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Mother Political Poems | Mother Poems About Political

These Mother Political poems are examples of Mother poems about Political. These are the best examples of Mother Political poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Name | |

A Political Person

A person who feels about others
And speaks on their circumstances
And offers a better suggesions 
To improve the damped system
To add fundamentalistic solutions
To delete opportunism aspects
To develop everyone’s share
To approach everyone’s contribution
To maintain progress and prosperity
To build a civil agenda to enjoy
Without any prejudice barrier 
For our human dignity and regard
To differenciate humanism and animalism
To learn about patience and respect
To discuss a topic of learning
A natural behaviour and sophisticated
Developing approaches at same time
To recover the positive and negativeness
To establish distinctions of values
To identify a usefull and useless motives
To live with peace and satisfaction
To encourage further preparations
To secure and safe future
For beyond from newborn buddies
To provide good tools to develop
To understand a constructive problems
To dissolve wastage of recycling
To save extra energy for dangers
To refine pregressive thoughts 
To share his doubts and gains
For a better carriage
Is known as a political person?
How do you feel to listen others?
Satisfaction is a matter for all.

Copyright © Daljit Khankhana

Details | Free verse | |

Mother Land

Yes I will die for her
Yes I will cry for her
But I will not turn my head and look the other way
I will not stand silent while others make a mockery of liberty
I will not stand silent while others
Distort the truth 
And if I offend you
                                   I DON'T CARE
Human rights for all does not require the denial of mine
Freedom of choice is not an entitlement 
For middle class oppression
Pursuit of happiness is not a governmental gift 
And if That upsets you
                                   I DON'T CARE
I will pray                      
I will say
          Under God
I will accept you when you accept me
If you are appalled
                                   I DON'T CARE
I will sing God Bless America
If it offends you shut your ears
If you feel the need to respond
Shut your mouth
I do not respond to you denying your righTS
Do not deny mine
There is no room for bigoted fanaticism
In this the Mother Land
If this makes you angry
                                   I DON'T CARE.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.

Details | Lyric | |


Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...

(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

The Women

The Women

(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)

Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.

They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.

You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.

You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.

You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.

Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.

I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.

I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.

I salute you!

(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Narrative | |

Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.

Copyright © Nate Spears

Details | Prose Poetry | |


We had a steel-coiled fence 
that kept us apart;  kept in purity,
spoke out in purity.

We played Barbies in a tree that
bordered each side, not knowing
it had a

Our Barbie world was created; 
dresses hung on branches
little mirrors for wee doll hands;
leaves assigned our closets.

I gibbered and you jabbered, and
the worst thing happened, I learnt
English, but what happened to your

Language traveled through the holes
of our steel-coiled fence.

Copyright © Gisele Vincent-Page

Details | Rhyme | |

Is It God We Trust Or Leave In the Dust

Is It God We Trust? Or Leave In the Dust? As our courts remove God from this great nation. We are left with a confused and lost generation! As God is taken away from our public schools. A huge tide of immorality is what “rules.” The Bible is often mocked and discarded. It was on it’s principles this country was started! Just about anything of God seems to get scorned. So many “rush” to worship many ungodly forms. As God’s name is often tossed and thrown out. We tend to forget what HE is all about! Too often, his plans for living are tossed and abused. No wonder, there’s many who are lost and confused! As people forget God and worship the fallen creature. They look to themselves and “glorify” their features. Many ignore God, and get involved in deep addictions. And with this, come disease, heartache and afflictions! As God looks and sees this nation “bleeding.” It’s his righteousness, that we need to be seeking! If we would humble ourselves, he would hear our prayer! He loves all of us! And he really does care! Won’t you come to HIM, And invite him in? Won’t you allow him to be your master and friend? He brings strength and nourishment to the soul! It’s only in him that we can be made whole! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Villanelle | |


- For women who choose to have abortions just so they can continue to whore around.

You make my head swell,
& you're a sad excuse for a woman:
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

Abortion is a matter of life or death,
yet you choose death for this small being.
You make my head swell.

You work with children every day,
yet you still want to kill the one inside of you.
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

You give me unwanted goose bumps with those words
"I want an abortion," as you laugh it away.
You make my head swell,

& I have the urge to take the innocent life today, do you?
You disgust me, making me want to vommit.
Cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch

Steal the life of this baby and party your life away,
disregarding the fact that it didn't have a choice in the matter.
You make my head swell
you cold-hearted, selfish, self-righteous witch.

-Caroline Youngless

Copyright © Caroline Youngless

Details | Rhyme | |

Medicinal Criminal

You hold my hand
Tears stream, a warm compress placed upon my pale face
Increasing pain, so much fear my heart begins to race
Curled in my own bed
Trying to wrap this absurdity around my aching head
For just two mere miles away is the best E.R.
Now out of reach
It seems so far

I must be seen
For the bill be will so obscene
So young, I want to continue having fun
I’m my insurances bitch, but by no means am I done
Sick at twenty-four
There is an expensive cure

You still hold my hand
Drained from increasing pain
This is why I fight for a certain prop
OR I couldn’t eat
Then DEAD I would drop

Mom you gave me the gift of life
I want to be like you…live long enough to become the perfect mommy and 
Hopefully,  change is in the air
Life can be scary, nauseating and pretty unfair

PROHIBITION! Such a joke
A law based on racism and money
It’s so sad… it is almost funny
Getting sicker, I begin to shake

Fear on your face
A mom ever so frighten
I have to smoke
I get mild relief with a single toke

How ironic… Now I’m not ever so “pure”
For tonight I am just another PPO whore
Sill saying no
You tell me we need to go
You tell me screw the bill
I shouldn’t be thinking about my will
Bags, jewelry, shoes...
Mentally dividing my possessions 
You hold my hand

Carried to the car
It is now time to go to that E.R.
I lay in the hospital bed
No longer in misery, no longer feeling like the living dead
Test run
Necessary, but oh so not fun
Medicine injected, I begin to feel clear headed

You hold my hand and tell me to fight
My inspiration
My best friend
Reminding me who I am
I want to thank you mom
Everything you have done and reminding me I have a voice
You tell me I am anything but weak
You give me endless encouragement to stand up and SPEAK

No one deserves to live in pain
What is wrong with the world today?
Who gets treatment?

First open the wallet!
Now see if you can pay...
I can live a normal comfy life in the ‘burbs
Yet I need relief from medical herbs
Something so minuscule
Keeps me mislabeled as a medicinal criminal...

Copyright © Raina Makdissy

Details | Rhyme | |

America Is Being DESTROYED From Within


As sin and perversion often become integrated… So many lives and families are being “disintegrated.” Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force… It’s no wonder much of this country is way “off course.” The morality and values that once made a great nation. Are evaporating…. Leading to a “spiritual separation.” Love, honor, and respect of God… Is often a “thing of the past.” Anything of God seems to be disappearing FAST! God is our only hope! And him alone! Only he can bring healing to our broken homes! He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds! It’s only God that can meet all of our needs! He’s our provider… The great: “I am!” Won’t you reach out to him? And give him your hand? Why not give him a chance? And allow him in? A brand new life for you… Is waiting to begin! May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach down into our hearts… Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!” Is a good place to start! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Free verse | |

Retro - The Ever Fashionable Oppression of Women

A modern trimming,
Grin and bear it.
The slap of a buckle,
Reminiscent of the squeeze.
Laces bloodied,
From a prayer of acceptance.
Breathing is optional.

The shove to a corner,
Start early for pattern recognition,
Bind the idea prematurely.
Numbed pain,
Limited motion.
Embrace wind through the long locks,
It's only an illusion of progression.

Copyright © Donna Iadarola

Details | Concrete | |


A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.

Copyright © Miche Ulman

Details | I do not know? | |

For Men Everywhere One Billion Rising

1 Billion Rising.

For Men Everywhere.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!


Stop the abuse!

Of grand-daughters,

all women.


Listen to the voices!

Of grand-daughters,

all women.


Think of how you treat,


all women.


Act now to change yourself!

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when you stop,

the violence,
the abuse,
the rape.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

is perpetrated by,



all men.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when us men stop,

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

today, now.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Free verse | |


Oh mother Africa cradle of civilization
like the great trees of our green oceans
you protect your young from this great gale
from east, north, south, west but mostly west
it comes with a force first gentle then strong then stronger
from leaf to stem it sways the oceans
steering our waters to unright directions
it brings it's sand from far away and takes our leaves to far away.

Oh mother Africa cradle of civilization
land of fruits milk and honey
groom your young in your own way
let them know it's not for sale
our dignity, pride and values
but how do you cushion a dying man
how do you relieve a man running after a setting sun
a drowning man will clench a straw
if this he thinks will stay afloat
young shoots find no space to blossom 
even in this spacy forest
is this our fault or it it's fault
that seedlings readily embrace the gale
they know the wrath it all entails
but this they say is better than the dark.

Oh corner trees of iroko type
give space for the young to grow
their roots will firm their stems will broad
and this ocean green will stay agreen
heed my advice and pave the way
for if these things are not done in time
your young will continue to embrace the gale 
and this ocean green will go brown some day.

Copyright © Frederick Mungo

Details | Elegy | |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 1)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.

Copyright © Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah

Details | Rhyme | |

Jesus My Life Is One HUGE Embarrassment

For many years... My life has been an embarrassment! Filled with hopelessness and discouragement! Many things I thought I had enjoyed... Have left in me... A large and empty void! Many nights, I would cry myself to sleep. Knowing the hole my life was in, was very, very deep. Then one day, I called out to God! I wasn’t sure if he’d listen! My family, my old church, I was now missin'. My family prayed for me for so many years. I often brought them embarrassment and tears. God... I tried everything else... I want to come back to you! I need you now Jesus! I really do! Please come into my heart, and cleanse me within! Set me free from all addictions and sin! I know that you will never let go of my hand. My whole life, on your word, I shall now stand. Only you can satisfy the emptiness in my soul! I am now complete, satisfied, and made whole! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Free verse | |


She stands there, 
as the khols
and taals
to play.
If money had afforded, 
they would have found the
wrong chromosome.
Pat silk
and she
to sway.
the fish, 
life begins.
famished cries
A crumpled woman, 
abandoned child.
Now she is the tortois
lifting herself
from the milky sap
of oleander, 
castor oil.
fingers spread, 
She gazes, 
the boar.
She pulls
herself up
fingers dancing, 
feet stamping.
She overcomes.
She stands.
She spins.
Her worth measured
and found
A marriage worth
a decade of work.
She squats, 
The dwarf.
Her eyebrows lower.
Her lips pout.
Gazing off into
some far distance, 
she runs, 
She lifts her axe.
She sweeps her arms.
She holds her head high.
Her eyes twinkle
and she is free.
Shaking her finger, 
she sits
and takes up
her baby in her arms.
She strikes the floor
right to left
Neck.upraised foot.
A boy.
She joins
her hands
and slides them
her eyes.
her heart.
Lifting her finger
she philosophies, 
She lifts
her child.
He walks.
He runs.
She stirs.
She waits.
Her eyes
from left to right.
Looking up, 
she lifts
her arms
above her head.
She rolls
her neck
and cradles
her womb.
A needle stick.
A girl.
She falls to the ground
and she

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs

Details | Limerick | |

Politicians vs Ghandi and Mother Theresa

Out of touch in their Limos and jets
making promises not fulfilled yet
they can't hold a candle
to the pair who wore sandals
vote them all out of power? You bet!

Copyright © Viv Wigley

Details | I do not know? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day

wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last

...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen

...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands


now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell

...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
put down

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

The Dumb Mother Award Gos Too

the dumbest mother, award goes too... dumb
and why you may ask
because i am not home schooling right now
because my child my student 
fell softy asleep! during his math lessen today

i wanted to personally belittle him
and poke home with a learning stick      
and with a witchy voice say 
get up and open your eyes 
you can't get a job that way 

but i didn't do that, 
i just say are you sleepy 
and to my supreme surprise
he said in a most tired voice

I just took him to the doctors 2 or 3 times 
and they found not one thing wrong 
the other is talking in his sleep too
and making sound so loud that 
he stop breathing and wake and talks
with words that could be made out to be anything
like words that are not of this the plant!

I want to wave my flag 
but there is not one to tell 
and what could keep my 
kids wanting to learn 
when there health is small and weak 
and there understanding that 
these who are to do no wrong 
just do nothing 

Copyright © verlecia fields

Details | Blank verse | |

Biting my Tongue Again

My tongue
has no more blood; 
no tissue to slide through my teeth.

I have bitten my tongue
so long
my message deflates beneath.

©  2011  ~JSLambert Esquire

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.

When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,


until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,


Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.

(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Bio | |

The Man Behind the Mirror

Behind the mirror, the man is seen Where on our streets surrounded, Friends Thousands met cold, untimely death With screamed echoes of souls unrest Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly Children dead in their mothers’ arms Father, for his lost son searched Found him only, with parts cut in shreds. Behind the mirror, was the man there? Our Young children, to soldiers turned Educated only in field of war Guns carried, bigger than they can bear Faught battles, of no cause but fear To read or write, they dared not do But to shoot or kill, well informed they were. The man behind the mirror, how did he rest? Our babies, dead while he sound slept In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept Still offered nothing, but violence more Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder If anyone dared open their mouths to speak Or, if orders came of his seat to render. Behind that mirror, my freedom he took Our homes Burned; our stores looted Citizens, chased out of a land to love Forced into exile for years so many Adapted to a culture so not ours From scratch, we started to build Until bit by bit, we rose so high above Like an eagle, up up and away. The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame The color so dark, on our backs stained Bruises so deep, forever left to heal Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched, And palmed away by cruel, hateful death With tumbled bodies over bodies All soiled up into one tiny hole. Behind that mirror, the man will always be With blissful look in his red, budging eyes Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound And the more my hate for him increase Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get

Copyright © Teto Korha

Details | Free verse | |

Draconian I

[The Cypress Is In Bloom]
The cypress is in bloom
I see the evil, the efflorescence of decadent doom
Eloigning, with thy clandestines of the Dead September's reign
My belovéd Penelope, abscond from the coven so deep, the glades of misery
We must face her in the grove, for arcany, the path we must take
She's in my mind, vaporously,
Lauding with my, dangers and fears
Lie, with ephermelcy's broken truths
Leading me go Cypress, Marigold
Immortally, willows, forevermore

[To Question; To Know]
My argentine silence, your only condonicy 
Ends with such eath
The Mockingbird in me--died
Resting in one ounce, an abundance of shame
With an infinity of joy
Exiled, by the ones, who give all, names
My breath starves for only more
The façade, the veil, the austerity dims with Aquarianlore 
She falls to her knees, why for?
Celandine she will be
Celandine is she

The lair within, free from their causalities of their sins
Shadowy primroses begin to grow, the season will never end
In there I dream to be like you, violet blue, White Flower of Lisieux,
La Fleur Blanche du Lisieux,
So Celandine are you
Celandine are you

Draconian--Reach for the shadows within
Draconian--Break from The Fallen's Sin
Draconian--Their Empirical lies, only die
Draconian--Reach The Shadows Within

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Limerick | |

Momma ate all the childrens' food

Momma ate all the childrens' food!
as she watched the little ones in the neighborhood,
The event created quite a ruckus
and many said she was rude,
yet, what they didn't know about Momma,
is that she was a diabetic,
and had waited too long to snack,
her world started spinning,
It almost faded to black,
She had one biscuit, but that
didn't seem to suffice,
after several, the color began
to come back in her eyes,
for a monent there, we all thought she was
a goner, we didn't care that people revolted and carried
on bad, as her children we felt realy, really sad,
We offered to pay them back from our piggy banks,
but they stoicly said, "No Thanks!"
What were a few packages of Lorna Doones?
Especially for someone who takes care of us rain, shine, even 
during monsoons,
I guess as toddlers it is never too early to learn about class,
What's a person's health worth when it is trickling like an hour glass?

Copyright © Margeret Bailey

Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift


they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Rhyme | |


London, London!
Youths rioting,
Communities dying.

Mother, mother the world is watching
London is burning, 
Revolution rising.

Taxes increasing,
Cash decreasing,
Nation pleading.

Babies bleeding,
Mother’s praying,
Politician's denying.

Mother, mother the population is mad.
Hard times, crazy times, sad times,
Scary night, dreary night, lonely life.

Papa, papa her their cry!
Babies’ bawling,
Prison sizzling,
Cities exploding.

Copyright © Patricia Garcia Howard Bramble

Details | I do not know? | |


Our lives are like stories 
Like the ones found in books
We all play our part in the plot
But you were a bit more than just a character
Babe, you were a chapter

Chapters begin and end so quickly
So fleeting, like the way we would flirt
A heart-pounding beginning with a dry, cold close

I'm saying good bye 
This is for every time I could have cried
This is for every night that you forgot I exist
But I haven't shed a tear on you and, boy, I'm not gonna try
This is for every single mean thing you say
This is me deciding not to pretend I'm looking the other way
This is something I'm doing for me
So good bye, cause no longer will I be the girl who is blind

The chapter has sealed itself shut
So sit in your room and play some mean songs about me
I don't care, I know somebody with nicer hair

As a kid you must have been the bully on the playground
I'm done being the girl you give affection to and push down 
And I'm tired of standing on the sidelines while you try to run the show
I'm gonna move on with my life 
Prove there are things you will never know
There are things that books can't tell you 
Things only the heart can understand
You don't have one of those
So, pardon me, if I don't consider you a man

The chapter has ended but I won't shed a tear
The future's too bright for me to look back to darkness

Copyright © Justine Cole

Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses