Best Bulldoze Poems
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
Mom is becoming very tired.
She has trouble remembering
The meds Pop takes—and when.
A lot of good it does to remember.
We have found pills all over
Where he cheeks them and
Blows them around the room.
He is bitter and asks,” Why
Is God doing this to me?”
“I’ve tried to be good and kind.
A Christian.”
He called Morris to the room
And asked for the 357,
Knowing he might be the only
One to hear his plea.
Morris denied his wish, and cried.
He called us all one at a time—
And gave us guns from his safe.
Ammunition kept at a distance.
Ralph and I went to the driveway.
“It’s sad,” he said. “Someday
They’ll bulldoze this to the ground.”
“People will forget it was here—
Like we never existed.”
We’ve got to call Hospice,” I said.
Or we’re going to lose them both.”
A final bed.
The decision had been made.
TENERIFE
Two lovers by the ragged strand once trod
the sooty sand; slender maid with raven
hair, fisher boy of bronze; the dazzling sun
a gold doubloon, the moon a silver coin.
From rocks, ink-black as witches' cats, they saw
the teeming sea; for Paraiso Beach was
cast for them by Teide's fiery blast, 'neath
Milky Way in wind-blown spray where whale and
dolphin play... Faceless fools from far-off lands
soon found their paradise. "Commercialise
then urbanize, the mountains are for sale.
Bulldoze, landfill, then jerry-build; sewage
on the surf. Roll out roads for traffic roar;
monoxide in the breeze. Machinery tear
at prickly pear and green banana trees.
Throw up bars and apartment blocks; bedim
the stars with flashing lights; fill the nights with
keyboard beat and dancing feet to drown the
ocean's anguished cries ..." Her sculpture scorned, her
flanks defiled, the lady Teide broods - with
hissing sulphur in her breath, inferno
for a heart. Such feelings pent, her rage must
vent to blast the curse and re-create a
silent land, where lizards laze and prey birds
ride the balmy breeze, while a ghostly girl
and fisher lad go gathering wild herbs.
cc CG
Teide = a volcano in Tenerife - rhymes with lady
Poem by: Piet Mashele
2sides
Title: she said....
She directly said, protect me
Like how wetly you get for your Bentley
Hold me so gently
For when you accept me
It will exactly be about
How you met me...
And she said let me
Let the blessed me
Empty the belly of your worries
So do not be in a hurry
To sing to how sexy I'm
Especially when you
Expect me not to be attached
To this strange feeling
That fairly kept me
On my toes
For this heart knows how to bulldoze
These shadows that are there to slow down
My heart beat
My blood knows its own flows
It allows me to grow to another direction
With total perfection
She sat and said...
Let me grow inside of you
So that when u breath for both us
You will know that I said let m be yours
So she said...
~THE OLD HOUSE ON HOOVER STREET~
There it sat empty and sad
Windows shattered and the bottom one boarded up
There it sat helpless and alone
No one there to protect its contents
A shabby two story on one of the most sinful streets in these parts
A dilapidated shack with its heart ripped out
Who dare go there now but demons and bats?
Why would anyone want to step foot into this hell hole of a trap?
Bring the bulldozers in I say!
Bull doze this bad memory of someone’s life!
Rats are scampering about on its main floor
Bulldoze the pain of this once old house
Allow someone to rebuild another with a fresh new dream
Gwendolen Rix
9-1-14
The grand, half-ruined Parthenon,
once a sublime, Doric grace,
Even now, in broken, stone blocks,
always takes my breath away.
The rich, classical detail,
fluted columns without plinths,
to imagine what it once was,
the mind can’t even begin…
That towering Coliseum,
the great masterpiece of Rome,
even half gone it’s staggering,
to be so tall, but made in stone.
Go down to the domed Pantheon,
still so perfect to this day,
these are not just random buildings,
they stand with something to say.
And those long, Gothic cathedrals,
so ornate and yet so light,
stained glass alone is enough
to make these churches a sight!
But all of that fine tracery,
those magnificent cravings,
the rows of flying buttresses,
inspire the soul to sing.
The Byzantines and their tiles,
Tudor masonry and wood,
Romanesque with its arches,
Art Decco looks oh-so-good,
Baroque with all its fussiness,
Victorians with their quirks,
Renaissance sports Italian flare,
Palladian’s subtle pleasures…
And yet in Albany, New York,
there stands the featureless ‘egg,’
That’s its name and its resemblance,
I am not pulling your leg.
No decoration, no windows,
as it stands there in the sun,
people call it ‘modernist,’
I call it ‘concrete abortion.’
Worse is the post-modern trash,
theaters shaped like hunks of cheese,
painted pink, spattered with portholes,
a mad-man’s monstrosity.
That is the product of our skills?
That is how we would inspire?
By building things that look like they
have been melted in a fire?!
They bulldoze down our heritage
to throw up more of these things?
And the big-wigs who approved this,
what the hell are you thinking?!
If these buildings of the future
are to have no beauty or class,
then you can keep ‘modernity,’
I’ll gladly live in the past.
Spiritual Globalisation
Bulldoze a temple!
Blast a church!
But can you break or batter
Allah,Krishna and Christ?
Not to be bullied,
Dismembered:
Where there’s a flower
There a shrine
Where there’s a heart
There the scripture
No need to demolish
Every need to construct
A Ram temple in Mecca
A mosque in Vatican
Further a church in Janmabhumi *;
Lay with humanity
Temple mosque and church
To garnish the globe.
*refers to Ramjanmabhumi in Ayodhya, India ,where stands famous temple of LORD RAMA of
Hindus.Adjecent to which stood A MOSQUE ,BABRIMASJI ,unfortunately that mosque was tumbled
by certain religious fanatics.
Hay Day
June day, perfect day for turning hay fields,
A great day for it, happiness it yields.
Oh for product the cattle need to be nourished,
But a lasting memory that's forever cherished.
I scurry to the tractor with Dad the driver,
A bottle of Mi-Wadi the sweet provider.
Pacing through the land, hay fluffy in rows,
Excitement grows, through the land we bulldoze.
Dad chirps, "are you alright back there Jim?",
I shout "of course", Dad sings a country hymn.
Me and my Dad were happy and care-free,
Together alone, as simple as abc.
All day rising smoke and stench, circling
Vultures flock the air
Waiting for machine groaning
From mound to mound to cease
Ahead of the incessant dogs.
Thoughts take black wings
Out of the yawning hole
Unfilled since the last mischief
A corpse unknown, exposed itself
I found the soil too toxic even for weed
And yet I had grown familiar
To that strange love, duplicitous
Like heat waves telling distant lies
To desert parched of tongue.
Nothing fills the hole
But gaping memories,
The sinister attitude of splintered reason
Pervading arguments pass the redundant season.
Landfills are tricky places to own
With a tart capacity for limited rehabilitation
It was irrevocable, my blind ambition
To grow a garden in soil gangrene with mold
Let pigs search for truffles there alone.
Love cannot bulldoze a level field
For friendship where no one yields.
To and fro the black wings
In the smoke drenched sky
Flutters
The subside in the mind cavernous.
Feeling of absolute brilliance
Power
The amazing power of the soul
What do I do with this feeling?
Power of immense magnitude
What can I do with this?
London streets
The high rise estates of North London
I want the amazing power of the soul
Amazing power
The greatness of 90s NYC
Waterflood
I can't stop this feeling
Never end
Angry revenge
Lifted
A happy soul
Happy nigh of the century
Now everything is misplaced
I will put it all right
Before I am dead
I swear to it
I swear to my soul
Nothing will be the same when I finish
Nothing can survive
In my midsts
My secondary school times in London
Eyes of laughter
Friends all around me
Now everyone has deserted me
I have succession in my blood now
The century has not changed
I am going to change the world
It is only time
Wait when I come
From the hills of the French Alps
From London
From Sheffield
To destroy the old ways
To bring in the new
To bring in revolution
Going on holiday with family
The power of my sword
My inner sword
One eye on the left and right of the sword blade
I am at one wit myself
I will destroy and bulldoze all who get in my way
I am the revolution
Before I am dead
I swear
I will bring change
The power of my sword
I want your soul
November 6th 2018 - election day
Later today after
all votes get cast
post final countdown,
the winning candidates
ought to be known
way before break fast
cometh on the lanced
morrow (for champions),
nonetheless
my fingers and toes crossed,
that those donned diametrically
opposed to establishmentarian
(reed conservative
buttoned down
MAGA stalwarts) deemed
more dangerous than
beastie boys, or
foo fighting, Outkast
sans, these progressive forward
thinking Democratic activists
(purportedly threatening
gerrymandered territory,
where white Anglo Saxon
Protestant hegemony dominates
status quo regarding
dhow ting Thomas Nast
tee Donkeys as
hashtagged by Trump),
I pray these true
purring blue state
representatives clinch,
the majority to oust vast
Republican politicians cowed,
demeaned, and excoriated
for NOT fawning
prince supple lee,
nor paying expected
obeisance as mealy
mouth sycophants, that she
push hilly accede toward
belligerent, execrable,
and incriminating, nee
Machiavellian hot headed,
quasi coiffed,
donned, and puffed que
hair raising bully,
whose vindictive
uber lyft tartly tinged
tongue lashing,
they risk acerbic
punitive un re
lent ting vitriol stemming
from recalcitrance determined
by the fuhrer wannabe
wool shear lee be silenced
unless that bigoted,
"FAKE" man hat
tinned unabashed, unhinged,
and unruly
villainous president we
the village people nominated
to bulldoze zee
American free
dumbs, now made irrelevant!
My sins are catching up with me, yet still I'm unrepentant.
A demon came to take my soul but back to Hell I sent it.
Life has made a joke of me, now time will bulldoze through me.
God must love to fuc#, cuz when he gave me life he screwed me.
But really though, that's just a joke, no deity creates me.
Cherokee pumps through my veins, now time discriminates me.
Native and white, it mixed up right, think twice before you bait me.
Add flesh and bone to guns I own, that's who I'd wish to date me.
Most times I feel invisible, I've never been acknowledged.
This body that I occupy it needs to be demolished.
Then maybe I could try again to create someone better.
Mentally right, whom folks would like, stand smiling in a sweater.
With confidence and quicker wits, a smile unforced nor strained.
Then perhaps I'd find happiness and kill these inner pains.
Iambic Sighs
David J Walker
What a cruel damn thing
Life can seem
Before you fly
I know
What where goes
And when goes
And there goes
With treasure troves
of why
I know
Which wind blows
On down lows
And in flows
On outflows
And iambic sighs
I know
Of back hoes
And bulldoze
And fast slows
And good pose
And bad prose
And a second-place prize
What a cruel damn thing
Life can seem
And then we say
Our goodbyes
"Faith Can Move Mountains."
I have heard that term time and time again,
but it is for the most part a misunderstanding.
The only time that I witnessed faith move mountains,
was when an entrepreneur had FAITH in his vision,
and then took ACTION,
to bulldoze those mountains into the background,
and erect where they once stood a complex condominium.
Faith alone does not accomplish anything,
unless you approach that faith with the appropriate action.
The glory of America,
now heats up
with agitation poised
to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration
as fete accompli chink
in armor of Democratic rubric,
constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch
when mandating masses
swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth
bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jew pitter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how whiz derriere
didst Sat urn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping
two hundred fifty pounds of flesh
doubling down humming
his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down
vis a vis pro pens heave lee
and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth arctic monkey
serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States
of America will become hell
in a handbasket worth repeating
with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of this forty fifth
elected commander in mischief.