Best Machetes Poems
Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . .
before the electrifying surge of insurgency -
when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and
when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . .
before the rampant slaughter -
the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones
and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses
on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . .
before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations
and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps,
there were whisperings -
insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious -
and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate.
Before it all,
there was a brewing of resentment
of a people with a history of poverty and
of transitory freedom and capricious politics.
And through it all, with such grave consternation,
governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited,
playing with semantics
while thousands dead became the hundred thousand,
and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities -
came to its completion.
Seemingly, peace has been restored
and punishment stingily doled out.
Time moves on . . .
except for half a million
for whom compassion by the world
was spared.
Categories:
machetes, history,
Form:
Free verse
I lay in my hospital bed after giving birth, Could hear the murdering, raping
Hutus approaching my bed
My baby was no more. They ravaged me. Left me alive...........
Could hear the battle getting nearer
All I was worried about was my mother, Home alone...
My husband was away was he fighting, Was he alive......
Clutching my dead baby staggered towards home, The smell of blood filled the
air. Then I saw them, The valiant Tutu's, Fighting for us. here and now
The sound of machetes clashing together. Limbs flying through the air. Like
boomerangs.
The screaming ....The misery.......
When I staggered home. Found Mother in the water butt. Hiding from the
savages. She was alive and ok.. So traumatised
Many twisted bodies on the ground. Dragged them into a pile, trying to
remember who they were. To keep a record , for posterity. Poured paraffin over
them and cremated them. Praying for their souls
We buried the baby in the hard red earth. Couldn't cry, had no tears we were.in
shock......
Date was April 7th...
So tired, we slept. Hidden from view...
I am alive, my heart beating. Yet I feel dead. Dead inside....Why I ask myself.
Why is it happening....God only, knows.
Why?......
Penned 22/08/2014 for the Genocide Speak for the Lost contest.
I used 100 days slaughter of Rwanda.
You can see the skeletons of some of the twenty percent of the tutus that were
killed,
Can see the open mouth of the cry of pain. They have been kept. A reminder to
the future generation
April 7th is called Genocide Memorial Day, the week following is a national
mourning week.
Categories:
machetes, life, murder, , memorial,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I am juggling machetes
There are rhinos on my toes
Raccoon and opossum are on the porch
Growling.
My teeth hurt my gums.
I am wishing they were gone.
A Mack Truck has come down my driveway
Or there is thundering outside
I don’t care which.
My toilet is perpetually making dripping sounds
Is this driving me any nuttier than I have been all week?
Who is coming to save me from this warped mind?
This mind that is afraid of her own closet?
An imagination that does not dare
Look under the bed?
Where is my exotic, inspired, dangerously handsome super hero?
Why am I the one who brings the meat to the potlucks?
I am juggling machetes and there are rhinos on my toes.
Categories:
machetes, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
The Farm ©
Fields of mustard
sway in a light breeze
off the river
farm dogs return
dusted in yellow
the clapboard gray of
the farmhouse
weeps old memories
generations of pea farmers,
hunters, fishermen and cooks
heady fragrance of cooking food
saturate the senses as
the screen door slaps shut
the matriarch sings out
‘tea party!
and the city folk sit ‘round a table
laden with baked chicken that was
pecking out a meal in the yard that day
fried venison steak and mashed potato
green beans and corn hanging from the vine
just minutes ago
her biscuits and cornbread; the stuff
dreams are made of
Later they sit on the warped porch steps
listening as the geese honk their way in
to the seed rich fields and
their nightly respite
bats fly across the moon,
frogs call out their secrets,
a loon wails its loneliness
old stories are told
Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machetes
Categories:
machetes, family, farm, imagery, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
THE CLOWN
The entire world loves a clown,
But wait until they get a load of me,
Is what the faceless figure under the mask
Says, heckling with laughter's haunting zeal.
After the lights of the midway fade, and the
Crowd's confetti is swept away, it is my turn
To play!
Sedition's malevolent being, lies hidden beneath
A painted on smile, I'm the devil incarnate,
So come along child of innocence, and we'll
Have a bloody, ghouling good time, just you
And I!
Many props of fun time’s torture, do I possess,
Chose which of these that you think is the best,
I'm not picky in the least, my new playmate.
Beneath the crimson big top, of fleshes canvas,
I'll put on a special show just for thee,
So save your screaming applause, until
After I'm finished if you so please!
All whom wish to join in my private
Carnival of fiendish delight, I welcome
Wholeheartedly, come young or old,
But beware none shall leave alive,
Or without missing a limb, maybe two.
Here comes my brethren in their tiny
Little hearse, did you think I'd not
Invite my kindred on such a special
Event like this.
Nay they've brought their own weapons,
Hatchets, machetes, and wonderful
Instruments as such, why do you look
So frightened, it won't hurt ####, that much.
Now some may say I'm a creature of
Darkness, an evil being without remorse.
But really under white face's make-up,
I'm just your average serial killer at heart.
Whom is quit creative, in the forgotten dark arts,
Of tortures insidious behavior.
So next time the circus comes to your small
Town remember, just hang around after the
Crowds leave the midway, don't worry
My friend, for I'll be hanging around just
Waiting for you, no special invite needed.
Signed sincerely, your friend the clown.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
machetes, dark, evil, fear, halloween,
Form:
Free verse
Mark Scott-Crossley
and Simon Mathebula
Tied up Nelson Chisale
and beat him with machetes
dumping him in
with white lions
Africa Learned
to hate the Whites
Yet this is only
one white farmer
should we hate
all the people
for the act of one man
to easily do we attack
the colour of a mans skin
do the crime do the time
but don't blame others
for the act of another man
you ask that we should apologise
for the acts of our ancestors
I ask you why?
why; should I apologise
for the act of my great grandfather,
I did not, do what he did,
I am not responsible, for his crimes,
should you apologise,
for the acts of your Great grandfather,
perhaps he was a cannibal,
perhaps in the past,
he ate somebody's ancestor,
yet, do we ask you,
to apologise for him
so why do you ask us,
to apologise,
for the acts of our ancestors,
Hate the man who did the crime,
not the colour of his skin,
Black people,
have also been responsible for evil,
murder and rape, happen in all cultures,
You don't expect us to hate you,
for the act of your brothers,
so why should you hate us,
for the acts of other whites,
blame the person,
that did the crime,
not the colour,
of a man's skin,
Every day,
I get up and try
to help people,
try to teach others,
That happiness is created
with a sense of humour,
learn to joke have fun with people,
and the world becomes a happier place.
Yet even a sense of humour
can become twisted
people laugh at the expense
of someone else
learn to laugh with people
learn to joke in away
that builds happiness
without hurting others
To hate all Americans is racism
To Hate all Jew's is racism
To hate all Africans is racism
all cultures have good and bad people
Categories:
machetes, anti bullying, evil, prejudice,
Form:
Narrative
Lovers then we became strangers
now full blown adversaries
enemies
gladiators armored for destruction.
This is no longer a relationship
it is a ruthless affair
a house of cards
kill zone
minefield 101.
Words sharp than machetes
actions colder than waterboarding
we massacred us
we are locked up in solitary confinement
you the king of North
and this Nubian Monarchy is mine.
To the last Iron and Crown standing
its game on!
Categories:
machetes, anger, break up, deep,
Form:
Concrete
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
Categories:
machetes, africa
Form:
Prose Poetry
MY NAME IS KAIZEN
Bullet oiled with knowledge
Hearts smitten with purpose
As a thin of air, we marched into the street of kaizen
The harvest is cream and green.
We the labourers with our intellectual machetes,
Made and manufactured by functional knowledge
Battered and butchered the dreaded monster called ignorance
The battle line is drawn
We are drunk of knowledge
With planks, nails and hammer,
We nailed a coffin for ignorance
The funeral of the old order
The emergence of the new order
At the cascade of kaizen,
We drank into stupor,
Stupor because we think and act outside the box;
Bullying the status quo
With the incisions of the God factor on our guts
We danced round the camp fire of books
Booking appointment with great minds
For in the opening of books we discovered we have wings,
To fly above illusory limitations
At dawn we chart and chant lyrics of hope for mankind
With the amulets of insight tied rounds our hearts;
At the echoes of the night when nature
Exact snoring on *****sapiens,
We labourers give ourselves to improvement,
For when lazy minds snore, active minds think
awoh kingsley
Categories:
machetes, dedication, education,
Form:
Lyric
A Famous Einstein Quote: Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.
UPROAR IN THE MIDDLE EAST
In the Middle East they fight as control freaks.
Islamic State walking with their machetes.
In Iraq, al-Baghdadi is yellow teethed.
He is like an East African [g]o[d] in hideous heat.
The people survey said he takes leaks.
_________________________________________________|
Penned April 26, 2015!
Categories:
machetes, political, soldier, violence,
Form:
Limerick
They have been wandering for decades
Journeying to the land that was promised by their forefathers
A land that would seal the faith of future generations.
They rove night and day guided by a single pillar of light
Looking for the land that was just minutes within sight
But faith had them wondering and pondering
Meandering up steep hills and giant rocks
Roaming around mountain and caves
Looking for that sacred spot.
But they could not find their way home
The road that leads home was covered with tall thick giant grass
Blade as wide as the palm of my hands overshadowed the path
And the visible eyes could not perceive it
Only the spirit of God could reveal it.
Suddenly a bulldozer appears,
And a little man holding the levers
Reversed it back and forth and leveled the dense path
That leads to a dead end spot in the middle of the town.
The bulldozer could not handled the thick mass of grass
That forms little mountains on that anguished path.
Determination kept the bulldozer rolling along.
It pushed and scraped until it leveled the towering grass
That connects the main road to an asphalted road.
Without warning the bulldozer blade broke off in a circular hole
And the little man came from behind the levers and peeped into
the hole and grumbled that he has strained his back.
All of a sudden two men with machetes appeared
And start copping around several mounds
Close to that very spot potato vine sprouted
With blossom forming an archive in the air
potatoes ready for reaping hangs from
vines that juxtapose with blossoms.
Be quiet!
The machete man exclaimed
Stop chopping!
He peered at vines and leaves above
And discovered that the abandoned path is guarded
By a gigantic wasp nest with thousands of wasps standing guards.
They hang from branches and form clusters
that appear as brown potatato blossom
Laying wait in silence to attack their preys
in the patch of bush that surround the mounds.
But they were exposed and dismantled
just before the break of dawn.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Categories:
machetes, boyfriend, cheer up, daughter,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I was in the company of my
siblings
Enjoying the comforts of my
sisters,
When they came at me
Armed with axes and machetes
determined to grind their oxen
They struck blows upon blows, cuts upon
cuts.
My limbs first, then my trunk came tumbling
down.
I shouted and cried all to no avail, none
came to help me;
Subdued,
I submitted to my fate like
Others
Gone before me.
Then calamity for our maltreatment
began;
Like a curse in due season.
My muffled cry earlier stripped of a voice
began to be heard.....
As temperatures increased by
one degree,
As appointed seasons altered
their course.
Floods and droughts became
synonyms.
The snow banks of the Arctic and
Antarctica,
Began to reach out in protest, not
unmindful of the depravations' of
the Polar bears and its ilk's.
Ozone, grumbling about the partitioning
due to the unholy alliances with Carbon,
Hurting the harmony that once kept them
in bonds.
But now some kind hearted kindred's have
given voice to my,
Cry.
They have taken note and are beginning to
act to save my other siblings.
(I hope it is not too late to save our forests, to
reduce global warming and preserve our earth.)
Written on the 4th November, 2015
Categories:
machetes, earth day, environment, future,
Form:
Ballad
Stillness in the night
Silhouettes of Zulu’s
Move along the ridgeline
Monkey’s howl
And men cry
The darkness has no friends
Evil specter of death
In the banana trees
Fruit bats on the wing
Sweating in this jungle
I have but one goal
Remain
Lock and load
Weapons
In the hands
Of teens
Machetes
Teeth
Cut limbs
From torso’s
Lying on the cracked
Jungle floor
Seeping loneliness
Into the heart
Of darkness
That bears no witness
To the soul
Categories:
machetes, dark, death, evil,
Form:
Free verse
La Historia-101, 2011
Vickie M. Ortiz Vazquez
Imagine, I cannot
To feel their lost
Longing for the return home
Rejoicing behind closed doors
Criminal act
Propagate servitude with miserable pay
Runaway between breaths
Hunted
Capture, captive
Criminal act
Rape once again, over again
White women turned the other way
Power instilled by any means necessary
Emancipated January first 1863
Imagine, I cannot
Overseas journey, long nights
Not knowing what awaits
The other side
Driven by hate, broadcast faith
Golden Goose displays false imageries
Selective stay, citizenship
Manipulations to project extreme dislike
Plant self loathe
All in the name of supremacist tendencies
Reached land
Meenay, miny, mo
Criminal act
Los Marielitos, 1970’s
Imagine, I cannot
Under the hot sun
Vast land of sand, predetermined path
Self-sacrifice in the name of family prosperity
Uncertainty
Dreams fuel by promises
Human trafficking, lottery
Slavery
Death
Destiny
Either way, criminal act
Imagine, I cannot
Whispers of sterilization
Population control
Blinded by land’s riches
“I must have” translated to ‘let me help you prosper”
Fed ideas of growth
Second guessing labor intensive industry
Rise of unemployment, 1960’s
Restless machetes stored away
Land’s fruits stolen
Justify
Criminal act
Under false pretences, little you give lots you take
Migrant float picture of your lies
Grasp in the hand of the devil
Imagine, I can
Two thousand eleven is the year
Headlines a fluke, mostly ignore by news
Recent voices speak of fear
Fear to seek an education
Fear to seek shelter
Fear to seek food
Fear to roam about
Inhale life’s smells
Capture life’s colors
Tattoo life’s experiences
Criminal act
Imagine, I can
Flickering lights getting closer
Fused back light
Finger print attempt for a burned out back light
Tif for Tat between Blue and Morena
Unnoticed the color of his skin
Minutes after, does it really matter?
Blue soldier with a license to destroy
Destroy without questioning lives of those tricked
Brought under false pretenses; full of hope
Penniless
Left to die
Wrongfully accused
Dreams shattered
Hopeless
Categories:
machetes, angst, history, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
While wielding a machete in my kitchen—
I had some foods to slice: tomatoes, cheese,
baked ham, boiled eggs, grapes, lettuce--I was planning
a scrumptious smorgasbord, one sure to please.
But then I saw the warning on the handle:
“Machetes are not meant for kitchen use!”
I had to face the facts. To use a weapon,
one needs a truly excellent excuse.
October 17, 2016
Categories:
machetes, food, humor,
Form:
Quatrain