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Violence Memory Poems | Violence Poems About Memory

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

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Details | Rhyme | |

Remembering When

I remember when . . . 
kids fought at school.
At worst, they’d end up with a bloody nose.
But kids today get bullied publicly
and ridiculed on You Tube videos.

I remember when . . .
folks’ arguments
took place and few of us were “in the know.”
Today, though, we see idiots galore
that cuss and brawl on Jerry Springer's show.

I remember when. . .  
was televised when kids were tucked in bed.
Now your child need only type the word
and see a victim get shot in the head.

I remember when. . . 
 we had a war,
but it was “cold” and seemed to be maintained.
Today the terror is at your own mall.
We’ve lost  -  in spite of all that we have gained.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

At last

Scared of a shadow
Scared of the phone
Scared of the dark
And being alone.
Will you come and get me
Break down my door
Lying in the dark
Footsteps on the floor.
Twenty years of haunting
A voice inside my head
A life-time of dread.
Contentment and happiness
A life that you don’t know
I’ve exorcised your ghost
It’s time for you to go.

Copyright © Tricia Lucas-Clarke | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir, my innocence is gone now, no more fear 
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here. 
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen, 
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain! 
I was crying; I was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened. 
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end. 
I begged you to stop and looked into your eyes, 
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s  what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did, 
Nobody knows that you made me bleed. 
Dear sir, my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was so blind! 
having hidden hatred inside, a virgin died. 
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories, 
time doesn't heal all wounds, that you marked, 
yes, you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!

Copyright © Farhana Akter | Year Posted 2014

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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Last Thoughts

With beads of sweat on my forehead,
And my arms and legs cramped.
I concealed in a little locker
Away from the horrid mayhem.

Damp and worn; fear and torn
I seldom gasped for breath,
And even tried reciting
Othello, Macbeth and Hamlet.

Alas, all in vain!
Aware with each passing minute,
That I would face the same brutal end
As my tutors and friends.

I heard them moving closer,
I say a silent prayer.
With final memories of my beloved -
I await those crazy monsters.

"Bang, Bang!" I hear them shoot.
But it now sounds so afar.
I drift into a deep slumber,
When the door goes ajar.

Copyright © Radhika Bhangolai | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Clipped Wings

Clipped Wings

An icy salt spray begins to tarnish my feathers,
The salt is corroding. 
That salt. It’s ingesting my plume, diluting true meaning
Teal turned navy. Crimson now brown.

I had keen pearlescent eyes,
Now clouded, they see nothing, nothing at all.
I can't even step foot behind the silver mirror; it's broken.

Shards of thick glass tease, reflecting,
I’m falling on the other side, no one’s there to catch,
I’ll just be a mess on the floor. A sad grey reflection.

I hid for a while, from the salt.
But I just knew that shelter
Wasn’t for me.
It wasn’t my home.


Cold, salty concrete scraped my dignity away.
It tore my skin, left dirt in my bleeding feathers.
So again I hid. Not from the salt, I can’t hide from the salt.
I’m hiding from me.

I’m hiding from the reflection I can still see.
I chose to linger. I chose this. I didn’t choose this.
I watch as she stretches her magnificent wings wide, takes flight, 
Ascending, dancing gaily between wisps of pure white.

I search the bare sky, salt is still in the breeze,
Taunting me; try fly with tarnished feathers.
But glinting, I see the green trees on an endless horizon
They are not a reflection, I tell myself.

So I stretch my broken wings and timidly I take flight, 
Away from the salt, back towards myself under a silver moonlight.

Copyright © Victoria Wood | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Bled Out

More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?

Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...

Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...

Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...

Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose | |

A Christmas Memory

A Christmas Memory, 1985

The porch, decked in lights, said “Merry Christmas!” when we couldn’t utter the words. Our newly decorated Fraser Fir was a casualty of war that year, but my brother and I were the real victims. My mom and step-dad were battling again, weapons drawn. Neither retreating, they unwrapped and returned each other's gifts. I spent Christmas Eve at the mall, then wrapped dutifully all night.

 By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 11/19/15
for the Contest, A Christmas Memory (Sponsor: Broken Wings)

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

Another Crisis

Copyright © 2014 

Mankind rolling dices 
  causing another crisis. 

From police shootings 
  to hoodlums looting. 

Every month a new crisis 
  and we still have ISIS. 

Did Revelations truly see 
  a certain crisis before WW3? 

Mankind rolling dices 
  causing another crisis. 

Melt down those weapons of Mutually Assured Destruction 
  or thermonuclear war will be the ultimate extermination. 

Yes, the World is now MAD 
  and we'll miss what we had. 

Or, will it be you, or you 
  who reduced us to a few? 

by: lp/3:11pm

Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Before we turn enemies

I sat down and read my previous work.
Coming down those pages I burn.
You took care of me putting up a front so I wont leave. 
Thats not love, I already know whats coming from the pages I read. 
I told my story and opened up to the world.
Letter to the future it followed me for the worst.
Wise words that were deep I followed them in circles they were after me. 
Tomorrow is a blessing I promise I've learned.
The pictures you painted I framed with your name.
I needed you, you needed me to stay high and to take blame.
Riding with a four five a five hundred and a triple beam.
Twenty four seven counting sheep till sun sets at forty eight. 
Messing around with faith held me back i wake up late.
Last nigh wasn't ok after I had a dream with a hand shake.
The drugs and the music made me into who i am. 
No regrets no denials I know I'm right so I left.
Kindness will lose the war, history is evidence.
Violence is victory so ill leave it a memory.
Leave a message for the past now I'm reaching to destiny.

Copyright © fernando vergara | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |



You, baptised head of the snake
Left numerous dead in your wake
With deadly order, resulting in murder
Twisted beliefs, vomiting grief

Your followers brainwashed
Their humanity crushed
Your force too strong
Resulting in a bloody throng

9/11 your earthly heaven
Mankind maimed and logic lame
Prayers and deepfelt wailing
Confess the outcry of your shaming

Your slumber resulting in 7/7
Your journey now away from heaven
The melting pot of anger brewing
The world a stew of terrorism anew

Your final hour televised this dawn
The snake’s wisdom decapitated
Jubilation, disbelief and buried grief
Your body left writhing…yet

Still a real, cunning threat…

Copyright © Donovan Beukes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |


I remember the past with fondness
Living carefree once was great
Being a spy is never easy when in bondage
One must know when faced with no escape

Poison, sodium pentothal help memory out
Fire burns.  Acid works better to that end 
I left my mind at home beside the bed no doubt
Days of youth with butterflies cry out in pain

Once upon a time there was a code worth knowing
If only I could remember it to tell these thugs
Next time I will remember it to keep on living
These men are not here to make love

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

True Story: Echo of Insanity

Come the dark, come sleep:
music box tunes commence as commanded
by Father Time to prance tauntingly in years gone by 
and the daunting hours inevitably to come.
Melodies visit long buried memories of faded visions;
adoring their distorted collection 
in the horror house of a once brilliant mind.

“Hush now”, they say.
“You know there is no other way”.
The maniacal visage of unspoken abominations again 
burrows into a skull weary of nocturnal screeches:
A mother rips sight from her toddler as punishment for innocent trust.
A stranger’s mutilation for the torture of a bound, evolving evil.
Children’s demise by poisoned whip wielded by a shadow bearing Cheshire grin.
The screams of a woman, naked and lost, caught in thorns to tear flesh from bone…
17 000 nightmares born into an infant, now grown.

Come the dawn, come the wake:
… ”No! It’s daylight, they cannot be here!
Don’t take sanity, fragile and stressed!”
No answers, no mercy
as reality gets bombarded, 
and friends’ faces once a comfort
rearrange into monstrous mirages.
Cackle laughter I hear nearby
and realize it’s escaped my own throat.

I plead to the breeze that I may still be asleep…
Its only reply a familiar, mocking rhyme:
“Tik-tok, tik-tok.
Time’s up on your clock.
Can't you hear the drum? 
Don’t run, only succumb.”

Despairing what is to come
Despite warnings from my conscious mind I look at my wrist. 
Hair raises, desperate words unspoken.
The watch I've held all my life is broken.

03 October 2016
Scare Me Good Poetry Contest

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

the crying grass

The crying grass 
(for the late Victor Jara,* Pablo Neruda 
and Salvador Allende)
by ‘bro. zayid’

In this stadium
of footlaunched spotted balls
of what should be promising soccer stars…
In this stadium
reeking with the stench of terror
and the numbing sounds of death…
In this stadium
whose horror riddled circling winds
repel the doves and the sparrows…
In this stadium 
echoing with insane insistent 
martial march of hardhoofed soldiers
primed for fleshopening madness…
In this stadium
of gagged people’s poems
of throat slashed people’s songs
their bloodmuffled melodies
missing their companion audience’s eyes
repelling the wings and the whistles
of the doves and the sparrows 
with their blood splatter
on our faces and our shirts…
In this stadium
haunted with the harrowed harmonies
of a guitar played with krushed fingers 
and a bayoneted heart…
In this stadium
of paraded corpses and paralyzed eyes
of long lines of skulls 
freshly popped open in the back by gunfire…
In this stadium
where democracy was lynched 
by imperialism’s sanctioned 
and uniformed 
and then buried in an anonymous heap…
There were no heroes here…
Only the massacred and martrys…
Their bleeding breathless torsos 
had just watered the crying grass
and their stars had just been
shot thru the eye in the sky…
In this stadium…
In this stadium
there were no promising soccer stars
to behold
No footlaunched spotted balls finding goals
No tickets to be bought and sold
No fans on hand to cheer
No smiling confetti
sparkling for all to hear
No cameras rolling and snapping 
to capture what happened 
in that horrific vomitous moment…
In this stadium
In this stadium
In this stadium
barking and cracking with orders to fire
and the gutsplitting bursts of bullets
There were no heroes…
Their bloodied breathless torsos
had already watered the crying grass
and their stars once heated with hope
had already been shot 
thru the eye in the sky…

*Chilean people’s artist Victor Jara…
Killed in a stadium massacre in a purge that accompanied the CIA sponsored military overthrow of the democratically elected socialist president
Salvador Allende in September 1973…Several thousand Allende supporters were rounded up by the military at a 
soccer stadium and slaughtered in a mass execution…
Augusto Pinochet, who emerged Chile’s dictator for years, is responsible for over 3000 killings and the torture of over 30,000. There was a recent effort to have Pedro Pablo Barrientos Nunez, one of his surviving officers believed to have directly responsible for the beating and shooting of Jara, held liable for his role Jara’s death in this massacre…
©1999 all rights

Copyright © zayid muhammad | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

In memory of 9-11

Do you have that memory of where you were,
When certain events in your life did occur.
Where were you when Elvis died or when,
Armstrong stepped on the moon just before Aldrin.
When 9/11 occurred I was delivering in my van,
I didn't connect when I first heard the man say
That reports were coming in about that fateful day,
I asked my customer to tune into CNN just to see,
If what I had heard could tragically, possibly be.
That a plane had crashed into the World Trade Centre,
We all watched in awe him , his wife and me,
Even seeing it wondering if this could possibly be.
As  went back to my van to collect another case,
My radio shouted out "Another has hit the same place"!
Back to the house I ran, the woman was crying, so was the man.
We all watched in horror as scenes to horrible to contemplate
Then before our eyes, an unbelievable sight unfolded,
Tower One, like a house of cards crumbled to the ground.
People cried and screamed on the TV as we heard and saw,
Tower Two follow into that dust filled Maw.
It was up to then and also since been a memory of dismay,
That from my mind I have never been able to put away.
Many are the terrorism and conspiracy theories that abound,
Still will not bring back the 2996 now under the ground.
God Bless all those who somehow survived this scene of hell,
God Bless all the emergency teams who worked hard as well.
That this actually happened is still hard to contemplate.
Fifteen years on and I pray for a release from the hate,
So America, rebuild and remember what has made you so great.
In a world of turmoil and unrest, may you stand tall,
To you I say God Bless You ALL.

©  Dave Timperley 11 September 2016 

Copyright © Dave Timperley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Past Death Remembered

All that rest are spaces (space)
space of drums
("Come" they told him)

Nitre, cannon, horns, pipes
(echoed, calling)
vertebrae, rope-fray

Sinew (pink, foam-flecked)
flailing, fallen, gathered, apart
upon itself, weltered

Nitre: (American, niter) saltpeter or potassium nitrate, a component of gunpowder.
Welter: lie soaked in blood.

Copyright © Kevin Taylor | Year Posted 2016