Long Anarchy Poems
Long Anarchy Poems. Below are the most popular long Anarchy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anarchy poems by poem length and keyword.
As Earth revolves in time and space,
We meet the future face-to-face.
While every soul tries to have their day,
Their nemeses try to block their way.
This causes decades when nothing significant happens,
Followed by months when panic and violence happen.
As society’s benign merry go ‘round spins faster around,
Its political operatives start stepping up and down.
What seeds of rancor did the radicals sow?
What was their purpose? Where does one go?
If culture binds our carousel’s spokes together,
Then how to these spokes is society tethered?
After our rogue merry go ‘round grinds to a halt,
People will point their fingers and not accept fault.
And then during months of calamitous chaos,
Thousands will ‘be disappeared’, die, or become lost.
Such Maoist days and Bolshevik nights,
Often lead to unmitigated chaos and fright.
Who amongst us will be cursed or blessed
Once this carousel of chaos comes to rest?
Apperceiving such anarchy makes us ponder,
How we’ll keep afloat once society founders.
Who will heal our emotional loss?
And will they do it at great personal cost?
Today, I climbed a high mountain.
Mountain where I shout my disapproval.
Disapproval of today’s social illnesses.
Illnesses shattering the life on earth.
Earth, our valuable mother.
Our kind mother’s mind’s unhappy today.
Today, days are red and prickly to dismay.
No walks but talks of wounds and worries.
Worries symbolizing contemporary sorrows.
Sorrows as the sun’s been sent off brightness.
Blazing conflicts for misery with societal evils.
Evils of acute and endless sticking on power.
Power of killing your people and feeling a doer.
Happy becoming the almighty guide.
For polygamy and alcohol abuse push wide.
Here and there dangle abuse and corruption.
Corruption and police harassment in evolution.
Harassment causing animosity and nausea.
Disorder, anarchy and negligence for criteria.
In media, tribalism and phobia en vogue.
Tribalism and ostracism feeding conflicts.
Wars predicting our fateful future in shifts.
The future’s now plunked in deep black darkness,
Slaughtering hope and causing death in a mess.
Death buries us all, and evil’s no more comedy.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Leaking pontoon predicts my departure
Impatient yacht chases nautical next
Mislaid terrain erases my history
Grim authorities in obvious places patrol
Timidity prescribes aghast of tranquil abiding
Windwaken, I'm admiring the Sea of Revolt
Remarked upon in wonder, venture presents
Treasure indiscernible beneath tumbled tumult
Bold abandon condoned by bow of rationale
Faithful lungs serenade the speed of sails inflated
Turning back causes hair whipped vision to opaque
Potential's yell propels me from return's persistence
Society's twine allured by Twitter lunacy
My social media expels expiring bubbles
Sunk with rusty ruins of past governing
Continents are considered impediments
Ballast beckons ocean of observation
Jubilation journeys my adjournment
Angels guide navigation wide eyed
Fleeing seabirds call for recognition
Wave over waves of sweeping search
Unlikely dream festered in slumber of time
Shaken awake by inspiration's finger nails
Carries message of necessary momentum
Voyage for knowledge graces me
Extremeties are empty, planets drift
Virgin space accommodates galaxies
Originally written April 2020
Submitted for John Hamilton's
Free Verse of 2020 Contest
I am a tiny winged buzzing insect
A friend to folks and flowers alike
Another name for hard work
Toiling untiring from dawn to dusk
I set out merry, humming a tune,
On my professed mission of gathering honey
The flowers freshly bathed in dew
Eagerly await my propitious visit
I like to flit from flower to flower
I love dallying with floral beauties
Gladiolus, Chrysanthemums and Petunias
Red geraniums and colorful Zinniahs
But I prefer to hover over clustered blooms
Which hang from trees’ stooping boughs
From each flower I sup to my fill
And my body gets covered in yellow dust
I don’t believe in the Epicurean dictum
Of ‘Eat, drink and be merry’
Neither do I live just for today
I await a future that is trouble free
We work tireless till the day is done
And see that every cell of our hive is full
We never complain of those among us
Who stay idle and thrive on our labor
Never grumble against the privileged Queen
Who enjoys unique status with rights many
For we respect the Nature-ordained hierarchy
As we know, a mob without a leader would be anarchy
Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Matt Caliri
Placed First
23. Jan. 2022
For Strand’s (1058) Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Brian Strand
In the deep silence of my thoughts, where ideas float like leaves on a silver lake,
I feel my political opinions dancing on the edge of a dream of anarchy,
Not the anarchy of men with bombs and faces hidden in shadows, but that pure freedom,
Where control melts like snow under the spring sun, a place without chains and commands.
I wonder, in this stream of consciousness that flows like an endless river,
Why man dares to be master over other men, an unnatural mission,
For there is no job more unsuitable than to lead, to dictate,
And not one in a million has the grace for it, and even fewer those who ardently seek power.
I see how the desire for control rises like a storm over the fragile plains of the soul,
And how those who crave golden thrones are often the least suited to occupy them,
For true power is not measured in commands, but in the silent understanding of freedom,
In that anarchy of the heart where each finds their path without treading on the steps of others.
In this imagined world, where control vanishes like smoke in the clear morning,
People find their place not through imposition, but through the natural communion of spirits,
A symphony of souls singing together without a conductor, in cosmic harmony,
Where no one is master over another, but each is master of themselves, in a dance of freedom.
And perhaps one day, when the chains of control crumble under the weight of their own futility,
We will see how the world transforms into a realm of limitless possibilities,
Where each step is guided not by force, but by the inner desire to explore the infinite,
And then, in that blessed anarchy, we will discover our true nature.
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
Democrats
Republicans
All sycophants on ritalin
I’m tired of this rhetoric
I’m sick of it (IM SICK OF IT)
We have a million choices
But you all stick with two
Picking all the pedophiles
Wearing red or blue
Free will is dead and I don’t care
Let it burn, let it burn
But you all wouldn’t dare
A brand new start is needed
Cuz y’all are too conceited
We have a million choices
But you all stick with two
Picking all the pedophiles
Wearing red or blue
Anarchy? Necessity
Picking off the scabs
Leave the land in ashes
Leave it up for grabs
We have a million choices
But you all stick with two
Picking all the pedophiles
Wearing red or blue
(dedicated to Naija, my countree)
Naija, I hail o
A house horrorful than
The Hammer house of horror!
Naija, I hail o
An animal dreadful than
The dreaded white shark!
Naija, I hail o
A den of animallike humans
Who prey on all preyables!
Naija, I hail o
The home of impersonation
At its peak..
The den of corruption
At its best...
The hearthrob of religious bigotry
At its purest...
The lover of insecurity
At its highest...
The house of crimes
At its rawest...
The sweetheart of deception
At its masterpiece...
The friend of political acrimony
At its baddest....
The all in all of things
Better left unsaid
At its various unsaid forms...
Naija, I hail o
A marriage of convenience
By the British
Now a kid
Of inconveniencies and anarchy....
Naija, I hail o
Where everything thought
To be impossible is done
With a malevolent frangrance!
To the amazement
Of all and sundry!
Naija, I hail o
Where few enjoy
And the most suffer
Yet
Tonnes of smiles
Flood every face you can see!
Naija, I hail o
Where I keep wondering
When will it all change?
How worthless is he who paves violence:
Is not he who bewilders the land of peace?
With his thoughts, moulding it to corrupt the people;
In the interest of satisfying himself.
But I tell you: violence spells complete anarchy!
Of that land: will development be prevented,
In the face of unaccountability;
Bad reputations altogether.
It steals the land of peace with and love for one another.
O but if, we in this, can change our forceful acts,
And be submissive to the norms of the land,
Shadowy we in the ink of joy.
I beseech you the people of land—
To watch and set your minds off violence—
For the growth of our region.
Let us march not with the shoe of violence
Rather the shoe of love and equanimity, I pray!
Worthless is he who paves destruction,
And worthy is he who resists it;
Indeed, choose:
Worthy or worthless are you?
Author's note: Talk is good, conversation is better. I don't know that any good ever came out of an argument, and in a supposedly enlightened society, no subject should be off limits.
In hallowed halls of ivy 'cross the nation,
In dorm rooms and classrooms,
Quadrangles and halls,
In locker rooms and laundry rooms,
In bookstores and malls,
Campus U's and coffee bars,
City trans and private cars,
Etc., etc., etc.,
Students and academics alike
Love to get up early and stay up late
To discuss or argue and debate
A plethora of currently controversial,
Debatably debatable,
Arguably arguable issues, i.e.:
Evolution or creation;
Salvation or damnation;
Missile ranges; climate changes;
Global warming; eco-farming;
Obesity; incontinence;
Casual sex or abstinence;
Free love or marriage,
Same sex or straight;
Labor or capital;
Minimum pay rate;
Democracy or autocracy;
Despotism or anarchy;
Christianity or paganism;
Civilization or barbarism;
Religion or terrorism;
More prisons or more schools;
Why so many grammar rules;
Why the federal deficit mounts;
Whether oral sex really counts;
Wearable technology;
Is war a perversion or merely perverse;
Our position in the universe;
To be or not to be;
Is there an end to infinity;
Etc., etc., etc.
And they always strive with utmost care
To present both sides of a question equitably
Because it makes them feel aloof and erudite,
Impersonal yet superior,
Open-minded, objective, and fair,
Detached from everything but essential abstract truths.
With meticulously researched facts
Neatly organized on index cards or iPads,
They argue passionately and hotly,
But behind the facts and figures,
And once they've gotten past the fads,
They have no real passions
Or even any real feelings about the issues
One way or the other,
Except the somewhat nagging concern
That they might be right…
Or wrong…
And then what?
Author's additional note: I'm not sure which "category" to put this piece under, dear readers. Any suggestions?