All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
--all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair, they know no end
to their wrangling.
Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my
child, unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.
They are cruel in their greed and their envy, their words are like
hidden knives thirsting for blood.
Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let
your gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the
evening over the strife of the day.
Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning
Out West, where the stars are brightest,
Where the scorching north wind blows,
And the bones of the dead gleam whitest,
And the sun on a desert glows --
Yet within the selfish kingdom
Where man starves man for gain,
Where white men tramp for existence --
Wide lies the Great Grey Plain.
No break in its awful horizon,
When Love arose in heart and deed
To wake the world to greater joy,
'What can she give me now?' said Greed,
Who thought to win some costly toy.
He rose, he ran, he stoop'd, he clutch'd;
And soon the Flowers, that Love let fall,
In Greed's hot grasp were fray'd and smutch'd,
And Greed said, 'Flowers! Can this be all?'
My ocean town struggles
to pick up leaves,
offer summer school,
and keep our library open.
Every day now
more men stand
at the railroad station,
waiting to be chosen for work.
Because it's thought
the Hispanics will work for less
In this human cult
There go sprinting rats
Chasing for the glittering bronze
Passing on the baton of grudge to their pups
Bearing on insecurities
With jaundiced eyes
Even as we still feel like a feeble pawn in a chess of gluttony, yet, You made us resist the temptation of greed deeply rooted in an aroma of enticing betrayal
Events of recent months affirmed that the scorching of these black skins is an incandescent reflection of the deep dark shades of some souls
Even as Ayi Kwei Armah’s ‘Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born’ continues to bolster our disgust with injustice and will ultimately sharpen the ingrained desire for justness
Events of these last hours also affirmed that the cleansing of the malodourous souls are never awashed by an ocean of tears
Eventually, I pray the seeds of forgiveness sprout as Your torrent comes, as I am tired of writing the book of good in this library of evil. He will lead His people as I am indeed lost!
Greed for attention
masks itself as fame
Greed for power
masks itself as ambition
Greed for a sense of importance
masks itself as greatness.
Actually, instead of 'greed', 'neediness' can be put here. Cause sometimes it's more about neediness.
As long as greed is present
is a potential shark.
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash,
The same, late in autumn--the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and
light and dark green,
The rich coverlid of the grass--animals and birds--the private
untrimm'd bank--the primitive apples--the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments--the negligent list of one after
another, as I happen to call them to me, or think of them,