Long Anarchist Poems
Long Anarchist Poems. Below are the most popular long Anarchist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anarchist poems by poem length and keyword.
Instead of carving yourself up
try going for a meditative walk
put rose petals on your soul
rock a baby to sleep
put in an honest eight
help save somebody else
solve the riddle behind their pain-
Create something from your pain
use it as rocket fuel to paint a picture
be an activist for your brain
not an anarchist of destruction
and perpetual mayhem-
Groping bones of the past
is counterproductive...
water the seeds of the future
with good thought and deed
a negative thought is crushed beneath
the weight of a good one.
Cut out the cancers from your life
toss them to the side...
the honest heartbeat will soften the fire
Only you know your path
you just need a hand to bushwhack
the brambles that conceal it...
You don't need a Seran wrapped shrink
who'll still be pushing pills
in the shadow of your wake..
live and do something great
You control the footsteps
of your fate-
Evading feral branches and pools of stagnant stuff.
I'm taking the short way home ,
Greasy grass and soaking anarchist weeds saturate my feet,
I'm frozen to the bone all to take the short way home.
Through hawthorn trees With vampire's teeth,
Whose thorns delight in biting soft drunken meat.
Their existence justified beneath the silent moonlight
And soon I am out moaning bloodied and shivering
To start the long traipse through dank sludge
My shoes disappear beneath the earth to be reunited with the land
So here I stand bleeding and barefooted.
With the frost rattling my bones,
All to take the short way home.
Is that the wind or some ancient spirit weeping With laughter.
In the distance beneath the shadow of a bungalow
I see the wall I must scale
Each step is heroic an act bravery
That only foolish men with frostbitten toes can only know
Is it hour or ten minutes I cannot tell
Trudging through no man's land this self inflicted hell
My clothes are destroyed head to toe in smelly stuff
As if I was wrestling on a pigsty floor with a horny and frustrated boar
Oh how I could sing for joy as my muck encrusted hands finally carcass
The cold hard cement of my neighbours wall
With the will of Genghis kahn or one those ancient warriors.
I heave my aching frame over thinking victory is mine,
Only to hear the crunch of shattering glass and I scream words unsuitable for delicate ears,
For I landed in a bin of empty wine bottles and rusty tin
I hear a click and see a porch light been turned on,
"whose out there I got a gun"
"don't worry about it"i nearly cry
"it's just your average drunken fool
taking short way home.
“colore nero”
When the colour
was sucked out
of our breath
our worlds
waited for
3
ecstatic
prophecy
Taigi
we
turned
our backs
waiting
like zombies
in long lines
we returned home
closed ourselves in
waited in our cribs
for our
curtains to call
black ball white ball
curtains drawn
not a peep
awake unable to sleep
bees wax blessed
trying to remember
childhood prayers
by then
in those days of darkness
not many believed in ghosts
QR codes
granted an audience
with the shadows’ host
counting numbers
angels denied
beasts blessed
dark nights
dark days
roll called
waiting for the light
and long forgotten
last minute heroes
by then
in those days of darkness
not many believed in ghosts
anarchy reigned
in the time of
colore nero
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Heaven and Hell” / Kanye West
https://youtu.be/XKWcAsT8Sqc
3 Days of Darkness
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Days_of_Darkness
https://www.virgosacrata.com/three-days-of-darkness.html
666
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Number_of_the_beast
https://faculty.wts.edu/posts/why-is-the-number-of-the-beast-666/
Nero
https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/gladiators/nero.html
Anarchism
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anarchism
Anarchism and Religion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anarchism_and_religion
https://www.oklahoman.com/article/3325929/anarchist-neednt-be-anti-christ
Italian/ colore nero
English/ colour black
LYRICS/"Heaven & Hell", Kanye West
https://genius.com/Kanye-west-heaven-and-hell-lyrics
My Thoughts On Protests
(No Matter the Reason)
Miracle Man’s Opinion
6/4/2020
Spring has sprung and temperature is rising,
silly season is here and protest’s become energizing.
It’s a time to air any first amendment whines,
many gather in hordes, some carry indecent signs.
Anarchist never let a peaceful protest go to waste,
they pillage, loot, and leave property defaced.
Seems today we’re relapsing to the past time of fools,
when the man who held the stick made up the rules.
Days are found littered with turmoil and unrest,
and each sunrise brings, something new to protest.
The media isn’t conducive to restful hours of sleep,
when our dreams are exclusively ours to keep.
The English proverb, “The best things in life are free”,
wasn’t meant to infer that you can take it from me.
Smart minds seek solutions for the fix we’re in,
overlooking the deep rooted cause- man’s collective sin.
If you’re a carpenter,
You can fix it with a hammer and nail
If you’re a captain,
You can get there with a crew and a sail
If you’re the warden,
You can lock it up inside of a jail
Everybody got a solution
Nobody possibly wrong
I’d love to jump to a conclusion
But the distance is too damn long
If you’re an analyst,
You can lay it down on your couch
If you’re an activist,
You need only march and shout
If you’re an anarchist,
Go on and burn the city down
Everybody got a solution...
Biased perspectives --
Hidden objectives --
Static images in a prime lens
Our various stances
Across the same plane
Decide how each ray of light bends
If you’re a scientist,
You can theorize and postulate;
If a Creationist,
We been kicked outta the garden by fate
A sado-masochist?
Should be no problem keeping a date
I’m no romanticist --
I’m too old to stay up this late
Everybody see the solution
Nobody possibly wrong
I’d love to jump to a conclusion
But the distance is too damn long
Only a Talk
Just a tea. Free talk. About life.
“Yes. Good.” Said Master Satan.
“What is today's topic? What?”
Yesterday’s topic. The anarchy.
“Anarchy. Hmm. Illusion. Fiction.”
It’s not that. But need. To be clear.
“To be pure? You feel dirty the life?”
Yes. I see the dramatic and. Death.
“Yes, it will be hellish. No anarchy.”
Why? I don’t understand it. Yours.
“Anarchy, the last way. Last chance.”
People can’t find a way out. Never.
“Yes. Just with help. My one. Only.”
Rational. Anarchy is the way. Paradise.
“Yes. I require spiritual maturity.”
Because the self-governing society
It is controlled by the individual. All.
“Yes! Perfect opinion! Oh, my student!”
I am following your unique only one mind
Oh, my Master. Master of metaphysical life.
“So, where is the perfect word, life? Paradise?”
Where pure lives live. Pure lives. All. Together.
“Who can live there?”
Pure souls.
“So?”
The base of anarchist society is the pure soul.
“So?”
The mature soul. The anarchist individual is
The spiritually mature one.
“What does it mean?”
An anarchist society can’t exist without the right souls.
“And?”
The anarchist society looks similar to Paradise.
“Or Heaven.”
Hmm.
Another planet.
"Hmm.
Maybe."
The rationalist must reduce,
It's in their nature.
Pragmatic logic insists,
On conformity of thought,
Anomalies will not be tolerated,
Measurable verifiable data,
Equations balanced,
Algorithms written,
Formulas deduced,
Universal laws obeyed,
But shadows still linger,
The face behind the face,
Unconscious chaos,
Irrational processes,
That feeds the soul.
Ah but we have no soul,,
For logic deems it thus,
No individual light,
Only predictable
Chemical reactions.
And biological impulses,
And our bones rot into
Infinite night,
Not for me,
Give me wisdom
Beneath cool moonlight,
And wild gypsies songs,
Give me anarchist poems,
And the strange happiness
Of religious folk,
Give me anything,
But your sterile world
Washed in monotone grey.
You can hear them, choices for you're listening,
you can see their visions if you just open your eyes and see;
there's a difference - perceptibility,
the important versus the insignificant,
within the this and the that -
the truth against the lie,
the judgment of the good and the bad,
the clarity of black or white,
citizen and anarchist, soldier and warrior, loser and hero,
freedom or democracy, republic or state,
mankind and humanity;
the constant flow of the come and go,
the warmth felt between the hot and cold, love and hate,
the ages marked of past and future
in light opposing dark,
of the day against the night,
the moon among the stars,
the atoms, protons, electrons, and the quarks;
the time of yesterday and today,
of work and rest, genius and fool,
youth and old age, birth and death,
the measure
of what I do and do not know,
the divergence of the fork in the road
of right or left or going straight ahead;
the line that's straight and wavy,
the walk and then the run,
the melody without words, that simply hums,
the voices in whispers and shouts,
of laughter and tears out loud,
the ears waxed and deafened over time,
that do not hear, that never understand;
the eyes that do not see, hazed or blind,
unclear between you and me,
the woman and the man;
the choices of yes or no,
never made, forever delayed;
the reality that lay come whatever as it may,
in the perception of fate and destiny
it all comes down to deciding or wavering
in the difference of the this or that.
Two men were murdered in the Massachusetts town of Braintree.
They were Frederick Parmenter and Alessandro Berardelli.
Both were employees of the Slater-Morrill Shoe Factory.
The culpable individuals absconded with payroll money.
Two followers of the infamous anarchist Luigi Galleani
were immigrants Nicola Sacco and Bartolommeo Vanzetti.
Neither had police records, but espoused militant anarchy.
Both were connected to the Braintree murders circumstantially.
The two arrested men became world centers of controversy.
The first trial was filled with questionable testimony.
There were numerous requests from all over for clemency.
After two trials, the defendants were found guilty.
The twenty-second of August in 1927 was their last day.
Controversy about their involvements persists up to today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
I remember the first time I heard Ginsberg's voice,
A thunderous, cosmic howl that shook the air,
Like bebop horns wailing in the midnight noise,
A raw, unfiltered cry that stripped away despair.
His words, a jazz improvisation of the soul,
Breathless, wild, spinning in free flight,
A sacred chant, a rebel's roll,
Inviting us to dance in the neon light.
He was the poet as a bebop cat,
Slinging syllables like saxophone solos,
A spiritual anarchist, a love diplomat,
Breaking chains, defying all the old roles.
In his voice, I heard the universe's roar,
A call to be true, unshackled, free,
A portal to the sacred core,
Where art and life merge in harmony.
Allen Ginsberg, the beat's wild star,
Blazing through the darkness with cosmic fire,
His words, a jazz riff from afar,
Forever echoing, lifting us higher to right now, right here