Anti Poems - Poems about Anti

I never think my thoughts deep thoughts : though I'm no Peter Sellers, they are but common trite reactions. l do not live an examined philosophic life; nor have I focused fathomed understanding. But -- there is, everywhere, widened blank confusion -- crowds who do not listen, do not hear, cannot ken, even who do not choose NOT to grasp what is...

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You were not born of ivory halls, nor cradled in the velvet silence of empire. You were fireborn— from the coal-scented dusk of a railway station, where teacups bore the dreams of the underfed. We remember, because you were once one of us. Your hands held steam, not scepters— yet rose to cradle Gujarat like a child. And lo, from its weary bones you...

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I tried God, I f***ing tried. To be liked. To be easy. To be the kind of girl they don’t talk about once she leaves the room. Smiled soft, spoke sweet, let the sharp edges hide beneath skin. Held their secrets. Held my breath. Held it together when they left. They called me fake for being kind. Called me a b*** for standing still. Said I was cold — because I didn’t beg. And...

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He met me in dream I found my face wet with tears Departed father...

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from the news A tomato met a non-tuber plant  sweet music a birth to what is known as potatoes, these days also called fries Just think if the tomato had not  been so unfaithful trying it on with any passing plant What would  our diet be like  without the beloved spud  I read this in a paper that extols the free press With the mild hand...

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Ghanaians are beating The drum of shame For Nigerians Which they will later dance to Calling Nigerians in Ghana All sorts of names, due to some misunderstanding Now they're promoting hate just because of mistakes. Ghanaians are on the street Creating scenarios Nigerians the villains Forgetting they triggered it Forgetting what their Ghanaians Are doing to Nigerians as well No country without...

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Too many opinions. Too many people sharing their minds. Is it too hard to sit and think before you speak? Don’t you think our own conscience cuts us down enough? Or maybe you don’t care. Little do you know, I am my hardest critic. I want to do my best, yet my best isn’t enough....

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There was an older man who was not very liked. He sits and draws cartoon characters based on his childhood abusers, often saying their names out loud. He remembers people who have passed away and calls them "bastards." He sometimes feels like crying but holds back, worried he might not like the taste of his tears. "his...

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For those who still doubt the unreliability of AI detectors. In this poem just change the word "half" in line 18 to "58%" and paste each in an AI detector (e.g. scribbr.com or quillbot.com) you will be amazed how AI just with that substitution magically changed its judgement from "between 58% – 100% AI detected"...

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Shield the children do not use them as shields-problem solved...

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The Pleasure Remembered. I saw her in a cafe yesterday; years had not been kind to her her hair was matted, her skin was dry, and her lips were a sullen grimace, not quite hiding her miss- coloured teeth. Once, we slept entwined. I kissed the body and often burrowed my head in her honey pot and drank her love...

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In halls where silence cloaked the dread, You raised a voice, though fear had spread. With leaflets fluttering like doves in flight, You lit a candle in the night. Not with guns, nor iron might, But truth and courage, fierce and bright. A rose in winter, pure and still, Defying hate with steadfast will. Your words, like whispers through the air, Asked hearts to...

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Despite your intelligence mimicry, You still come far short in your gimmickry, Throwing down the drains fine masterpieces, Flushed away as a fresh bout of faeces. Nights without sleep to pen wonders on sheet, Yet a lame detector brands one a cheat, An app claiming to be a true genius ~ Is far from being labeled ingenious. How long will your pretence rule...

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We must be fastidious and particular, our sidewalks, strictly perpendicular - and we must sternly ask, who would be so crass as to cut across our new mown grass. This despicable heathen can't be one of us. He can only be Pythugorus....

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When chains do bind a body tight, It may one day be freed with might. The tyrants know this truth too well, So books they craft where thoughts do dwell. With words they tie the innocent mind, Their subtle tools, so cruel, yet kind. Each nerve within the soul they bind, And soon the body’s trapped, confined. No freedom shall that...

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