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Villanelle Political Poems | Villanelle Poems About Political

These Villanelle Political poems are examples of Villanelle poems about Political. These are the best examples of Villanelle Political poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Villanelle | |

We are not as poor as some people say

We are not as poor as some people say

Our land is our source of food and our home
We work on our land almost every day
Selling coffee beans is our main income

In remote lands, where tourists find welcome
An old aid post is sixty miles away
Our land is our source of food and our home

Since there are no roads to town from our home
We carry coffee bags most of the way
Selling coffee beans is our main income

We don’t just wait for services to come
While struggling to survive another day
Our land is our source of food and our home

Enjoy some coffee when your tour is done
That cup or two of brew gives our days pay
Selling coffee beans is our main income

We own our land and work it, unlike some
We are not as poor as some people say
Our land is our source of food and our home
Selling coffee beans is our main income.


*Life in a developing country has many challenges. One of these is getting the right kind of development!


Details | Villanelle | |

Kind Woman, Womankind

Brutes, in name of God, to show their might, fixed laws, that you’d succumb like measly sheep. Womankind, kind woman, rise and fight. Innocents of war with smiles once bright, ravished; tossed like garbage in a heap, angels hovering nigh have you in sight. Faithful brides, for something less than trite, set on fire in their beds as they sleep. Kind woman, womankind, your soul‘s in flight. Girls in huts, legs spread, cry out in fright. A ritual to mutilate cuts deep. Angels from on high do hear your plight. Wives in their own homes (not all is right), beaten, hush their children not to weep. Womankind, kind woman, comes the night. . . . Sisters, don’t be wearied by the blight. For what they sow, God’s told us they shall reap. Angels have prepared you robes of white. Kind woman, womankind, hold tight your light. By Andrea Dietrich


Details | Villanelle | |

Through the Fog and Filthy Air

Through the fog and filthy air—
Which hurts my eyes just to see,
I come with something to declare…

I bring no one but myself; still, beware!
Beware of what may come after me
Through the fog and filthy air.

I come with bad news laid bare,
I come with lost souls—mad and hungry;
I come with something to declare:

Build high the wall, let them flare;
Lest all of them break in, running free!
Through the fog and filthy air.

Believe me what awaits out there:
They are not what they used to be,
I come with something to declare.

And, oh, I see them rushing from there—
Legion of hell which no one can compare!
Through the fog and filthy air
I come with something to declare!


Details | Villanelle | |

Road Sixteen Hundred ( Alexandrine Villanelle)

With no idea none at all of what to do,
were sixteen hundred soldiers counted newly dead.
Ask sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue,

How many more to muster, murder; though untrue
the reasons given?  Gone where angels fear to tread,
with no idea none at all of what to do.

Unconcerned for what is lost or even who…
just "Collateral Damage"... that is what they said
at sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue.

From hollow oath the young men follow through
as "Cannon Fodder"… aren't they "lives" instead,
with no idea none at all of what to do,

What loss of value, freedom.  Dressed Red, White, and Blue
now shades of ghostly grey except where they have bled,
Tell sixteen hundred Pennsylvania avenue.

We waited as if deaf and blind to what we knew,  
Now sixteen hundred to untimely death have sped
with no idea none at all of what to do.
Tell sixteen hundred Pennsylvania avenue.


Details | Villanelle | |

Infuriated

- For women who choose to have abortions just so they can continue to whore around.

You make my head swell,
& you're a sad excuse for a woman:
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

Abortion is a matter of life or death,
yet you choose death for this small being.
You make my head swell.

You work with children every day,
yet you still want to kill the one inside of you.
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

You give me unwanted goose bumps with those words
"I want an abortion," as you laugh it away.
You make my head swell,

& I have the urge to take the innocent life today, do you?
You disgust me, making me want to vommit.
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch

Steal the life of this baby and party your life away,
disregarding the fact that it didn't have a choice in the matter.
You make my head swell
you cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

-Caroline Youngless


Details | Villanelle | |

Independence Tribute - For Jamaica

From Afric's banks secure naked we came
In empire's shell to build a name again
And each yearly leg we carry the flame

Forward with mighty surging wave. Proclaim
Us then the phoenix from fiery pain,
Children of Jamaica true to love's aim.

And this another year in sunrise frame
Strong, independent, problems we disdain
On the scroll of nations we write our name

We are Jamaica, fanning freedom's flame
We singers of faith, dance not here in vain:
To survive the rim you must make the game.

Let there be no tears, no cup for a blame
Sweet Jamaica is a green palm to reign
Where Columbus dead caravel found shame

And Hawkins and all his pirate's host lame
History repeat not here in God's domain
But pyramids rise of Africa's fame
Jamaica is the swallow - joy the rain 


 






Details | Villanelle | |

Apathy is Fatal

Obedience  is  vital
Join  the  front-line  fray
Conscription  is  essential

Answer  the  war  call
Warships  want  mêlée
Obedience  is  vital

Apathy  is  fatal
Battle  breaks  in  the  bay
Conscription  is  essential

Be  the  hero  and  stand  tall
Join  us  today,  go  without  delay
Obedience  is  vital

Get  your  SLR  and  fight
Help  secure  the  water-way
Your  conscription  is  essential  

Taliban  snipers  will  see  you  fall
Their  aim  is  sharp  and  won't  stray
Obedience  is  vital
Your  conscription  is  essential


Details | Villanelle | |

Imitator of Perpetrator

Malefactor of our mighty land
Guile do they practice from them, beat
Skank do they drop on our prior rand

Their soul's the people reprimand
Like flies rejecting a rust feet
Malefactor of our mighty land

Drive them from our inunct land
Like Fulani cattle being hit
Skank do they drop on our prior rand

Sweep out before broth turns our hand
Like cobwebs cleaned out of room neat
Malefactor of our mighty land

Their tongue festooned with sweet canard
Embellished with tear thorns their teeth
Skank do they dump on our prior rand

When they continue being rotund
We the citizens turns unfit
Malefactor of our mighty land
Skank do they dump on our prior rand


Details | Villanelle | |

Villanelle: Strike - And you sign your own death warrant

Villanelle : Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !

   for Obama, a swell chap he may have been or may yet be

Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
   Wild men’ll come a-gunning avenge their own god
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot ?

Come they’ll too clad in black : King and President
   All muttering under breath : « The Old Sod ! »
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !

You’ll have time to rue what a lone strike meant
   Your shores were never at stake nor your Lord
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot?

Those who build iron walls know they can’t hunt
   Must the World be sacrificed for one god ?
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !

When d’you strike back for the Sandyhook Lent
   The NRA strikes back and call you : « Sod »
Is that wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot ?

Be the Statesman and make every word count
   Bring the toddler gods to the feet of God
Strike ! And you sign your own death warrant !
Is the wart on Fa-ling line : Death by shot?

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013


Details | Villanelle | |

You Planted a Garden

You planted a garden and must make a decision,
As some varieties become very independent,
You are the one that has to control this situation.

The corn grows tall, creating massive division,
Suppressing all others, becoming the one percent.  
You planted a garden and must make a decision.

The squash is crafty by wondering in any direction,  
And steals nutrients from others without consent,
You are the one that has to control this situation.	

The tomatoes spread through rapid disconnection. 
Their vines hold others down through dissent.
You planted a garden and must make a decision.

The potatoes hide to avoid any infection,	
Become the underground within the basement.
You are the one that has to control this situation.	

So remember, you are in charge solely by election,
And every plant is part of those you represent.
You planted a garden and must make a decision,
You are the one that has to control this situation.

By Greg Stanley


Details | Villanelle | |

Villanelle: Only in democracies reigns surprise

Villanelle: Only in democracies reigns surprise

Only in democracies reigns surprise
The majority cast their franchised rights
Elect CEOs who tell fat cat lies

In dictatorships the leader is wise
He elects himself and appoints his mites
Only in democracies reigns surprise

On election day leaders on the rise
By the hundredth day majority fights
Elect CEOs who tell fat cat lies

By end of first term majority dies
Wonders how they kept the leader uprights
Only in democracies reigns surprise

By start of second term the voter cries
Give us our oligarchy by rights
Elect CEOs who tell fat cat lies

In dictatorships people march in files
To show they don’t much care about rights
Only in democracies reigns surprise
Elect CEOs who tell fat cat lies.
    © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013


Details | Villanelle | |

Cattle and SUV's

Polar bears, spotted owls and honey bees 
Care nothing of scientific debates
Over flatus of cattle and SUV’s.

Some drop big oil drills and some drop big trees
To provide a place for our dinner plate,
With its filet mignon or black eye peas.

The planet goes on with its rolling seas
Immune to false conclusions and the hate
Over flatus of cattle and SUV’s.

Should politics and graduate degrees
Be allowed to sit and decide our fate,
While eating filet mignon/black eye peas?

Political winds, like a gentle breeze,
Carry the pollen of absurd debate;
Over flatus of cattle and SUV’s.

Perhaps all the powers of wannabe’s
Can save all the birds, fishes, ants and trees;
The filet mignon, and the black eye peas;
The flatus of cattle and SUV’s.  


Details | Villanelle | |

NO TEA PARTY

NO  TEA  PARTY

The lid is rising on the kettle’s song,
Likewise my energy wastes itself in air,
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.

I left my true self with your vulgar throng
Now drawn and quartered, they arraign me with a stare,
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.

To have believed in you, and not in long
Speeches of your drab affair –
Don’t call me when the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.

No one pushed me, but I see that I was wrong,
I’ve said it all, but I won’t bow, so there!
The lid is rising on the kettle’s song.

I should have known it, and the bells can bong
Each Sunday of the year without our heir,
Don’t call me for the christening, I’ll be gone

I did without a wedding, honeymoon, even the pong
Of babies, so there’s no joy for us to share –
The lid is hopping on the kettle’s song –
Don’t call me.  When the tea’s made, I’ll be gone.

BY ROSEMARIE ROWLEY


Details | Villanelle | |

Quakers on Pacifism

It is not “P. C.” to be anti-war,

Or to refuse to stuff one’s face with meat.

Quakers are not pacifists anymore

 

By definition.  It’s not like before.

These things are individual.  We can cheat.

It is not “P. C.” to be anti-war.

 

We cannot break an invisible law.

We rubbed it out, you see.  I should repeat:

Quakers are not pacifists anymore.

 

Some are.  Some aren’t.  There’s nothing we stand for.

We can have bacon, toast or Shredded Wheat.

It is not “P. C.” to be anti-war – 

 

To be vegetarian, vegan or

In any way, restrict what one may eat.

Quakers are not pacifists anymore.

 

This, Friends, is the conclusion we must draw – 

Won’t vote on this; we might just face defeat:

It is not “P. C.” to be anti-war.

Quakers are not pacifists anymore. 


Details | Villanelle | |

"O"

           Eyes shine with the proud tears of a nation reborn
     From the ashes of corruption and greed, a unifying spirit will arise
             And he reassures and comforts the fears of the forlorn. 
 
          We rejoice in his Presidency and the day he is sworn             
          Into an Office tainted by eight years of endless lies
            Eyes shine with the proud tears of a nation reborn

           A Socialist, to those who look down on him with malicious scorn
           Progressive diplomat, to those of us who are not looking for a reprise
           And he reassures and comforts the fears of the forlorn. 

           Some try to topple his efforts, but on that January morn
           Throngs of people will crowd and stare, as if looking at a beautiful sunrise  
           Eyes shine with the proud tears of a nation reborn 

           With patience and undying courage he will mend a nation torn
            Insurmountable obstacles are present, but he hears our cries
             And he reassures and comforts the fears of the forlorn 

    Diligent leadership will help create progress to problems skyrocketing and airborne   
            He promises he will stand with us in a time of lows or highs 
            Eyes shine with the proud tears of a nation reborn
            And he reassures and comforts the fears of the forlorn


Details | Villanelle | |

At the Ripples of the Sun's Rays, I Stare

At the ripples of the Sun’s rays, I stare.
In water, I fight to rise, but I sink;
Sinking and crying for a breath of air.
 
Above me, on the shore, they do not care
That I have fallen over the blue brink
At the ripples of the Sun’s rays. I stare.
 
They will live more than me, since they are there
With more than enough breath. I cannot think
Sinking and crying for a breath of air.
 
The current pulls me away from my share
Of life, which above, the indulgents drink.
At the ripples of the Sun’s rays, I stare.
 
The growing pressure is hard to bear,
As I watch their images slowly shrink,
Sinking and crying for a breath of air.
 
I push to live, as they do. It’s not fair
That I drown in these debts of which I sink;
At the ripples of the Sun’s rays, I stare,
Sinking and crying for a breath of air.