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Violence Angst Poems | Violence Poems About Angst

These Violence Angst poems are examples of Violence poems about Angst. These are the best examples of Violence Angst poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Blank verse | |

Noise

In Chibok,
An IED finds it way 
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound; 
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget 
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady 
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood 
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’ 

As if it is a joke 
To snatch young Nigerian girls 
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons; 
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings; 
Internally displaced persons; 
Slaughtering of citizens 
And the role of government in all of these 
And the security of our country 
And I pulled at the hairs 
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me 
Like some foreigner 
And I feel the fire 
All through the trip 
And I burn and burn and burn 
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast 
It feels good though to know 
What it takes to 
Be burned into countless degrees. 

But after three weeks 
I am back to normal again 
I can feel again 
My senses are back again 
Working optimally 
And I can hear again 
As the presidential pit-bull 
And the black parrot 
The one that used to be 
In the fourth estate of the realm 
Begin to met and dole out 
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold 
That comes upon our ears 
To push out every substance 
From our heads 
Everything except this load of hopelessness 
This bitter bite in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim 

And then the hash tags;
The media craze; 
The count down 
The women in red 
And the men that joined 
The bring back our girls 
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood 
The bloody thighs of those girls 
Their torn underwear 
Their wails, their sobs, their pains 
To say the least 
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside 
And look the other way. 
Like it did not happen at all 
Like it was just a movie 
Directed by a director 
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet 
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal 
I won’t write another poem 
On how a nation 
Could forsake her innocent children 
Instead I would write of a country 
Stealing, stealing, growing 
Growing resilient to emotion; 
Becoming many times dead
To any feeling 
Tearing its tissues to pieces 
And building new ones 
That will be senseless 
Lifeless 
Bloodless.

And the noise 
And the noise 
And the noise.

Copyright © Divine Friday Idiong | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

To Finally See You

Grinding you in the coal black mortar of my expectations,
I know your substance is not one to powder under impact
And yet I work here, feverish, to prove my trepidations wrong
I grind you, harder against the walls, and you never powder,
You are shards of glass, getting smaller and smaller,
Cutting through the walls, straight into my skin

I cry out in a thousand minuscule pains, 
As you enter mercilessly into my bare flesh
Tinkles flair as the wind blows upon the incisions
I sparkle in the night of our plight, 
Terrorized by the horrors I have constructed,
Toying with you… you…the finesse tool to my agonies

You gained control of me like a mimed puppet master,
The binds I had tightened upon you asphyxiating my sanctuaries,
Tied along you, and twined around me
Silent, smiling, seething…
You begged me to scream
Your glass shards icing into my pupils, through my brain, 
And out into the recesses of all my verbalized fears

I shove the remaining shards into my fleeting sight,
A hawk screeching, being stabbed in the eyes by its own feathers
Expelling blood and tears …matter and might,
All I wanted to do was finally see you…
To take in the scent of my grounded version of you

So long though had I whiffed in the potent poison you always were,
Too long, as it no longer has the same effect my nostrils numb for…

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

When Doing Wrong Feels so Right

Each town has it’s own Heart Beat: Thump, Thump- Thump, Thump.
And All can go astray when doing wrong feels so right.

A young man came in contact with the police… and has died.
So the town decided to protest, drawing others from the outside.
Everything got out of hand, and escalated, throughout the night.
Businesses destroyed, homes robbed, fires, it wasn’t a pretty sight.
The innocent bystanders have decided to move away, in droves.
The businesses are losing customers, as to safety so many go.
Eventually, businesses will also leave, for customers they must have.
The area will become blighted, where a good home once could be had.

Each town has it’s own Heart Beat: Thump, Thump- Thump, Thump.
And All can go astray when doing wrong feels so right.

Police and their families are being threatened, as they try to understand.
But they see that they must guard at night, all which continues to stand.
The Newsmen are stirring things up, as to the National News they go.
Of course we need to know the plight of all, as they stir up more woes.
Protesting the freedom, to protest at night, hasn’t helped stop the fights.
More will be leaving the area, cause they don’t want to live too close.
It’s the innocents who continue to suffer, if the town becomes a ghost.
It could end in a moment, or be like the fighting, in the Middle East.

Each town has it’s own Heart Beat: Thump, Thump- Thump, Thump.
And All can go astray when doing wrong feels so right.

It all depends on everyone’s understanding of when it’s time to stop.
It depends on the understanding: of when something wrong feels right.
Rioting, Looting, and Protesting can’t add anything good to the mix.
But adding outsiders and hatred to it, can totally destroy all, in the end.
There are brave hearts, wanting to stop what’s going on, to get along
The outsiders control the scene, as with sadness, the good back down.
It seems to have a life of it’s own, pushed from outsiders out to win.
But the only thing they’ll win, is a ghost town, for those left within.

Each town has it’s own Heart Beat: Thump, Thump- Thump, Thump.
And All can go astray when doing wrong feels so right.
Remember: Be careful what you do, when feelings seem so right.

 CSEastman Written 8-15-2014… ‘A bystander, very close by’

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Park Bench Ghost

 
 
Why am I emerging from the dark 
Staring at a bench in City Park. 
Breathless air without a bird in song. 
So I sit, unknowing, yet belong.
 
Sudden waves of anguish flood my mind. 
Feral, vicious, senseless bursts of time. 
Then a calming whisper fills my ear
And my reason now, for being here.
 
Minutes of my final day proceed.
Mockingbirds and peanut squirrels to feed.  
Speckled sun through breezy treetops sway 
And two hidden figures inch my way. 

Choking arms, a weakness, loss of breath; 
Forced behind a thicket to my death. 
Off they bolted free without a trace. 
Now I'm vengeance. Patiently I wait.

I'm aware each footstep, as they move, 
But this peaceful park is where I choose. 
Soon they stalk again. I know the place. 
Little do they know the wrath they face.

Gene Bourne
11-29-13



.

Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric | |

Stand Up

Put down the guns, lay down the knives
We are losing too many of our young lives,
The violence that you’re watching on TV
That is what’s happening, it’s our reality.

The death count’s rising, what are we going to do?
The Police need your help if they are to help you;
Are we going to wait until it comes to our door?
Or are we going to stand up and say “no more!”

We’re living like prisoners locked behind bars
A false sense of security as we run to our cars,
This is not the way for our people to live
Something must be done, something’s got to give.

All day long a mother sits and moans
Another senseless killing hits too close to home,
Johnny’s in school you’d think he would be safe
But this too has become just another violent place.

Our justice system has failed us once again
A murderer is on the street, a family’s in pain,
Another clever lawyer has earned his pay day
The children are now afraid to go out and play.

We run the risk of losing an entire generation
While damning the future of this great nation,
We must all be ready to stand up and fight
Because what is happening is just not right.

© 2016 Donovan T. Turnquest

Copyright © Donovan Turnquest | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

The Strand

This expanse of land has seen things. 
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.

This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand. 

It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon. 

This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.

T.K

Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

Deadly Mistake

trip and splash
teeth take advantage and sink
flock must flee

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Rag doll


Start with half a pillow case. 
Cut two patterns, darn the ends. 
Take the flattened doll like shape, 
Stuff the softest rags within. 

Knit a round and fluffy ball. 
Double sew this sturdy nose. 
Then an attic box recalled 
Of forgotten baby clothes. 

Cuddle softly, puffy face. 
Whisper firmly, "Not a peep". 
Tuck it in its hiding place 
As the doorway slowly creaks. 

Button eyes that never blink, 
Painted lips that never speak. 
Would they could, we might rethink
Just how safely children sleep. 


Gene Bourne
02-05-14

Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

The Woes Of Trust

An angel formed from 
lake of purity,a gift to 
mankind-illuminating 
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the 
garden of the elves.

Sent to earth,made an 
abode in a gentleman's 
heart,whom she 
cherished and loved.

As time travelled,another 
fella whom she trusted 
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of 
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost 
snuffed,she feared the 
love of her true love 
would be lost. Alas! bond 
of love is indivisible.

Shattered,with a broken 
spirit she tries to mend 
the pieces....on the 
shoulder of her lover she 
leans,hoping to soothe 
her bruised heart.



Note:
A true story,a close 
pretty lady friend of mine 
was raped by her family 
friend yesterday...who 
called her and told her 
his mum was very sick.
She called me and 
confided in me .
Don't know whether to 
encourage her to call the 
police.

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Hail Mary Pass to the Twenty-First Century

Fear recalled; the taste of sweat in retreat, when
one can never seem to run far enough or fast enough.
Remembering the Christian children’s chants of
devil worshiper, atheist; the taunting hell they saw 
for those not blessed to be themselves.

The jeer of the crowd for those apart, the mob 
mentality of the Christian heart, the damn you if
you’re not me to a girl of eight, defies any amount
of time to heal. Memories are not obliterated.

Breathless behind a hollow-core door, gasping 
tears, a heart pounding to the beat of fists on panel;
fear recalled as bile rose; hate thrown, the Jew bated.
This was only an inkling of what Tanta felt.

Nineteen fifty-six, eleven years after the end of WWII, 
I saw the numbers burned into my families’ skin,
the ones still alive to show them to a child of eight.
-broken glass nights, crowded trains, death camps

New England was still gripped in a Christian hell,
at eight, at twelve, at eighteen—and every Christmas
in between—don’t speak, don’t tell, don’t let them 
know you’re different—different, hated, taunted,
chased, and if possible erased.

Prejudice knows no boundary of time or place, the
fear, the mob, the gang, the chanting group, alive 
still in the 21st century. When you kneel, and pray, 
even when you say Amen.



First Published by Synchronized Chaos Spring 2015

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet | |

Behind closed doors

I am tired
I am weak
I am fragile

I sit in the corner
My weary head rests on bent bruised knees
The dark and musty room reflects how I feel inside
My bloodstained clothes are torn
I sob into my dress
As I sit
Behind closed doors

Salty tears sting my face
Pain sears through me
I tremble with fear
It hurts
I am critically wounded
I am not good enough
Hopeless and useless he mocks
I made him do this
It is my fault
My drained body and hands shake
I want to sleep

The door slams
Has he gone?
I can’t take any more
My battered body lays still
In the dark stale corner
Silence... glorious silence
He is gone

No more shouting, slapping and kicking
No more clenched fists forcefully contacting my face
Swollen and sore, I cry and scream
He gags my mouth with his fist
My jaw cracks
Pain surges through me
He doesn’t care
An uncontrollable rage, a furnace within himself 
Angry eyes, empty, dark & dangerous.
Evil.

I want to move
My broken bones prevent
My frail shattered body screams in agony
Tortured, crimson blood pours from my wounds
My tattered clothes
Covered in the sticky red substance
My battered, bruised and damaged body 
All tell my story
Of suffering 
Of domestic abuse
Exposing me as a victim
Of what goes on behind closed doors

I lay down, too tired to sit
I feel my life draining from me
I close my eyes
I need to sleep

I am weak
I am tired
I am fragile
I am not scared any more
As my life ebbs away
I am happy to leave
Do not cry for me 
I suffer no more

The angels have come to rescue me

Copyright © Sarah Bryant | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Beat Your Wife, Cause is Right

Yes modernization is here
Islamic rules have made it clear
Pick up a small stick
And beat her to the wick

Make her understand
Obey your command
Pakistan is the modern land
Live like a man and beat at command

Only though because you care
To make her subservient and thus obey
She must follow your Islamic commands
And bend over for perverted desires in your satanic land

Now death to Israel
For they have committed the crime
Of being modern in un-modern times
As they saved the wounded of Syrians blood

They embrace humanity
Pakistan grabs a small stick
And strikes fear in the sexes
My god is there no common senses?

Notes: This is not to condone or condemn any Country. Merely to show how at times biases take things way out of context. At times the world decries one death, as in humane as next door hundreds of thousands take place under the silent ones of oppression. 

Secondly this is specifically about The Council of Islamic Ideology a powerful constitutional body that advises the Pakistani legislature whether laws are in line with the teachings of Islam. There interpretation is of course ludicrous and I am well aware true Muslim worshipers would never follow such violent and antiquated teachings.

This came about from the CNN article http://www.cnn.com/2016/05/28/asia/pakistan-women-light-beating/index.html on the topic. On weekends I often partake in discussions at a Middle Eastern coffee shop, people from all over the middle east, where we have lively discussions. So it’s of note that this poem was the summary and views of the Muslim mates are I was sharing tea with. 

Of note, many of them in their own countries could never voice any dissenting views without being tortured or killed.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Nothing More Or Less

Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
Imagination trims
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Hollywood rounds
Quills deliver
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
Tragedies
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less

My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Dead
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less

I cringed for originality 
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED 
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less

Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark 
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rubaiyat | |

So Called Dangerous Minds

They gives a us a voice, but don't want us to speak.
The president's black I bet he doesn't write his own speech.
Words that he speaks come the people that keep in unequal,
D.C. is evil the future is bleak.

Unless among us is a Malcolm X 
All for one and together we're stronger than the rest.
My mother strong ,God is our Father 
Jesus Piece lays on my chest.

Moment of truth what's left to be said,
word is bond,nothing is worth more than respect.
Which needs to be earned 
shots fired so I'm hitting the deck.

Deep in the street cracks is where secrets are kept,
Nikes on the feet of the ones who keep running for checks.
Turnt cheek to the causalities take a deep....
Breath after breath, war between us, love lost into between deaths.



Copyright © Gerald Moise | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

The Forge

I remember the beach sand and swing
when you and mother were still something
I remember the ducks in the lake
you held my hand watching their wake
I remember the sheep dogs when the day was through
and the mornings grass all covered with dew
I remember the dead man and blood on the floor
my hand in my mothers as she went for the door
I remember the stairs I thought I’d fall through
and the building where she was hidden from you
she tried drowning me in the bath and the tub
her hands on my throat on the dining room rug
the pain of the walls where my body flew
the floor of the closet when she was through
I remember you entering the door
as you picked up my body from off the floor
the words were so ugly I’ve forgotten them now
but things haven’t changed much anyhow
I remember the willows and switches not few
a home not mine and the children were new
a string of families never seeming to end
the abuse and the beatings I’m not on the mend
I remember the the rage and the red flushed face
what did I do to fall from your grace
I remember the fear when I tried to hide
the man and the 2by4 when it hit my side
the bruise and welts with noone to care
my mother and father aren’t even there
I remember the family that took me in
they had no daughter just two young men
one boy was loving the other was slime
but the parents protected me most of the time
I was safe for awhile with nightmares not few
and some of my demons she helped to slew
I remember you taking me home at last
you had remarried some six months past
I remember the woman was cruel and mean
she remained that way till I was sixteen
At fifteen I had been already raped twice
the drugs and pills and the wrist yet to slice
I remember the police to the hospital sped
the straight jacket and thorazine I should have been dead
I remember the airplane that sent me away
with my half brothers mother I was to stay
my neck with a forearm pinned to the wall
my half brothers brother screaming he will have all
I remember the screaming as I flew down the stairs
his violence had caught me totally unawares
the pain as he smashed me on the walls of the hall
the kicks in the ribs after my fall
the nine months I walked in a state of fear
how I passed my classes is very unclear
I remember the man when I hitched into town
the car was a sedan of dirty brown
the doors had no handles no way to get out
he pulled out a knife and proceeded to shout
how he would cut me and make me bleed
if I didn’t fill some sort of need
how I grabbed the wheel for steering the car
when he slammed on the brakes down the road not far
when he slid out the door by the side of the road
it seemed to me that all time had slowed
he released me with curses not language unknown
from the cage of his car this bird had flown
I remember the man preaching justice and truth
but to find answers one must become sleuth
I remember the marriage and I made him swear
that to hit or harm me he must never dare
I remember the baby with curls of gold
by seventeen to marriage my father me sold
I remember the lapses of time I had lost
the forge of my youth and the price it had cost
the thread that kept me alive was so thin
in my mind it was always me against him
I remember the children that helped keep me sane
with some sort of focus with the man I had lain
I remember the striving for some sort of truth
what kind of a mother my children had in their youth
I remember it all so plain and clear
that violence from men will always be near
I swore at sixteen no child to have
if you couldn’t play safely with joy and a laugh
forgive me my children for bringing you here
the reasons I do things are sometimes not clear
My parents are gone and I do not mourn
but only for the life I was never shown
I did try to spare you the same kind of fate
I hoped that my love would be never to late
I had no control of the time or the chance
that injustice would look upon you with his glance
I raise my eyes to the heavens and vent to his name
to save all the children who are yet put thru shame
In a blast furnace my life has been forged
the tool of the hammer has formed my discourse
in molten metal I have been shaped
the tool of another I have not escaped
what of the purpose he hopes to hew
a piece of equipment all shiny and new
I remember my maker and the state of his grace
the road laid before me and the words of his face
the view of my nature he seeks to tame
with so many others who walk in the flame
in wails united to pull heaven down
and with its brightness scour the ground
his promise to do so has not yet passed
when all of mankind will feel his blast
the call has gone forth the meaning is clear
to give an accounting is so very near
those who think themselves high shall be made low
the dust of the earth their destined to know
the one that I follow has carved out the path
his star has shown brightly beneath thorn and the lash
I reach my arm forth to take hold his hand
to walk among humans woman and man
he paints a clear future for those of us all
a paradise lost to man in his fall

COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC

COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller via Duboff Law Group LLC

Copyright © Poetryof Providence | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric | |

Game of Starbucks

I am standing 
In a line scene
Cuz my body
Needs its caffeine 

And in front of me some dink
Orders a confusing drink
Now he’s changing ‘round his order
With our patients growing shorter

And a sword from
Someone’s pocket
Now sticks through the
Guy’s eye socket

Du du du du 
Du du du du
Du du du-du du-du du-du...

Copyright © Anthony Beck | Year Posted 2014

Details | Shape | |

APOSTASY OF A PROPHET

This Casuistry is a paradox Fallacious feelings repress A Sophistry you ingress Chemically redox Tergiversate under scrutiny. A misfit – an anachronism. Elusory emotions to express My argument a confused paralogism Chicanery Fugacious Piety worships AWAITING THE FALL An elaborate machination Formation of this Cabal To unravel this conspiracy Renegade inspiration A Live Grenade Revolution call. Societal crumblings A mind poisoned by barricades Limitations. Cures itself By questioning everything Invalidity, obscurity, corruption Topple under Plots of our Coterie Political pressure Militant insurgency Worship the gun Worship the steel Guerilla tactics Metro Urban Rurally Camouflaged pawns Stratagem Pieces on the board are people Playing for real. Didactic Leaders And Pedantic parents They’re history and experience In perspective reveals. Cycle of manipulative Elite, controlling The pariahs Starved in appeal.

Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epic | |

Fertile Crescent, iii

Fertile Crescent
and Vestigial Conscience

The sun overshadowing my morality
my self- righteousness eclipsed

Where early mans' dawn is, 
Our sun over my left *should* threaten to tinge me if
I pontificate platitudes that fail to connect us to
full stomachs for our children, solid comfort during our elders’ aging and respite needs
 
That McChrystal was sacrificed at the altar
the way Abraham (*pause) to show faith
O yea, my ancient ancestors from Ireland
Maybe they had roots in Celtic lore
Heralding Beowulf’s heroics
And maybe they had someone in some way connected to 
 various seafaring warring factions!
 
Tyranny and takeover spark hatred
vitriolic
blinding rage, like
action- oriented swarming killer bees~
Vestigial, then, is it - our
primordial consciousness?

Weeping flows, but flash floods cannot compare, 
and the burn of fury that hot lava
NO! of liquid molten, from the deepest depths of Earth's core - 
even that cannot compare 
to the condemnation
my foe must assume.
 
With this pen I secure my conduit to the divine, 
My unpretentious foothold here from my pedestal, 
denouncing injustice! 
My spears are fueled
 
Fertile Crescent
Ghosts of pharaohs
Branded timeless in stone
Reigning order
Condemning the vilified,
as it is published by
The Royal Geographical Society:
Syria as the Gateway between East and West
Leonard Woolley
The Geographical Journal
Vol. 107, No. 5/6 (May - Jun., 1946), pp. 179-190)
And why shouldn’t this be so?
 
Beowulf, an earliest epic
Of Old English
How proud and agile to be able
To confer your legacy in written format
Onto your generations and incursions ~
 
Daughters of the American Revolution, 
weren't you early colonists settling in Maryland?
Wasn't The Crown's high noon tea wrought with hypocrisy?

I was wrong when I supposed 
McCongress ordered striking the King's son
off the Dollar Menu, To Go, 
when they showed up at the
Drive-Thru window
 
Morocco & France have tensions
today that sprouted around this very topic, you know.
Everyone has to pay attention to who the special children are, 
from the special castes - it is written and taught in
children's international fairytales 
written by nations collectively-
cultures present their insides
in their telling of morals embellished
inside gripping tales
to their children,
use of cultural symbols and
delectable terms,  the signs all 
lead directly to the diaper room. 
But for this poet, it was the Irish potato famine
forbidding entry into libertine culture.

Copyright © Jen Franks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Pity Me

Pity Me! 
Should we pity those who feel no pity? 
Those who’ve become so disturbed, that they have become bloodthirsty 
Can it truly be the only way one should feel alive, 
That one quick slip and one will surely die? 
They have lost the ability for compassion 
Their inner anguish seems everlasting 
Incapable of showing mercy, 
The only way that they become free 
Is through death; Pity me! Humanity! Pity Me! 
Because I fear that it is only through your pity; that I have anything left!

Copyright © laughing cougar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Cease Fire

The Crusades Began a Holy War
Which Continues to this Day.
We Kill, and Kill, and Now it Seems,
This shall Always be the Way.

One Side Scores, the Others Die,
Then the Cycle is Repeated.
It never Stops, It’s never Done;
The Battles Grow More Heated!

The Way to Peace, it Seems so Clear,
Is not Through Senseless Slaughter.
I Appeal to All, “Please Quit the Fight!”
Save our Sons and Daughters!

To Find Our Way out of the Dark,
We Need only Seek the Light.
A Solution Lies within our Grasp:
Forget who’s Wrong or Right!

This God or that, it Makes no Matter.
This Truth I have Acquired:
Be they Different, or the Same,
The Gods would Preach Cease Fire!

Copyright © Steven Gadberry | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet | |

STELLA DIES

   STELLA DIES
Dear Stella, up the path, into the park,
deep shadows hide the trees along the Seine,
the quiet of the night accents the dark
and you can feel your breathing now and then.

The peaceful gloom, enveloped by a mist,
all black and gray and shades of morbid white,
accentuates the place your eyes have missed,
where someone waits, who's watched you every night.

This place, where gendarmes warn to be aware,
tonight is more foreboding than you've known,
and so you pause; you look; is someone there?
it's then you realize, you are alone.

The snapping of your heels you hear increase,
as if the hurry puts your mind at peace.

Engulfed, the path leads up and from the Seine,
and then you'll be out of this narrow pit,
but suddenly you feel the eyes again,
much closer than a glove too small to fit.

You struggle with your thinking, in a word,
to flee or just pretend no one is there,
and so you hum a tune you've never heard,
and place your safety in your mother's prayer.

Oh, Stella, Stella, in the spring you'll wed,
your sweet Gaston. Believe he's at your side,
and you will laugh at all this gloom and dread...
though courage might have found you, it has lied.

The shadows all are moving; you can hear
the groaning of someone who's all too near.

The quiet; crickets sounding no alarm,
but now a drizzle rain cools at your heat,
and tingles flowing down onto your arm
remind you of the friends you'll never meet;

quite suddenly, he's grabbed you from behind,
and muffles any sound you might have found,
you cannot scream, to hurt is in your mind,
but he's too quick, he's pinned you to the ground.

Who is this thing, your lover or your friend,
you might have pained...why does he want you dead?
or is this just someone who brings the end,
you've never known, with killing in his head?

You feel no teardrops, feel no blood nor fright,
there's only blinding, blinding, blinding light....
© ron Wilson aka Veebdosa the Doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Light To Dark

You think you’ve gone just far enough,

I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again

You think you were careful but,

I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form

You think you can find a way into my good graces

I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume

You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents

You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win

Don’t underestimate me

You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing

You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down

My eyes took too long to adjust

Better late than never

It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours

My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep

Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet

Then I thought about the mess it would make

I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own

I was not weak, but I had a weakness

A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care

No longer

Now my heart is a stone so heavy

I could kill at least two birds at once 

Being the nice guy is a thing of the past 

Thanks for freeing me of that softness

You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things

When really I had just been swallowing razor blades

Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong

Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you

If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run

Your gonna be the one with tired feet

I’m not sad anymore

Just sick with the plague of your lies

Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss

Even angels can make themselves wicked

When we do, we take no prisoners

Still think I’m a game

This one is just beginning

Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

All Along the Watchtower Re-Visited for 9-11

"There must be some kinda way to find out here"
Said the seeker to the stealer
"There's too much confusion
I'm struggling to be the reveal"

"Conglomerate men, they drink my wine
Politicians dig my earth
None will level on the line
Because none of them are worth it" hey

"There is reason to get excited"
The seeker, he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us
Who feel our governments a joke"

"Now you and I, we've lived through this
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late", hey

Hey

All along the watchtower
Liars kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too

Outside in the cold distance
The C.I.A. did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl, hey

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower

All along the watchtower on that tragic September day
We need some investigation, for someones has to pay
Now you and I, we've lived through this, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, before this generations to late

We will always remember, and remember who we lost that day
We need some investigation, for someone has to pay
All along the watchtower, a nation in mournful cries
We are not so blind, it's amazing what you can see when you close your eyes

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower




James, we lost you in Kensington, England. The Star Spangled Banner will
live long in your past. I can't say the same for some of your American so
called country people. Thank you for allowing me to gracefully use . . . .
'All Along the Watchtower' it's blatantly obvious someone was not.

To all the lost in the 9/11 tragedy, my thoughts will always be with you.


 All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix, with some lyrics changed 



Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Lyric | |

Have and Have Not

Born into poverty
Instead of heraldry
Disappointment struck me glum
Square peg in a round hole
Ends up on the dole*
Got no money and I want some

My nights of abandon
Were strictly rationed
Contraception isn't cheap
Then into these drab nights
No warmth and no lights
Fed up of counting sheep

You came and you stained 
the sheets and the bed frame
Your self indulgence left me sore
You left me white
and a terrible sight
But still I craved for more

But if I had money
You'd stick with me honey
You wouldn't leave me in this mess
But I'm just a pauper
Can't support a daughter
(Finances) stretch to a budgie at best

Well she cut her hair
and dated a millionaire
Splashing cash has such allure
But, he beats her senseless
Then buys her a new dress
She's not happy, but she's 'secure'

He has and I have not
I want what he's got
The irony is - I had it once
He went to Cambridge and Eton
He's got me down and beaten
He's left me feeling such a dunce

The moral then sonny
Is those who have money
Will always get the best of both worlds
So if your not rich
Then life's a b***h
So go find yourself a rich girl



*old fashioned term for social security payments in the UK. 
[This is actually a song rather than a poem, which I wrote almost 30 years ago - when I was full of angst and acne! Can't find or remember the music I wrote for it though - shame]

Copyright © David Sollis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Villanelle | |

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 40

Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 40

All Man and man-made things given time perish
Nations religions empires loghead gods
Not the Universe though in splendour relish

Would that Man saw fit to live free of fetish
He could free himself from the need to cross swords
All Man and man-made things given time perish

When Man gives birth to gods he’s more than selfish
Thinks he could earn the favours of grateful gods
Not the Universe though in splendour relish

Not one god we create respect we their wish
Those who engender them wish to end up gods
All Man and man-made things given time perish

What the Buddha wished we may still accomplish
Make not human suffering the burden of gods
Not the Universe though in splendour relish

Pull that arrow from bleeding breast in anguish
Attend to your gaping wounds not those of gods
All Man and man-made things given time perish
Not the Universe though in splendour relish

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

My cobain smile

I want to drown my urge to die
I want to kill my pulse inside
I can't breathe, I'm paranoid
Everything in life I avoid

Don't speak to me, I'll look away
Inside my eyes is just decay
 I'm already dead, but have yet to die
Why do I keep my body alive

My soul is dead, eyes are lies
So is the smile I hide behind
Pull the plug, I'm a fake
In a nightmare and I cannot wake

Drown me! I'm flooded in pain
Please help me regain
Some peace, some rest 
I want to die to live again

Set me free 
Slitting my wrists isn't working
The more stares I get
The more I become numb
I just need to be gone
Eliminate my pain, 
I'm already out of breath 
Suffocating on my hopelessness

Every day I am alive 
But I'm craving to die inside
Curved smile because your so naive
You think I'm happy 
Yet I'm being crushed
My head is overflowing 
With these thoughts that are too much

One word, suicide
Sparks a light inside of my eyes

I don't want to pretend to live
Let me go, flood me in sin
There is where I want to swim
Six feet under the ground

Don't be selfish 
And keep me in pain
To tourture my lifeless body again
Let my body float soundly
Rushing water, ocean salt
I promise I won't feel it at all.

End it, hold me under 
Then bury me so I can slumber
Goodbye lifeless eyes
As I'm dying I'll be coming alive
Haunting images 
Deleted from my mind
Laughing 
As I leave this world behind

Water 
Floods my lungs 
Death 
Leans in for a kiss

Together we sink into insanity
And drown in infinitys abyss. 

Copyright © Karissa Kelley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Selfish

I don't understand
   Why it is
I feel the things I feel
I do the things I do
 for you
I don't understand
   Why it is
You feel the things you feel
   Why 
You do the things you do
   Wait-
Now, I understand
   For you


---By: ~Tawny~

   My daughter

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Dear Dad

Dear Dad 				
Why don’t you love me? 
The small brown eyed girl asked her father as he beat her at night,
 then with a smile in the morning he’d scoop her up in his arms to play.
Why don’t you love me? 
The bigger brown eyed girl asked her father as he walked out and
never came back.
Why don’t you love me? 
The young brown eyed girl asked her boyfriend of two years,
As he walked out the same door her father did eight years before.
Never to return.
Why didn’t you love me?
The older brown eyed girl asked her father at his funeral.
As she leaned over the edge of his casket and kissed him gently on the forehead,
Tears running down her cheeks.
Why couldn’t you love me? 
The oldest brown eyed girl asked as she lays Jasmine’s and roses
On her father’s grave.
Only a row down from her old boyfriend’s,
With love that never dies.
And her question is answered in the wind, 
As the answer is whispered in her heart.
How could you love me?
If you couldn’t love yourself?

Copyright © Jazmine Russell | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Brutal Right Hook

He keeps knocking
Gently pounding
But nobody opens the door
Yearns to be on the other side
It hasn't been the same
Since the light escaped
From a soul that is
So damn hollow and cold
Some say he sold it to the devil
But what did he get in exchange?
Where or where did little Johnny go?

He's gotta blame someone
Perhaps his dad who found a new lover
And bore another son
Tired of the end world mumbling
Food shortages, pack them guns
Ride em cowboy
Get out while you can
But the blood stains
Can't be washed from your hands.

What about the teachers
Preaching only education
Will take you to the highest summit of your choosing
While the schmooze with the in crowd
Trying to overcompensate for the alienation
They felt at the same age?
No one wants to be alone
No one wants to be an outsider
It's not a choice
It's a curse
Empathy, sympathy
Only when you demand it
But never given selflessly.

He's a bit of a loon
See how he combs his hair?
Oh that stare so empty
Is there anybody there?
Do we really care?
Let him rot, wither and die.

The doctors write another script
He's their personal guinea pig
Shake, rattle and roll
Don't want to hear his life story
Oh it is so boring
Where's the unadulterated sex?
The crackin cocaine?
Rope a dope?
No one gives two you know what
About some loner who mopes
On and on about never being understood
We've heard it before, but better
Get in line
Give me a call in 30 days
For god sake, please smile next time
You're bringing me down.

Finding solace in fantasy land
Shoot em up, 
Blow away all the evil and the bad guys
While looking down from the sky
Upon this wicked world
Corrupt, sick and full of themselves
He's the king
But where's my queen?
Only if he had millions in the bank
Cynical, yes
But the truth...

He's tired of being a nobody
Pull another sidewalk to be walked on
A fly that needs to be swatted
Where do you go?
A bitter recluse?
He's not old enough
A homeless poet?
He's sleeping comfortably
In a million dollar mansion
No, he's gonna do something
The world will never forget
Get that fleeting fame
Even at the cost
Of not being around to see it
No second act!
The first one was shoddy
flimsy, put it to rest
Here comes the test
I'm gonna be the savior
Message so cold and concise
Why wasn't it so obvious
A short time ago?
No need to answer the questions
The door remains closed
Change of clothes
Gonna play the part
Gonna feel the beat less heart
Of the grim reaper
Ammunition, check
But before I go
I'm gonna kiss my mother on the cheek
Cover her up
She is safe now
I won't apologize
It's what you wanted
Someone had to find the guts
Remember, the blood is on your hands...

They will say 
I was the devil
It must have been those pills I never took
But after all the hoopla dies down
I will be cast out to a fiery hell
A coward, a P, 
Oh, the judgments
That don't hold back
But they never walked in my stinky shoes
I have no shame
Nary a tinge of regret
Besides, I'm doing them a favor.

It's only going to get worse, kids
Loved ones, society
Will only expect more
And never accept
If you're different, unique
A few shades too light or deep
Besides, you're at the age
When I was the happiest 
I suppose I was happy
Enough of the rambling
Conjecture and opinion
That you don't want to hear
The pain will last
But a short time
Not a lifetime of numbing a heart
That always aches
Goodbye children
Like you I'm a child too
But like someone said
We all have to die...

P-1/21/13

Copyright © eric ploscik | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

The little folk

The little folk

Little folk come out to play
Alive and filled with joy.
Whilst evil folk with ugly minds
They seek out to destroy
Sweet innocence, with poison acts
To gratify their lust
They create from children’s innocence
An outcast without trust.

A happy world, all filled with joy
That’s how it’s meant to be
These kids should be like rivers
Alive and running free
Yet evil men destroy their souls
And teach them, life is bad
And as they reach maturity
Their live are so, so sad.

Butterflies don’t come no more
And birds no longer sing
There’s only fear within their souls
What joy then can life bring
Sweet young children made to love
How can they suffer so?
I just don’t know!!!!

How can the world not care enough?
To put a stop to this
I guess that some would shrug it off
And say ‘that’s how it is’
But in the end lord Karma comes
And the future looks real grim
Those children well may rule someday
With minds made cruel and dim.

Copyright © peter duggan | Year Posted 2016