Best Perpetrators Poems
Wicked memories haunt my dreams at night and stalk me during the daylight, denying me any measure of peace and tranquility. Please, take me to the river Lethe and rebirth me, so that I may forget the pain of my past and the humiliation of my childhood.
Ferry me not down the river Styx, for the lost and stolen dreams of my youth have been irretrievably drowned there. Spare me Acheron, for I have seen enough misery to last two lifetimes. Let her waterways be for the perpetrators of what is bad and hurtful.
Allow me to swim in the sacred waters of Alph, so that I may regain power to soar like an eagle, unfettered by the images that torment my mind and heart. Or permit me one sip from the great Ganga Ma, and may her waters cleanse me of my iniquities and guide me to salvation.
Baptize me in the Jordan and I will be born again, a new creature with no recollection of the past. All of my sins and impurities will then be washed away, never again to plague me. Lead me to the mighty Euphrates, that I may rediscover Eden and bathe in her crystal streams, untainted by imperfection and unholiness.
Hear my prayer for rest and peace, lest this poor soul should wither away and die. Shower me with fresh waters of truth, humility and righteousness, so that I may live and thrive, forever. Help me to escape this torturous past and present and regain joy in the hope of a better tomorrow.
*Note: I do not believe in mythologies. The images used here are metaphorical only.
**For all those who suffer the torment of mental or emotional illness, hold on to hope. Live another day, for the promise of paradise is for the meek and the broken-hearted. It will not delay, it will not be late - Revelation 21:3-5
At long last
the woman in her rebelled!
Overcoming fear and shame
she spoke out
not in a whisper
but loud, clear; determined
to end the torment within,
the silence...the omerta`.
The first domino fell and
others followed suit.
There is strength in unity,
courage in numbers.
Riding the wave of change
#MeToo
Horrors, lies, cover-ups
exposed; untouchables
hit the ground from high perches.
Sexual abuse!
Sexual assault!
Sexual harassment!
Perpetrators cling to
consensual claims, innocence,
pleas for forgiveness.
Victims call for justice.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: HASHTAGmetoo
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
© 16th December, 2017
I knew them in their innocence
Once filled with imagination and joy
Playing fun games, climbing trees
Offering a helping hand to others
Able to care, able to be who they are
Then, those who ruled had their way
Teaching inexplicable things
They were trapped by ‘conditional’ love
Striving, always striving to earn it
Nothing was ever good enough
Then abuse, turned their fear to rage
Later, I saw them become hollow
Empathy was gone with time
Hollow like dead, old, trees
Acting out as if they will never fall
Following footsteps of those who ruled
Becoming a reflection of all they endured
They are living, but they are gone
Carrying out their immoral ways
Was it the only way to get recognition?
Was it the only way to be safe?
By being on the side of perpetrators?
I will never know the full reason
I have only watched to witness
Their innocence disappear in the dark
But, I still remember the days
When they were young and innocent
Just trying to be who they are
Now, their eyes hold a vacant stare
Their beings are hollow, without a care
Turned into the monsters they once feared
Heidi Sands
6/11/18
*Placed 2nd in the Hollow Contest.
Along a Jersey creek, somebody
Made a crazy find –
500 pounds of pasta had been
Somehow left behind.
Whoever dumped the noodles
(Mainly elbows and spaghetti)
Isn’t known, but word got out and
There was lots of wordplay ready.
“Pastabilities were endless,”
Was reported and, as well,
“The perpetrators need
The penne-tentiary,” I heard tell.
My favorite was the mastermind
Whose capture is the aim.
Though it might be just an alias,
Al Dente is his name.
It is Good Friday
Remember, remember
When, for Jesus, everything was nasty and sour
When things were very bad for Jesus
Yet, we don’t say: bad Friday
Afterwards, so everything could be good for us
Jesus was slapped
Jesus was kidnapped
Jesus was humiliated
Jesus was insulted
Jesus was beaten, kicked and hit
From head to feet
Jesus was shackled and handcuffed
Jesus could not even cough
Jesus was ostracized
Jesus was crucified
Like many Blacks and Africans
Like many brothers and sisters with dark skin
Yet, the heart of Jesus was pure and very clean
Jesus had no friends and no fans
Jesus was falsely accused
Jesus was mistreated
Jesus was immolated
Many criminals were amused
Many Satanists and perpetrators had fun
With God’s only Begotten and Special Son
Who had endured pain and suffering like a slave
Yes, yes, Jesus was absolutely brave
Yes, yes, Jesus was innocent
Jesus was resilient, too decent and too pleasant
It is Good Friday
Brothers and sisters, let’s pray
Every day is a Good and Beautiful day
Amen, Amen, let’s reflect on the Day
Brothers and sisters, let’s pray
Remember, remember
When things went very bad for Jesus
Who died for our sins, Who died for us
Yes, Jesus is still standing with us
Jesus is God’s Unique and Special Son
Watch the moon and enjoy the Sun.
Copyright © April 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Bullies
Bullies shouldn't prosper, Bullies shouldn't win,
Do they realise the pain they cause as they stand and grin?
Picking on the weak ones, some half of their size,
If a victim stood up to them, they'd get a big surprise,
You have a fear of going to school or fear of going to work,
Victims lives are being ruined while the perpetrators smirk
You sneak out of the school and the lonely streets you roam
You pray to God that they don't follow you home
You lay in your bedroom both day and night
Tears streaming and in pain, no-one cares about your plight
You endure being held down, feeling blows dealt to your head
But no-one cares to intervene, so they stand and watch instead
Bruised and battered and terrified after each attack
Then later on in life the scars are still present on your back
PTSD and night terrors soon become the norm
The very rare restful night is the calm before the storm
Bullying can continue later on in life
A helpless victim at the mercy
Of a husband or a wife
Bullies think they are invincible
When to a victim they attach
But bide your time and one day
They will meet their match
Homicide and genocide
Need punishments to be applied
And fratricide and suicide
Are awful – that can’t be denied.
But something else I can’t abide,
Although, in this case, no one died,
Cannot be what we take in stride –
A crime that’s known as verbicide.
Unlike insect- or herbicide,
Its perpetrators tend to hide
And, if confronted, they’d be snide;
Corrections down their backs would slide.
Some criminals are hanged or fried
But as for writers, here’s a guide –
To those engaged in verbicide,
May lots of tsking be supplied.
Each of us is born the main persona
in the narrative of his or her own life.
Through ever-changing atmosphere,
supporting characters and diversity of settings,
we help to mold the rising action of our own tale.
A great variety of characters abound in our stories.
Some of them, bright pennies tossed into existence,
spin wildly on exploits which make for
the most gripping of preliminary chapters.
However, their denouement is hard to guess.
Others, silver dollar, sparkle too,
but in a much less compromising way.
I suppose most of us could fit into that category.
Giddily we dance through early life’s events.
Then on and on we go, unraveling our plot,
striving always for happily-ever-afters.
A smaller group, Olympian, glide like skaters
on ice. Not only blessed, they are also driven.
Their chronicles inspire us; they are gold!
Others, although colorful, when held up to the light,
they are shown as counterfeit, the perpetrators of pure fiction.
A few, by fate and nature not so blessed, may court insanity,
or at the very least, create confusion
with their crises that seem to come unceasingly
yet often fail to find resolution.
Possibly, if given a good polishing,
they could be diamonds in the rough!
There are others who are the spawn of a society gone wrong.
They stalk our paths, as unfeeling as assassins.
The pages from their lives can horrify.
However, those who wield great power
are also often morally corrupt, and
if their stories live on, it’s in infamy only.
These types of souls are nothing but
cold, hard cash, and paper burns or crumbles
in the end.
A final group is joyless.
Given something . . . giving nothing back,
they hoard the talents God gifted them.
They wonder woefully why no one wants
to open their books to even read
the parts that once had held some promise.
For them it would be better to have been
a rusting copper penny in dread of its own conclusion
than even an evil-doer whose story titillates
and at least gets read.
And now it starts,
And yes, I'm back at last,
Four years of trials and tribulations,
Capped off by this raucous jubilation.
I fought and won,
Proved them all wrong,
The denigrators,
The fake media perpetrators.
Now watch them squirm
As I storm into my term,
So much to do,
A solemn promise made to you.
I ask why was I spared,
When into death's eyes I clearly stared,
But when that moment I re-live,
This is what I’m here to now achieve:
Stop the woke,
Don't call a girl, a bloke.
Make us safe,
In this our home, our sacred place.
Make us strong,
So that bad actors do no wrong,
Aim to win,
Proving we are made of steel not puny tin.
Stem the divide,
For racism I simply shan't abide.
Democrats so played this ruse,
Our democracy to harness and abuse.
Let law and order thrive,
Reclaim our streets - our cities to revive,
Where children learn that doing right,
Is what gave our nation majesty and might.
For merit alone to be the glue,
So that we build and not undo,
Step up and take the strain,
Choose sunshine over rain.
Vet the folks that we let in
Ones that work and help us win;
Stop the thugs that sow despair,
See how much they truly dare.
My time may however prove too short,
But no promise made will I abort,
I’ll fight for you with all my might
To make our future prosperous and bright.
So thank-you America and watch this tale,
As the train to Woke I thoroughly derail,
No time to waste, I’m working fast,
Ensuring all that’s bad we quickly blast!
*Do you think victims of abuse have the right to speak or should they stay silenced?
*I believe in the right to speak and the courageous who can bring positive change!
So here goes:
I don’t know, was it the checkers shoved in my mouth, the dragging of me across the lawn?
I don’t know, was it the beating, the suffocating or my friend’s last breath?
I don’t know, was it the not protecting me from other perpetrators?
Or was it the locking me in the cellar, verbally blaming me as a child?
I don’t know, was it the abandonment as a teen, then more blame and insults?
Was it using the family to hurt me more, by manipulating them?
What did I do to you? Nothing. I was a child!
So, what hurts the most? I don’t know.
The endless betrayal as an adult, now stealing my writing, stalking, not leaving me alone?
*Maybe, it is the refusal to acknowledge anything, to open the door for forgiveness?*
*I don’t know, but there is a God and he knows and he has something to say!*
Heidi Sands
1/6/19
My family marched peacefully in Selma that day,
Hoping Martin’s spirit would lift us far away
From prejudice and violence that perpetrators
Had cast on us for centuries in the USA.
“Land of the free,” a misnomer of limitation,
For a country where whites had the sole celebration.
Heads held high, we didn’t fight back, even when attacked,
Knowing enmity was not God’s plan in creation.
We sacrificed our King to the Civil Rights Movement,
Hoping his achievements would reflect a life well spent.
But hooded devils continue to rear callous heads
Denying equality, our lawful, lone intent.
Florida visitor Talmadge Branch was turned away;
In a back room of a bar owners told him to stay.
Prosecution by Florida’s attorney general
Put Civil Rights violations again on display.
My brothers, my sisters, we’ve yet to achieve our goal --
Too many of us in prison, slight chance of parole.
Indignities abroad cause the US to lash out
While, peacefully, our families we struggle to console.
To learn more about Talmadge Branch, visit:
http://cnsnews.com/news/article/florida-bar-owners-could-lose-license-over-racism-complaint
*Written February 28, 2015
The sun was high, the wall was warm, its orange hue'd bricks looked a treat..'
Soon basking there without a care, was Humpty; disposition 'sweet'...!
He didn't sense the untoward....) Yet treachery was afoot
In a silent bound without a sound; the dasterd deed took place,
And all our poets cried, aloud ' who did us such dis-grace?
There were many of the 'souper band' who gathered his shattered shell,
His golden yolk they sadly interred, as heart's did heave and swell..!
Who could the perpetrators be? are the thoughts going around,
Now he lies deep within our portals and thoughts; yet nevermore to rise..'
The days now more drear; to me appear, since this characters demise.
He came from the land of fairy-tales, where fables disport & play
Trusting no harm could befall him here, where talent holds the sway,
Yet some there were, who did him down; who mayhap he'd thought of as friends.?
Now we bid him our true goodbyes, trying not to consider the worst
We should be aware, what happened when from the shadows his killers burst.!
Terrorism Uses Violence
By Franklin Price
9/21/2016
Terrorism, uses violence to politically achieve a goal
The terrorist does the dirty work, as required, it's his role.
A bomb, a gun, a knife or two, a commercial high-jacked plane
Anything to scare the public, causing death and hurt and pain
The acts that we have witnessed, for fifteen years and more,
I don't believe are terrorism; let's examine what they're for.
Perpetrators have no politics; at least none I can see.
Some say, it is religion; doesn't much sense to me
It's about the haves and have nots. The haves, have riches to entice
The have nots, who have no future, into terror that's not nice.
If the enticed had any politics, would they take a one-way ride?
Terrorism, as it's known today, mostly ends in suicide
The poor and the impressionable, are the ones who join the cause
To disrupt those who have a future; they do not stop or pause..
Strike fear into the lives of those who have a stable life.
Cause them to wonder, if they're next; replace stability with strife
Can't see how that's political; except make civil go away,
May inject their chaos anywhere; to hold the world at bay.
Looks like they're succeeding. They're disrupting every day
Can't let their acts continue; can't let them have their evil way
If violence is all they know; the only thing they use
Here's what I say that we should do; a plan they can't refuse
Don't make excuses for them. Don't give them any slack.
Make all efforts, now, to stop them. Don't talk useless, idle smack.
Send the special forces, the snipers and the drones
Kill those who plan to harm us until there's nothing left but bones
What does not exist, can't hurt us, can't recruit misguided men,
Can't kill others indiscriminately, can't be terrorists (?) again.
Road to exile.
Boko Haram immigrants of hell,
nurtured to torture,
Bomb-tore people like vulture.
We all scared for our own fear,
Death,
that makes us all victim.
Just for a much smaller group or network.
It bothers me, in my inner mind,
how heartless a human can be,
heart more harder than the wildest beast.
who just turned devourer, for religion and illiteracy.
It bothers me less, knowing the time we are in,
The ruthless time of age,
the era John, reviled,
For only those who stand strong will be full of ecstatic.
They claim to be ignorant of Boko,
yet they made use of it,
They path this way, for all these Cock and Bull story.
Regardless of, we will exonerate.
Our faith in Christ Jesus will grow stronger,
For the Conqueror Peaceful Lamb,
Will slay the Perpetrators, with His rod.
Only then will the Crying Soul Rest.
I fear…
I thought I was dear
Why are you giving me this fear?
Your rough rugged hands looming towards my cheeks
This is not like the usual touch of yours
It is something else
Your touch doesn’t make me protective anymore
It makes me shiver
I thought I was dear
Why are you giving me this fear?
Your eyes doesn’t have the love that it used to possess for me
Your eyes has turned devilish
With a cunning grin you encroach towards me
I thought I was dear
Why are you giving me this fear?
You pushed me hard on the soft sofa
But I felt the pain in my small heart
You pinned down my hands hard
I tried to run
But you punched me
You ripped me off my pride and
Ate the fruit of the very seed you planted
I fear…DAD!!! I Fear
I thought I was dear
Why are you giving me this fear?
(From the perspective of a victim of Child Sexual Abuse, a problem which is so persistent yet not noticed. Amazingly in Fiji 95% of the perpetrators of Child Sexual Abuse are known to the victim according to Fiji Women Crisis Center)