Best Confiscating Poems
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
Categories:
confiscating, community, friendship love, imagery,
Form:
Spoken Word
WHO WILL FREE MY SOUL?
Criticism and sarcastic words is all i hear,
Nobody ever appreciates my efforts.
Failure and fiasco is all fear,
Inspiration derived doesn’t seem to comfort.
Mask I put won’t conceal my pain.
Favors made, countless I pray.
I’m being controlled like horse’s rein.
To my oppressors, I am a prey.
Torturing my body will not tame,
The deeds done won’t reveal my compassion.
To go down this way will only embrace my name.
But who ought to test my oppression?
My character resembles a fragment,
Nothing to reform to, my incarnation unknown
Broken inside diversify my temperament,
When I die, will I reincarnate and be renowned?
My purpose in this world is incarcerated.
Confiscating my dreams in contempt,
My dilapidated soul is imprisoned.
Who will bail me out? Oh! Dear, who ought to attempt?
An endeavor to convince of my righteousness,
Is like beating a dead horse.
Crystal washing my mistakes won’t justify my fallibleness,
But will craft my conscience till I passenger the hearse!
By Willem Pietersen
Categories:
confiscating, death, depression, life, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
Monomaniacal Mist
I am the finite of the infinite for the shadows bleed my presence
My habitual hunger is imminent and toxicant time is of the essence
Like the serpent swallowing sorrows slithering to sanitize your soul
In view of marauding morrows whispering winds wavering console
As a malodorous mist, I appear a demi-god of recyclable tangled time
A fallen angel fostering fear bringing forth a new pernicious paradigm
I come within denigrative dreams a diabolical debacle demanding end
A Svengali of silent screams an oblivious organism that will transcend
A jaded jackal conjured by the broken hearts withering to their demise
The grotesque genie that departs only to enslave before it’s downsize
I am the confiscating conqueror of night banishing your barren breath
Like a fallacious futile frostbite a feculent frozen fire ... for I am death.
April.03.2018
The Life of Death
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Categories:
confiscating, death, destiny, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
Questions are proliferating,
people search for answers
in old pants pockets
in long discarded purses.
The scampering feet of baby philosophers
can be heard from the moon.
The media is stymied, they are manipulating,
confiscating and hiding behind the backs
of massively overgrown ballers,
willy-nilly they scribble an alternative reality
upon indoor swimming pools.
The manic mayhem of our daily grind
is wearing our hair thin,
Somebody should take control of the truth,
but it keeps dodging questions
and slamming doors behind it.
Mark my words with invisible ink,
scratch a cat behind its ears,
somersault all you like
but we are all getting overrun
by imperfect pontifications
by the indecent Doctors of spin.
and all this endless self-questioning
keeps replying over and over again
but only in unbreakable code.
Categories:
confiscating, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Fruits noirs
Sans qu’on y prenne garde,
Le ciel se tisse du grillage
Sombre des branches.
Elles s’étendent chaque année,
Et chaque année,
Grignotent un peu plus d’espace,
Au point de parfaire une voûte
Et d’arriver à se rejoindre,
En confisquant le peu de lumière,
Stagnante, sous les dernières
Feuilles de novembre,
La sève lentement rétractée.
Une pluie insistante, et froide,
Corrode la symphonie des ocres
En une bouillie sombre et gluante…
Les buissons moroses abritent
Aussi des fruits noirs,
A la densité lourde.
Ils pèsent de leur deuil,
Leur poids d’approche hivernale,
Et font oublier les envolées légères,
Des passereaux insouciants,
Qui se poursuivaient
Dans l’azur cristallin.
Ce sont des corbeaux ;
Et leur noir luisant,
Semble une menace anthracite,
Barrant quelque part,
De branche et branche
La lumière et la joie .
-
Without being beware,
The sky is woven with wire mesh
Of dark branches.
They extend every year
And every year
Eat away a little more space,
To the point of making a perfect arch
And arriving to join
Confiscating the little light
Stagnant under the last
Leaves of November
Sap slowly retracted.
An insistent rain and cold
Corrodes the symphony of ochres
In a dark and slimy mush ...
The gloomy bushes shelter
Also black fruits,
A with heavy density.
They weigh their mourning
The weight of winter approach
And make you forget the light flights,
Of careless sparrows,
Chasing each other
In the blue skies
They are crows;
And shiny black
Seems a anthracite threat
Barring somewhere
From branch to branch
Light and spirit of joy.
Categories:
confiscating, allegory, animal, nature, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Ama you are a father
Father my father
Whose basket of fishes
Sweetened my mother’s dishes
Whose naked feet danced
The jungle drum you drummed.
I remember
Father I still remember
Those joyous days
When like brooding hens
You employed your hands
To shield the offsprings
Those several bodies
O! the little bodies
That clung to your bare wide chest
Like the eaglets unto their nest!
I remember
The sun-burnt days of the hunted panther
When the full moon-light chimed
The rhythms of jungle drum drummed
Rhyming with the story told
By the white-haired.
Then your roaring march
Along the prime paths of the forest
Then your rustic touch
Touching the weapon-hilt
Making carcasses of beasts
Making fresh clan feasts.
I still remember
The raw feasts of the drummer
Which strewed this universe
Like young Mbari warriors
Taking the spear from several clans
Turning their crowns into tributes!
Ama, you are the drummer
Whose communal tongue echoed
From the hidden chambers of the Niger
The drum of your conquests echoed
Everywhere in the universe
Like the gusto of the Sheik
Confiscating my land from the Sahara
In her eternal desiccation.
You are the royal father
Whose royal eyes woo the moon
Whose black hairs detain the sun
Like Joshua at Gibeon
Even in the deep valleys of Ajalon
Bringing the heavens to abrupt halts
When their course possesses progress.
O, Ama! you are a noble father
And like the gold-laying eagle my Africa
Your natural pocket flowers gold
Which fills the coffers of the household.
O Ama! you are our race
The clan greets her farmer
The tiller of my earth
The earth of the ancients
The ancients of my blood
The blood of my race.
The clan is still drumming
On the drum that now is a mere echo
Of the eternal rhythm of your drum
Ama, you are still our clan’s song;
O, you are my song
The song my jungle
The jungle of my blood
The blood of my race:
A race
Waiting
Now and ever
In a forlorn clan
Awaiting
A return of the drum?
Categories:
confiscating, nostalgiafather, father, universe,
Form:
When my wife found my pot, she thought it was tea.
And her employer fired her after he made her pee.
My dad caught me when I smoked my very first joint.
He blistered my buttocks, he wanted to make a point.
He also gave me a lecture about how dope users never win.
The next week he caught me smoking pot and he blistered my butt again.
When he was done, my butt was bright red.
He spanked me so hard that my butt bled.
He thought that I'd quit because twice I was caught.
He thought that I'd stop smoking weed but I did not.
I no longer pay for marijuana because I grow my own.
The cops just found it and I'll lose all that I've grown.
The cops are confiscating my crop and they're arresting me.
I'll see you in ten years because that's when I will be set free.
(This is a fictional poem and I believe that smoking marijuana is wrong.)
Categories:
confiscating, dad, drug, funny, prison,
Form:
Rhyme
I’m sick of hearing that guns don’t kill --
Without an assault-style weapon in his hand
no bullets would have been fired in Uvalde, Texas.
Nineteen children would be alive and happy;
Two fine teachers would be grading papers!
Trample me down, if you really must,
but these children were blown away like wind picks up dust
and, as far as I can tell, those who could do something
have done nothing to stop it since Sandy Hook!
Shame on our state and federal legislators!
You commend the dead to the care of a heavenly father,
but you do absolutely nothing to stop the carnage!
I’m here to tell you, Jesus isn’t the answer. We are!
When I ask myself “What Would Jesus Do?” I know.
Jesus would say rid yourself of your precious toys, for they
are instruments of Satan!
I am appalled that so-called Christians,
who rage against abortion
refuse to support gun control, while assault-style weapons
are killing real live, human beings…not fetuses,
but our sweet, loving children!
Spare me your righteous intonations, for
until you see the problem for what it is
and do the right thing to stop the killings
they will proliferate and you are to blame!
Don’t pontificate and tell me you are pro-life,
for you are not!
You are not, I repeat.
If you were pro-life, you would be standing up for our kids,
You would be doing everything you can to protect them,
You would be supporting anti-assault weapon legislation,
You would be for confiscating them,
You would be for penalizing those who traffic in them.
Wake up and admit the truth,
Guns DO kill people…every day!
Written May 25, 2022
Categories:
confiscating, anti bullying, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
When the mind's disease is hate,
it flows through veins unchecked.
I'm just a voice in the midst of darkness, striking a match.
A light for minds seeking refuge from storms,
to lift a crying child above the swollen stream,
that may sweep us away.
People are angry, the Earth shakes, lightning flashes,
a child cries, crowds move as rivers,
their murmuring sounds become louder.
Confusion fills cups they carry, fear fills lung's every breath,
between rage and reason.
Demons rise to shackle the fragile soul,
bringing evil from those claiming purity.
Frightened hearts beat louder at the source,
bubbling from wells of self-righteousness,
marching in step with flags unfurled,
demanding all follow their graveled path.
A scythe they wield sweeps, cutting the marrow of all who question.
The multitude moves swiftly, confiscating freedom in freedom's name.
Who dare stands, to lift the crying child from the crowd's grasp?
Giving hope, from madness. as the stalk of democracy burns brown,
withering from a drought of common sense.
While a mob demands to rule.
Categories:
confiscating, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
~*~
Alluring veil of ebony lace
slumbering silently, masking tired eyes
Confiscating vehemently
every tear she cries
Words whispered from a forked tongue
gasping for a breath of disgrace
Jealousy of ghost past
nothing left, but to hide her face
Lies rip into the pages of her book
promises broken, left in dismay
The hues of pretty photographs
fade subtly away
Camouflaged love, encase in your denial and envy
bitterness surging through every vein
Damaged now, defective
she'll never be beautiful again.
~*~
Categories:
confiscating, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
~*~
Alluring veil of ebony lace
slumbering silently, masking tired eyes
Confiscating vehemently
every tear she cries
Words whispered from a forked tongue
gasping for a breath of disgrace
Jealousy of ghost past
nothing left, but to hide her face
Lies rip into the pages of her book
promises broken, left in dismay
The hues of pretty photographs
fade subtley away
Camouflaged love, encase in your denial and envy
bitterness surging through every vein
Damaged now, defective
she'll never be beautiful again.
~*~
Categories:
confiscating, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
This is not just a poem
but more of a point of view.
So, go ahead and nod
when you hear something
that rings true.
You've always wanted
to call the fashion police.
Now you can!
When your shocked
by what you see.
So many things come to mind,
people post them on Facebook
all the time.
Wearing things that are
to short, to tight
just don't look right.
Showing all their ignorance.
Dial 1-800 take that off.
For those who don't know how to dress,
for the ladies wearing much to less.
Those who should be a shamed.
When poor choice and bad taste
are not to blame.
The Fashion Police
are there to enforce good taste.
Empowered by fashion experts
and your personal opinion.
There motto is
Just because it comes in your size
don't mean you should wear it.
We've all seen it before,
things that should be left in the store.
Dial 1-800 take that off
The Fashion Police have the powers to
capture, arrest and re-dress offenders on sight.
Any one, any time, day or night.
The Fashion Police!
Will charge those who let them
come outside the house looking like that.
With conspiracy to commit embarrassment.
Call the fashion police
for cases of fashion disasters.
For old people who dare to go bare.
To help those with
wardrobe malfunctions.
For people who don't know
their wardrobe is
Out of style and tacky.
When needed the Fashion Police
can call on their Swat team.
To deal with bad hair cuts or hair do's
and ugly tattoos.
For needed closet raids
confiscating retro and throw backs.
First time offenders are sentence to
Retail Rehab and retail therapy.
Categories:
confiscating, fantasy, fashion, fun, humorous,
Form:
Free verse
I thought
I believed
I was beyond the reach of light
Trapped there within your darkness
You eclipsed my wonder
My innocence
My hope
You wrapped me fully
Confiscating my will
Smothered my unrealized self
Draped me in your need
Subjugated me to your narrative
Then in the distance
A flicker
A tiny dot
Beyond your optics
Your contrived paranoia
Your insatiable need
I watched it grow
Filling my craving
Firing my synapses
Awakening my indefinable
I was not born to be in darkness
Wriggling in the shadows
Instead I pushed beyond your borders
Grabbed onto God's hand
As He effortlessly lifted
Transforming my impossible
He banished your Darkness
He rewrote your narrative
You took me from myself
Yet today I am back
I am strong
Freed from your insanity
I know
I believe
I am beyond the reach of darkness
Here I frolick in peaceful meadows of possibilities
I have claimed my wonder
My innocence
My hope
I live within a transcendent light
Mine is a world of every
Everyone is welcome
Peak out from the dark
Push back the veil
A hand stretches
Reaches
Pierces the sadness
Hold on
Let it be
Let it lift
Let it love
Let it consume the darkness
For Vicky Tsiluma's I'll be back contest.
I was inspired by Robin Davis's poem "Abuse Shocked Her Into a Shell"
There is light beyond abuse in whatever form it takes.
Categories:
confiscating, christian, faith, feelings, god,
Form:
Free verse
A pharmacon was not be, God saw you confiscating drowsy
He mantled him in his loving arms and whispered come with me
The Family has minus one gentle fervor and heaven one angel more
Fathomless in my heart your memory is kept of one i admired and shall never obliterate
Oh! The duress of life; death which has taken you away and impeded me to see you no more
And has made a veracious soul at composure
You fell asleep without goodbye but memories of you will always stay
Thank you for the foothold, care and love
I will miss you!
Categories:
confiscating, absence,
Form:
Elegy
He learnt to fly when he was a child,
Darting throughout the air.
Shooting through crowds, leaving everyone happy,
At the country fair.
Shooting people in their belly, back and their legs,
With his small little love tipped dart.
Leaving them with a crush, a brand new love,
In their beautiful heart.
And then the local fun police arrived,
With insurance to run the carnival.
They saw him, caught him, held him down,
Confiscating his arsenal.
The fair is now safe, no one will be shot,
No loving, no dreams, and no dance.
And today Cupid’s on the airport runway line,
To holiday on the tower in France.
Categories:
confiscating, lost love, love, love
Form:
Quatrain