Last Commented Political / Social Poems (810)

Rest in peace, some oneelse'll take your place. Life filled with strife of sacrificed rule injest'd by self. Magnifed sight amongst 9 fitted seats, magnitude growth. Select they be few, pockets in line for a simple day's task~

And so they claim to own this Land
Just where is this born from,..
Do butterflies own the springtime
Do mountains own the sunsets,

What deed protects one and deny another?
And what note assures one comfort while
another has no comfort,..

Are there privilaged and outcasts?
Does might make right?

Who will care for the child born without?
What price does honor bear?

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 :


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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?

She calls her band Rasputina,
Melora Kreiger's the one.
Dressed in Victorian underwear,
Her shows are a lot of fun.

Electric rock cello she plays,
Pushing through Marshalls and loud.
Her lyrics are edgy and cool,
Knows how to work up a crowd.

Plays in New York now and then,
Touring costs too much these days.
Caught her show in St Louis once,
Man, does she rock when she plays!

So check her out if you've time,
Listen online if you would.
Her music is best listened loud,
Telling you, it's really good.

You just reach out for trouble.
Cause you think it makes you cool.
I hate to burst your bubble,
But you really are a fool.

You do stir up emotion,
When you monger war and hate.
You'll never find devotion,
Hell, or even just a date.

Your agenda is quite clear.
It's attention that you seek.
True emotion's what you fear,
So obvious when you speak.

Further comments won't be made,
Cause you just aren't worth my time.
In your swill may you be laid,
For your "poetry"'s a crime.

So just take it elswhere man,
I can get manure for free.
And whatever is your plan,
Bark it up another tree.

In the wicked hearts of men
and in their malicious minds
my love is cursed at.

From the mouths of men of power
to the ears of those of ignorance
my love is spat on.

In the conversations of religion
and right outside my door
my love is trodden down.

So what a bitter, twisted world
when happiness already denied
my love is spurned as well.

Djs and event organizers
Photographers, great friends and models
Expats, backpackers and few teachers
What else would we want to do
In the city of angels?

Mondays are for Mexican buffet
Tuesdays are for Reggae
Wednesdays and Thursdays
Ohh I love, booze is free
Ladies in the house, so plenty

Then Friday comes when my dear friend Dee
Comes to town with her DJ hubby
the real party begins at Glow
stops at 3, then to Narz or Shock we go.


Saturday morning is for Him alone,
As I dressed up to go of my own
No friends, no smoke, no booze
A quiet moment I fear to lose.

As I pray and confess my sins away
Let me be a good person, everyday
From these temptations, strengthen me
Even if it means pollution-free.

But after the sun sets, its Sunday
the phone, I can’t stay away
as I mutter a prayer or two
forgive me ohhh Lord, I will go :)

a week of buffet and reggae
and ladies nights with girlfriends
the clubbing and getting pissed
and a wonderful time to confess
round in circles, I didnt seek,
my life in Bangkok every week.

Nothing...
Everything...
Nothing...
Everything...
“What?”
“Don’t change the subject...”
...

People killing people,
And grownups raping kids.
The sickness and disease,
This country's on the skids.

The money is all gone,
I wonder where it went.
So after paying bills.
There's nothing to be spent.

The price of gas is high,
The cost of living too.
So many unemployed,
Just what are we to do?

You can't walk down the street,
Without a gun and knife.
Just hope to make your car,
And lock it for your life.

Hate to be a downer,
But these things are all known.
Just hope the powers that be,
Might throw us down a bone.

So help your fellow man,
He needs it much as you.
And lend a helping hand,
For you may need one too.

The Thief, the Philanthropist, the Meek, and the Tyrant
The greedy, the compassionate, the weak, and the violent
They come to me in the greatest debate
Explaining their cases, my mind contemplates
The conflicting, the considering, the decisions to make
The four of me converge to measure the stakes
The weighing, the comparing, the tipping of scales
As a wandering dog on thin ice, still chasing his tail
For my mind chooses from four, my persuasive tools
It's selection determines me a genius or fool


The thief, never satisfied with whatever is gained
Oblivious to the outcomes dealing with pride or of shame
His only desire is the acquiring of more
To him what you posses is the measure, the score
He is void of others. Void of any distribution
But he provides a valued and needed contribution
With out him there is nothing I want
No knowledge, No freedom, No activity, No one
For careful with his suggestions I'll must be
But to ignore him would be the very shackles of me


The Philanthropist, the one that gives without question
A fulfiller of souls, the selfless progression
He bares the knowledge that one can not be of itself
He bares the heart and to it it's own wealth
Held high in esteem, he is the giver of compassion
Yet he by himself can not deliver attractions
He by his own will not allow one to live
For without the thief, he has gained nothing to give
No coin, No freedom, No Knowledge he's chained
But without him, I am a man not worthy of name


The meek, the tempered, the collected old soul
To live life in peace is his directive, his goal
The voice that whispers to get out of harm's way
The voice that chooses caution, to halt, or delay
The master of knowing when to swallow one's pride
One not compelled when asked to be a taker of sides
However, in peace, he provides no tools to defend
Not for his freedom, his knowledge, his family or friends
He is one at peace, but for himself he can't make peace
But to forget him, I'd be a monster, a tormentor, a beast


The Tyrant, the one that protects, destroys and maims
He is of himself but yet holds onto no aim
His instincts are to act, to move and peruse
To conquer all challenges, to break, to undo
The one that sparks fear, that drives harm away
To chase off the invaders and those who betray
However to let run rampant, more harm he'll invite
He needs the meek to choose battles, to earn some respite
He is the most volatile and dangerous, both wild and insane
But to deny him, there is no vehicle for accomplishments gained