Best Crack The Whip Poems
Mind pollution
The manipulation and control of the masses
Is a world government agenda and constitution
Throughout time.
Newer technology and the information computer revolution
Are powerful weapons to spread evil deeds and even more pollution
The slave masters crack the whip the rich get richer
The poor poorer powerless aboard a sinking ship.
Out of manufactured chaos
Comes apathy and fear
Making nations easier to control
And sell their souls sometimes unwaveringly
Blind to the powers that be commands.
Propaganda to gain support for wars
Bank crashes like never before
To take our money
And make rhe rich richer
Than before
Government leaks and lies spread to cause hate
And justify what the powers that be create.
Puppets on strings controlled by the powerful who lurk in the shadows
The real rulers of the world never seen
Ruthless greedy evil and mean.
For those not blind with open mind
The jigsaw puzzle slowly fits together
Piece by piece and the bigger picture is released
The truth they'll never be peace
The snares are their so take care
Open your eyes free your mind so you can see
World manipulation and subliminal brainwashing in your own home
Through the media and TV.
So many good people in the spotlight have tried to warn us before
And tried to revile the truth and the secrets
But were silenced and found dead on the floor.
Peter Dome.copyright.2015. June.
Man, it just doesn’t pay to try and live in the day. Crazy full up, crisper, sharpest with an undepleted uranium core, burning burning burning, knowing it’s all **** and nobody pays attention, “quiet desperation,” hell! I just want to run in circles, scream and shout, play a one-man game of crack the whip, and fly down the lea flopping into a deeper briar patch of blooming wild irish roses and gin blossoms! As I pass through muted crowds, so full of noise and bustle-hustle, I get that itch between my chakras, that tightening of the fruit, stooping with a sly look around me, a faint paranoiac whiff of parallel worlds at a titanic event horizon, slamming together, slapping bellies like a $2 whore... shadows fighting archetypes of shadows (or is it more like the agony of waiting for that goddamn second boot that never gets dropped on the floor in the apartment above, Jesus Christ, does Ahab live up there?! But more like living a Gilliam dystopia, never feeling completely at ease with anything or anyone, until even the sewer urchins are out for your blood...my God, their dark eyes!) and, passing through the crowds and stores full of purchased attitude and 4G networks, everyone’s hands full of their adult pacifiers, texting a friend sitting next to them, I get cooler, like passing through a near dawn mist roiling off a boneyard, and realize we’re all starving pilgrims on a road to nowhere, begging bowls filled with moaning woe and ironic suffering as we’re denied entry into Lhasa (we had a PC instead of a Mac). Do I bow or curse now at knowing I'll have to slide past a window and hide under the stoop with a paper bag full of fortified liquid forget-me-for-now and growl away the ice weasels? But as I wander, backtrack through that plastic-fantastic crowd, hitting the door and dark like an expelled sigh, I wonder what became of true heroes? For with my disdain, rapier sarcasm dripping with cleverly crafted metaphors... I’m not one of them.
The crack of dawn
The crack of the bat...
A crack in the pavement
Fall through the cracks...
Crack cocaine
A crack fighter pilot...
A clever wisecrack
That cracked me up...
Crack your knuckles
Jimmy crack corn
Crack a smile
Crack the whip...
To comprehend this little ode
You have to crack the language code
Form:
I am applying for the consultant position
of Office Manager for which I will audition.
I am undeniably qualified to deal with nitwits
and idiots I will immediately classify as 'twits.'
My solution to deal with those people is fair
It may not be righteous, but I don't care.
If your company is greedy to make money,
it's ok with me. Just give me my check, honey.
I don't browbeat employees with a big stick
when they come in late or say they're sick
I'll crack the whip on any numbskull at work
and there's one less lazy fool I'll call a jerk.
If you think my method is severe over kill,
you're right, because I don't show good will
to jackasses who keep making me mutter
words you would only hear in a street gutter.
I'll get control and do what needs to be done
and I promise I'll try not to pull out a real gun.
I'll need some handcuffs and maybe a jail cell.
Give me free rein and everything will be swell.
My resume' experience speaks for itself.
Once, I've even fired an Elf on the Shelf
I did it without a good reason or just cause
so you can waiver that harrassment clause.
You can hire me now for a trial run.
Keep me on or fire me, but I'm the one
you need to give brainless creatures the boot...
not due to my work ethic, cuz I don't give a hoot.
Goodbye Halloween it's Christmas time to tout.
We'll all be getting presents then.
We won't go door to door or dress up anymore.
Here Santa comes at Christmas when...
Midnight strokes of Christmas Eve.
Our stockings by the fire.
Wax candles on the mantelpiece,
spaced opposite to spire.
A Christmas Tree that's flickering
inside the corner full.
The star on top the treetop twig
as holy as it's pull.
A wrap in rust upon the couch
where mama hopes to sit.
Two tables at the sides that show
two lamps of oil lit.
One wooden reindeer on the floor
connected to a sleigh.
It's walnut wood to warm the heart
the Christmas spirits way.
A dim lit room to share the night.
A Christmas scene of lore.
The spirit of old Santa Claus
come Christmas time once more.
A clicking of the rooftop tar.
Eight reindeer or I'm told.
All harnessed to the fattest man
as jolly as is old.
His entrance fanning chimney air.
The fireplace leaping out.
His joyous laughter roaring on
spontaneous to his shout.
He quickly stuffs the stockings snug
and places all the gifts.
Then raises up his one small finger
from which his being lifts.
Once more inside his sleigh above;
a snap to crack the whip.
He nods aside the reindeer heads
and off they go a-rip.
The little sleigh going dangling on.
It sliding through the sky.
The far horizon beckoning him
as Santa waves on bye.
Those Were My Great Days
Old people like me have become historic
Ending up in shock and also euphoric
Thinking about things that once had been
Which I will never hear or see again.
Kitty in the Corner we used to play
And red light green light every day
Back in history when we all were hep
We liked playing giant and short step.
No or yes you may must then be said
or we could play crack the whip instead
Wherever it was where we used to go
We would carry our top or have a yoyo.
Even if playing in dirt or maybe sand
With our thumb we would have to span
And playing marbles might have a cannelle
Or a big block bluster busted by a steely.
Would put baseball cards in bicycle spokes
And checked for cities on bottom of Cokes
Went to movies which with were blessed
Chose numbers for dollars and pie eating contest.
If your were one of those who needed a fix
You could always end up playing pickup stix (sticks)
Or fly kite in air when a big wind blows
Later did play checkers followed by dominoes.
Those were my great days in so many ways
Never was criticized and only received praise
All I needed to do was my prayers be said
And then in each morning make up my bed.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
crack the whip
crack the unforgiving
whip
slapping down on
hunched backs
walk and walk,
blood leaves the
flesh.
fresh wounds met by no
muse
the trail is cosmic
the end is none
crack the whip
crack the bones
of the slaves
callous hands
being swallowed by
virgin mouths
land is not
pure, nor
furtile
all blood
seeps through
killing the root
Wanna get on that horse
round up all that herd
lot of work still to be done
what do I do to get you stirred
Come on now let's get going
if you want to get fed
show you deserve a feast
before you get to bed
you young ones like it easy
in my day it was all graft
sweating it out all the day
then you really earned your craft
Sorry if I've been too hard
but experience says crack the whip
in the long term you'll be thankful
a real cowboy makes the trip
In the middle of the night
When I can’t get back to sleep
All these grandiose ideas
In my wired brain do creep.
I will clean out all my closets.
I will rearrange each drawer.
I will freshen up the furniture
And spiff up the décor.
I will organize my poetry
To fit into a book
And the children’s tale I’ve started
Will get more than just a look.
I will sit and read the travel guides
I’ve purchased for a trip.
I will self-impose some discipline
And really crack the whip
In the morning, though, reality
Comes crashing with a thwack.
The enthusiasm 2 a.m.
Inspires won’t come back.
Brother, do you blame because I am no longer small
And do no jump when you crack the whip
Or because you dare not rise to make a call
To me because of your moral slip?
Brother, do you blame me because I pretend
Not to know the doublecross of tongue
Or because I can cleverly comprehend
The venom curdled on your lung?
I come here, but to make, a little sacrifice
To place upon the alter here
My soul before my God by faith's advice
And weep to none where I see despair.
So offer what you wiil, I pray you error go away
Before the fire comes for terminus
I pray the fire that consumed my lamb today
Will the find the mark that make us better dust.
Thinking big
Starting small
Crash the system
Drop the ball
Crack the whip
Spill the Beans
Defy your God
A sight obscene
Practice
Lie
As angels die
All just a shot in the dark
Shoot and miss
Control your fists
Violence
Consumes the air
Ride among
The ones who’ve sung
Away their cries
Who’s the one that dies?
Riding fast through the clouds
Way above Heaven
And Past Avalon
Graciously floating over the River Styx
What you seek
What you seek is down below
The Rivers Majestic Majesty
Bursts of Flames and jumping pieces of coal
Your life runs thin as your read words.
Your wasting time but you come back for thirds
You want it
You feed on it
We the ones who aren’t like others
Romantics, Poets, Forever Brothers
We chase the goose into prison walls
And we fall in to a trap, As if forever our souls will stay in cells.
Form:
I am just a simple whisper
Trust me to not make a whimper
I am just a forgotten liar
Just me to burn in the fire
Lie awake to pass the time
Tell a lie to punish mine
Show me
How to love to make this dissipate
Show me
How to raise you up and hold you there
Take your sin and eat your hate
Believe you know and think you care
I am nothing but a whisper
Trust me to bend a knee and lend an ear
Waiting to take your daily order
I am just a servant, just a slave
Take me wherever your hell may guide
Crack the whip and tell me how to abide
Show me
How to love to make this dissipate
Show me
How to raise you up and hold you there
Take your sin and eat your hate
Believe you know and think you care
It's just me, only me
I won't say a word
I won't stray too far away
It’s just me, it’s just me, just me, just...
Show me
How to love to make this dissipate
Show me
How to raise you up and hold you there
Take your sin and eat your hate
Believe you know and think you care
I am just a simple whisper
Trust me to not make a whimper
I’ll raise you up and hold you there
Believe you know and think you care
They ask how this could come about?
How could a young man just snap,
this did not happen way back,
enough to make a good soul doubt.
They wonder why has it changed,
what’s different now than before,
what turns a young man to horror,
why are things not the same?
Craven folks say it’s all guns,
not above misusing a great loss
to advance their political cause,
never helping out anyone.
Some say that it’s the drugs,
medicating the boys of the world
because they are not little girls,
give them pills until their numb.
Perhaps they speak some truth,
it’s hard to grow, healthy and hale
when society demonizes males,
even when they’re in their youth.
But I think it’s more than that,
I don’t recall so many disturbed
back when our homes had fathers,
something so many now lack.
For young men especially,
an adult body and a child’s mind,
awash in hormones all the time,
of guidance they have a need.
’cause the cold, unyielding fact
is that men are for aggression bred,
and very like to end up dead,
if not taught control and tact.
A father is essential here,
one who’s survived life’s burdens,
learned what is required on men,
how to conquer masculine fears.
A single mother is not enough,
though her love is like a saint’s
she physical cannot restrain
a young man who's acting rough.
With more fathers in the home
to make clear just what life is,
and sometimes to crack the whip,
more boys would prosper and grow.
But to the nagging PC-crowd
to say that it makes good sense
to utilize such male guidance
is an idea denounced loud.
Most of them do not believe
that gender is even a thing,
and the great challenges it brings
They steadfastly will not see.
To claim that two parents are
crucial to a balanced life,
best achieved by man and wife,
to them is a step too far.
Ideology makes them blind,
they’d rather this mess go on
then dare reveal that they’re wrong
and have to change their mind.
And they won’t dare admit
that sex is not a social trope,
that the things real men know
could help put a stop to this.
So now we’re in this place,
the solution that they won’t see
is backed up by long history,
and should be encouraged post-haste…
…but I’m not holding my breath.
She was irresistible
Lust had me in its grip.
Tempered though somewhat,
When she produced the whip.
"What is this I said,
What is this game you're playing."
"You'll know soon enough, said she
For you are for a flaying."
I couldn't make a run for it
I'd let her tie me to the bed,
As she began to crack the whip
My heart fair filled with dread.
But several lashes later
How could I have known,
I really rather liked it,
My 'interest' had grown.
Entry for
Sexy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lewis Raynes.
18/11/18. Placed 2nd.
You got a bad ending attraction
to winsome things
Pretty possessive faces,
which crack the whip
and pull the chain
Each mourning
is a close shave beginning
Rough insomnia dreams,
so razor thin ... risk dangerous
You’ve been sleepwalking Chorus:
on the wrong side
Letting your nether thoughts awaken
So busy blind date talking
to a hurt locker guide
Now your skeleton key secrets are taken
The things you want to hold on to,
is the pain you need to let go of
The sleep you’re always losing
is on the wrong side of pillow love
Your restless rite of passage
was on the wrong side
Red was the light flashing: “X-Dangerous”
Extremely fatal touch
Sending submissive message,
your nose is open wide
Wrong pheromone signal given due to lust,
a pleasure poison rush
You’ve been sleepwalking Chorus:
on the wrong side
Letting your nether thoughts awaken
So busy blind date talking
to a hurt locker guide
Now your skeleton key secrets are taken
The things you want to keep locked up,
is the pain you need to let go of
The sleep you’re always freely losing
is on the wrong side of pillow love