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I Appreciate Their Teachings

Many today are discovering,
The ease their introduction to poverty has become.
Some of us already experienced with its effects,
Thought of poverty as a prerequisite to upper mobility.
When people of a 'certain' class were living,
Right across the street.
Just before the terms minority and ghetto were popularized.
And poverty was 'NOT' a fast fall from greed.

We seemed to have never qualified for anything back then.
But sympathetic looks and eyes cast down...
From those with turned up noses.

That was a long yesterday ago though.
But today,
Greed has become the 'boss'.
People have falsified qualifiers,
Just based on them knowing how to use a pen.
To sign documents eventually forged to approve a loan.
I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Africa Must Unite

Oh Africa!
When your vision is in tandem
with your new political will to seek
clear prehistoric fountains of hope
shall flow with passion to obliterate
the ills of greed, pillage, inhumanity
of years of rape and inhuman slavery
and focus with clarity into the future

Your bangs of slavery begot colonialism
this invited neocolonialism to dinner
where greed fragmented your lands
your hopes and dreams in blatant disregard
to your creed, socio-cultural affinities
your ethos and eroded your values
with strange tongues and feuds

Oh! Africa!
When you resist their beckoning evil urges
and insatiate hunger for subtle greed

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poem by Dela Bobobee
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Flip That Coin That Had Been Dished

It is all quite obvious.
No one should concern themselves
With being labelled unpatriotic.
Or anti-establishment...
With nonconformist inclinations.

Or be told with the boldest of self-centered greed...
'If you don't like it 'here',
Go back from where you came from! '
A statement frequently used by those who abused,
The rights of others blatantly!

And of course they had already been 'there'...
Stripping the land of its resources.
And turning those on their own homelands,
Into their own personal slaves!
And living grand.
As they watch them suffer...
From an assortment of dire conditions.
Even today,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Disaster Will Be Beckoning Soon

December 21st Two Thousand and Twelve,
We will see the Earths demise,
Into Mayan history we must now delve,
As it's to us their prediction applies.

Astrology and myth were prevalent then,
Very much the same as now,
For power and greed they had a yen,
My God they paid for it and how.

Lavish buildings and luxuries for some,
Built and paid for by the lower class,
The privileged ate steak and the worker the crumb,
This system was nothing but crass.

Fellow Human Beings being treated like dirt,
By the rich who were but a few,
Discarded when ill like a worn out shirt,
Like today it's nothing that's new.

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poem by Bri Mar
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You all get lost

“You all get lost “I blasted the friends,
'You all have robbed me” in the ends,
'Why could I not smell your presence?
'Was that not the necessity or essence?

I was struck and dumb founded,
presence of greed, lust, hate so sounded,
that too in the form of friends rounded,
still firmly placed inside and grounded,

had I not heard your conversation?
I would have been the always in question,
was I guided by the force external?
Or was it the fight internal?

I lament and express my sorrow,
what would I leave for tomorrow?
was I here always to borrow?
Only to give love a room to grow,

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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And no comment

It was never a good intent
I won’t offer any comments
They all did harm and deserted
Vanished from the scene as soon as I asserted

Why should we tolerate such enemies inside?
Why don’t we push them beside?
They are all of no use to the cause
Better we go on without any pause

You all get lost “I blasted the friends,
'You all have robbed me” in the ends,
'Why could I not smell your presence?
'Was that not the necessity or essence?

I was struck and dumb founded,
presence of greed, lust, hate so sounded,
that too in the form of friends rounded,
still firmly placed inside and grounded,

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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To Produce and Spread the Legitimacy

I've overheard some people to say,
How they have to work two and three jobs
To maintain their quality of life.
? ? ?
Yes,
I've questioned it.
Even as I thought about it, I was in question.

Working two and three jobs to maintain a quality of life?
And those 'bigwigs' on Wall Street,
Entitle themselves to luxuries and bonuses...
Stripping away 'generations' of folks?
Literally!
Forget the figurative!
These folks are high-falutin looters!

Just based on whether or not their company allows it?
Pocketing millions to accomodate their greed?
And they may not be seen in the office...
Or in the buildings where they have committed theft and fraud?

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Story Of My Life

Once upon a time
The story of my life.
All we want too see.
Is everything nice and sweet.

I'm here to tell you the truth.
I'm not always the best guy in the world.
Jealousy has caused me to do things I'm not proud of.
Anger nearly sent me to jail.
Hate has made all my friends disappear.
Indifference has created my impoverished existence.

Once upon a time
The story of my life.
All we want too see.
Is everything nice and sweet.

But that is just not so.
And if you don't believe me I think you should just go.
Don't wait up for I won't follow.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Bread Of Angels

AT that lost hour disowned of day and night,
The after-birth of midnight, when life's face
Turns to the wall and the last lamp goes out
Before the incipient irony of dawn --
In that obliterate interval of time
Between the oil's last flicker and the first
Reluctant shudder of averted day,
Threading the city's streets (like mine own ghost
Wakening the echoes of dispeopled dreams),
I smiled to see how the last light that fought
Extinction was the old familiar glare
Of supper tables under gas-lit ceilings,
The same old stale monotonous carouse
Of greed and surfeit nodding face to face
O'er the picked bones of pleasure . . .
So that the city seemed, at that waste hour,
Like some expiring planet from whose face
All nobler life had perished -- love and hate,
And labor and the ecstasy of thought --
Leaving the eyeless creatures of the ooze,

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poem by Edith Wharton
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Old Bob Blair

I got so down to it last night,
With longin' for what could not be,
That nothin' in the world seemed right
Or everything was wrong with me.
My house was just a lonely hole,
An' I had blisters on my soul.

Top of my other worries now
The boys are talkin' strike, an' say
If we put up a sudden row
We're sure of forcin' up our pay.
I'm right enough with what I get;
But some wants more, an' then more yet.

Ben Murray's put it up to me:
He says I got some influence
Amongst them, if I agree
'Which I will do if I have sense'
We'll make the boss cough up a bit.
That's how Ben Murray looks at it.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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