Best Forcibly Poems
Children as young as three years old,
Killed for not doing as they’re told,
Forced to forget their culture bold,
What a tragedy to unfold!
Two hundred fifteen, that ain’t less,
Young innocents abused, suppressed,
How can humans be so heartless?
It breaks my heart, I must confess,
Wonder, how they would have pleaded?
Their cries for mercy unheeded
Residential schools, not needed,
Were soon closed, but lives conceded,
In the name of education,
A way of ‘assimilation’,
Native kids faced termination,
What a gruesome excavation!
07.01.2021
{On 28 May, 2021, the bodies of 215 children were discovered in a burial site at the grounds of the Kamloops Indian Residential School using new, ground-penetrating technology. The deaths are believed to be undocumented. The school, which was closed in the late 1970s, is located in Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation. First Nations refer to a section of indigenous inhabitants of Canada, along with Inuits and Métis people.
Between 1831 and 1996, Canada’s residential school system forcibly separated more than 1.5 lakh First Nations children from their families in order to assimilate them into the Euro-Canadian and Christian ways of living. They were forbidden to acknowledge their indigenous heritage and culture or to speak their own languages.
According to an information resource set up by the University of British Columbia, children were subjected to physical, sexual, emotional, and psychological abuse.
In 2008, then Prime Minister Stephen Harper publicly issued an apology, on behalf of the Government of Canada, to all indigenous people acknowledging the country’s role in the residential school system.}
For Edward Ibeh's "This or That, Vol 4" contest
What are the soul suckers
that forcibly cleave to you?
What do they mean to you?
Why do you let them steal from you?
How many more times
will they make a meal of you?
Is it television,
or Harlequin Romance books?
Perhaps it’s gambling on your looks?
Maybe it’s wealth or obsessive health
that has attached its hooks?
Be suspect of anything,
that prevents you from being who you are.
That obsession with driving the right car,
the adoration of beautiful people at the bar.
All those pretend pretty things won’t get you far.
Self pleasure, leads in the wrong direction,
away from the True North Star.
That empty feeling,
the loneliness quake,
all it does is take take take!
Can you feel it make your soul shake?
Do you wonder about the decisions you make?
You were born for far more,
soul suckers won’t relieve your heart ache.
They entice you with fake,
preventing you from realizing what’s at stake.
Open your eyes friend,
don’t be deceived by the snake.
He’s there to sap your power
and doesn’t want you to wake.
In the end all he offers
is a fiery lake!
Falling into the vortex,
there is no escape
You're sucked in,
getting sub-atomically stripped
is your inevitable fate
No more straight line of linear time
No more clearly defined dimensions of reality,
it all bends and shifts
Space-time gets blended
and folded,
unanchored and set adrift
The future compresses inside the past
You see everything in an instant
before disintegration occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a new set of physic laws dissolve
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
have collapsed into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
Falling into the maelstrom,
there is no escape
You're forcibly pulled in,
and molecular disintegration
is your ultimate fate
In here, dimensions bend
and reality shifts
Space-time becomes unanchored
and set adrift
The past compresses inside the future
You see everything in an instant
before reconstitution occurs
You fell into a singularity,
where a strange, new reality dissolves
you into pure cosmic energy
This is the place where paradoxes
become a byword
Singularity
This is the place where dead stars
collapse into their rebirth
Singularity
This is the place where death takes an eternity
Singularity
This is the place where death occurs instantly
Singularity
The creation of time and space
is your wondrous last sight seen
Now as a newborn infinity child,
singularity is your first infant dream
The Fire
For centuries, it matchlessly stood
This Nair baron’s mansion made entirely of wood,
Which but carried a curse from an old woman, or worse,
From the chief carpenter who was sort of done in
By the landlord with whom he had a run-in
Till, one day with the rising sun, the eldest of the sons
Soaked a brand in kerosene and the set the edifice on fire
Which burned for days to be bemoaned for decades
Hoping to end the in-fighting and tension
That erupted on questions of partition
Only to be followed by a long legal battle
And the family fortunes falling like skittles.
S.Jagathsimhan Nair,
19 apr 12
For Rick Parise’s “FIRE” contest
Ps: The first curse was from a poor old woman. One of the trees used for the construction was hers. It was forcibly felled against her wish. So it carried her curse. The second was from the chief carpenter who those days fixed the location of the proposed house’s first corner-stone , which , according to the age-old science of buildings was believed to have a bearing on the fortunes of the land lord as well as the carpenter. In this particular case the landlord too happened to be an adept in that science. Out of some grudge, and enjoying unquestioned power, the land lord is believed to have forced the poor carpenter to fix a spot for the first corner-stone which would bring the carpenter death before the construction was completed. It happened that way in this case.
Suddenly from somewhere
A street urchin-
An untamed bird of the wider sky
Dropped down
Into the circus tent
Before him was unfurled
Scenes eerie….awesome!!
Roaring lions and tigers,
Gibbering baboons, caravans of camels,
Animal tamers and acrobats,
Artists balancing on poles
Swinging from bars to trapeziums
Pliant girls with plastic limbs
And pouting breasts,
Walking on tight ropes.
A strange world,
Peopled with beasts and men!
His face, painted white and red
In motley dress, he was arrayed
And a tall tapering cap, placed
On his forcibly tonsured head
He hardly knew what it all meant.
He heard the bells ringing
And it was time for the show
He was told
He would henceforth be a clown
And should make people laugh
A thousand sunsets passed him by
He forgot the familiar alleys of the streets
Lost sight of the endless pathways of the sky
In a world –
So populous- so empty,
He buried him
In the hidden caverns of himself
Nursing a hundred bruises
Inflicted by Time’s sharp razors
Often he was reminded-
“You should make others laugh”
He did make people laugh
While a fountain of tears lay frozen
In the slivers of his broken heart!!
Jan.7. 2023
~ Placed Fourth~
Tatters Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose
Upon revelation’s flight
Under Orion’s focus
I witness a fiery glow towards familiar horizons.
‘Tis no sunrise
It is a striking reality.
My saddened retinas witness monochromatic pitchforks,
Desolated screams,
Embellished declarations from misguided leaders
And self-made stallions riding into condescending sunsets
Without any earned punctuation to be taken seriously
A House of Eroded Representatives
A village of One
A village of souls
Pushing
Back
…
There was a home upon these well-worn landing strips.
This was my home.
But, these forged rooftops now taste
Withering, hurricane gusts of red velvet cake’s mold
Rusted nails forcibly detached from honored foundations
Unto egotistical coffins
The reality
Shining through meter-less corruptions
Comes full circle
Small doses of poisonous vendettas
Fed from tarnished, silver spoons
Echoes of Cuban Fidel
Lace elasticity of “open arms”
With onyx, unfiltered coffee drops
Coating infant’s petulant lip
Witnessing cotton-less sheep walking with listless fervor
Towards silenced, condemned “Noahs”
I signal pilot within my melancholic wisdoms
To redirect our flight
To a new horizon
To an unsheltered domain
Where even waterfalls still allow
Conducive verbiage to rise
Amongst the unabashedly meek
To a destination
Where stature is defined by all
Not by one
Where character
Is developed under accountabilities’ pen
Where high horses & curtained theatrics
Are the only victims of banned tomorrows
Where honor
Is still defined
Without deleted, impulsive banter
Where friendship,
Love,
Wisdom,
Memories,
Shine
…
Because
Things
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same.
©Drake J. Eszes
“And my ties are severed clean. The less I have, the more I gain. Off the beaten path, I reign.” –Wherever I may Roam by Metallica (my lifelong song)
I have been away
not in myself however
within my heart
death tracks across my
persona like a gigantic
storm with thunder
and lightening at the forefront
it takes on an almost human
form as it crushes against my
serenity trying to distroy my
sweet self
as my thoughts encumbered
ever pushing downward the
humanity which has been mine
there are lessons here to
be learned and bittersweet
medicine to injest with only
myself to forcibly swallow
one can never know when
and what to feel when the
reaper comes to call
it was not for me allthough
at times i wished it so
the endless days and nights
have passed with little tolerance
afforded by this misery known as
death
suddenly almost magically
a calming gentle token of
relief came forward and
administered by the hands
of love for me alone to consume
i now know that we all
must feel and endure the
pain of emptiness and sorrow
for it is the human condition
that requires us to but we
need not take this road alone
truly the days and nights
ahead will bring new life
and renew the happiness
where once deaths dwelling
place visited
there wil be moments assured
when the darkness will intrude
again and now having lived through
the pain i know the warmth of the
suns embrace
i will always try to look ahead
and remember only the love...
My BROTHERS --the Cherokee ---you may refer to me as cross-breed-- or not.
As an ancestor ----if it’s your aspiration?
My Grandmother----half Cherokee- half Blackfoot----as the old tales were told.
Citizenship with your sovereignty —till she was three—that I discovered-
with-in her descendants origin.
My Grandmother ---bought off your reservation after your----- relocation.
Bought by my Grandfather a “white-man” -------to the root!!
172 years belated —consider this --a cross-breeds apology--an accolade --to your entire-
nation.
A nation and PEOPLE-- forcibly removed in 1838-----by the U.S. Government.
Hundreds of Cherokee died----- Who Walked the Trail of Tears.
A NATION and PEOPLE-- vehemently abolished in 1838.
By the U.S. Government---with-in President Andrew Jackson’s administration.
Consider this a cross-breeds apology --with a symbol- ----eternally existing.
Of the anguish and affliction on the Trail Where They Cried--- the symbol of the Cherokee-
rose--that still grows------- that still grows!
Consider this a cross-breeds Tribute to Those Who Walked --that Trail --filled with-
Cherokee Tears.
No words can justify-- no expression can advocate --- what Jackson’s administration-
arranged.
No apology, no apology, would seem adequate or tolerable---to ONE human race.
Notably ----your NATIVE RACE!!
Innumerable thousands have spoken their inadequate and intolerable claims.
Knowing only one and only one-- honest, respectful, faithful, and trustworthy vindication-
would have sufficed.
Consider this-- cross-breeds desire for -----Forgiveness.
Forgiveness for any ancestral involvement---in the mass genocide of your civilization.
Healing our nation --from OUR CURSE—must embark from hear—hear at forgiveness.
Forgiveness extended by --OUR CREATOR---to our race and yours.
By : WEM/MEW/EWM
there is a storm deep in me
skies turn dark within my mind
a raging tsunami begging to be free
clouds obscure the truth to find
tidal waves crashing forcibly
lightning strikes and i am blind
battering my body for all to see
thunder tramples my heart to grind
pain lashes out to ignore my plea
as winds howl and i am resigned
to my fate,
my life,
my time.
Radio free State of Deseret 3 July 2118, 6 PM Salt Lake Time
International news first.
27 Zionist terrorists leaders were beheaded in the Caliphat of Palestine yesterday after their failed attempt to establish a third state of Israel in Jerusalem during Rhamadan.
One of the last two remaining members of the European Union, France, decided to secede after the other remaining member, Germany, forcibly annexed neighboring Austria after a surprise attack last night. Experts think the attack on Austria was to gain thousands of hectares of undepleted uncontaminated topsoil, and to find a place to deport all the refugees Germany has taken in from the Kurdistan-Turkey-Syria conflict.
After six months of street fighting, Anglo-Canadian forces finally captured the last of the Quebec Libre forces in Montreal. Surviving members of the Libre forces offered only token resistance, as most were near starvation from the blockades.
Several promising oil fields have been identified in the Amazon River Valley of Brazil. Indigent natives had already left the area after the last of the rain forests had been plowed-under to grow sugar crops to make ethanol for fuel.
Venezuela and the Latino Free State of Texas are competing for contracts to drill.
Regional news.
Tomorrow marks what would have been the 342nd anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence of the former United States of America. It also marks the 42nd anniversary of the simultaneous nuclear attack by North Korea and Iran on 7 major coastal cities of the USA during America's tricentennial celebrations, which precipitated the schisms in North America today.
The Deseret Volunteer Guard and Air Force successfully defended the kingdom against a new wave of attacks by gangs, pirates, and sexual deviants that tried to infiltrate via Las Vegas into what used to be Zion National Park.
The Prophet's Safety Council wants to remind all faithful member-citizens to avoid exposure to direct sunlight, to always carry your portable water decontamination kits and air filter masks with you, and to compost all plant materials and use your compost in your sheltered Victory Greenhouses.
Keep the Faith. Radio free State of Deseret signing off.
In One Hundred Years poetry contest
3 June 2018.
Love that is taken for one selfish goal
can never be true as far as I know.
Rape took the soul of a sister and friend
ravishing her frail spirit to a bitter end.
At sixteen she went on a blind first date
she knew not of her destiny or her fate.
She met with a soldier of the army corps
this was the time during Vietnam War.
He crushed her will with the slap of his fist
took her by force as she tried to resist.
Her screams were stifled and never heeded
within her body he forcibly seeded.
She remained quite not saying a word
until life inside her finally stirred.
Fearful our parents would be upset
she ran away with a friend to forget.
I eventually told what she had done
why she ran away and was on the run.
City law was called for her safe return
found her kidnapped as we later did learn.
As months went by, she grew in girth
sent to a home where she gave birth.
A son was born to her in September
he looked just like her as I remember.
She could not keep him so gave him away
and longs for him still to this very day.
He resides in her heart, a haunting emotion
and forever there will be, a true devotion.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fourth Place Winner ~ "I'm Pregnant" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gwendolen Rix
June. 6, 2011
A longitudinal study in the United States of over 4,000 women
followed for 3 years found that the national rape related pregnancy
rate was 5.0% per rape among victims aged 12–45 years,
producing over 32,000 pregnancies nationally among women
from rape each year.
My younger sister was a victim of rape which she never reported.
No one in the family knew it for many years. I have a nephew
I will never know or see and she has mental issues that she has a
hard time dealing with. Back then unwed pregnancies were taboo.
Ambushed by gunmen on a highway in Ocotlán.
Threatened outside a mine site in San José del Golfo.
Shot dead by motorcycle gunmen while driving in Camotán.
Forced from their camp by mine trade unionists in La Sierrita.
Fired at while traveling to meet with fishermen of the Arauca River.
Thousands forcibly displaced by armed conflict in Cauca Department.
Arrested and held incommunicado on leaving his office at the University of Al Zaiem.
In serious but stable condition following a shooting after protesting the El Tambor mine.
Samples from letters
written to 'responsible authorities'
in places I’ve never been
in support of people
much like you and me
with hopes, tribulations
and kids with laughing faces;
perhaps with land.
Who for reasons various
are on the sharp edge
of the process
which provides us
with bright shirts, cheap coffee
and funny vignettes on my N+1g tab .
Occasionally my letters
are followed by good news,
or at least an acknowledgement.
The least I can do;
it's never enough,
yet I hope it keeps
a candle burning.
Written after 20+ years writing letters for Amnesty International's Urgent Action Network
You can see, yet you do not see
A hole, where a heart should be
You can hear, but do not heed
The screams and cries of those that bleed
Can speak, but are strangely quiet
Oblivious to the disquiet
You can clearly see the discrimination
But are programed by the oppressors narration
Your humanity has turned to stone
Your hatred of the oppressed way overblown
“They are a different faith. Their colour isn’t right.
They are the enemy we have to fight”
You’re taught they are evil, your side is always right
Is it right? That people are harmed?
The child, the father, the mother, sister or brother
Who these tyrants say are bad, so they kill and smother
Beleaguered and desperate, they had arisen
Millions now sealed in an dilapidated prison
and still their homes and land being forcibly stolen
These unfortunate wretched people
The world has left alone and broken
Your logic, “the invaded should sit and take it,
We are justified to kill and maim as we see fit,
Slay all who oppose us, scare them straight,
How dare they fight for liberty,
They should just accept their fate,
If to the occupation they don’t submit,
Stamp them into the ground, defiance we can’t permit”
The women, the children, the men, and the old
All a viable target, a fictional tale can later be told”
What can be done? Pause. Let go of hate, Just a fraction
Give peace a chance, stop the territorial expansion
Split the land and each to his own
Let go of the loathing, leave each other alone
Just stop the killing, every life is dear
Better to live in peace than in fear
(just my thoughts, your free to disagree)
You won't believe what I went through when I went to a black man's barbershop.
He was a racist jerk and when I left, I called the cops.
He forcibly strapped me in his barber chair.
Then that punk shaved off all of my hair.
As I looked at my bald head in the mirror, he laughed at me.
He laughed and said that I deserved it because I'm a Honkey.
But he stopped laughing when the cops slapped on the cuffs.
He said that he didn't want to go to jail and I said "Tough!"
(This is a fictional poem.)
Les Souvenirs de Noël – Translation of Joy Williams’s « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan
(Joy Williams, b. 1942 in Sydney. Since she was born « fair » of skin, the authorities forcibly removed her as a baby to be placed in a children’s home, and at the age of 6 to be assimilated in a « white » institution. She later studied for a B.A. at Wollongong University in New Soth Wales.
Joy’s first born, Julie-Anne Joy, was taken from her at 10 months by the Aboriginal Protection Board. She worked for an organization called : « Link-Up » in Canberra with tentacles all over the continent whose prescribed aim was to bring together parents and children thus forcibly separated by the authorities. Joy, finally, « linked-up » with her family 42 years after enforced separation. – Info culled from K. Gilbert’s Inside Black Australia,
Penguin, 1988.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 16, 2016.
Les Souvenirs de Noël – Translation of Joy Williams’s « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan
C’est 16 heures la veille de Noël et je pense de toi.
Je m’amuse en rappelant de ce que tu as dit : Noël est pour les
enfants –
Je pleurais car je ne jamais étais un enfant.
Je vois un arbre, tout allumé des guirlandes de Noël,
J’aperçois la réflexion des lumières dans les yeux de mes enfants tandis qu’ils dansaient autour de l’arbre avec une anticipation joyeuse.
Je me demande ce qu’elle aurait pu être la vie d’un enfant.
Est-ce que mes souvenirs auraient pu être heureux au lieu de rien ?
Est-ce que mes enfants se souviendront de leur enfance ?
C’est le matin de Noël,
J’entends des cries de joie,
On m’a réveillé d’un sommeil agité et j’ai senti deux pairs de bras autour de moi,
J’éprouve le sentiment qu’on a besoin de moi.
Dieu, comme j’aime mes enfants !
J’essaye d’apprécier le Noël à travers d’eux, mais, à l’intérieur, je pleure,
Une nonne arrive avec une boîte de vivres et je me sens maladive et vidée,
Elle comprend ce que je ressens. (Mettez la boîte là, je dis.)
C’est le soir de Noël,
Je suis fatiguée.
On m’aime.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016