"profiteers" poems
Crept in sinister and foreboding
Announcing their warnings in silent contrails of clotted red
Though the signs were not heeded
The impending extinction civilization was to face
From this reality humans turned their eyes away
The war was soon in coming
The blood parasites set their war machines humming
Singing songs of death and gold coins
Rubbing their hands with mad glee
As death profiteers cackled and rejoiced
Veiled widows sobbed quietly resigned and forlorn
Black strangling stench of rotting bodies and lies
The look of defeat in helpless glazed eyes
Tears running down accepting streaked faces
The sounds of fading souls and lost dreams
The screams of the dying lessened and eventually ceased
When Crimson skies in the morning
Crept in sinister and foreboding
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
*Deadly deluded deceitful demon's of: inter-racial racism; murderous religiosity; frightful jealous hackings; tribally usurping genocides; atrocious political strength-of-arms; invading ferocity; selfish presidential reasoning;
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window;
self-effacing prime ministerial decrees of war; sanctioned moves by greedy banker pawns; designer labelled terrorism; War, a game now called 'Texas Billionaires Commodity'; a countries paid survival; seeded maniacal jealousy; globalisation's murdering grandiose; grandiloquent made walking bombaster(s) ; revenger mob leaders; our taxed Fools World !?
Globalisation - orchestrated profiteers, betting our losses*
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 11:16 PM UTC
she lay next to him at night
dreaming of a ghostly icon, gold
little-headed monkey god on an island nigh the cape of bone marrow.
& now
she bounds into humble years, house cat, domesticated
little smiles, little daughters, little
flowers at the supermarket.
good morning.
pull her hair, as if to tree
& family. seed shoved down her throat
& diamonds.
she remembers the jewel runners, their chunks of wet rock.
& birds
slipstreaming away their days above africa.
slug to the chest &
she awakens in a hyundai
under the beaming heat of a vacant strip-mall sun.
gravity feels soft
in this lesser pungent life.
dreamt only, of choking temp and humid archipelago nights,
the gibbons & the thieves.
the treasure chest lairs of chieftains and tribal nobodies.
war profiteers.
men of fang island fantasy.
fake it.
p.t.a. and butter spread it, to toast and/or corn.
the sun is rising
& falling
& truly just travelling ‘round.
marinated artichoke hearts.
[baby dreams] of waves
on shore and handshake, of altered mother moons, she
is hidden in reflection
& time.
happy with the furniture.
plentiful on extra lunch meat.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
its tha return of tha gangsta thanks to ya
too many blacks out here livin' they life in fear
families seeing tears problems tier
blurry visions make it hard to see clear my dear
cant get through the atmosphere
feel me it's the return of the gangsta I'd like to thank ya
Malcolm for giving me the principles and reaching a few people's
opening minds to grinds and you'll find
me chilling on the corner puffing marijuana yep I'm a gonna
in society outlaw outcast put my thoughts on blast
techs is humming cuz I smell war coming armies drumming
po folks crying innocent victims dying
for no apparent reasons caught in daily treasons which gives me a reasons to put an end to Americas sin but too many folks stuck in
a fantAsy called reality in actuality
they plotting our burials G
troops overseas findings empty caves so the government can make saves war profiteers racketeering gangsters hustlers
exposing lies don't be a busta like a Douglass no diamonds in my cutlass couldn't move so I had cut less people out of my circle I'm nerdy as urkel yea my intellect carefully selects
what's real from reality I envision myself as well as my enemies in a fatality so battling me I was made for war built off the backs of my ancestors sore yea white house was built by the slaves for white supremacy kind of irony they sayin' my folks was lazy?
worked up from Sun up to Sun down
I can't believe my folks walking with they heads towards the grounds
how bout we get mad and let off gun sounds pound for pound
you know they can't hang with us
that's why they had to make laws against us
scared of rise and corruptions ain't a surprise through the eyes
of real people who realize pain ain't a substitution for happiness bliss
I guess I was sunkissed
by wisdom mouth open hail Mary entered me and told me
we all family eyes lit no **** no fit nothing
but a glowing brain exemption of fame down goes my name
in the book of life made wisdom my wife
she took my arm she's my charm
as I glance at the souls gunned down on plantations farms gangsta....
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
Globalisation - orchestrated profiteers, betting our losses
.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Deare God, preserve the innocent
For they have put their trust in thee
They follow nature without recourse
Thou art their Lord, so protect them
They have not harmed anyone
Their sorrows multiply from the
Minds of Men that thou created
Their inheritance is a portion of thy creation
They suffer now without need
Preserve Them, O God: for in thee
They put their last symbol of faith
They have nothing to bargain with
They cannot pay to escape chaos
They would sell their daughters to
Feed their families, with holy tears
For so little freedom is granted the poor
Therefore my heart would be glad
If you spared a few of the poor
The pure, the self-sacrificed, the down-trodden
Remember them too, while nature inherits
The wicked, the industrious, the hoarders
Those profiteers know nothing about you
God, if there is such a thing as a hell
As a punishment for sin, let it be seen
Let the Nations that do wrong be punished
And let their children bear the weight of the stain.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Late nights spent in the depths of the Gita,
Self realization nipping at my boot heals.
Reading the lines of a gone, but not forgotten,
Gay poet, shedding a tear to his epitaph.
Death always sinks its teeth in deep,
Deep into the bowels of the subconscious,
Twisting and writhing through long
Dead emotions, finally expiring its final breath
Through the sinus cavity and out the eyes.
Breakfast is no longer held in the morning,
But far beyond dawn’s reach in the late afternoon,
Much needed sleep is pushed off until
The last minute.
God bless procrastination.
God bless my body, soul, consciousness,
And mind.
God bless those ravaged by war and hate.
Trailing after sunset for that one great fix,
No escape for the ones within its grasp.
Naked we lay in bed,
Until the noon sun kisses our cheeks.
Naked we lay in our hearts, bodies,
Souls, and spirits.
Naked is the man who looks himself in the mirror,
Only to find a corpse in the hollowed eyes that
Sleep deprivation has left him.
Overheated and lost in ill-repaired pipes
At midnight,
Loneliness creeps in like a spy to my senses.
The great manifesto has seeped its way into my brain
And retired in the retinas of self-loathing.
Unforgiving poisons course through the veins.
Strobe lights dim the senses,
People in slow movements of black and white.
Paying our debt,
Debt that is owed to our maker
From the dawn of time to the ravaged streets
Of a morally degraded and ignorant,
Politically correct World.
Dance with me tonight.
Dance in the streets with joy and madness.
Dance with tumorous disease.
Dance with the leper's cry.
Dance with the sodomite’s urge.
Dance with the looming shadows.
Dance with the bigots and the profiteers.
Dance with me, because we are free.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
we are young gods,
daughters and sons of a generation
who gave up on love a universe ago,
but we do our best to experience it-
we sell it in bottles of pop culture and rabid obsessions;
turn it into a conglomeration that profiteers on excess,
a chaos of depression, anxiety, dark self-depreciating wit-
and become artists who lament on first-world tragedies.
we are young gods,
we scoff at religion and we bathe in unholiness,
sin is the new in, black is your best act, and we love it;
we wear our indifference like an armour,
because we fear what we'll see if we're allowed
to understand our emotions and display our vulnerability.
we are young gods,
happy ever after is a joke and true love even more so,
we inhale criticism and exhale cynicism,
because the titans before us acknowledge that the world is cruel
but we embrace it- we drape ourselves in abject and misery,
stitch and mould uncaring faces onto our flesh that gaze upon
the heartbroken jagged shards of ourselves, bleeding guts and glory
embedded all over the cement patch wood floors, amongst the whisky and wine.
we are the young gods;
a mass of degenerates with our entitlement and liberals,
a numbing, sweet hollow feeling that we substitute
for the lack of love and care that we've grown used to;
a realism that carves like a knife at tender ages and
we wear our sadness like a charm- aesthetics to be envied;
we're self-destructive, faithless, pointless,
burning in our question for the meaning of existence
and the only religion we'll ever bow down to
is ourselves.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
The vets that fought for the Boston tea party
native impostors of tea tossing
or the vets that were slaves and fought for freedom
the vets that go to other countries to **** non white people
all of the care vets have or not
and funding and compassion
should go to freed slaves
the vets that killed slave masters
and saved their children from **** and torture
the independence that declaring freedom with broken chains
dead slave masters
beautiful songs and music
the blues
jazz
art and technology
affords
or the independence declared from being free of being taxed
The independence declared when a slave felt
knowing that in Britain the emancipation has already been declared
seeing the desperation in the slave profiteers
seeing the desperation of whiteness
and the independence declared when experiencing the freedom
of Escaping liberty
proving that a human being is not a resource to exploit
Independence day
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
I am a wolf that looks upon sheep.
Do not fear me,
but fear the wolves who pose as sheep,
as they are the profiteers of woe.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
There is a symmetry to war, state
against state, brother against brother,
like Siamese twins joined
headlong, thrashing and flailing
with one impassioned heart
for the right to be.
And still the world turns, and still
the hearts of defeated men beat strong
with savage hopes for a lost generation,
and the hearts of victors, once blinded
by angst and ire, observe the failings
of their triumph, see through old lies
that urged them unto death or death,
and old traditions, caked in blood,
are refashioned and reborn like bell-
bottomed denim, and still the world turns.
How was it, in that desperate hour,
for a man born to cotton fields,
born unto the yoke, born beneath the whip,
born unto the mercy of his masters,
how was it to be borne up to see the white
cotton flag raised in supplication, to see
old masters wavering in ploughed furrows,
like cotton billowed by a Northern squall?
Was there, in that desperate hour, a scream
from the past, "Beware, the Templars!"
as old chains were cast off, and melted
to forge chains anew, and the masters
of old were replaced by new masters
of state, and old fashions like slavery
replaced with chains worn by gangs over
bell-bottomed denim?
As long as men are masters of men,
Man will abuse his fellow man;
Profiteers will sup the fruits
of free labor, honest business
will decline, and prisons burgeon
as the poor become poorer, and
the poorest are inducted into
the perfect symmetry of an
imperfect finite state machine,
until the next uprising.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
desperate young guns and wannabe nuns
clever, cunning, running for their very lives
ever wracked with doubt, there’s no way out
no one wins and in the end no one survives
little lambs lost, prophets sleep with profiteers
to our unknown unseen gods we blindly pray
it’s time to choose, when you snooze you lose
can we not find a more sublime game to play
society’s tools, writing rules followed by fools
criticize and cry, our sighs but a silent scream
beneath empty skies, all fall down for little lies
please play if you must, but i choose to dream
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
Those profiteers of animals, the devastating news I found
this summer,
They finally wrote back, after I told them exactly what I thought
that killing is not a happy ending
that animals have fear, and know when they are facing death
They wrote back, those with the big bank accounts from the Big East
who tried to stop No **** San Francisco to protect their friends at the **** shelters
They wrote back, those that we fought off, because we are in the right
and money and power and influence cannot stop justice and we are right,
not them,
And they finally acknowledged me, and the wrote back,
trying to show how kind they are
Their over dressed CEO walks down a carpeted stairway to give a woman her dog
and they wrote back
because at the end of the day I have nothing to hide
only justice at my side
and they can sit in their fancy Eastern clothes
and they can wallow in their power and influence
but at the end of the day
it's the little animal lives that matter, those they don't save
and justice is more powerful than any earthly prop
and it will win
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
This rule, this law,
This way to walk
This right, this wrong
This way to talk
The unspoken agreements
Written across the sky,
On the surface of the Earth
Yet we never question why.
And that way, that rule
That societal law,
That good, that bad
That old mortal flaw
A prison we created
A cage of our manufacture
What savages we’ve become
From fighting our ‘savage’ nature
That beauty, that ugliness
That worthy, that not
That clever, that foolish –
Each a lie we’ve all bought
Where the hell did they come from?
Who the hell made these rules
If not for ourselves?
We don’t see it – we’re fools.
And there are no profiteers
We’re all just losers here
To not believe it, or to think like them
Is to let yourself be tricked by the system.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
As a writer and poet who absorbs the world and then bleeds out truth, I'm finding it harder and harder to break through the political propaganda that television, radio, and web media has conjured to dominate and control so many minds. I can work around the programming by introducing abstract moral truths, but the moment I reference modern cultural, my work goes ignored.
I feel myself losing touch with a society that I’ve taken for granted my entire writing life. In a gluttonous feast of sensational media
that has proven nearly impossible to extricate ourselves,
we allow the power of profiteers and con-artists
to stream content into our minds that programs us
to accept unprecedented levels of violence.
We celebrate military-style police powers
to remove our freedoms of expression,
the rights to own property at reasonable expense,
and our most basic rights to life under a banner of liberty.
In an **** of hatred and greed, a large swath of society
has proven comfortable with exterminating
or imprisoning human beings for the color of their skin
or the origin of their birth in private-for-profit prisons.
Yes, I definitely feel we are lost in a spiral of human descent,
where there is no end, only torment and death.
-Ron Gavalik
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
The politicians
are corporate shills
who take our taxes
to pay their bills,
then let greedy businessmen
keep their pockets filled
not caring who gets killed
by the bombs of
the war profiteers.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Grim,grim and looking down within the valley far so far below
I watch as arms swing to and fro
and dreamers hope that all is well as marching one by one, they step into their heaven or is it hell?
All is well as profiteers sell talismans to men of learning,burning with desire to not fall and burn inside the fire.
And galley slaves,another time and still the drum beats to that time,another song, the galley slaves still row along and dream until the dream has gone and then the time begins once more.
Grim so grim and yet I lean to look within, for I am not a man who knows no sin and thus I need to peer within to set the course that I must take.
It was the sin that led me to this rim above the valley,where the quietness of death is matched only by the quickening of my own breath,
I stand alone to watch the rag and bone men going to their fate and wonder what's in store for this lazy good for nothing sore that is my life.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
The cost of TRUTH
may at times burden
our mental energy and our wallets,
especially when we are delivered
so many cheap, comfortable lies.
TRUTH, however, is the tonic
that heals and fortifies our minds
against the constant flood of toxic oil
that pours from the gullets
of poseurs and profiteers.
The few who summon the courage
to embrace TRUTH are transformed
into angels of light. They rise above
the sewage of violence and hatred
of so many polluted minds,
the diseased souls condemned
to whither in misery.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC