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Best Anti Bullying Poems

Below are the all-time best Anti Bullying poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of anti bullying poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Anti Bullying Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Anti Bullying poems are below this new poems list.

Anti-Bullying Remedy by Manassian, Eileen
Anti-bullying week special by Kamil, Sophiya
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The Best Anti Bullying Poems

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The Grake - For Dr Seuss Contest

On a warm summer’s day, in the month of July, 
in a town that’s as small as a grasshopper’s thigh,   
walked a girl with a flower, her eyes looking down,
when she bumped into somebody wearing a frown. 

Now this Someone was someone she’d met once before, 
and the words that he’d said, she had tried to ignore; 
so she turned on her heel and she headed away
but the Someone called after her, shouting out “HEY!”

He said, “Hey you, Missy, you know who I am?
I’m the Someone who will and the Someone who can! 
I’m disliked in this town, but I know what I’ll do -  
since they seem to hate me, then I’ll make them hate you!”

Now, the girl with the flower was starting to shake, 
'cause she knew from before that this guy was a Grake!
And all Grakes are unstable, they’re mean and they lie, 
and they like to cause trouble, and make girlies cry. 

So the next day, she’s walking, her eyes are cast down, 
when whom should appear but the Grake with the frown!
“See, I told you I’d be here, to maim and to crush!”
Then he shouted out words that would make a hog blush! 

Well, the girl with the flower just stood there, confused, 
'cause she didn't deserve to be hurt and abused,
just an unlucky victim of graking, it seemed,
from a Someone who’s vengeful, and grumpy, and mean. 

So she just stood there silently, knowing she should,
'cause defending herself wouldn’t do any good,
and a crowd began forming, just gathering ‘round, 
just to watch the poor girl, and the Grake with the frown.  

And the Grake carried on for what seemed like an hour, 
(for when Grakes have an audience, this gives them power).
He ranted and threatened, and made quite a shrill, 
'cause he’s Someone who can and he’s Someone who will. 

Now, the crowds that all came (and they stopped and they stared) 
Well, they tried to speak up but they felt a bit scared 
so they just stood there, watching, and shaking their heads
and they thought, “glad it’s HER there, and not me instead!” 

Well, the next day it happened again just the same; 
that Someone, that Grake, played his same awful game-
He attacked the poor girl and he caused such a scene, 
and the crowd gathered round, just to watch him be mean. 

And the girl with the flower just took it all in, 
with a tear on her cheek and a trembling chin, 
and she felt her whole world start to crash to the ground,
when suddenly, she heard such a beautiful sound: 

“Stop it, you meanie! You’re nothing but bad!”
(‘twas the voice of a young girl named LuLu McNad.
“You’re nothing much more than a big awful Grake!
So stop it right now, You! Go jump in a lake!” 

Now all eyes were on LuLu, but she held her ground; 
she walked up to the girl and they both turned around
and they stood there with both of their backs to the Grake. 
Such a simple, yet wonderful statement to make. 

Then two people joined them, they stood with them, proud. 
Then two more, then three, then the whole bloomin’ crowd, 
until every last one had their back to the Grake,
and he finally realized, he’d made a mistake! 

See, when someone is being harassed or put down,  
it’s not nice to just stand there and not make a sound. 
So don’t be afraid to stand up for what’s right!
And make all the Grakes of the world lose the fight. 


If you're being bullied, don't engage - just walk away... and tell an adult.  
If you see someone being bullied, speak up!  It can be scary to stand up to a bully, because we’re afraid we might become the next victim.  But sometimes all it takes is one person to break the power that a bully thinks he or she has; it also helps others to be bold enough to speak up too.  Be the brave one ... and do the right thing. 

Dedicated to the sweet and fearless Laura Loo. 

Copyright © Rebecca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

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Pirate Bay

```Pirate Bay the Haiku``` 

pirates fierce and mean 
drowning fish, sea to sea 
parrots on their butt 

```Polly Wants A Cracker``` 

bloodthirst & brutal 
Quartermaster Gone Wild 
dirty wings on deck 

```Sea World Adventure``` 
ship crew goes on strike 
sailing the Caribbean 
wooden leg splashing 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Prophet of DOOM

Fabricated whispers seduced by falsehood
have the grapevine shivering in notoriety
Pernicious vile glutinous serpent revels
in poisoning the innocent children of Eve

The prophet of doom gossips about scandal
fictitious storytelling with inaccurate slander
deception, deceit, dishonesty, disinformation
leaving behind a trail of falsification myth
Venomous words spoken form into miasma
toxic breath pollutes mutating malignancy

Children of Adam, were born to be together
but, the Devil, conceived demonic partition
Divide and conquer, Apartheid are his work
sadly, some still give devotion to his creed

Silent One
20 January 2016
Remember God is always watching and knows the truth
Just because somebody says something - does not mean it is true

Triple Filter Test
In ancient Greece, Socrates (the famous philosopher) was visited by an acquaintance of his. Eager to share some juicy gossip, the man asked if Socrates would like to know the story he’d just heard about a friend of theirs. Socrates replied that before the man spoke, he needed to pass the “Triple-Filter” test.

The first filter, he explained, is Truth. “Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to say is true?” The man shook his head. “No, I actually just heard about it, and …”

Socrates cut him off. “You don’t know for certain that it is true, then. Is what you want to say something good or kind?” Again, the man shook his head. “No! Actually, just the opposite. You see …”

Socrates lifted his hand to stop the man speaking. “So you are not certain that what you want to say is true, and it isn’t good or kind. One filter still remains, though, so you may yet still tell me. That is Usefulness or Necessity. Is this information useful or necessary to me?”  A little defeated, the man replied, “No, not really.”

“Well, then,” Socrates said, turning on his heel. “If what you want to say is neither true, nor good or kind, nor useful or necessary, please don’t say anything at all.”

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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An Angel watches over me

My pen fell from my hand- ink splattered like blood Feeling suffocated - the last words had been written Was this the end, had the poet died? Ready to leave - never to look back - this was goodbye Suddenly, a flash of light breathed me back into life with a beautiful gesture reincarnating my soul Celestial being glowing an ethereal spiritual light spoke heavenly radiant words of virtuous delight The ink began to flow - waterfalls flowed fluently Now I believe in saintly Angels - I know they watch over me 9 December 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Beatitude Number Three

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”  Matthew 5:5

Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek.”
It’s better - turn the other cheek
than let yourself lose self-control.
Vengeance will rob you of your soul.

A humble person is not weak.
Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek.”
When we use self-discipline,
we show God’s power from within!

God implied to stand for others -
not ourselves, but for our brothers.
Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek.”
Be thoughtful and with kindness speak!

The world is filled too much with pride.
Submit to God; be on His side!
If peace on earth is what you seek,
Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek.”

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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To Forgive Or Not To Forgive

To forgive or not to forgive, that is the question.
When you are offended, whether real or imagined
by a loved one, a friend, or by someone esteemed,
do you confront the other, or resolve to be patient?

If by some stroke of luck, the offender apologized
but turns around, talking glib gobbledygook,
do you keep silent and still, looking cool as ice,
or do you tell it to his face, that he’s more than a crook?

At such time as this, or any time for that matter,
it is best to forgive whether he asks for it or not.
Do not poison your heart with cyanide blather;
bitterness can bother like a bat’s up your butt!

Forgiveness frees the offended from the devil’s deceit;
and makes you smile at the debtor, as his debt, you forfeit.

*First line draws on Hamlet's soliloquy, Act III, Scene 1; W. Shakespeare

A modern sonnet.  
06 October 2015
Poem of the Week - October 11 to 17, 2015

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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Love is more powerful than hate

Ignore those who make you fearful and sad. (Rumi) Love is always more powerful than hate. It's simple to tell who is good and bad. Those who spread rumours are playing with fate. Love is always more powerful than hate, freedom of speech is your God given right. Those who spread rumours are playing with fate, never back down, always stand up and fight. Freedom of speech is your God given right, don't be afraid;, if they can't hear you - SHOUT! Never back down, always stand up and fight, with a strong stance no one can push you out. Don't be afraid; if they can't hear you - SHOUT! The intelligent ones will know the truth. With a strong stance no one can push you out, you'll be hitting home runs, just like Babe Ruth. The intelligent ones will know the truth, with a smile, be true to what you believe. You'll be hitting home runs, just like Babe Ruth, let them know there is much more up your sleeve. With a smile, be true to what you believe, life is full of obstacles in your way. Let them know there is much more up your sleeve, nothing they can do will ruin your day. Life is full of obstacles in your way. It's simple to tell who is good and bad. Nothing they can do will ruin your day. Ignore those who make you fearful and sad.
23 May 2016 10 syllables per line. Pantoum poem A rare form of poetry. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing. It does not have to rhyme nor have a syllable restriction

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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bite me contest

I write-
mellifluous    sweet murmuring poems-
gossamer whispering words

a labyrinth     twisting     and turning

serendipity writes
and woebegone sadramblingswithtears
and all I want to do is share
my feelings

sweet murmuring poems-gossamer

but here come the don'tdoitgang 
a labyrinth    twisting    and turning
with their opinions stabbing
their rigmarole
wanting to make my safe harbour       a hoosegow

oh the words and wordsdribbling they let fly
to our souls and    
my mellifluous
                           poems whispering

the discontentannoyingwordgang
a labyrinth
and turning
come with their constanttellingus   what to do
           smellfungas comments

and I
am guilty   of everything        it all
I enter my poems
written from the depths of my soul
in whatyoucallmeaningless         contests
so bite me

I leave comments lovelyandawesome
with words like beautiful       and wonderful
so back off          leavemealone    bite me

I like to post   
        pictures with poems

I dwell behind a mighty high wall        where

I write-
mellifluous    sweet murmuring poems-
gossamer whispering words

a labyrinth   twisting     and turning

serendipity writes
and woebegone sadramblingswithtears
and all I want to do is share
my feelings

May 31, 2015

Free Verse

For the contest, Bite Me, sponsor, John Lawless

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Being Bullied

Sometimes we all say things we don’t mean Private thoughts to be kept inside that should never be seen Then others join to be part of the scene Using nasty words that are designed to demean Scared to speak out for fear of ridicule How can other people be so cruel They join in because they think its fun Not knowing the harm they do to anyone Social media can be fun But to those being bullied the damage is done ‘Do it, do it, just go away’ These are the words the bullies may say Until one day the victim begins to crack Those poisoned words can’t be taken back Evntually they can take no more And are found lifeless on the bedroom floor Then those who mock and those who scorn Turn up at the funeral of those who they now mourn So think before another word you say Because the bullied may not be able to face another day Edited for Premier Contest #7 Sponsored by Skat A 2/2/14 Inspired by the death Caitlin Alker (aged 18) who was bullied on social media and tragically took her own life.

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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A Climbing Jasmine

Every now and then I come to you ... A climbing jasmine through the window of your heart a blushful smile beneath your sheets a fragrant scent in waking thoughts an empty porch of swinging dreams. Every now and then I come to you ... A drop of sunshine on winter lips a tender touch upon bare shoulders a yearning moment in an ardent kiss Every now and then I come to you ... A hush -hushed whisper on a restless eve a melting snowfkake upon your lash a fallen petal tickling your cheek Every now and then I come to you... a lingered breath behind your ear a gentle breeze of visions gone that once blew softly within your hair

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015

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Songs of power something inside so strong

The more you torment me - more powerful I become
Words do not afflict me - they are only child's play
Despotic tyranny will never mute my polyglottic tongue
Cowards who persecute and suppress will never comprehend
the powerful strength deep inside - eternally unbreakable
Pride cannot be destroyed when one has no ego
You oppress with judgemental eyes - yet hide behind the truth
Your existence has become a masquerade of fabricated fiction
Sitting on your prevaricator's chair speaking no words of wisdom
You can never brainwash those who are wise to your ways
Fire your bullets - I am bullet proof
Send your tanks and war planes - Freedom fighters never quit
Slit my throat and take away my breath - my spirit will live on!
You can kill a man, but you can never destroy his legend

The Silent One
9 November 2015

Dedicated to all those who face oppression...

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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oh, let me tell you a twisted tale . . . 

of robin hood and a merry band of followers
but my story does not take place in folklore but in reality
todays story is of an archer, a person skilled with swords and words
skilled in disguise, taking many false faces
and like robin hood of ancient tales, draped in green but this green is jealousy
like the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together
blanketed in secrecy, having no moral compass to guide the evil
oh the hate is a cancer on my poems and beautiful words
my poetry a garden ravaged by this outlaw with a sharp arrow
devious, crafty, sly, calculating, deceitful, fake, scheming, shifty
we know each false disguise you hide behind
every fraudulent name and game
oh, back to the story . . 
lets raise the curtain to this ancient tale
this robin hood and a merry band of followers
pretend to be good and kind but shoot arrows
trying to murder my words 
from dark hidden places, mingling joyfully
shifty and crooked, shady but quite artful in ways of destruction
a shining star shaped shield of silliness
the way is dangerous in this spider web of lies
bloods seeps from my broken heart like red tears
leaf-strewn gales utter low wails like violins on my murdered poems
robin hood and the merry band of followers
spit them out like stones
and when I read their words, the words squirm like snakes
robin hood of ancient lore stole from the rich to give to the poor
this robin hood steals our poetic muse 
not quite the hero of old
but be assured your swords and sharp arrows are nothing to me
because my poems will sail like swans on quiet waters long after you 
are burning down below for your deceitful ways

January 21, 2016

Free Verse

For the contest, Twisted Robin Hood
Sponsor, C.T.

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

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Poetrysoup's Jan

Poetrysoup's Jan is quite a lass
Whose poetry is always first class
She writes ditties with ease
About mountains and fleas
Nothing phases her pens brilliance

Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2015

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 I take a dive from a precipice.
To escape my life as it is.
Deep water, deep gulp of air
on resurfacing, new life to share.
Thrilled now that I dare.


Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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We All Have Words

We all have voices
They are strong and loud
We can use them to start 
Landslides and earthquakes
We can also calm the storm
Take that roar and turn it into 
A gentle hum
We all have words
And it's time that we use them
But before we can do that
We must change the way we speak
We must change the way we look at things
Because the words we use now are not correct
The words we use now are full of hate
The words we use weren't acceptable
Years ago so why are they now?
Why is acceptable to be using slurs against me?
Why is it acceptable to call me something
That your mother would consider vulgar?
When you speak
Can you still taste the soap
That she would wash your mouth out with?
Does it burn your tongue each time 
The words escape your lips?
Or do you feel nothing at all?
Have your dirty words
Consumed you enough 
That no matter how much soap is used
They will never be clean?
Have they stained your vocal chords
So much to a point 
That you can only speak 
In profanities and racial slurs?
Because that's all I can hear
They slap me in the face
Each time you speak
I remember what you said
To that disabled black man crossing the street
I remember what you said
To the lesbian couple
When they kissed each other in front of us
I remember what you said to the single Latino woman
Caring for her 5 children
I remember what you said when I told you I wasn't straight
I remember everything you said
And I always say
We all have words
And it's time that we use them
But only if we can calm the storm
And turn the endless hate
Into unconditional love

Copyright © Brittany Larson | Year Posted 2015

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Bullying 101

Step 1: 
Inhale an envious mask upon your castrated 
and prompt this necessary illusion to commence.
Bathe yourself in ego-filled waters till you feel superior
to the gavel, and exit without caution from this perfect 
prison called home. 
The audience of youthful flattery awaits you, and those 
who you hunt, 
Anticipate your roar, and contemplate a permanent 

Step 2: 
Masquerade around the elementary wheels of 
transportation, and make sure your crown has no opposition.
Be seated in the rear levels of mischief, and target those
who sit angelically, in frontal silence. 
Remember to grin until your devilish smile has a 
pathological glow, 
And act without tears, your greatest show without

Step 3: 
Be ignorant to punctual chimes that sing, and lean on 
absent temptation for comfort. 
Show patience for the perfectly weak; allow them their 
steps upon the wax floors, 
Give them their fairy tale of safety. 
For they are dreamers, and you are their scheduled 

Step 4: 
Enter classrooms initially through the minds of prey. 
Let them introduce the beast without forethought, 
Observe their careful whispers among the intellectual
And standby till their guard sleeps. 

Lastly, steal the eyes of misery from your contemporaries
as you walk in, and sit among the walls of miseducation. 
For knowledge is not the vocation you seek. 
Only the beauty of suffering can compensate your lust. 
Step 5:
Begin by insulting the eager minds that roam 
brilliantly in the front row. 
Shout high praises from hell, belittle their flawless 
And bear no breaks of mercy until tears fall. 

Now shift your heinous gears toward the everlasting 
prom queen, your unrequited distraction. 
She does not lean towards you, therefore you must 
harm her pedestal as well. 
Do not hesitate to disarm this glow that will never 
infiltrate your surroundings. 

Step 6:
Confirm that your motions are approved, by the 
council of expulsion, 
And give them infamous leeway to imitate in your
rare absence. 

Step 7: 
Reminisce joyfully over sin that will never turn pure, 
as you return home. 
Remove the wool from your eyes, and follow sorrow 
till it wants no hint of you any longer, 
A similar thought entertained by parents you forever 

Lastly, if you urge beyond repair, and accept that the 
sheep you threaten everyday will never turn, 
Despite your purpose, 
Then feel free to act as those that previously harmed, 
And contemplate a permanent departure. 
May god bless these faithful carriers of misery. 

Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2014

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Zolar the Inet God

(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")

It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...

from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.

Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.

Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.

Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you  a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."

Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.

The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
 in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot

of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone  with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.

Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.

Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.

It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew

covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door,  my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.

No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been

I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow

It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.

A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.

That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.

I never go near the iNet, never search out or  bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014

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To Cut the Corner of Your Coat

(Giving voice to those who suffered and believe in poetic justice)
Should I cut the corner of your coat? Too many times you tried to squeeze my throat; you got perverse pleasure to see my page blank, thought I have overdrawn the polyglot’s bank. I saw your glee, you thought I went to flee, you did not understand, my spirit was in command. Without ascendancy you appointed yourself as judge, still I chose not to bear a grudge. Like David, my sins are uncovered, like him I never devoured Nathan; he was not sent by Satan. He was sent by Him, against Whom all have sinned. Yet you aimed to shame and then denied, thought you caught me by surprise and caused my demise. You have conveniently overlooked my word, I have confessed and made my peace with the Lord. Who sent you? You are not a messenger of peace, Your truth doesn’t set free but spreads strife and disease. You are not a prophet; are you the false king’s puppet? I saw Fate throw the dice, so now you are uncovered before my eyes; but like David, I too will kill hatred with love, he was content to cut the corner of Saul’s robe. An eye for an eye? It won’t make me smile to see you die, I will not honor vengeful games with my name. Now, I release myself from all the hurt you’ve caused and claim God’s gift; He who knows me more than most, denies you satisfaction to silence my thoughts. I am forgiven. Through His grace I forgive you seventy times seven, on your downfall you won’t see me gloat; I refuse to even cut the corner of your coat. From: 1 Samuel 24; 2 Samuel 12:1-13 and Matthew 5: 21-22 Inspired by Olive Eloisa's Theme: Not for contest Poem of the Day - 04 January, 2016

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016

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Puppy Love


          in kindergarten
          she gave me her tooth
          instead of kisses
          too many years later
          softly biting my lips

94 characters


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2015

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I Have Hidden Super Powers

I don't wear a cape around
My neck, breaking the speed of sound
Or capture bad guys in a web
My powers have never fled
From my heart that's where they stay
Secretly until the day
I see injustice come along
Others are treated so wrong
My super powers become stronger
When I can't take it any longer
Hearing stories of bullying
My special skills kick right in
Set loose, no holding them back
My love alert goes on attack
Not stopping for anything
It won't ease up until I bring
All this hatred to a low
I give one huge final blow
Across the land until there is
No more hate or prejudice
Until then, I'm on alert
Making sure there is no hurt
I will be here till the end
All my powers I will send
Into the hearts of those so weak
Mild mannered, shy and meek
That get pushed around each day
I'll make sure it goes away
This promise will be kept for sure
Any kind of hatred I abhor

Copyright © robin davis | Year Posted 2014

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The poet Marshall Mathers
whilst "Cleaning Out My Closet"
blasted with inquiry-

"Have you ever been hated on or discriminated against?
I have...''

Interesting enough
in these crooked times
it is impossible to make a man like you,
or your art,  
especially with unbounding determination.

It sure is mighty easy to attain their hatred, 
through no fault of your own. 

When they protest or demonstrate against you...
finally you have arrived!
That's powerful!

Common sense says, 
"Never drive in the rear view mirror!" 

Though, it sure is helpful to take a quick glance back
to check out Jealousy, 
back there 
doubting and shouting and eating your dust!

Take a whiff...

The band begins to play ferociously!
Slander Slogans pasted upon your face.

like roaches with lights bright,
they disappear into the night, 
back to the slums;
begging for crumbs.

Once you've been Blacklisted;
Digest the miracle.
Pure, glowing gold
the alchemy of their anger,
visibly discernable from the glossy pyrite 
appearing with fake praise.

Heed the old adage:
---------------Keep yir' friends close, and enemies closer.

Their futile harm repels from the Teflon donning your heart.

burns bold, boils, 
melts and cools, then cold,
forging the sword.

Adding to your arsenal.

Stumble not 
upon bone fragments,
brittle blacklist bandits... 
the Catacombs of those
who aimed to defame your name,
staking claim for their 
shameless sea of debris
and Rotten Forgottens 
which only bolster your begotten flame.

Remain steadfast, undaunted

                           TROUNCE THOSE TREACHEROUS TROUBLES;
________________________           TO            ________________________
                            MARCH THROUGH THE RIGOROUS RUBBLE!

*Heads High,
Let me see those eloquent eyes!~JsL    

~Inspired by written words of Marshall Mathers, Cleaning Out My Closet, 
Shady Records~

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

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The Fat Girl

I may be fat but I can cook soul food to put you in a good mood I don't mean to be rude but you look like a string bean
You only know how to make sandwiches I can make steaks to take your breath away
you say I look like a steak but you can't even make a cake you need to drink more shakes
I need to eat more salads but at least I have a big wallet

I may be fat but I can dance your eyes are  glued to my thighs are you hypnotize yet
Do you want to take a chance and try to beat me in dancing you can't defeat me 
I can shake my hips and do flips I can drop it like its hot you can only pop that's not much 
Oh, now you want to challenge me but you can't balance on the dance floor 
The crowd wants to see me more you were just a bore 

I may be fat but I'm the one who looks pretty in this skirt you look silly like Big Bert
You say I don't look good in a bikini because I'm not tiny but at least I'm not  bony like you
You say I look like a buffalo but at least I don't have a problem finding a fellow
I don't mean to be a pest but you started this mess why don't you give it a rest
I'm fat but I'm telling you I'm the best you don't need to guess 

I may be fat but I'm good at writing poetry
You say that  you're good too but people are going to say boo to you
You say that isn't true and I need to pray because I won't win but I know I can 
You say that people wouldn't pay cash to see me but they will chase me I have a nice ass
you say your poetry  will get publish but that's only a wish I will you forgot to take your pills

Men want to be with me because I have meat on me you only have bones 
You say that I don't look like a model but men want to play with me and pay me to date 
I may be fat but I found a man who likes me like that but your man said you act like a brat
I'm getting married tomorrow don't feel sorrow 
You can laugh but at least I'm glad that I'm not sad or bad and I'm not a brat so take that

Copyright © Ileane Ogilvie | Year Posted 2014

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Crossed Me At The Borderline, Just In Time

-------------------------------------- ~*note: done in fun and aimed at no one~  

try and seed my name you'll concede to shame
no use in calling names to lose the game

yir' ill will is just plain disastrous 
asinine avatars deserve an asterisk

as for being fact-less, your slaps don't diss
every lick you spit simply tends to miss

harmless words that curse, rehearsed childishness
gets your face erased and they'll say who's next

as defilement arrives inside your text
that's when shame wheels you back, right to the nest.

~10 syllables in each of 10 rhyming lines~

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

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Philosophy of Free

Voices facing headwinds feel the calming seas
Elephants grasping backdraft tails are letting
go and hearing the rumble of discontent.

The runaway (with your $$$) train called washing-
ton with earplugs jammed so tight hairpieces
jiggle with every falsehood.

People are waking up!
People are waking up!

Were you asked if money is better spent (1/2 trillion$
stolen from
your future) arming blurred sides in Syria that we
intend to bomb? then decry their use against us?

We the people are no longer in control and live in
fear. Do you worry I cannot speak freely in this
land of liberty?


My ancestors died in battle so I can write this

You, all of you artists, they fear us most...
and silence us if our words pull the sheep
away from 'dancing with the stars'

I am not a slave...I am not a slave

Rejoice in liberty!

Join my voice!

only james marshall goff
proud ancestor of the
Scottish Black Watch

© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2014

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From darkness to stardom

Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.

She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would be wholly satisfied

Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably, 
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spat their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by

One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do any more,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew

Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applause..

A collaboration between Laura Breidenthal and the Silent One.
7 August 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015