Best Aggression Poems | Poetry

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New Aggression Poems

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

Sweet aggression - the new dedication by Swartz, James
Love's Perfect Aggression by Sivey, Russell
Micro Aggression by Wright, Tom
ANIMUS: AGGRESSION by Kimathi, Teddy
our aggression by hansen, jan oskar
The secret of total gentleness and aggression by osorov, zamir
mutual aggression by delapruch, andrew

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The Best Aggression Poems

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Your Body, Your Touch

Your feelings in a group of touring innocence
travel up North towards trust and sincerity
in sweet submissive care like a carefully rubbed suede.
You put day light into your entrapment
for noontide to go nonstop.

Caress from yonder, massage from under
your skirts make appetite nonchalantly mourn
your legs present so nutraceutical to manly weakness.
If your bones are licked by wild beasts
the jungle would be protected by the ghost of sweet affection.
If the rains fall through the planes of your body
vapours of lust and desires will spring out of the Earth.

Your expensive flare, expresses you as a needed nougat
sliding pleasurably though wet lips in a greasy enjoyment of noodles
with aroma and taste capping up a nouvelle cuissine.
Night is dead from your day-long engaging chemistry
making the aggression of your nubile emission
in ration to any attempted resistance an improper fraction
when the night's light strike your contrasting body
for the creation of a mobile image so dark and graceful,
nature will sit down beauty for a serious interview.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016


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JOURNEY

~ JOURNEY to the center of me!~

Yield upon this blissful moment!
In, a cutting-edge welcoming,
This minute can only maintain-

Yesterday’s journey~ Desire~

The world inside my head, can think,
Deeper than a dream;
Up till now, anticipation has hovered my present thoughts
Day becomes night,
Night becomes day,
In a cave, I call my insanity.
Hallucination, raveling inside my head, 
I sit where my thoughts entwine with my elusive slumber.
Everything inside of me is lucid and lost in madness. 
I perceive the proper perception; 
to think is only a thought.

Today’s journey~ Sensation~

Barren thoughts never exit the aggression in my mind.
I stand among the crying thunder locked within my head.	
Of sweet flower they arise and bloom, above all shores,
I embrace the beauty of my deepest emotion.
Sands of time litter within my walls!
My thoughts sit and wait! 
Minimizing themselves down to a speckled dot.
They are a few, sweet and creepy,
Those grab my attention,

Tomorrow’s journey~ Pleasure~

Passion wilting upon yesterday’s memory.
Concentrating and unraveling every single knot.
And, still I go back and give that one look.
A hot steamy want, judged by my brainwaves.
Notions, follow a path and indulge with no escape.
Danger escapades into a naughty reflection, "I am my own diversion!"
My thoughts are thoughtless as they can be.
Brittle and little like you and me!
Still my journey continues to emerge with all the thoughts found in the center of me.

Everyday's journey~ Begins with………Determination……

by;pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012


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Rains

It’s raining outside
I can see on my window panes
Rain droplets slide
Inside seemingly dry eyes something triggers rains

Memories are cruel
They don’t spare
O agonizing thoughts! Do not fuel the flame
And waste the gems rare

The storm has been building for ages I know
The despair left no trace of hope’s glow
I wore a smiling face just for show
O unwelcome guest! I bid you to go

Why should I remember the haunting moments?
Why should I recollect the heart wrenching times?
Where are the images that heart enchants?
Where is the melody with rhythm and rhymes?

Go, go, go O clouds of despair
With your deafening noise of lightning and thunder
Lend me your ears and let me declare
I fight aggression, I do not surrender

I can see on my window panes rain droplets glide
Alone in this dreary night and no one by my side
The thundering clouds with menacing deafening pride
O my restless soul the worldly rules abide
               Karachi, Dec. 27, 2012


Copyright © Mohammad Yamin | Year Posted 2012


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THE HEADLESS HORSEMEN


On the black stallion of death,
Its red crimson eyes pierce through the night,
And the hell's beast breathes its hot brazen breath
Blazing against the darkness's chilling air!
Does he ride, this phantom of the dead,
Wielding vengeance's sword.
With one hand on the hilt of the blade,
The other arm reaching outwardly,
One finger pointing at his intended victim!
Screaming with a blood curdling howl,
Give me your head vermin, or I'll cut
It off myself, than laughing at their fear!
Beneath crimson fire moon, this hooded and caped,
Death's stalker, hunts down the innocent
Taking that which he desires the most
Their essence of life!
Run to the bridge's safety salvation lies
At the other end beyond.
For these waters cleansing baptism,
Could swallow him whole.
The headless horsemen cannot cross,
These blessed waves of sanctuary,
Or banished is he, hell bound for eternity.
This highway man, rides devastation’s
By ways, of the unknown.
Seeking to restore mind and body,
This Hessian with aggression,
Yearns for justices revenge, to what
Ends bequeath, he cares not, the price
To be paid, in human flesh and blood.
On Saint Hollows Eve, the horsemen
Gallops, across dead-man’s boundary,
Awaiting the stray trespasser, to trip into
His well-hidden trap.
Than striking without mercy's sake,
With its sharpened edge, steel slices
The mortal flesh, taking his prize,
The headless horseman rides away
Into the night.
Yelling, I'll return next Hollows Eve, be thee
So warned, for your salivations sake alone,
Don't tread in Sleepy Hollow after dark!.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN



Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015


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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS - EMOTIVE WRITE

Nobody knows what goes on behind this hotel door ‘Mr Smith’ isn’t with his wife of that I’m pretty sure! He’s with his mistress Sue, they are having an affair But he is a cheating love rat and he doesn’t really care A barrage of fists is flying at number twenty-two Sally covers her bruises, what else can she do Her man is a bully and hits where nobody can see She’s got no one to turn too otherwise she would flee Harry is all alone since his dear wife has died He’s desperately lonely but filled with such pride His family only live on the other side of the city But are so busy with their lives, isn’t that a pity Post builds up in his letter box, there’s milk left at his door Neighbours think they’ve seen him but they aren’t really sure The police arrive; break down his door and Harry’s lying dead He’d fallen down the stairs; dried blood lay round his head Peter is an alcoholic and he suffers from depression He has bouts of violence, he’s known for his aggression Since his wife walked out on him he’s attempted suicide His life has gone downhill since he lost his lovely bride Little Sally wants to hide when she sees Phil the baby sitter He makes her do ‘things’ with him, if she won’t he says he’ll hit her She’s subjected to sexual abuse that no child should endure But her parent’s are oblivious when they walk out that door Nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors I wonder would you divulge what happens behind yours? Doors Contest Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux 03~23~17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017


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Seed of destruction

Father of all bombs when dropped 
five times greater than the mother 
Where a fallen angel's dance begins 
fornicating with matter darkening subjects 
through and through dimensions opening a porthole 
Acting a tough guy with your orange face 
shows little wit as one peace maker 
gives a bloody nose to politics to say the least 
To this sinful act of heresy that's displayed under lies 
in provoking war with the show of strength and power
Blind becomes your weakness 
Takes more than courage to grow a backbone 
to be humble aggression is by deeds done 
under one sign of weakness shows where the insecurity dwells 

co written by Liam and Bobby McDaid
our joint opinion on a certain matter our world has become filled with evil slave masters rising to power under mass human sacrifice 










Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017


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Love Story Gone Wild

when beauty met the beast
she was a cutie, he was a beast
she thought that she'd speak to him at least
and at least find out what made 
a beast, a beast

as the beast looked at her 
he wondered; what a feast
but the way she spoke to him
was gentle and curiosity increased

he found her some what pleasant
and laid his aggression aside
for now he'd grown accustom
and hoped she would abide

as time past he looked at her
as he never did before
tender conversations
brought his knees to the floor

she'd become his weakness
his task forever more
he liked to hear her voice
and see her walk through the door

on holidays there were presents
on birthdays a feast
each special day that brought her presence
was a holy day to say the least

now i am wholly human 
and i can tell you well
that jealousy fits us humans
and beast very well

one look at competition
can take us all to hell
we can never avoid perdition
when one other than God
we our souls sell

and from God comes the testing
old men and prophets tell
the beast asked God for patience
and God knows how to teach it well

the next time the beast see's beauty
there is a ring on her hand
he didn't care to mention it
but that was one thing he couldn't stand

worn down he ask her
what the ring meant on her hand
slowly she confided, it meant she'd
marry another man

the beast now was furious
he did not understand
that all these years confiding
he was suppose to be the man

what then would become of her
his conscious did demand
all the years he spent with her
were coming to an end 

yet love had one more service
his heart would command
tell the maid he loved her
and ask her for her hand

let all the powers of wickedness 
and goodness take their stand
upon this maids answer
i'll bravely take my chance


Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2008


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Big Ego

He's got a big ego,
he keeps offending people,
he scoops the same scoop,
& round & round we loop,
until the bubble pops, 
& the world sees him flop,
reject the rude, deflate your ego,
swearing kills the mood, able?

I'm getting to cocky,
I could outbox Ali,
wrestle with The Rock,
reach the top and stop & mock.
Ego full of stock,
forget the tick tock
cus I'm 24 7 
until I get into heaven,
insomnia beckons 
& amnesia threatens,
bend rhymes like Beckham
dunk punks like Jordan,
the mental perfection 
with its rhyme injection,
about to live the lesson
of the ego outstretchin'
the limit it can flex,
the crux, the critical,
I rhyme the old skool
& wear hip hop shoes,
I hate the mumble flop 
with the words unused.
It's just ear abuse,
on the loose, with no use,
noise with no excuse.

Big man, big balls he's acting like a right prick,
Big man, big balls disguise a very little dick,
Big man, big balls overcompensating it,
Goodbye big man, with average rhymes no different.

I suspect that this project
will impact & inflict
sick tricks, & then retract 
& evaporate back
to the Gods intact,
before it's redirected 
to another level head
who wrecks & blows it, 
crash the car, went to far,
you go from feeling cool
to a sample of your stool,
that once big head
gone & the face left red,
baking big mistakes,
taking a punch of a heavyweight,
David doesn't always beat Goliath,
cometh the hour,
cometh the coffin,
you can't stimulate with coffee
cus the heart stop beatin',
the soul is set free,
& this world you're leavin',
beaten down with ease
lying dead and bleedin'.

Big man, big balls he's acting like a right prick,
Big man, big balls disguise a very little dick,
Big man, big balls overcompensating it,
Goodbye big man, with average rhymes no different.

One hand holds but the other can't reach,
near rhymes arnt real rhymes, 
& sand doesn't mean a beach,
but if you find the flow,
find a way to wined the cable,
then transmit clear & stable
& accurate like a machete,
you'll rhyme like a line of spaghetti,
but with deadwood on your lead
& at ease in your bed head,
cus it feels so easy with an ego,
then know it won't make a good show,
so put your feet on the ground
be aware of how the words sound,
stop the passive aggression
or accept a massive devaluation,
leave behind the prima donna
or become another gonna,
fill your minds storage
with knowledge beyond the college,
there's always more to learn
& more wood to burn,
big heads remove themselves
when they burn their own shelves.


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


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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)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014


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The Truth Room

Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,

Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,

We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014


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The Morning Chore

In The Kitchen:
Hang a pound of hickory smoked thick sliced bacon Cover the bacon with white paper towel to prevent splatters Pre-heat oven to 350 degree Cover baking sheet with silver aluminum foil Place whole-wheat yeast rolls on the baking sheet Dot each roll with luscious creamery fresh butter Place rolls into the pre-heated oven Place thick bacon into microwave oven to cook for ten minutes Beat-up four eggs incorporating air add two tablespoons milk beat some more Take out that aggression on those eggs Cook omelet in preheated oil covered pan Top that omelet with some shredded cheese just a little Call everyone to come:
Breakfast awaits


Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013


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My Voice Came Out In Ink

I was like a porcelain doll with no expression,
Emotion and feeling existed only in my mind,
They stared when I had no happiness or aggression,
Wanting to express them, yet no voice did I find.

For most of my life I never had a voice,
I could only smile, barely laugh, or cry,
Then, for the first time I was given a choice,
Now I could escape the torture of being so shy.

When I put pen to paper, my voice came out in ink,
It was not written in a diary, but in rhyme,
Only then did they realize the things that I think,
I sat there in solitude, and gave it all my time.

The words passed by and escaped my vocal chord,
I let my pen and paper do the talking for me now,
As finally, that hidden volume inside me soared,
The inspiration kept coming, though I don't know how.

My thoughts journeyed like blood through veins,
All the hidden pain, fear, and truth that lingers,
Down my arm, to my hand, and here it remains,
It comes out there in the pen between my fingers.

Since that first day, my soul has broken free,
My secrets can now run away from home,
My heart and mind are here for you to see,
And find acceptance within the lines of a poem.


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014


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The Swan

Upon the lakes they do swim gliding so effortlessly   
These species of graceful waterfowl the largest of anatidae family
In their beautiful pure white plumage with elegant long curved necks
Blunted beaks and big webbed feet living together by water's edge                                            
These magnificent creatures of the waters are a sign of purity and love	
Remind us of the blessings in our relationships a gift from heaven above
If all goes well in there pairing they will stay together for rest of their life’s
When they glide upon the waters of our awareness they bring us deep insight            




These birds of Mother Nature they’re exquisite and unique                   
Bearing exotic waves of beauty to our dreams as we do sleep                          
They swim around in our divine mind adding colours of delight  
Encouraging us to spread our wings and take our glorious flight
Courting occurs on rivers and lakes throughout the known world
Whilst they live on plant life tiny fish and scattered bread as well
You might see them duck their heads as they feed upon their foods
But you better beware of their aggression whilst they protect their broods     




The elegance of these myterious birds are displayed in a ballet dancer
Dancing into our emotions with their romantic artisticpower                                     
Transforming our souls with delightful moves bringing us into harmony
With a brilliant performance of balance, control and technical flexibility
The beautiful dying swan pours its heart out as death draws near            
Greeting this with an exceptional beautiful ending balladeer
Its modulated voice singing the swan-song of death so sweet
This harmonious sound can be heard as its last creative piece




The crown retain the ownership to all unmarked mute swans 
A ceremony takes place once a year and lasts for five days long
Swan upping is a tradition dated back to the twelfth century 
Markers row up and down the rivers paying tribute to the Queen
In England they’re a protected species and owned by Her Majesty
The wing spans on these wonderful birds can extent to several feet
These sacred aquatic birds male and female cobs and pens
Those little cygnets and swanlings on a swan lake that never ends




© Copyright KC.Leake
8th December 2014
All Rights Reserved


Copyright © kevin leake | Year Posted 2014


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Quetzalcoatl's Return

* For Carol Brown's Story Time Contest

Feathered serpent was more than an Aztec legend
Depicted in multihued native art
Sculptures, paintings adorned humid cities
Spiritual sketches messages impart

Quetzalcoatl, a venerated god
Plumed leader was said to have sailed away
Prophecies forecast this spirit’s return
Devout Aztecs’ hopes soared one Holy Thursday 

The Aztec natives knew no greed
Great joy spread quickly in the Yucatan
When eleven Spanish ships reached their land
Not Quetzalcoatl, just a European man

Aztec leader Moctezuma II believed
Hernando Cortez to be their long-awaited god
At Moctezuma’s command, bounties were gathered
And to the shore, joyful natives did plod

1519, the Cortez armada
Greeted by Aztec envoys bearing gifts
But Spaniards fired shots at their welcoming party
Pious souls ascended through tropical mist

The land-grabbing perpetrator’s intent revealed
Aggression from one who sought to conquer
Paying no heed to Moctezuma’s beliefs
Or the spiritual history of Aztec culture

Ungodly Cortez enslaved those who remained
Defiantly built cathedrals adorned by bells
Aztec spirits will rise on Judgment Day
To claim seats in heaven while Cortez endures hell

If “gods” without honor lack kind hearts
And advocate power instead of grace
Promoting war and killing of brethren
Then surely devotion has been misplaced


*The arrival of Hernando Cortez marked the end of a thriving Aztec culture.  The natives 
mistook him for a “god” named Quetzalcoatl who had sailed away promising to return.  
Quetzalcoatl is pronounced ket-zel-cot-el.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010


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A warm welcome for the ridiculers

They fear what they do not understand
but without understanding I fear no man

They subdue what they cannot naturally conquer
so I turn the tables put them in a locker

They doubt what they cannot control with aggression
I removed all the clips from their smith and wessons

They hate what they cannot possess or call liar 
I confront them with truth and watch them perspire

They add height to the obstacles they cannot hurdle
but I leap right over and scrape not a knuckle

They attempt to build walls in front of us all
their bricks are unleveled and gravity calls



Copyright © Sha'ntez Jefferson | Year Posted 2012


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The Sun

The Sun The sun gives warmth But it doesn't care how I fare And sometimes It burns too bright And causes a blight And the plight causes fright On nauseous nights On these streets where the homeless fight With the might of knights Their souls are for sale on kites As they sail through such great heights Their sights set on new horizons Their eyes on the prize Because this land defies all logic The sun gives warmth But it doesn't share nor care All I get are glares And nobody spares me From knife wound tears And what scares me the most Is how I can stare Into the abyss and not miss The kiss of the sun Nor the hiss of my burning flesh And if you get the gist Maybe you'll lower your fist And pass your pissed off aggression To those who spread oppression


Copyright © Christopher Goss | Year Posted 2014


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At The Footbridge

At The Footbridge

Two Armies

One shoots off another salvo
The other fires back with gusto
Each offended
At the aggression of the other

At the footbridge
Foot soldiers die
In agony you hear them all bloodied, cry
War is a must and you wonder why?

Kings collect gold
Queens their ladies in waiting
Castles must be filled
With linens and fine silver laden

All with justifications
For the death of serfs and those of the invasion


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017


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Romance Day And Night

Romance Day And Night

How the Romans played their moonlit dreams
splashing out near viaducts of love I can only
wonder same as with knights in shining armour
or rather without when the Ages seemed dark
and oriental spices called for senses and beyond

Roma and Sinti travelling with passion in horse drawn 
wagons moved to the tune of lute flute fruit and delirious
fires I suppose howling with wolves or howling without

I am also a bit of a traveller enchanted by foreign 
lands and customs and my gorgeous lover is the Gipsy
Queen of Fairy-Tale-Land with 'Tinker-bells' and
nights in white satin embraced and embroidered as 
we attune our chords and accords in tune with what is
as the sizzling romance preludes from the rise of the sun

Sometimes we travel on our own and distance makes 
the heart long for even longer and deeper longing and
so on my journey to Egypt a bazar for tapestry fabric
mosaic textures and patterns called for my visit

Here a kind Muslim woman a gentle soul veiled and 
covered with culture decency aura and soul offered 
to advise me on night dress with frills and imprinted 
desire for my wife’s curves and compassion a courteous 
dignified transaction with respect and knowledge for
romance and a thousand and two Arabian nights

What plays in the night stays in the night when skin 
touches skin and states of dress and undress reflect 
the journey together through bright stars and in sparkle 
when we move to rainbows and horizons images in love

I have travelled the world saw the ‘Harem’ in Topkapi 
the back streets of Hamburg ‘Hamams’ in Bagdadh 
‘Passiflora’ and ‘Hamamelis Virginiana’ in the gardens
of plenty and mystic depictions Kama Sutra and all

Celibate monks and virtuous nuns have shown me
temples monasteries ruins natural wonders and 
the Taj Mahal at full moon equalled some grandest
of canyons effervescent springs and the valleys of love

Apart from my lover exploring such sights is the most majestic 
teacher and leader far sighted druid sage and romantic
and many misconceptions can fall and come brittle when 
we mix and we mingle with others on far away grounds
and  the feminine shopkeeperes in Cairo led me some 
way and dissembled some more prejudice in this instance
not just what buying lingerie in the Levant could be like 
but how women of the world can be both quite agentic 
sensual and empowered when seen through their very
own lens harmony preview perception beliefs and not with
distortion of macho controlled domination's limited margins

The 'half mooned' veiled women who transacted silken
see-through garments for your senses’ heights and
and for mine while covered and decent blew gently 
away covert racism sexism gender-ism ism in general
an overt overture away from silhouettes of insanity 

Coming home coming over overcoming all those isms 
in this crazy controlling misguided world we live in is
an antidote to aggression skinning and feuds and in the
magic of our miraculous dreams an exquisite requisite 
and ensemble for what becomes 'loving it better' and
for romancing and dancing heartfelt romance in the night

01st August 2016


















Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016


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The Mystique of Mars

The Mystique of Mars
Mars, fourth planet orbiting the sun, was once a harbinger of hostility and aggression. Aptly named after Roman god of war, with sister Earth, it shares the same star.
Red, resplendent orb gracing the night sky, like a whirling dervish, it artfully dances by. Two moons captured in a strong gravitational grip, Phobos and Deimos tag along on a wild cosmic trip.
From ancient times clouded in a veil of mystery, we've tried to delve into its origins and history. Is it home to an unfriendly alien race? Or is it just a cold, devoid of life, kind of place?
While much about Mars is yet unknown, perhaps, future generations will call it home.


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015


Details | Aggression Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Jerusalem expensive

Jerusalem expensive 

They took her by force and took it from under our feet They went out 
We love and we want, but their weapons in the Muslim Tortured us 
Cry day and night, and between their hands do not want to stay 
Notifies the sadness calls, every human being by a drop of blood Islam 
Youth killed aggression, and an orphanage in the streets of pain 
Children of security they want, and the Zionists speak the language of blood 
Responsible for watching the war, and organizations suspicion that they are incorrigible Peace 
They beat us and tortured us, and armed Dmrona and Okhavona 
Moved O Muslims, and all fighters Belongings 
What is the value of the life he leads Denied, and of belongings you ban 
Enough of humiliation and deadlock, Your cooperation to return You  
God is in favor of the right, what you just have to go ahead and fight 
O Muslim, there is no saddens blow ...... 
The higher the oppressor, Fall become more painful .......

Muslim proudly 



Author : Omar Hachmi 


http://creationsomarhachmi.blogspot.com/


Copyright © Omar Hachmi | Year Posted 2014


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A MAN LIKE THIS

A man like this,
Who sacrifices his entire life
for the betterment of our country
uniting whole nation.
Who reached his goal
digesting every tension.
India become independent
without any war,
without any aggression.
It is only possible due to such a great son
He is our ‘Bapuji’ , father of our nation.

A man like this 
Who spent his life
wearing a six feet ‘dhoti’,
eating food of a common man,
walking miles & miles by foot,
talking the secret of non-violence,
brought our independence
spending life in the prison,
defeated our enemy without any gun.
He is our ‘Bapuji’ , father of our nation.

A man like this,
Who was a man dressed god.
Didn’t need any post 
Even after our freedom.
 Still, we could not able to feel
the heart of a sacred idol.
Could not able to read
the message of a sacrosanct soul.
Who struggled entire life for our freedom,
he was  shot dead by a blind  Indian son ,
He is our  ‘Bapuji’ , father of our nation.
-------------------------------------------------------------
This poem is written to commemorate our great freedom fighter & father of our nation ‘Mahatma Gandhi’.



Copyright © Manmath Dalei | Year Posted 2016


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The All-Time Greatest Great Britain

This small island civilization,
its empire was the largest creation
with the widest trade connection.
There are mixed views of our colonization.

Many modern countries exist because of the British,
many justifiably say our actions were brutish.
Some have hate for us but at the same time cherish,
a widespread view of us creates an overembellish.

If the French had won the Battle of Waterloo
slavery of Afrikaans would have continued.
We went the distance with Hitler in World War Two,
we stood on our own, alone, Europe was consumed.

We stopped the slave trade and ended slavery,
we embraced the need for diversity,
we did what all were trying to do in history
so evil and good make up our legacy.

Some say that we ruined Indian culture
by installing our own counterculture,
but we actually created the structure
of the largest economy upon our departure.

We united over 1000 Indian languages
of divided tribes with age old grudges,
with centuries of war and ambushes,
our presence turned minorities into masses.

So Indian culture was our creation
along with over 50 nations,
who had operated in separation
with their own disruptive situations.

The Rule of Law and Justice For All,
the Political to the Football,
our revolutionary age of the Industrial.
our revolutionary wars were evolutional.

Building an empire was common
with brute force and invasion.
Installations of our operations
that shape current reputations.

Overlooking the others empires not so far and wide,
their mistreatment of locals and theft is put aside.
The fact there is evil in our past can't be denied
but all others were evil and all were most unkind.

The largest empire could have been French or Russian,
the Russians operate with cruel aggression,
the French Republic suggests a lack of compassion,
all empires and countries have had transgression.

Compare the places that Britain created
with nearby places that are situated.

Look at the economy of Gibraltar
it is better than Spanish cities by far.

The wealth and living standards of the Falklands compared with Argentina,
the powerhouse that is Hong Kong compared with China,
the collapse of independent India and success in Australia.

Our rebel relative the USA,
our ways were the foundation of their ways.
Created South Korea the third generation
all because of this island nation.

Outdoing all Europe and the rest,
creating the world we call the West,
time and again we have passed the test.
Of all the civilizations Great Britain is the best.


Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


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Prince of Lies

Betrayer of thoughts
Seeker of lies
Cold and calloused
The one who despised
King of the world
Prince of the air
Fortune and glory
Yet not you cared
Fallen betrayal
Hopeless revenge
Promises of peace
Souls unhinged
Destructive desertion
Weaver of all woes
Murderous aggression
Founder of foes
Slithering waste
Serpent of doom
Roses are withered
While thorns are bloomed
Master of nothing
Throne to no heir
True mercy is given 
To those who beware
Accept his lies
Seal your fate
Or denounce your wickedness
For Heaven awaits

Entered into Free For All contest
11th place
1st place in P.D.'s Old Contest Entry


Copyright © Matt Hunt | Year Posted 2011


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A POET'S PRAYER

Bless me
with the fluency of fury
and the articulate voice of anger.
Spare me though,
of its affliction of aggression.

Let my pen paint
the reflection of my thoughts 
like a mirror.
Thus my lines become
clones of my imaginations.

Let creativity be 
the stubborn shadow
of my verses
and let not inspiration
fly out of my window.


Copyright © jide badmus | Year Posted 2008


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DREAM OF YOU

Loving your confidence, your 
ambition, your drive. want to 
be dominated by your power, 
but not lost in your eyes.  my 
king ..may i be by your side,  
your queen... stand against the 
test of time, a unity, a 
friendship, possibilities with you 
seem limitless. My strength, my 
rock..your protection shields 
me, your touch heals me, you 
are the epitimy  of what I've 
prayed for..other woman wish 
to be me... Have the chance to 
feel what I feel, be intertwined 
with your body as you gently 
caress mines. . Have me on a 
high, body taken over by this 
ecstasy that my soul can't 
deny. Gratify my body, ratify 
my mind, entangled in the 
satisfaction of what still is yet 
to come. I want to please u, 
appease u, relieve you of the 
daily stress. Only one thing..I 
DEMAND respect and nothing 
less. Respect my body, respect 
my mind, be compassionate 
with my heart, but don't waste 
my time. I want to feel your 
aggression..torture me with 
passion... Claim me as your 
possession. Mangled in your 
bedsheets,  accelerated is our 
heartbeats. Anything you 
want...I'll do willingly.  I'll do it 
all for you, just please don't 
deceive. Love me, but don't lie 
to me. Be a strong man,  but 
don't hide your feeling from 
me, I will never judge, if u cry 
to me, u are my man, my king, 
I only wish to uplift you, live up 
to what u expect from 
me...your woman, your 
queen..as long as we ride for 
each other every bit of 
happiness an longevity is in our 
reach. I wait patiently for the 
day when our paths do meet, 
when you are more than just a 
Dream to me.....


Copyright © Tiana Tillman | Year Posted 2014