You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...
PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker
on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads
while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member
and block ads forever...while getting many more great
features. Take a look!
Violence January Poems | Violence Poems About January
These Violence January poems are examples of Violence poems about January. These are the best examples of Violence January poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.
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
*habebty: arabic for my love
*context: this year (2014) is the third anniversary since the egyptian revolution
Friday, he told me,
"Tomorrow will be a sad day."
"Why?" I asked.
"The anniversary of the revolution."
When I had google searched "january news egpyt"
the day before to see if any new protests had occured to
block the streets and make him come home late,
the results still showed the carnage of three years ago.
There would be protests tomorrow.
I asked him if he was going to work.
I wouldn't tell him
Not to go to the protest-
I knew I would have gone too-
Shouldn't I support what he believes?
But then I think
Bloodstains on streets
Littered with banners
Like the departing souls
Of the martyrs of the revolution
Riot gear uniforms
Beat down protesters;
They've sworn to arrest
Anyone protesting today-
I ask him where he is.
"I'm home, habebty."
He's decided not to go
Since he thinks it's wrong
To celebrate on a day
So many have died.
I breathe again.
Nearly 50 died that weekend.
I got to hear,
I'm home, habebty.
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014
I wanted to go Monday
Man, haven’t been since the 80’s
Man, you’ll be hit by a stray bullet
And being on probation
So, chilled at home
You can’t even take kids no more
Can’t play music no more
Man, eight people were hit
All stray bullets
Copyright © Laura McCadden | Year Posted 2017