Last Commented Political / Social Poems (810)

Sounds of thunder sounds of pain
Sounds of children playing in the rain
Sounds of war, guns firing, people dying
High in the sky coloured kites are flying
Bodies mangled, dying and dead
Teachers teach kids to get ahead
Screams of pain that pierce the air
Mother and baby asleep in armchair
Streets stained with blood of innocents
Classes are full of bright eyed students
People praying to God above
Young couple, arm in arm, professing love
Face down dying on foreign ground
Joyful laughter of games in playground
Save me Lord, please save my life
Please Lord protect innocence, keep away strife

Thoughts accrued in mystical dew
Sheep and cattle led to slaughter
Sister drinks with son of nephew
Blessed by priest with holy water

One by one they're put in order
Sitting, standing, laying, rolling
Roses planted along the border
Time at night is time for strolling

Moon comes out from hiding place
Sends the message bright and clear
Looks down earth with smiling face
It is here this brand new year

always there is a road, ever before me,
and as much as I want to go forward, I cannot see,
what lies ahead, and this is life.
chaos turmoil and strife,
and yet here I am, always looking ahead,
thoughts unbidden, jump into my head,
and this is my strife.
no matter that I cannot be anything other than what I am,
and the pain I know, no other may,
and this life is but a walk.
and forever I am doomed,
to go through it even as it is,
and the words cannot come,
my lips cannot even talk.
such pain and suffering in this thing,
but forward I go,
and what lies ahead I do not know.
but I dream and hope and pray,
for it to end one beautiful day,
for an end to the madness and insanity.
yet here I am as I have always been,
full of all of the things,
and surrounded by vanity.
and not one person knows,
my mind is hurting for into the same thing it goes.
and this is my life.

Bombs go off, the bodies mount
Terrorists they rise
In Allah's name we will fight
A cry reverberates

One is east and one is west
So different must they be
One serve Allah, the other Jehovah
Never the twain shall meet

Both have wives and child at knee
Hopes and dreams, a future to see
Work so hard to provide
A better life for the family

So much alike, so little different
Hate and war who is teaching
Hands reach out, grasp another
Work on peace, love each other

I think God made a mistake,
He gave me six daughters,
But a daughter is the greatest gift any man can ever hope to receive,
I’ll never know why God entrusted me with so many,
I got out my car and took my 2nd little daughter’s hand to go into the supermarket,
She could not have been older than two, maybe even younger,
I watched her tenderly as she walked beside me,
She looked at my arm then at hers,
Then blurted out:
“Hey, I have hair on my arms, just like my daddy…”
I hugged her and showered her with kisses, laughter sweetly surrounding us…,
One of the happier moments…


A woman is a very special living thing,
What a pity I learnt that sooo late in life,
The feminine spirit is what keeps the universe in check,
What gives it its ineffable beauty, its ubiquitously healing quality,
Its breathless quality of adventure, expansion, exhilaration, and allure,
Sadly, we men, often take that holiness and besmirch it beyond belief, to our eternal shame…


Last Friday evening, I had the cosmic responsibility of lecturing to ten or so such flowers and demonstrating the marvels of bio-resonance technology,
Two of them were literally trembling with fear at what the bio-resonance technology device would find wrong with their health,
As a professional, I could have elected to stay aloof and empirical,
However, I took the one by the hand and sat her next to me and the device,
I held her hand and looked smilingly into her eyes,
I distracted her by complementing her on her beauty, and elegance, and what lady-like grace she carried herself with,
Soon, without her noticing, the electrodes were in her hands and the scan underway, whilst I kept returning her to herself[phrase borrowed from my good friend Linda Smith, the author of the great book by that name], with soothing words, slowly uplifting her spirit and allaying her fears, soon her hands stopped trembling and a wide expanse of a smile decorated her pretty face and we were soon whispering confidential information in each others ears about her health,
Magical and salubrious experience…


As a father, as a male mate,
I now know without doubt,
That my holy mission in relationship is to help the feminine spirit to ‘return to itself’,
Then,
The universe, will blossom and bloom like a Namaqualand flower,
And we will all thank the Infinite for life,
For sweet, sweet, life…

tossed upon the seas of love
the hateful soul unrepentant
sloganed roses read OsLove
to show humanity's decedents

what the stronger will stand for
bury the hate after the tears
no heating up of this cold war
speak to each in higher prayers

hate may have a home in Hades
but the people here won't bite
held high cool love to cascade
renounce hostility abolish fright

each individually, and as a race
stands at a fork in their road
turn toward love or a darker place
either way picked emotions flowed

these now stand voicing tolerance
flowers of acceptance held high
instead of falling into malevolence
individuals as a nation do reply

© agoodguy2have 2011-07-26

Man will change
like chameleon
clothed in envy
Amid the evergreen leaves
objectives are concealed

Man will change
Like Vancouver doffing orange sun
and Gaspésie dressed in white,
pallid like them southern cotton fields;
they are honest measures of changes

Man will change
like a day donning darkness
after sunbeams are swallowed up in mystery
His shrewdness will hide former faces
He will breathe in open secrets

Man will change,
and tread like Cain
when his brother’s blood cried
from the soil
their ancestors’ sweat grew cassava and pomegranate

After thirty pieces were pocketed,
did he not translated
to one sorry for his plight more than his deeds?
Man will change
into the dragon he is fond of

Man will change
like a woman removing layers
in the closet of her chamber
after a winter’s night clothed her in warmth
Man will change everything but underwear;
his road lies under his skin

I take another breath
Taste the stress back of my throat
Back of my throat
To the depth of my chest
Wondein’
Why there’s any breath lest
When so many lye breathless
In that place I lest
Where Death won’t rest
Pain won’t sleep
And troublin’ thoughts won’t cease
As you pray for peace
Beg and plead
Prayin’ that you leave
Finally, orders received
By the momentary reprieve
A hard thing to learn
You’ve been called to return
To the bloody sounds that burn
Eager to turn…
Your Happy times with family
Into thoughts & dreams that tear at your sanity
How can this be?
That nothing happen to me
Left to live a life that’s sad to see
II pray they’re not mad at me
Victims of a Patriotic tragedy
Bonded by Comrodery
By the Lord,
Another fate’s been handed me
Try to be understandin’
Please!
I implore Thee
Forever I mourn we (thee)
“til this whole world is over
My Fallen soldier
Souljah

Oh the hate and anger there
The pain and mistrust
Fist in pocket, tightly clenched
Shoulders round and hunched

What in life has made you this
Brought you such despair
The suffering carved on your face
So plain for all to see

Clothes are ragged, dirty too
A bottle your best friend
Sleep on benches where you can
No place to call a home

How I wish that I could help
Yet help you soundly scorn
A meal, a drink, is all you want
For the rest you could not care

Many years ago, when I was still a young psychotherapist/hypnotherapist, I worked with a teacher whose heart was broken by her itinerant lover…,
She was a young and beautiful woman,
And, as she lay there on the couch, one day,
Tears softly adorning her face,
My heart went out to her…,
To my great joy, we had a major breakthrough that afternoon after several months of therapy,
Notice, I said we, for, therapy is always a collaborative effort,
One side alone, can never honestly take credit,
As the therapist, you reach out across the proverbial misery-river-Styx,
And you hope against hope, especially when you’re young and inexperienced as I was,
That your proffered hand will be accepted,
And that the healing will begin…,
Fortuitously for me, my extended hand was accepted and grasped, and the healing began…,
The joy I felt in my heart when she called me a few hours later to tell me how she was floating on ‘cloud nine’, cannot be measured or described…


Right this minute, a couple of decades later, I’m still ‘plying-my-trade’,
This time on my own wounded psyche,
I too, feel on ‘cloud-nine’, after a very soothing self-hypnosis session where I try to become one with light,
Aaahhh…, what a feeling…,
What bliss…,
I thought by sharing it with my friends on this corner, I may hang onto this nirvana a little longer,
Wishing you all whatever elixir you’re personally seeking my fellow-poets…,
Till next time…