Best Pogrom Poems
Come one, come all who'll follow me
don't fear repeating history
ignore your greed and stupidity
what we need is a common enemy
The material that I will now recite
for you angry, hateful folks tonight
will hopefully, in you incite
a twisted sense of freedom's might
A platform, based upon a pogrom
is a bandwagon you can all get on;
for my second term, there'll be lebensraum
and we'll only need to drop one bomb
We'll need no walls; we'll need no borders
once we establish the complete new order
but first we need to stem the flow
before we're ready to make them go
So, don't delay, vote for me today
and I'll be giving out coupons for holidays
a week of relaxing in the sun,
but only for United States citizens
a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in England, Finland, and Switzerland
and some currency notes
couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the American dollars
they were what i needed most
as the pogrom was in progress
in my Tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet
One day a pale star began to glow
in scarcely-noted nebula where it swirled.
And this five thousand million years ago,
to bathe in light a distant, dusky world.
Lightning streaked amid primordial dawn—
stroked a soupy mire of mute quintessence.
Diverse concatenations urged a spawn
and coaxed life into coalescence.
A hive and every mind within related,
yet diverse and mild in their expression.
Collectively their members liberated,
verisimilitude their progression.
Myriad were their subtle variations.
Legion were their specialties outlandish.
In unison they laid a world’s foundations.
Limitless the skills they had to brandish.
But in Mars' core, dying breaths were taken;
fury from creation’s fires abated.
Absent these, Ares was forsaken—
magnetic lines of flux truncated.
The shield from radiation thus destroyed,
innocence’ pogrom bitterly ensued.
Air swept away forever to the void,
sentience vanquished—majesty subdued.
The independent woman
Prejudiced in Eden
Scorned in time
Lame and down the pit
But still journeys West
With a vindictive heart
Swims in vileness
Reckons laughter in the pogrom
And clings to the spell of courage
Those mortal gods butchered them like rabid dogs,
And disgracefully hunted them in the pogrom,
Fueled by hateful grumpy grunts of betraying hogs,
As their vomit disgorged at their sacred forum.
Those mortal gods butchered them like condemned demons,
And their precious blood gladly gushed and showered
The homes, the exile, the battle fronts and even the dungeons,
And watered those battle cries of freedom, and they flowered.
And the gods grumbled for granting them the dignified fate
And that though they faced the prison’s noose, they were brave;
Willing to die, that the freedom that flowered, their brothers get,
Not minding the gaping and gluttonous mass grave.
Yes, with courage they faced those butchering morbid lot.
For even their deathly guns did not dissuade them.
They boldly had already embraced the martyrdom’s slot.
And the butchering gods shrunk on their thrones in shame.
I believe that writing is like spilling blood out of the carotid
Onto a canvas of sponge
This sponge can never be satiated
It takes generations and trillions of miles of neurons
Just to make a stain
My marrow is strained in such a glorious fashion
In attempt to produce even more lovely RBC's
So that I may contribute but just a mere speck
On this ethereal construct
Today I saw a man with hollow eyes buying homes with the skulls of rats
These homes onced belonged to living souls
The money machine came rolling in with the disinterest of a cow chewing cud
Masticating the precious juice from the canvas that once served
As a font of energy, an expulsion of electrons, something sacrosanct
To those who felt alive in a world consumed by dead, ridiculous intentions
Now
All of the canvas-blood-sponges have dried out in these places, and
As a result
The universe seems to recoil back in on itself as if in fear of
The disasterous implications
The dust seems to layer the meninges ever so slightly
Until I realize the fact that by doing so, I allow the miscreants running
This synthetic freak show of media pogrom and unheralded greed,
To stand in Pyrrhic victory
Somehow this is all
Compounded with an unaccountable need to accumulate as much
Material nonsense as possible because it helps fill
The inexplicable void
I just want to keep pumping blood out onto this convoluted stage, and
Scream in the ignorant face of the man arrogantly cutting others off
During rush hour as though where he needed to get to was so much more
Important than everyone else's destination
The disconnect is here
Look into the countenances of those around you
Thankfully there are those rare souls you see periodically
With some light left behind those orbs
They haven't been made grotesque by the modern world
They have been spending time with their canvas
The faces of the tom-toms were sallow,
So was the face of the sun, dark-visaged,
Red, and starved through a pogrom
That assaulted the peace of the beasts.
Darkness spelt the names of diseases,
Each pronounced through stiffened tongues,
Whited by the scourge of hate – a common
Figure, cadaverous and laconic, but incestuous.
Grieving rivers sought ways to be rechristened
Or rebaptized by holy rills with less fetor, as
Long as riparian languages were still spoken on
Breaths of brooks, broken, but gathered in bits
By hands that leaned on fermented soot only.
And darkness persisted, perspiring from hostile
Beats of hollow drums when fire reaches them
From tormented skies.
One truth loomed: the truth of a disvirgined
Destiny, clothed in serrated raiment of grief.
On its crown, shredded petals of holocausts
Form toothless thorns shaped like lightning.
Death was prominent, dispirited, and hung loose
On strings smelted on anvils raging from heinous
Rape of a blooded land. Shores wept with humour
When our frightened coasts sneezed with mirth.
I speak of Biafra where the land still bleeds
I recall that vision, of a crowded city,
Where signs were hung in heaven,
Where voices were muted by the colour of bold words.
( In recent days The Pope likened the Gaza Strip to a Concentration Camp. )
Hard Lines ( The Final Solution ) Forgotten
5 million 933 thousand 900 hundred Jewish people
The Holocaust
Of Buchenwald, Dachau, Auschwitz, Dzierzazna and Litzmannstadt
So many names
Of places of horror
And horror filled faces
The world still whispers with
These sickening memories
Of emaciated bodies
Piled in gas chamber graves
Survivors still carry their tattooed numbers
But so few of them now
Left that remember
The persecution camps
Now the children of these dead
Unleash their own bedlam
A new horror of death and blood
A new Pogrom
A new horror for screaming children
To witness
The suffering of
5 million 993 thousand 900 hundred people
Forgotten
In the wake of Israel’s expansionism
Killing and death
Has become common to them
5 million 993 thousand 900 hundred dead Jewish people
Wanted life
Wished they could live
Loved their lives
Their husbands, their daughters, their sons, their wives
And only desired peace
Concentration camp Gaza
Belittles the sacrifice of so many ruined lives
And adds to the stain of the murdered
The numbers of the innocent
And for pity’s sake the world mourned the fallen of Israel
But now
What conscience is there
What respect or care
Is there
For the 5 million 993 thousand 900 hundred
The Star of David
Has become nothing more than a Swastika
To the Palestinians of Gaza
Shame on you Israel
Shame on you
True Love bless and pray for the first lost sheep under the groaning oak not hate curse or beat Enemies for Gospel sake but chosen A cold crystal night the glass was broken Jesus laid down His life for you regimes Jews recieve the blame stricken to extremes under boots of pride they are battered
Night of infamy march the shattered to final solution a holocaust Jesus for all lost paid in full the cost so you better not get with their pogrom pray for those lost in the cold dusk to dawn - By john Beam - Based on The Night of broken Glass, On the night of November 9, 1938, violence against Jews broke out across the Reich. The pogroms became known as Kristallnacht, the "Night of Broken Glass," - and from ROBERT CAWDREY
A TABLE ALPHABETICALL OF HARD USUAL ENGLISH WORDS (1604)- crystaline, (g) cleere like glasse, or christall.
If you hedonistically entail to wage a war
If you are possessed by the longing to eradicate
If you fathom the nitty-gritty of the havoc
If you need to endorse your prerogatives in life
Leave free reign to your rational mind
Pull out of this inequitable,rotten,imbecile game
Ditch and this greed for pogrom gloss over
Thwart your apex for evil and hatred tame
Morph into something humane and peace prop up
Vent your indignation on war trivialities
Elect to live off the grid and continue to fly
Then without beating about the bush poverty target
Let wisdom sink into your depraved,wicked soul
Designate your catbird seat among peace devotees.
In the black days of the deadly pogrom
Why thou rose against me with dreadful weapons
Of such magnitude that even the rocks shattered in pain
Never had I imagined this cagey life with hateful brethren
Living in great taste of my bloody fall
Why thou hasten to take me to early grave
When to all this fight made for lions in cave
What wrong did I in desire for success
But then you drunk from the cup of poisonous grape
Lamenting I suppress for what you so crave
And my much supposed brethren
Carried the machete of the butcheress
Weeping ensued as deadly flu attacked my poetry
Heavily it overshadowed the rain in thick
Winky, Winky, my eyes just couldn't wink
How then, was the massacre fueled by sounds of ethnic bigotry
Talky, Talky, my mouth don't seem to talk
Seeing every opening gushing with watery blood
The deception of the past crawls around the present
Hope, a heavy sway, even as future still bleak
Some actions so faintly right, many so faintly wrong
Yes, so grievously wrong to bring a bond
Unfortunately, we were all trapped in fools’ dungeon
Enslaved in the rickety train of power wrangle
What if then there must be togetherness
Yes, there must be oneness
Yet, if there must be oneness
All must live in each others' pain and make them less
My Message to the Media
Brave, staunch Israel, will rise in the end!
After painful losses, victory shines ahead!
You media, laugh and paint Israel all black.
Of moral integrity, you do sickeningly lack.
Have you no shame, as Mother would say?
Do you think a pogrom is a game to play?
~ Poem 1~
3/10/2024
One hundred eighty one days ago today,
Jews began their day, as usual in every way.
Jumped out of their beds and prayers. were said.
They dressed and fixed coverlets on their beds.
Mothers cooking breakfeast…but not for very long.
As killers with bullets ended their morning songs.
Safe Rooms were to be a place to run and hide,
But many were killed instantly in this crimson tide.
These people, living in peace and loving harmony,
Were slaughtered,not significant enough for poetry?
Their older children at the Nova concert for peace,
Met death at dawn or were taken hostages, like sheep.
And while we get our trophies and POTDs’
Jews and Americans still hostages, are important to me.
1,200, savagely killed, the morning of October Seventh.
By methods, so heinous, and were dispatched to heaven!
The sadness, has never left my Noahide, weeping soul.
But to have others, never forget,is a significant life’s goal.
This was a horrid, bloody, pogrom in my very own lifetime..
And loss as horrid as this, is to be remembered is soulful rhyme.
4/7/2024
Starvation, famine, death for all.
The prophecy foretold long time ago.
Bear no fruit of hollow labor.
That makes the urban and rural looks varicose.
Ploughing all day nothing to bring homeward.
There is many a brave heart here dying of want and cold.
Ho! Famine ho! Famine
Ye nest on the citadel.
Famine! Ye have soughs up the land.
Men run from right to left in wretch.
Hunger-stricken wobbles the ground.
At the realm of extreme hunger,
Comes the gluttonous feast.
Poor flood up the land doe in nature very rich.
Bemoan of subject leads to pogrom.
Importing and exterior source for long time feeds.
Myopia chieftain order back to farm.
The boarder in blockade, food in need.
Rooting and seeding will take a long to germinate.
Economy at stake, money value decrease.
Ho! When the hunger pangs have started assail.
A loaf is bought at high prices.
Untouchable is of grain,
Death rampage beeping. Looking pale,
And famished as ever. Roaming around,
in the pagan street.
Dirty ragged children scattered on the dusty road, Scrambling for orange peelings,
Powerless and ignorant is our worst distress.
Lonely and bitter the tears shedding.
Dying of want rife up the nation.
Alms are tied down,
Civil servant beggar are we.
A praying for hunger should part in seclusion.
With food-stricken many of mate shall die amidst plenty.
Ho! Ho! What shall we do?
What we see is of bad premonition.
Cramped by Tartarus that called them self big-cheese.
The sweet, savories, succulents plastic wrapped, boxed, floating in chemical additives, packed crunchy, munchy surprises, tasty delicatessens of mouthwatering intestinal trash, preserved, conserved in numbers of E, added to sweetened, sweetener of insecticidal feces, sugar hit and flatulence bubbles of soda steams, vacuum sealed and pour on milk pot tarts of ever convenient unwrap and eaten so easily, pre,pre,pre preprepared, sliced and diced instantly, the gourmet food of supermarkets provided mayhem, environmental, environmentally unfriendly, loaded with poisons obituary and sold to you, the sickened repository of daily meal, spent happily at breakfast table and TV dinners washed down with fluoride are the profits made from disease.
WARNING. May cause side effects or even premature death.