"transgressors" poems
Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.
It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!
But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.
Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.
Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.
Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******** pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.
Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.
Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,
The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 7:33 PM UTC
We’re quick to blame those that break our hearts,
Railing against lovers for our misfortunes,
Consigning them to hell and so forth,
When in reality,
Our oft exhausted and defeated transgressors
Serve merely as the catalyst for the internal destruction that follows
For no one impacts your emotional wellbeing as much as you,
And you birth your demons, your pain,
After ‘us’ is no more,
There is just you and your head,
An entity far more dangerous than any borne of flesh and blood
Do not judge those that hurt you,
For they are as foolish and human as you,
And remember that though
Love may linger and torment,
It is a reminder of what your heart can do,
When it’s met its match
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
too much interference
has been extensively run
by those who hold
the kingmaker's gun
as a consequence
of this kind of thing
the democratic process
is under a clouded ring
the flow of votes
which were meant
for the out in front candidate
got subverted somewhere
in the ballot box's victory pate
foreign countries meddling
with other country's domestic autonomy
so the results of elections
will satisfy their sovereignty
transgressors are employing
their technics from nations far away
to determine who'll wear
a crowning array
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
So unassuming, he enters our world
with shepherds lowly coming to adore
this infant Lord who will freedom herald.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
His star in the east did the magi see.
A star never seen from the days of yore
led them to this great child of low degree.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
His birth this day is marked by angels bright.
Singing with cymbals in a placid night,
they ushered in peace from heaven's great door.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
As foretold by the prophets and the law,
He is born of a ****** chaste and meek.
He will never loudly on the streets speak.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
He is lowly with royal ancestry,
born of David's revered noble gentry.
Men's grievous sins His blue blood atoned for.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
He came to earth with men to empathize.
With us for each state he does sympathize.
Our peace with God He came down to restore.
Christ is born this day with Bethlehem's poor.
A unifying force who will world peace make.
Men of different races sing to adore
this Christ child who will their cleavages break.
Christ was numbered with the poor at birth,
and with the transgressors at death.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 7:24 AM UTC
My son, if thou wilt receive
my words, and hide my
commandments with thee:
2 So that thou incline thine ear
unto wisdom, and apply thine
heart to understanding;
3 Yea, if thou criest after
knowledge, and liftest up thy
voice for understanding;
4 If thou seekest her as silver,
and searchest for her as for hid
treasures;
5 Then shalt thou understand
the fear of the Lord, and find the
knowledge of God.
6 For the Lord giveth wisdom:
out of his mouth cometh
knowledge and understanding.
7 He layeth up sound wisdom
for the righteous: he is a buckler
to them that walk uprightly.
8 He keepeth the paths of
judgment, and preserveth the way of
his saints.
9 Then shalt thou understand
righteousness, and judgment, and
equity; yea, every good path.
10 When wisdom entereth into
thine heart, and knowledge is
pleasant unto thy soul;
11 Discretion shall preserve
thee, understanding shall keep
thee:
12 To deliver thee from the way
of the evil man, from the man that
speaketh froward things;
13 Who leave the paths of
uprightness to walk in the ways of
darkness;
14 Who rejoice to do evil, and
delight in the frowardness of the
wicked;
15 Whose ways are crooked,
and they froward in their paths:
16 To deliver thee from the
strange woman, even from the
stranger which flattereth with her
words;
17 Which forsaketh the guide
of her youth, and forgetteth the
covenant of her God.
18 For her house inclineth
unto death, and her paths unto the
dead.
19 None that go onto her return
again, neither take they hold of
the paths of life.
20 That thou mayest walk in the
way of good men, and keep the
paths of the righteous.
21 For the upright shall dwell in
the land, and the perfect shall
remain in it.
22 But the wicked shall be cut
off from the earth, and the
transgressors shall be rooted out
of it.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
Where were you on that day that I met you?
On that day that you leaned against the wind lost in thought?
Were you in the forest seeking a spot where the sunlight bled through?
Were you on the beach looking for that dry spot of sand you could sink your toes into?
Were you flying through the storm-clouds looking for a clearing?
Did you recognize me as a limb on the same tree?
As the same handful of water that quenched thirst?
Was I to you a different piece to the same being?
Were you running through fields of roseless thorns looking for a patch of rye?
Did you acquire that embrace that was so long denied you?
Did you find a window in that house?
And if you did was light shining through it?
Did the light burn your skin?
Or did it kiss you?
Have you committed a crime that was committed against you?
Did the punishment that your transgressors avoided, find you?
Have you dived and looked for Atlantis as if it was all that mattered?
Were the shining lights of the city too great for you to hold back your tears?
Did that gust of wind smother the flames in the forest and take you past the sky and into the heavens themselves?
Were you soaring high with the stars, watching trees sprout from the infertile sands?
Did the skies open up?
Did the beyond move closer so you could reach out and touch it?
Did He touch your face as tears of serenity streamed down running to His hand to evaporate into a place you'd never have to discover again?
Show me.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
Tonight you left me breathless
You grabbed me by my hair stared,
then kissed me deeply.
You tethered our lips and my soul followed.
As we interlaced our bodies,
I wondered where you'd gone.
My husband, so gentle and caring,
had taken me by surprise.
Your eyes normally closed for a kiss,
blazed and made me crave more.
You broke away from our pleasure
Leaving me altogether undone.
Who was this man? I'd seen you daily
yet here before me was a new being.
I felt a slave to your passion
British men don't kiss like that!!
Night heat, sweat, and alcohol
lifted the veil of lace from my eyes
you, were now my possessor
I your possessed.
Turning forty had made you an aggressor
And, we the transgressors of the night
Breathlessly I managed to stutter
"You don't kiss like this"
As I shuddered you replied
"Yes, I ******* do "
And continued with your displays.
My body, the storyteller of our pleasure.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
there's a monkey in my television
he doesn't speak well
but he sure talks good
hes a real politician
Mr Do Right
he much appreciates my support
while ******* in every room of the house
marking his territory
which is everywhere
and promising lavender horizons
with words like a luster of stumps
turning lives into vagrant shadows
freezing dreams like skin tags
he's **** high in **** and graft
having *** ******
an
American way of life
while he grandstands
riding a tricycle on the ceiling
all business like
a lazy worthless *******
with a slush fund
and no limit to what he will do
flanked with mullah lawyers and the clergy
minions lackeys and body guards
he sits terminal
upon a throne
like a jagged mouth
sure to be swallowed
struggling against the menacing whispers
of those do wrongs and the unborn
world soul disgruntled
a slave to being a tyrant
ready to **** all transgressors
of his vainglory
and a willing toilet mouth
to all above
gobbling and grateful
when they flush
the god of money ******
leading by example
and
serving with distinction
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
i'm sorry, but it's true...
however rigid you might
find the need to confirm
a truth...
but even the great
piano composers
of the last century,
be that liszt, chopin,
satie, debussy, or schumann...
can't compete with
thomas newman's
score for american beauty,
i.e. any other name...
it's the pauses,
which act are stressors to
the whole composition...
we're surrounded by
so many sounds that are
trans-mammalian...
we've become
so accustomed to them,
that, as i once said:
the song of birds with due
end of spring: irritates me!
i'm sorry...
i'm sorry that poetry seems feeble
by way of imitating this
approach...
there are never to few
words to be said,
as said, regarding
someone's death:
i wish i said...
i wish i said
this...
i wish i said
this to him (her)...
poetry can fake this minimalism,
akin to the oriental haiku...
but that's beside the point...
don't fake it...
drown in your words as the last
breaths in the sea of narratives...
thomas newman transcended
the "masters" of piano...
i don't know how he managed
to overcome satie or debussy...
i'm scratching my head
thinking: huh?
he actually wrote a piano haiku!
perhaps that's a misnomer example,
but given the waterfall dynamic
to my writing, i have no interest
in using the correct word...
if the word i used was incorrect;
god, it takes so little...
to overpower so much,
say: overpowering the power
hierarchy that gave us pyramids...
why isn't there an aztec story
regarding those pyramids?
surely there must be something!
ah! after all... those pyramids weren't
tombs, dedicated toward a burial...
they were sites of capital punishment,
imposing sites,
enough... to warn
future transgressors of law...
these weren't tombs...
they were scaffolds of capital execution...
no wonder there was no jewish
stubbornness among the aztecs...
there was no divine intervention.
yeah yeah, i know, atheism is vogue...
but with atheism comes no art...
and why would art succumb
to a rational "argument" for its existence?
fair enough... no canvas, no paint,
no paint-strokes, no painting...
i hope you find a brick-wall more
entertaining.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
Skin is skin, Heart is a heart.
What makes makes a mind to consider any is less like an empty bottle?
To sense one is second-rate?,
Skin to skin, dust to dust, Bone to bone.
Heart to heart superior Judge will sit judgment on disgusting hearts.
Equivalent we are, as transgressors, we are.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 6:45 PM UTC
Optimism
The dogma that is oh so self-assured of the contingency
proclaiming the prevalence of good over infamy
as though it is incontrovertibly concordant with factual certainty
'tis merely a fallacy or an element of a fantasy in which people live in harmony
Life
But really, in this cruel realm, the mistakes of our forefathers
manifest themselves as demons hollering at us to notify us of the need to be better in this endeavour
or we'd get slaughtered with the blade of a knife comprised of their defeats altogether
forged into a skin piercing crystal reminiscent of their congealed sweat that perspired from the extreme pressure
stimulated from bottling up anger and restraining themselves from speaking up against transgressors
nevertheless, we make the same mistakes to pass it on to the next generation deeming them the successors of displeasure tolerators
Death
What are the benefits of labouring through a 9 to 5 job if its eventuality
is the same as that of lying on the ground all day? It will all come to a finality
the universe is indifferent towards our actuality. It will continue expanding until it reaches the point of totality
emotions are nothing but particular sequences of electric pulses in wads of matter, faulty physicality
any memory held by any entity will eventually be lost at the end of this simulation played out chronologically
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
We commit many errors, through misadventures.
We do things we're not supposed to, out of pleasure.
We choose to forget, we don't want to remember,
Then complain about not knowing ourselves- being our own transgressors.
All because we're
*Old enough to know better,
Young enough to do whatever.*
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
*oh, the poet
antagonist to the good and evil alike
a sobbing child
let lose in the world
with words and appetites piqued and sensual
transgressors of the middle class
and dull speak
their literary magnitude
sometimes perfume and sometimes stench
dripping on wet pages
written by electric brains
nimble figures and wet crotches
to relieve themselves of stupidities accumulations
wrought by their culture
mired in stink think
of either or
from the head up
high minded saints
from the hips down
undulating demons
each in denial of the other
a buffet of lies
the poet
purging private pleasures and torments
for the bemusement of the world
laid-out on the page
like public masturbations
for all to see in the theater of the ear
genuflecting
with mellifluent grace
and silver tongued appreciations*
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 12:32 PM UTC
Those who know me least,
but see me, daily...
idling, in dark waters,
might describe me as quiet,
distant, and remote.
An island, unto myself
which waves its palms, prettily,
to strangers,
and sprouts tender blossoms,
under the intemperate eye
of its own, jealous sun.
Its shifting swell,
of hourglass sands
only seem, to glow,
and its obscenely blue waters,
only appear, to shimmer,
the further you draw,
from it.
...Am I naught, but a mirage,
which thirsty tourists,
may deign to sail to,
and from,
in discontented droves?
I keep the secrets, of the land,
harnessed,
under tribal hands.
I offer them nothing,
whatsoever,
and yet, they are voracious
for more, of the same.
They smile, and gasp,
awed, by my hibiscus fields,
and my tropical skies.
But do my fire pits,
not strip the flesh,
from roasted pigs,
turned whole, and lifeless
upon its busy spits?
And does the roaring maw,
of my active volcanoes
not devour its transgressors
beyond ash, and bone?
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 6:18 PM UTC
I sell remedies
To my enemies
Of lust
And life
And love
I curse my foes
With my heart of gold
And cold hands fitted with gloves
I sever those warm hands at the wrist of my transgressors
**** my soul
And all I know
For pills and potions of the tides
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC