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Violence Health Poems | Violence Poems About Health

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Red Sky At Night

Once upon a nightime grim
all creatures of Earth dreamed
our Mother was not enough for everyone,
just "me."

This collective nightmare thunderously rolled out
dark implications:

Earth is insufficient for our needs!

We live in Closed Systems of immunity,
heading toward decay!

EarthTribe is not enough to sustain all this life!

I am not enough, yet!
I do not have enough, yet!

When someone grabs from me
they steal from my self-identity!
Grab back!

When someone strikes and hits to hurt,
is mean to those I care about,
I hit back!
with self-righteous flashing anger,
equity and integrity mere feckless values.

They must learn my right
or I may perish from their wrong!

With such dark dreams
our primal twins,
Yang and Yin,
thrashed about in tangled sheets
each unaware of Other's parallel flight
within this blue-black brackish night,
til Yang whacked Yin upside the head
completely unaware of how this would unfold.

So Yin hit back in fright
and soon this ruckus raised a violent alarm
among their household, neighbors, Tribe.
This outrage spread
sweeping across land and oceans
then back again to where it all began
until exhausted and dark bruised
all earthbound life fell down unconscious.

Within this loss of self-defense,
our open-handed peaceful nest,
dawn quietly crept toward abundant light
for all to feel and hear and touch
her sobbing singing warming beauty.

Scent of sun-baked cotton sheets
invites Yin's eyes to uncover sight
of radiant light
abundantly growing nutrient wealth,
a yeasty compost sustaining interweaving life,
incarnating karmic response 
to each species' evolving wants
and worthy hope.

As her awareness of Earth's vast creation
lit her eyes of self-discovery
dawn's diastasis filled hearts and minds
of all coincidental early risers.

We woke uncovered to discover immensity of life
and color swarming far beyond our needs,
nutrients absorbed for taste, and touch, and scent, and sound,
and sight, freely accessed to fit each synchronic need,
each longing to belong,
each Self fading into and out of Other,
sufficient place for each species' time and space.
Last night's primal screams of insufficiency replaced
by dawn's ecology of karmic grace.

Yang woke alarmed at loss of cover.
His arms flew out to hide his fall
from dawn's radical gift of generosity
and harmonic praxis.
And, in so doing, he hit Yin's head.

This blow did smart
but seeded tears of redeemer healing.
Yin justly smiled and absorbed around
reminding Yang she is his graceful mentor
interpreting his dreams.

She sang with harmony 
swallowing unredeemed dissonance and disease,
hope for suffering and insanity's dark lessons,
dawn's well-lit vocation for us all
softly individuating within Earth's optimizing life,
all brittle boundaries of mutual immunity
relaxing into resonance.

In this Transition Time from dark competing violence,
we remain cooperatively nested within Earth's well-being,
so, dear Yang,
return toward redemptive rest,
regenerating memory seeds,
stringing songs dancing back,
back to stardust's Ecologic Elders.

Fear and violence display synaptically sharp;
competitive "Loser!" economies;
love's just peace remains buoyant, resilient, 
robustly evolving
cooperation's mutual winner revolution
away from red skies of mourning.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Morning Coffee

This pleasant morning I began
my retiring day as usual
with more reflective readings,
today from “Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia”
Rob Brezsny.

“In January 2003, 
a Muslim gas station attendant saved a New York synagogue from arson
with his phone call to 911.
Pakistan immigrant Syed Ali watched as a man bought gasoline,
marched across the street,
and began dousing the front of the temple.
Police responded to Ali’s call in time to stop the crime.
Ali declined the mantle of hero saying
‘It was a sacred place he was going to destroy.’”
Geraldine Weis-Corbley, goodnewsnetwork.org

Geraldine is right
this is not news.
This is who we already are.

Nearly anyone in Ali’s shoes would have done the same.
Probably even Donald Trump would have called 911,
although would this be because it is a sacred place?

“As either violence [mutually-immune antipathy] or pleasure [blissful co-empathic trust] goes up, the other goes down.”   
James W. Prescott

Violent absence of care comes from within
in response to hated feelings
of ego-diminishing displeasure, or even chronic apathy, without.

Pleasure comes in from co-empathic trust without
in response to multiculturing truths healthily syncing with beauty
empathically entrusting confluence within
from generation through generation
toward Time’s further evolution.

We all want to desensitize violent fears and aggressive angers from within.
We all want to resensitize to mutually-held and offered pleasures without,
even the awkward pleasures of calling 911
to watch the police lock up a real live Hater
and throw away the villain’s key.

We all want peace offerings of polycultural
multiculturally synergetic and magnificently transcendent beauty,
goodness
Earth-rooted moral-natural equivalence,
     respect,
     dignity,
     mutually reassured trust,
massaged and absorbed and ringing-singing
through as many of our sensory receptors as possible,
extending our relatively monocultural-egocentric boundaries of co-empathic trust 
for and with and of mutually nutritional caregiving,
as did Ali
in the story of the Hater v God’s Sacred People,
each yet another bicameral balancing sensory-empathic network story,
TaoMind as Humane Bodhisattva,
struggling with violence within
resisting co-empathic trust of Earth’s PolyCulturalingARingDinging 
SacredGrace Offerings without.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

If I Could Take Time Back

If I could take it back
I would.
When I can bring you back
I will
make our bad word weapons disappear
so your heart and hope need not despair.

If I could repair your strong-heart soul
rich with vital confidence,
you can do this,
you can be this,
you are part of this,
in your way
which is a right way
for us to become with you,
you are doing this,
we are doing this together.

If I can take it back
I do
absorb  our black ballistic tones
in minor tragic keys I aimed your way
out of my own fears
I can not love you fierce enough
to remember you must know
this extended Earth-stream has your back,
is your back,
together with you,
part of you,
always voting Yes for mutual wins,
where love embraces our shared hope
and not despair.

If you could catch this hope from me,
instead,
please do.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? | |

teens life in Oakland

*A assignment was due in class. *

Every time a gun shoots
A tree looses its roots
Every time there is bloodshed
Along with it millions of tears are shed
Every time a heart is stabbed
Someone else’s life gets barren
As violence grows
Many more mothers moan
The sounds of destruction
Overpowers the voice of those
Who are innocent
Who suffer with no reason
Who beg for life
Who have heart full of innocence

Why do so much violence?
That the child’s cry cannot be heard
When his father is killed
Why do so much violence?
That a mother moans
Over her child’s dead remains
Why do so much violence
For winning any stupid battle
Which is taking lives
Of people who have wives
And mothers and children

When you can keep calm
Talk things out
Do whatever you can
To keep violence out
Because there is no sin as big as
VIOLENCE

Copyright © donna lu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Changing Moods

Even young people like Fred
went from sad to mad,
thinking that happiness
was a wish not grated;  
he succumbed to sickness,
he wished he were dead.

Changing moods in him persisted
and created a split personality;
he showed thoughts of insensibility,
a pitiful man unloved and afraid.  

His mother stood by him and cried,
friends and family kept their distance;
once he was so loved and admired,
his grey eyes exuded confidence.

Resigned to his fate, he became a wreck
it got worse until he went completely beserk;
smashing everything he found in his way,
he impersonated an actor in his wild play.

He found pleasure in destroying a memory
too bitter for him to endure with gentleness; 
when his fury was appeased by madness,
he calmed down and laughed deliriously.

At only eighteen, his destiny is sealed forever;
in a wheelchair he spends his days in distress,  
not even his mom can comfort him with hugs...
he looks at her sadly, then bursts into laughter.  


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Bad Upbringing

When I take my nephew
to the park to play basketball,
I look around to spot trolls
who litter and destroy.
" Look at those hoodlooms,
how they behave and talk! "
" They are my friends " he 
exclaims. " Your friends?
Has your mom met them? "
" Scondrels and slanderers
have the foul smell of rats in a sewer;
they scatter soda cans everywhere
and say words we never dare to say! "
I notice that I have embarassed him: 
his bond of friendship seems stronger
than the depictable things he sees;
he'll try to defend them, then he lowers
his head and admits they aren't worthy keeping
if they are always getting in trouble! "
He asks me taking another look at them.
" It's very obvious how pitiful they are
with thin bodies and scruffy appearance...
do they ever go home and eat dinner,
or even take a shower and study hard? "
" No, " he replies with a saddening look.
" Do you consider them friends or worthless boys?"
" They are both, uncle!, I am ashamed of them. "
I wanted you to see what they become
without putting words in your mouth...
their bad upbringing reflects their personality
and their behavior; I must blame their parents
for the freedom they shouldn't have! "
 And turning to him with a mellow smile, 
" You like to go to college and be a basketball player? "
" Yes, uncle. " he whispered with a glow
that sparked joy in his intelligent eyes.


Written on 10/26/2016

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

DON'T COME TO ME

You have your problems 
And I have mine
I belong to the Lord
He doesn't want complaining 
To waste my godly time
Don't come to sit
With if all your complaining
Is against God's Holy will
You come to be nosey 
Don't even know His
Quietness in me
Will be my sword
So don't come to me
With your gossip classified 
As Satan's foolish complaints 
It shall not be tolerated 
Among the Saints 
You keep on wispering 
Amongst yourselves 
Let all of your evil talk
To trouble my mind 
Go right back to hell

Copyright © Akilah Babb | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

In Our Dotage

What do you dote on?
Who do you dote with, if anyone?

"Dote" is an old-time word for ruminate,
to dwell on and within,
to become absorbed by and with.

Then there is also "antidote".

Let's imagine that our massive events and entertainment media
were to merge into an eventertainment industry,
hypnotised and hypnotising
to dote on negative events
in which we explore ourselves and others as victims in some dissonant way,
suffering anthro-doting creations not yet present when champion creator god
looked and saw that we smell good.

This way of empathizing with others
stepping into our co-awareness of humanity,
discovering both my and our identities as victims of abuse and neglect,
terror and malignant apathy,
also evolves reverent wonder and awe
recovering 
discovering
uncovering champion creator antidotes,
new ecopolitical gods and goddesses
ways and means
for and of
images and dreams of crevices and cracks
filling with peaceful justice
fragrant with lemon-scented sustaining mercy,
lavender of love,
in four-dimensional organic color
following outlines of days when healthy therapeutic news was good
and bad,
but all agreed,
normatively good was green below with blue above
in yellow light
from which we came to champion through each night.

If we are victim doters
then antidoting champions too
to see full color stretching identities
of me through organic you,
both victim and larger self-potentiating champions,
heroic powers cooperating our more positive psychology,
evaporating our too negative dotage,
together.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016