Violence History Poems | Violence Poems About History

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Details | Ottava rima |

El Puente Nuevo, Ronda, Spain 1936

Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside

Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?

They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.

Copyright © Alexander Blackie | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

The Outlaw's Angel, Part II

...Burke grabbed Aura and they both ran out,
riding double on his trusty horse.
The word raced quickly through the town,
a posse was formed, as a matter of course.
So Burke pushed his mount, more and more.
They couldn’t go back, despite acts justified,
not when two men, one a sherriff, had died.

So they rode, pursuers hot on their trail,
until they reach a ranch high the peaks.
Burke pulled a gun while Aurelia seized
a new horse, both study and sleek.
The rancher fumed, too angry to speak.
Burke apologized, gave him all his gold,
then sped off again into mountains cold.

Two days passed, the posse drew close,
and both their horses started to flag.
No longer able to outrun their hunters,
Burke mad camp high up in a crag,
where he could shoot safely if they attacked.
The posse appeared in the meadow below,
lead the by the sherriff’s oldest, known as Milo.

“Surrendor now, or we’ll shoot you down!”
They shouted it as they stared to climb.
But before Burke could even open his mouth
the air exploded with shrill, Indian cries.
A horde of Bannocks their arrows let fly!
They swept into the meadow, circling fast.
The posse died quickly, not long could they last.

Burke and Aurelia hid low in the rocks
until the last of the Bannocks had left.
Not much was left of the posse below,
they lay still, and were mostly scalpless.
But one figured crawled amongst the dead.
Burke climbed down, still clutching his gun,
and loomed over the sheriff's bloodied son.

“You won’t believe me, but I’ll say it now,
I acted only out of self-defense.
You’re father and Grisby were gunning for me,
and Grisby was putting his hands on my friend.
There choices brought them to their ends.”
But Milo just snarled, and crawled away,
Burke and Aura sighed, and left him that way.

No one from Tillico ever saw them again,
even when Milo put a bounty of their hides.
Some say they made for themselves new names
and peacefully lived out their lives.
Others said, like most outlaws, they died...
And if you all liked this tale that you just heard,
Tell your friends about me, Bruce Bowden the Third.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Iambic Pentameter |

Lost Identity: View point of a slave

Why is my skin color different?
Did God make me this way?
When he made me, did he have
intentions on me being a slave?

And I thought we were all brothers,
including all the ones of different colors.

But why are they beating and hurting the others.
Someone save me, I didn't choose this life.
These scars, they've carved me with the sharpest

All I have is my faith.
Because if I'd held on to anything else
it'd be theres to take.

What is it that I ask for?
Equality, I preach.
Something small to you, 
but makes a difference
for me.

Whipping, spitting, hitting on me.
Raping our women in your wife's sheets.
Taking our children and turning them into workers.
No sense of empathy, grief or composer.

For the brotha' on my left and my sista' on the right,
with the courage that I hold I will continue to fight.
You have taken away my freedom, and most of my life.
But what you have failed to obtain is my state of mind.

Go ahead work my body, and do all that you please.
This is just a shell anyway, it's not coming with me.
You spit, you laugh, thinking you gained the world.
You think you have power because you've raped a young girl.

Stand tall sir with all of that pride.
And go ahead and hold it until the day that you die.
But your day will come when you'll fall to your knees.
Feeling the burn on your body from the whips you've given me.

"The LORD is my shelter,"
I continue to say.
While my soul goes up as God takes me away.
I wish you peace with smile on my face,
knowing that God teaches the fullness of grace.

Copyright © Amber Binford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epitaph |

John F Kennedy

John F. Kennedy 1917-1963 The great 35th president of US It wasn't really a success He tried to stop the missile bases There were lot of angry faces When there was about to be a war Peace was what he asked for Texas was the place he was shot Later, the criminal was caught He didn't survive the pain His people cried like the rain

Copyright © Heeju Kim | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

We All Bleed Red

Thoughts swirling in my head
Remembering we all bleed red
Life is a tapestry
True happiness a dream
Such a confusing world
Paradise yet to be seen
A country with a dark past 
Some hauntings still last
Unwilling to change, planted in lead
Feel it with your heart and head
No crystal ball
No room to fall
Deeper into our subconscious
Life is far too precious
A bitter pill
Such a large hill
Let freedom ring
Let children sing
Saying hell no
Not in our name
This is a political game
Most looking for fame
Dig a grave
Hell, it's a road you paved 
Here to make waves
 Those who are adverse
Stuck with the curse
Burden on the young
Who is truly free
It will never be you or me
We mourn over the dead
A nation so divided
We are tainted
From birth we are painted
Who are the real heros
We all have blood on our hands
Invisible to most
Only the true can see
Even on our homeland
We have a roll to play
History is witten in stone
Learn from it instead of beating it to the bone
Our futute is only written in clay
Still malleable
All life is valuable
Old school. . New school
It is what's in our hearts
Time to stop tearing one another apart
Just take a stand
Even if you walk alone
Hold your head up high
What is life if you are to afraid to fly?
We all bleed red
Time for a transformation
Get ready to shed 
Change doesn't come easy
Fear those with nothing to lose
We all deserve to live as we choose
Get ready because we all have a voice
Step up and make a choice
We condemn those we don't know
Some of us even for show
Confusion runs through me
Unsure of how things should be
My constant idealistic views
Desperately grasping not to become jaded
Dreaming of a utopia
Generations before us
Marching through the gas
Fighting for peace and love
Is the joke on me?
Is there something I can't see? 
Scared for our youth
Where are the leaders?
Put personal pride aside
Stand tall
Take risks
Look in the mirror
It's time to live without fear

Copyright © Raina Makdissy | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |

He Returned Home from the War


He returned home from the war, but he did not stay,
For he returns to the war that he must fight every day;
He keeps in silence the torments that rage inside
As they are tethered to the horrors that he must hide.

He returned home from the war, but still in his mind
Are the acts of destruction so vividly defined.
O’, there is no more reality, for hell has taken its toll
From the wages of a war that now burdens his soul!

He abandoned the war for a tranquil home,
But onto the battlefield he returns to roam;
And within his mind the fallen have come to retire
As languishing ghosts from the smoke and the fire.

He now suffers the despair that has come forth to define
The images of war that rage in his mind;
He hears the voices each night from the darkness inside
That resound from the horrors that he must hide.

He returned home from the war, but only to find,
The ghosts of a war that now lurk in his mind.
He does not speak of these things that haunt inside,
So he endures the anguish that he must hide.

He returned home from the war, but he cannot escape,
And he’s become an effigy with a monstrous shape,
O’ he hates the regrets; he hates what lingers inside
Where the torments of war shall forever reside!

Copyright © Robert Liam McCallum | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |


Does it not shimmer to the shine, the steel blade
Of dead reckonings ultimate design, cold is
Its fine edged point, a slicing masterpiece,
Of revolutionary engineering, behold deaths
Chopping silver anvil, the guillotine!
Polished by rags dipped crimson blood,
Washed by virgin waters of the fallen innocent,
From the martyr to the beggar thief,
It mattered not, to this abomination of
Humanities creation.
It wished nothing more except to be fed,
The head stones of the living, reveling in their
Screams of pain, and savoring the victims liquid
River of bodily fluids of terrors anguish.
A flashing chopping block, held and fastened,
By two wooden beams, apparatuses executioner,
Welding a suspended sword of destiny, at a
Ropes pivot center of weights mass,
Of crime or injustice!
The hooded condemned kneel underneath this,
Metal toothed demonic demon, praying
Their deaths to be swift, begging God
For salvation's intervention, but the beast
Awaits hungrily, demanding his tributes prize,
A bloody sacrifice of flesh and bone!
It almost seems to be a living entity,
Waiting, anticipating the carnage that is
To come, as the celebrating crowds gather.
Death’s grim reaper, kicks over the bags
Of weighted sand, just then the biting
Giant hammer clamps down, the final cut is done,
And the head basket of doom, is full at last!
The kindred brethren of the now deceased,
Yell hurray at this gruesome grandiose display,
Of carnages dismemberment and bloody
Theatrics, applauding for more!
Does it not shimmer to the shine, the steel blade
Of dead reckonings ultimate design, cold is
Its fine edged point, a slicing masterpiece,
Of revolutionary engineering, behold deaths
Chopping silver anvil, the guillotine!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Enclosed Rhyme |

Shock and awe

Shock and awe

You can take away my freedom
You can take away my rights
But you will never take away
What I believe is right

You can hunt me and chase me
You can try with all your might
But you will never take away 
What I believe is right

For 100 years or more
You have been knocking at my door
The tyrants and the despots
The army and the law

But there will come a day
When we'll be free
And we will live in harmony
And the world will live as one

Bush and Blair they have no cares
Now there both millionaires
They talked about shock and awe
But all we got was a horrible war

With 100.000 dead
And many many more
We will never know the final toll
But we know who ran off with the oil

The tyrants and the despots
Are they the ones to blame
Or is it Bush and Blair
Who should hang their heads in shame>

Copyright © Michael Ward | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

The Fault Line

The fault line streamed from the Nazi state,
The Jewish Shoah, Holocaustic fate.
Mongolia, Croatia, and Belarus,
Humanity had no excuse.

Rwanda, Burundi, and South Sudan, 
The full scope of terror's sad sway,
In Cambodia they pointed their fingers
To where the horrid 'Killing Fields' lay.

The dire purges in Mother Russia, by the brutal Stalinist guild,
Ancient Turkey, the Ottoman Empire, so many Armenians killed,
And legions of Greeks to their deaths there went, 
Assyrians too, until nearly spent.

The fault line leaves remains that burn,
We see them ever, and then,
The hard way is how we have to learn,
Over and over again.

The fault line runs on steel rails across the "American" land,
A tomb, a gloom, an iron doom, for my wife's native band.

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

memories of a Green Beret

Memories of a Green Beret

“Where have all the soldiers gone, Long time passing,
Where have all the soldiers gone, Long long time ago,
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Gone to graveyards, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?"

(an old anti-war folk song from the 60's)

Ho Chi Mihn Trail....'68

Ten warriors camouflaged in wait
Prepared to deal a grisly fate
Hunkered down in jungled hell
Assured they've set the ambush well.
In silence they lay upon the route
When 'Charles' walks in…. he won't walk out.

A cacophony of fire and screams
Laid down with deadly skills, this team;
With claymore mines and booby traps
Left fifteen fragged and torn or zapped.
A trail once quiet, now instead,
Was piled with black pajama'ed dead

A kill zone full of empty life,
From M16 and combat knives.
Metallic smells of blood and gore….
Back to the bush, fear to the core;
On the run, escape, evade
This area where the trap was laid.

Bust thru brush at breakneck speed
Thru swamp and bramble, cutting reeds.
They're on your ass, their voices near
Being captured is your highest fear.
If you're caught you won't survive.
They'll disembowel you, flayed alive.
Your final screams, heard near and far,
The price you pay for what you are.

In time you finally get away,
But it was the VC's judgment day
Praise God we lived, is what you pray.
Old memories of a Green Beret

As on and on this game of chess,
Your mind starts crumbling with the stress.
More bloody trails and bloody hunts
And soon gone thirteen bloody months.
You pack for home and say a prayer
For those you know that's still back there.

The sights and smells flash on and on
Though fifty years have come and gone.
They steal your brain and steal your calm
Sometimes you think you're back in 'Nam.
And still today played o'er and o'er
Are vivid flashbacks of the war:

Young warrior's lives, gone much too soon
Dying moans and pumping wounds
Flashing guns in hot fire fights
In wet and frigid jungle nights.
Camps attacked in human waves
Death piled high in bulldozed graves
Fear like ice picks in your brain
Comes with horrid scenes and pain
Prisoners tossed from chopper flights
Blood smeared chaplains give last rites
Green bags filled with body parts
Images not for faint of heart
Fear that drives you up the wall
Soothed by weed and alcohol
Village kids all blown apart
Blood and guts served 'a la carte '
Air support with steel and flames
Dog tag heaps with buddies names
Rot gut beer, Saigon whores
Seeping rotten jungle sores

Now, most are gone, long died away.
While others here are silver gray
Their comrades gone, now mostly dead,
They fight the fight still, in their heads
Late of night, in sleep they shout.
"Medic here, he's bleeding out.
Call in support--lay down some fire,
God help us all, they're in the wire."

I pen these words and I decree
They were ten times best what I could be.
My praise and prayers I'll not detract
For the many who never made it back.
From long ago and far away........
These memories of an old Green Beret

Author's Note: to all my old comrades, MANY WHOM never made it back
...De Oppresso in peace old friends-- Sergeant First Class Frederick Moore
, 6th SF, 7th SF, and 46th SF Thailand......

Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |


Neither a fable, 
Nor a tale, 
This is a fact,
A story to tell,
To everyone, female and male.
To generations, younger and frail.

About a threat, a monster from the East,
That struck the world like a beast,
Attacked Europe by cold and mist,
Oceans of horsemen, millions at least,
Ravaged cathedrals, and crucified the priest,

How to cope and fight and face the ghoul?
How to reason with a barbarian, a crazy fool?
How to prevent a suicidal conflict to pacify and cool?
How to save the lore, the patrimony and the living soul?
How to reconcile with the unknown and use the best tool?
That was the question... 
That was the wisdom to lead and rule,

The Pope decided to answer in peace,
Then sent Carpini after a blessing..And a kiss,
Advising him to inform...and not to miss,
To meet the Eastern father, son nephew and niece,
To call for salvation and the Chris,

As soon as the monk began to trace,
With a great shock he started to face,
An unusual nation that was in race,
With time, with weather, with the cosmos and space,
No one could classify it, No one could place,
Its barbarity, Nay! its grace,

They consume everything, greens, pulses including rice,
They are carnivorous, they eat mice,
They spare not a single creature, including lice,
All seem to them, healthy and nice,
They worship Shamanism, horses and they play dice,
They conquer for pleasure, and race with the skies,

When Carpini reached the rising sun,
The great Mongol..The supreme Khan,
Who crashed Empires, who enslaved the Han,
Who scared newborn babies, woman and man,
Who, no one refused him, and who dared had to run,
For his life, for his family, for his entire clan,
Then Carpini approached the formal bar,
And addressed himself to the Lord Tatar,
Explaining to him that he came from far,
To preach Christendom not the Latin Lar,

Before the monk finishing his say,
The lord stood up! Angrily, with a reply,
"Go back to your Pope! Before I'll flay,
You" and tell him that the Tatar ray,
Is invincible in a warfare-play,

Fearful, the priest returned deceived,
More than what he saw and what he perceived,
How would he break the news? How would he read?
The powerful message, the humiliating creed!
In the end, he stood on his heart and then he did,
Europe was ready for the Great War,
Nations of the crucifix, thousands and more,
The bells of alarm sounded the lands, and the shore,
To prevent the conquest, that was the heart! And the core!
The call was "fight or flight" or seal your door!

But halfway...they turned blind,
To change plan, they did not mind,
To strike east, and there to find,  
A city of lore of rich and kind,
Baghdad the marvel that enlightens the blind,

There! They killed; they mutilated in countless,
There! They burnt libraries that were priceless!
They pillaged, they raped they were heartless,
No mercy, no help, the Baghdadeans were helpless,
To defend themselves against the infidel 
Barbarian Godless!
No place was spared from vandalism,
Places of worship and mysticism,

Circles of learning and sciolism,
Poetry, literature and euphemism, 
All had gone with "Gog and Magog" the cataclysm!
But "Ain Jalout" was the battlefield,
For generations to pick and read,
In history, and faith and heretical creed,
Where all religions had met indeed,

In a bloody war, all had to bleed,
In the end, the Armageddon had to finish,
To slow the spiting dragon and diminish,
Its arrogance, its myth and tarnish,
Its long lasting reputation, had to vanish,
Forever to allow another war and a skirmish.  
How would I judge? What would I say?

Was it a truth or was it a lie? 
Genghis Khan, and Kublai Khan,
Hulaku, Munghe Khan and low and high,
Were they all barbarians, or were all lasting heroes not to die?
This is the last verse and point to specify.

Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |


Martyr for eternity a victor of war, burned at the stake
a young women of God's grace
she rightly took her place years later 
as a Catholic Saint

Though persecuted, victimized and tortured
she never gave up her rightfully place
as visions continued with brilliance and grace
of a castle in the air it's presence no longer disguised

"The Maid of Orleans", from a poor farmer bred of French descent
she never accepted downfall or dread
blood of a legacy that will never pass on 
only in history books to discover her fore

A song that will always sing from the river of Seine
her ashes will always remain from the people who were unkind
for a glorious young lady so majestic and immortalized
her spirits vitality will forever shine.

9/9/2015  Contest sponsored by: Isaiah Zerbst  ( Joan of Arc )

History Poem

Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Into A Dark Raging Storm, Tempest And Hail

Into A Dark Raging Storm, Tempest And Hail

Into a dark raging storm, tempest and hail
alas, sadly all was to be to no avail.
Twelve pounders broke loose crashing about
some over the wind praying in a shout.

Prisoners chained below all in great fear
great many had shed a tortured tear.
Captured when their frigate this enemy sank
praying for their life and safe bank.

Thunder rolled and invisible hammers pound
every loud creak an ominous sound.
That morn crew had blessed the arrowy sun
and good lord for all he had done.

Now hit by waves capable of breaking stone
each man felt terror and all alone.
Moment came when ship was tossed up high
and each one saw his life pass by.

Next splashing water and cursing the sea
survivors and no ship could they see.
Down it had went with prisoners in chains
sea graveyard dead,no longer in pain.

Found one life boat still there and afloat
six sailors climbed aboard the boat.
Storm had calmed enough for them to see
they may yet hold kids on their knee.

No longer daring to swear and deeply curse
thanks gave having survived the worse.
No time to mourn the stormy sea taken dead
each prayed to a merciful God instead!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-21-2015


(1.) "frigate"-
A frigate /'fr?g?t/ is any of several types of warship, the term having been used for ships of various sizes and roles over the last few centuries. In the 17th century, this term was used for any warship built for speed and maneuverability, the description often used being "frigate-built"

 (2.)" Twelve pounder"

Twelve pounder:
The twelve-pound cannon is a cannon that fires twelve-pound projectiles
 from its barrel, as well as grapeshot, chainshot, shrapnel, and later
 shells and canister shot.[1] It was first used during the Tudor 
period[2] and was commonly used during the Napoleonic Wars, 1799-1815.
 At this time 12 lbers were largest caliber of long-barreled field 
pieces, and were used both at long range against fortifications and 
troop concentrations using round shot and against attacking infantry 
and cavalry using canister shot. As such the 12 lber was a favorite 
weapon of the Grande Armée. Later, redesigned 12 lbs were named after
 Napoleon III and found heavy use during the American Civil War.
12-pounders were also carried on naval vessels of various sizes. 
Unlike their land based cousins, such weapons were considered light
 by naval standards. They formed the main armament of smaller frigates,
 and were used on the upper decks of larger vessels, where their 
relatively lighter weight would not be a problem. They were commonly 
found on the quarterdeck of British Ships of the line like HMS Victory 
though their main weapons were the larger 24 and 32 pound cannon, 
capable of shattering the hulls of enemy warships and killing the gun
 crews with a deadly shower of splinters.[3]

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Nothing More Or Less

Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
Imagination trims
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Hollywood rounds
Quills deliver
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less

My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less

I cringed for originality 
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED 
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less

Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark 
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Ideological War of the Worlds

 The coming times can unfold,
far accross to all lands,
the casting shadow has fallen,
with it's far reaching hands,
accross our four cornered world,,
 Humanity progressed to progressive sufferage,
that comes with many names,
the ideology won without a shot,
convinced populations into guilted shame,
lost are voices of courage,,
 The warring world will arise,
between makers and takers,
parasitic ideology's green eyed mind,
re-writing regulations by progressive thinkers,
big brother's utopian great enterprise,,
 Dependent we all become, parasitically,
even forced fed into submission,
by governmental state so enlarged,
numbered you are by institution,
nothing owned, only redistributed cynically,,
 Paupers suffer under progressive fortitude,
soulless programs of living propaganda,
your worth, what you produce,
socialized into this living agenda,
living taxed products of servitude,
           , and then...
 The rise will come independent,
carrying courage and freedom proudly,
with wisdoms weapon in hand,
knowledge in the other soundly,
honor reclaimed by the sentient,,
 Independent declarations germinating from seed,
feared by any progressive regime,
warriors in freedom stand tall,
threatened is the progressive dream,
renewing freedoms that will breed,,
 The liberty that spawned revolution, 
alive from all moral conceptions,
viewed as evil that's progressive,
feared are soulless seeking redemption,
the light of liberty's salvation,,
 Beating freedoms of sentient heart,
the salvation of fighting worth,
a force greater than any darkness,
warriors of liberty step forth,
champions of honor that impart,,
     , next, the final chapter of...
 Ideological war of the worlds,
eye to eye never seen,
the hatred between clearly drawn,
problems with peace to intervene,
the conflict as it unfolds,,
 Coming as thieves of night,
armys on both sides  comes,
fortifying and building societial walls,
truth and lies propaganda welcomes,
armored suited masses to fight,,
 Emerges the lights of honor,
the independent class called defenders,
private elites of character gold,
the shadows behind all pretenders,
opperatives that's far more superior,,
 Defenders are warriors of light,
core beliefs that's solely independent,
religiously organized they never follow,
thorns in a crowned tyrant,
independent wills of great might,,
 They are why freedom thrives,
true leaders leading into tomorrow,
that govern by liberty's will
that invites everyone to follow,
founding fathers of our lives..  

Copyright © S.K. Y. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Pixel Wars

Tingling toes
of the megabyte cavalry
callouses scraping
along private roads
Cascading matrices
on the plasma periphery
peasantry bleating
on official commands
Stewing a cauldron
a festering foment
watering nations
from acid-soaked cans
say the oracles
so buying a check
but electing the cavalry
leaves the infantry wet

Copyright © Aron Jacob | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |



This artistic and ancient civilisation settled on these fertile slopes a millennia ago,
in peace with the land they live in complete harmony for they are not a war-faring race.

They plant crops and grow grapes on the lower slopes of the huge towering volcano,
everyone ignores the billowing clouds of steam issuing forth, they know they’re safe just as their parents knew.

At midday the earth rocks and then the volcano explodes, sleeping mountain awakes with a massive roar. Fire and rocks fly forth in all directions and lava flows down the steep slopes.

Villagers run away scared but many are caught in the fall of hot ash and rock,
as the burning lava destroys their crops and town they know the end is near.
Falling ash covers everything and everyone so that they’ll be hidden for three thousand years, entombed to their end.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Many Paid The Price

Look to your left - Look to your right
Someone you’re looking at - Has paid the price
Either personally - Or through past generations
Yet still today, we have - Hurts and frustrations

Pioneers of the land - The Marches that went forth
For so many people - To be able to freely walk the earth
Young people pick up a book - Earn some knowledge
Get off the street corners - And into classrooms of a University or College

Pay it forward - Give it back
Education is key - Its not whack
Learn your heritage - From where you come
Know that this is - God’s home

Past struggles - Present issues
Hold your head high - Keep working toward your vision
There is something I don’t understand - Through every thing in the past
Why do our young brother’s - Kill one another

How can you look into the eyes - Of another human being
Pull the trigger - How can you be so mean?
Our people along with other races - Fought for our rights
To be able to live a fair life - I can’t fathom the reasoning of this strife

So many killings - Day after day
Brother killing brother - This just isn’t the way
Too many people have died - And sometimes it seems in vain
Because what we see on the news everyday or experience in life
Is completely insane!

Can someone explain to me - The mindset of our youth
I’m perplexed - So I’m looking for the truth
Why is there genocide? - So many homicides
And there is no hesitation - About the lives being taken

It angers my heart - It angers my soul
That people can so easily kill - That people are so bold
People listen to me - When I tell you
The Civil Rights Movement - Was to see us through

To get us to a better place - Although discrimination and racism still exists
It is very prevalent - With the Jena 6
Gang violence has taken the life - Of an innocent 10-year old boy
My prayers go out to the family - Of little Arthur Jones

Gun shots ring out - Now 14-year old Samuel is dead
Gun man came back in anger over a bike - And shot this young man in the head!
I lost my own brother this year (2007) - Because of senseless gun violence
And it’s getting worse too - R.I.P. little bro, we love you Cinque

U.S. Troops fighting a War - Overseas in Iraq
Make no mistake about it - Many have paid the price
IT IS TIME to walk through the door - Of a brand new light
We are a powerful people - When we stand together and fight

Not fight as in violence - But to have regard for human life
Never forgetting - Many paid the price

Copyright © Yolanda Jackson | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme |


We were the children of the revolution,
We're the last of the past struggle,
We are the children of the evolution,
We are the day of fun, joy and emotion.
We cried the dark colonial disaster,
We're still crying blaming the master,
We're left behind quickly and faster,
How could it be; what the notion?? 
Oh! Brother, tell me what's the solution?
Oh! Brother show me how to be cautioned,
Should I regain the bush and kill the Bush,
Or should I melt into the fusion?
It's on its way they call it "order",
Making its day through disorder,
Crashing Empires, breaking the border[s],
They call it freedom without caution.
No king; no Prince, no spared Khan,
From the "Baltics" to all "Kistans",
Sooner or later it'll reach the "Han",
Is it right or an intrusion?
How could you then brandish your gun?
At "Patriot" you son of a Hun,
When millions of bombs coming in tons,
Engrave a city 
Without pity 
Killing the masses in a slow motion,
Is it people's will for war?
Is it the masters' call of whore?
All these massacres!...What all this for?
Politics of "Peace" exclusion!
Is it a fact or an illusion?
Just tell me brother with no confusion,
Is it time for peace "revolution"?
This is the problem, this is the core.

Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Power Of Love

Love is one of life's greatest mysteries
It is the driving force
which shapes man's destiny
It is the very foundation 
upon which life itself is built

Love leads 
life follows
Love is a way of life
One cannot detach oneself from Love
to make a decision
for Love is life itself

Throughout the ages
the power of Love 
has gripped the hearts of men
- mighty men who feared nothing
and made them powerless
to resist its spell

Kingdoms rose and fell
Armies laid others waste
and were laid waste by others
Men died in agony at the command
of a Love-infected leader 
Paris and Helen of Troy
in the Trojan war
Samson and Delilah
in the battle with the Philistines
Anthony and Cleopatra
in the Roman Civil War

Love is a potent force 
that sometimes makes fools
of Earth's mighty men of valour
And yet this same Love 
has been an instrument of good
with which nothing can compare

There are many kinds of love -
a man for his God
a man for his woman
a friend for his friend
a person for his kin
a man for his dog
- these and many more

Though the particular cases differ
the effect of Love is the same
- that feeling which inspires and drives men
to achieve things 
they once believed impossible

Many a knight fought great odds
and won for his lady
Many a man leaves his comfortable niche 
in society
and goes out to endure 
the hardship and pain
of the less fortunate
as he gives of himself unselfishly
to improve their state
because of his love for
his God, duty and ideals

History is filled with leaders
who tried to build 
and maintain an empire
with the might of brute force
and failed -
Alexander The Great
Julius Caesar
Napoleon Bonaparte
Adolph Hitler

And yet
a humble carpenter of Nazareth
who shunned brute force
and violence
built an empire on Love
two thousand years ago 
and today it covers
the face of the earth

Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

They Were

They Were
They were boys going over the top to die in their tens of thousands in the mud of the Somme.                                                                                                                                     Nazi youth best in the world bar none, proved wrong over wide steppes of Mother Russia.                                                                                                                              Hurricane pilots fighting Japan over Ceylon, Burma, Imphal, lost pilots barely 21, made men in lonely cockpits.                                                                                                       Red Chinese boys laid bare bone bloody against Yankee lines, human wave failure. In the jungles of Nam stoned Americans kill more yellow men and women, want their youth back more time to do drugs without time taken up by killing.                                  Falklands calling, Malvinas battle boys to men 8,000 miles from home, for Britain left many behind last colonial war.                                                                                           Desert combat, boys to men now highly skilled killers for oil and the engine.                  Today, where will it be next?                                                                                                  War calling more boys to be men, to quietly die in combat or call for their mothers. Fate will tell – now we wonder.                                                                                                Boys finish school, part of the lottery of death crying for more soldiers and innocents to die in death.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |

All Along the Watchtower Re-Visited for 9-11

"There must be some kinda way to find out here"
Said the seeker to the stealer
"There's too much confusion
I'm struggling to be the reveal"

"Conglomerate men, they drink my wine
Politicians dig my earth
None will level on the line
Because none of them are worth it" hey

"There is reason to get excited"
The seeker, he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us
Who feel our governments a joke"

"Now you and I, we've lived through this
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late", hey


All along the watchtower
Liars kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too

Outside in the cold distance
The C.I.A. did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl, hey

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower

All along the watchtower on that tragic September day
We need some investigation, for someones has to pay
Now you and I, we've lived through this, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, before this generations to late

We will always remember, and remember who we lost that day
We need some investigation, for someone has to pay
All along the watchtower, a nation in mournful cries
We are not so blind, it's amazing what you can see when you close your eyes

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower

James, we lost you in Kensington, England. The Star Spangled Banner will
live long in your past. I can't say the same for some of your American so
called country people. Thank you for allowing me to gracefully use . . . .
'All Along the Watchtower' it's blatantly obvious someone was not.

To all the lost in the 9/11 tragedy, my thoughts will always be with you.

 All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix, with some lyrics changed 

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Verse |

SOS from the Dream

Life is a litter of examples, and I must be true
My sister made it through school and I can too
The best example is my own flesh and blood
She was born in the struggle, she grew in the mud

My mama keeps selling me her only dream
Education is the key, child, it is her theme
So my probity is to be the best in school
The proof of my dignity is that I’m no fool.

I know violence destroys hopes and careers
I study, but can’t concentrate, neither my peers
Police cars screaming, gun shots in our ears
The violence is mounting and so are my fears

I reflect, I think back, what they did with pen
And ink, they did achieve, but now we descend
And stand at the brink. Dr. King was our friend,
Our hero, our leader, a good example to men

He walked through the bitter darkness, bold
He was undaunted, he led families and fold
Across the bridge of peace, it was no breeze
Let us be united and continue the legacy, please

Let us be like Dr. King, Rosa Parks and Ghandi
Let us be understanding, rise in dignity
Forget the color, it’d not race, not black and white
It is coming together to do what is right

Stop the violence, the hate, the destruction
Of the mind, the crucifying of our ambition
The overthrowing of our leaders and history
They paved a way, a way we can be free.

I want to live in comfort without hostility
I want to claim the prize and keep the legacy
I want my education; I am tired of the policy
That binds me politically to impotency

O we are losing our kids without making a sound
We are falling apart being politically bound
I ask myself what can I do, O what can I do
I am praying to God the dream will come through   

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |

Cease Fire

The Crusades Began a Holy War
Which Continues to this Day.
We Kill, and Kill, and Now it Seems,
This shall Always be the Way.

One Side Scores, the Others Die,
Then the Cycle is Repeated.
It never Stops, It’s never Done;
The Battles Grow More Heated!

The Way to Peace, it Seems so Clear,
Is not Through Senseless Slaughter.
I Appeal to All, “Please Quit the Fight!”
Save our Sons and Daughters!

To Find Our Way out of the Dark,
We Need only Seek the Light.
A Solution Lies within our Grasp:
Forget who’s Wrong or Right!

This God or that, it Makes no Matter.
This Truth I have Acquired:
Be they Different, or the Same,
The Gods would Preach Cease Fire!

Copyright © Steven Gadberry | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |

Gods Holy War

Oh! Sleep come claim me for thine own
My mind it wanders far and deep
To distant lands and shores unknown
Far beyond this castle keep

To fight for God on land and tide
To make the heathen understand
My kindred brethren at my side
A christian vow a sword in hand

Their foreign tongues and ritual chants
Oh! Lord they know not what they do
Forgive them Lord their ignorance 
Their demi-gods they falsely woo

God grant me strength to bare the proof
From those that practice to deceive
Sins of the flesh and cloven hoof
Oh! What a tangled web they weave

'Tis only death and death alone 
Will cleanse the soul and purge the mind
As rabid dogs tear flesh from bone
The will of God his axe they grind

The Devils work must ne'er be done
Cross not our path nor bar our way
The Lord our God thy will be done
The Judas tree will rock and sway

No equal nowhere on this earth
Cruel deeds to shame Marquis De Sade
Whilst crimson tides iinfuse the dirt
Our just and holy Lords crusade

For Hell i've seen and made my own
Grant me my Lord my endless sleep
What devils deeds and seeds we've sown
In Christs own name how he must weep

Copyright © peter walsh | Year Posted 2014

Details | Epic |

Medieval Ages work still in progress

I'll write to you of medieval ages,
Foreign lands,knights and of many sages.
Medieval verse,and versification
With ancient meter I shall imitate,
To flesh out this age's animation.
And stories fictional and real I'll tell.

The souls of sundry virtues and vices
I shall show to men of all kinds of eyes,
So that I their souls might excite to life. 
Who truly is alive without his senses,
yet many minds live with mental fences. 
The Gods were chased away from this  bright land,

And many countries were drowned in darkness.
Art was unpainted,clogged up fairy wells. 
Unlearning became the new science of man 
And music deemed to be of Satan birthed 
For its mirth, and carnal rhythmic pleasures.
Oh of truth this divine art of muses,

Music's mothers, the soul with beauty fuses,
Yet still were libraries burned to ashes, 
and with timeless secrets the fool clashes.
 Empires undone from within and out,
To be hewn down by hounds to war devout,
Who from savage forests came to devour 

The sheep and the pampered puppies of Rome.
The Gods did pity these once great races,
the light torchbearers which the dark faces
with it’s all consuming flames of sheer might
which scorches into ashes scrap and dross,
to fuel its holy energy and fire,

the giver to mankind of life so sought.

Copyright © Victor Chavez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme royal |

Le Morne Agony

Le Morne warm wind enfolds me
Voices from the cliffs and the sea.
As it blows the fatal slave stories
Its wavelets bring their real agonies.
Time like the waves come and go
Their ordeals facing the brilliant glow
Are miseries the vegetation covered
With all persecution they suffered.
In rugged slopes and prickly bushes
Their hearts thumping of ambushes
Slaves escaped cruelty and starvation
But perished in all confrontation.
Rainbows and amber gold sun rays
Still shine the same as in old days.
No more pirates lurked in the sand
No more slaves hide on the mountain.
As wave fragments become whole
Their spirits embrace,soul to soul
And they all  join to say softly
"We are the symbols of cruelty".

Copyright © Beejadhur Sewumber | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme royal |

January 8, 2011


Of true evil, I’d had barely a peek
But this day would be an education
A full immersion in the fetid reek
The foul depths of his soul’s violation.
Indescribable draining sensation,
It leveled its shoulder, knocked out my wind
Stop spinning room, dig deep, began again.

Although miles away we were from the crime
We felt the direct impact on our hearts
His trigger pulls pierced many souls each time,
Bodies punctured, shrouded, lives torn in parts.
Shock waves broke spirits, families apart.
It was his ghoulish realm made manifest,
Backwards kingdom of delusion, unrest.


United by our common urgency
The fair-skinned devil in our own backyard
Morphed into citywide emergency
A distress call radiated outward
The nation slowly turned its eyes southward
Our easiest, natural reaction
Find the inner sword, and gird for action


A loving deed, rare and touching to all
Warm, kindly neighbor from across the street
Taking her friend, the senator to call
Sweetness like yours, I would cherish to meet
Just not with your blood pouring on my feet.
Half whisper, half gasp, you told me your name
“Ma'am, we’ll take good care of you.” Heart aflame.


A still form on the gurney, lying there
Soul dangling on the thinnest thread of life
Crusted crimson stain in her ruffled hair
The same height, same build, same age as my wife
Eviscerate me, invisible knife
CAT scan on the screen revealed the damage
Twisted anatomy, bullet ravaged


Between heroism and everyday strides
A simple matter that we were prepared
The gulf, in reality, not so wide
The tools and skills we wielded, not so rare,
A thousand heroes happened to be there.
Yet together we formed a solid wall
Resolute warriors answered the call

But of heroism, one thing we did learn
Between appearance and reality
The public laurels that a few did earn
Oft unaligned with actuality
How image misconstrues causality
Media promulgated story lines
Have so many false agendas behind

The convenient plot lines of journalists
Tales of what has supposedly been
So little to do with real turns and twists
Tangential resemblance to the blue screen
The actual truth of all I have seen
Yet all the falsehood cannot steal the pride
The fated day's true heroes hold inside


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Year Zero

Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge movement, the leader Pol Pot,
Killed twenty-five percent of the population, a fact most people forgot.
To spare you is no profit, to destroy you is no loss,
That was the ideology of the evil boss.
Buddhist monks were killed and religion was banned,
No one was safe with this beast in command.
Children placed in labour camps, civil rights were abolished,
Schools and hospitals shut down, homes were demolished.
People getting shot for wearing glasses, laughing and even crying,
And if you spoke a foreign language you were definitely dying.
Slave labourers dying from overwork, malnutrition and executions,
While the U.K. gave the Khmer Rouge plenty of contributions.
Minority groups were targeted, Thai, Muslims, Christians and Vietnamese,
But they explicitly targeted the ethnic Chinese.
Millions of pounds from the U.K., millions of dollars from the states,
All working together in terror, they were the best of mates.
What Nixon and Kissinger began, Pol Pot completed,
And none of them ever showed remorse for all the people they mistreated.

Copyright © Wes Martin | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |


Hot Is The Wind
One night can change things forever. Like the night the Americans came. One survivor went through hell to live. When the sirens went off, people pulled blankets over their heads rather than go to the freezing shelters. Then the bombers arrived overhead. They didn't miss. 

It was a hauntingly beautiful sight. The city, Tokyo, on fire. Glowing red in the night. Being destroyed by fire bombs. No mercy on the exhausted inhabitants, for it was total war to the death, that cold winter's day. 

Those who were quick ran for their lives. They had a chance to live. Taking themselves, a few possessions and fleeing their homes. Traditional Japanese homes of wood and paper, amongst which was small factories. All were targets hit without mercy. That night changed everything. Worst air raid of the entire war. It was justifiable then. And now? 

One survivor remembers and fears Japan will fight future wars. Will it be like back then? People treated as 'weeds' with a divine wind saving them? Make the nation strong, don't appease China or anyone else. Arming Japan, new laws to allow war, repressing the population. Step by step to Armageddon. 

Saotome remembers the night on fire, a hideous wind, running by the train track as bombs fell. He wanted only to live. 

Before dawn they reached the river. When the sun rose, their city was gone. What did being taught to hate, that killing their enemy was right and the 'kamikaze' divine wind would annihilate all before them, achieve? That war was a thief, stealing Saotome's childhood and killing his friends that night. 

Japan had to win that war or it would be death and dishonour. When the war was over, the Emperor spoke on the radio. Something unheard of. Would he ask us all to die? Saotome knew their divine wind had forsaken them.

It was March 10 1945. 100,000 people died. Fire bombed by the B-29s. Will politicians who avoid talking about the past lead to apathy and war today?

As Saotome said: "I didn't know if I was really running or if I was in a dream, if I was flying through space. It still gives me goosebumps."

"Those of us who survived have a duty to become a voice for the voiceless."

"If I'm quiet, it means I've accepted the situation. If we don't speak up, the past will be made to disappear."

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015