Long Collateral Poems
Long Collateral Poems. Below are the most popular long Collateral by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Collateral poems by poem length and keyword.
Listening devices carefully hidden in the rafters compete with
Nosy neighbours vying for a few favours from the governing party
'Nothing to fear' as long as one is on board with the Secret Police
It is all for the good of the people and order must be preserved
Today surveillance cameras are out in the open for transparency reasons
They bug phones for democracy and follow my banking transactions
No place to hide even if you live in a cave because of satellite navigation
No respite for Socrates who states under torture that he knows nothing at all
We need the drones for Amazon and cannot recall the breast plated armour
Eaves dropping is merely a bit of collateral damage and small price to pay
Nietzsche was wrong and there are gods called money power and war
Fortunately the little devices work on solar energy under cover of justice
A couple of raids and a token Constitution on turning tables and shelves
Life Liberty for the Pursuit of happy domination and servile acclamation
Mein Kampf mixed with George Orwell and flies devouring the good Lord
Fancy armbands searching for books to burn and people willing to follow
I blamed my father for not standing up for freedom when Jews vanished
When smouldering ashes of Gypsies and of whom they called deviant
Must have stung his nose into nausea and when he closed his eyes
'It was not me' he may have claimed and that the orders were not negotiable
'Fight the beginnings' and when 'right becomes wrong opposition is duty'
And yet while the news flash by like a soap opera from apathy and hell I
Only buy a hoody speak in whispers use paper money and break my phone card
But I am more than a bystander and therefore guilty of treason and cowardice
25th December 2019
Money has no color,
whether it came from Black, White, Asian
or any other tribesman, a dollar is a dollar, not more or less.
Money doesn’t smell,
therefore, it weighs the same, whether it comes from
marijuana dealer’s pocket or holy temple’s offering basket.
Money doesn’t have a heart,
that’s why its size is the same whether it was earned
with sweat and tears or swindler’s easily made filthy lucre.
Money doesn’t have a face,
whether it came from hypocrites, wicked or honest wage earners,
they circulate in the market place without distinctions.
Money doesn’t have eyes,
that’s why if it was pulled out from a brand-named hand bag
with slender fingers or a old beaten purse with stiffened fingers,
they dance together hand in hand.
Money, though, is a quantity but not a quality,
money from wealthy ones always shines regardless how they
were made, while money from poor are treated contemptuously;
why is that so? Probably, money invented by men has
now become an uncontrollable monster, and goes,
to make a new myth, leading this corrupted world.
Although money is a quantity,
since the time when money controls men, the size of money
became a standard and the weight of the money became a status, virtue and dignity.
And now, after men have accepted the paradox of money
as a course of nature, it became impossible, even with collateral,
to go against the current of the river. Rather, for weak or strong,
bad or good, or even dead or alive, it flows only downward
pushed by the rushing water.
Falling is the dawn’s rain,
God’s tears—the most gentle—
beautiful expressions of grief and joy.
The grief of flooding waters
has passed—collateral damage
of the water sacrifices of purification
from time immemorial and Noah’s story.
Let us not fear the dawning rain,
seeking to walk between the drops;
rather let us walk…in the bosom of nature…
each raindrop anointing us with the water of love:
healing waters soaking our treeing roots.
Indeed, if it wasn’t for the rain—God’s tears,
where would we be…?
Come…let us walk in and to the pitter-patter rhythm
of falling raindrops.
As we have weathered the storms of rain,
so shall we not wither…because of the rain:
Let freedom not only ring; let it also rain down
the blooming of peace, love and purpose.
Cyberspace was full of visitors
the TV droned through the room.
The sun streamed in the windows
the day was full of doom.
From the corner of my eye
and the surface of my mind
Sci-fi showed action scenes
of the catastrophic kind.
Reporters shrieked a breaking story
the picture screen showed flames
my mind saw Cong or Mighty Joe
swatting down two planes.
Fearful voices filled my home
cyberspace stood still
the dogs of war had set their sites
twin towers marked their kills.
Over 20 million have died
all mothers, daughters, fathers, sons;
American interventions
causing everyone.
All were collateral damage
so the story goes
and the military minds
still orchestrate the show.
The chickens came home to roost
on that fateful fall day
our mothers, daughters, fathers, sons
with precious life did pay.
If only, if only, ALL would realize;
DEATH HAS NO BORDERS
ALL MOTHERS CRY………….
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the disdain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
I toughened my shell that night,
From the amplified words drenched in my hands
I cried so many tears for no words came
Unionized by grief and frustration,
How could I ever embrace such abandon?
I thought I could recognize by the fruits
As they were right before my eyes
But within their very cores,
Tears blur the rotten cries
The very words and deeds unspoken—untold
The very truth you tamper and mold
As fists clench—as confused youth look on!
He fashioned you with gold!
I hear gleeful harsh warnings—poetry—of the collateral damage of my brothers
Running up and down the streets—rampant to get at others
I try to see the beauty in every single shade
But now, all I can do is pray
Voices bottled up, far away…out of reach
I still hear them, echoing in my brain
I try not to believe the fear—the distain
So long I have avoided their gaze,
But here they are again, at a distance—
All ablaze!
All I can do I can do is pray
All I must do is pray
As the fumes of the anger light up today
Destroying all trapped inside
Splitting the atoms of our faith
I promise you will fall!!!
How gleeful you all are!
I promise the unity is all a dream
Nothing’s like it seems
Inside, I feel blood boiling, but I cringe
Refusing to add to the chaos
My voice box bludgeoned by their fears
Replaced with stranger’s tears
Too long have I avoided my gaze
In the mirror showing nothing but the hardened
Unable to recognize the rot within
I stay…I pray
Until true words heal and answers free
And the rest I leave in the hands that see
Here they are again
Within me, around me
Surrounding me
Frozen—cold… unfeeling, BOLD.
He fashioned us with gold
He fashioned us with gold
Sometimes my emotions snatch my breath right out of me and decapitate my reasoning. I feel like I might be slipping into another depression stupor.
Reality is overwhelming, and since I don't have anything to soften the blow, it explodes like a nuclear bomb, and the waves decimate everything around me.
All my senses intensify to the 10th power.
Every emotion demands to be felt while I sit in the middle of ground zero, going straight to DEFCON 3 mode.
A state of heightened alert that I know so well.
I try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum after my emotional fallout.
As I combat my fears and bury my demons, I walk through the fire and wreckage as the last one standing, refusing to surrender.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I sometimes dip into. For modern
readers it does not lend itself to a quick browse. It’s pretty clear from the
start who dunnit.
My version in paperback contains insightful explanatory notes.
Apparently “Science” in the Tempter’s words“ O Sacred,
Wise and Wisdom giving Plant, Mother of Science”,* being derived from the Latin verb “scire”, really means what we now understand as “knowledge”.
This note seems to be for the benefit of such innocents who are
unaware of the process of diachronic semantic change, and who
may also entertain misgivings about nuclear power plants.
Newton’s apple might jolt us into considering matters of considerable
gravity.
Today we are concerned more about fallout than with the Fall, more
with the atom than with Adam.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions, yet
we have all benefited from science. That science has also
furnished Man with the means of self-extermination and involves environmental pollution on a global scale we must accept as collateral damage, call it what you will.
Science is not primarily concerned with moral questions.
Even though scientific knowledge is based on the axiom that our sensory perceptions, the experiments, observations and theories of science cohere,
being phenomena in one and the same time-space continuum, a scientist
should not be diverted from his or her quest by troublesome thoughts about extraneous factors, be they social, political or moral in nature, that impinge on the awareness of one indivisible reality.
In Milton’s day “science” simply meant “knowledge”.
Milton was concerned with the problem of good and evil, the relationship of God and Man, the conflict between Truth and Mammon, not with the complex realities of our modern industrial high-tech world.
Perhaps cogito ergo sum, that premise of the modern scientific method, also has a moral dimension.
Milton’s Paradise Lost is a book I occasionally dip into.
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
A brighter future a cloudless day
Or an earthly living Hell
How much of its our doing
How much is down to me
Is the fate laid out before us
A future meant to be
I know I've tempted fate before
At least a time or two
Risked life and limb and maybe more
I'd risk it all anew
Cos life for me's a wonderland
A journey to behold
A beautiful utopia
For the young and for the old
Til man exacts his dominance
Over everything he can
And mortgages each single soul
Of every living man
A banking led dystopia
Indebtedness their aim
We're caught here in the crossfire
In a costly Rotschild game
The year is sixteen ninety four
And a deal is on the cards
The notes are shilling loudly
From the moneylenders bards
Twelve hundred thousand reasons
Mortgage woman, man and child
The deal's been done, the trap's been sprung
The laughing Joker's wild
The Devil dealt a crooked hand
The rules weren't Heaven sent
The loans they pays a kingly ransome
The bets at eight percent
Inflationary stirms prevail
Nations drowningbin the flood
The odds now stacked in favour
Of a deal they signed in blood
Now money's just a token
The game is truly up
Their sleight of hand's been deftly played
They fill their debtors cup
Human lives collateral
As the game stacks in their favour
No money's needed anymore
The game is theirs to savour
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
The Devil deals in dying folks
His deals a living Hell
The game's a crooked one we know
It's plain for all to see
And the fate laid out before us
Is down to you and me
Urgent intentions will not be virtuous enough;
To mention, of the better, which path is it paved from?
Hell purges etchings of where your silhouette set drops.
Like Cloisonné flattened edgeways, beauty finds a brush.
You can do what's right as long as it can still be done,
But from where the comfort derives weighs more than the sun.
Strip your palms and find the bones, actions can't change the blood.
Rid the dawn of the fight you hope, where passions won;
Self-designation tropes mimic, even lack thereof.
We do all that we can do, but whose posture becomes
the fare, collateral damage we forget to fund?
Inwards piecing shape to form what cannot be undone,
whether from what you see or say, grievance follows us
Contort wilds towards tending the tame, normal but not;
We are not of what we are, but of what we become.
So however we see ourselves; Image falsely knots.
We can't know of tomorrow but that's where we are from.
As gently, she drifts through the darkness
Waiflike, she flows on the breeze
Her eyes never resting on anyones
Appearing to all Ill at ease
She wades in the depths of her carnage
Pressed by the weight of her sins
The humans, mere collateral damage
Ever conscious the thirst always wins
Her games will be played in the darkness
She's queen of the damned, you're her pawn
And the best, of the worse, you can hope for
Is to last 'til the break of the dawn
Lost in the wonder of bloodlust
A little too long in the tooth
She's witnessed her friends turn to dust
While she Lives on, enchained by her youth
The curse of the love of a demon
Taints the flow of the blood in her veins
It has ended her innocent dreaming
Now none but her nightmare remains
As she calls to the night, ever knowing
Her hunger can never be filled
An insatiable thirst, ever flowing
Through rivers of blood that she's spilled
As Black as the night that enfolds her
As dark as the road that she travels
She moves with the grace of an angel
Whilst waiting for time to unravel