The pots meet kettles
As abuses get called out
On the worldwide stage
Tag Archives: Poetry
Morose Overload
The will to care is still there
Yet the stream and loops cause the well to be fatigued
Thriving on tragedy is a misconception by others
It becomes predictable exposing obvious atrocities and hypocrisy
If only there could be a world where a poem like this wouldn’t have to exist
Stupid Spring Breakers
Of course, they would just call it a “mayhem”
Pandemic or not
If it was others, then it would be “looting”
Restaurants and hotels become battle zones of those trying to party all the time
More than Eddie Murphy in the 80s
Collective facepalms are all around in the Southern coast
Sorry to hear that when it comes to the innocent in the Sunshine State
Stupid snowbirds certainly ruin tons of things
Glorified Clique (Pathetic Subcultures)
You’ve got downtuned guitars and heavy-gauged strings
You must be SO hardcore
Claiming to be from this or that major city
Despite living in cushy suburbs about an hour away
Let’s not even get to the pop punk brats
Whining about “this town”, breakups, and friends
Put the pizza down and realize you’re not oppressed
Twenty and even thirtysomethings have high school mindsets
Disguising their cliques as “the scene”
Thank the Divine for COVID world shutting your concerts down (No wishes for the pandemic to harm anyone, of course)
And blocking your Hot Topic-core fashion shows that just happen to have live music
The entitlement was so strong it’s actually pathetic
As trust fund babies want to be fueled with hate (while secretly wanting the ramen, too)
To look all big and bad
There’s only so much that could help the scene
Suburbia was certainly a matrix of sorts in blasting these dime-a-dozen wannabe Rise Records fake screamo tunes
Drop A?
For like dropping a reality from their perception
Your subculture is a bloody sham
Diol Family, You Are Not Forgotten
Moving from the Green Star all the way to the Centennial State
Starting a new life for this family of five
All for a fatal blaze to snuff out these innocent souls
The injustice was a mile high like the city they resided
Parents and children all destroyed by satanic teens in masks
While the flames were from the igniting bigotry
One suspect didn’t fit the narrative of the conglomerates
As it was contrary to an unrelated isolated incident to fuel propaganda
Thank the Divine they’ll face justice as adults while living to tell about it
Others have been erased despite never slaughtering men, women, and children
Diol family, you didn’t deserve this
May your murderers face the most severe of consequences
Here’s a link to this story: https://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/crime/two-teens-charged-as-adults-in-connection-to-denver-house-fire-that-killed-senegalese-family
A 16 Year Sentence Isn’t Enough (Dows=Devils)
Did you feel happy defiling so many innocent souls?
To say there were kid’s gloves involved would be a gross understatement
#MeToo ignored you and your wife, but I didn’t
About time the consequences rained down on you
But it still looks like a slap on the wrist
When others faced more time for less
How many people would be able to get away with destroying children
Especially after they were on THAT registry back in their home country?
How many people did you bribe in one or both nations?
You better thank your privilege for only serving 16 years
For those that don’t know what I’m referring to, then you can watch Preying Missionaries and this news clip from Kenya.
Also, the fact Edmond Nyabola doesn’t have any journalism awards for breaking this story is a travesty, too.
May God bless the victims and their families.
Waves of Doubt
Breakers and crashing tides
In the moon-less night
Shouting out to no one else
The eyes could be there
But the ears could be lightyears away
Capsizing was imminent
As leagues of falsehoods rise up to sink the wrecked freighter
Declared to be Invisible
Voices from the four corners were screaming out
A diaspora choir risked being drowned
From Arica, Salta, Wolverhampton, to even Kharkiv
Obscuring by ink and red tape
Try to quiet the ongoing choir
While branding them as nothing but “other”
Other?
They knew what this meant
The collective chorale should be amplified
Against the declaration to render them invisible
Was My Worth Tied Into Being a Critic?
They say every one is a critic
I certainly wouldn’t deny it
My silvery-platinum eyes were spectacles for others
These opinions mattered more in multiple contexts
While proud of these observations
My pride in my own originality faded harder than vintage denim
So many fires, so many embers
Only a few would become pyrotechnics, though I wouldn’t want them to be altars
Other creative works would be on display
There was a joy in bringing light to the obscure from all around the world
No, Japan wasn’t my only destination even though a section of this part of the net appreciated those shiny pennies from the Rising Sun
While I’m versatile, I didn’t want to be confined
Much less ashamed of having fandoms at all
I prayed I wasn’t a failure in all my endeavors
As I’ve thought for most of my life
Plight of a Songwriter
Audio rivers
Are crafted throughout the world
As coffers vanish
