Fraught with violation
Forever left in shame.
Folds of indignity
Fulfilling love denied.
*I feel very strongly about this topic.
Have been meaning to bring it up.
This Pleiades is short but meaningful.
Contest: Any Poem#29
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A.
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014
Moonless Nights over South Sudan
heartless Moon, don’t tell me
that you weren’t looking
when soulless soldiers dragged me
from my mama’s terrified arms
in our village in Rubkona County
I know you covered your ears
so you wouldn’t hear
my screams piercing the fetid air
as those butchers dropped their pants
repeatedly ripping my body and soul apart
and I saw you cover your eyes
so blinded that you wouldn’t see
the stark horror reflected in my own eyes
the hot tears scorching my cheeks
sobbing for childhood forever lost
oh Mother Moon, Mother Moon
please cover your face
behind billowy black clouds
so that you can’t see
your daughter’s dejected, dead eyes
cowardly Moon, I forgive you
even after you turned your back on me
filling my days only with your dark side
as I sink deeper into a black hole
with no hope to guide me safely home
but helpless Moon, how can I blame you?
for you’re only a mere observer
powerless to defend me
feeling guilty for abandoning
your innocent children
Moon, you’ve witnessed it all before
the torn and bleeding
the tortured and maimed
all tied tightly to weeping trees
reeking of despair and pain
Moon, will you soon forget
my body dripping with bloody shame?
will anyone even remember me?
am I no one…with no name?
will you, Moon, mourn for me?
like you Moon, I am already ancient
over a hundred years it seems
yearning for freedom…
waiting for death…
and I’m only twelve years old
Note: This piece is dedicated to all the women and young girls who have been abducted, raped, and/or killed in the secret rape camps in South Sudan over the past two years. According to a human rights investigator, many of them are held indefinitely, tied up with hundreds of other women in these camps and used as sex slaves. Those women who escape from the sex camps are the lucky ones.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015
His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
Drained and defeated, his family finally retreated
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming
The doctors sent in spoke of hope and healing
The drugs they administered only made him more demented
Cemented is the feeling that his life is just an echo
Of an endless, timeless, all-consuming screaming
His best friend is a disproportioned bird, appropriately named buddy
Whose monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being
Though not potent enough to stop, the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stares into the emptiness of nothingness, contemplating the beauty
of its existence
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite
It’s hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles have fallen to the proper
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness in the meticulous mastery of mindless tasks
Buddy was telling a troubling tale, of a dragon drunk off of some dwarven ale
Who through two days, threw up flames and burnt down the tavern and town
When the door to his room opened with a plume of plum perfume
In stepped an inept and unkempt nurse named Nancy
Her green eyes and fiery red hair caused his heart to flutter and flair with fancy
She had quite the quiet voice and was quick to trip over her own two feet
A bit naïve, she would easily believe anything she had heard or seen
He knew he would make her his, no matter the time nor energy
It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn’t save him
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prison and medication
Meditation and mantras had given him the sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming, and maybe even end it
Four years plotting and planning the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flamed fueled from an accelerant
It raced through the halls, up the walls, over the ceiling, killing all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what felt like an instant
Such little time to search through the bodies, looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth clinging to the bathroom faucet
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of Nurse Nancy
To his amazed mind, he was astonished to find, the screaming was silenced
just a note I cannot reduce the font so the lines fit without overlapping as they
do in stanza two
Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2014
Please don't stop me, my love, let me lie down and kiss the ground,
let me taste the taste of freedom on my tongue and remember my
past no more. Let my tears mingle with the sand and the sun
comfort my soul, for the earth has opened up her mouth and
swallowed my past, no more pain, no more fear, only sweet music
shall ring in my ears.
Look down at her, O Lord, look down and see your daughter
weeping in the sand, she ripped out her heart and has casted it
into the sea, she said, "Tomorrow, I will be free."
But the ground where she laid is now drunken with her past,
affliction and confusion. The sea has spew out her heart and
the sun has hidden his face.
I tried to comfort her and said,
"Come, my love, come, for tomorrow is still yet to come,"
but she cannot be comforted, her body's covered with wounds I
cannot see and her words I do not understand.
Night is fallen and my soul grows weak, but I will not leave her,
I will cuddle her in my arms and whisper in her ears,
"Tomorrow, you will be free,
tomorrow, you will be free."
Copyright © Regether Pair | Year Posted 2015
My past was violent.
My world was quaint.
They made me a demon,
instead of a saint.
My past was full of cruelty.
They called it love.
I only felt the darkness,
as they preached from above.
They said I was a sinner,
that I should change my ways.
Whilst I cried with fury,
I hoped, an end to my days.
They shackled my wrists,
and tried to warp my mind.
Telling me, in Gods love,
freedom I would find.
With pride and arrogance,
they did this to a child.
They tried to birth a sheep.
Born rather, an animal that is wild.
Copyright © Ryan Tyler | Year Posted 2015
One day, you'll be dead to me
My life is a hazard to everyone
My desperate detestation for you
The way you are
What you do
How you breath
My hatred for you is an endless pit
Of Hell and dark memories
The heart inside my weeping chest
is sewn in grotesque shades of purple
and its all your fault
You're a beautiful creature
of misery and despair
the painful tears you shed
slowly pull up the corners of my lying mouth
to my sweet, innocent ears
I want your head on a stake
bloodied scissors in your chest
your blood in a jar
You disgust me
the twinkle in your eyes is a knife to my neck
soon to be turned on you
cutting out every bleeding piece
of your perfect soul
One day you'll be nothing more
then a crying, screaming memory
a haunting melody that plagues my sorry heart
My love for you is a complete lie.
Copyright © Jessie Rae | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014
John F. Kennedy
The great 35th president of US
It wasn't really a success
He tried to stop the missile bases
There were lot of angry faces
When there was about to be a war
Peace was what he asked for
Texas was the place he was shot
Later, the criminal was caught
He didn't survive the pain
His people cried like the rain
Copyright © Heeju Kim | Year Posted 2013
You have my soul, but you have your fate
Whatever your words, I’m willing to take
You have my word; I’ll give you my breath
It’s like a chain that would never be break
You are my love with all my heart,
I’ll fight for you with all my might.
And in the way, you admire your goals,
You hold my hands, but not so close.
As you go to your chosen path,
I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart.
In the dark side, I leave behind
Within my faith, that you’ll arise
Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still
I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near
I accept my fate for what it does,
I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was?
You reach your goals, as you want to have,
Would you remind the man that gave what he had?
As you reach the stars, and be the one
Be a sun that shines its own.
After the rain, the rainbow comes,
Like dark in the moon, when the light flash
A glimpse from you at least a short
For then I knew my pain is worth.
Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana | Year Posted 2013
Based on a true story from a television documentary on Human Trafficking...an international crime with participants from a broad spectrum of society...occuring on a daily basis. I have only seen documentaries on the trafficking of young girls between the ages of 5 and above!! Law enforcers, it seems are fighting a losing battle against the men and women who sell and enslave young girls and I have no doubt, young boys as well.
Somewhere this day on planet earth
A Mother-to-be, while in labor, cries
Not so much for the mounting pain
Nor the fear of possible death
So many fears for the future…
“What lies ahead in the coming years?
What “fate” will meet my child?”
And added to all her heightened fears is…
Will she be there to protect her child?
Those dark years have now passed into decades
When Tanya walked the shadowy streets of the city at late night
While kids her age slept peacefully in their beds
They made her dress up so she’d looked twenty one
Days were spent locked in a room, under watchful eyes
She was fed cheap fast food to her young heart’s content
Soon she'd lose all hope of liberation
This was the second man she had been sold to
And after a while she’d adapt to the situation
Still fresh in her mind was that last day at school
In her backpack was her favorite teddy bear
Her Mother had chosen to believe her step-father again
Now that her twelfth birthday would be in a month
As no one cared, she decided to run away
While at the bus station she met this “nice” couple
Who listened to every word she spoke
They promised her a ride to any place she wished
And she’d always wanted to see Disney land
“Maybe, she thought, it’d be a birthday treat”
However, that would be another promise broken
Weeks dragged on and they bought her “stuff”
Although treated well, sometimes she still felt alone
Then one day came the grown up clothes and make up
That night her innocence was stolen once more
Later she’d try to make an escape
Only to be caught and tied to the bed post
‘Make it easy on yourself and accept your “fate”, she was told
That was years ago, although it seems like yesterday,
When arrested by a new officer on the vice squad
Who saw the flaw in the picture before him
The pimp gave no reasonable answer to the simple question
‘Why are you parked late at night on the street corner with a minor?’
Looking back over the years, she came to conclude that “Fate” is just another word, made up to cast aside blame; when we do not want to see the path we’ve chosen which has led us to our present state
When Pilate symbolically washed his hands, though he had power in that moment to act..
When there before him stood truth and innocence,
Yet, he chose to make a comfortable bed for his conscience
Today, Tanya is a college graduate and a Mother who has vowed not to leave anything to “fate”. She’d teach her children to take responsibility for the choices they make…
She would teach them that no one is of lesser value than another..
Male or female; black or white, all hues; rich or poor
All have a God given right to live free!
For: Richard's "Girl Rising" Contest
(3rd Place Win)
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2013
Through the jungles of sick suburbia
He lustfully stalked his prey.
She was only young, a child of just ten
That he took and brutally feasted on.
Savage desires within compelled him
To befriend the pretty Grace;
She so died by his hand, cannibalistic
Urges he boasted were his thrill.
Copyright © Charles Bernabi | Year Posted 2015
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
An angel formed from
lake of purity,a gift to
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
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.
A true story,a close
pretty lady friend of mine
was raped by her family
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
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
FOES AND FRIENDS (D’SCRIPT)
It all happened so sudden and so perfect
Just like a script, no single line was missed
Just like a stage, everybody played their own part
It was a free role; everybody was free to play their best part
To the best of profession; the drama went so professionally
In this stage, the protagonist made the decision of his worst fears
He chose the path of slaying every single dragon that is haunting him
He started off with the little dragons that breathe no fire but haunts him
It didn’t start off well and it ended up so tragically a movie
In the very end; Foes got separated from friends.
Many antagonists; one protagonist
So many things to endure; one heart
Endurance became too much a burden
In a twinkle of an eye, it all exploded
Intimidation got in line, no more patience
It is a war; a fight for pride and self-redemption
Friendship torn apart, there is no let go
Everybody was right but someone was wrong
To every right thing; the wrong tongue made a speech
In the very end; Foes got separated from friends.
Fate does not have an escape; it’s a final destination
Fate plays its role to the end; it’s a ghost protocol mission
Sometimes it is good the bad things happen and something new learnt
To every bad situation, there is a good lesson; that’s what I meant
Friendship is more expensive to money; thought the wise said so
In trouble, money the issue, friends run away; the fool proved so
There will always be misunderstandings; cases will always be settled
To some misunderstandings, no understanding; some cases can’t be settled
Everything will never be the same as before even if the friendship continues
Foes and Friends; The script still continues…
Copyright © Victor Alexander | Year Posted 2013
It comes back to me in solemnity,
And I wistfully wish it wouldn't.
A willful case of killing it was—
A hunter doing what he shouldn't.
Father had taken me deer hunting,
Thinking to make a man of a boy.
I prayed we wouldn't see a deer.
And we didn't—not one—such joy!
Daylight was dimming to dusk
When he said our hunt had ended.
We started down the rocky trail,
And at a turn—we froze, suspended.
A hunter was positioned to shoot,
Crouched, rifle cradled with skill.
Target? A shiny-eyed rabbit
Happily nibbling a leafy meal.
"Oh, don't," I felt to cry out,
But then a c-r-a-c-k cricked the air.
The place where the rabbit had been
Was as if nothing were ever there.
"He missed," my glad heart sang;
"The rabbit's alive and is all right."
But the hunter's face was fulsome,
Albeit bleared by an odious blight.
As we came by the spot, I retched;
The brush was garnished with gore.
Father's silence tracked the truth;
We wouldn't go hunting any more.
How to conceive of such blood thirst—
Wanton killing as an act of pleasure.
I trust, however, for those so cursed
Deity will answer in certain measure.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2014
A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and
taken from her own personal experience.
I was defined china and porcelain,
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy,
Pleading and begging not to be broken.
I loved him with total forgiveness,
Did not, could not, would not understand
The dark chaos mood of lability,
The spontaneous violence of his hand.
Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion,
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.
How could he dream to hurt me so,
The brutish malediction of his touch?
How could he stand to hurt me so,
When he knew I loved him so much?
And now the years have drained away
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.
I still see him some times,
Rarely, truly out of the blue,
On the old territory of familiar streets
When unconsciously passing through.
And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.
And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
They say he has neither a head nor limbs
But he has a soul and a spirit
Undesirable is the soul to be taken from the womb
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
His voice is so mild that no one can hear him
He’s damned for a crime he didn’t commit
No supplication and inspiration to share
A soul still cries yet nobody hears him
He has neither words nor songs to hymn
He’s languishing from a lashing whip
A victim to hatred, dubiety and immorality
A soul cries yet nobody seems to care
He pleas for his precious life to be spared
Yet with a mild voice no one will give an ear
With despair he cries and screams into the night
A soul cries yet this girl has turned a deaf ear
A voice tells her “eliminate him from here”
But a master fate will sometimes have it to be
The Dame escorted him six feet underground
The Poet Preacher © 2014
Copyright © Gideon Foli | Year Posted 2014
When wind’s silence
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh
When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors
An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms
An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears
An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled;
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
I am silent although this monster
of my isolated life seems to hear
my thoughts, smell my fear and
taste my hate.
Suddenly I am pushed against
a wall gasping from utter pain.
Held by my neck I feel a fist
clashing against my tender face.
I fall, blood pours from my mouth
and now cracked lips.
I try to run but I am stopped with
my hair being pulled with such
force that I scream from the
top of my lungs.
It drags me to the bedroom,
my face constantly in pain
from the ever repeating hits.
Suddenly I feel my legs being
widened, I scream once more.
I struggle to close them,
tears of pain and utter hate
rapidly run down my now
they burn my wounds like acid.
I feel something penetrating
inside of me, I scream once again,
it is of no use, no one seems to
notice or simply hear.
It pulls itself out of me and kicks
my tender side,
still I lie here on this floor feeling
dirty and ashamed,
ashamed of my own self and
I shall never escape this monster's
presence for he has eroded my
free will and inner strength.
Fear controls my thoughts.
Until I embrace the truth my life
is impounded by domestic violence,
never to be freed,
never to be seen and never to be
one with the glory of hope.
Copyright © Leighann Anderson | Year Posted 2011
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
Attainment of success, stardom and fame
Remains the ultimate dream of many
Who seek the publication of their name
Upon the future pages of history
The journey to such a destination
Requires effort and dedication
Those who at last gain such recognition
Enjoy a well deserved satisfaction
Some celebrities who make this journey
Find coping with this new life can be rough
There's an invasion of their privacy
And the demands of stardom can be tough
They then turn to some drug to ease the stress
Whether it's alcohol or other stuff
Soon their entire life can become a mess
And dealing with it's pressures can be rough
Bouts of anxiety and depression
Are what they have to endure constantly
Some develop a serious addiction
That may lead to suicidial tendency
Women tend to choose a gentler ending
Like drug overdose or a means that's neat
Some may opt to end it all by hanging
Mindful not to mess up the body sheath
Some men go for a violent ending
By putting a bullet through their own head
Others jump off a bridge or tall building
Seeking to ensure that they will be dead
Those aspiring to fame and stardom
Pursue your dream and goal diligently
Just be mindful of how things can become
And seek to be guided accordingly
Whitney Houston(singer, actress) – drug overdose
L'Wren Scott(fashion designer, model) - hanging
Kurt Cobain(singer, songwriter) – bullet to head
Tony Scott(Academy award winning actor) – jumped off bridge
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
Your words are like stones
Whether skipped or thrown
They fly alone
Bruising and breaking deeper than bones
Yet pain from these stones will never be shown.
Whether near or far
She'll faithfully wait
Till the unknown date
When those stones are kind and lost of hate
You make mistakes
Yes she can relate
But what if the pain becomes to great
Whe the kindness comes too late
Such small pieces of her heart
whats left to make
She gave to much
Now there's none to take
Just one everlasting ache
That your stones did create
They say you can never retake
A women's heart once it breaks
So next time withhold the quake
Your stones with take
And keep this lesson
As a dear keepsake.
<3 Kalee Lynn
Copyright © Kalee Robertson | Year Posted 2013
A woman walked up to me asking, “Is there anything I could do for my black eye?” I stood there for a moment, “Well…” There wasn’t much that I could tell her to do besides letting it heal knowing that time is and forever will be against us and pain just slows the process.
She stated,” It has me feeling…” I was puzzled looking into her eyes, I asked,” Feeling what?” Noticing a black line under her left eye and the right slightly bruised.
She continued, “I’ve chosen certain things in my life and I don’t understand why, crying doesn’t help my heart from hurting. Unable to remove scars you know, from my heart. The pain to real sometimes and I’m blinded, look at my eyes. Scared by tears and a hand that I once kissed. My protector, the man I thought that shown genuine love, turned on me and without second thoughts. As he hit me…I played back the moments in which he said he loved me, kissing me daily telling me how much he misses me. Love made gave us a beautiful daughter in which I can’t explain to her when she asks, “Where daddy?” I have no more fear because it’s passed that, I’m broken. Make up and shades does not cover how he made me feel with his hands around my neck, and I still can’t tell you what I’ve done wrong besides loving him. Was it enough? Verbal aggression rose to another level because I took it for years, because you know what they say about love?”
She paused, shaking her head…” So my black eyes, bruised skin and broken heart, what can I do?”
I stated,” Time…” As she walked away.
Copyright © Noble Smalls | Year Posted 2014
What a life as refugee
We gave up all we had, to flee
All left behind
But I don't mind
At least I've saved my family
What a life as refugee.
My Son, my daughter, wife and me.
Safe at last
The worst is past
Soon we will in Europe be
What a life as refugee
We try to cross the Turkish sea
We say goodbye
And sink and die
Just when we thought we’re safe and free
Copyright © Tony Wager | Year Posted 2016
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
Life is hard, tough, rough, like a brilo-pad
Growing up, street smart was all I had
I had no choice but to turn to the hood
It's difficult trying to change for the good
What do you do when there's nowhere to turn?
Before you decide, look back, what did you learn?
Out-of-control, like an untamed beast
If I should fall, I'm gon' rise like yeast
Got the game in submission, fools better tap-out
On the road to success, ya'll on a different route
I'm shootin' up haters, more than a heroin addict
Ain't talking 'bout electricity, but it helps prevent static
Like a ship's anchor, I'm gon' hold it down
No matter the outcome, I'ma' stand my ground
I tried turning right, but end up going left
Already living in hell, so what's worst after death
Fast life, gotta' slow down, like I'm in a school zone
Made amends with people I ripped off, like clothes being sown
Searching life's meaning, can't find it in the dictionary
Gotta' change, or end up caged like a canary
Got a pocket full of green, like a bowl filled with lettuce
Satisfied, 'bout to end my run, so roll-the-credits
Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013
With my men holding our flag high,
we storm a school and hold the children
captive, handling them like enemy soldiers
they are not, as they cry and scream, some
probably living with trauma for the rest of their lives
“I am a hero of war!’’ Is that what my countrymen think of me?
As smoke of explosions and burning cities fills the air,
we indiscriminately shoot on whoever is coming close
to us, in the end realizing that we have shot mostly
innocent civilians who have nothing to do with the war,
after the smoke has partially cleared out in the air
As I cautiously walk ahead to ensure that all the enemy soldiers are dead, my boots feel a bump; a hand of a woman holding a white flag for peace, as white as snow, with her clothes drenched in blood
“I am a hero of war!” Is that what my countrymen think of me?
Before the sun sets, my men and I sit around
a bonfire and plan our next move and next
attack on the enemy, without realizing that
the enemy is war, brought about by hatred
by people who we call leaders
“I am a hero of war!” Is that what my countrymen think
Name: Teddy Kimathi
Contest Name: The Poet III
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
I have no want to help in technical progression.
With 6 billion and counting. Let someone else do it.
I have no stride to conquer the universe.
This world is our home.
With endless areas to know on your own.
Without their help.
Three lives open this door.
And no matter what.
Only one of those three will truly close it.
And I do not even curtsy the thought
of seeing anyone of you there.
When I get to tomorrow.
A priceless restitution.
For a fingerprint journey of, actually, desolution.
Its not mad, prince.
Or sad, princess.
Fate is a fable.
Your life is not a story.
Billions of invisible hands. Like any farmers field.
Holding on to a bar with weird engravings
Etched into it.
All of the answers are in the palm of your hands.
If only our eyes could read them. Plucked.
Oh if only we hadn't been fixed.
The garden is very much here.
But when the mother passes out.
And you are separated in concerns for your health.
You are secretly given the deserts map.
Of only left turns forever a turn is coming ahead.
There is not nature living with us here.
In the place that we are in.
That is not comfort that you are feeling within.
Its the god of mirage. Leaving us staring blank-less.
Into a corner of black. Not darkness.
Well! My gums play a gymnast.
My teeth reverse the up and down!
Why not eat your own flesh, indulge in yourself.
Just on the very edge of the desert bashes
a soundproof completed tsunami ocean.
Where men have always succumbed.
Too terrified to go on with exploration.
There is more than this
Your soul is a great dance.
Not a history lesson.
Copyright © or dallas | Year Posted 2014
The Sin of a Country
It’s hard to believe my dear Father
how far our country has finally descend,
that we have stooped to even kill babies
while in the womb and on their mothers yet they had to depend.
Tis the lowest of lows this sin – killing babies
when in secret the Father’s work is wrought,
bringing life to this once precious country through this one
but before he can, his little heart has been stopped.
Why God only knows what kind of child it was
that you had chose to abort,
he could have been a great preacher of God’s Word
or a psalmist like King David; he could have been one of that sort.
When even a helpless babe is in danger
and no one will lift up a hand,
then we know there is terrible trouble
even in this, our once Godly land.
America the great, are you ready
to pay this heavy price?
this time it could cost us all our freedoms
and could even cost us all of our lives.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
June 24, 1994
Copyright © Marilyn Jennings | Year Posted 2015
He gathers all flowers he sees to show off his romance.
He chops all trees he faces to show off his masculinity.
He gayly spits out a lump of saliva to show off his coolness.
He leaves traces of money wherever he goes to show off his richness.
He sings everyday, every moment to show off his persistency and passion.
But she doesn't stare into his eyes
with admiration nor satisfaction nor true desire.
Her eyes are a pair of story tellers, without a tint of a lier.
They only speak the truth, insulting the man with a harsh glare.
This time, his simple-mindedness carries him away.
His lack of mind demonizes his very heart and bones of his soul,
Snapping at once like a monster, existing as a deleterious being.
He goes mad, killing hundreds, thousands, millions, thirsty for a genuine love,
only waiting for to see a swarm of oozing blood waves gushing in and out of his lungs.
He cannot cope with this madness,
His responsibility he has once established.
At last, he cuts his breath with an undeniable slash with his double edged sword,
chanting a regretful cry out of his body until the silence takes over his surrounding.
Copyright © Andrew Park | Year Posted 2016