Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership



Best Political Poems

Below are the all-time best Political poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of political poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Political poems, articles about Political poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Political poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Political Poems
Read Political Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Political Poems

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

POLITICAL LEXOPHILIA by Pierre-Alexander, Brian
Political powers by Broadbent, Robert
Debate's a Political Forum by Price, Franklin
Political Plight by Okeke, Odinakachukwu
Political Prisoner by Fenn, May
Political Aims by Graham, Preston
Two political haiku by Udashkobi, Ahmad sajeed
the political spectrum by Beaufort, Duke
Political Scatology by Hinshaw, Robert L.
Political Slime by Stevenson, Jerry

View all new Political Poems

The Best Political Poems

Details | Political Poem | |

DEMOCRACY



Oh Democracy,* 
You, most desirable bride among  
Political systems,
Your suitors many have been throughout 
History  
In every part of the world, you were the one
They were after
But
You declined their proposals, despite the fact
All suitors, to charm you they have tried, 
With great honors and by putting your name 
Next to theirs, to allure you to sanctify their 
Biased politics
Thus
The oligarchs
The Despots
The Tyrants
The dictators
The totalitarians and
Many more
All 
Have declared themselves your fervent 
Admirers, your ardent devotees to you and to
Your eternal principles 
By wrapping themselves in your
Heavenly gown and calling themselves your 
Beloved ones 
But you unyielding remained
For
You knew that no one has succeeded to measure up 
To the ideals your wise father, SOLON,** has set
And to the glorious values with which he 
Nurtured you, those superb principles: 
Of Virtue
Of justice
Of ethics
Of freedom 
Of equality
Of autonomy 
Of self-knowledge
Of responsibility
Of lack of self interest 
And 
Of the paramount devotion to
The common good and the happiness
Of the people you serve!

It is for that reason, you, oh Democracy, 
Seldom have shown any favoritism to any of 
Your suitors, for all fell short of
Your lofty aspirations 
Thus 
You were, unfortunately, for very
Lengthy periods of time mistreated, neglected, subjugated and
Exploited by your pretenders:   
The immoral
The unjust
The dishonorable  
The Ignorant
The power thirsty 
The war mongers 
The money seekers,  
Who 
Chose to ignore all that you stood for and  
Disregarded the common good and the
Happiness of the people they supposed to serve
For to promote their own interest and those of 
Their cronies  
Thus 
Ruining the chances of any true democratic 
Society to be established  
For that reason, oh Democracy, I understand you now
Why a spinster, you, have chosen to
Remain!


© Demetrios Trifiatis
 16 OCTOBER 2014

* Democracy is the combination of two words: Demos and Cratos . Demos means the People and Cratos means Power so Democracy means “ Power to the People.” It will be helpful to read my poem “ THE BIRTH OF DEMOCRACY” for a better understanding.

**The concept of Democracy is deeply rooted in the Greek Psyche! We see it in the Mythology where Zeus, the supreme God, is just “first among equals” Then appears in Homer’s poems but the father of Democracy is asserted to be Solon, the Athenian who was one of the seven wise men of old. Solon, 7th –6th centuries B.C. was the theoretician that established Democracy. Solon considered the pillars of Democracy to be Justice and Virtue. So every politician should be Just and virtuous and his main objective would be to safeguard the wellbeing and happiness of the people and that of the state's plus the wealth to be distributed justly among the citizens. Knowledge, responsibility, self-control, self knowledge, sacrifice, equality, had do be characteristics of every citizen. Plato said that “Virtue worth as much as all gold that is possessed by all people put together and all gold that is still in the ground.” To that Aristotle added that “ every politician has to be forged on the anvil of virtue.”         

More great poems below...


Details | Political Poem | |

Heinrich Heine Revisited

I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.

Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few. 
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!

Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set 
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.

It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!

It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by 
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books 
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!

And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014) 
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.” 
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)

*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses: 
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)

*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous 
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they 
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other 
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and 
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover, 
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish 
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major 
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than 
reading them!  


Details | Political Poem | |

Thats a sin

A whole new twist to the same old story
Evil scientist in their laboratories
Creating monsters that live in the night
I often reflect on mankind's plight
As mankind drifts further from his soul
We seek things to fill the hole
The path of lies forever bends
Truth is straight and narrow my friends
As I see it getting bent in every way
I simply find myself compelled to pray
What will become of our sons and daughters
Will their souls be led to slaughter
As scientist seek out another way
To disprove what the bible has to say
Trillions spent in search of a ghost
Another theory of true reproach
Rainbow stars now fill the skies
I wonder what is hidden inside their lies
We can now place a robot up on Mars
But can't help the drunk at the local bar
Trillions more spent on a new space station
But we can't feed the hungry right here in our nation
Seems to me before we go further conquering space
We should maybe try to help out the human race
Our quest for knowledge has drove us insane
We are now so smart we don't use our brain
Our nation was founded "In God We Trust"
Our government says "Let it be covered in dust"
Even this lowly creature up out of the pen
Knows in his heart that thats a sin

Details | Political Poem | |

A Very Lousy Dragon Poem - unlike you-know-who's

There once was a dragon of note
who found out he couldn't go vote
so he started to lobby
which became his new hobby
and a briefcase became his new tote.

At the statehouse he began a career
of burning the governor’s ear.
He said “it ain't fair
that you really don’t care!”
(and sometimes) “Hand me a beer!”

Soon the nobodies all got the right
to vote and make known their plight.
So they favored the dragon
and overloaded his wagon—
They called him “hero” and “knight.”

Dragon got fat as a cat
which had eaten too many a rat.
He lost all his fire
and any desire
to throw through those rings his fine hat.

The lowlies then had no more hero
and quickly lost all of their cheero.
If you think that is bad,
have you ever been had—
by a pundit, politician or zero?

There once was a dragon of note
(it's redundant, but easy, by rote)
who became one of them
(and not just on a whim).
That dragon became an old goat.

There should be a moral right here
one that you’d absorb with great cheer
but, alas it would seem
(unless they work for YOUR team)
lobbyists are really quite drear.

Details | Political Poem | |

Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie, Weenie Brain

To the tune of "Itsy Bitsy, Teenie Weenie, Yellow, Polka-Dot Bikini"
Dedicated to Nancy Pelosi

Chorus:
She has an itsy bitsy
Teenie weenie
Brain inside her little beanie
And she uses it infrequently

An itsy, bitsy
Teenie weenie brain
We get the heebie jeebies
Whenever Nancy's in our company

Two, three, four 
Don’t stick around, head for the door

Nancy:
  Oh, I pushed and I wrested for health care
  But no one wanted this lame, inane fare
  Still I managed to get it through Congress
  The court may now say it was pointless

Two, three, four
Please don’t give us anymore

Chorus:
She has an itsy bitsy
Teenie weenie
Brain inside her little beanie
And she uses it infrequently

An itsy, bitsy
Teenie weenie brain
We get the heebie jeebies
Whenever Nancy's in our company

Nancy:
  Some will tell you that my voice sounds too shrill
  But House members have followed me still
  Yet we have an election upcoming
  From my muse all my members are running

Final Chorus:
From the Congress to her home state
From California to the streets
Of San Francisco you will find her
Oh so sad to lose her seat

More great poems below...


Details | Political Poem | |

Cosmetic Critique-Part 2

Pinned beauties.
Drilled customs.
Feminist wrote"Complex Formatting"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inspiration :- My University Reader

Details | Political Poem | |

Strange Beauty

 sijo (Visual 4)    

Tolerance and empathy between people of opposite stance
could take a lesson or two from the English countryside.
There single hedges fuse the best of holly, hawthorn and yew.

Details | Political Poem | |

Movements of Beginnings

                                                                   written on time’s page
                                                        with finite syllables of dust
                                                  he spelled my heritage
                                           from earth to sky
                                     along an umbilical line of faith 

                                 we fluttered from the lips of fingers
                           fully form for purpose
                       written on an invisible calculus
                that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
            and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
      turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa  mind 

I have an argument
   against the beginning begotten from a bang 
      before atom or element
         I have an argument against force and natural laws
             at work without mass or embodiment
                 for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
                    I have an argument
                        that the singularity could not become more than fragment
                           of energy again if a single atom explode 
                              its forces flocking away from fusion
                                 for energy fission to explode

                                  a theory 
                         flimsy as spiders web
                  dethroning my majesty gulped 
          in primeval slime unlinked history from love
  minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships 
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering 
                                    in vain
                     the whip cracks louder than pain -
             and on our black blistered backs … crumbling 
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
                               starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain  
                                 they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
                                    for all our labors, lost, and grievance
                                      what bang can buck the strain 
                                          and bring us broken souls to glory again?


Details | Political Poem | |

Keeping Time

There is a way in time
When from Perception’s peak the world is too wide
do the Vertigos shut their eyes to walk
where idle men are bad men and all
their thoughts combine into machines
And out of means ends produce
new worlds
smaller worlds

with narrow eyes
Come,  narrow views
Where the vistas are ripe
there is food for all

the Dramatis Personae
It is a great opera
and many are the houses

The houses are full of people
Give them a part, a place
where the voices echo – echo – echo
and happy are the players
who gather the echoes

Eye
the resplendent Conductors
draped in all their finery

Aye
When the batons fall best start
the run major

The play is
It is beginning
The spilling! The spilling!
And nowhere to run but the funnel,
a tunnel of blood

overrun with blood
where the blood is the play, the lot and the thing
when the thing is the matter
of time
too much


- A. H. Sewell 02.23.2015

You can pick up a copy of my eBook "City Sticks - A Collection of 50 Poems" from Smashwords at the link listed below. Come stop by my blog or friend/follow me on Facebook, too! (Links listed below.)

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539072


www.facebook.com/HelanaSewell1
www.ahsewell.weebly.com

Details | Political Poem | |

Coin With the Same Face on Both Sides

.





                                Once again the coin has been tossed
                                to choose between just dirt and dross
                                Insults from ridge to ridge
                                on how to build a bridge
                                in town without river to cross




.

Details | Political Poem | |

Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 



Details | Political Poem | |

Crying In Whisper

In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
Is nothing,
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
Every second,
No matter with
Thundering bullets
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!

Details | Political Poem | |

Characterization

Our two party system isn’t working
Plastic figures, disaster lurking
Conservative or liberal isn’t the call
It’s the ultra rich against us all
For the people is what it’s not
All candidates have already been bought
Platforms built on promises and lies
Hear the people, ignore their cries
Wave that flag as if you’re proud
Then bow and worship the corporate crowd
You no longer serve, you’re out of place
You are an elitist group, a public disgrace
You’ve subsidized the rich with your insanity
Then crippled the growth of humanity
You’ve killed our children in endless war
The media smiles and keeps the score
We sing of amber waves of grain
You’d sell it all for personal gain
You left our budget in disarray
You’ll tax our grandchildren for it someday
No water boarding terrorists you warn
Then murder a child who is still unborn
You have no ethics, you have no shame
You have no morals, you accept no blame
Washington is a place I’m told
Where politicians are bought and sold
Where dreams and ideals are destroyed
A city where honesty is null and void
A place where hope has been dethroned
You won’t get nominated unless you’re owned
A place where once” In God we trust”
Now we look in sheer disgust
Country burning from your sparks
You replaced Uncle Sam with Karl Marx
Our nominees we cannot select
The media decides who we elect.
Politicians with great orations
Puppets to the corporations.

Details | Political Poem | |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

Details | Political Poem | |

Common Man


The traveler reeked of weariness,
His companion was Fatigue
Wear upon his clothes suggest
He'd come a million league.

Gaunt were eyes deep set and brown
Above his cheekbones high
His being was pure somnolence
And I heard his silent cry.

Hard roads had been his travel
The pains chiseled on his face
In lines of furrows on his brow
Permanently enlaced

Around I saw no motion there, then ...
His head began to rise
Finally he looked at me ...
Suffering in his eyes.

So quietly I attended
And with a heavy heart
I wanted so to speak to him ...
But knew not how to start

Within his labored breathing
He then began to speak
His words, when finally spoken
Were truthful and unique

His lips worked to form the words -
Then said; "My name is: Common Man,
I'm a father; I've worked hard;
' always done the best I can.

"The road's become uphill and steep with
Burdens I can't propel
I've tried to move on forward -
But, I stumbled here - and fell.

"There are others on me
Who so do depend
I must keep moving forward,
This mustn't be my end.

"Now I must reach out to you
'Cause before I've never failed
I'm turning now to you
'Fore on hardships I'm impaled". 

A calloused hand then extended
Toward my outstretched hand
And I want to heed the call
For this Common Man.

But, Greed and Avarice have won
And assistance can't be lent -
Wall Street, you see, owns me now:
I'm Your Government.

Details | Political Poem | |

L'Italia del Nonno - Drunken Pen Contest

It's addsurd! Who's going to veliebe his lies? Who's going to bote for him? Plutocracy in these times? To besmear American reputation?... with just a cl-ass... exercising its power by birtue of its wealth...and the legislators...aligators... those who considered themselves... the best...to receive... hiccup!...from lobbies. Or is it Oligarchy? ... or Aristocracy? It's one of those "cracy." Or is it this glass of wine? The old Lady from Arizona had endorsed him. Ha! He must not ve bery happy with it. Wrinkles of xenophobia... legalized discrimimination. Excuses, lies, and negligence... Somebody has to pay for the vroken dishes...in doggy perceptions without style... knocking at the door of their prejudice... trespassing upon their addsurd generalizations ... satisfying their own prommmiscuous imagination...they tend to destroy the ebbidence ... coloring just coloring, coloring, coloring. Pickpocketing their errant misconceppttions... their exiled spiritualility... their mind in poverty...guilty of  larceny, of stupididity, of biolence...On the other hand, an extended hand at traffic lights trying to get what they could ...some change...coins...rusted coins which were never thrown into a fountain... no need of wishes. Trevi fountain and Anita, Marcello, Federico...La Dolce Vita. L'Italia del nonno. Another inmigrant but in another country... Argentina, where foreigners went to work the land and were accepted with open arms. L'Italia del nonno. I need to go to visit his streets, his old towns, his Mediterranean sea, his Sicily... Rome and the Trevi Fountain...Anita, she reminds me of another woman... I thought I had forgotten her and her plunging necklines...sophistitication, style, glamor...lip balm, lip boosters, lip conditioner, lip gloss, lip liner, lip plumper, lip primer. Arden's Red Door never considered  the gag reflex for a pearl necklace. That's elegant; I should use that line. She should use the makeup remober at the morning vefore she wake up to sleep. Sleeping veauty: a porcelain...gorgeous outside - empty inside. Was it Arden or Rubinstein? or Lauder? "Pleasure"...her perfume still lingers... memories from a vuried past. She used to call me but I let her go. She knows how to cuckook. I miss her Cannelloni and Lasagna.L'Italia del nonno... The land that he had to leabe...Nero, Caligula, Machiavelli, Dante's Inferno,The Borgias, Mussolini. Hiccup!... Who's going to bote for him? Re-election never sounded so good...

Details | Political Poem | |

Historic Perspective

Battered
From a dark angry cloud
Beaten
By a storm wild and loud
Splattered
On history's hardest rock
Heaven
Smile at the little flock
For as a drop of water 
Curls to become a river
So I gather my dreams
To trickle like a stream's
First fall
From a leaf, to swell
To haul
The hill down, and tell
My victory in the sea
Tell me history from the sea

This month
Short as wounded memory
I hunt
Myself, stalk their history
To find all I have lost
Just to tally the cost
Of being black
Of watching the clock
For the hour.

Details | Political Poem | |

Make this life easy

How long will it take for you to see
Life is just an illusion, it’s gonna pass eventually
The flesh is just a lie
Eventually you’re gonna die
But your soul will live on
Rejoice in this don’t mourn
God made you to die 
It’s why you were born
Last night GOD spoke to me
Your pain will end soon, so brother don’t worry
This world will soon pass
None of this is gonna last
But the word of GOD will live on
From the dusk till the dawn, on, on and on
He said pity the living, not the dead
I replied back to him
I meant no disrespect and this is what I said
Imma hold my head high and do my part until the end

So make this life easy
This life is just a lie
Soon you’re gonna die 
So why you killin him for
He’s just another brother, another lost soul
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy

Sister and brothers on streets
Instead of helping them get on their feats
We’re worrying about ourselves
It’s an endless cycle
man’s just looking out for himself
It seems clear to me
That nobody is free
Rich, white, black or poor you’re all the same to me
Trapped in a prison ruled by money
Don’t you think it’s funny 
Endless numbers and papers rules us 
We’ll never be happy
It’s not a mystery
The world is falling apart
I want it to end already, when will it start
Until then I guess I’m going to do my part
So while you’re here just make this life easy

So make this life easy
This life is just a lie
Soon you’re gonna die 
So why you killin him for
He’s just another brother, another lost soul
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy
Just make this life easy

This poem is inspired by Tupac's Life Goes On.

Details | Political Poem | |

King Vlad Redux - Second Cold War

King Vlad Redux – Second Cold War

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin’s grimy fingerprints on current history
are for him nothing to gloat about—au contraire I say emphatically:
His actions bespeak one who’s not an architect for peace—not at all,
rather a quite deceitful dictator and a harbinger of a Second Cold War.

King Vlad’s old Soviet-style actions are clear for all who care to see,
and make no mistake about it—he’s without remorse and a soul to boot.
A Master of Malarkey and an International Bamboozler Supreme, he
certainly is, with a menacing image and not one iota of conscience.

King Vlad risks a Second Cold War with his violation of international
law concerning the blatant, illegal annexation of the Crimean peninsula.
With his brand of new style Soviet adventurism on the march, the Old 
Soviet Bear has been resurrected anew—and it’s hot on the prowl again!

King Vlad’s new spirit of nationalism for Russia is not at all progressive
as evidenced by his current war on certain ethnic minorities: Jews, Tartars, 
Armenians, Gypsies—to include anyone who chooses to resist and protest
against his new age fanaticism rebranded anew in the twenty-first century.

King Vlad’s lineage to and proclivity for the old Soviet Union and its star
cast of past gangster luminaries: Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, 
and Andropov—to name a few, are quite telling since they reflect the real
nature of his psyche and the tragedy he brings now to the world stage.

And lest we forget, the innocent souls of the murdered passengers from flight
MH17 in eastern Ukraine who cry out, as do their families, for justice from
the criminal thuggery and hooliganism perpetrated by King Vlad in support
of proxy groups that do his evil biddings soaked in lies, treachery, and deceit.

King Vlad takes pleasure in fulfilling a fanciful role today of the old Soviet
Bolshoi Nachalnik (Big Boss), whose historical antecedents from Soviet Big
Bosses of past fame, doesn’t augur well for future democracy in New Russia,
and doesn’t align with the precepts of good governance and human rights.

King Vlad’s treachery and deception are certainly open for everyone to see 
as he executes his plan of disrupting the balance of the current world order.
We all should be forewarned of the clouds of tyranny and aggression that
could be unleashed one day on the European continent and the world today.

King Vlad, despite very strong objections and economic sanctions imposed
by Western leaders and diplomats, understands only one word rendered so 
poignantly in the German language: die Macht (or Power), which lurks ever  
behind his public mask and psychological makeup as a former KGB officer.

King Vlad’s actions reflect his virtues of lying, denying, accusing, rejecting,
and criticizing—all poison arrows in his quiver as a Master of Prevarication.
His real mask is that of a Monster who had the very best Soviet teachers and 
wishes to tilt the axis of his New Russia on a collision course with the West.

And so Generalissimo Stalin . . . how do you like your nasty little boy now???

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 30, 2014)
(Narrative Quatrain)

Details | Political Poem | |

The Narcissistic Neanderthal

Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
     you  plunder through life taking no prisoners,
             with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
      tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
              What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your                                                       
      circumstance;  narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any                               
               tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede  integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free - 
      a lover of women among inept men, 
                but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with   
      runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.  
                So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting  shame,
       littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
                How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
        and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
                 From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,

I am free.

Details | Political Poem | |

Gold Fever

Gold Fever 

History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race 
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry

Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness 
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed

To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control 
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population

History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro, 
Pray in silence to The Church

Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream

The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all

We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder

And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven

Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding

Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention

An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream 
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word

And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean 
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain

If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be

Details | Political Poem | |

Old Tea Bag

Such pleasure it gives yet thrown away
believe me it will happen to us all one day,
the only way out sadly is not alive
the secret being when in; how to survive,
my place of abode the teapot nice and round
in it one needs to ready the journey bound,
to leave one’s comfort zone mashed and up the spout
there’s always a way when need’s be; to get out!

© Harry J Horsman 2014

Details | Political Poem | |

My Mother's Eyes- Thoughts on the Armenian Genocide

They dragged her away
Kicking and screaming
Arms outstretched towards
My little sister
Who lay dying on the ground
Her lips parched
Her eyes sunken
Her wasted arms reaching out
“Myreik, don’t leave me!”
 
My father pulled her away from 
The young soldier’s hands
The one who had violated her
The one who now sneered
“Keep moving….she will be dead
Before nightfall.”
 
I hurried after them
Stumbling through my tears
Afraid of being left behind
I turned for one last look
There she lay…her eyes closing
Left behind to join the
The dead along the path
My sister….
 
That night I didn’t hear her cry
Or complain as the soldiers
Dragged her away
She was beautiful
My mother
With eyes the color
Of the sea
Eyes that danced
And twinkled
Like stars on a clear night
Eyes that smiled
Eyes that embraced
Eyes that spoke
What words couldn’t say
I fell asleep to the sound of my father’s weeping
 
“Wake up,” I heard her say
As I fought to keep my dreams alive
My eyes fluttered open
I closed them to the hungry faces
I closed them to the filth on her dress
I searched her eyes
Calm and glassy
They looked past me
Not seeing
In them I read
No pain
No joy
No recognition
No….life!
Tears sprang to my eyes
Tears for the death of my sister’s body
Tears for the death of my mother’s soul…
 
My mother’s eyes
My mother’s eyes...
They haunt me still.

Details | Political Poem | |

one world one psalm

our hearts are one
our breaths are one
our thoughts are many

Details | Political Poem | |

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.