Julius Caesar hastened a decline in liberty
Roman rights abridged, from a partial democracy.
A leader can come in, and single handed attack
The freedoms people had, not easy to get back.
Germany was a democracy under Weimar
Then Hitler came in, they followed his star
Mussolini dismantled freedoms Italy had
Democracy is easy to lose, and that's sad.
Nicaragua was a democracy, then voted in Ortega
He said no more voting until we reach the planet Vega.
Venezuela voted in a populist red:
Now people shiver when secret police tread.
Turkey was free until Erdogan moved.
He jailed journalists, judges too.
It is like roach motel, no doubt.
You can check in to dictatorship, but you can't check out.
Some leaders won just enough of the vote
Some took a while to don the dictator coat.
But freedom is apparently not immune
to a strong leader sweeping it off with a broom.
Churchill was on Democracy's side
But said it's the worst system except for all that were tried.
We have trillions in debt, as far as the eye can see
And immigrants who don't all accept liberty.
So there's pressure to enter Roach Motel
Can we avoid it? Too early to tell.
[Poet’s Note in Comments Section of Poem ]
two companeros sorting revolutionary literature
in spirit’s gap unwrapping gifts knowing fresh
labour ! sabre cops might have followed us hot
cops never come on Saturdays — they watch rugby* remarks she blithely
work births experience dissolving glib speak
stealthily arrived contingent of state security police stalking
books, pamphlets, writings, ephemera, poems
confiscated not lovingly touched again
never say never self-assured confident
Aren’t we ruled by the Unknown
Isn’t it bloody obvious?
Minds we used to deem our own
Do they still belong to us?
Via progress we regress
Open up the news - I bet
The next minute you digress:
“Why on earth I need all that?”
Everything looks predetermined
Everyone plays politician
Set your rule, I won't confirm it
Don’t rely on my submission
I’m a trickster and a gambler
Bought and sold three times a day
Counting 20th of September
Happy Birthday, anyway…
I made myself the light to guide you through,
But the one who was lost was never even you.
I drained my glow to save you,
left to fade in the dark,
I pray fate never lets you steal someone's spark.
Don't ask me if I'm doing fine,
I won't let myself cross that line.
Back to that place again,
Where there was only pain.
Searches are common.
God knows what they’re looking for!
Mary-Anna? (we are unisex)
£-s-d? (sorry, we’re all broke)
A sharp wit? (every one here has arrested development)
What do they search for so intimately?
They searched me today.
All they found
was this poem.
I have this jar, nothing special about it
Aside for the fact it is used to save money
You may ask about it, actually
I'm saving for something sweet like honey
They say everything cost money
If you live you pay for you to keep on living
If you die you pay to be buried
And here I thought if I just disappear
So does my financial responsibility
Isn't so hard, to choose
Whether to live or to die
Either choice still cost a fortune
So here I am keep on working
Keep on living, Saving for my funeral
We call it adult humor
Dressed like late night intellect
But the joke is just a cheap dare
We clap like it’s profound
We claim it’s edgy commentary
Wrapped in clever phrasing
But it’s really playground bravado
Posing as sophistication
We say it’s mature wit
Served with craft beer confidence
But it’s just petty mischief
Wearing a grown up voice
We insist it’s highbrow comedy
Sold as cultural insight
But it’s thin skinned teasing
Masquerading as satire
We pretend we’ve evolved past childishness
Framing jokes as worldly wisdom
But the truth is embarrassingly simple
We never stopped laughing at the easy stuff
Blood on your hands
The heart of a killer
Corrupted your senses
How does it feel?
Blue eyes turned red
Vomiting on a pile of leaves
But the trees don't care
So how does it feel?
Trading pearls for ebony
Clutching them no longer makes sense
Because this isn't you
I wonder, how does it feel?
The angels flew away
And even demons grimace
You belong to neither
Pray, tell me how does it feel?
We’ve reached a point
Where simple words now trigger reactions
Completely devoid of meaning.
I won’t share some of those words now
Because they might trigger you
Or for sure the censor bots
Who patrol the web.
But we can all imagine a few,
Words and symbols which once had use
Rich in context and meaning
But then were perverted
In the name of some now canceled cause.
Of course there are many more causes
Waiting to be cancelled
So soon all descriptive terms and symbols
Will no longer exist to trigger the easily disturbed.
When that day comes
We will be reduced to composing in code
Numbers in combinations of aughts and ones
But then again,
That primary binary basis of reality
Will no doubt trigger us too.
And then we will be left
In silent pantomime of our truths
Reality reduced at last
To the charade it has become.
(9/2/26)
Wry grin from bookshelf,
dark tome teethers in shadow,
bookmarked for downfall!
tarnished page a fright,
dull wobbly watermark smudge,
reeks of distant stain!
the opprobrium of humanity at times
has a sweetness to it that sours nature
time leaves it in shambles
on an unforgivable foundation
let his death be upon our children and us
fade into burning crosses
where in the dying embers
stand in shadows of the gallows
where hatred had triumphed
and the stark realism
the flood did not remove the vermin
the lioness will devour the lamb
doves will scatter in the church bells
and as the world turns
the bats are free of the belfry
Oregon 8/26/26
elaboration in twelfthtide proposition
was likely cataclysmic
literatim !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 31–September 6, 2026)
_____________________
Even in today’s world, there are more things that would make a man happy than sad---all easy to get and free. But there are people whose default mode is to feel sorry, virtually a defect mode. This ghazal dwells on this irony.
___________________
On crest or in valley, they’d feel sorry,
Take them to place any, they’d feel sorry.
Take them even to the Eden Garden,
Looking wan and weary, they’d feel sorry.
Those intent on feeling forever blue,
On days sanguine sunny would feel sorry.
Those in love with their dreary history,
Turn things cheery, teary to feel sorry.
Let Fate bestow a lucky break, I’d stake
My last silver penny, they’d feel sorry.
_____________________________
Satire | 29.08.2026 | fate, happy, irony, sad/sorry, satire, Ghazal
Tie me to your tongue
and let me speak truth like you
when you tell my tales.
Winner: 3rd Place, Boulevard of the Beloved, Ink Empress (Sponsor), 9/17/26
Dear Poetry gods:
Thank you for all the chuckles
at my foolishness.
Winner: 1st, Dear Poetry contest, Silent One (Sponsor), 9/20/26
Irony Categories
Definition | What is Irony in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
twist, paradox, wit, humor, satire, criticism, repartee, quip, mockery, taunt, banter, ridicule, incongruity, burlesque, jibe, contrariness, raillery, reproach, derision, contempt, mordancy, sardonicism,