Best Vandalism Poems
Paul
Husband of Sheila, Father of Kirsty and Paul-Mark,
Grandfather of Valentina, teacher, and friend
Son of Pauline and Nazarene, brother to six siblings:
Joseph – Angela – Carmel – Catherine – Victor – Maria Concetta
Lover of freedom, honesty, dreams, dark chocolate, nuts, red wine, and windmills
Patient and diplomatic, but like a dormant volcano is liable to erupt
Enjoys sports, swimming, walking, travelling, reading, writing, painting, and drama
Detests lies, double-faced people, wars, cheats, bullying, and vandalism
Who feels for those in need, the persecuted, and the marginalized
Who fears loss of countryside, betrayal, hate, suffering, and dementia
Who would like to see tomorrow’s dawn, peace on earth, beyond the mountain peak,
Resident of Safi village, Malta, Europe
Callus
-----------------------------------------
17th October, 2014
Contest: Bio Poems
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
Placed: 1st
Categories:
vandalism,
Form:
Bio
I’ve an anger which cannot be hidden!
A burning passion that comes unbidden!
My Soul desolated with grievous rage,
reacts with furious justified outrage!
Occasioned by the offences of ignorance,
bigotry, discrimination and intolerance!
Though evil are the ravages of vandalism,
they pale to the magnitude of racialism!
Colour, creed, even the shape of the eye
is little enough to make bigots cry:
“He’s not of us! He’s a different breed!”
“Watch him close or he’ll do us an ill deed!”
There is no cause for remarks such as these,
but pestilent views are like a disease!
Some ill chosen words expressed in vague
terms, insinuate like a fatal plague!
Ethnic slurs in the guise of humour, fester!
With but one angry response one protester,
can incite more slander, which raging out of hand,
foments a backlash! Runs rampant! Inflames the land!
But racism is a sword with a two edged blade!
It cleaves not only those on whom it’s laid
but those who scorn to curb their vicious tongue
from whom such defamatory words have sprung!
Can we not accept those who are not as us?
Must we blame the innocent for the fuss
instigated by such biased perception?
Let us quash ignorance at its inception,
or by default we shall be guilty too!
By using diverse conceits we construe
to make imprudent acts lawful decrees!
While disregarding all impassioned pleas
for tolerance! Unless we denounce this blight,
or take a stand and with fortitude, to fight
and end disharmony, discord and dislike!
Racialism and hatred will flourish alike!
Rhymer April 1st, 2017.
Categories:
vandalism, anger,
Form:
Rhyme
I embrace the nocturnal shade
coiled beneath tangerine lamplight
on the corner of the street
in case a certain little lady walks by.
I am ever watchful
in the telephone kiosk bathed in smells of damp
directories, of urine and pubescent vandalism;
silhouetted at the mouth of the
tubeway entrance;
sat in the rusting Lada across the road;
ever watchful,
gaze unwavering, unflinching.
I have perfected the dead-eye stare.
I am the vigilant sentinel.
I am watching you.
Wherever you choose to go I am
mere footsteps away,
dogging your trail.
At the salon I watch your pale tresses
cut and blown dry
through stencilled window glass.
That time I got a lock of your hair.
I like to collect souvenirs.
They bring us closer.
I know you know I am here,
I make certain of that;
dead certain.
I want you to know I am here,
always present
on the periphery of your vision;
live ghost haunting your existence.
The police have made empty threats,
charges of loitering with intent.
Intent to do what, though?
That is the question.
Intent to do what?
It is for me to know and you to discover.
This is the game, my sweet,
the game we play.
I feel your fear when you pick up the 'phone
and no one answers,
only the romance of dead silence;
I can smell your sweat leaking down the line,
taste your breath, sharp and spicy with fear,
burning down the line.
I sense your arousal,
the wetness of your loins, slick
with the lubricant of anticipation,
of desire,
of surrender.
But we do not speak, no,
not yet,
but soon.
Be patient, beloved, be patient as I am patient,
stoic and timeless and patient.
I hear you sobbing, crying down the line,
hear the crystal crash of vodka glass shattered
against the wall. Be patient, calm yourself,
for soon, very soon, we will meet...and
then my intent will become clear... as
clear as those shards of shattered crystal,
my sweet...
Categories:
vandalism, death, mystery, social,
Form:
Blank verse
This responds to “Operation Raise the Colours,” where some have painted the St. George’s Cross across streets, roundabouts, and takeaway shops. Claimed as patriotism, these acts are vandalism and an attempt to erase community spaces and stirring division.
Red bleeds across zebra lines,
slick on high street asphalt,
smearing over takeaway shutters,
stretched across roundabouts, stubborn as lead.
Rollers scrape and flake,
pigment cheap, sunlight shakes it loose,
drips into puddles,
history seeping through plaster,
like damp under primer that never hides the past.
The streets run red and white,
paint claimed by hands insistent on marking stone, brick, asphalt—
silence made loud in streaks and drips.
Roundabouts stand proud under fresh layers.
Slash Dulux over despair—
coverage meant to hide, but failing.
Paint bleeds over more than tarmac—
onto takeaway windowpanes, footpaths, shop signs—
a mural of identity, impulse, defiance.
Undercoat logic tries to cover the past,
but no sealant ever lasts.
Brushstroke patriots,
emotion disciples,
armed with rollers like substitute rifles.
The painting’s wrap is hollow,
decorating decline as if it were fate.
Every slogan,
a stencil sprayed on the breeze.
Pigment flakes with ease,
truth showing through the layers.
Heritage red becomes eviction scarlet,
brilliant white papered over target.
Crowns drip Crown paint onto stone,
monarchs in tester pots,
empires reduced to monochrome.
Borders cut by shaky hands,
masking tape straining against the straight line of intention.
Private bleeding edges,
lines never straight.
Revolutions run off into puddles of hate,
mirroring the sky distorted,
clouds stretched, colors torn thin.
Tins are stirred, paint slapped on the ground.
Every revolution circles round,
because property cannot be glossed,
despair cannot be mapped.
Whitewashed roundabouts cannot hide the cracks.
Paint peels, drips, bleeds into puddles,
but the fissures of history remain—
veins in stone, stories in asphalt,
layers no roller can erase.
Crowns, crosses, streaks of red and white
twirl and fall like the last dance
over streets that remember,
over walls that refuse to forget.
The cracks take the floor,
silent but insistent,
and they will not be painted over.
Categories:
vandalism, word play, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Green spray paint splattering is all I see on the wall
It’s not art that I see, it’s vandalism! they scream to all
They can’t or they won’t let themselves imagine what truly is presage
Beautiful and unique and of greater importance, graffiti with a message
Sprayed on the concrete walls, is the vibrant green verdant artwork
Campaigning for humanity and natures creatures,
unshrouding harsh realities covered in murk
Mural’s paint disheveled meanders along itselfs esteem
Yet reliant dearly on a lifeless tree standing dormant unseen
You see it looks sadly leafless, branches dry and its greenery gone
A passerby felt Banksy’s vision left an impression is clear, strong
"d e s t r o y i n g the f o r e s t s, d e s t r o y i n g the g r e e n e r y"
And I feel certain that her words bare truth, it’s in the scenery
Categories:
vandalism, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
As in crystal methamphetamine, the mind becomes cold.
Anxiety, paranoia, and schizophrenia
Creep in, like snakes and deathstalker scorpions, uncontrolled
Are bones, veins, flesh, and blood affected by asthenia?
The body begs for calm composure; the moody mind mulls.
Midst fires of optimism, the ice of pessimism melts.
Restlessness and rebelliousness resemble spineless skulls
Vandalism of vindictiveness vitiates vague vents
The feeling of freedom to fly and fervently flutter
Fill and flow flawlessly, like fine floral fluorescence.
Mild melodies of memories musically mutter
Constant conscious conscience has come to be the quintessence.
When the ice of hateful, heinous, hideous hurdles heaps
May passions of compassion flare from the depths of the deeps!
Categories:
vandalism, humanity, life, nature,
Form:
Sonnet
Religion smoked a cigarette,
while sugar did some drugs,
I drank gin and anisette,
Heroin gave you hugs.
Was it my kleptomania
that seemed like such a threat?
You'd turn your back for hours,
hoarding the internet.
Drama was your primal right,
vandalism your apogee,
you had to have the spotlight,
spread your fame for all to see.
I was vitriolic,
without the wealth I seek,
became a workaholic,
for seven days a week.
Adrenaline was my certain need,
you were a voyeur sure,
I always wanted faster speed,
***** seemed your only cure.
Gambler's chips line all your shelves,
I bet on caffeine's sway,
you are Santa with steroid elves,
shopping - your passion play;
we're video games that run ourselves,
for twenty-four hours a day.
You cut yourself so many times,
carving addiction's text,
I drown myself with a metered rhyme,
before looking for the next.
Bulimia made you ascendant,
chocolate broke my fall,
I thought we were codependent,
But I never had you at all.
Categories:
vandalism, addiction,
Form:
Quatrain
Sparkling with precious stones,
Credited for its aboriginal tone
Carpeted with flat grassland and lion-like mountains
Is the land where the vulture reigns.
Celebrated for his greed,
He deprieved all his relations of their needs.
He dances to the rhythmic melody of bribery
And lend the land to ultimate misery.
With his delusion shrouded in cosmetic words
He appoints humiliation and frustration to be his lords.
Relatives fortunate to labour in Winter and Summer
Strives to oblige helping hands to the beggar
But to no avail.
As vandalism fueled with violence prevails.
This evident atmosphere of injustice,
Nursed an intense spirit of malice
Which when at its peak
Permits commotion to speak.
The pack up! Pack up! sound of the gun
Hints that another catastrophe has begun.
Villages were ravaged.
In every town there is carnage.
"Oh, my people are being taken to the cross
I will uproot my lords with a force,"
Flattered the psychopath
As he plans another of his unbearable wrath.
Yet he has "Pledge" his "Love and Loyalty"
To bring to our land, "Peace, Freedom and Prosperity."
I dont have to fight to eradicate this anguish plight,
With the pen's might I will amplify his callous deeds in broad daylight
Categories:
vandalism, depression, loss, war,
Form:
Rhyme
Rampant vandalism looming
Threatening important developments
Hampering the progress of viable projects
Disheartening to find complete structures
Badly damaged and materials stolen
To replace vandalised materials is proven
Difficult and waste of resources
Now which lesson can vandals be taught
Why must vandals be so?
chipepo lwele
Categories:
vandalism, loss, sympathy,
Form:
Choka
If I were to swagger off the streets
Some gangster as I perched the skulduggery
Of my litany in glitter and smoke
An ageless vandalism to linger unknown
While I sneer from the lounging corner of your TV
Would you recognise me
Though I slide sheathed in the flags and banners
Barking and whining with the malaise dogs of freedom
Still with the coils of bright subliminal stars
With the cool smoothing glass of my poison
Throttle every whisper in the eyes of your children
Would you know me
Should I sink in bitter teeth this Nospheratu gift
A mechanical mayhem of guts and blood
In impassioned exaltation choke the anthems of liberty
Should I scream dank from the cellar
Beneath the rubble litter of such celebrated and hollow victory
Would you hear me
When I dally in the mall smile Muzak ghost of neon
And peddle from every crisp clean rotting shelf of starvation
By coat-hanger noose dangled so footloose
Breathes it’s monoxide pull into your lungs
Better for the fashion this fashionable becomes
Do you recognise me now
As I secretive polished in slick glide reflective coercion
In the vaunted line of the halls of my fathers
Where this iniquitous trail of fiddling crumbs
Lay their poor morsel under the boot of my banquet table
I dine on metal and speak with weapons
And faceless electronic the vendetta of surveillance
And twisted media to quell every utterance
I hide this honed blade skulking behind you
Chill grip to the spine in bright sunshine
I haunt you
You ….. photographed
Are ….. stamped, filed
Mine ….. and numbered
Categories:
vandalism, time, me,
Form:
Free verse
They are eating what's inside the dust bin! Yuck! Duck! Plug! ....Pooh! Woo! Doo!
No ways l am going back ehlathini! Kanti nithini?
Ngiyazithemba!
I am Zulu!
I am Sotho!
I am Tswana!
I am Pedi!
I am Shona!
I am Tsonga!
I am Afrikaner!
No l am biased! Freedom and peace brought us unity....we are all made of gold! Take a look at how we shine!
The ancestors of Africa!
The heartbeat of the Mother Land , the continent rich with culture! Sweet soil decadent like sweet Hennessy.... drowning our sorrows! Together we strong , divided cracks flood our Rainbow.
Africa Stand up! Unite
Let a Dictator like Bob fall down! You are not Mahat Maghandi ! We forgave but the wounds still annoys us, frustrations in the form of Vandalism....#feesmustfall #strikes #xenophobia Mzansi you have been through a lot....take a seat you are still young! 23 like the prime of David Beckham....fresh like grilled cheese.
My mother land you are truly a spectacle....you are blessed, your sons and daughters are strong.
Black ,White , Asian and Disabled this is a plea to the Nation of an African giant "Nigeria" Terrorism must stop!
Iam an African kid .... with an African dream.
Categories:
vandalism, africa,
Form:
Free verse
The nation in question is a world largest oil exporter
It citizens is be deprived of what she has
Involuntarily long queues from night
In petrol stations till dawn outside the same stations
Makes the danfo drivers angry and happy with price hike
Who will be sorry for the stranded commuters
Is it the profitless street sellers
Or the red hotted conductors?
You then see a divided country
Each citizen angry with and harmless to the government
Frustrated citizens walk miles to chase Molues
No one cares for the other the aim is to get home
Though some do, the poor ones.
Who says it only touches the proletariat
Even the rich are touchable
You will see big fat men exercising in their cars
Suffering from the traffic jam created at the stations.
Who will condole with the cying lady
That cannot manouvre due to her twisted hand
And clucth ridden legs?
A country were urchins
Take to the streets as black marketers
The hoarding stations having collaborated
With them sell the gold four times its price
All moneyed men will buy from the law breakers
The owners says it is due to vandalism
What a suitable lie
For it is likely that the political skirmishes
Has reined on the innocent citizens
Even our eight year leader
Will not address us on the issue
Who says it this is not a dividend?
I say it is.
Categories:
vandalism, confusion, life, nostalgia, sympathy,
Form:
Free verse
Clippity Cloppity
Emily Davison
confronted race horses
losing her life
dissident suffragette
indiscriminately
committed sabotage
chaos and strife
Hickory Dickory
Leonora Cohen
hunger strike ends with the
cat and mouse ploy
campaigning for justice
legitimisation
Scapegrace to magistrate
ending in joy
1 / 28 / 2021.
During the 1913 Epsom Derby, Emily Davison threw herself under King George V horse
Anmer. Dying from her injuries 4 days later.
Leonora Cohen in 1913 vandalised a display case containing the Crown Jewels in the
Tower of London. Defending herself, she was released on a technicality. After another act
of vandalism, she went on hunger strike while in prison, but was released early. This was
due to Lord Asquith's cat and mouse act. Giving prisoners time to recover, preventing
needless deaths while incarcerated. Leonora was trampled on by a mounted police horse,
during one protest march. She died aged 105 , serving as magistrate for 25
years and receiving the O.B.E. incidently she was born in the city of Leeds, where I too was
born and bred.
Categories:
vandalism, conflict, death, discrimination, women,
Form:
Double Dactyl
The world is becoming complex
Entirely different from the last century one
Racism, hegemony, corruption, brainwashing and vandalism
Become common
Nothing can be done to wipe them out
Maybe tolerance is the only key
To survive in a lost world
Created by the devil in the heart
Which has produced three poisons
Greed, hatred and infatuation
The source of all passions and delusions
In a lost world of today and tomorrow
Categories:
vandalism, corruption, hate, lost, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Exodus
Under a big holm oak, I sat on a stone resting a little
the sun so early in the year was hot, years ago there were
flocks of sheep here they laid chewing ignoring me.
This year there is none not even pellet droppings
the landscape is being gentrified and no peeing up against a tree
It is strange when people who are not of the land
the first thing they do is to try trimming it and making smooths
tracks made of imported sand, plastic chair and a nice cuppa.
The extended field of olive trees lends itself to a golf course; they will
of course, leave a few trees with tall grass and call it the rough
little can be done give the developer a chance and Portugal
ends up looking like Florida, and architects will draw the same
dull estates and find some fancy names
for their vandalism.
But let them spend money before it comes crashing down
abandoned and nature can take it back, yes it has happened
before and with good reason when small farmers were so poor they
sought work on the other side of the ocean
and their old homes has trees growing through them
nothing is new only the name changes like a rabbit would care
Categories:
vandalism, abuse, gothic, graduate, grandfather,
Form:
Blank verse