"statesmen" poems
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
Where is corruption?
Seems tone up statesmen notion
Co-ordinate with gallantry pride exploration,
Somewhere scholar's voice explosion
Solicit grant for idle generation.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
What is corruption?
Working against the soul corruption,
Earning money overdose corruption;
Kissing beloved on road corruption
Homosexuality in India corruption.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
How to eliminate corruption?
Agitation, law, dialect and compulsion.
Could not minimize absolute tension.
To eradicate this sensitive passion,
Must regulate spiritual diversion.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Nobody marching toward us
Their guns making us die.
No tanks are come clanking
No bombers in the sky.
But our Congress and generals
When oil or bases seem needed;
We appear armed and threatening
Peace and love talk not heeded.
No country has attacked us
With troops and lethal artillery.
But our leaders expect us to
Go open up their arteries
And **** their women and children
And laugh while they all die
And we are expected to do this
And never think to ask why.
It’s almost like big companies
Were sad when WW2 ended
So they started attacking countries
We really should have befriended.
We let Russia have free reign
To **** and ****** and steal
Almost as if their aggression
Wasn’t really true or even real.
We looked around and made them,
Those evil old warlike excuses,
That some country threatened freedom
And we pretended they weren’t ruses.
We attacked Korea and Vietnam
We were just supposed to observe
That they were yellow people there
And think they got what they deserved.
We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took
A duly elected leader and put him in jail.
If any country did that to our country
The conservatives would howl and rail.
Then the Bushes tried their best to take
Iraq to steal their oil and punish them
And created an era of stronger hatred
And anti-American outrage and mayhem.
No foreign country has attacked America;
So, the point bears repeating once again.
We need to stop acting like bullies here
And start acting like decent statesmen
And women who have the bigger picture;
The growth of peace in our battered world
So, other countries will not take their guns
And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
*while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor*
fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)
they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
*repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!*
the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!
conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)
what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes
are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in
there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know!)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints are fading
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
The king of the castle sits,
His back paw scratching his head,
Ruminating.
The aging cat wonders if he'll ever lose
the itch.
Then, apparently having reached a satisfactory conclusion
The furry statesmen curls up by the fire
Drifting....
...off
to...
sleep...
he purrs softly to himself:
The rumble of unfathomable ponderings.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
ruminating
cogitating
pondering
thinking
the subject matter doth
put the mind into a thought seat
is there sufficient verbs for me
to place on the paper's sheet
verbs by definition are words
which have an action
they on the reader
do have an impaction
so let's explore a topic
worth a thousand of them
how I'll express this piece
shall test my mind's stem
here is the matter I shall discuss
without any duress or manner of fuss
all over the globe there is much trouble
our planet is not as a carefree bubble
the inhabitants often observe strife somewhere
our corners of four not of an according air
were there to be peace and calmed relations
no concerns would beset our world's many nations
yet a propensity for war doth ever prevail
what sane men shall see the wrongs of this pail
verbs shall never explain man's idiocy
as he's ever involving himself in armory
yet a man who did advocate cordiality
lived with his brothers in true harmony
he was a meek man of the Indian land
a message of non-violence he did band
the lessons of history are never heard
man seemingly ever in the warring herd
the middle east is a tinder box of hell this day
exploding bombs and munitions all spray in affray
verbs of dialogue aren't put to good use
an ongoing lighting of the fuse doth suffuse
few statesmen of Gandhi's ilk now exist
so the torture and torment of war shall e'er persist
diplomacy has lost its edge around the globe
our planet shall remain bound in worrisome lobe
the count of verbs in this piece didn't quite reach a thousand
yet deaths in conflicts outdo that number by the thousands
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
Honest directness may
bring some lasting peace:
murdered Cicero spoke
two millenia ago
all evil man may ever know;
still our statesmen gesture
in orchestral dumbshow.
Is peace born out of a lie?
Each new morning they wake,
senseless, enchanted;
an immense multitude
that works toward a coffee break.
They gaze, glossy-eyed,
upon the imperial upshot:
Democracy and Despotism
mix in the Melting ***
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and
Illuminations from one End of this Continent
to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
John Adams – July 3, 1776.*
Webster Groves - 2016
The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling clown.
Philadelphia, July 3, 1776
Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
where resolute patriots
would turn the pages of history
and tell an unsuspecting world
that a new nation had given birth to itself.*
Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.
*Each crass insult from the British crown
had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
and revolution was the only course left.*
Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A pot-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.
*One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
knowing to the marrow that defeat
would spell certain ******* and death.*
We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.
*Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Then surrender - all British claims
to American soil banished to the tomes of history.*
The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.
“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.
Behold them mounting every stump,
By speech our liberty to guard.
Observe their courage--see them jump,
And come down hard!
"Walk up, walk up!" each cries aloud,
"And learn from me what you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.
"Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all that pass.
I--I alone can show that black
Is white as grass."
They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as well.
They'd make--I wish they'd go and make--
Of Heaven a Hell.
A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
Win wamr applause.
Lo, D lifts up his voice: "You see
The single tax on land would fall
On all alike." More evenly
No tax at all.
"With paper money," bellows E,
"We'll all be rich as lords." No doubt--
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.
As many "cures" as addle-wits
Who know not what the ailment is!
Meanwhile the patient foams and spits
Like a gin fizz.
Alas, poor Body Politic,
Your fate is all too clearly read:
To be not altogether quick,
Nor very dead.
You take your exercise in squirms,
Your rest in fainting fits between.
'Tis plain that your disorder's worms--
Worms fat and lean.
Worm Capital, Worm Labor dwell
Within your maw and muscle's scope.
Their quarrels make your life a Hell,
Your death a hope.
God send you find not such an end
To ills however sharp and huge!
God send you convalesce! God send
You vermifuge.
2.1k
THEY hold their public meetings where
Our most renowned patriots stand,
One among the birds of the air,
A stumpier on either hand;
And all the popular statesmen say
That purity built up the State
And after kept it from decay;
And let all base ambition be,
For intellect would make us proud
And pride bring in impurity:
The three old rascals laugh aloud.
2k
There's a painting by Botticelli
I've always loved,
showing Venus being born naked
from the ocean and
not fearing the current.
Those around her renounce her body,
scrambling to clothe her,
turn her virginal,
contain the way her eyes cross galaxies,
shine all the way to Pluto.
But she is soft, unwavering,
not noticing the mortals' concern
about her *******
and bare collarbone that could catch water
at its base.
I found you halfway across the world on the steps of the Uffizi
and in the 3 hours it took you
to show me some of the best art on earth,
I was transfixed only
on the orbits of planets in your eyes.
Shortly before the sun set,
you took me through the secret corridor
Cosimo de' Medici built to walk across the
rooftops of the city
where you kissed me but
told me you didn't believe in love,
that all you needed was art,
and Michelangelo,
and in that moment
I saw Venus in your collarbone.
Saw a shell under your feet,
saw the universe in the way your freckles connected,
saw how you immortalize yourself
among the rest of the art in Florence
so no human can bring you down to earth,
can make your heart stop,
show you what it's like to cross timezones
with a single touch.
And here I am,
wanting to be your Botticelli,
to paint the uneven slope of your shoulders,
the crookedness of your right ankle,
your fear of exposing yourself to someone
who could love you.
It must be lonely out there, Venus,
on your little fishing boat by the sea.
Botticelli's painting was found
long after his death,
laid into the floor of
an abandoned villa in the south of Tuscany.
Venus looking lost and mortal
between cracked paint and chipping walls,
like the way you hide between
the dusty statues of the dead statesmen and fading portraits
long after the museum closes,
just you with only history to hold.
You want to believe in love
as past-tense,
like you've lost faith in present participles and the fact
that art is still being made,
and people are running barefoot into future conjugations
together.
Don't come back to land, Venus. Vanessa.
I won't be here waiting with a towel
or an art critic
or a spaceship.
But maybe,
just make a little room for me on your shell
under the sun,
atop steady waves or Florentine rooftops.
Throw the map overboard.
Let's forget the shore.
And Michelangelo and the rest of them
will smile as they see us off.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
I want to find those liars
That call themselves statesmen
And smack their faces
And take by the country’s *****
Because they have stolen
The innocence of every one of us
And pushed us off a cliff
In their ******** conservative bus.
Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.
It’s the work of the devil
To behave the way they do.
Doesn’t seem to be an end
To the crap they put us through.
They are minions of evil
Paid to make our lives worse.
I would push the magic button
And make it happen in reverse.
Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.
There is something wrong
That they outgrew any conscience.
They point the finger at gays
But really, they are the deviants.
They re-wrote the holy books
So they come out the winner
And the rest of our country
Ends up as the dog’s dinner.
Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Manila is fray
Tough enough to die,
Brave enough to see ****** against
the billboards
***** on the marketplace
***** men haggling for prices
the corners are squalid -- rats with ambitions of men take their places in
the esteros
a car-horn blares, wanes old moon music.
I sing songs of malversation. Trains all graffiti.
My heart like a jailbird freed somewhere
in the big sur; love assuages nothing,
comes with a cheap price
a freak December night in Roxas blvd.
i sit on marble benches and dream
of artilleries, garlands on snuff-nosed
barrels, nuns grieving dust
in the ground. communal bathrooms
drunk in foolish caricatures,
the tabloids displaying flowerheads --
the democracy in the streets a ****
for kings, no love to lull
me to infantile sleep
tortured are the bulls
matadors hiding behind faces red like
faces of statesmen flushed with
the spirit of bourbon
whereas we are here river-facing
northern tip of its undying source
like wives on balustrades waiting
to catch the fragrance of inamoratas,
light reenters
interstice of chary webs of dull heads hemmed in like canopies in the throat of overthrown ponds, scraps
of metal sold for a night's worth
of gin and Sinatra,
Deep within the grave, the dead laughing
at the dead living. Atop waters,
yachts peering into drowning fish,
in the middle, a jam of buses
belching lassitudes that strangle
the console, the man in all of us
the same, cursing behind the wheel
and everybody else different
dancing at the top of our heads.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 5:04 AM UTC
1
just watched the news
my morning ritual
2
today’s news, as I saw it
(today and this week)
as I heard them all interviewees
them politicians, men of God,
holy ones and pure ones
organizers and statesmen and entertainers
and various personalities,
they all used sincerity terms:
“….to be honest,” one said…”to be frank…,” said another
And yet another: “I’ll be frank with you….”
“Well, frankly speaking,” declared one eminent person…
You wish the interviewer
would interrupt and say:
“You mean you haven’t been honest till now?”
3
and yet, frankly speaking,
that’s not news;
that’s old wearied news
for I’ve heard that from 1960’s
since I started watching interviewees,
to be honest
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 5:21 AM UTC
I look into the void that fills the halls of power and I get all confused. I look for distinguished statesmen in fine attire, but all I see are the animals running up and down a spire. There are old lions who have seen their better days with dingy coats and teeth that have bitten off more than they can chew. I see packs of wolves banding together giving anyone who challenges them an icy Arctic stare. Then there are Zebras that are constantly trying to change their stripes, as they prance to and fro trying to avoid any one position. I look on and see packs of Jackals with microphones and cameras. Hissing and growling as they snap at each other to get a word in edge wise. Then there are the Ostriches, who stick their heads in the sand or at least under their desk until what ever problem they are facing has passed. Such is the life in the halls of power also know as a Political zoo.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
If we were young men,
if we were strong
If we had fresh words,
to add to our song
If we were soldiers,
with war in our veins
If we were poets,
our voices reclaimed
If we were lovers,
of women that cried
If we went wandering,
our heart’s reapplied
If we were statesmen,
the world in our grasp
If we were sailors,
the wind at our backs
If we were farmers,
with meadows so green
If we were actors,
on stages supreme
If we were hunters,
new wolf on the prowl
If we were dreamers,
all wishes allowed
If we were young men,
still facing the sun
But alas, we are old
—and darkness has come
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC
HERE COMES THE SUN!
the sun
HERE IT COMES
......the sun.......
.....
oops!
its just a nuclear explosion coming this way
---
we wait
for it to come
blinded by the light
and the knowledge
of
what it means
---------
it is no explosion
it is just
the wicked ways
of the financial world
...
of fake statesmen
fake
lawyers doctors
gurus
and
etc
...
HERE COMES THE SUN!
the sun
HERE IT COMES
......the sun.......
---------------
Sep 1, 2011
Sep 1, 2011 at 6:16 PM UTC
On the glowing American horizon,
Dawns a new era of hope and communion.
Obama, the leader America was waiting for,
Emerges from the masses, a rising star.
Breaking the barriers of religion and race,
Obama smiles, with confidence and grace,
"Change has come to America" he declares!
Recalls Lincoln, Kennedy and Dr.King,
As millions of Americans dance and sing.
Elegant orator, par excellence,
Promises equality, justice and strong defence,
And measures to crush agents of violence,
Defeat terrorists and their evil designs;
Shares India's desire to isolate centres of crime.
Facing challenging tasks at this crucial time -
Violent conflicts, failing Banks and economic trends,
He seeks the goodwill and support of all nations,
Treating them as partners and trusted friends.
'OBAMA' now personifies "YES, WE CAN" -
Our youthful world's best slogan!
Now is the time for all statesmen to join hands
And say "YES, WE WILL" and hail the brave new icon!
**** **** **** Narasimha Murthy, M.G.
Hyderabad, India. [email protected]
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
Each mind has its own method.
You go to be teachers,
to become physicians, lawyers, divines.
Statesmen, naturalists, philanthropists.
I hope, some of you, to be the men of letters,
Those whose minds have not been subdued
by the drill of school education.
How wearisome the grammarian,
the phrenologist, the political or religious fanatic,
or indeed any possessed mortal.
The fears and agitations of men who watch the markets,
the crops, the plenty or scarcity of money,
or other superficial events, are not for him.
I wish him to live by his strength, not by his weakness.
Our people have this fear to offend,
do not wish to be misunderstood.
Do not wish, of all things, to be in the minority.
Rely on yourself.
Every thought is a prison.
The rare gift of poetry already sparkles, and may yet burn.
The world has a million writers,
But the constructive powers are rare,
it is given to few men to be poets.
The writer restores.
Speak, whether there be any who understand it or not.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
The furrier tells the bell by the time of skinning,
Archangels by their clipped wings as they fell,
Statesmen by show of divided hands at plenary ringing,
The wind by quell of truant petals from daffodil.
And even love tells its beginnings and endings,
By lips shorn of lambswool words and yield of bale.
In light or darkness, though our animal souls uprisen,
Still in their wordless and naked measuring dwell.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
an important event shall
soon take place
where two leaders will
meet face to face
the dialogue being
diplomatic in tone
whereby they'll be defending
a distinct zone
Trump and Putin
showing statesmen like skills
as they navigate the
issues with strong wills
the world anticipates
successful discussions
which won't have any
dire repercussions
their summit must reap
a dividend of accord
for not to deliver would
be serious in record
stability is the key to
good global relations
thereby ensuring cordiality
between nations
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 8:42 AM UTC
the venerable Plato would have shunned
the very title of this verse
for him philosophy and poetry
were as diverse as Spartans and Athenians
who fought each other in his time
yet later thinkers of the western world
as well as many teachings farther east and south
were much less adamant to so divide
philosophers, statesmen and politicians
from those who gave aesthetic shapes to life
made people gather in their public places
in theaters or just with friends next door
to listen to the words that offered powerful examples
of love and pain and happiness
of power treachery and greed
losses and victories and visions
of our origins and what the future might be like
and that to recognize and love the beauty of our world
leads us to understand the depths of life
so we may choose our paths accordingly
that was the time when beauty truth and good were
one
such words are difficult to find in our time
when three-word soundbites have replaced coherent speech
statesmen are few and politicians many
professionals claim expertise each in their fields
talk business only with their kind
philosophers speak to each other
at conferences and universities
poetics are not really on their mind
poets have found themselves part of the arts
whose function in the common understanding
is to embellish everybody’s everyday
with pleasant images and notions
mending the harm done by so many hurt emotions
Plato’s revenge it seems
has finally come home to roost
and the poetics of philosophy
is surely desperate to receive a major boost
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
one cannot help start wondering
about some leaders' meandering
rather than take decisive measures
they pander to their selfish pleasures
claiming they are in full control
and never mind the rising toll
of deaths, infections, unemployed
during the crisis
they avoid
acknowledgment of actual danger
instead fan hate, divisiveness and anger
ignore all human suffering
but only aim at buffering
their own political survival
it seems high time for the arrival
of real statesmen who can stall
that deadly downward spiral
and save their nations
from being driven
full speed into the wall
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 9:41 AM UTC
Is it for the victims that I weep,
Or for the caged birds in hell,
Or for the miserable plight of children,
Or to the callousness of statesmen?
Vicious circles call for exploitation,
And slump us in the quicksand
Of avarice and heinousness.
And the spring gets lost in gelid sighs.
Human is indeed an animal.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
I am from a pencil, from words, and paper.
I am from the two bedroom, one floor home.
I am from the roses, and the sun.
I am from homemade coffee and depression, from Bonnie and Charlie and Christopher.
I am from the anxiety and denial.
I am from not throwing things and not living life in fear.
I am from Angels surrounding, and Omnipotent protection.
I'm from Hartford and Greenwich, statesmen and viscounts.
From the pain in their eyes and rage they expressed, and the ignorance of men.
I am from the wall where the past hangs in frames.
From pictures of possible better times, yet maybe not any greater.
From pictures that may be of worse times, hidden behind these smiles.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC