Best Weapons Poems
Words are like weapons with bullets of lead
That pierce through your soul when angry and said.
When someone shoots his mouth off like a loose cannon,
You can’t help but get hurt as the mortar is landin’.
The thing about these wounds to the soul,
There’s no bleeding to stop from invisible holes.
Though, on the surface, there are no wounds to tend,
The damage is often deeper and harder to mend.
Masked by pride, courage or good old denial,
Make no mistake, this pain maims and defiles,
Reducing the toughest man’s heart to that of a child's.
So the next time you’re angry, don’t be absurd.
Lay down your weapons of hollow point words.
There is a better way to accomplish your goals
Without doing battle and wounding other's souls.
in my life-
some have tried to murder my spirit-
to assassinate my soul
with their single-mindfulness
nincompoops mean and nasty
torture brutal massacres relentless
running home for love
mothers arms
and kisses
from childhood to a young woman
I have found my ink
and I send poems wide and far
my soul bleeding
my crime for those with tunnel vision
I am part Ojibway-
in a world ruled by white
always different but not in poetry
except for some-
who come to kill my words
slaughter my poetic soul
murder what I love
nincompoops mean and nasty
sometimes I am befuddled
I stumble
crumble
crumple
puzzle
words are weapons
leaving forever deep scars
my house may be weather-stained
my garden ravaged
but the wheels of time have rolled
now, I have a strength unfathomable
a pride no one can kill
or slaughter
those who have words of misery
stay in your tunnels of hate
with your tunnel-vision
for I am an Ojibway girl proud
with flowing hair like a streaming river
and poetic spiritual soul
and the grandfather spirits in the sky
will ever and forever be my protectors
and I fly with eagles . . .
_______________________
January 28, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/words are weapons
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1324-456-28
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Murder in the Tunnel
sponsor, Kai Michael Newmann, Judged 02/12/2021
Fourth Place
corrosive acid
is sprayed in a strangers face...
he won't see again
11-04-17
To the fighting men and women and to all military personnel,
I only want to wish for you safety and God keep you well.
We are proud of what you do and you are always in our thoughts and mind,
I am working on a weapon too that when you shoot someone with it they turn
from mean to kind.
My Mean To Kind (M.T.K.) weapon is nearly done.
I’m in a hurry so I can produce enough for everyone.
Just point my M.T.K. and zap them once or twice.
The more the zap the more the nice.
No more blood will either side ever let,
Maybe just an honest days worth of sweat.
How cool will that be to finally bury the grudge,
And sit down with your enemy over a hot chocolate sundae with fudge.
Instead of a hateful staring glare,
Just zap him once and end warfare.
Heck I may just zap myself again,
I’ll zap you too and you can be my friend.
There is not always rain
Along with the thunder
There is not always bite
Along with the bark
There is not always oxygen
When we go under
Not always a devil
Along with the dark
But we can always count on,
Along with the sorrow,
Laughter and joy joining this life
We can always count on,
Along with the blood shed,
Somewhere, a sharp wicked knife
We can always count on
These weapons of warfare
Harmless until held in our hands
We can always count on
Having our fair share
The wicked intent of mortal man
There will be a rainbow
Along with the thunder
Along with the lightning
The still waters of night
There will be such beauty
After all blows asunder
Along with the blindness
A great, glorious sight
All poems are unfinished
Only those in sonnet are finished
Completed, done, and terminated
A poem can still be edited
Revised, retouched and rewritten
A poem is a powerful tool or weapon
Leave alone my unfinished poems
These are my spices, my stars, my emblems
You don't understand their symbols
And the words used to fill up the bowls
You just have to read my poems ten times
To fully comprehend them. Ignore the rhymes
To pay more attention to the vernacular
They are not bizarre; they are just particular
They are not regular; they are unfinished
They are not strange, they are simple. Kabish!
Copyright © July 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Poor
Have two weapons
Belly
And
Ballot
Say something kind,
say something nice.
Before you open your mouth
you better think twice.
Words are like weapons,
they hurt and they scar.
They can't be retracted
no matter who you are.
Apologies are nice,
we hear them a lot
but the hurtful words stay,
they can't be forgot.
No need to say sorry
if you think before talking
words that can wound,
hurtful and shocking.
Check yourself first
before you say something mean
because words are weapons
leaving scars unseen.
Wake your weapons
When the weary wind fills the way;
Poor pilgrim
Pray and report all your petitions
To the pure and powerful God.
While the sky waters the wide world
And while death’s dew dwells on kings
Bear each other’s burdens,
Bring all the hardships
And let them not break your broken hearts again.
Let not the past ruin your future,
And
Let bygones be bygones.
The world has produced
weapons of mass destruction
to annihilate
A new invention
science has contributed
to humanity
For the sole purpose
of destroying and killing
enemies of states
Such a cruel act
of ending life in one sweep
of nuclear bomb
Man is an idiot
that never learns his lessons
history has taught
From Hiroshima
to Nagasaki bombing
are lessons of war
Is life valuable?
a midst this vast destruction
there's no hope to life
Where have you gone
My haven
My shield
In times of chaos
Confusion
When every decision
Ends with my world torn apart
Bridges burning
The smoke signals returning no echos
You have always been my constant companion
Making my welcome pain
Into shimmering mist
A mirage of beauty
When all backs are turned
Against me
You embrace me with your fluid grace
I felt its void
As my body’s unchecked fall through space
Forcefully met pavement
The night sky is illuminated with artificial lights
Blinding me with their matching promises
But it’s my own deceit that
Has me lying on this floor that
Smells like cat piss
This whole city stinks
The smell of broken dreams and diarrhea
Permeates every cell of this
Pulsing city of vice
I feel your banishment ending
As the eight of swords loosens its grip of my tongue
And fear loses its stranglehold
With joyous rapture I relinquish this
Debilitating grief that had refused to be ausaged
I will not seek your shelter
My paladin of light
We will be neither master nor slave
Though I know first hand the double edge you wield
Do you not thinks it’s time
To use your mighty power to comfort
And convey the beauty of diversity
To educate not lecture
To guide not demand
To set free instead of imprison
To explore the endless possibilities
And redefine what it means to be human
We need to control
Weapons of mass destruction
For our own safety
You used to come home from school
grab two-handfuls of wooden building blocks
and take one brooding look at the Lego cities
I’d carefully constructed.
Then, with a bit of spit starting on your mouth
you’d begin to hurl
making bombing noises and dancing
your eyes shining hysterically.
I’d scream for Mum to come stop you
but she with her dusty apron and hair in a bun
tired from polishing floors or scouring the oven
could only muster a shrill, “Stop that!” before
returning to her Watkins cleaning products.
You’d smirk and circle slowly while
crushing my teddy, I’d slink to the corner
and watch until, bored,
you’d turn to me and say, “better clean up your mess”
before walking away to find our mother
quietly rifling through recipes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
written in a "one-off" flow of recollection, April 11, 2011
~Soulfire~
I have never even seen a Ninja
But I bet you didn’t know that, did ya?
I am just a peaceful soul
A video game “Black Hole”
You know your WiFi’s safe with me, don’t ya?
Although each Ninja has the same dark face
I won’t be inviting one to my place
All weapons confiscated
At the door; I’m elated
To keep Ninja warfare out of my space
*Entry for PD’s Sneaky Ninja contest
exclamation, which does nothing to stem dead locked high tide
proliferation of high-powered assault bazookas
manned by berserk cruel death eaters,
arch nemesis picks off life with a blip
simultaneously bipedal hominid(s) grip handily rounded dirk
as backup in case clip
misses mark, where siege mentality induces
nationwide sprinting into lockdown mode deterring by a drip
fiendish homicidal metamorphoses, where transmogrification
of generic guy wielding weapon subjugating hostages pits malignancy fill lip
mailer daemon hell bent on besieging bait (unaware
Snapchatting linkedin flickr ring beings) burst deadly quip
barrage of bullets malicious intent to spray
killing machines deliver click and rip
paying plenti deathly instagram howls amidst pandemonium,
thence funereal slip
epitaphs etched on tombstones proliferate taking souls to Hades trip.
Brutal and nasty nefarious scheme directed at humble lettered folks
(like those comprising my home town -
once evoked pastoral meme Lake Woebegone)
minding their p's and q's, when in extremis
out of the blue nightmare interrupts idyllic dream
a sudden bitta bing bitta bang rings terrorist catcall
followed by red tide and river of bloodied body where caskets
rendered veneer of dark wood within lies corpse,
pistol whipped, shredded and outkast, where mortician daubs creme.
Soundcloud boom echoes, thus occurs staccato sinister sonic strafes across
freshly fielded tombstone; pearl jam gray slate, some formerly anonymous
namesake, which underling, higgs bo son or daughter blitzkrieg cross
invisible trajectories shatter (at shutterfly speed),
democratic rubric rendered dross
disposable lives of society with senseless slaughter, whereat somber silence
pines nostalgia for Mill on the Floss
when life seemed innocent against gun metal gloss
wails of agony at another human loss.