Best Political Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Political poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of political poems written by PoetrySoup members
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The Best Political Poems
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
25 July 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
La Noche sin agua --- I spill my loving lips
Dancing, laughing and celebrating life
I am his queen, aka' dulce Nina
A night he must not forget
Lunesta ... Suave ...
He savors every moment;
Then questions my capabilities
Suddenly I feel like a refugee in my own house!
History and bad company, repeating itself
He wants to ruin the beauty of leadership
America on top, Latinos on the bottom
"Legally," he says, he'll welcome me
Law abiding, I pass the proper speech
Stereotyped every time I share my race
Casting my poor nationality under the Rio Grand,
A wall too tall, in which my people continue to build
After I give him my all
Children, love, support
The best tortillas in the house
He offends a lifetime of memories
I'm a skillful woman, I dance with no music
I love to work, I take the field
Picking cotton, like there's no tomorrow
I will continue to paint rainbows
And enjoy every color in my garden.
Today, I've forgotten what Mexico looks like
However, that does not cut him from
accusing my race of planting too many trees
Calculating, calling Latinos criminals,
Forgetting his own sin, he wants to win
Insinuating we're robbing the American Dream
This is where I belong!!!
Go ahead and build more republicans
I'm already on the side I want to be
Born and raised in the USA
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
"A Broken Demo"
In a desperate cry for help
She hires every jeweler
A cheap sheep crying, Wolf!
Using old repeating politic
utilizing lies * manipulation
To cover the Glass Paste on her face
Diamond-like - Stonecold and Crooked!
Her true shape -- unveiled -- predictable
A Thief Among The Mines
In a world where certainties are few---
A shallow cut - with high class
no shape --- no spark, a dark mass
Smashing success when opportunity hits
The worst gem in disguise
The diamonds in her eyes -- gone -- expired
If you look, you will see
A twisted reflection in her evil grin
A sinister smile -- waiting to win
Her Vice - a victim --- her puppet
blind * believing her lies
Cutting the light performance -
-Without realizing most see past her history
We the people are more than a cubic step
Lighting the madness of her soul
Just remember, every day she sits on her pedestal
Without a twinkle --- she stares into night
Knowing nothing she stands for is right
Innovation - incomplete
A man-made she-demon trying to wear white
Like the swan, dying every night
She refused to hear the trumpet play
A new moon soon will open our eyes
EXPOSED --- Diamond CUT
Hillary Will Not Be President
#The Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
is the worst.
Should not thinking of others,
be your thirst?
Those who are selfish,
end up being cursed!
Soon they'll be last,
instead of first.
Who among you,
prefers guns and war?
Do you really have freedom,
shore to shore?
If most have less,
are you happy with more?
Should the privileged few,
be guarding the door?
rots you to the core.
In the end,
you won't know who it's for?
What does it mean,
to be "Great Again"?
I'll listen to learn,
try your best to explain!
Were there fields of cotton and sugarcane?
Was it back of the bus perfect,
everyone staying in their own lane?
A pain striped passport,
for those on the soul train.
If you know the truth,
please speak it plain.
I want to find great,
I've wracked my brain.
Whose America are you trying to regain?
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2018
Politics and Poetry – is hate really the answer
Why write a poem of hate about Trump
He’s been there just over a week
Though Hilary Clinton the people did dump
It still matters not what they seek
He cussed and he lied and they think that he cheated
While she was an angel for sure
Still not accepting that she was defeated
With her server on her basement floor
They say that this guy he don’t act Presidential
He talks like some dude in the hood
Just like a neighbor, a friend, residential
That proves then that he is no good
He lunges at beautiful women parading
This guy never can get his fill
Though they never minded the task of evading
Monica’s blue dress and Bill
I guess it just feels better when they are shouting
This terrible feeling they tote
To me it just seems like a big bunch of pouting
Perhaps some forgot how to vote
Now we see protesters clog up the city
Vulgar the words they do lob
If you ask me I would say it’s a pity
Why don’t these folks have a job
I’m guessing this problem, Trumps’ also to blame
No work must be fueling their fears
But wait now, I don’t think that he is the same
Who sat in that chair for eight years
They scream for the people his order is banning
This policy that they abhor
Though back when the Donald was happily tanning
Barrack did the same thing and more
He called it a pause, whispered, it’s temporary
Kept them from reaching our coast
In secretive silence this news he did carry
Always a wonderful host
But I don’t recall hearing people complaining
No “you are a racist” was heard
No hate escaped from some loud voices straining
Not even one single F-word
Now Schumer is weeping, his fake tears are falling
Crying, “This man is so mean”
Though not long ago old Chuck he was calling
For banning and vetting extreme
Both sides of his mouth to me it is sounding
Claiming that he’ll never quit
I’ve got a huge headache, my head it is pounding
Can anyone say hypocrite
But Donald, that creep, he made fun of a cripple
Waving his arms in the air
While I don’t remember it causing a ripple
When Obama, the same he did share
The laughter on Kimmel was on the floor rolling
The POTUS excuse I am sure
When the Special Olympics were said of his bowling
Their handicap tied to his score
But now we all find it’s a whole different story
Some didn’t get what they want
Cheering the sound of a Meryl Streep fury
While all the rest of us grunt
I didn’t cast not one vote for Obama
But accepted the office he won
Then didn’t whine and go cry to my mama
And think that the country was done
I never threatened to blow up the White House
Like some has been singer might do
Or paint on a sign about raping his spouse
That’s such a sick point of view
Yes you are welcome to have your opinion
Just try to use some restraint
And don’t try to change me, I won’t be your minion
Mine is a mind you can’t taint
Live and let live, now my penned invitation
Thank you if you stopped to glance
For I still am proud of this wonderful nation
Let’s give the new guy a chance
I am not very political and hardly ever include it in my poetry. But it is really starting to bother me the amount of hate that I see everywhere now about our President. The news, the internet and now hateful poetry. I get it that some don’t like the guy but if they don’t like someone at work or at school or at the mall or wherever, is attacking that person the answer? Is posting nasty things about them on the internet or social media the answer? Is destroying private property and threatening innocent people the answer? Is acting like a bunch of uncivilized, ignorant, uneducated, DEPLORABLE people the answer? I am sure I will lose most of my readers here because of this but fair is fair. They way I see it, the guy deserves a chance and if he messes it up, then I will say I was wrong.
“All we are saying, is give peace a chance” – John Lennon
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Snow is falling and floods are flowing,
people dying and children keep crying,
but he's just an ordinary man,
sitting there watching TV.
Icebergs melting and penguins starving,
men in suits talking and big guns firing,
but he's just an ordinary man
playing on his smartphone.
Storms blowing and seas are raging,
children starving and refugees leaving,
but he's just an ordinary man
at home warm and free.
He seems confused,
Daffodils no longer bloom in Spring,
bumble bees have stopped buzzing,
butterflies have stopped floating,
confused birds have stopped flying and
factories have plumes of smoke burning,
but he's just an ordinary man
sitting in his garden all alone.
So who is he to fight?
He just follows the rules he is told.
Instead of trying to be something he is not.
Because he is just an ordinary man.
The Silent One
11 January 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Scrolling and scrolling
the scripts slipping in
seduction of the scene
seen or unseen
not to mention reflection
mirrors don't always appear
to be or not to be
drastic times call for drastic measures
an ideal idiom of sorts
depending on who's cause
effects the cohorts
a false dichotomy on decline
no one gets to run or hide
even they can't pick a side
I digress as I undress the distress
and distraugt being taught
but is any of this right
why is there always a fight
I'd rather spread peace
not push, not shove
so in the shadow of hate
I simply wait
stripped down and nude
join me, would you?
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2018
Authored by Chuck Keys
It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.
There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically
It wasn't here or there and it was.
With no distinction,
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.
It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.
In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.
The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."
Differences exist for differences,
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
Our two party system isn’t working
Plastic figures, disaster lurking
Conservative or liberal isn’t the call
It’s the ultra rich against us all
For the people is what it’s not
All candidates have already been bought
Platforms built on promises and lies
Hear the people, ignore their cries
Wave that flag as if you’re proud
Then bow and worship the corporate crowd
You no longer serve, you’re out of place
You are an elitist group, a public disgrace
You’ve subsidized the rich with your insanity
Then crippled the growth of humanity
You’ve killed our children in endless war
The media smiles and keeps the score
We sing of amber waves of grain
You’d sell it all for personal gain
You left our budget in disarray
You’ll tax our grandchildren for it someday
No water boarding terrorists you warn
Then murder a child who is still unborn
You have no ethics, you have no shame
You have no morals, you accept no blame
Washington is a place I’m told
Where politicians are bought and sold
Where dreams and ideals are destroyed
A city where honesty is null and void
A place where hope has been dethroned
You won’t get nominated unless you’re owned
A place where once” In God we trust”
Now we look in sheer disgust
Country burning from your sparks
You replaced Uncle Sam with Karl Marx
Our nominees we cannot select
The media decides who we elect.
Politicians with great orations
Puppets to the corporations.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2010
You, most desirable bride among
Your suitors many have been throughout
In every part of the world, you were the one
They were after
You declined their proposals, despite the fact
All suitors, to charm you they have tried,
With great honors and by putting your name
Next to theirs, to allure you to sanctify their
The totalitarians and
Have declared themselves your fervent
Admirers, your ardent devotees to you and to
Your eternal principles
By wrapping themselves in your
Heavenly gown and calling themselves your
But you unyielding remained
You knew that no one has succeeded to measure up
To the ideals your wise father, SOLON,** has set
And to the glorious values with which he
Nurtured you, those superb principles:
Of lack of self interest
Of the paramount devotion to
The common good and the happiness
Of the people you serve!
It is for that reason, you, oh Democracy,
Seldom have shown any favoritism to any of
Your suitors, for all fell short of
Your lofty aspirations
You were, unfortunately, for very
Lengthy periods of time mistreated, neglected, subjugated and
Exploited by your pretenders:
The power thirsty
The war mongers
The money seekers,
Chose to ignore all that you stood for and
Disregarded the common good and the
Happiness of the people they supposed to serve
For to promote their own interest and those of
Ruining the chances of any true democratic
Society to be established
For that reason, oh Democracy, I understand you now
Why a spinster, you, have chosen to
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2014
* Democracy is the combination of two words: Demos and Cratos . Demos means the People and Cratos means Power so Democracy means “ Power to the People.” It will be helpful to read my poem “ THE BIRTH OF DEMOCRACY” for a better understanding.
**The concept of Democracy is deeply rooted in the Greek Psyche! We see it in the Mythology where Zeus, the supreme God, is just “first among equals” Then appears in Homer’s poems but the father of Democracy is asserted to be Solon, the Athenian who was one of the seven wise men of old. Solon, 7th –6th centuries B.C. was the theoretician that established Democracy. Solon considered the pillars of Democracy to be Justice and Virtue. So every politician should be Just and virtuous and his main objective would be to safeguard the wellbeing and happiness of the people and that of the state's plus the wealth to be distributed justly among the citizens. Knowledge, responsibility, self-control, self knowledge, sacrifice, equality, had do be characteristics of every citizen. Plato said that “Virtue worth as much as all gold that is possessed by all people put together and all gold that is still in the ground.” To that Aristotle added that “ every politician has to be forged on the anvil of virtue.”
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014
A whole new twist to the same old story
Evil scientist in their laboratories
Creating monsters that live in the night
I often reflect on mankind's plight
As mankind drifts further from his soul
We seek things to fill the hole
The path of lies forever bends
Truth is straight and narrow my friends
As I see it getting bent in every way
I simply find myself compelled to pray
What will become of our sons and daughters
Will their souls be led to slaughter
As scientist seek out another way
To disprove what the bible has to say
Trillions spent in search of a ghost
Another theory of true reproach
Rainbow stars now fill the skies
I wonder what is hidden inside their lies
We can now place a robot up on Mars
But can't help the drunk at the local bar
Trillions more spent on a new space station
But we can't feed the hungry right here in our nation
Seems to me before we go further conquering space
We should maybe try to help out the human race
Our quest for knowledge has drove us insane
We are now so smart we don't use our brain
Our nation was founded "In God We Trust"
Our government says "Let it be covered in dust"
Even this lowly creature up out of the pen
Knows in his heart that thats a sin
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007
must refuse relegation, obey
only the roar of our own angels, then reshape
breastplates to shield the motherland
from any warlord who dares
to pimp our flag.
Battlefields have always been a woman’s place,
We were born to bleed, to fight-
off advances, to heal from the inside-out.
We, nasty, nasty women
who dare castrate filibusters, know grit,
audacity, the combat for higher grounds.
History is lit by an army of fiery
heroines, burnt at stakes by low-life
We, Nasty women rise from ashes
to become better-armed daughters,
knightmares, hallowed witches on frontlines,
glorious, undefeated legends.
After Jeanne d'Arc et Saint-Michel by Eugene Thirion, painting seen above
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2016
Undone for all to see ... human fellowship, peace created
Every life has a beginning ~ brothers and sister
regardless of color or disease
For all the beauty that haunts our dreams
Can we turn the truth ... something more clearly
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
written on time’s page
with finite syllables of dust
he spelled my heritage
from earth to sky
along an umbilical line of faith
we fluttered from the lips of fingers
fully form for purpose
written on an invisible calculus
that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa mind
I have an argument
against the beginning begotten from a bang
before atom or element
I have an argument against force and natural laws
at work without mass or embodiment
for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
I have an argument
that the singularity could not become more than fragment
of energy again if a single atom explode
its forces flocking away from fusion
for energy fission to explode
flimsy as spiders web
dethroning my majesty gulped
in primeval slime unlinked history from love
minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering
the whip cracks louder than pain -
and on our black blistered backs … crumbling
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain
they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
for all our labors, lost, and grievance
what bang can buck the strain
and bring us broken souls to glory again?
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
Somewhere in Brussels, March 2019,
Poor Theresa’d not slept since about Halloween,
But at last it was ready! The dream Brexit treaty,
Which pleased every spluttering zealot so sweetly!
So ready to sign it, she tried not to squeal...
Until Boris* burst in and cried “NO BLOODY DEAL!”
Theresa yelled “shut it, you haystack-haired chancer!”
But Europe said “sorry, we’ll take your first answer!”
Then Macron and Barnier*, Merkel and Juncker*,
Cried “See ya, Theresa, we’re off to the bunker!”
Theresa gave chase; Boris stuck out a toe,
The Jimmy Choos buckled, and down she did go!
The bunker shut! Pawing the intercom button
And licking the speaker, she heard them all tutting,
Then Merkel said “Vile vee regret ze estrangement,
Zey cannot exist vizout formal arrangement!”
Theresa was screaming “JUST LET ME IN NOW!”
But she could have sworn Barnier cried out “KA-POW!”
Then she felt a great shake like the boom of a bomb -
And her satellite glasses showed... Britain was gone!
Well, after some hours of wailing and gnashing,
They found little Britain complaining and splashing
and shivering up by the cold Arctic Circle...
“Best wrap up vorm!” tittered Angela Merkel.
We last saw Theresa all sun-kissed and blustery,
Hiking the warm Euro hillsides of Tuscany,
Boris was found (well was dug up in parts),
With a hot Belgian waffle stuck right up his ****...
As for Britain - it’s time in the cold had begun,
The crops slowly died in the thin arctic sun,
Til a hobbit named Corbyn* cried “Right! Who needs feeding?!”
And was hailed as a God with his frost-hardy seedlings.
And somewhere in Dudley, a “leaver” called Norris,
Polished his gold-plated statue of Boris,
And petting his bulldog (with hands somewhat frozen),
He gave a wry smile, and said, “that bloody showed ‘em.”
*The cast (for the benefit of the lucky people who don’t have to hear about this nonsense every day!)
Boris Johnson: tousle-headed lying twonkweasel who helped get us in the ridiculous position in the first place.
Michael Barnier: The EU’s chief Brexit negotiator. Has self-righteous manner of schoolmaster dealing with a tiresome child.
Jean-Claude Juncker: President of the European Commission
A hobbit named Corbyn: Just a hobbit obviously. But coincidentally shares his name with the leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition, whose hobbies are beards, nationalisation and seeds.
With apologies to all Germans (sorry, Agnes) for Merkel’s comedy accent.
27 July 2018
Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018
Do you find yourself analytical
When it comes to things political
Corpulent men in suits and ties
Cheat with promises and lies
With true intent we go to vote
To make choice of *** or goat
Labor, Nationals, Libs and Greens
Strut their stuff like Kings and Queens
Have you met an honest Pollie?
Show me one - I'll shout: By Gollie!
With their hands deep in our pockets
They send taxes up like rockets
The grass withers and crops die
For feed and water creatures cry
While there's water up on Mars
And in ‘swamp’s’ well plenished bars!
Trump - outsider - stands his ground
Trait in Pollies seldom found
He treats leaders, lords and Kings
Marionettes dangling on strings.
Never TelePrompt refined
Opens up and speaks his mind
Straight from heart and off the cuff
Uncut diamond in the rough
Mock his lack of history pure
Never going to be demure
He hits back at thrown insults
I care more for his results
So let’s give an admonition
To bog dwelling politicians
‘Had enough to fill your cup
Drink it down! Your time is up!’
Copyright © Geoffrey Brewer | Year Posted 2018
SHE’s COMING AGAIN!
There’s a chill in the air
There’s a word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
She was gone, bells were tolled
But the body’s not cold
For she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
It was safe to suppose
She was due to be crowned
Then a young wizard rose
Had them all spellbound
With a look really cool
Like a kid from high school
But she came back again
Yes she came back again
Then she’d surely reside
In a white stately home
She’d the right, qualified
With two X chromosomes
She’d be in with a song
What could ever go wrong
She was coming again
She was coming again
But an old wizard now
With a strange style of hair
Took the stage took a bow
And with her almost there
She was pipped at the post
Cross the states, coast to coast
She was numbing again
And succumbing again
Without power came the crash
Sans connections she’d plied
Then the flow of the cash
Disappeared, nearly dried
So she needs to dispense
With some new influence
So she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
Feel the chill in the air
Hear the word on the street
Be afraid have a care
Put the children to sleep
So you thought she’d depart
With a stake through the heart
No she’s coming again
Yes she’s coming again
6 August 2018
Copyright © Geoffrey Brewer | Year Posted 2018
Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery.
Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.
With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance.
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice".
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street.
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes.
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.
Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down.
With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation.
The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro.
Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope.
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them. A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world. No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies.
In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated. The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.
So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.
Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................
We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind.
She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda. One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers.
Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal.
Brush of destiny sweepstakes, allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.
The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter.
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire.
How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war. How dare all of us.
Meanwhile back at the ranch. Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it.
Painted red for all to see.
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand.
Copyright © Scott Howard Myers The Gypsy King | Year Posted 2013
In my country,
Seeing smoky sky
But Killing kids kills
Me everyday, every minute
No matter with
Or lightening rockets;
It is being our daily habit
No more choices:
To die or but to die
Silently without even a whispered Cry,
Or a small bit of a registered grave;
It is happening now just in my country!
Copyright © Bassam Aljasem | Year Posted 2012
Walk with me,
cuz I don't wanna die young,
I wanna grow old and have
a daughter or a son, or maybe both,
to live a full life is my hope,
but the bullets in your gun
are a noose around my throat.
I promise you I wanna LIVE,
I wanna show the world everything I have to give
and it's a lot, and yea I might smoke a little pot,
but so Bill Clinton and HE didn't get shot.
I got plans for my future,
that don't include a cop saying
stop and let me shoot ya
my hands are clearly in the air
I start school next week and I wanna
make it there.
But you..... SHOT,
and let me die in the streets,
now my people want answers
No justice no peace.
Copyright © Cairo Asikari | Year Posted 2014
History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry
Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed
To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population
History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro,
Pray in silence to The Church
Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream
The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all
We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder
And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven
Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding
Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention
An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain
If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
It is there with them
Is where you should be
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008
Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
you plunder through life taking no prisoners,
with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your
circumstance; narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any
tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free -
a lover of women among inept men,
but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with
runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.
So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting shame,
littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,
I am free.
Copyright © Anna Lee Stedman | Year Posted 2012
I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.
Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few.
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!
Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.
It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!
It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!
And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014)
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)
*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.”
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)
*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses:
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)
*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover,
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
16th April 1746
The day a country ceased to exist
British Army, Hanoverian scum
Defeated our Jacobite's
Scotland is on the run
Our Tartans banished, bagpipes no more
To lead our troops, to frighten the foe
Cumberland's men hunt us down
In every village and every town
Wiped from our earth
Erased from the country of our birth
2000 men died to fight for their right
Against the British Armies might
Cameron's MacDonald's and Fraser's slain
Many other Clans, population drained
The survivors facing Hanoverian bans
The Scattering of the Clans
The Clan Chiefs lands, vast and many
Asset stripped, taken by the enemy
Alleged traitors tried, treason their crime
As Hanoverian Scum, on our riches dine
In the aftermath, many Scots left their shores
To distant lands to open new doors
Many writers on here
On their Ancestors scan
You may be here, because of
The Scattering Of The Clans
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Blissfully ignorant and supine,
Lost in the economy line,
voters don’t have a clue
that liberty is through.
Apathy dictates all else is fine.
People keep telling me how foolish I am,
but frankly I don’t give a dam.
I’m going to tell you what I see.
You don’t have to agree with me.
In hatred’s name Moslems prayed at the mosque,
boarded planes and three thousand we lost,
Soon we elected a Moslem president,
his books words and actions self evident.
To prove he was islam’s extremist hero,
He allowed a triumphant mosque at ground zero,
Freedom of religion is what they subtly called it,
by a government that continues to overhaul it.
The American people look on as if still numb,
singing his praises as if deaf and dumb,
while a pseudo democratic uncle Sam,
in a forced health care plan,
continues to turn out liberty’s lights
by destroying other religion’s rights.
Thus the American people’s democracy,
is morphed into a dictatorial hypocrisy.
While blindsided by a frantic economy,
we apathetically lose our autonomy.
Allowed by deaf and blind voters in a loud voice,
Fooled by not freedom but license they call choice,
sly appointment of people who fulfill the plan,
A long range one by the “new” Uncle Sam.
a champion of abortion, killing future contenders
him and Herod; another of the great pretenders.
“Enlightened Americans have one point two children per family,
because of abortion, birth control and contraception
Moslems have seven; which is the anomaly?
We Americans treat babies as an infection.
Laugh if you wish; I’m just exposing the path,
You “enlightened” Americans: you do the math.
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2012