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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. . .  
brutality  
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
Hiding
Remembering
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.

T.K

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 | 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 | 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 | Couplet | |

Another Crisis

Copyright © 2014 
12.26,2014 

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 | 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 | I do not know? | |

OBL

O.B.L

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 | 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.
Shattered.

Shards of thick glass tease, reflecting,
Me.
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.

Tearing. 
Splitting.
Moaning.
Begging.

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 | Rhyme | |

Spy

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 | Rhyme | |

Poets of Earth and Air

Dualitys coin that flips between two sides

for fate to peek in and find

A way to unwind alone lost in a poem of mountains snowy peaks

Where it takes off flying through the air

Baring the sparkling rays that dare to awake my sleep

Defeating in me what is weak

Eternally is the darkness as it creeps, weaps and wraps around the stars
shining down

encapsulating the sound sespended in mental days ending the haze using
timing

thriving for the perfect atunement, alighment of orion so alfluent tracing
the purple circle of summers blaze with the watchful gaze of a thrid eye in
the forgotten sky

Indeed give its ways to past days with mighty praise the sad clown drowned
held underground where no one can be found

Winter ways are coming, bottle the rage insde pride ravens hide in the
writers ribcage

who work as slaves bought and sold at a wage

we onced slayed and stayed hidden in caves

unscathed in delay frozen in the dismay your holding an ice of emotions now
broken atonement melting wading thawing falling into oceans whos waters are
still calling

with the voices of souls echoing in black holes

light travels faster then sound thats why you appear brighter before you
spoke joke methaphor and quote from

the poets often coughing acost with thoughts of

waking up out of a coffin lost in a land of fraust searching for signs
 hiding in the virus of Osirus that craze and curse what lays inside of the mind, but whats worse is what
comes from the fools purse

the verse plotted with the potential of the poet and rebirthed through
worth rise from the wooden hurst exploding into a star burst with words
fixing the holes digging up the lost scrolls of the pair of prophecies
of Omnious
odysseys and emerald tablets of autobibliographic actions weaving magic
from a dream stream the team remains the same but try to refrain from going
insane the rains has to subtract the abstract attractions and fracture the
rapture in half beyond the numbers letters science and math the greatest
journey at last into the past is

frightening the agent of automatic writing heightening with psychic
sighting the brave white winged viking fearless fighitng in Vahalla
stiriking like lightning with a feeling so enticing and exciting slicing
with the axe or sword blood hungry for more on seven scores of floors
holding 572 doors of pure war to discover what lies beyond you must find
more and pour out the fire in your heart to create great art finding the light within the dark

Copyright © Matthew Rains | Year Posted 2015