Best Resistance Poems
I have the rhythm of a winding road
how do I consign myself to being confined...
rows of poplar pillars prop
rendezvous canopies beneath we meet
—I self-cajole on ooh-la-la afternoon
yellow eyes; daffodils watching
lean into gossip groups nodding
a prodding breeze instigating deep-freeze—
I am a sweet weed in this place of sway and betray
with a stranger I stroll my arranged betrothed
height of his black top hat challenges trees
much like Corinthian columns
guards of an aisle I must walk —dear God! must walk
trepidation trips down my bridal spinal column
tiger eyes; lilies watching wish they were me
dare they dream they could uproot their roots like me
wish they could wedding waltz like I must —like I must
but their envy-leaves remain embrace-less
—I secretly envy lilies’ arms empty of yet unmet love
daffodils; empty-headed —laugh
they try to read my mind to fill their own
what do I care of their curdled thoughts lemon tart
and orange lilies’ with their brocade brimstone
what do I fear of fire-breathers burn of words
undergrowth feels the square heels of my lace-up boots
post impression grows more expressive than first—
beware French tongues of sundew and burdock burr
marriage-carriage rolls in ruts to Versailles
where my coerced corset of hooks and ties lie
rhythm of a winding road dies in minuet strangle-hold
From rooftops, you may yell or shrill
Finding faults and accusing us, still
Our spirit you can never kill
You may shout at us or scream
Defeat and despair our lot may seem
But you cannot destroy our dreams.
You may scheme against us or plot
Bring forth sorrow and curse our lot
But all your efforts will come to naught.
You may attack us with your lies
Make us dissolve into tears and sighs
But you can’t stop us reaching the skies.
You may inflict pain upon our hearts
Aim at us your poison darts
We’re destined to win, from the start.
Seeds of division you may sow
Turn a friend into a foe
But you cannot conquer us, you know.
You may try to dim our glow
Deal us a really mighty blow
But you cannot make us stoop so low.
You may seek an opportunity
To break our bonds of unity
But our strength will grow to infinity.
Vicious tales you may tell
Make our lives a living hell
But know this: our spirits you cannot quell.
Here and there I saw the fear
People running & saying it clear
Corona here, corona there
Some ran for needs
Some ran for greeds
Some were worried about all their deeds
It took me back in a reverse gear
It took me back to Kashmir my dear
Quarantine here, Quarantine there
The Seconds grew impatient
As Anticipation aimed its dart
Hope sat erect at the table
Compliments practiced their parts
Breaths were held as the Chef pirouetted
The Piece de resistance proudly poised
Triumph on a smooth, sleek glass surface
To the accompaniment of Merriment's noise
Paradise was but a dimly lit candle
Beside the Pheasant's brilliant blue flame
Exclamations burst forth midst salivation
The Proud Bird had earned Highbrow acclaim
We built it with soft hands,
stacked comfort upon convenience,
turned our backs to the gears turning in the dark.
Fed by silver screens and full stomachs,
we let the fire flicker,
too drunk on the warmth to notice the smoke.
They whispered,
“Don’t worry.”
And we believed them.
We traded vigilance for spectacle,
truth for something easier to swallow.
The cracks in the foundation widened,
but we called them character,
part of the charm of an aging empire.
When the first stones fell,
we laughed.
When the pillars trembled,
we turned up the music.
By the time we saw the beast,
it had already made a home in our halls.
And now, even the quiet places are waking up.
The ground hums with something unscripted,
a pulse beneath the broken roads,
a breath held too long.
Fists clench beneath dinner tables.
Voices sharpen in the night.
The forgotten, the overlooked, the ones who never raised their hands—
they are standing now.
The tide that carried us into sleep
has begun to pull back.
And in the silence left behind,
the storm begins to speak.
Days of poet motivate calm compassion.
Sheer injustice evident—every turnpike
manned by soldiers’ wild unfamiliar passion
planned around harsh Strike.
Summonsed lamb to slaughter, but still respecting
burning bush—obedience lit by daydream,
Ares now advance with his pride, suspecting
alter in regime.
Bending truth to suit the occasion’s essence,
whispers coil in shadows of veiled renitence.
Glow of waters lap at the swirling valence.
Ebbing of sentience.
Psappho wept—her dream has dispersed as token.
Rose-fingered moon’s face will exceed all starlight.*
Silence now descends tableau muffled, Brocken
Spectre of moonlight.
There will be no recognition, no epiphanies
No intellectual solidarity, no saving grace
So without further adieu, let us speak free,
A clarion call to smash this ludicrous machine that churns out poverty and wipes away our identities
The apparatus of violent repression.
The rich partake in the reckless and unrestrained celebration of the exploitation of the less fortunate.
A carrot is dangled and the people are ready to be thrown in this machine.
It makes the rich wealthy and the toiling men into fuel.
More men are made and more fuel is burnt but not all are burnt, some die as they are discarded
For they don't burn as hot
and the machine is renowned for its brilliant plumes of smoke as only those who light up the best, are picked
So we must burn those men that rule us instead, for we have been told they are the best.
Yet another bothersome group we must denounce - the tide of grey faceless men
"In these times those happy and carefree,
I find are mere liars
Or They have gone senile, brainwashed, to be served to the ruling thugs
Like mutton, or poultry.
The people are faceless,
Limping through the cold,
the fascists parade them naked
The ones left with faces are made to erase them
As hope departs, i cease to care as i make a run but the senile mass grab me
At the cusp of possible escape
At end of the tunnel
Im dragged back to be eaten alive.
The people have succumbed to the commands of their parasitic masters.
these masters will go to work on them
Putting a smile on the faceless masses
The Grey lumps of flesh will now remain complicit
to the ceaseless evil that occurs in plain sight."
futile resistance
naturally one combined
two souls intertwined
(April 21, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Join the Resistance
Counter the forces
that are monopolizing
contemporary societies
Fight for what is right
Be a lighthouse
for all to see
Sound the bell to
wake us all up
Question the bourgeoisie
with all of their
rules and regulations
Live outside the box- - - - -
Become an Outrider
Contemplate your actions
Make them powerful, forceful
Keep up the pressure
Don't give in
Replenish your energy
with an eye
towards the heavens
Always be peaceful with
no harm to anyone
He wanted to teach you something today
But you resisted his every effort.
You said school is boring, you hate it.
Minds engrossed in useless trivia,
Cold comfort in a job-hungry world
Echoing thoughts of seventies songs,
We don’t need no education.
He wanted to teach you something today,
To help you to grow, understand and improve.
Your rebellious refusal condemns you,
Another brick in the wall of ignorance.
In frustration, he took back his gift
Unopened. Resistance is futile.
Water fulfills life
Nourishes soils,fills reservoirs -
Only abrades fences.
It's a term coined
for the times
propelled by actions
ceremoniously indulged
whimsically by the populace.
It's growing daily,
masses in tune
bubbling to surface
rife with rebellion.
Senseless conventions
imposed by the machine,
discrepancies enlightened
with blinding rays
of rationality
superimposed upon circumstances.
Keeping up the fight
against all odds
baffling to mindfulness
as they scramble to react
to tides of mistrust.
When Hell Comes
When Hell comes
War becomes a b**ch
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
David Bowie - Putting out fire (full lyrics)
https://youtu.be/2f99YKyrOmc
It's 4am
I grab a discarded magazine off
the floor to see if I can count forwards
from the release date to see what todays
date might be
maybe I've forgotten something important
like
what hike should I go on to see the
coolest wildflowers
or
maybe I should switch my cloaking
aura on and walk the streets
invisible
I
could
pretend this poem has some merit
tho it hardly matters 75 light years
away
I can feel the anti-gravity pulling
me towards understanding
possibly even being able to walk
no
glide
kind of like a
hover
3 to 5 feet off the ground
with varying speeds
depending on circumstances
01/12/14
RESISTANCE (EAST TIMOR)
A young man
A young man lying
Sightlessly staring beyond the sky.
Resistance…
A fierce wind blowing…
Bitterness trapped in his quietened heart.
His forehead.
a round mark, tiny.
precisely.
A tilak? Futility.
Scorching sun
Clambering, burning,
Sweltering,
One more sacrifice.
A mere boy
Who will own him now?
Festering,
Ants consuming his brow.
A woman
Pauses at the place,
Whimpering.
Stoops to cool his face.
Eyelids first.
Closing them one last time.
Lovingly.
She is a mother.
Familiar?
Does she start to weep?
No.
She has seen all this before.
Often.