide.

Or do I, instead,
Pull up my sleeves, avenge the dead?
Do I sacrifice my well-being,
My opportunity to reach that thin demographic of the population
That fragment of the nation
Which lives a life of luxury,
In order to change the world around me?
Do I go against the swirling, swishing current of life
Give up all opportunity for power, leave this society that is rife
With abuse?
For if I don’t,
The sick world we were born in
Will perpetuate its unholy cycle of sin
I will be an instrument of that process,
Whether through complacency or an excess
Of loyalty towards the state.

If I don’t fight back,
If we don’t fight back,
Who will?
Our stillborn children?
The posterity that will be born
To a world that has no clean air,
A world that is built to be unfair
A world that separates people like an algorithm
Those above a certain monetary threshold
And those below it?

No.
It must be the millennial who fights for rights,
Before they are sold off completely and stocks run out,
Before men and women in power with infallible clout
Turn us all against each other
And make us destroy ourselves.
The final part of a poem I wrote to commemorate the life and death of Mohamed Bouazizi.
OnlyEggy Jun 2017
We come from different worlds
Different parts of the map
Two different livelihoods
Two different paths

Two separate childhoods
Two types of families
One; grown up too fast
One so naïve

Both playing games online
In two different places
Fate pushes introvert and opposite
To two smiling faces

One avoids mistakes
From one big one to two
One just trying to take a guess
What the other just might do

One runs away
With a tank full of gas
One sits at home
Hoping the pain will pass

Two different hearts
Tell two what to do
Both do not understand
What the other's been through

One in recovery
One drives all night
One is so confident
The other is in fright

Two different people
From two different places
Lock arms for the first time
And stare into faces

These two different hearts
Began to beat as one
Through hiccups and heartaches
These hearts produce a son

Now two families merge
Two become stronger than the sum
I'll hold you both forever, Love

This story's just begun
(AIP) Justin Griego
History* is *such an integral subject
One if learnt from can change lives
It makes  people realise; violence isn't the answer
It makes  people think; of alternate solutions
Coming to the conclusion that
Peace, integrity and unity
Is the only way us humans can thrive.

We must learn from the past
After all mistakes are made to be a lesson
If this is done so
Many lives and livelihoods can be saved

Alas  however the irony of our past is
We must watch, agonisingly , as history
Continues to repeat itself.
Why are we too stubborn to accept and learn?
Michael Bauer Feb 2015
humanity will survive only if we are rooted closely to the earth

unbridled technology will lead to our demise

our tools come from nature but we cannot let our tools poison the soil

the neon screen that you are reading

like the pages of man’s great canon of books

grow from the ground

precious conductive earth metals

more valuable than gold mines

when those are gone

no more text messages or Twitter

no more blogging or wind turbines

we will return to primitive communication

land lines, letters and talking

i wonder how our grand kids will make the transition

from rare earth metals and petroleum

to whatever is next

will they discover a revolutionary pearl of knowledge

that we cannot yet imagine

or will they relearn forgotten technologies

and replant in their ancestors’ livelihoods

or will we leave the land sapped and useless



humanity will survive only if we are rooted closely to the earth

we grow from the ground

shine from the sun

blow in the wind

flow in the water


**originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 5/2/2014
Grey Dec 2019
Fractured light gleams off the walls
Reflecting off the Rolex strewn casually across his immaculate desk
Its platinum plating smirking at the watchers
From under the diamond rock.

He wanders through the halls
Stares at the struggles of those below him
Through the translucent walls.

Reaches out a hand
But can never touch the world
Obscured by the diamond windows
That are his prison.

Tilted, rounded walls make caricatures
Of lives, of livelihoods, of people
Like funhouse mirrors in the playground
Of life.

He winds his way through the streets
Of those outside his cell.
Staring through the milky panels
That bar him from his subjects.

Though he can never touch, never truly see
It is he who holds the power
above the watchers below.
WIP
Feeling Real Oct 2014
Abled
Messingly sweet
Remembering your taste
In a cup of coffee

Sweating wet
Down my chin and over limb
I haven't heard
Spoken words

Designed over leave
Overseas, and for nearly free
Small size
I overcompensate my life

Messing memories
Swapping livelihoods
Words making their
Own way out
Akwana Wa Odera Apr 2019
I think Kenyan politics like love is blind
And we are just visually impaired beggars
Waiting to be given crumbs and the leftovers
As the true 'nation owners'
Share the bigger pie, with greed and 'honor'
I get sick every time i get to watch this sequel
With too much unending repetition
Impersonation
Individualization
With despots ruling the nation.
We've totally failed as a people
Always ready to criticize
But never determined to see through
Always ready to fight
When it's us with huge dues
Protecting our own
When it's them that get huge!
Someone told me to vote to eradicate
The rot
That through my vote
Maybe there will be change in the lot
And the true will get afloat
But I'll have to disappoint,
In a system this rogue
To vote i will not!
No need to confront
Let me express the systems faults.
Politicians fighting for supremacy
The bigwigs protecting there lame legacy
Whilst people in the north are hunger stricken
And the system blames the weather for its wickedness
Corruption levels are beyond explanations
With money for development disappearing in the boardrooms
Leaving unemployed Youths struggling to bet on their livelihoods
In a system this rogue
To vote i will note
When the main agenda in Kenyan shows
Is politics
And who will get to be the kingpin of all
When the Chinese are taking over our plots
Leaving Kenyans at their mercies with no hope
When it's huge loans that are borrowed
But no track record or development to show
And that's just a piece
Of the iceberg that we've crushed in
Breaking the system to bits
The system is sick
But again we are blind
And not even struggling to see
I wonder what miracles we'll need
Just to put the system to speed
But still
In a system so rogue
To vote i will not!

Akwana Wa Odera
@therealakwana
© 2019
Kenyan politics as of now is just disappointing
Bryan Oct 2017
Nature sees what nature sees,
And nature does what nature does.
Minds believe in memories
And sometimes hearts believe in love.
When hearts and minds do both agree,
Conceived are dreams converged as one,
But love of life and logic leaves
Our livelihoods left out of luck.

Deceived are these who dream of things
Composed of money, grease, and blood:
Mechanical beings, with cogs and springs,
Like clockwork do this planet run.
In tightened shifts, devices click,
And slowly start to smog the sun,
But smoke and fog made synthetically,
How many does this bother? None.
Machines, you see, they do not breathe
The air they leave beneath for us.
They call this craft their politics,
And leave us here to pay in blood.
One by one, by one, we wonder,
Where the humans lost their love.

When will men begin to see
What nature sees how nature does?
Banks super lives, super-way, any union folded web of life,
conceal slights, only if we deliver the Arachnoweave Amoeba
in the ear of the Nordic ghost. The magic does not silence more
pro spirit, pro livelihoods rotating wheel terrified, provided the wheels of more to come, beyond, carried on tireless arms, washing the shoulders of my Maximus, along with its Grandfa Bernardino, with soap detergent on its soothing back, slipping his eternal dilatant lives ... while I moisten the cloth in water from your derogate juice Violin bilge her new life ahead. Coax, beings who now they mess up good news this spring. Makeup oils in their faces, multipole smiles, high orbits both love you, about back again,

Work hard in defining access mechanisms, and the answer to this question is implicit in the submissive book, lignum passed here concludes dyslexic and putrid for many  feces on your gums !!! . The Faltering history shows that new developments that were unimaginable arise every day.

One or two generations before, and they are supported by all desiccated knowledge, tribal smoke signals or Bosca Stove in my lotus mind ...?, from the Tungus to the Mapuches Indians, speaking alone with such rage at the edge of each split hill, chemistry beautiful tree or river, who would like charmed life well made., falling prostrate with his dry lips, both parties pray to the life pattern and Earth for a dignified life.,

Utterance: Proverb by Default is flashing words of luminance beings, nothing encoding, it is only a proverbial asthma magical literary wanderings the illiterate time, whose purpose is to propose ranges of understanding, achieving suppress oxygenation even in the art of live. By transposing for new paths excelsus poetry, to deploy new signs and indications of communications prophetic.
METAPHYSIC DEADLY NOTES
Nolan Higgins Feb 2017
The snow hit this town in a way not dissimilar to Xtra Strength Mucinex PM hitting the nasal passage of someone with a severe head cold.

You could feel it;
on the bus,
on the slopes,
in the employee dining room;
Everywhere the same:
you, me, this town,
we need the snow
our livelihoods all depend on it.

It's simple: no snow means no skiing.
No skiing means seventy percent of this town immediately looses their jobs. Another twenty percent looses their job when they can't sell **** to tourisists. The last ten percent will continue to grow pumpkins and heard cattle, but for how long?

The snow came like a scalpel to the eyeball infected with a cataract.
Dada Olowo Eyo Nov 2015
They steal us blind,
Embezzle livelihoods of generations unborn,
No different from European barbarians,
Who today pass off as modern grammarians.

— The End —