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Details | Violence Poem | |

Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
Summer, afternoon, lying wounded, next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction in a land of disgrace
A blood thirsty battlefield, is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind my hands that bled
Crawlers, rendering their lives upon the open space
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing the warm feeling 
Summer rain, lungs of blood, their last dying post
Glorious by numbers, every blade was screaming 
Gemstone losing touch, in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little closer, as if they were only dreaming
Crawling, missing limbs, twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under the walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against every last dying breath,
Dirty piles of crashing wind pipes, and sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle and dying breath

The Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on the wall, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
The fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, and face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin.
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By:PD

Details | Violence Poem | |

Screaming at the Sky


Screaming at the Sky
Mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky holding their heads helplessly as they cry pitiful tears for innocent, defenseless children slaughtered in fatal cross fires, deadly drug wars drive-by shootings, and cases of mistaken identity on blood-splattered streets, senseless endless violence; but who really gives a damn, only grief-stricken mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky.
10-21-2014

Details | Violence Poem | |

The Malkavian part 1 perfect version

His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
Drained and defeated, his family finally retreated 
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming 
The doctors sent in spoke of hope and healing 
The drugs they administered only made him more demented 
Cemented is the feeling that is life is just an echo 
Of an endless, timeless, all-consuming screaming 

His best friend is a disproportioned bird, appropriately named buddy 
Whose monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being 
Though not potent enough to stop, the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stares into the emptiness of nothingness, contemplating the beauty 
of its existence 
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite 
define
It’s hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles have fallen to the proper 
level
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness in the meticulous mastery of mindless tasks

Buddy was telling a troubling tale, of a dragon drunk off of some dwarven ale 
Who through two days, threw up flames and burnt down the tavern and town 
When the door to his room opened with a plume of plum perfume 
In stepped an inept and unkempt nurse named Nancy
Her green eyes and fiery red hair caused his heart to flutter and flair with fancy
She had quite the quiet voice and was quick to trip over her own two feet 
A bit naïve, she would easily believe anything she had heard or seen
He knew he would make her his, no matter the time nor energy 

It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper 
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn’t save him 
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prison and medication
Meditation and mantras had given him the sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming, and maybe even end it

Four years plotting and planning the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flamed fueled from an accelerant 
It raced through the halls, up the walls, over the ceiling, killing all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what felt like an instant 
Such little time to search through the bodies, looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth clinging to the bathroom faucet 
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of Nurse Nancy 
To his amazed mind, he was astonished to find, the screaming was silenced



just a note I cannot reduce the font so the lines fit without overlapping as they 
do in stanza two

Details | Violence Poem | |

Death Muses of ISIS

face down
shot dead- see fear
all round

speak- tell
they'll hear-hush now
death knell 

breathe light
killers are near
tonight


Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 11/26/14
Contest: Whispers of a Muse

Details | Violence Poem | |

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada

We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more


Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.

Details | Violence Poem | |

9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 




           
            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~









          


Details | Violence Poem | |

Before and After

Bust to the extreme 
And collide with your foes 
Be ruthless and heartless
When smash on them hoes 
Leave no stone unturned 
When your searching for a "snatch"
Always be ready 
To smash that ass 
Cause they sneaky as **** 
Waiting patiently for you to slip 
Or get down on your luck 
Then you looked surprised 
When your ass gets stuck
Like how could this happen 
How could this be 
They said they would have my back
Always 
Always and tomorrow
Are two in the same 
Cause when you wake up tomorrow 
Its today 
And always is cool 
Till it comes time for change 
And that's all I'm gonna say 
You seek fortune 
And you seek fame 
Then your a prime target
For them bogus lames 
And trifling dames 
That try to get at you in the beginning
So they can snatch your change 
When you do make a name 
Its all the same 
Every mother****ing day 
But u *****es ain't slick 
Cause you all look fake 
Like a ***** with teary eyes 
You know she got raped 
And took against her will 
Just cause some ***** ass punk 
Needed a thrill 
Well meet your maker 
I got a deal 
Cause sent down in my presence 
And your soul will get drilled 
Chilled and chopped up 
And diced up into a meal 
For the dogs to eat
Now am I keeping it real 
Or just real ill 
My fates already been sealed 
You silly bastard 
I'm on the chopping block 
And all you hear is my laughter 
Before and after 
The rapture
*****!

Details | Violence Poem | |

Water Wall


As he slept in tranquil dream, 
Suddenly he flew, it seemed. 
Thrown and landing on the floor, 
Shaking walls and splintered doors. 

Just as quick, the room grew still. 
Distant tremors he could feel. 
Out the door, and up the rock, 
There he stood in sleepy shock. 

How could oceans disappear. 
Then a hissing he could hear 
And a trembling, heavy roar 
Headed for an empty shore. 

Sunrise turned a greenish hue, 
As he climbed, a better view. 
Seeming far too large, he saw 
What must be a water wall. 

Thought of ancient stories told 
Of a wrath that could unfold; 
Sucking oceans with a breath, 
Spewing endless waves of death. 

Instinct quickly cleared his mind. 
Panic now, he clawed and climbed. 
Up, despite the screams he hears, 
As a village disappears. 

Once an evil came to call, 
Scooped them up and took them all. 
Now he's old, his stories wane, 
Of the morning Satan came.


Gene Bourne 
08-18-14


.

.

 

Details | Violence Poem | |

Remembering When

I remember when . . . 
kids fought at school.
At worst, they’d end up with a bloody nose.
But kids today get bullied publicly
and ridiculed on You Tube videos.

I remember when . . .
folks’ arguments
took place and few of us were “in the know.”
Today, though, we see idiots galore
that cuss and brawl on Jerry Springer's show.

I remember when. . .  
brutality  
was televised when kids were tucked in bed.
Now your child need only type the word
and see a victim get shot in the head.

I remember when. . . 
 we had a war,
but it was “cold” and seemed to be maintained.
Today the terror is at your own mall.
We’ve lost  -  in spite of all that we have gained.

Details | Violence Poem | |

Twixt Blaze and Claw

Abuses hurled and Alcohol gurgled,
In the vortex of confusion
And blurred vision.
Intoxicated pleasure from surreal leisure.
Fooled senses and numbed conscience.
Wiped existence of love and kindness cuffed.

Lashed at the one he once loved.
Cringed and clung to her faint faith.
She and her cursed fate.
Exploding paroxysm of hate.

Her whipped ivory skin and bleeding lips,
Eyes with teary tinge,
Has the harvest moon singed.
Stillness of the night, pierced
By memories of bitterness-sodden years.

"Hurt me not", she trembled with fear,
"let me live for my girl, dear".

The cries colored skies crimson.
Just one reason--Her little girl.
 
As her daughter stared
With flaming locks and eyes that flared.

By Angom Amy (15)

Details | Violence Poem | |

FGM

*
Female sexuality
Fanatically robbed
Fraught with violation
Forever left in shame.
Folds of indignity
Forceful invasiveness 
Fulfilling love denied.


-------------------------------------------
*I feel very strongly about this topic.
  Have been meaning to bring it up.
  This Pleiades is short but meaningful.
--------------------------------------------

Contest: Any Poem#29
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A.
Placing: 2nd

Details | Violence Poem | |

When Hell Froze Over

When Hell Froze Over


 Trees shed their leaves,
 the worms dig in deeper
 Mothers cry and grieve
 woman is the best weeper

 Cold blasting each night,
 birds froze on the ground
 Sad hell was the fight
 no hope was ever found

 Winter ate their souls,
 the keepers of evil hearts
 Soldiers fought epic goals
 the dead filled the carts

 War or cold killed more,
 dead is dead, hope gone
 Wasted prayers to implore
 heroes frozen all alone

 Trail, path frozen dead,
 winter sent home too soon
 asleep but not in a bed
 never to sing another tune

 Retreat frenchmen knew well,
 as their army frozen there
 Now germans found this hell
 in the frozen land of the bear!

 Robert J.Lindley, 09-20-2014
 Note:
 Hitler's armies were frozen out just as were Napoleon's in the previous century. Russian winter was an enemy that killed mercilessly.The winter of 1941-42 was one of the worst in  recorded history. Daily temperatures fell to 40 degrees below zero. German soldiers had not been issued with warm winter clothing as Hitler believed that the invasion would be over by the winter. Soldiers froze to death in their sleep,
 diesel froze in fuel tanks and food was in very  short supply. Russian soldiers had been issued with winter clothing and did not suffer as badly as their German enemies....

Details | Violence Poem | |

Tough

A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such 
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and 
taken from her own personal experience.

I was defined china and porcelain, 
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy, 
Pleading and begging not to be broken.

I loved him with total forgiveness, 
Did not, could not, would not understand 
The dark chaos mood of lability, 
The spontaneous violence of his hand.

Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled 
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion, 
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.

How could he dream to hurt me so, 
The brutish malediction of his touch?  
How could he stand to hurt me so, 
When he knew I loved him so much?

And now the years have drained away 
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart 
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.

I still see him some times, 
Rarely, truly out of the blue, 
On the old territory of familiar streets 
When unconsciously passing through.

And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.

And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.

Details | Violence Poem | |

She is more

She is, exactly what he wanted to see
His erotic fantasy
Every teenage boys playboy bunny dream

Look at how you come onto me
Lost, destroyed soul is all i will ever see
U disgust the innermost,
deepest feelings in me

She is the beauty queen
The one from your dreams
She doesn't even look like she bleeds
Imagine how she screams...

Perfect without a flaw
Take her on the wall
Have her spread all over the floor
Dont even close the door
Look at what you all came here for

Destroy her pride
Till shes got nowhere left to hide
Give her your might once more
Until she cannot take it anymore

Look into the eyes of all your lies
Realize every hurt you've given in your life
This is your whore
& now shes all bloody and sore
The same girl next door,
that u begged for more

You've burnt your soul to the core
A deed done
With blood on your hands
Listen, to your screaming fans

Shes just one of those,
that you used to love
You stole all her fairy dust 
and turned it into lust.



Details | Violence Poem | |

Slouching Toward Ferguson

His life was gentle, and the elements
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and
smolder

bodies in unregistered cars idling softly toward oblivion

some quick to anger
some quick to profit
some quick for justice
some tigers lapping blood
some mothers still at 3AM

hands on shoulders with coos commanding
that in a tear and turned cheek there be 'integration'

parody: an orphan annie reboot
parody: 'little black sambo 'round the tiger pit he go!'

we have rioted the last of our colors
bleated them with flexed toes to the wall at the edge of the universe to reverberate starless between
eternity
nothing
and madness

we have bleated the last of our colors
with centuries gone by without tongue, sockets or lobes

we will bleed the last of our colors
some quick to die
some quick to steal
some quick to burn
some quick to 

lend me your car keys

in a night of full of Alarics
I will bury you

in a night full of piccaninnies
I will melt you to butter

in a night where flames are fishhooks
Sir I need you to step back please

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
that
we have cried Havoc
let slip
and with purple'd prose stamped this hollowed earth

We who have lived so long
Sir?
shall with our breath turned mist
I need you to
stain only under stones
step
that pave with slippery breath
back
a headline for last weeks massacre
step
and tomorrow's graves
I need you to
I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it They are not breathing
Look! Look there!
No. I will not.
He dies

Details | Violence Poem | |

'and another stiff one for my drunken pen'

mulberry moonshine




the world can be a rabid dog, a goD frothing backwards while Mr. Clean reads 
a sermon from the pulpit as a false prophet causing me to yell, "Shim-shum 
shimmeny-shum, up from the shadows of the Shoalin slum! Fee-fi-foe-fum, 
eye smell the blood of a fallen one!" My pen was a sword, 'twas inevitable eye 
would end up skewered upon its venomous tip as violence begets violence yet 
silence is just a distorted sort of violent indifference. Live by the s.word, die by 
the s.word, so eye buried ghosts in the sands of Kyushu, revamped my stylo 
into a drunken vomit spewing masochist churning blood and piss into another 
batch of sum county mulberry moonshine. Instead of a wu-tang sword, eye have 
me a la la la la la la la la la lush of a drunken quill spilling forth the woo to the foo 
times twenty-two thousand and dirty-three. Blame it on the pen, but wot came first,
the chicken or the egg? Who is the bad influence on whom, weaving excuses on a 
loom propped up by yet another empty bottle of the wicked county prune. Eye want 
to write lines of eloquence filled with bullfrogs and butterflies, rainbows and baby's 
breath, but this drunken pen has a mind of its own, slithering in-between the scene 
of salesmen saying it from rusted metallic mountaintops, "I have found the way, 'tis 
not YOUR way, so cut your hair son ok!" Hey hey hey! wot are you referring to? 
Elohim, miholah, bespolah, holapsfofahcahmall? ?Fofahcahmall? Theysbe suddenly 
sounding very small while this pen of mine is drinking itself into a stupour, brewing 
up another stew of vomiticus grammaticus long.windy.gusts - eye didn't intend on 
rhyming these lines, my drunken pen has once again taken over, pushing me to 
letgoletgo and pray in hopes that it drinks itself straight in order for bullfrogs,
butterflies and everything nice like sugar, lollipops and rainbows to finally begin to 
show from out of the freaky flow of this ultra triple-distilled drunken ink - slow right 
down into something quaint and normal, wash this drunken mess down the sink 
without having to fink with my dirty think, my dirty think - the first sign of the crime 
is denial - drunken pen, drunken hand? Drunken hand, drunken pen? Oh good Lord, 
here come the bends once again, yeah, here come the bends again, there's only one 
thing left to do and it's to fold this paper into a neat package eye can mail off to the 
People-In-The-Sky so they can offer me some insight into all of the reasons why

Details | Violence Poem | |

I HAVE DIED SO LONG AGO

I have died so long ago.
The pieces of my bones were buried in Sheol.
It was so dark where I lay now.
My flesh is rotten and almost gone.
I have lived once in this world,
Where a loving family I was involved.
A dearest mom who loved me so,
Loving siblings I treasured most!
I'm a free-spirited young lady.
I love to entertain the world,
Wind hums as I hit the notes.
The nature  became my hidden world.
I was once  a fruit in a tree.
Until one day, a harvester picked me.
Still unripe, too young and fresh.
He stole my innocence.
Too many years past and my seed grew.
I have started bearring fruits.
But the harvester did not content, 
He pulled me out from where I'd been.
He murdered me on one darkest night.
Then buried me beneath the ground.
I'm so helpless, no voice to shout!
My breath is counting one by one.
Until I surrendered the last air in my lungs.
I have died so long ago.
This girl that you used to know,
Isn't the one who writes a poem.
She had died so long ago.
She walks every night to find her home.



Details | Violence Poem | |

Enemies of the Peace

Enemies of the peace
Are not consecrating the life
Tampering with the nature
Crucifying the childhood
On the sidewalks
Burying the chastity
In the brothels
Killing the light
Before coming the dark

Enemies of the peace
Adoring the wars
Kissing the poverty
Dreaming with the famines
Clapping for catastrophes
Destroying everything
Schools
Hospitals
Synagogues
Churches
Mosques
Temples

Enemies of the peace
They want to uproot feelings
To extinguish the flaming longing
In the hearts
And burn the growing yearning
In depths of humans

Enemies of the peace
Robbing the dreams
Jailing the tears
Deforming the colors
Crushing the flowers
Turning off the hope

Enemies of the peace
Not knowing the love
Not appreciating the values
Not believing in the peace .....................

Details | Violence Poem | |

A Soul Cries

A soul cries yet nobody hears him
They say he has neither a head nor limbs
But he has a soul and a spirit
Undesirable is the soul to be taken from the womb

A soul cries yet nobody hears him
His voice is so mild that no one can hear him
He’s damned for a crime he didn’t commit 
No supplication and inspiration to share

A soul still cries yet nobody hears him
He has neither words nor songs to hymn
He’s languishing from a lashing whip 
A victim to hatred, dubiety and immorality 

A soul cries yet nobody seems to care
He pleas for his precious life to be spared
Yet with a mild voice no one will give an ear
 With despair he cries and screams into the night

A soul cries yet this girl has turned a deaf ear
A voice tells her “eliminate him from here” 
But a master fate will sometimes have it to be
The Dame escorted him six feet underground

The Poet Preacher © 2014

Details | Violence Poem | |

I Am One Of Them

Life's Hard
It's filled with pain
And misery
My mind is stained
Stained with every memory

Sometimes I think today will be my last day
This place causes me so much pain
I wish I didn't have to stay

Some days are worse than others
I'm starving
Dying for food
I'd do anything

To many things go through my head
Will I be able to keep down my next meal?
Will I live for tomorrow?
Is this terrifying place even real?

I feel so alone
Yet I'm surrounded by people
But this place could not be called a home
There's no life in these places
Or in these faces

Everyone looks dead
As so do I
Most of us haven't been fed

My eyes have been marked
With these dead bodies that lay upon the ground
Without a soul I still look at them
Soon I may be found
As one of them

Details | Violence Poem | |

Odin's Army

I fell in battle, sword in hand, 
Invading someone else’s land.
Then I saw her, and she reached down, 
To escort me from the battleground.
I’d let her take me anywhere, 
With her winged helmet and braided hair.

She had me stand ‘neath Odin’s throne, 
Where each warrior must stand alone.
One-eyed Odin judged me to be 
Worthy to serve in his last army….
Daily killed and resurrected--
(Not quite the afterlife expected!)

Samurais taught me to sword-fight.	 
I learned spear and shield from a Hoplite.	
Vikings taught me the battle axe, 
And the Persians taught me sneak attacks.
We die each day and then come back, 
Always practicing for Ragnorak.

She brings me mead, my Valkyrie, 
And sometimes at night she favors me.
Since she’s nearby, it’s just as well--
This isn’t Heaven, but not quite Hell.
We’ll fight and sing to the war drums, 
Waiting the day that Ragnorak comes.


(Chorus)
Our days are spent in miseries, 
But at night we have the Valkyries.
Riposte and lunge, thrust and parry; 
That’s all we do in Odin’s army.

Details | Violence Poem | |

If You Would Know,Kelly

We run behind you
Kill your love on the bend street
Playing the dirty game
If you would know,kelly
-that they are like me !

They call for war
Make dam on new hope
Can't bear your smile
Your free will and self-reliance
They are dying to die
Kelly;if you would know
-that they love you more than I!

Now you may reject me
But can't overcome them
If you would know,kelly
-that they are among us
Sit besides you
walk in the crowds
Same human feature,

You feel sorry to know that
They don't like to be human more!

Details | Violence Poem | |

Don't Fall

~Don’t Fall ~

Yet another restless night
Bad dreams every other hour
I turn on the light hoping 
It will calm me down 
Yet it takes me back in time
And there he stands
Like a shadow in the night 
Naked as can be 
Laughing an evil laugh
As he says to me
Mio Piccola Puttana
I can’t let him get to me
So please teardrops

~Don’t Fall~

I look into the mirror
I see that pasty skin
Paired with double chins
I think to myself starving won’t Even get the fat off
Fast enough
I feel so defeated yet still
I tell myself 
Teardrops

~Don’t Fall~

Looking for a way out
I feel like I am stuck inside my Past
Reliving every moment
One after another
It feels like it is happening all over Again
I feel the tears in my eyes so I say
Teardrops please

~Don’t Fall~

Now I can see him in the faces of Strangers
I feel so alone and out of place
I still force myself to get up each Day
Even though I want to hide 
It is such a struggle 
Day after day
And to add to the pain 
I have to make sure those
Tears 

~Don’t Fall~

If you touch me I might break
If you are hear to see me 
Please don’t hurt me 
That I wouldn’t be able to take
Know that I am like a dam ready To break
So if you were to hug me 
Hold my hand or touch me 
In any other comforting way
This dam may break 
And there won’t be any telling 
The tears 

~Don’t Fall~

Details | Violence Poem | |

Reflecting on Police Brutality

It was the spring of ‘74 when my student peers and I
were on the tail end of a group excursion  
through southern Spain, across Gibraltar’s Strait
and into the exotic northern tip of Africa.
I remember lots of greenery and mountains
and the fascinating sights and sounds inside Tangier,
but one small thing that happened somewhere between
the time we viewed the landscape we traversed 
and our time inside our destination city
stands out in my mind forevermore.

Our bus had briefly stopped on the street of a town.
I was looking out the window when I glimpsed a child,
looking poor and ragged, not so old.
He ran down the block with an orange in his hand,
an older man behind him in pursuit.
Quickly I observed that the man 
was a type of law enforcement officer,
 for he wielded a long strong stick
which he proceeded to use on the unfortunate lad
once he had caught up to him.

The event was very near our bus, 
so I could watch with growing horror
as this country’s version of a cop
unleashed brutality on a fellow human being,
a boy who was no doubt simply starved for food.
I saw the heavy stick fall repeatedly
till it struck the boy’s ear and blood gushed out. . . 

I would later view ornate gold buildings in Tangier,
 see colorful hand-crafted clothes and rugs, and smell
the aromas of strange delightful foods,
but beneath all that wonder was the singular event
that stayed inside my brain.

I think of my own country - free, so very free,
with laws against “this kind of thing” that had appalled me;
a land so free that gangs of filthy evil men, 
even sometimes with the help of the police,
had in days of yore lynched the black man
for crimes as meager as the taking of that orange,
or worse, for no crime at all!
Hateful mobs had beat and hanged
men and women, even children,
In the midst of the beauty of 
fragrant magnolia trees . . .

Civil Rights has done a lot 
to eradicate these horrors, yet even now,
a remnant of the Ku Klux Klan mentality
exists inside the minds of some, and even in
 the minds of some we trust to uphold the law.
I cannot know the thoughts that enter
the minds of law enforcers who think they are confronting
a person who they’ve deemed a criminal. 
I cannot know their fear when they see, perhaps,
what they suppose to be a weapon.
We cannot know their backgrounds 
or if they harbor prejudice against another color
or against the lower class.
The court and the jury decide the fate of those
who have used what our society may see as undue force.
God alone will judge them in the end.

We, as citizens of all the world, must be aware
that violence can be used
when the threat of it against themselves
is perceived by our police.
How sad to think that some of those 
who serve to offer us protection ,
whether out of ignorance, fear, or prejudice,
are using brutality so haphazardly. 

Those in my own country who have seen 
or even experienced police brutality
must have felt the same horror I felt the day I saw
a child beaten in a foreign land.
Who am I to judge another country
when mine is also mired still in sin?
God help us all to fight against 
the inane and unjust cruelty of those
who practice police brutality.

Details | Violence Poem | |

Now

I feel the world crashing around me,
my breath fading.

Pain surges through my body.

I fear my hope of life is diminishing.

All is lost I can feel the regret of every lost sole.

I long for relief but all I feel is torture.

When will it all end, when will the last hour be, how will I suffer death?