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Violence Beauty Poems | Violence Poems About Beauty

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

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Details | Light Poetry | |


I am Charlie
Je suis Charlie

I laugh at myself
I laugh at the world
I mock you with love
I love to contemplate
I love for humanity to think
There are no limits to freedom of expression
As long as we have no hate in the heart
Let us mock the universe
In gaiety and laughter

If we learn not to take ourselves too serious
Maybe just maybe
We shall feed a few poor
Maybe an act of kindness
Maybe we shall forgive and open our hearts
Maybe one shall rejoice and clap at a daily good deed given
Maybe our kindness will rank higher than our ideals
Maybe, just maybe, a cartoon can be just that
A Cartoon

We all have different views
Different tastes
Our diversity is our beauty
We can each enjoy that which we see as art
We can each ignore, that which pleases not the eye
Free choice is golden

Cold blooded killers
Have no place in our civilization
Whoever kills in the name of the most merciful
Is a fool and an infidel
If Allah was an artist
The infidels would be caricatures on a sketch pad
To be erased from all of humanity

Yes, I am Charlie

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Elegy | |

Oh Syria

Reality is lost and I fear…
That someday…somewhere so near…
I will fall amongst the people so dear…
I fear…that I’ll just be another one…
Another one lost…

I wonder what the cost of my life is
not to get too political…
But I want to know what the cost of my life is
Is it money…is it land
I do not own any of them…I’m just a simple man

I remember…When I ran across your land…
I remember when I kissed my grandmother’s hands…
But you ripped my away from her…From my home
you ripped my away from my heart…you ripped me away from my soul

I feel helpless…I feel low…
It’s hard to play along when I know…I have no role
I have become a slave.
After all the love I gave.

When I look at my country…people I want to save
When I look around me…people I need to change
It seems like a hard thing to do…
when the range of people is way bigger than you

Freedom…oh how much I’ve heard that word
Freedom…oh how this idea has become absurd
when God gave us life…
He warned us only he can take our lives…

Oh Syria…my home
Oh Syria…my all
Oh Syria…what did they hurt you for?
Oh Syria…I’m here…I won’t let them hurt you anymore…
I am Proud to be your son…

Copyright © Zeki Madjid

Details | Dramatic monologue | |


   Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing 
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman  thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
 to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order

Copyright © chriss todd

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.


Copyright © Tyler Kisner

Details | Ballade | |

Oh, what a hectic month

Oh,what a hectic month

Oh what a month it’s been
Two lots of relies came
Over from the old country
It’s been a frantic game
I’m not used to all this stuff
But I’m glad it all took place
Although it was real hectic
No frown did crease my face.

One trip to Margaret River
Wow! This, it was a blast
We toured those rich surroundings
Till we went home at last
Then the darned flue knocked me down
And I spent some time in bed
And then I put my back out
As I banged my bloody head.

It seemed that I was on the mend
But my computer shat itself
I lost both poems, and photos
They’re the sum of all my wealth
Thank God I got the poems back
Alas, but not the photos
I guess I lost them, all of them
But this is how it goes

It’s been some heavy karma
That’s all that I can say
But now that it’s all over
I feel real fine today
So it’s back to meditation
And working on my soul
It’s time to get some relaxation
And once more feeling whole

23 October 2013 @1450hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Rhyme | |

Winter Learning Ducks

Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes, 
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.

Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American 
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…

Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.

Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,

remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water

ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk

that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun 
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper

Details | Free verse | |

Peace Rings True

Speak gently when you offer criticism,
but don't be so soft as to sacrifice the truth.
                      Rumi (M. Mafi, trans)

Speak gently when you offer your truth,
when you confront violence and dissonance,
about your own egocentric merits and demerits,
but don't be so soft as to sacrifice your contented confluence,
your exegetical Orthodoxy.

Speak gently, wrestle with and not against,
when you confront dissonant overheated evils,
economic injustices,
ecological toxins,
and remain just flexible enough to foregive
the absence of absolute truth in this HereNow moment,
about our ecocentric merits and demerits
of non-violence, 
lust for,
and addiction to love and active peace
with EcoJustice.

Gently root for underdog, understory, parasites
as active self-appointed Hosts sharing Earth's vast Tree of Life.
We each and all play parasite and Host economies,
hunters sometimes hunted,
lovers warm toward becoming Beloved,
hunted sometimes hunters,
fear hunts fear of hunger
thirsts for enough to recontent 
polycultural simplicity, just-right enough
in balanced EcoJustice.

We each incarnate both cooperative ecologic
and competitive ego-normic.
We play our strategic games more sustainably
and wisely
as we comprehend underdog parasites
are also benign Host potential,
both Yin and Yang
within a self-regenerative Tao Community
balancing EarthTribe Ways,
more joyfully greeting, meeting,
and getting through each day.

Hosting optimal regenerative spaces
for ecological cooperative economic choice making
is a wise, and strikingly shamanic, natural systemic vocation.
Eco-facilitation mentors normative logical orthopraxis
with optimizing continuously quality improving performance,
meeting design and Original Positive Teleological Intent.

EcoTherapy mentors slowing down our aspiring Ego heartbeats
while optimally filling our lungs and minds
with each Other,
rather than getting all Yanged up,
with a lot of shallow,
unmindful breathing,
and talking without sufficient feeling,
as the sea through which we all fly together.
sensory-deductive EcoJustice.

Weapons of Evil
as Teachers of Right-brained Good

Of all things, weapons are instruments of evil,
of hate.
Therefore the polycultural person,
possessed of Tao's (0) Core Logos,
avoids violent tools of anger and enslavement and hate.
Polycultural Communities and Persons
favor scientific logos,
Yang mutually active peace 
and care-giving protection within domestic life,
But, within undomesticated infractive occasions
favors Right-brained mythic Yin mutual accommodation,
nurturing non-violent intent and assumptions of equivalent response,
redemptive fore-giveness to meet Challenger half way,
as Other understands their needs at this time.

Predators are weapons of monocultures.
They are not the tools for polycultural sustainability.
When the use of predators cannot be helped,
The best policy is calm restraint,
minimal dissonant response frequencies and functions.
To fore-bare arms evolves proactive peacemaking.
To remain calm revolves maintainable contentment.

Even in victory, there is no boasting,
And who boasts of short-term Win-Lose outcomes
Is one who delights in violence,
unnecessarily lodges, enstates, restates
negative karmic dissonance.
Delight in EcoPathology
cannot achieve diastated EcoJustice power.

Intuited good, true, beauty favors Left-brain reception.
Dissonance, violence, evil favor Right-brain dissonant appositional feeling.
Our Ego stands on the Left's sensory input loop,
Our SuperEco stands in the Right's Elder Memory processor space.
That is to say, Elder Right celebrates Dying-Life Rites of Passage.

Speak gently Left toward Rites Passage
but don't be so Left-brained soft
that EcoJustice cannot find you,
and yours,
and all EarthTribe
within each HereNow Beloved Community Event.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Details | Ballad | |

The joy of the pheasant shoot

The joy of the pheasant shoot.

Getting set for the big event
The good folk do their stuff
They beat the earth with sticks, do they?
With their little dogs so tough 
They flush those pheasants from the scrub
So all can have some fun
Killing them with smiling faces
As they fire beloved guns.

Then as the pheasants in a panic
They bolt into the sky
Our hero’s with their guns in hand
Make sure that hundreds die
As the air is filled with the cracking sounds
As birds fall all around
Just so these fools can get there jollies
These corpses cover ground.

I wonder sometimes if these hero’s
Have any souls at all
That they could get such satisfaction
Doing these acts so cruel
Sometimes it leaves me speechless
At the way folk get their pleasure
Killing beauty just for fun
Is an ugly kind of leisure.

10 September 2013 @ 1340hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballade | |

Padock filled with bulls

The paddock’s filled with bulls
All waiting there to die
They don’t have too much future
For the farmer, he’s the guy
Who has the power of life, and death
He decides what lives and dies
As he fattens each beast carefully
That’s where his money lies.

I see these creatures roaming round
And it makes me feel quite sad
To know that for my appetite
These beasts be treated bad
The taste of steak is mighty good
But what a price we pay
I eat my share of it, that’s true
Perhaps I’ll stop one day!

One paddock filled with bulls
It opens my eyes wide
To realize these wondrous beasts
Throughout the years have died
So I might feast with bulging belly
It really is not fair
Living on this little farm
It fills my heart with care.


Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Verse | |


i like to dress for an imaginary girl
(we will meet each other soon)   by putting on
a silk tie with subtle Chinese birds
sewn in.
she may be picturing me in her mirror
as she applies exactly the necessary line
of mascara to lengthen her lashes and darken
her eyes.
whatever begins as a mystery ends as a
blind, the nuances so well known
that birds chirp violently at their mirror images
but the pools
as they are revealed in the sunlight of
every accidental nod of the eyes remain
calm as a mirror in which there is no
image ever seen.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Rhyme | |


We were accustomed to read one thousand 
And one night in Baghdad...
Tonight the glorious city-sky is sad,
It sounded bang! Bang 
Where is my mummy? Where is my dad?
Are they all alive under the cruise wreckage;
Or are they all dead?
The a ‘Rashid city was weeping,
It rained hatred,
It rained prejudiced,
It rained cactus of different shapes,
They're all aliens, 
Some were homemade,
They're all colourful,
In blue, in yellow and in red.
Do you still remember brother?
Because if you don't I still do
What the big Satan, Lucifer what he said!
The cross versus the crescent, take it or leave it,
An entire racism by the media was also fed.
Some hidden in a banker,
Others crawling of hunger,
Others demonstrating with anger,
Pale, yellowish faces they all looked bad.
Where is my nation..My Arabity..My Islam ?
Oh...Mutasamahh! Where are my brothers?
Are they all dead???
They called it precise bombing and it was right indeed,
In the heart of the baby-heart 
Like the British game of dart,
The arrow hit its target,
It hit it like mad.
Nobody moves a finger,
In the age of Patriot and Stinger,
They all believe in star-wars, economic prosperity, 
They all believe in the Pope, pop-star singer,
They all believe that one-day Allah would side with them to defeat, 
The neo-Thamud and Aad,
They're all waiting for the coming future Mahdi,
And for the Armageddon battle to be led.  

Copyright © Abder Derradji