Best Revolutionaries Poems
Oh how I miss being six;
No problems that couldn't be fixed.
Important decisions of cavort;
Was which hill to make my fort.
How to make the stray kitten follow my lead;
So that " It followed me home" was an honest plead.
Trying to guess with an experienced hunch;
What was the mystery meat in the school's lunch.
Hand catching craw dads and small fish;
Waiting for the first star to make a wish.
Mud pies and tea parties by invitation only;
The little girl's private teddy bear ceremony.
Splashing in puddles and climbing trees;
Skinning my elbows and knees.
Picking wild berries and black heart cherries;
Staging my own revolutionaries.
Making shapes out of clouds;
Laughing and singing out loud.
Wishing for rain but not chancing the odds;
Sacrificing my sister's barbie dolls to the rain gods.
Under a patch work quilt, snuggled safely;
With my feather tick pillow I fall asleep gayly.
My mother wraps her arm around me like a shawl;
And whispers "Goodnight and sweet dreams Doll".
Fear of Terrorism
T raumatized tortured tumultuous feelings of trepidation
E ncapsulating effervescing emotions everywhere eventually
R esponding rapidly to ruthless and relentless repetition of
R evelations of revolutionaries remorseless rapaciousness
O bstreperously obliterating outrageously the innocent
R etributions replicate as ramifications remonstrate
I nsurrection insidiously intensifies as ideologies immortalize
S trategically surreptitiously suffocating silently sons sanity
M ankind muses meticulously as methodologies morph into misery
John Derek Hamilton
March 24,2016
alcoholic actors age artificially
frustrated feminists fornicate fiendishly
clever cops cripple conspiracies
nervous nannies neglect nurseries
morbid ministers murder martyrs
jealous judges justify junkies
lazy lawyers liberate lunatics
paranoid pimps pacify prostitutes
emotional eccentrics execute evangelists
gullible gangsters glorify graveyards
horny hypocrites horrify humanists
impotent invalids inspire incest
scorned schizophrenics sabotage sanity
disgraced diplomats destroy democracy
tormented terrorists terminate treason
reformed revolutionaries regret redemption
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
THE REVOLUTION IN ONLY 2 DIGITS
Home again.
Thomas, you were wrong to doubt it:
You Can Go Home Again and
Bask in the healing sun of Osiris
This isn’t home
This is recovery.
From the fevered scurvy of my own forgetfulness.
I eat limes for breakfast, lunch and dinner now;
My bowels move regularly now.
And I feel just like Thomas Payne
His bursting desire to model the ideal citizen
Not our uniforms, but our blood, sinew and muscle.
To present to the Crowning Glory and
To the Revolutionary Congress and
To the Revolutionary French Senate
Thomas and his Pain made the American struggle a personal fight:
The universal pull of the upright ape on the chains holding him down.
Chains forged by the forgetful hairless ones.
The ones we will overcome.
But we are not revolutionaries!
We are the Revolution.
We are what happens next.
The R/Evolution of our Selves: the inner/outer seeing through Alice’s mirror
Into mindful awareness
Into homage to our honored masters and their children:
The ever loving human race.
We have already won the revolution.
We have already won the revolution.
2 Shots were fired from far, far ago:
One from Lovelace’s boudoir,
Another from Giordano’s spinning wheels and the memory of his funeral pyre.
And from the bit of the apple Alan choked down,
We have already won the revolution.
We just need to take charge.
We have already won the revolution.
In only 2 digits.
ROAD TO DAMASCUS
Granite faith exfoliated by superguns and sanctions whirls,
on this earth succumbing into dry spell of peace,
War-crats and confidantes skinning freedom from its people
Kofi drinking coffee with revolutionaries and revolutionaries in
Aleppo cafe on his way to Damascus
Daughters eating NGOs, GMOs, condoms and twitter
Bullet scorching the feet of super diplomats and mediators
Wiki leaks castrating the reputation of this state
Opportunists and oppositionists eating asparagus and liver in candle light dinners
Selfish pseudo prophets calculating political matrixes, salmonella laced sugar tongued
Democrats cooking autocratic beetroot and propaganda pizza for media rituals and puppets initiation.
____________________________________________________________
Scions of light shall come,
from darkest of humanities soul,
warriors of the blodline true,
ancient calling older than coal,
liberty in defending earth's kingdom,,
Working against the progressive machines,
this pre-new world order,
revolutionaries of a new time,
against manchurian canidates in number,
liberty soldiers behind the scenes,,
They come from unlikely places,
even behind enemy democratic strongholds,
the objective thinkers from behind,
even within tight inner folds,
the opperatives without a trace,,
They are lights shinning within,
throughout hunanities space and time,
earth-mother's secrets of free will,
pure souls of universal paradigm,
scion rangers of liberty devine,,
These born scions of earth-mother,
are hearts unlike any other,
with pure sight of liberty,
leading humanity to futher discover,
freedom that can last forever!?,,,
Auguste Blanqui was correct to assert
"Revolutionaries aren't born, they are made"
They're being made everyday, but Sunday,
At the hands of a corrupt State,
One they've tirelessly helped to create
- If we are to become its product
What then can be expected of change?
In a world full of self-made victims
Responsible for their own problems
- Brutality, usury,
indoctrination and assimilation:
The end results of our inaction!
Don't tell me about the problems
Try explaining how you never saw this coming!
Complain about the times
And I will come to remind,
time and time again:
"You have no one but yourself
to shower with your blame;
For being seduced by the corrupting ways
of an inhuman system
by subjugating yourself
with the oath of a vote to its authoritarian state."
- And them right there is "fightin' words" in a "civilized world!"
Don't bemoan about the awful smell
After building your own jail cell;
Otherwise,
Don't tell me:
"If you don't vote don't complain."
- Because these two things
are very much the same...
There was an earlier time
that came to mind
this day I heard dangerous fears and angers
called cowardice instead,
back 200 years ago
in the United States,
when Northern industrialists,
relying on southern cotton
to mill fabrics
clothing cotton-picking slaves
and other whiter folks,
joined Southern slave-owners
to refer to Abolitionists
as cowards.
Moral cowards
for threatening Orthodox ecopolitical viability
as it was misunderstood
in that 200 year old time and place.
Naming radicalized revolutionaries
Cowards
might provoke despair
to further points of violence against innocents,
the non-bullies of democratic process,
majority rule,
but will not dissuade inpatient intolerance
of their view
that what we say of them
is what we, in fact, are.
Whether this radicalized voice and action
is to Abolish further violence,
further buying and selling of sacred nature
further hubris of owning what can only be gifted,
borrowed through mutual consent,
or to Abolish established inclusive democratic peace,
makes all the morally healthy difference.
Yet, in either case,
whether healthy or pathological radicalization,
naming the Abolisher a coward and a fool
needing to be stamped out
will merely spread this nascent revolution
toward further violence growing higher boundaries
to hopes for cooperative sanity.
When we look behind the normal public tour
of terrorist acts and actors,
the rhetorical reviews and guided stories
most frequently told,
we are likely to find a long familiar risk
to public health;
variations on cultures of patriarchal abuse,
matriarchal neglect,
and desecration of RightBrain ecopolitical equivalence.
For this reason, if no other,
choosing emasculating words
like cowardly and disloyal
and unfaithful,
is a choice to notice only deception
while revolutionary inception festers into flowering
further blasts of suppressed anger
hyped up hate
furthering Earth's climates
of pathological fear.
Thank you, for excavating from dead tongue
Under midden of lies
The archive of our own history
The outlines of identity
So we under obscurity white sheet
Could find resurrection of self
In another voice oppressed
But unconceding of its comeliness.
Before I grew old I was only school
Afraid to be nobody unless I conformed
To class, and status and creed.
I could not see then how I consented
To condone the designation of a weed.
Before I was old
I did not even know weeds were revolutionaries
Resisting the pharmacopia of gods
And heal me in the old ways again.
Let this vernacular, this dialect
From in between the interspaces of existence
Reworking the problem of my preservation,
Let it flowers like weed
Gushing from unexpected places after rain.
Thanking you for understanding how to spade
With it the introspection of itself
Match with veins, leaves and flowers
The pattern of remain alive.
The tongue is archive of the soul, and language
The repository of all the culture holds.
Sure, folk songs are sweets, but our stories are more
Than words. Babel has no meaning
If it confused only words to flock in nearer trees.
Something deeper there was lost
Perhaps the lens by which we tell who we are
The frightening part of God,
The vision that must be consumed in hell
The staircase that if we trod
Would tear the scream of worlds from us
Making a new dilemma out of dust.
I sing not for Babel heights but the rights
To flock the founding tree of truth.
Thank you, for permitting me to speak again
To taste the lilt and roll of visceral sounds
Wearing glottis masks and labial screens
Spreading the germ of belief
And the sanctity of self in an ubiquitous air.
Folk people, balmyard man, healer
Kuminah giver, obeah veteran
Abeng blower, anancy teller, long spoon cook
Your anthropology will be the first page
Of my exumed biography, my life given back
Like raft to me. I am going to dig the moon.
Watching the festering global sores of mankind
This propaganda called news, has on rewind
Images are shown for their shock value
Then compromise the effect with their marginal views
Atrocities are shown, religious zealots leak out
But the story's one sided, free thinkers have doubts
Political pundits push, independence for all
Third world economies propped up from the fall
Global warming is real, eager scientists report
Our president's vacationing at a private resort
The impoverished are starving, the land of milk and honey
Abundance receding, the food banks want money
Hatred and bigotry, open wounds from the past
With military surplus, revolutionaries are gassed
This relentless bombardment is numbing our senses
While access to our country is being prohibited by fences
Our children aren't safe, their education is lacking
International larceny from subsidized hacking
Opinions are based on the images we see
Ephemeral sadness declines instantly
This biased information, which we receive
Is one sided and filtered, leaving us deceived
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
The ill-equipped revolutionaries fought and died to set this nation free.
Against all odds they triumphed sending George's troops back across the sea!
The precious freedoms we cherish today were won due to their staying power.
It can truly be said of those courageous men that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Men in Yankee blue held the line at Gettysburg with unwavering resolve.
Mr. Lincoln steered a steady course that a united nation might again evolve.
Alas, it took a fearful toll and bled the nation of its youthful flower.
Valiant men died to make others free - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
In June of Forty-four, brave men stormed Normandy's shore to force a breach.
Heroic American soldiers forfeited life and limb upon that crimson beach.
They took a noble stance in order to knock the tyrannical Axis out of power.
History books will record forevermore that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
During the tense decades of the Cold War, dauntless warriors were on alert,
To protect and defend our priceless liberties that others sought to subvert.
Like a sturdy oak they didn't bend nor did they deign to cower!
A grateful nation will ever proclaim that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Valorous American troopers yet today strive to uphold freedom's cause,
To stem the tide of terrorism that seeks to impose its despotic laws,
To bring peace to embattled peoples and install just leaders to power.
'Twill be told in generations to come that - "This Was Their Finest Hour!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Mr President of the federal republic,
Our trousers no longer size our waist
because our stomach has refused to grow
to mingle with the cover of our nakedness.
The oil on our lips revolt against us now,
drying before the yam on our hands get
to our mouth, is this the change expected?
Mothers tears across the street, their head a
dome of anger disciplining fury into words.
The fault is not the corruption but our people,
The hunchback on our back has caused the curse.
Tell us with a sweet mouth void of foul aroma,
Are you the messiah which is to come to us?
Are you a real revolutionaries or a democrat?
We thought before the night that we've at least
found a great friend of the poor with food and
cloth, but here is another nightmare to our voices.
The fire in your mouth light the darkness here,
now, we are found in the family of misery and disease to scotch us to agony and death before time.
We can't borrow more mouth from our neighbour
to talk to you of our pains, ours is enough.
Come home, let's reason togther and together
to avoid those who flog others into cages like fowls.
We have waited so long; so long to see mother
Wipe away those tears from her eyes but no one, no one is ready to help her, can you make things right?
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.
Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,
Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.
Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.
Though,
the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.
"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.
The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.
Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.
The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,
for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.
Dreams don’t make it here
They are choked by smoke from fires fueled by bodies too bruised to recognize
Here hope is like a forgotten thought that has left traces of its existence in your
mind
You know you can do it but you just can’t remember how
The children’s playgrounds are now just a memory of a peace and calm that
used to be
I have forgotten the sound of children playing and laughing
I know they can try but I think even they have forgotten what joy sounds like
My reason to smile today is that 19 children died last night, yesterday it was 43
The rubble that carpets the streets gives testimony to the broken dreams of
revolutionaries; the pillars and beams of a nation
“The walls of the great cities have fallen and its homes caved in.”
The constant anguish has left my face mournful but
I trust the flicker of hope is still visible in my old eyes
They have seen far beyond more than I can swallow
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
This pain is like a splinter under the nail of my heart
And with every gunshot it is pushed deeper and deeper and deeper but still
I have no more tears to shed, that well is dried up and hollow now
I am afraid of how much we claim to see and the paradox of how blind we act
I am in awe of my spirits resilience and endurance;
Truly suggestions of something divine