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Violence Time Poems | Violence Poems About Time

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

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Details | Epic | |


The fireplace kindle in the moonlight.
I am along deciphering the mind’s eye.  
God is here with me tonight.
The popping flame was a yellow reddish fire.
The wood burned and the smell was a delight.
My thoughts were ablaze to set the Devil afire.
Of course, I will let Lucifer exist.
He is confrontational to my holiness.
In that God is the omnipotent, Satan is the Devil defeated.

Insofar as the world is perilous, many; as I, must conquer their demons.
Rostrum our crusade as a battle won.
In India, primitive to the philosophy of religion, the reality is profound.
Deities are of one and of all.
There is such a thing as the Christian Satan.
They are enemies to Brahmans, god-giants.
Demons are devils, crackling vigor.

This campaign is of war not of battle.
The action plan is to deploy Christian powers.
Revelation statuses such.
The plague of our time is trinity.
Spheral by one Godhead, organizes the consecrated force.
The mercenaries are on the battlefield of and for the Lord.

With giants and demons how the monkey king detonates causing the wrath of God.
Demons are decapitated and bodies are slanged from here to yonder.
God bellowed, “We must behead the monkey king.
He is the demon of all entities.”
The lashes influence the giants lambastes.
The Monkey King’s demons had formed their attacks.
God’s giants’ impact condemns.
They beheaded the Monkey King.
Penned January 17, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Sonnet | |


The volatile excerpt reads “The behead-
ings that were carried out by the Isla-
mic State of Iraq and Syria, the 
rage of hate is a control factor for
the power of the leader to be sup-
reme.  Is this the measure of mankind?
The rigor-mortis that lay before us
is a terrorist creed dogma time clock.
None the less than government formed through doc-
trine of Qu’ran and Sunni stated to 
be the divine order of all the land.
al-Baghdadi caliphate is mercen-
ary to the faith of the Middle East.
The rage of hate must be depleted now."

R oused was the first leader and destroyed.
a l-Baghdadi came on board.
G ruesome guerilla killed woman, man, and child for his caliphate.
E quality must be palpability today.

F ear that is caste by ISIS.
O ften is not considered by the people as a terrorist.
R egards are to the governess.

P opulations are nations
E volved to roam.
A spirations are not known.
C aliphate has formed.
E quity is commercial paper not shown.
Penned February 27, 2015!
This poem is a sonnet that is emphasized via an
acrostic for the desired effect on the stated form.

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

domestic violence survivor

i'd allowed you in again even thou my soul was shattered god was quite displeased as you hammered your dark fist against my rib cage senseless i thought an yet you were forgiven again even more than the last time i'd carefully packed garments birth certificates and social security cards while dripping tears and blood onto the blank pages of my new residence a safe place chanted across the empty lines then availibility  how many beds as we poured into the entrance the sign read safe you are not alone an yet i'd left everything i was centered in a room of over fourteen other women quiet timid angry how we failed at making a male happy within his own skin how he'd torn into us all it was like the same man had beaten us all an yet i knew only you calm cool collective when the cops came taking you around the corner to cool off where was i here in america why i was all races all religions an yet i was harmed while the worse part of my abuse was returning to my abuser  how you emptied me into silence covered in tears black and blue an yet i missed you washing the bruises with soft soap our children were shattered as i explained daddy was ill he was sick he worked very hard to care for us if we were more quiet well behaved he would respond to our energy and love us deeply as deep as i allowed myself to be abused this was america oppression depression family ties became wrath  as i whispered he know's not what he does we are loved as i planned a new home among strangers an yet they were me i was all of these women a safe place sorjournal truth home the harbor light inn the st angeline christian center chaplins office the salvation army cornerstone community outreach shelter the springs outreach where was home in america as i embraced you served you were ill you would someday change abuse would become softer cycles will be broken but here in the in this space in this place and in this time you became plural that's all as i soon became very small why i soon became safe

Copyright © Yolanda Jones

Details | Verse | |



There was 
a time when war 
became no more and time
stopped.  Why reason?

There is
a time when feuds
become Armageddon.
Life stops dead still...
Verlena S. Walker
Date: April 13, 2014
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
4th Place

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Shape | |


This Casuistry is a paradox Fallacious feelings repress A Sophistry you ingress Chemically redox Tergiversate under scrutiny. A misfit – an anachronism. Elusory emotions to express My argument a confused paralogism Chicanery Fugacious Piety worships AWAITING THE FALL An elaborate machination Formation of this Cabal To unravel this conspiracy Renegade inspiration A Live Grenade Revolution call. Societal crumblings A mind poisoned by barricades Limitations. Cures itself By questioning everything Invalidity, obscurity, corruption Topple under Plots of our Coterie Political pressure Militant insurgency Worship the gun Worship the steel Guerilla tactics Metro Urban Rurally Camouflaged pawns Stratagem Pieces on the board are people Playing for real. Didactic Leaders And Pedantic parents They’re history and experience In perspective reveals. Cycle of manipulative Elite, controlling The pariahs Starved in appeal.

Copyright © Joel Thornton

Details | Rhyme | |

The Verdict Is In

Troubled Times of Turmoil
Coming back around again
Curses; always foiled!
My agonized and worried Brain!

Like an Army of Needles-
Poking; prodding!
As Agents of Evil,
Laughing; applauding!

Stabbing every inch of me-
Tear my flesh; scar my Soul
Cannot run; cannot flee!
Leave me raw; leave me exposed!

Find me G-U-I-L-T-Y
Mind is F-I-L-T-H-Y
Kill me Q-U-I-C-K-L-Y

*Another old experimental piece I found

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet

Details | Free verse | |

Nature Of History

In time, days, months to years

Is the failure of relationships
In January to July to December

And the shallow of rivers
In July, August to September

The destruction by earthquakes
In January, February to December

The reshuffle of accidents
In lakes, roads and in air

The manufacture of acids, guns, and robots
In laboratories, industries and employment areas

The color of rainbows
Blue, green, grey

The personality of people
Conceited, gloomy, temperamental

The training of soldiers, students, and also religions
In academy, schools and institutes

The birth of children
Over years and years all over the world

The truth of lies
In homes, schools up to work places

Copyright © Masereka Amos

Details | Free verse | |

war plane

on a dank cloudy day 
in the cockpit of my plane 
in the clouds I wait 
for the command 
to drop more bombs 
give our enemy their fate 

hours roll by 
the radio is quite 
no voices 
not even static 

something is amiss 
the gauges have stopped 

the sound is not right 
in fact there is no sound 
not at all 
no sound from the engine 
no explosions to be heard 

I take a close look 
the scenery is the same 
it hasn't changed 
but it's all wrong 

it’s sitting still like it’s been paused 
the bombs 
the explosions 
in the air they hang 
like a photograph 
along with the plane 

if we won't end the war 
than something else apparently will 
it did 

moments become years 
in the air I hang 
never starving 
never ageing 
never changing 
just thinking 

something stopped this war 
but gave it to us 

Copyright © Eelun Phetmoore

Details | Verse | |

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time

"Anyone who wants to fight me all the time"
committee meetings, board meetings.
Facing death was how they knew they were alive
or was it more about allocating resources
like yr Dad said.
It's hard to step outside what yr DNA tells you to do.
Nice tits.
Family farm, fight club. It's all one yet distinctions are
what separates the librarian, reflective man, from the road and bridge
That's a class statement. Us guys love
our children and will, circumstances dictating, fight for you.

                       *                             *                             *

"Anyone who wants to fight me all the time"
is more important to me than my wife. But there is no one left to fight
and no one knows me and I know no one well. That's good,
"there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope."
I'm confused.
Meditator or gunfighter. Either could come to know himself,
flat abs, clear sight
with patience and discipline.
What's this:
know yourself?
Once yr knee or neck is smashed there's no getting up to fight.

                       *                             *                             *

"Anyone who wants to fight me all the time"
will grow old alone once I'm in the ground. He will live
with the question what was our purpose? He was managed by
the molecules we're made of, proteins, enzymes, amino acids, DNA.
**** DNA.
I'd rather be a rock.
But the rock is subject to
its elements. Thus, the periodic table and particle physics,
meiosis and mitosis and yes, democracy and self-governance,
all the colors of anthropology and ecology, windmills and sundials,
fission and fusion for evil and light
and the devil who exists to carry the load when we misbehave and fight
among ourselves.

                       *                             *                             *

"Anyone who wants to fight me all the time"
is how I know who I am.
Because the truth is always changing, depending on the meeting.
What's good.
Service to others is a safe bet. That service
may take many forms: fighting, meeting, teaching, making.
The fighting may be part of holding community together. Limited scope,
      defensive posture.
"How broadly we define community says everything." So,
we come to Mexico, a violent border and an unhappy history.
Or Gaza and Israel. Or Russia and just about everybody.
"How can a people become a nation without resorting to violence or
      incurring violent reaction?"
Does it matter? Accept violence like any EMT and devote yourself to
what, beauty?
Why do I write about violence, I've almost never
had to fight.

                       *                             *                             *

"Anyone who wants to fight me all the time"
is nothing compared to the ocean which can take your children any time.
The Nazis or janjaweed.
In peace we have our meetings.
"When violence comes to the neighborhood the hierarchy of
      communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant."
Hold your clod of land.
Give way to the waves.
All I do not know.
I admire the writer who penetrates the unknown by describing that which
is not himself.
His enemy,
anyone who wants to fight him all the time
helps him live outside himself.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Imagism | |

Family violence part 2

Then I heard her footstep getting closer.


This time she picked me up by my throat and pined me up the wall,
screaming at me, finger in my face while smashing my head on the wall.
Bashing my head in the air screaming "PUT YOUR BLOODY HANDS DOWN!",
again I was air borne, but this time I went flying into the lounge.

Curled up in a ball with my hands covering my head, I was crying hysterically,
she pulled one of my arms and grabbed me by my ear, and up again I was.

As I lowered my hands she started whacking my head screaming, "STOP CRYING"
over and over again.
Trying to summon the strength to hold it all in,
almost impossible, like trying to swallow soccer balls in my throat.

I managed to control it to like that hiccup kind,
Shaking and trebling hoping that I wouldn’t cry,
bearing in mind that I was still a child, 
my emotions I still, couldn't keep under control.

So much pain, My butt stung, my hair felt like it had been ripped out,
all dizzy and daze, my head throbbed, and there was a burn in my eyes.
but I finally did lowered my hands and I look her straight in the eyes,
WHACK I few again.

This time my face was on fire my ear rung so bad,
a high pitch screech inside my head, I rolled over and over in pain.
This time when she said get out of my face, 
I moved so fast I slide in the carpet and hit my face on the door frame.

Up stairs I ran, dived on top of my bed,
covered my face with my pillow, so my whimpers couldn't be heard.
trying not to cry, begging in my mind for it stop,
then I heard that sound….(Pacing) ….. my body shook.

I knew it wouldn't be long, before she worked herself up,
Pacing back and forth talking to herself,
justifying the reason’s I need more.
I just wait for the stomping to get closer to my door.
True to form it happened.

The poem I have just told is a true story, cause it did happen to me,
this was only one time,  I'd had hundreds more before I hit my teens.
Back in my day family violence was never talked about,
It was happening everywhere, just about every house. 

Family violence is wrong and it needs to be stopped,
but this will never happen, if you voice doesn’t shout out.
Don't be like me, riddled with fear and shame,
someone out there cares, just tell them about your pain.

M.Mahauariki © 2012

Copyright © Murray Mahauariki

Details | Rhyme | |

Vampire Blues

Having Death open doors for you is like humping a fat girl.
It's a hell of a lot of fun until your friends find out.
On the one hand, there's the power, the rush like none in the world,
On the other is the criticism of the religiously devout.

Got servants, and secrets, and science and séances, too.
Blood-rush wakes me at the first hint of night's kiss.
Got forty-seven reasons to tell myself I'm better than you.
But I can't feel you, and I can't remember what I miss.

I'm an empty vessel on an uncharted and lonely course -
Grasping at the glow of life only to crush it in my cold embrace.
You look but only see the swiftly donned mask of remorse,
My hellish deeds writ large upon my soul, not upon my face.

I'd give it all back just to walk under a sunny summer sky,
Return the blood-lust and emotional abyss postage due.
'Cause I gotta live forever without my reason to want to try,
I gotta walk eternity looking for another one of you.

Copyright © Christopher Reilley

Details | Free verse | |

The Passage of Time

The scars on her wrist
marked the passage of time
in her forgone life
where depression captured
and wouldn't let go
so nowadays
you examine the place
where she transferred her pain
only still hurting in the same place
no more tears
no more marks
the depression strangled
the pain gone away
she's turned a new page
onto another day

Copyright © Sarah Hall-Matson

Details | I do not know? | |

Her Last Words

Ashes, still burning though weakened, fall to the ground spreading a small flame.
Despite the fear, she knows how to bare the aching pain.
So there she is, where you left her, someday she’ll be something you cannot tame.

Smells fill the air, something like ash and a bit like fear.
Though you never see her as she nears.
The scars you left her are like hills, deep enough to hold her tears.

Smoke rises from the corner of a photograph, 
A picture that showed how easy it was to put on a smile and laugh. 
But soon, that corner will be gone and you’ll hear the crying of the other half. 

A day will come and your cold tower will finally be ablaze. 
While you cry, reminiscing all that you lost, she’ll smile and happily gaze. 
Smoke will cloud your vision, but you’ll finally see her and you’ll grow weak as if strength was only a faze.
“Ashes,” is her last words, and you’re frozen still as the fire is raised. 

Copyright © Brianna Michelle

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Time of Violence

A time of violence has pounced upon this country,
Folks are angry, hungry and craving prosperity,
The change they wanted never showed up,
Now, many are sad, melancholy and "tore-up",
The youth are becoming restless because they believe
there is no hope for a promising future,
All they hear is Politicians' lectures,
The wee ones are becoming infested with
feelings of despair, as colicky babies do,
They need to know that safety exists everywhere,
A country without a plan creates angst and restlessness,
Nevertheless, citizens forge ahead with optimism,
despite the whispers of skepticism.

Copyright © Margeret Bailey