Best Censorship Poems
If you are so proud
of your sensibilities and tastes,
so convinced that your arbitrary judgements
are infallible as heartbeats of angels,
if you are the sole instrument of God's grace and evaluations
then why don't you allow them to stand next to that which you condemn
for your peers and the world to judge,
why deny those immaculate tenets the glory
of intellectual and moral combat
to prove their legitimacy, their spiritual superiority
and not to become what they claim to understand and abhor,
who and what do you believe you are protecting,
its critics like you that retard the development of the Youth,
attempt to shame love and passion,
encourage the madness of tyrannies,
and succor the demons of oppressive cults,
does a rose hide itself in the shade,
does a beautiful sword dignify itself with wild slashes,
does the truth honor itself with silence,
does justice inspire with opinion,
Banish the bullies,
trip the trolls,
excise the malevolent,
leave passionate love alone...
I declare,
let there be contrast,
let there be Art -
J.A.B.
CENSORSHIP
There is a language I spoke and I knew.
It fluently told it's stories in dance.
Graceful chaînes that turned our spirits out
and razor sissones to cut with candor.
There is a light song I willingly played.
My fingers glissade, ran, courir, en croix,
rapidly crossing the tired yellow keys.
There is a bleached canvas white with nothing!
The brush has eyes. It's clever at seeing,
tout va bien, and always without me.
It tells me what is beneath the linen,
a textured story in shape and color.
There are no jagged edges in assemblé.
The poetry, un mot, could keep the time
on paper. It knew dimensions, of four,
in every breath. It saw the frozen rose.
It sprinkled stories of death or exploded
in dimples of joy. It holds my hand and tells on me.
A firefly in bourrée is silenced from the play.
By Edlynn Nau
October 8, 2016
This little poem is filled with swear names,
Swear names that are really quite lewd,
From Bummy McBumbum to Cocky McCock,
These names are really quite rude,
And if Ms Yucky Poobum offends you so much,
If it makes you want to go do a dump,
Remember there’s one name that’s worse than the lot,
And that is the President Trump.
It's an all expense paid trip, you know?
Until you decide, you won't bow to the
government freak show.
Facebook, Twitter, and other associated
BIG tech sisters and brothers...
Ban some for life, and block comments
especially from Conservative others.
On sites, yes, you will be punished brutally,
as well.
Yes, you able-poet, banished, like a creepy
leper from hell.
How dare you not want the vaccination?
It's free, you fool, in this censorship nation!
Just make believe free speech is now gone?
Only sing of flowers and humor, anything else
is wrong?
Poetry, the last chance to tell any truth.
Must be in-line with rotting governments,
or, in a pile of old phone booths.
Covid has made minds fearful of any free thinking.
You'd better write only humor, or you are thrown
overboard and are sinking!
Poets who know we are all being scammed?
I have seen them brutally treated or their poetry
avioded or unread, as if it were useless spam!
5/6/2021
~4~
12/22/2023
In the softest, snowflaked, winter moonlight she walks
The townspeople peered out their frosted windows fora
chance peak.
Not a precious feather moves, and she is not stalked.
All knew not to mess with her, for she is their hope and
not a town freak!
Rebelloisuness courses through her throbbing, silent.
robust veins.
She dreams of a world in peace, free of all govermental
intervention .
A must,is that, on any writer, forbidden foreever, any
attempt to dare their pen to restrain,
Streets for all, to walk without dark fear, a world sparkling
with open, jubilant communication!
Frozen and left for dead
I can speak no words
nor shake my head
only the sky
moves on
above me
© Christine A Kysely All Rights Reserved
(December 12th, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
Before the days of censorship,
I longed to be heard,
no one to keep my secrets safe,
not a single word-
Everything was out in the open,
no voice was silent,
back during the days of yore,
before debates were violent.
So many times of edgy speeches
were allowed and occurred.
When activists were able
to speak their mind,
now such honesty is so darn
hard to find-
Can we not speak what
we feel is our belief?
Now we all have to keep quiet
without true relief.
Our articulation gone missing,
we are hushed and confined.
When did it start, being on the
verge of placid moments?
Now we must be careful and
drown in apologies and atonement-
I remember when I could use my
pen to write with reality,
now there are judgments
claiming unauthenticity.
It used to be we could verbalize
ourselves with condonement.
To be honest there is not much
freedom to vocalize,
so many people lost in this world,
with offence in their eyes-
I do not blame those who try to
reach out and speak with accuracy,
we must be able to say the
facts with sincere veracity.
This suppression is depressing,
when will they realize?
Nowadays this world seems
to be so insane and hazy,
people live lives of foolishness
and are lazy-
We are not able to express
ourselves with candid conversation,
only bringing an obnoxious
and repugnant civilization.
If only we could communicate with truth,
instead of being crazy.
Ground Edges Poetry Contest
September 29, 2017
The concrete is rough
He acts so tough
But it’s the softest thing he’s felt in a long time
The buildings are too sublime
A silver bullet would be a crime
He’s never been fine
He already tried the scent of pine
Others suggested rhymes
His watch says it’s almost time
Time to change this ebb and flow
Time to cross the lines he’s always known
To be his home
He’s always alone
It’s better that way
He used to go to church to pray
But he got caught up in the havoc
Of life, his ears filled with static
He opens his eyes
No one sees him cry
They tell him he should try
So he tries something new
Something that tastes blue
Which is better than grey
He won’t even have to pay
The sun is too bright
So he chose to do it at night
Where he can fight
With himself in the cover of darkness
Maybe this is craven
Nevertheless, he seeks a haven
For the first time he feels okay
This is where most people would pray
Not him, his god died long ago
Killed by the demons he can’t show
Instead he implores the cars
That they move quickly under the hidden stars
I take a deep breath
Not looking as I step into oncoming traffic
Make sure you warn your kids; this next scene is graphic.
Sometimes, if an act is to be funny,
a comedian may resort to using profanity.
What he says may be considered outrageous,
but he makes laughter look like it's contagious.
On television, you would never hear a profane quip.
The sound may be beeped out due to censorship.
inspired by another member's poem
C ome to think of it, everything offends them, of late.
E ven the most trivial thing on earth, they hate.
N egativity seems to run in their veins from birth
S tupidity never had a cure, it needs no effort.
O bnoxious to the point that it stifles our art
R epugnance is my reaction from the heart.
S urrender to their whims is but sheer unreality
H owever much they try to silence my poetry
I n Truth I stand and will never bend my words
P oets must be true and poems are my swords!
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~~09.12.17
Bill Shakespeare is wanted for hate speech,
His study’s surrounded with tape.
The local police were slow to react,
He may already have made his escape.
There’s a chance that he’s gone into hiding
To work on the draft of a play;
Anne Hathaway helps with enquiries:
Where’s old Bill? She’s refusing to say.
She cannot abide the intrusion,
As detectives examine each sonnet,
If she pops down the market she wears a dark cape
And hides her face under a bonnet.
She’s missing the warmth of her husband,
His sensitive hands and dark beard.
She hopes that they’ll soon be together
But meanwhile, her dear Bill’s disappeared.
And Bill’s understandably nervous
’Cause writing these plays is quite hard.
He enjoys married life with his beautiful wife
And his neighbours now call him “The Bard.”
The risks of a long legal battle
Could distract him for over a year,
If the courts rule against his linguistics,
That might end his productive career.
This poem references the emotions of fear, hope and love now that historic scripts are frequently re-appraised - and sometimes condemned - against modern norms and expectations.
Silenced voices, feared by those in power.
Utopia sought, only dystopia flowers.
Protect all speech, diverse and free.
Perception leads to a society that is truly.
Redeemed expression, a beacon bright.
Escorting us through the darkest nights.
Silenced speech, we've lost our way.
Shaping the fascists we sought to slay.
For talking too much in class, we've buttoned your lip.
If the teacher does ask you to talk, here is a little tip.
You unbutton your lip just like a button on your shirt.
The first few times, you may feel a little hurt.
So be gentle, so your lip ~ doesn't rip.
A short brief about the modern day censor,
Withholding what we can and can’t read,
Withholding what was once considered free speech,
Before the censor was let out and freed.
Like in the new poems on this poetry site,
We can’t type GET --------, or ------- YOU,
YOU ------, ----- IT, or ----OFF, because
We’ve been told these words are taboo.
This makes me wonder what words will be next,
What words will we be told to fear,
What words will the censor remove from our tongue,
What words will soon disappear.
Maybe the words that’d better watch out are,
William Shatner! Mango! Egg white!
I think the censor wants to remove these words,
Thinking we’ll all sleep better at night.
ideas silence
creators denied free thought
speech control power