Best Protestation Poems
IN MODERATION
By: William S. Labtis
Anything….taken
in excess is wrong!
Physically, morally or legally!
What may cause or uncaused you
Un-ending indigestion, detestation
protestation , exhaustion or exhumation!
After that condemnation…is a word of caution!
We may take it lightly or seriously
Everything of anything maybe precariously
Must be inconsideration always
To a safety-net should command
To seemingly good and blessedly
We must think twice and wisely
Look back for moderation as a demand.
Having dealt with in practice
Totally or wildly these earthly vices
Will surely become a backfire.
In any ground, workplace or perchance
Omit or commit, the end is indeed the measure
In battlefields, too much is an extreme
Nothing is lost than yourself alone.
Next, coming soon, live or let live
Everyday, every hour and every minute
Playfully, habitually, illegally or criminally
You may think the law dismiss or spare
What may be done uncommon or un-naturally
As the mean justify the end, automatically
As the best judgment…is moderation!
Partake and indulge
Why not! But have we considered
There are other lives who wanted to live
By themselves, with you ,however, never cared
So much we have taken advantaged of
Disheartened and engaged with and prejudiced
Nothing in exchange for moderation
The best of times.
May have leisurely come
Grasped handily, nevertheless, having done
Against the law of Heaven and man
Humanly physical. biological and environmental
and material
But you have gone so far so fatal
Forgot moderation which could have been
sweetly natural must prevail.
Commentary Notes on Peaceful Protest…
In the spirit of peace,
Patrick Henry once cried:
“Give me liberty or give me death!”
In the spirit of peace,
he was eventually granted his request.
how true it is---wonders
never seem to cease.
Where there’s peace,
there’s no need for protest;
there’s no instant
in this country’s history
where it has peacefully gone into war;
rather, consistently waging war
in the name of peace.
It is said that history
can’t be changed—repeated maybe;
emphatically teaching its lessons:
“Give me liberty or give me death!” So be it!
“No justice, no peace!” So be it!
So has it been in the history of protest:
peaceful protest by the oppressed
has always been responded to
with peaceful violence by the oppressors.
Nowhere in history—
has protestation between the oppressed
and the oppressor—ever ended peacefully.
Today, when the angered oppressed come face to face
with combat ready oppressors, peaceful protest ceases to be
a viable strategy—least we too, desire the fate of Patrick Henry.
I needed you In love hopefully grading on to what we had unjustly you fleet abnormal in just finished of what is love conjunction,
Bleeding form are love force on - attached by are father’s graced by the idea and govern of power they looked in fear and enjoyment shamed for there adroitly,
We looked in are eyes as you asked if it was real I just beat the words from my mouth crying my words forcefully we love both men and women you strongly loved in a woman I couldn’t get such devotion to one of the two it never came in a day but many that I never doubted tell my mother disgrace you loved to see in doubt and now undoubted fighting it for what we feel is normally is not yours,
You try more feeling the same solution and yet you cry and beg yet I cry to get you're undivided love as a brother as a gamer as a friend it’s not god that stop me it’s what I want are love to be in the since of godliness. He cries not for are incest but for are communicate of protestation in are minds we aroused,
School is what we forced down are trivial honor for David for you to be in his court for me is for you’re existence I try not to cry if I fail you must do the same as of I you must evaluate your options and choice,
You're lucky never touched they desiccative muddily course to loved on the spot of preparation of gashes blanked in inner fears joyed in immurement please don’t make me see you this way go and love the ones that engage in your simplistic act of enjoyment,
One more try not to leaded on are ways are endgame is to let all love but to love all not in the thought of sex we jump with out hesitation only hurting those with preparations of man for God.
The fat director in his piggy mien
Sitting in opulent oval office,
Wearing costly French suit
A delicate silk bow tie,
While the buttons are straining to keep
The belly from bursting out,
In performing callisthenic of the bulge.
Telephone rag, he lifted two of several
Dropped and picked with Havana stuck to his pout
And spoke rapidly with cheek dancing:
I want them in my piggy bank
I want the whole, as my piggy position is concern,
I will take seventy five per cent of the piggy taken
Forget about them,
Leave the piggy bubble project uncompleted
I will meet you for a brunch,
Masses rendered impotent, swallowed and wolves down
By the pig and his henchmen
Raining down hardship and flooded hopelessness,
Wiping up suffering and slashing death,
They fed and sold selfishness
And leave many to immeasurable loses,
To wash and watch shame
Inside the sewage of the rich
Presenting dramatic performance of bone to bone,
And starring, the ultimate Warrior Kwashiokor
For nouveau rich spectators applause,
Waifs and beggars begged and flogged more
Expectation refused to manifest in globe
Yet those who have expanded chests came out
To yell protestation but, castrated in their ranks.
The robbed queued in supplication to Almighty
Ears from the nooks of the ghettoes
From the air every blessed hour,
Wailing mulimukun sobbed Allah
That of rabbi baritone Jehovah Rapha
Enough! Prostration to lead infinite frustration
And threw hands up,
And supported the jaws with fragile limbs waiting
Aluta continua! Drummed the repressed voices,
With boundless bundle of fists thrown up
To face the militant ants with all laser weapon
Punctured, battered and marched down
Until the rout were silent;
Real war is not wage on the battlefield
But on a space minute than head of a pin,
World is just a rounder
Which urchins kick about in the streets,
The rule and regulation, don’t bother
Whether pricked by volley
Or pretended thorns hidden all around
When permitting dribbling,
We are fools to the brim.
IN MODERATION
By: William S. Labtis
Anything….taken
in excess is wrong!
Physically, morally or legally!
What may cause or uncaused you
Un-ending indigestion, detestation
protestation , exhaustion or exhumation!
After that condemnation…is a word of caution!
We may take it lightly or seriously
Everything of anything maybe precariously
Must be inconsideration always
To a safety-net should command
To seemingly good and blessedly
We must think twice and wisely
Look back for moderation as a demand.
Having dealt with in practice
Totally or wildly these earthly vices
Will surely become a backfire.
In any ground, workplace or perchance
Omit or commit, the end is indeed the measure
In battlefields, too much is an extreme
Nothing is lost than yourself alone.
Next, coming soon, live or let live
Everyday, every hour and every minute
Playfully, habitually, illegally or criminally
You may think the law dismiss or spare
What may be done uncommon or un-naturally
As the mean justify the end, automatically
As the best judgment…is moderation!
Partake and indulge
Why not! But have we considered
There are other lives who wanted to live
By themselves, with you ,however, never cared
So much we have taken advantaged of
Disheartened and engaged with and prejudiced
Nothing in exchange for moderation
The best of times.
May have leisurely come
Grasped handily, nevertheless, having done
Against the law of Heaven and man
Humanly physical. biological and environmental
and material
But you have gone so far so fatal
Forgot moderation which could have been
sweetly natural must prevail.
On Stopping Big Ben
Our bell is silent now;
Silence marks the passing of each hour.
The tower has no comment, makes no sound
Despite thirteen tons of primeval power.
Our bell is silent now;
The sun dimmed in mute protestation
The day it stopped, the day life turned
Into a sentence lacking punctuation.
Our bell is silent now;
It used to speak, same call to all,
No misunderstanding, no spin of truth,
Unlike those below in marbled hall.
Our bell is silent now;
Our voice diminished across the sphere,
Our orb and sceptre have played their part.
This isle now travels in hope or fear.
Our bell is silent now;
For four long years it will draw its breath,
And then exhale when hammer strikes,
To mark the tides of life and death.
Our bell is silent now;
Its tone and timbre oft in doubt,
Cracked and flawed like us all.
We’ll all miss his freedom shout.
Our bell is silent now;
Its silence diminishes us all.
As clods are washed away by sea,
Who does the bell toll for?
It tolls for thee.
On Learning To Become A Guru...
Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any
influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare
pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers
targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor
susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric
abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly
followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.
Eruption,
This haunting
Terrorizing emotion
This cord
This ethereal torment
Claws scraping
Twisted biceps lurch my vessel forward
Tattered feet scraping hardened earth
An Emotional void
Refusing to bring this convulsing shell
This once dormant child
To his desire,
And this taught life line would draw on
Till one day
The scraping pain rose in protestation
Too short was the cord
Too mad was its lord
Fate and its twisted lover time
Rose did this merciless oppressor
Its rocky assault upon my person
This mountain of fortitude, firm stone resolve,
No
Its uneven surface whispers through my shredded fingertips
No
The blood trickling down these jagged scars would cry
But this smoldering volcano
Hears not the terror in the voices around
It hears only the vibration of the cord
Waves of craze
It hears through them a whisper, a cry, of yearning of longing
Through the mountain
And to the lush beyond:
A haven, obsession for greed
And anchored is the cord
In a maiden
Sleeping lazily under the shade of the mountain, caressed by my tormented breath
Her heavenly winds
This cord that urges at this volcano
This mountain that denies a cascade of burning will
This rocky cage that guards salvation
The things craved the most
Torment the most
For man shall live to conquer mountains, for maidens or for fame
For completion.
© Samir Georges
2009
My glasses flew in no direction
as your punches hit me with no restriction.
My jaw became your punching bag
and my face you gave many slaps.
The punches you gave me followed the rhythm of my heart
and I said to myself "I´m going to die".
I looked at you as you kept hitting me
and I said to myself, "no, it´s not him".
You pulled me by my hair like I was a doll
and I kept praying it would all stop
but then your punches followed
and my tears fell without control.
I tried to run away from you
but you pulled me back like I was a trash bag.
I defended myself with all the strength I had
and you just swatted my hands away like I was an annoying fly.
The next thing I heard was the scream of my tearing blouse,
the jerking of my fancy bra,
the protestation of my jeans you kept pulling
and my panties you ripped away from my body...
On learning to become a guru...
The following artfully crafted back in the day
(actually poetic endeavor presented below
written a few scant years ago) in response to
unexpected positive feedback received on
the most popular social media platform.
Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any
influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare
pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers
targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor
susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric
abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly
followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.
Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.
Political Correctiveness
Republican Vs Democrat
Young man with a mind and a protestation unwinds.
Old man with bald head flying his sign .
There was almost a fight, but it was just summer heat in November.
No one was righter than wrong. Who has won?
There is no mystery to me.
The old mans affiliation was the sign in his hand.
The young man was fussing so obviously a member of the other
correctiveness political party.
He at least IS somebody.
Arguements keep untill elections are over.
Incumbents drink whiskey while losers just weep.
Who Won?
Sign painters paint the letters again on all of the doors of the offices.
After the voting is done.
Who Won?
America was born in protest violence,
but Lady Liberty now has
postpartum memento —
A colonial, hypocritical condition called:
Revoltee Protestation Amnesia
Wavy umbilical vanished memories,
of destructive actions ~ Terrible justification deeds
needed to break the bond of perceived tyranny
Swaddled in a dissent slogan banner,
her Revolution baby
first words uttered were:
“No taxation without representation”
Shedding musket tears
of colonial employ,
the charter tyke was weaned on
East India Company tea
But the parliamentary shackles
of free speech
assembly oppression
hurt America Revolution baby’s
neck too much
She couldn’t breathe liberty
as fetter such
Swift economic growing pains
bare witness how
the colonial child's voice changed
Words of pretty mild dissent
turned protest ugly
Her juvenile behavior
developed bosom rage violently
It kindled a revolt-tea dumpster fire
At the righteous protestation
adolescent phase,
the Revolutionary young lady
riot-tossed
into the Boston harbor
the British tea
Utter-ly destroying property of the E. India company
Oh, how the Revolution woman-child’s
anger burned —
Torch subtle as volatile voices often be
In Native American disguise,
she killed collaborative officials,
who worked for
the England government subsidiary
And when the fiery rage of her
riotous vexation
died down
This famous act of violence
subsequently became
protest
praiseworthy
renown
My, ooh my: Violence never was so romanticized!
What a violent birther story,
wouldn’t you agree
But now a few hourglasses
filled with Crown Royal ambrosia:
America has drunken pride,
blackout deeds of protest amnesia
At the ripe age of whine maturity,
the Revolution contrary woman now do flag foreswear
she’s peacemaker toting as can be
Cursed be her revolt-tea dumpster fire, blackout memories
So don’t you darkie dare,
with grievance sidearms raised,
try to protest violently
Ain’t it funny how,
with memento frowns,
hypocrites forget so easily
I shook him and shook him but he wouldn’t waken
He had to wake up to take his medication
It isn’t for pleasure or for recreation
But just for the sake of the USA nation
But on second thoughts, severe constipation
Or send him away on a lengthy vacation
or get him to queue for that new vaccination
For anything else could be mortal damnation
And then he awoke with some consternation
Where am I he said with much irritation
I think he was having a hallucination
He looked up and asked me, am I a Dalmatian?
It’s my job to offer a daily summation
I gave him the gen on the evacuation
We’re ending our Afghanistan occupation
Really, he said, has there been consultation?
I told him the Afghans now face conflagration
Afghan? he said, oh, a shaggy Alsatian
I knew this would be an inane conversation
His mind was a void, that's no exaggeration
You’ve pulled out too quickly in my estimation
Jill’s ironic nodding belied her frustration
He didn’t respond with a quick protestation
And Jill’s little grin was a saucy flirtation
The topic I changed to the Covid contagion
He needed to issue a communication
We need to consider some rules relaxation
His vacant stare offered no illumination
He said that that pot plant needs fast irrigation
He whipped out his weener and issued hydration
He grinned as he offered a brief explanation
My name is Joe Biden, for your information
Our Revolution sought limitations
On imposition of regulations,
But supplications met deprecation
And castigations not reformation.
Such condescension sparked protestation
And contemplation of separation;
This supposition stirred apprehension -
A premonition of confrontation.
But, declamations and remonstrations
Spurred agitation toward Declaration,
While provocations and deprivations
Steeled resolution for liberation.
War's prosecution, through execution,
Forged dedication for recognition;
Its culmination brought dissolution
And vindication for aspirations.
While extrication brought satisfaction
States' acclamations lacked definition.
This Federation showed imperfections;
Low validation forced redirection.
Deft composition penned Constitution;
Strong propositions scored affirmation.
Hence, generations find inspiration
And preservation their obligation.
-------------------------
Tell all the people yet to come
Democracy is what we chose;
Their mission's goal: protect it from
All foreign and domestic foes.
The Revered Female
Female Muslims, supressed they say.
Thoughts and voices kept at bay.
Born to breed, must take heed.
Brains in chains, master reigns.
Wives and mothers, fit for purpose.
Conceal their strength, limit their wealth.
Faith constrains, potential wanes.
Feminism jailed, Islam, failed.
Yet Islam stands for equality. Promoting personality.
Establishing legality. Protection of morality.
Cover up to liberate, alleviate, dissipate.
Society’s norm. Renunciate.
Inheritance rights, clear and concise.
What’s mine is mine, but he must provide.
Mothers honoured, not simply endured.
Paradise lies in the glint of her eyes.
Look at your spouse with adoration.
God’s Mercy will come. Glorification.
Her sexual rights must be fulfilled,
Or protestation, is rightfully willed.
Once the gaze is inverted, from all things haram.
We tread the true path, to a spiritual Islam.
Where women are held in high esteem.
Respected, protected, represented, revered.
But historical habits, refuse to leave.
Culture distorts and as ever misconceives.
Ignorance keeps the struggle alive.
The believing women, lost in their own plight.
Education and empowerment must lead the way.
To enlighten, inspire. Eliminate the grey.
Know that my faith is not where lies the fight.
As Islam was the first to make legal our rights.