"traffickers" poems
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Washed up.
Lifeless.
All for a new life too far to reach?
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Terrorists
Heartless.
What happened to the human rights we all preach?
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Traffickers.
Gangs.
Displacing people no home and no speech.
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
A son.
No future.
We hang our heads and weep!
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way
First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man
Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA
The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.
The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA
He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold
Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA
Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood
Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA
The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan
All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA
And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars
It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA
All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu
All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA
Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix
Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA
January 1972
10.1k
Five minute street artists
and insomnia mongers.
****** drunk blondes
and finger snapping phat booties.
Street geniuses
bred by Machiavellian philosophies
cypher dreams over tokes
of marijuana smoke.
Color worshipping narcotic traffickers,
and bread winners
parole corners
sporting fitted caps and twisting fingers.
Senile war veterans
beg for change in cardboard boxes
from the American dreams
they afforded.
Hard workers with every ethnicity
molded into each pore of their face,
rub shoulders with tourists at traffic stops
barely escaping tires crushing their feet.
Sartorial geniuses with no pants
switch hips in knock-off stellos heels,
selling the origin of the world on avenues
next to Arab Halal food.
Cooperate ties and blue collars chafe ***** on subways.
nodding in and out of Daily News articles
while oxygen blessed by asparagus ****
pump through their noses.
Summa *** laude number runners dictate economies
From sky-crapper offices,
And powered rain swallows their concrete each winter,
With no apologies.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
A summer of discontent
Uprooted families swap a bombed house for tent.
A summer of disbelief.
Acts of terror but where is the relief?
A summer of turmoil.
Mass migration not safe on home soil.
A summer of confusion.
Gangs, traffickers, corruption collusion.
A summer of down trodden flowers.
The tears we shed from the sins of powers.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
Intimidated by political thugs
Prone to insert in one's mouth
The nose of a loaded gun
Or suspend a plastic bottle full of water
On males' reproductive *****
Devoid of freedom of expression
Also denied to his right and
Deplorable condition drawing attention
Shunning his God chosen land,
What is more a bright and warm country
Under the sun ,a journalist dreaming began
Fighting all odds between
The deep blue sea and the angry Satan
To migrate to a better place,
Where for democracy
Avowedly there is a better space,
Inhabited by civilized people,
Averse to discrimination based on race!
Burning his boat,
Crossing desserts,
Crammed with other refugees,
Packed with him in a boat
Some trying to reverse
Their economic lot,
Surfing uncharted waters
Seeking a paradise on earth
He headed to the country he sought
Though some their lives
At the hand of brutal traffickers lost
Beaten and thrown out of the boat,
Also at a port
Suspected of a terrorist bent
Many migrants to prisons were sent.
After a humiliating acid test
Why for a dreamland his country he left
As migrants' bane
They placed him at the foot
Of an ice-clad mountain.
“I will never see
My country again,
You are trying my patience in vain!"
He vowed
Despite the razor-sharp cold untold.
Then they took him up higher
An epitome to a cold fire!
Once more
He put his foot down
Putting on more clothes and
Changing attire.
They placed him
At the mountain's helm
As hell dark
Where the angel of death
Is seen stark.
Then in his head
Something began to bark
“*You rather choose
the better evil
If both your assailants and hosts
Are no two different devil! *"
Seeing first hand
Those with cold shoulder
Assylem seekers adore to attack
Though there are
Few not off humanity's track
At last he decided to return back
And under his country's sun bask
Mum for his rights to ask
Killing his journalistic knack!
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
Wall, Wall, Walls, I love Walls
Let's build some more walls
Here wall, there wall
Everywhere wall wall
Existing walls are not enough
More walls are a necessity
Fools, I am not talking about walls of room
I Know, they are enough for you and me
Even if they are not, I don't care
House and homes are your private affairs
I do give regards to your freedom
I don't interfere with walls of your room
I am not going to shell out a penny
For your homes and rooms, honey
I have much more to think and do
I have to make much more walls
Walls on the open lands, walls on borders
It will save us from our enemies
It will save us from terrorist and drugs
Human traffickers too, only fear the walls
You morons, why don't you understand
It will save us from illegal immigrants
I mean the animals and birds of foreign lands
Entering in our country without proper visa
If you still feel, the walls are enough
Be assured, I will demolish them all
Then rebuild new magnificent walls
All walls will become a masterpiece.
We can opt for walls of iron and concrete
Even we can go for walls, made of pure steel
A new history of walls need to be written
Walls, walls everywhere, here wall, there wall
I will even try to build the wall between peoples
Wall between open hearts, Open minds
Wall between open thoughts and thinking
I vow to work for the walls, I love Walls
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
The Immigration Act
of 1917,
barred
"all idiots & imbeciles,
feeble-minded persons,
epileptics,
insane persons,
... persons with chronic alcoholism;
paupers,
& professional beggars,
and those with tuberculosis"
It barred ...
"felons,
polygamists,
prostitutes
& their traffickers."
Trump & Bannon's
Immigration Act of 2017
bars Muslims,
able-bodied Muslims,
needy Muslims,
starving Muslims,
fleeing Muslims.
Muslims in refugee camps,
student doctor Muslims,
short-sighted Muslims,
limping Muslims,
school-teacher Muslims,
ordinary Muslims,
in a word,
Muslims.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
Eli tossed the ****** novel aside; a radical tale
of painters in the far future when paint itself
would be illegal; arms dealers, drug traffickers,
*** workers gathering in dark interstellar holes
bored into passing comets & orbiting meteors
docking illegally at satellite ports & unloading
chemicals frozen into place by the artists
who can never let their identities be known;
all colors on earth are registered & trade marked
by the Beast's Corporation & so Space Art is
highly sought & lucrative but lethal as it can
made to explode w/ enough energy & radiation
to leave a small planet barren for millions of years;
the Beast is reasonably worried as Space Art, or
Action Painting [after the ancient school] is wildly
popular & traded openly for billions of dollars;
the Beast may be able to keep everyone stupid
& greedy but Art liberates them into heights of
ecstasy & kindled wisdom; freedom of thought
the last frontier no one suspected & so abrogated
their intelligence & imagination to fembots
who pump their heads full of colorful action sequences;
the illegal paintings too stiff, just stand or lean
& look back at one w/out blinking
& the female-computer-network unable to bear the silence,
initiates automatic shut-down of itself; femportals
abandoned on stations where the painted images
projected on microcells to the clandestine buyers,
spread as an unseen mist through the various
artificial environments;
the distant star paint miners
smoking up a storm & using steam-powered
fembots
to mine for their oil & charcoal;
Eli putting on the kettle for tea,
thinks about the fembots in the novel & calling a **********
demands she not speak; the girl arriving naked in stockings
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
I always make friends with homeless people. Maybe it’s the *** stained teeth and friendly personalities that draws me too them. When I’m in town you can find me with laughing people, who hold nothing to their being by the end of the day. I love them. They’re so happy, grateful and remind me of everything I want to hold in my heart. They are the sun, surrounded by dark clouds but still radiating through the grey. The public of Surrey in their white designer tops and overpriced jeans will never realize this. Call me a sucker but I would give everything to these people. The friendlier they are the more they deserve it. They always seem to be the ones who have been in their situation for the longest and have tried every method of getting the necessities we indulge on. The saddest, and grittiest are usually new to their world. It’s such a cool world mind. All of them sing punk music, create such beautiful art and tell the most interesting woven stories. They are deep. Very deep. They have been to one end and back, up and down. Being surrounded by these people can be dangerous at times mind. One day I could be engulfed by a dark crowd. By dark I mean, what parents and young teens imagine when they think about going out to the grungy parts of town; the stereotypical stench of creepy men glowing with peoples fear of them. Rapists, *** traffickers, ******** drugs, drunk men breathing down your neck and pulling roughly on your arm. I’ve been kissed on the cheek by a drunken dark mess, but he soon got punched by another. They respect people consent, children and females of any age. I don’t care if it’s a sexist old age thing for men to feel protective over women. Women are the most scared when regarding this world. I was scared. It was only a kiss on the cheek but that could lead on to so much more if left to slide. That’s why he got punched. You don’t cross boundaries. It’s the same with any person; have or have not. At the end of the day, I find the characters with scruffy attire and a perfume of **** cigarettes and beer more comforting and safer than those who breed Topshop, Topman, Hollister Apple and Urban Outfitters. I am the kid all parents would fear to let out on their own. And they should. I’m going to get myself in trouble one day, talking to strangers and hanging around gritty areas alone. But it’s better than when I used to shoplift. And anyway…I feel a lot happier after I hang round these people.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
I'm am an anon but not by name,
I am a number in this sick *** game,
the idea of anon can never die but that fails to matter if you fall for the lies,
that 99 and tea party are "career protesters"
that anon was a hacker group and not concerned by world matters,
I was in the war on chat predators and human traffickers,
you hailed us as saviors and questioned you're masters,
an unincorporated trust in response to calls from the helpless,
now has a corporate office and a hit list in public?
think and question that's the first step,
sneak or protest that's the first test
and as for our goals you're it,
keep truckin were pullin but can't do the rest,
not alone....
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
SPECKLES ATOP HIS HAND HE TELLS ME,
!I CAN'T HIT MY ARMS ANYMORE.
I CAN'T EITHER
PATRON SAINT OF DRUG TRAFFICKERS
OUR DRIVE INTO THE CITY
STOMACH ROT AND SWEAT BEADS
THE DRIVE HOME SPEED ***** AND
DREAMS
YOU'RE NOT TRYING TODAY BROTHER
AND TOMORROW IS OUR DEBT TO PAY
DO WE NOT STAND WHERE GREAT MEN STOOD
AND DISSOLVE IN THE BURNING LIGHT
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
I don't understand why I feel so dead inside
Why would I set the key aside
If I hadn't lost that key
You wouldn't be in my head right now I just want to be set free
My body is starting to break down
My mind is going in circles being chased around
My head is stirring up dark deep thoughts
How can I make it stop I'm so out of sorts
Why did I let you beat me and choke me
You wouldn't stop until my body went limp I didn't know at the time I was just a trainee
All the while I thought you loved me
All I wanted was to make a family tree
You loved being in power and in control
I lost everything my body,heart, and soul
You was a con straight out of the hood
I was a fish straight out of school
I wasn't living no more just going through the motion day by day
Waiting mostly for the hits that you gave me when I disobeyed
Being careful of where I was hit
So no one could tell I was being extinguished
you didn't want bruised merchandise
You preyed on my mind as I declined
Following every rule you made
Taking every punishment you served
Was I gonna be sold to traffickers
Or was you afraid to let your money maker go to the panthers
Was this the bigger picture all along
You stole my key and sold it to the devil is that why my head was always bashed against the wall
I was under your spell
Only way out was through hell
People see you hitting and beating me
But they just walk around or keep going never saying word to help me get my master key
Why did you not stop and help me
Maybe I would've went back but what if you was the one who set me free
My life was in danger
I was told my family was too which was a game changer
I did as told and when I was told and what I was told
Somewhere in your f--ked up mind you thought I wasn't obeying you was always in control
That's when you used whatever weapon
You had in tow to beat me into submission I reckon
You thought you was a player
You was my soul taker
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
She could have been a Mediterannean goddess;
An enamoured artist’s ethereal muse.
Golden tendrils meandeared across her visage ;
Her eyes greener than absinth , darker than the Black sea.
She was a daughter of the Tigris.
That burning serpent,
churning the blood of her brothers.
Infidel! devil-worshipper! they called her,
As they, burnt and ravaged all that she lived for.
The moon turned a shade of ochre, like it was made out of dust.
Of the brown ashes of Sinjar . Her vanquished motherland, that fallen paradise.
She prayed and prayed, to the Peacock angel;
with eyes closed, and a heart clutched in terror.
So he would spread his wings and save her.
But when she opened her eyes, the Da’esh loomed like death,
All around her, like vultures;
who wouldn’t spare the last shred of flesh on her bones.
They had scavenged her like a piece of trinket,
From the great pile of rubble, her land was reduced to.
She was their spoils from the war,
Her golden hair, her green eyes ; all theirs.
Their ravenous eyes like augers; spewing venom,
They were traffickers of the soul, to the most unholy depths of the inferno.
She was meant to be a goddess;
To rise to the realm of the Peacock angel.
If he did’nt release her soul, her spirit would rise to meet him .
She only smiled, when she took her life.
She smiled, till her last breath seeped out of her,
Death was ever so merciful, tenderly lulling her to sleep.
The Da’esh could plunder to all their dark glory.
But they could’nt fetter her soul.
Jilan, she was the fallen angel.
29/12/2014
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Corruptions was as old as this ancient province. As the population multiplied and new cities formed, organized crimes often followed. Many who lived in Guangxi went about their normal daily lives as they worked at various occupations, however, lives can have their secrets and evil lurked in the shadows. Many of the townspeople possessed slaves; slaves who had a high value that governed the economics of the law-breaking world. Human traffickers, along with drug lords, ruled this region. To keep their actions hidden, the crooks bribed the officials to look the other way.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC
She ran away
from her loving home
to make a statement.
Her concerned parents,
her Mommy & Daddy,
meant no real harm,
they only wanted
the music turned down low
after midnight.
Running loose outside the flock,
she became nothing
but wolves' meat,
a tasty morsel
for the horde of traffickers
making statements of their own.
And now she lies flat on her back,
has joined the growing ranks,
locked away unsmiling
in the shadows of the big mean-city.
It ain't pretty,
living in debauchery,
where piles of ***** money
are exchanged between
greedy grubby lusting-paws.
She feels the weight
of a sick world
ten to twenty times a day
& sometimes more.
It's not called love there,
it's a steady business
listening to loud music
long after the sun sets
& way past midnight,
a fallen lamb
misses home.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
(3/28/13)
You was out on the streets at such a young age
Because of what you went through, you felt so ashamed
You ask yourself: “was it something that I had done? ”
“Did I hurt anyone? “
Why I was physically and sexually abused at such a young age?
Is this an adult stage?
So many questions going through your mind
Keeping you thinking all the time.
Who can I turn to? Where can I go? Will it ever change? I don’t know!
My heart and mind are bursting to be free, and it is something I do foresee!
Living in the streets with predators all around – no safe place can be found.
Pimps and human traffickers are waiting on the streets
Offering them shelter and something to eat.
Taking advantage of the situation they’re in
And knowing fully that they will win.
Hunger and fear rule their minds, to the point that they become blind.
This is the advantage point that these predators need
And on their weaknesses they do feed.
You ran away from home because of the abuse and pain
To find out on the streets it’s still the same.
Thoughts and realizations are in your mind
And to be free will take time.
But with determination you move ahead
And your fears you can put to bed.
You must now help the others by showing them the way
Cause on the streets they cannot stay.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
You can call us all, including our dog, your hero men
So when you need help quickly call 9/11
Rescue we try and save you we hope, from Gods sun filled heaven
but sometimes we lose out to the devil in this ash scattered hell
Climbing the steps and spraying the fire, that nobody's skin should've felt
Bringing you out, one by one, just hold on tight to my safety belt.
We are there to protect you, not to distress you
Dressed in blue, pistol and taser at side, all in full view
We arrest the speedsters, traffickers and all the gangsters
Let the judges decide if the sentence should incur extra time for visitors
Your lawyers, barristers and familiar jailbird friends
Will testify, use false alibi to get you off and to make amends.
We're racing to the scene with the medicine in the back
Inside bed, needles and portable CPR machine, just in case of a heart attack
We will revive the dead, patch up a sore head and even help mother with newborn
So let us through with ease and don't for a second put your hand on the horn
For one day, it might be you or your family or even a long lost friend
That is waiting for the moving medical miracle machine in the end.
We dress in disguise, mainly in tree green and dirt black
On the back of tanks, falling from the sky and we won't take any flak
We're here with orders from the guy at the top
So don't get upset at us, when we come back with a hop
We fight to protect the freedom of all mankind
Just doing our job and hoping not to leave, anybody behind.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC