Best Rebellions Poems
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Translations
Allons-y = Lets go, pronounced similar to Alizee
Magasins = Stores
N'est pas is written on sound should be "N'est ce pas"
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri = Eat your macaroon cookies my love"
C'est ton droit et ta liberte = Is your right and your liberty
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
"Kool for Katz Kissed"
Wake me when it’s all over
I’m having a swinging time
dreaming my purrrrrfect dreams
Hanging with the OM monks
I’m a nun hanging loose and hirsute
swinging in the breeze
I’ve been given a reprieve
Call it Catnip Time
Wake me when it’s all over
feed me soul food on the turn of a warm spoon
love in the time of Covid, you can feel
all the sanguine prowling Mancoons
purring heat, all the Toms and Tomasinas croon
isolation lullabies, cats and fiddles burning
all the boisterous feathered flutter byes
under a saucy Salmon Pink Moon dream
Licking my lips
dreaming of whiskers tickling
slow purrs and legs wrapped
around the kitchen table
I claim this zone of sensations all mine
fresh salty anchovies and warm laps full of cream
love in the time of Covid, you can feel
the sanguine prowling Mancoons
purring heat, all the Toms and Tomasinas croon
Call it Catnip Time
Kool for Katz Kissed
howling's for all the zen masters inside
small torrid rebellions are all off street
AWOL has gone wild
we're all now a little on the tame side
some days are sunshine and smiles
other days we avoid the sad ride
Call it Catnip Time
isolation lullabies,
cats and fiddles
burning boisterous feathered flutter byes
under a saucy Salmon Pink Moon dream
and cloudless
chirping
eggshell blue sky
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Let’s look at our wars, rebellions,
riots and disturbances
which have been burning our world up till now.
Baghdad, Jerusalem, Gaza, West Bank, Mindanao,
Ambon, Aceh and many other places in the world
have been burnt out.
So much blood has shed
Too many lives have lost in vain
What have we really been looking for?
What have we really been showing off?
Looking for an honor?
Keeping world peace?
Reaching a glory?
Winning a victory?
Showing off patriotism, nationalism?
Striving for jihad or the spirit of religion?
No. Absolutely not
We have not been doing anything of the sorts
but for our own sake only,
that is to satisfy our evil passions.
We have, of course, found nothing except
bigger and bigger hatred which spread
all around the world
We have exactly showed off nothing except
our greed to own what other people own.
Let’s look at again and again
the crashes our doings have resulted,
the chaos our actions have caused.
People, children and women who are innocent
have been killed by our bullets, missiles and bombs
Let’s ask our inner heart some questions:
Is that in a fair way to reach our world peace?
Is that in a fair way to unite our mankind?
Is that also in a fair way to affirm our humanity?
We all certainly will answer at once :
No. Absolutely not
(But of course
who is the man will plead himself his insanity …
None!
We are all in fact though.
(It is exactly we all who have become insane.)
imperial evil rings the rebellions bell
and awakens the rebels fight
allow for a new tomorrow
a skywalker will be in plain sight
his mind as sharp and committed
as the nail that split the force
a parasite of the night are we
the padawan has chosen his course!
BY Mark Taylor: ......Star Wars......
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
Citizen, consider choices nurtured,
at hand, leadership of the free world.
In a time of tumultuous world upheaval,
wars, rebellions, terrorists are in sway.
Torture, chemical warfare, ethnic genocide,
stagnant words on the mind and tongue.
Nuclear proliferation grows in hateful hands,
radical religious extremist rage as wild fire.
Who will stand elected Commander in Chief,
leader of the most powerful nation on earth?
Petitioners align in quest of leadership,
pouring words from lips in misty resolution.
Among the candidates in nations offer,
which placed boot to ground, hand to steel?
Where are the battle tested in choice,
those of iron will, reservoirs of experience?
Where are the proven men and women,
honored commanders of our military ranks?
Where in offer those held in earnest respect
by rank and file of our herald hero’s?
Spurn paper warriors posturing in grand example,
strutting blind boldness in pompous grandeur.
Strangled strategies in scales of life
with no understanding of burns and scars.
This hour the world needs strength of character,
yet petitioners banter in personal insult, innuendo.
Brash boldness soils stature in phantom proposals,
promises spread as butter on hot bread.
What became the valued military leadership,
untested desk chair candidates seek reign.
This is a time for proven leadership, strength,
not posturing politicians and paper warriors.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
3/12/16
On the point of mountain Kilimanjaro with my paints, pencils, rulers and brushes looking at the entire Africa. Many pictures of more than fifteen millions innocent christians Congolese killed in the wars
from 1996 to today
and the World is so silent.
On my first drafting big board, dead bodies of innocent children, men and women who were killed cruelty
in different massacres and genocides.
Painful to see how many girls were raped to death and students burnt in the class rooms in different rebellions
in the East of Drcongo
and the World is so silent.
On my second drawing big board, describing the second World war from 1940 to 1945 which killed less people
than those died in Drcongo.
How some world superpowers fight silently
in Drcongo because of minerals resources
and innocent Congolese continue to die daily
like innocent Ukrainians.
On my third drawing big board, ninety millions christians congolese screaming for peace daily.
some overseas masterminds who continue to finance rebellions through some neighbours
of Drcongo and ( traitors ) few Congolese rebel leaders.
Oh! This cruel world, where millions of innocent folks
killed because money and powers.
HOLDING BACK TEARS
Being a single mother is rarely appreciated,
when it is a very demanding, challenging, complex
responsibility to take on and carry on for years.
Who wants to be a single mother? I chose to.
Couples marry to be together and start a family
and do not think, want divorce or separation.
Yet, couples grow apart, change, unable to adapt
to situations, problems arising in having a family.
So, some ends up being a single mother like me
instead of staying married to a problematic
spouse or in a troublesome, exasperating, taxing
relationship, not a good example for the children.
Single parenting is very difficult for it is physically,
emotionally, mentally draining, exhausting. Tough!
You just bite the bullet and keep on going, doing the
best you can as the breadwinner and the homemaker.
You are on your own to face whatever comes your way
in maintaining the house, putting food on the table,
the children’s education, teen-agers rebellions or
defiance on top of your own emotional roller coaster.
Yet, you show a poker face and you hold back tears
for you want the children to know you are strong,
resilient, cannot be broken, being there for them
and will always be there to support and console.
The reality is you are breaking down, falling apart
inside, feeling all alone and holding back tears,
when all you wanted is somebody, someone to hold
you tight and whisper “Everything will be all right”.
I look back on those years of being a single mother,
years of holding back tears that turned my heart
into a stone for when my daughter calls on Father’s
Day telling me “Happy Father’s Day”, I cannot cry.
I cannot even shed a tear of happiness knowing
she regards me as a mother and a father. Charming!
How I wish I could. What happened to my diminutive
heart? Why is it still holding back tears? Don’t know!
8/18/21 This Or That, Vol 5 Poetry
Edward Ibeh
Chose: Holding Back Tears
When you ask many rich Congolese
of the East of DRCongo about the reasons
of keeping their millions US dollars
under the grounds.
Majority of them will point the Wars
And some Rebellions
Which are pushing
And supporting
by some Westerners
And Americans of evil hearts.
Rivers and lakes in Congo have more fish
But industrial fishing is not developed
due to few modern fishing boats.
Congolese engineers are the first black
African engineers who made some marine airoplanes
And more luxuries ship of international standards
on lake Kivu and Tanganyika.
Why these Congolese riches don't expand
on industrial fishing for more fish products
And export some raw and cooked
fish worldwide?
June 25/2023
She Goes Back
By Lillian J. Jeffrey
Whispers flow like a river
she will be sold
sold or rented like a cash crop
Born on a Maryland plantation
her mother works the big house
Harriet runs barefoot in the woods
side by side her brothers, nursemaids
her younger brother, childhood ends at five
She is rented, sleeps on a cold, cold floor
shares food scraps with dogs
wounds yarn slow they say
checks muskrat traps in marshes
barefoot in icy waters she looks
Her lungs fill, fill with fluid, her body burns
she is sent back coughing, coughing, holds on
fights off bronchitis and measles
her mother helps nurse her back
Rented to take care of a baby, clean house
the baby cries, she’s whipped, whipped, she runs
runs like the wind, tumbles into a pig pen
pig fights for potato peels
Her stomach empty, rumbles, she
returns to her mistress, the whippings set
her back on fire, she is sent back.
Rented, rented to load lumber
hears Nat Turner led a revolt
losses fighting for freedom
rebellions spark hope in her heart
whispers spread she will be sold
Her master dies, the new master
rents her to a local builder
the builder permits her to rent herself
she makes money, saves, saves, runs, runs
bends with the wind.
Empty of fear, full of dreams of freedom
doors open, slips of paper lead her way
through the Underground Railroad,
a network of shifting safe houses
Her heart skips a beat,
beads of sweat roll, roll down her cheeks
she crosses, crosses the Mason-Dixon Line.
Free at last, lonely, life stands still
like a still life of shells and bones
she is cut off, she longs, longs for her family
The sounds of rattling chains, cracking whips,
echo in her ears, she hears her mother’s
cry, hears her mother's cry, she goes back,
helps her family, friends escape, escape
on foot, through cemeteries, swamps,
around hills, she never losses a passenger.
A will as strong as a rock
a will to endure, persevere
a will to help others
nineteen times she goes back
Shoes worn, spirits strong
more than three hundred slaves escape
Harriet Tubman is nicknamed “Moses”
for her fearless bravery,
thump, thump, thump
bounty hunters on her trail.
Who Dares…..
Who dares to open this old and weathered tome
seeking knowledge, seeking to determine which
road to take, what thoughts to think, what must be
done to build upon the yellowed pages of another’s
dog eared life. Are you so prematurely defeated
that you seek another’s armor, shield, and buckler
not your own, weapons discarded by long past
warriors? Have the wizards of wisdom tainted
all creativity with fear, have the speakers of the truth
lied, has all been taken but faint memory of a
once held dream? A dream of naked pages and
empty books awaiting the touch of new pens,
new ideas, new rebellions. A dream of words
bathed in the breath of youth crying to be fed,
not old and withered fodder but fresh buds
in early stage of ideological bloom, words whose
meanings have never changed yet will be the
words that change ideas, thoughts, dreams,
and destiny. Words imbued by a new passion,
a new zest, possessed of simplicity and
teased by genius, written on the acts of daily
life.
Who dares to open this old and weathered tome!!
Learn, and dare to write your own.
8/8/2013
submitted to – Theme #4 – Poetry contest
sponsor – SKAT A
Rebellions Rhapsody
She had earned the sapphire talisman
freed herself from need’s plethoric drive
ceased longing for the dulcet drone
of felicity’s failing evanescence.
The chrysalis of crumbling youth -
idyllic illusion – awakening
her radiant, rhapsodic rebellion.
John G. Lawless
1/21/2016
Silent One's - 10 word challenge
Plethora, Evanescent, Felicity, Rhapsodic, Idyllic, Dulcet, Chrysalis, Radiant, Sapphire, Talisman
You rocked me to sleep cradled in your arms
Held my hand as we walked to school
You were there always for all my ups and downs
You picked me up when I fell, took care of all my scraps
Made me smile when I was blue like only you could
You loved more through all my tantrums and rebellions
Kept my secrets and took me to task when needed
No matter how old I have gotten your love
Has always been with me and seen me through
You stood by when I needed you even when I didn’t
No one can ever replace the love you have given
To all your children and your love is timeless
I am proud to have you as my mom.
WORDS ON THE SAND (Part 3)
Not distant a young girl watching silent
On her wheelchair. No writing from a limited body
The sand waiting from her what in life is more salient
After she saw the old man, the woman and the boy
Holding in her hands a bunch of ginger flowers
An Atlas Moth Butterfly flew on her bush.
"Don't you ask anything for yourself? Your words are diamond ores".
She whispered like her mother when cuddling her blush
"Nothing I ask for myself. I want to give
My word for the old man, woman and young boy
Only for them my heart can live. I can't them forget.
They deserve more than my limited body.
"What is then that you want more?
That you want to write on the leaf of a Sycamore?
That will be chanted for ever by Homer?
That will be casted in the seas as golden ore?
"I want to write it for them all
On the sands and on waves
On the wings of the sea awls
On the tides hold by alabaster vases"
"The word I want to cast to all humans
Is "Hope". No more I want on this humid sand"
"Hope" she wrote striving with her weak hands
No force of nature could hold that brand
A silence wrapped the whole shore
The sky turned into a deep blue and dark brown
No tide, no wind, not even a glimpse of bodily sore
Nothing she asked to keep for her own
And all in a sudden a thunder broke the immense bay
On the two sides of the Ocean water falls as ascending alabasters
Leaving the abysses open to winds and to sky
Roman vessels appearing with replenished golden caskets
From the horizon four thousand white stallions
Galloping over the sea beds from the centre to the bays
From the right, sea lions directing waves' rebellions
From the left two legions of mermaids riding blue Wales
From Greece Eolous blowing his trumpets for winds to bend
From Crete Minerva came to heal the girl's legs
From Rome Hermes to write poetries about her strength
Finally the Almighty Atlas to lift her from her binding beds
Then silence, peace and a marine scent from the sea
No tide, no bird, no foam, no wind, as it has never been
Only a small bush of ginger flowers under the sycamore tree
Caressing an empty wheelchair cherished by dropping leaves