Most Commented Political / Social Poems (810)

Many years ago, when I was a volunteer non-combatant in South Africa’s apartheid war against Namibia,
I experienced a life-enriching phenomenon, which I would like to share with my fellow poets in this corner of the galaxy…
Why share? Well, I find myself a party to combat again, and introspection of how to peacefully settle the matter brought this incident to memory…,
Its serving me well now, just as it did several decades ago…


I was standing guard unarmed on ‘my’ side of the Zambezi,
On the other side was the ‘enemy’, of course…,
My fellow-soldiers, who for some unknown reason liked me, used to daily jibe me about ‘defending’ my country with my eyes, rather than an FN assault rifle…,
Fire was often exchanged between the Zambians and the South Africans across the mighty and drop-dead gorgeous Zambezi…,
Which, mind you, did not seem to deter the local crocodile and hippopotamus congregations, for whom life went on as usual…,
Neither did it stop the exotic fish eagles from emitting their haunting and beautiful cry as they fished daily at sundown…

However, to my utter astonishment, it did not deter another hardy trio,
Every day around sundown, a daddy, a mommy and a little girl with fiery blond hair, would come chugging along in their little fishing boat between the two groups in this war-zone,
The crocodiles leering hopefully at them…, and their fishing lines hanging overboard…

At first, my logical and protective mind criticized the parents for being irresponsible, but, a little reflection showed me that here were two advanced beings teaching us that the only thing to fear is fear…,
And that there are no ‘other sides’ to the Zambezi,
Just the eternal tranquil expanse,
On which, for fun, we get to choose our reality,
Peace or conflict…
May we all ‘requiescat in pace’ this side of the far side as well, instead of waiting for the other phenomenon…

Dream your dreams of yesteryear
When you were young and free
Drown your sorrows in your cup
And cry for all that’s been

Let those tears from your eyes
Trickle down your cheeks
As you wail “why, oh why,
Has age crept upon me?”

Forgotten are the things so good
As you wallow in self pity
Then you wonder why no-one cares
Or extends a hand for helping

See things you have instead
Count blessings day by day
Keep it up and what is left
Will not be here tomorrow

What my eye's do not want to see,
Anguishes me, to this harsh society.

As I look to the majestic sky, I see
Darkness & destruction, in it's light.

How can one be truly happy?
As we embark on this "so called"
Journey.....

Selfishly!!!

Those prostitutes who lurk, on the corner.
Don't ignore them. They are someone's son
Or daughter.

Look beyond that young lady's eyes.
A rambunctious little girl.....waits inside.
For a glimmer of care..........in a faceless strangers lies.
As a mothers silent prayers.......cradles her daughters life.
And someone's loving husband.......creeps around tonight.

I close my eyes, I don't want to see.
These villains that surround me.
They smile politely in your face,
As the back is turned, a frown takes shape.

A brutal dishonesty of the worse kind.
Manipulation, so intriguing to the weak & blind.

As the congregation prays, the preacher is delayed.
On his private jet, to save there day.
Confession of each sin, bought to him.
A collection plate, constantly circulates.
In such abundance, to make his life great.

While another awaits..........she couldn't attend church today. her sons disease fatal, if a transplant doesn't take place.
Another struggles with the mortgage.......to bring the, family forward.
While a homeless man, on these streets.......rummages to find food, to eat.

It is such disgrace, the lack of love, for the human race.
Regardless of personal riches, I can never envy!!!

They mirror selfish needs, to compensate constant greed.
Laying dormant in my dreams.

What my eyes do not want to see!!!

Bleak without my freedom
Choice I was given none
Out of fear you trod away
Resigned from it all
Submission to defeat
A call you obliged to
At the expense of my future
In the hands of bigots
terror clad robbers
An offering of my guts and
Spilled my lifeless body
In a cup of sand covered with blood.

But,
Over my dead body will I lose sight of my children's future.

We have as much right to be who we are and I will fight till my last breath is charged protecting that right, wouldn't you?

“Is there anybody there?” said the postman,
knocking on the cat scratched door,
and he peered through a filthy window
and was disgusted by what he saw.

On the kitchen floor he could just make out,
through the grimy, obscured pane,
signs that a large dog lived there that could not
be arsed to go out in the rain.

He thumped the door again, a second time;
“is there anybody in?” he said,
and over an upstairs leaf fringed sill
appeared a recently awoken head.

A red, bloated face framed by greasy hair
stared down with dull, yellowed eyes
into those of the startled postman’s,
which stared back in surprise.

“I have brought you a parcel,” said the postman,
as he stood there, stared upon,
I know not what is in the package,
but it comes from Amazon.

Presently the door was opened wide
by a man, sweaty and unclean,
pyjama slit wide open showing things
the postman wished he had not seen.

And the air that escaped from that foul house
was not meant to be breathed by man
and the sight of the squalor that dwelt inside
made a pigsty look spick and span.

“Where is my parcel”, said a toothless mouth
beneath a nose exuding snot.
“it’s here”, said the postman, thrusting it forth,
then turning, off he shot.

Later, the postman passed a homeless man
begging, downcast on the street.
He stopped and reached in his bag and pulled out
a sandwich he could no longer eat.

You're just too ugly and far too fat
But buy my video for super abs
And look at your waistline, your stomach, your gut
Just order my new video to get a firm and tight butt
Because you cant possibly be happy looking like you
So look like me Mr Atlas the fitness guru
And if Im not on T.V. you can check out my ads
Their in every magazine on every single stand
You know the ones that you read because you want to live life vicarious
Escaping your own existence for a life that seem much more fabulous
And with every page you turn you feel less about yourself
With every article you read you pretend to be someone else
You're not good enough and you shouldn't wear this, but wear that
But I say be yourself and don't follow the popular trap
It will only lead you to forgetting who you are
Just so you can feel a little bit more like a star
A puppet mastered being pulled by invisible strings
It must be getting expensive keeping up with those scenes
You should never get your style from printed pages or cultured TV
Because as long as you love yourself your still beautiful to me
So Mr Atlas tell again if I could do this all from my home
Why on this crazy world would I buy your video for
And no Miss Spandex I dont want your machine that can fit under my bed
Ive got a pair of Nikes and a million miles of road I can tread

*JJF*
4/18/2013

Overlooking a beautiful bay in Auckland, New Zealand, is a quaint old cemetery...
I spent six weeks regenerating there a few years ago,
I was burnt-out, my batteries were on very-low,
I needed some other-worldly energy to recharge,
What better way to accomplish that than in the stolid company of the local sleepers...

I encountered some fascinating denizens there,
Kindred spirits, they were,
Frequenting the same oasis I was...,
One afternoon, for instance,
I was awakened from my reverie by the sweet smell of ‘maryjane’,
The soul on the bench a few feet away from me,
Was puffing-up a storm..., seeking a different kind of high...

Another blond banshee, enjoyed bringing a different paramour to the venue every so often,
If ‘ya gotta do it’ with someone new every now and then,
What better cover than a grave or two...

Then there was the old dear, who, by the pallid colour of her skin, was not too far from being a spectre herself,
Who brought her faithful companion every afternoon,
A fluffy little Pekingese, with whom she chatted endlessly...

Then there was the teary Asian lady,
Visiting a little child, I discovered from the inscription,
Unkindly and untimely snatched from life,
With many more years to go,
Before the final clarion call...,
Always bringing flowers, a little toy, incense...,
An offering and a console to the young departed angel...

Amongst these absorbing essences,
Was I,
An anachronism of sorts,
A bird with broken wings,
Far from his native Africa,
Quiet, silent, observing the observer,
Mending, repairing my psyche...

Sigh..., that was New Zealand for me...,
Recuperative...

“Sawubona”, I see you...
This ancient African greeting tells a lot about homo sapiens sapiens,
We have an insatiable need for acceptance by our kind,
‘Enlightened’ primitive peoples consider ‘invisibility/ridicule/exile’ the worst form of hell,
Ergo the opposite, acceptance, acknowledgement, respect, equals heaven,
The most serious punishment that could be inflicted by Pygmies was ‘invisibility’,
The Inuit, punished thieves with laughter whenever they encountered them,
Some of the ancient Greeks punished murder by exile, rather than reciprocal murder,
As a consequence, homo sapiens sapiens suffers all sorts of insufferable and barbaric initiation rites in order to ‘belong’...

I marvel, then, how ‘ignorant-Africans’ came up with this advanced psychology thousands of years ago,
To “see” their fellows,
No empty ‘hello’s’ here,
But a meaningful “I see you...”,
Implicitly implying acknowledgement, acceptance, worthiness...,
I guess the women folk among us know something about punishment when they employ their lethal ‘silent-treatment’ eh?

“Sawubona”, I see you...
“Ngikhona”, you would respond, meaning:- ‘I am here’...
Intrinsic in this Zulu salutation and in the appreciative response, is the sagacity that until you ‘saw’ me, I didn’t ‘exist’[funny, quantum physics has more or less come to the same conclusion...]. By acknowledging me, you ‘bring’ me into existence. A Zulu folk proverb clarifies this, “Umuntu ngumuntu nagabantu“, meaning “A person is a person because of other people...”
Thus, we are existentially mirrored by our connections to our community and when they really ‘see’ us, they offer a reflection to our inner selves that allows us to deeply connect, to belong...

Try it, look into someone’s eyes and meaningfully say “I see you”, that connection will bring another breadth into your commune with your fellows...

“Sawubona”, I see you...

perhaps we are on a plain of a future to bring us to the next, yet I can't fathom why it's an all about me world, so much anger, non due expression, finger pointin attitudes, is from sunrise to sunset, most in retreat of future livin in lights out past, gettin stronger that way, as it shows day by day, what the hell's goin on I dare you ask self, what'll twenty years bring with no changes today, a cause worthy of fight yet in numbers the way. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .~

a plural personas [New Latin, from Latin] : an individual's social facade or front that especially in the analytic psychology of C. G. Jung reflects the role in life the individual is playing — compare anima b : the personality that a person (as an actor or politician) projects in public :


---

Bemasked I walk thru the world,
A stranger among my brothers and sisters,
Yearning to reveal myself,
Yet terrified to do so,
Lest I be rejected and cast away in exile…


Of book-learning and psychotherapy, there’s no dearth,
Yet, the pain and hunger and self-inflicted exile persists,
No balm of Gilead seems to lessen the mind-numbing ache,
Freud and Jung would be pulling their hair out…


And, so, we continue to walk thru the plain of desolation,
Our only companions on the journey, being other injured anthropoids,
Ever hoping, we wonder,
Whether we will ever stumble upon that elusive Shangri-La,
Or will we forever evade it?