Best Unarmed Poems
Wearing wireless headphones as I listen to the news.
I'm outside watching children playing, taking in the views.
There is screaming in my ears two voices disagree.
A little girl serves her playmates imaginary tea.
They're speaking on the pod, unarmed victims shot by police.
Captives tortured in war. I hear our own. I hear their pleas!
There's screaming in my ear a few voices disagree.
Little girls sitting pretend to speak French saying Oui, Oui!
There are typhoons hitting an island, reminds me of a tsunami.
Also officials gathering parts of a plane shot down by an army.
What happened to the plane that went missing, no one remembers.
Teenagers on the street play basketball great kids, great neighbors.
The president uses his pen, makes some politicians angry.
There is screaming in my ears so many voices disagree.
The girls skip rope, laughter fills the air and singing too.
Pundits discuss, argue this and that it's what they do.
Night and day is closer then these scholars and their degrees.
Theres screaming in my ear, voices, everyone disagrees.
The guys still shooting hoops, living the life, always polite.
Protests on the streets, the police display their might.
Some back peaceful protests others speak accusingly.
There is screaming in my ears, crowds of voices disagree.
I wave goodbye to the boys, we'll talk, I'll see them again soon.
The children want me to skip rope I play along like a buffoon.
They laugh that I can't skip properly. I leave them to their play.
There's screaming in my ear, voices...might as well talk to clay
My sleep will be hard, in the morning the sun will shine, children will wake.
What kind of world will we leave, you smile and laugh but feel like a fake.
Look how well we have done. When did we stop being one, being mild.
What happened to being cohesive? It takes a village to raise a child.
There is too much screaming in my ears, too many voices disagree.
I can only pray, lend my voice to the calm, hope we can all agree.
11~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name: I CAN'T BREATHE: A peaceful Protest, An Anthology of Powerful Poems
For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
(Part One)
I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.
I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.
I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.
I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.
I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrites*
fished with friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea nights.
I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later
You can behead an unarmed man
You can rape a defenseless woman
You can blow up an innocent child
You can burn a book, or 1000's
Attempt to erase history
Spit on the culture of mankind
Here is what you will never do
You will never catch Charlie Brown
Or behead Allah the almighty
You are an army
Of no hearts
Of no heads
The army of the evil living dead
A shaman prays, the Spirit hears
While a Seventh Calvary regiment waits
Unarmed, a tribe endures a Union's hate
Their animosities, and their fears
As the blue coats begin to circle...
Their wrath begins to circle.
That shaman saw but a single Spirit
That was split between different beliefs
He could accept the white Spirit Chief
But the white men would not hear it
They would not blend their God
With the red heathen God.
Anger explodes behind powdered shot
Spraying death from muzzled shame
Cruelly winning their ill gotten fame
Painted heroes claim a tainted spot
History claims the Ghost Dance...
As death claims the last dance.
A Dakota creek runs darkly red
Forever silencing the Ghost Dance
A chanting shaman dies in his trance
One hundred fifty Sioux lay dead
Now, only blue coats remain...
Only the blue remain.
A creek ran red with Union shame
When a shaman called the Spirit Great
And that Spirit did not hesitate
He fell on Wounded Knee and came
To take His people home...
His people swiftly home.
Timothy I. Brumley
Oft overlooked veterans,
of EVERY American war
The Medal of Honor,
one woman only ever wore.*
Women in Military Service,
a concept slow to grow.
Unrecognized, under-compensated,
yet, always there, always ready to go.
A Memorial to Women in Military Service,**
a concept slow to grow.
In every war, everywhere,***
they are always ready to go.
Please join me in well-deserved salute
to these mothers, sisters, lovers
and wives; usually unarmed, always brave.
Many died alongside men — the traditional soldiers.
*Only one women has been awarded the United States of America's Medal of Honor: Mary Edwards Walker (Civil War). How Many more deserved it?
**Located in Arlington National Cemetery
***If you are not US Citizen, please recognize the women veterans of your country, I'm sure there are many.
It grows
beneath the surface
It grows
Behind the curtain
It grows
And when it is seen
It’s too late
It’s there to stay
It is like a gas
Hovering
Following
Enveloping those
In its Smokey tendrils
Entrapping
Clinging like brambles
To clothes
It coils itself
Around
Tighter and tighter
It sits
By the ear
And hisses
Cruel music
To those unaware
Invisible It follows
Infecting the world
With its murky gloom
Making the future black
The world stops turning
Reverts to standing still
And it clings still
Holding in an unloving embrace
It’s like an impenetrable bubble
Of pain
Hatred reverberating back inside
While kindness sits beyond its walls
Kindness does not wait
It sits for only a while
Then leaves
Leaves you with it
Clawing for freedom
Does not work
For it infects deep
It becomes you
Escape can only come
From the outside
But the world is blind to it
So we sit
Afraid to make a sound
And it grows bigger
‘Tell there is no telling
The difference between you
And it
Until suddenly
It Fades
Gone for good?
Not likely
It always returns
It’s just away
Visiting family
Or taking a break
But it’s enough
Long enough
Long enough to speak
Long enough for the world to hear you
Long enough to be ready
When it comes back
Maybe you won’t be unarmed
Maybe you won’t be alone
But only if you speak
Three-hundred bodies shrouded in the snow -
stiff symbols of man's evil painted red.
Did horror freeze on the faces also
of women, men and kids who simply fled?
They ran from men outnumbering each one
of them and who with mountain guns shot dead
the half of them who had no chance to run!
Imagine fleeing, filled with so much dread.
Two miles some women ran to get away.
Unarmed and innocent, they must have pled
when found, but troopers shot them anyway.
At one dead woman's breast, a child still fed!
Some boys who hid were told they would be spared
if they'd come forth, but they were circled by
a number of cruel soldiers when they dared
to show themselves. Those beasts wished them to die.
The boys were butchered; then they lay in mud
along with their good fathers once so strong,
Ravines and hills were running with their blood,
and vanished now would be their Ghost Dance song.
This happened in my homeland of the free
but not so brave, yet twenty medals went
to men who took part in that killing spree
(said honor given by the government).
That cold bleak morning, few of them survived.
For white folks, though, a great new century
was just ahead, but all the dreams had died
for those Lacotas killed at Wounded Knee.
For Anthony Biaanco's Guns Contest
Putin said he wouldn't invade, but then he's known for his lies
So when he sent in his murdering scum, it came as no surprise
It will go down in the annals of history, as Putin's great blunder
And if anything it's united Ukraine, and not tore it asunder.
American President Joe Biden has now found a way
To make that despicable war criminal, Vlad Putin pay
To Ukraine he's sending lethal predator, and reaper drones
That will help to build stocks of dog food, of Russian bones.
Russian soldiers are not human from what we have seen
You've read and seen the evidence, so you know what I mean
They're gutless and have yellow streaks all down their backs
And scurry down to the sewers when Ukraine counter attacks.
Russians fire from a distance and let their lethal missiles fly
At hospitals, nurseries and any innocent civilians passing by
They only kill unarmed men, women and children, who pose no threat
But Russia, the civilised world is watching and we will not forget.
Red flags are what the Russians are using, to justify a crime
But the world is not stupid and it can see through the grime
A Russian town on the border was shelled so they could blame Ukraine
Then used it as an excuse to inflict, more misery and pain.
Every Despot who commits war crimes will always pay the price
Putin the war dog will be put down, Ukraine will not think twice
He'll have to surround himself with thugs and be lucky every day
But an avenger will only have to strike lucky once, to make Putin pay.
No tears were shed when he lost his flagship, in the black sea
It is one lethal weapon less to use, against that war torn country
The west thought sanctions alone would bring this war to an end
But it hasn't really worked, so more arms the west must send.
The battle for the Eastern Donbas region is well underway
And for those brave Ukrainian defenders, we must all pray
They're fighting to defend their freedom and sovereignty
But only military aid from the West will ensure their victory.
The horrific scenes we've seen on the news of towns reduced to rubble
Are because Putin knows he's not winning and that he's in trouble
At his forthcoming military parade, he's hoping to announce a victory
But if he was an honest man he'd tell his country, that he's failed miserably.
Written on 20th April 2022
To the girl with strawberry earrings, cupcake eyelids and a confetti lined body.
You are beautiful,
but not in the way your first lover told you.
Not in the way of demand action.
To the girl with strawberry earrings, you are so beautiful.
More so than skin deep. More so than in your jeans deep.
Worth more than a pile of meat, you are beautiful
So much more than your "thank you" could ever respond to compliments with.
Beautiful girl, at age twelve you will realize your chest was too small and your stomach too large.
Beautiful girl, he called you. His beautiful girl.
When he left you questioned everything.
A living mystery in young adolescence.
Beautiful girl, with a song in her heart and a story in her eyes.
Wake up.
The strawberry meadows of your mind too quickly became jam; jammed with the other voices.
Entering high school like the gates of Hell.
Burning your body with embers of days your criminals long forgot about.
Beautiful girl, whose apple red cheeks were stained with tears.
Beautiful girl, who forgot how to eat out of fear.
Beautiful girl, who did her makeup charismatically.
Who wore her smile like a pendent upon her chest.
Beautiful girl, you knew better than to open the dam of your mind, for you knew oceans could flood out.
That mind of yours, strangling you in the size of your waist in a dressing room.
Suffocating your chest, no, stuffing your chest to create empty and lumpy illusions.
Making you feel as though you always had something to prove.
Beautiful girl, stop, beautiful girl
Not every room is a battlefield.
Not every mirror a warfront.
The grenade of your mind is pinned to your lips, all you have to do is not pull it.
Beautiful girl, you are a fresh April dew.
You are the alluring scent of rose petals.
You are a star-lit night and a beaming sun rise.
To the girl with strawberry earrings, there is no one chasing you anymore.
You are free
You are as free as the birds up above.
You are untamed and wind blown like the formless shifting cotton of the Heavens.
You are unarmed.
No more pistol to your tongue for the imaginary friends of standard.
Beautiful girl, you are beauty.
To the girl with strawberry earrings, to the girl reading this, you are a beautiful girl.
It’s skin deep evident,
being black is an inherent crime
It doesn’t matter whether we
peacefully
stand our ground,
or be siren subservient —
Hands in the air,
knees bent
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
In the back of our mind,
fear is a pride looter
Epidermal evidence suggests,
probable cause is
five fingers of uniform blue grave danger
A click gavel falls trigger quick,
siren verdict be: 1st degree fatal anger
It’s just another casket open-and-shut case,
the latest obituary picture
bearing eyewitness of Breonna Taylor’s face
Like chalk on a blackboard,
we get erased ...
so rap sheet easily
Four-by-for centuries,
our coffin pleas
have been iron fetter ignored
The only asphalt sound
silently heard
are the yellow tape trace words:
“I can’t breathe,”
with our George Floyd face
in the paved dirt
Epidermal evidence historically reveal:
We always got shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Skin color hatred smoking barrel explode
on a trigger reload
Being black was our genetic crime
Wanting the good life
on the whiter side
of the picket fence
Made former slave cotton-picking sense
Our emancipated thoughts
were escaped equality sought
But votes auction bought,
forced us to tragically be
paddy wagon pellet caught
And when suffrage hope died,
it was our fault —
Runaway tears shed for naught!
Morgue blame sent:
Usual suspect motives be
dreams non-violent
Desiring to be integrated legally
into American society
was our heinous offense
No need for more epidermal evidence
It’s just another cell open-and-shut case,
the latest unarmed picture
bearing eyewitness of Jacob Blake’s face
We repeatedly
get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Seems the lawlessness of the land says:
The badge can be
judge, jury
and executioner
Ain’t it blatant epidermal evident,
being black is an egregious, breathable offense
Of which there is no self-defense
We get shot seven times,
by a six-shooter
Perpetrator exit wombs inflicted on
menace to society ghetto we
Aborted justice is our
perforated epidermal eulogy
Being black is a natural-born crime,
evidentiary,
an umbilical sin
It’ll get you pandemic shot seven times,
by a sick, sick six-shooter
Kith and Kin.
For them,people's time is not a waste,
For them,people's lives are important,
Peace lovers,they have awakened conscience,
Constructive activities they do together ,
Full of compassion,they are free,unarmed,
They dance to the tune of peace,
They are free men,with sound lungs,
They draw a long breath of peace,
promoting brotherhood,
With a brave heart,active mind
and free spirit,they embrace brotherhood,
Not less worth do they give to peace,
Selflessly they encourage kindness.
P.S- Back in the 18 century,the swords of Polish Legion supporting Lombardy were inscribed with an Italian phrase translated as "Free people are brothers".
Contest:The Swords Speak.
Sponsor:Julia Ward.
21/1/2016
My younger years were free from fear,
No threat of danger coming near.
No phobias that come to mind.
I release all spiders that I find.
I do not care for mice or rats,
Or slimy snakes or flying bats,
I’m protected from them by my cats.
So I think that my only fear
Is losing someone I hold dear.
Until thirty-five, my life was charmed.
I was defenseless and unarmed
When my beloved daddy died.
Bitter were the tears I cried,
And now I’ve lost so many more,
It’s been like one big one-way door.
I’d like to have a strong iron fence
To protect from ills and accidents
The precious ones that I hold dear.
To lose them is my biggest fear.
Written October 29th, 2012
For Contest "What's Your Fear?"
School didn’t teach me about human behaviour
if I had known the basics it would have been my saviour.
How could I anticipate those so different to myself
prepared to make the lowly moves that I would not have dealt
who don’t know honest competition
attacking from stealthy positions
branding negativity
on everyone they ever see
against a person unaware
talked about when they ain’t there
a rumour lie or story where
their reps destroyed out of thin air
The slanderously unarmed soul
who has no talent if truth be told
delivering tales that unfold
of someone bad of someone cold
feeding minds a narrative
some gossip to be parroted
of he or she and what they did
to make you judge the way they live
and while the people sit and listen
there is one thing they are missing
the person talking in their vision
seeing them for whom they isn’t
because liars talk they have to lie
they say it first do you know why?
To get it out ahead of time
they plant events into the mind
while truth has no such motivation
it’s dealing with the situation
not trying to win over the nation
like liars do in desperation.
Pay attention to the person talking not who they talk about
speak to the one they talk of and be sure to hear them out
the one who plays the hero plays the victim without doubt
they make others look negative in all they say and shout
Pay attention to the person talking not who they talk about
Peace or Problems
Do we want peace or just more problems? Whatever shall it be?
We will always have our differences, that is a strength for all to see.
There are countries in this world, where freedom has all been lost.
This happens when people are unarmed, it ends with a terrible cost.
If you lived in North Dakota, you would never have such fear.
We are armed with rifles and scopes, which are used for hunting deer.
I have made running headshots for years, many over 300 yards.
There are 30 guns in my home, government control is not in the cards.
Every household out here is armed, some more heavily than mine.
If I ever run out of ammo, I have strong dogs who will hold the line.
I have no fear of government, this is my home, and I will never run.
We will always be invincible; I am protected by God and my gun.
We can stay warm without any grid; we know how to live off the land.
We are a formidable force, not just some little boy band.
I think we should all get vaccinated, that is just what I believe.
But I will die for your right to choose, my convictions will never take leave.
Gunfight in old Abilene
With his hat drawn way down, reins loose in his hands
His horse sweating pints, the sun burning down
The dust from the trail was choking his throat
The Abilene sign, said, two miles to go
He rode into town, stared the folk down
He pulled up his horse at the watering trough
All scuttled inside as his boot hit the ground
The word was soon spread, that he was in town
His aim to avenge, a brother who’d died
By hand of a cowpoke, o’er game o’ cards
Known to be cheating and fast with a gun
He’d drawn and fired on unarmed man
Stepped out the poke, with a gun on each side
The stranger he sees with a look in his eye
Some paces they took, no words were exchanged
They stood face to face, staring each down
Silence it fell, the nerves were of steel
Dust blew around on the faintest of breeze
The desolate street, unreal in the scene
The stranger stood waiting, death in his eye
The air, it was crushed, as the guns they were fired
Bullets passed wild, on wings of hate
A thud, a cry, a hit was made
One fell to the ground, the sun burning down
The dust and the smoke, cleared from the air
Onto the street, the folks gathered round
Amazed at the speed the actions had been
Declaring the duel had seen a fair fight
He mounted his horse, tugged brim of hat,
His mission complete, justice on course
A man of the old west who never looked back
Where sun had gone down for the poke on the ground