Long Cruelty Poems
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Greeted by the multi-lit display
draped over the hedges
and the railing of our front porch,
the brilliant lit Christmas tree
winks at us, welcoming us home
from the Christmas Eve Mass.
You settle comfortably in your chair
as I walk into the dining room.
Sitting down, I light the lone candle
on the table and contemplate
its flame, dancing and whirling
in the darkened room.
The flame draws me
into its story.
Its bright yellow light
thinly framed in blue,
speaks to me about
many dark places
penetrated by its light:
caverns and street corners,
vast fields and mighty forests,
tall buildings and small homes,
and the darkest place of all
… the human heart.
The flame tells the story
of a long time ago,
of a world enveloped
in the darkest of nights.
Violence and cruelty,
poverty and pestilence
heaped upon a brutalized,
battered and lost humanity.
In a miserable stable,
its walls and floor painted
in manure and straw,
the dark dank smell of
wet hay, and its livestock denizens
filling the air, there lies
in a feed trough a light more brilliant
than the dancing flame.
The flame of that light
dances in the eyes
of his homeless parents,
his mother who birthed him,
and his proud, protective father.
The light is reflected
in the eyes of the animals
shuffling about in their stalls,
and in the eyes of the shepherds
and the travelers from afar.
My gaze, fixed on the flame,
widens as I detect
other shadowy shapes
around the table.
I sit in communion with
my father and my mother,
my sister and my brother,
their lives, like others,
lived in various degrees
of perfection and imperfection,
drawn to this light whilst alive,
and now in the life beyond,
join with me transfixed
by the light of the candle.
I smile to be once again
in their company, and,
with a nod and a parting glance
their shapes slip back
into the shadows of the room.
Once more alone with the light,
an image forms in my mind,
that eternal light birthed
in Bethlehem so long ago,
which danced in the eyes
of Mary and Joseph,
in the eyes and hearts
of many burdened by the weight
of scandal and shame,
poverty and despair,
which the world was unable
to crush and snuff out,
this light will always be there
to guide and to light me
through the dark corners
of my life yet to be,
to the eternal Christmas awaiting me.
Matters not how much I may want to rescue you
That closed steel door I cannot walk through
Outside the door feet planted firmly on the ground
Knocking every so gently trying not to pound
But everytime my knuckles on the door they tap
Stinging fire flies out and my face is slapped
Through the pain I can hear your plaintiff calling
For something to save you from further falling
So to my purpose I try bravely to stay true
Attempting to find a path to get through
To figure out a way in which my spirit can fly
Over walls of brick so tall they touch the sky
A prisoner within chained by ego, pain and guilt
There I can see the Fortress you've built
Out of the windows fire of anger consumes
Any real healing touch you continue to refuse
Because the rescue does not come totally free
Only you have the power to open the door and choose to believe
"Can't and won't take the risk you say
Of the sorrow you'd feel when it all blows away
Denying that you must search deep down inside
Beyond your walls and utterly foolish pride
You can keep decorating the walls as long as you like
And continue convincing yourself it's your lot in life
And when the spirits that be send you a sign
Crush it with cruelty and continue to resign
To the anger that keeps reaching out with a fire that burns
Against a true spirit whose soul only yearns
For nothing more than to grant your wish
Of inner peace and true love sealed with a kiss
But all the angry fire steals my strength
Taking my sensitive spirit to it's very length
My failure then scars my heart truly bad
That after the pain I become so very sad
Once able to see through my heartfelt tears
I know it so well and can feel all your fears
If only my love spirit I wish for you to see
How I offer all I have to you so humbly
Because even after the faeries come carry me away
The gift I give to you is to ease your dismay
No intent to cause pain or wreak havoc in your heart
Just only for you to escape the lonely part
Simple and free with no evil involved
"First" you say. "So many issues to resolve"
The walls of brick you've built over time
Seems like an eternity they would take to climb
When all along if you so choose
With a blink of an eye and not a moment to lose
It's been a matter of your choice to reach beyond
Those walls of protection to which you've grown so fond
........Cont'd in Part II
let every old woman with a wrinkled face,
she should be aware,she lives in disgrace,
a furrowed brow,hairy lip and single tooth,
know me well,i'll get the truth.
a squinty eye and scolding tongue,
the squeaky voice she's had from very young,
you will never hide from me,
i'm the witch hunter general you see.
my name shall be feared throughout this land,
my hunting of witches will go as planned,
first you'll be tossed into a cell,
stripped naked and starved,until you tell.
i'll start to prick to cause you pain,
and i'll do it over and over again,
then you'll be bound to stool or table,
cross legged of course,even if you're not able.
after twenty four hours the cramps will set in,
again poked and prodded,but i'll use a new pin,
you'll then walk the stones til your feet bleed,
still i reckon you don't get to feed.
then you're taken for a swim in the lake,
your baptism water you didn't take,
if you're innocent you will drowned,
but if you sink a true witch i've found.
this cruelty wasn't enough,mathew got no kicks,
a new style was developed,it only took two ticks,
he bent victims double,tied thumb to big toe,
a rope round the waist,in the water they'd go.
these people were worn down by his torturous way,
but hopkins was going to have his say,
one question he used in the brow beating session,
you're aquainted with the devil,i want a confession.
a nod or monosyllabic reply will do the trick,
or my man will beat you again with the stick,
then poor john lowes,a suffolk minister of note,
was told you're a witch,i can tell by your coat,
a quarrelsome gent of seventy was poor john,
disliked by many,they wanted him gone,
hopkins took the task to prove he was right,
john was kept awake for many a day and a night.
they ran him till he was out of breath,
he was weary, and scared half to death,
so he confessed to get some peace,
then the torturous pain would cease.
hopkins said"another one i didn't let survive",
john went to the scaffold august 1645,
no cleargy would read for him at his grave,
a villager said"to the devil john was no slave".
who knows how many poor sould were lost,
letting hopkins rule,had it's own cost,
more than 200 people this way met their fate,
by the time hopkins hit norfolk,it was too late.
his trials of blood passed through our countryside,
in his work mathew hopkins took great pride.
He watched his kite,her, snap
her tail rises
in the sky
in the deep blue sky
i keep imagining of her
my eyes don't rest and lie,
my mind's eye,
of her with a bird in hand,
the one she waved off …
that i dont imagine
i keep watching her tail
so majestic
and buoyant
... as if she were dancing,
dancing
with herself,
in the deep blue sky,
her carriage
model perfect
of blemishes
with the sun shining
off her inner beauty,
she would flutter
... flutter
to the right and left,
bounce, bounce
up and down
as i continue watching,
watching ...heartbroken
for the last time,
Of life passing by,
Her,
my eyes moisten
as she distances herself
away from me
the burdens of my life
Heartaches, heartaches that
always kept suppressed in me
i say, i wish i could have stopped her flight
and see her come alive
with me,
... me with
one fleeting chance
a chance
of a snowball of goodness for once
but hoping realistically
for just that one snowflake of a chance
one little snowflake that never dropped
... i keep watching
the once beautiful kite
so lifelike, vibrant
especially her tail and direction
up in the blue sky,
a small dot now
... sucking the air out of me
as it became smaller
• i reminiscence
of the past of how our love nosedived
into an avalanche
before it started
... nosediving into sorrow and regrets
the residual of a piece of string not tying
not tying a loop...
i keep looking up into the sky
my mind oscillating, correlating
i see, clearly
her inner beauty capturing me
even from a distance
and now how ... i'm resigned to watching
so sadden
life unravel,
how can this be
or is that the line ... unraveling
again, how can this be
... the kite kept
distancing itself
fluttering itself ...
further away ...
just like myself
... the wind howling
its sharp teeth of injustice, life
grabbing me
i guess
i guess i was bad, unworthy
For her
for i hear ...
voices in my head
the once little birds in her hand crying,
crying
for not finding warmth
i hear a snap
is that for real?
i look,
in the deep blue sky
turning over, turning shades of red
she's gone
and the voice of cruelty just laughing
just laughing at me
for there is an absence, now
of that little tail fluttering
with goodness,
with unattainable borders
that i missed and missed
connie pachecho
3/3/17
I suppose I should have been satisfied
with the first letter: I mean, just how
often does the Almighty write to us?
Not since He did it on stone, I suppose.
But I am human and so rarely content--
then too, I still had so many questions,
like why must children suffer cruelty or
deathly ills-- and why are the aged so
often forgotten, ignored, neglected?
Why do so many hunger for vengeance
while others thirst for a drop of love?
Before the act is always the thought--
so why do we lessen the other, turn
him into an animal, some predator
to be feared and hunted to extinction?
And why do we peacock ourselves
with plumes of ego and pride, then
go strutting into the world like
petty kings, wood-hearted queens?
And always, always, we are we less
than we could be, sad thin shadows
of that person we know could, and
should walk free on the sun-lit earth?
I wrote this unmailed letter knowing
He would read the words before I
could put them down-- but I did
not expect an answer... so when I
found another letter slipped under
my door, this too written in a hand
of unearthly beauty, I gasped with
guilt and fear: was I too greedy and
just foolish to want to know the
Mind of God: why He made us
the way we are, what He wants
from us, of us, for us? Now I
began trembling, my fearful heart
pounding like it would burst open!
Still, I opened the letter and read:
"I really am breaking all my own
rules in writing you again, and
I'm not sure why-- yes, I
don't always know my
own mind-- I told you all
a long time ago you
were made in My image--
I suppose I am intrigued,
for the answers you seek
have been sought always,
throughout time, ever really
since I put that immortal part
of you in your ancestors, and
so turned animal into human,
and instinct into choice....
I gave your species
everything needed:
reason, imagination,
speech, and my
greatest gift-- love
strong enough to
transcend even time.
And what did humans
do with these wonders?
You waged war endlessly
and oppressed the weak,
breaking them as though
they were clay pots and
not my beloved children.
So I sent prophets to warn
you to choose light before
the dark ate your souls.
I even sent my only son
to lead you home, but
you killed him-- and you
wonder why life is hard?"
As always,
faithfully yours,
God
Macbeth, remove this blood, I command you!
Give me the strength to see another day through
It’s hit me what I’ve truly done
Sanity has been lost but power has been won
Was it worth it all?
Or should I take the fall?
Out of this castle, should I leap?
Or should it be considered not so deep?
The guilt is immense, should I be dead?
My hands are stained with bloody red
No perfumes will wash this blood away
This hand of blood will forever stay
How could I have been the reason for the king's death?
Why did I let this happen, why did I do it Macbeth?
My mind is now full of scorpions, as yours was before
Shameful thoughts, and blood is dripping to the floor
How, how, how did I become so cruel in my mind?
I’m supposed to be a woman, the weak innocent kind
For my power, I caused you to kill a king
And now our marriage is owned by a bloody ring
You had the idea but it was hidden in the dark
I was the one who lit the thought to be a spark
Now you’ve gone on ordering others to kill
Involved in violence, for the safety and the thrill
How have I done this deed?
I’ve turned you tyrannical, now this poor country will forever bleed
Oh we were once so innocent and pure
Now the doctor doesn’t even see me to have a cure
As for you, You’re in blood, too far stepped in
Your need for power will never win
Macbeth, look at what I’ve done
Duncan should have lived to see the next days sun
Horror, horror, horror, I’m not meant to be a Queen
My hands are made of blood, they’re meant to be clean
There’s a spot marked amongst my hand
Marking my cruelty, why I did this nobody will ever understand
I’m just a cruel evil witch who cares for no one but herself
A disgust to society, a sly woman acting with stealth
And we aren’t even content though we’ve got our desire
As you said before, the snake is scorching in a fire
This burden is never going to go away
On this earth I shall no longer stay
What’s done cannot be undone
Though remember, when a battle is lost, it’s also won
When I die, you would have won by focusing on your mind
But please, Macbeth, turn back to being kind
Violence is not the way to be, and only causes pain
Macbeth, in desperation I beg you, go back to being sane
I’m sorry that my life has ended in my self and violent hand
Make me proud down there, and I wish you to understand.
Written: April 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
*******************
When cruelty becomes a badge of honor
empathy transforms into an act of defiance
while the evildoers are celebrated!
The resonance of your words
Your words echo as a sharp blade
revealing the possum
shameful crawl
dragging through sacred remnants
they cut through the fragile chambers
of my vulnerable existence.
A rustle of grass
in the Cimmerian pre-dawn.
Watching you drown in your denial
Now, a landscape of sorrow
once vibrant with the hues of joy
has faded into mere shadows
Shades of happiness did thrive
I stand frozen, bleary-eyed
trying to bear sense of
eerie glow of empty eyes
I am a witness to the casualty
of an all-night bender
Your gaze, a weapon
cold and unyielding
left my spirit in ruins
forever haunted
by the ghost of what once was
The dreams you stole
That left me stranded
broken in body and soul
Amidst the unfolding horrors —
border violence, displacements,
police brutality, genocidal oppression —
Remember this: Cruelty is the point
Cruelty is not humorous nor edgy
Cruelty is not justifiable
Cruelty corrodes the sense of self
Cruelty for cruelty's sake
a repulsive and vile toxic waste
What started as casual banter
quickly turned into a serious dialogue
banter quickly grew into a colloquy.
I walk a path of despair
a subdued plea
where cruelty reigns
Some find joy in the suffering of others—
the essence of schadenfreude
Do we embody barbarism
when we think
we have the right to be cruel
And ignore the agreements we made?
The casualties were unintended
Yearning for a healing touch
for the grace to set me free
Yet the scars remain
a stark reminder
of the cruelty
that has etched its haunting mark.
Your malice roars like a storm
within my spirit,
leaving me shattered
and utterly out of control
I am a victim
The cost of your design
and now I seek peace
In my life
Humans possess the capacity
for empathy and reason,
yet systems of violence.
They are crafted to dominate
subjugate
dehumanize and oppress
Cruelty is always at the core
It feels as if we are consumed
by cruelty in our thoughts
defending the indefensible.
Just say no and stop the liberal progressive socialist agenda dividing our country, or any other country! Simply based on the CRT (Critical Race Theory)!
It will further divide the divided states of America based upon race. Resulting in our categorizing and restricting any positive and healthful relationships based upon our skin colors. Turning us into enemies!
It will really pit the brown and the black people against the yellow and the white people! Leading up to and resulting in more racial based wars on the streets of our major and later on minor cities across the forty eight states of America just for starters!
It is the elected school board members that are fostering the CRT! Plus they are sponsoring X-rated books as part of the school curriculum's. Already parents in Virginia and the rest of the country are fighting against the CRT! Threatening to recall the school board members; who have sold out their souls to the devil himself!
The parents and their children throughout the United States are using their social media platforms in order to protect their K-12 aged school aged children!
They are relying upon Christian television stations such as the 700 hundred club to get their vital messages across to the rest of America! Whatever is happening in Virginia will not stop in the state of Virginia! Americans do not want a Socialist nation! They want their freedoms!
Unfortunately the Millennium generation of people born between 1980- 2000 are falling for the lies those liberal and progressive politicians are actively promoting. Also generation Z college age students have socialist instructors spoon feeding their socialistic ideology propaganda!
Where is the communist propaganda political machine located? It's central headquarters is based in the Red Chinese Communists party! Which seeks to place the entire world under the oppressive tyranny of the Bamboo Curtain! Global international enforced slavery labor camps making the Nazis look like choir boys because of their intensified cruelty and torture!
Let us face it America and the Western democracies! Red China wants to bankrupt you, black male you and kill you. And place all of you under its Bamboo Curtain! They are the common global enemies of the world!
Sincerely,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954/209
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 24, 2021
My heart is broken.
I am a miserable, lost soul swimming in a world of darkness;
trying to find a piece of myself that has been torn away from me.
I am blinded by emotions.
Unable to regain control of the irrational fantasy world I have built for myself in order to escape a harsh, ironic, and bitter -sweet reality that the rest of you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I am a shell that was once truly alive.
I have been left empty.
Taken out like trash on a Thursday night.
I was once a person, but I have been destroyed by this cruel thing that is called life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I have fallen victim to the cruelty of the human race.
I am ashamed by myself, but more so by others.
The truth is much too vicious and vulgar to accept it as what it really is;
A part of this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
It is said that ignorance is bliss.
That explains why the rest of you walk around thinking you are happy.
You are blind to the severity of the truth that surrounds you.
I am not the only one who had created a fantasy world for myself.
The rest of you are just too caught up in your worlds to even realize that another world exists;
The real world.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
Your “God” is nothing more than an illusion;
Created by the twisted minds that came before us as an arrogant joke.
Used for the soul purpose of making you feel better about yourselves and to repent for your so-called “sins”.
Just another part of this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I’d rather walk around for the rest of my life thinking I know the truth,
when in all actuality there is no such thing.
It is but a figment of my imagination.
A part of my fantasy world.
And this thing that I call truth is extremely different than the thing that you assume is the truth
in this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
There is a fine line between genius and insanity.
I am unable to figure out which one of these applies to me.
Maybe both; maybe neither.
As I said before, ignorance is bliss; and you all couldn’t be happier.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
Form:
Death of a Dream
by Amy Swanson
Time
existence
goes by
*long drawn out sigh*
gray transforming
overbearing
the happy
once joyful
exuberant bright cheerful eclectic
becoming shadows
misty vapor
rising to the sky
fleeting...
gone.
Days gone by
weeks
and
months
and
years
motions of life
crowd out
emotions of life
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Spark of light
soft golden
struggles against
darkened mire
hope's ashes
faith's grief
love's despondence
Marigold hue
charred
sphere of night envelopes
Streaks and smudges
of pride
vanity
selfishness
cruelty
deface life's canvas
once glowing brilliant
-- now torn and tainted.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Silence...
utter chaos...
sheer madness
consuming life -
they don't know.
They don't care.
They go about
*busily*
trading dreams
spiritual riches
for material fantasies
built with air.
Colorless
consumes the bright
one small spark
daring dream
chasing burgeoning shadows
until exhausted
extinguished...
no more.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.