Long Anarchy Poems
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A cousin named Chaos have I (he’s not actually my cousin. He’s like my aunt’s stepson, but I guess I can still call him a cousin, right?)
There’s nothing that he will not try (like the day he let all the chickens loose from the coop and they were running like chickens with their heads cut off. Isn’t that an expression or something? Chaos is crazy like those chickens were)
Since he follows no rule (He laughs at me because I try to write perfectly metered limericks and he thinks everyone should just write free and BE free in all they do.)
He got kicked out of school (it was so funny. He set off the fire alarm and all the kids were running every which way, much like those chickens he let loose in his barnyard. Now he is saying he wants to become an anarchist.)
So to anarchy school he’ll apply!
Gosh, he’s right. This limerick sucks. It’s much more fun having no restrictions, just letting my thoughts go anywhere I want them to take me, kind of like stream of consciousness writing or something. Too bad I can’t be all surreal-like, then I might make it into the newfangled modern poetry magazines. Most people don’t even consider limericks to be real poems. DANG it, I feel another one coming on.
Cousin Chaos, I now do hear tell
That you’ve found a new school, so learn well
Your anarchy ways.
In limerick phase
I’ll be stuck while you give people hell.
Crap. Even trying to write like Chaos, I just can’t do it. I just keep conforming to rules of poetry forms like limerick. I just know my cousin will be laughing his chicken head off when he reads this. Yeah, the old chicken motif again. Always relating things together. So much for Chaos! I’m outta here.
Written chaotically last week sometime for contest of same name
RAIN AND FLOOD
Raining all through the night,
Mum and Dad kept busy
wading water .
Soon, the flood overflew
the wooden bench we
Sat on. And nowhere was
Safe again. Soon again,
The cock crowed crookedly.
He too was drenched in
Rain and flood.
Daybreak
We must go to School.
We walked through the
flooded Streets, groping
to school.
We couldn't go through
the Pako Bridge.
We turned to the New Bridge.
Standing and looking into
the school, flood was everywhere.
Only the headmistress and the
Teachers groped in the flood
Waving us back home.
Heavily drenched in rain and
Flood, my teeth knocked
In drumbeat against one another,
rhyming with the rains.
All Babies, all children cried,
Walking back home.
My sister strapped me on
Her little back.
Nylon bags, dustbin, human
Waste, animal dung floated on the
Flood.
Amidst staccato of crying voices;
Kids’, children’s,
Adult’s, Africans’…
anarchy was loosed
upon Nigeria
AKUDOLU IGNATUIS
[email protected]
Men and women in blue,
I write this in honor of you.
How you can even leave your
husband or wife?
When a bullet from organized
madmen might take your life?
I have no such courage!
Don't Americans understand?
You are there for their safety!
All of you would aid us right
away, you are not Johnny-
come-latelys.
The anarchists destroying each
wonderful city.
Children die early, a huge crime
and a shameful pity.
Not one professional sports star
ever mentions the innocents' names?
But oh, my, they refuse to play when
a criminal dies, a humungous shame.
The message is very clear to me.
Anarchists, sports stars, take the
knee joyfully to criminal brutality.
My life really does matter to me.
Wake up, Social workers cannot
protect me nor you from cruelty!
America becoming Venezuela,eh,
or worse, Cuba Two?
The blame is in the hands of
those throwing rocks and I loudly
shout " Shame on each of you."
I am no fool,this nation a tapestry
of many nationalities and colors.
You want no peace nor justice!
Just laws your way, total anarchy
And disorder, my brothers!
Martin Luther King, a mensch,
In his grave must be turning!
When watching you loot,burn
and steal....
It has me more than worried,
with my stomach churning!
How dare you burn the Flag of
this country so grand?
As in the Middle East, they
should chop off your hands!
Perhaps both feet, too.
As all decent laws in the USA,
and people's you so ignorantly
eschew!
I have no answers, save this!
Get people out of office who do
support these thugs.
They need far more than a slap
on the wrist.
Arrest them, jail time for sure.
Behind bars they belong, all
these rabid, hate America thugs!
September 4, 2020
2:15pm PST
In the air floats a strange sense of panic, like a heavy mist settling over the city,
a silent fear and uncertainty that penetrates our bones,
along with the beliefs and truths that were once solid as rocks,
but now melt like ice under the light of a merciless moon.
Institutions, once temples of safety, are now castles of sand,
mercilessly eroded by the waves of change,
and we are left clinging to the shadows of the past,
trying to find an anchor in the tumult of a sea of confusion.
There is a presidential election, like a clock ticking in its rhythm,
but somewhere, in this chaos, the president is missing,
like a king without a crown, a symbol emptied of meaning.
Every four years, the naive half of those who vote
are encouraged to believe that if we choose a good person,
a president with an open heart and a sincere smile, everything will be fine.
But the truth, this deceitful magician, whispers otherwise,
for it will not be. Beneath the smiling masks lie bitter truths,
and promises are just soap bubbles that shine for a moment
in the sunlight, before bursting into the silence of disappointment.
My thoughts flow like a dark river through a landscape of broken dreams,
and I wonder how we came to place our hopes in illusions,
when true power lies in the silence between words,
in those moments of deep quiet when we find ourselves again.
Perhaps, one day, we will learn to seek answers not in the ballot boxes,
but in our hearts, in that blessed anarchy of the spirit,
where freedom is not promised by others, but discovered by each of us,
in a world where we no longer need leaders,
but only an inner compass to guide us through the labyrinth of life.
Slavery is all over the world
The Filipinos are victims of slavery
We have been slaves by Spaniards
We have been slaves by Japanese
We have been slaves by Americans
Our government are fighting slavery
Poor people, we only have government
What if government is the one oppressing
What happen now, the left leaning
The yellow hardliners, the red loyalist
The Lower House, the Senate are united
In oppression, one in corruption, in united team
Oppressing the people, political persecution
Of Political enemies and peoples of faith
Politician have been blinded by money
Which money of the people, tax payers money
Mainstream media is now fostering fake news
The people are smelling silent dictatorship
The people are feeling silent Martial Law
Drugs, crimes and smuggling are proliferating
My country is going to be an anarchy
My country is going to the dogs
My country is going to the crocs
My people is in quandary right now
God, please intervene the affairs of my country, Philippines.
Were
I
Jazzed
At every kerfuffle-
I shan't have the time to peer at the sky
Rubble around me and six inches deep
My only recourse ahh! triple mud pie!
Economy crumblin' Wall Streets a mess
No one will notice I've pickled the cress!
Breads in the oven yea! spiked with hashish
Just one bite congress
might pass some relief!
Tornadoes are twistin' earth shakes below
If memory serves me i'll conjure up snow
For more than five lifetimes, patience we've been
While line by line constitution has waned
Grab your water pistols- fill your balloons
Let's have a party
Make lawmakers swoon!
james marshall goff
08/31/13
© All Rights Reserved
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?
“Not too Shabby”
(one of my market regulars wrote us a lovely letter.. to raise our flagging spirits..and this is our tribute to you Tom..who whenever you ask how he is?....says not too shabby)
Another market dawning
Under a Victorian awning
No fawning or scorning
Cheeky grin adorning
With aplomb..hedonic insights
Sardonic delights of
Another Tom/Com bomb
Ironic demonic highlights
Sarky sparky malarkey
Anarchy..heady heights
Of our Saturday morning
One of those sorts
Whatever the weather
Always sports shorts
The kind (of) bloke
Quick with a joke
No fibs…his nibs
Not woke..just needs dafter
Laughter…with everything broke
Tom loves heaps of peeps
But would confess
Except for the bolder
Older folks shoulder barges
Along with elbows pokes
Stropping they’re stopping
Him shopping.. at Caithness
Tom’s other fave rave
Those prattling in Pak n Save
Crave.. best bet to shun
Send to their grave
Run & get the Gatling gun
Different skills he brings
With his shiny dome
Has done many things
Did roam far from home
Bouncer in Alice Springs
Not one to boast
But made the most
Of his recent West coast
Host..decent Hokitika the toast
Got the mettle
In fettle so fine
Which’s why we purloined
The first rate line you coined
Tom.. you are a “Ray of Sunshine”
Great Celtic blue eyed trait
Not too shabby…mate
A language to have fun with,
Or if not, to play pun with:
In love, the two can cleave
Or else into two cleave,
If you like you can flame,
If not you can inflame;
These pairs mean all the same,
Anarchy be her name;
Have fun with it or none with.
________________________
Limerick | 24.12.2025 | anarchy, language, fun, pun, none
Note: English seems a language of articulated anarchy. If there are linguistic laws they are applied but in breaking them. You don’t spell as pronounced, nor pronounce as is spelled. Same words having many meanings, though it is so in Sanskrit as well. But then it has a common heritage which is Indo European. To cleave is to like, to love, to get attached to. It also means: to cut in half, the very opposite. Again, flame or inflame, it means the same. This verbal wackiness makes it an ideal playground for impish double entendre with puns galore.
My righteousness comes, from Jesus Christ
Who bled and died the perfect price
Shout it from the housetop, beat the drums
From Jesus Christ, my righteousness comes
My self-righteousness, but filthy rags
Doing right and good sorely lags
'Twas revealed to me in quietness
But filthy rags, my righteousness
Upon the rugged cross at Calvary
Christ died to restore earth's anarchy
In our hearts we must not toss
At Calvary, upon the rugged cross
That horrible death, the bloody scene
The self-righteous haters sorely mean
Crucify Him, escaped upon their breath
The bloody scene, that horrible death
To crucify Him with my thoughts
Help dear Jesus to clean these spots
Let every thought be a hymn, not
With my thoughts to crucify Him
Sponsor: Carol Connell
Contest: Swap Meet Poetry Contest
Written: April 13, 2014
Theme: Righteousness