Long Massacres Poems
Long Massacres Poems. Below are the most popular long Massacres by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Massacres poems by poem length and keyword.
in my life-
some have tried to murder my spirit-
to assassinate my soul
with their single-mindfulness
nincompoops mean and nasty
torture brutal massacres relentless
running home for love
mothers arms
and kisses
from childhood to a young woman
I have found my ink
and I send poems wide and far
my soul bleeding
my crime for those with tunnel vision
I am part Ojibway-
in a world ruled by white
always different but not in poetry
except for some-
who come to kill my words
slaughter my poetic soul
murder what I love
nincompoops mean and nasty
sometimes I am befuddled
I stumble
crumble
crumple
puzzle
words are weapons
leaving forever deep scars
my house may be weather-stained
my garden ravaged
but the wheels of time have rolled
now, I have a strength unfathomable
a pride no one can kill
or slaughter
those who have words of misery
stay in your tunnels of hate
with your tunnel-vision
for I am an Ojibway girl proud
with flowing hair like a streaming river
and poetic spiritual soul
and the grandfather spirits in the sky
will ever and forever be my protectors
and I fly with eagles . . .
_______________________
January 28, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/words are weapons
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1324-456-28
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Murder in the Tunnel
sponsor, Kai Michael Newmann, Judged 02/12/2021
Fourth Place
This is probably the most difficult thing
To find these days
People are dying senselessly in mass shooting
Like ice pellets on snowy days
We are all shocked and amazed
In watching the around-the-clock news
Nobody in their right mind will be amused
By the absurd massacres of the innocents
Let’s find a way to stop all violence
Let’s pray for peaceful means
Let’s repent our sins
Let’s find solutions to our problems
Let’s stop the bloodshed
And extinguish the old flames
Of hate and bigotry, and the fire of hatred
Let’s bury them in the sand, my friends
With amicable and compassionate hands
Let’s find peace within ourselves
Let’s picture God on our walls, on our shelves
Let’s smile and wave to each other
Let’s care for each other, let’s love each other.
Copyright © December 4, 2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
The Devil
Genocide Srebrenica and Žepa
The monkey of chetnik
Blessing guns
Killing nuns
Calls himself a priest
While performing massacres discreet
A Serbian ape
Dressed in holy cloth
No one is fooled
The old man is a sloth
Crimes against humanity
Vojislav Carkic is the devils hate
An old man in a garden at deaths gates
Flowers bloom from the devils blood
This satanic monster in a holy collar
While his victims raped in pain they holler
His erotic desires are never of love
He is happy when killing, for he hates white doves
The old fool still wishes to slay
He hates the Ukraine, the old Serbian fool should pray
Sadly with his disguise of the holy
He is still in the mood to kill
Notes on Soup Blog
~ 'Rap-Style' ~
Freedom from Hamas
Freedom from Abbas
Eliminate Sinwar
No more war
Redevelop Gaza
with kosher shopping plazas...
From Transjordan to the sea
All Israel's territory
Annex it 60 years ago
Defy the ‘status quo’ ...
Israel stands unbowed
~ Israeli Jews are proud
________________________________
How about a little rap to remind the
radical left, the White House, Congres-
sional Democrats, and the world of the
true and just war Israel is fighting
against the monsters of Hamas, against
Abbas with his 'pay-to-slay-Jews' program
for 'brave' Palestinians, and against Sinwar,
who promises thousands of October seven
massacres/holocausts - 'til every last Jew
is dead. Sinwar is this generation's Hitler...
We cowardly witnessed the genocide of many human beings
Live, live, live in real time
That was an odious, callous and vicious crime
We said nothing, absolutely nothing about the sad and awful events
Many of us were either silent or complacent about everything
Even God was absent and quiet. He did nothing, nothing
Evil doers are not humane; they are hardcore criminals
We witnessed the bombings of babies, buildings and animals
We saw the massacres and the aftermaths. We could smell the blood
And could hear the cries coming out of the television screens
We saw the live and dead bodies, the hearts, the livers and the spleens
Rotting and spoiling in the filthy streets. The color of the mud
Is grim and abnormal, because of too much sufferings and tears
Too much pain and misery, too much disgust and shame
Too much atrocities and killings. We all know whom to blame
We know who are responsible for so much evilness and wrongdoings
Humanity got thrown out of the window in this part of the universe
We wonder if these two legged machines have a heart and a soul
We wonder if they ever look in a mirror, in a clear pool
We wonder how it would be if everything were to happen in reverse
Where is God? Why this ignominious silence?
Live, live, live in real time
That’s an odious, egregious and beastly crime
How can anybody sleep at night? That makes no sense
These days, everything is live, eerie, vivid and instantaneous
Grotesque things are never acceptable, admissible and hilarious
We want peace and we dream of peace
But the guilty ones must pay from west to east
And from north to south. We want peace and justice.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Love, Peace, Equality and Justice.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Have you ever seen the twlight,
Beyond horizon,
Above the reachable eyes,
Having stood same for all
Of all around the world.
For all it's veins longing for the sight.
Have we ever lived soulfully-
For all the days until the end.
Does nature ever divided lives,
By differentiating its presence,
And distinguishing it's color from one to another person.
But why does the world divides lives for ever
Caste, Creed , Color and Race.
Filling veins with gush of hatred-
From one to another
And filling hearts with selfishness.
Do we to care for the loss of one another
If we are rich enough to see the twilight
If the others ever cry at the sky
If the others die for the lack of living lines.
Should we all care for our neighbors
If they face a difficult living.
If we see the vision of the world
Should we all live alike and lead;
Behind us all of timely massacres
By managing lost lives beyond our walls;
It is possible to reach the vision of our lives-
If we foresee the torture to other losses too.
"come with us" we say to the world
Behind us which lacks in knowledge,
Which leaks in it's construction of goodness.
Sound world perhaps
Sounds our health,
Sounds our happiness,
Helps us in our inevitable future.
It is possible to reach the sky
At least for once
For all of the world and it's men
To feel great
For having reborn this day!!
Come hold my hand and tell me lies
Infuse the hate and woe betide
Tooth for a tooth, pluck out their eyes
A soldiers duties exercised
Let's kill the child, from the inside
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
Not for the strong, to sit upon the fence
Let's take the hate and killing to their door
Self righteousness screams out in our defence
Christ knows it's hard to take this anymore
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
I am innocent.
I will never plead guilty
For all the crimes against humanity that France and its colonialist accomplices
Have committed in the cradle of my ancestors for centuries.
The color of my skin is neither a crime nor a tragedy.
I do not have to justify being a human being.
I am a Sub-Saharan African.
I am a Bantu from Equatorial Africa,
Like all those Pygmies exhibited in wooden cages by this Christian and supposedly humanistic West.
What have I done to inherit the nightmares of Françafrique?
What have I done to flee misery on a land so rich, chained to the voracity of Western predators?
I will never sing the symphonies of submission
Upon the altar of servitude
To sanctify my humanity.
I do not have to submit to the Negrophobia of these supremacist savages.
I was born free on a land devastated by Western imperialism.
I grew up in one of the colonial wastelands
Of a France that is still slave-minded.
I built myself amid the savagery of a banana republic,
Worshipping the tyranny of alienated natives of Françafrique.
I have never feared death.
I lived in a dilapidated cemetery, lined with the living dead.
The scourges of misery shaped the coldness of my lucid soul.
I am the product of the colonial massacres
Of the slave-trading France of the Enlightenment in Africa.
I am the proof that the Republic of Human Rights
Has never treated Sub-Saharan Africans as free human beings.
I bear the indelible scars left by the independence fighters of Cameroon.
I will never be ashamed of being an African with melanin-filled skin,
Even if Marianne’s Negrophobic children call me a parasite,
While French multinationals brutally plunder the wealth of my continent.
I am an ambitious migrant,
An honorable undocumented immigrant,
A humanist Pan-Africanist,
A preacher of the saving values of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
I do not believe that democracy is the paradigm
Of Africa’s colonial trading posts.
I did not cross the Mediterranean
To become a prostitute for the criminal capitalism of the West.
The fascists of the Republic mock the thousands of African women
Who end up swallowed
By the deadly waters of the Mediterranean.
Alone within emotional wilderness
(mine) biding leisure time
January 19th, 2020
without reason nor rhyme,
yet woke with sublime
pained acute awareness,
how once prime
merrily rightful autochthonous occupants
their land stole equivalent value
not much more'n dime.
Simple man dwells admiring
mother nature's architrave
home of the free land of the brave
usurped with exacting vengeance
aboriginal happy hunting grounds,
yours truly cloistered within man cave
small medium at large eremite doth crave
indigenous tribes Europeans
did wantonly annihilate
and/or make deprave
viciously slaughtering Native Americans
nsync brutality wrecking
their idyllic enclave
foreigners forcibly corralling
subsequently did enslave
ruthlessly employing sacrilegious travesty
scattered smite stricken survivors
formidable invaders (countless
demoniacal explorers) rendered desolate
pristine unbroken woodland
deceit, guile, iniquitous
jawboning flavor flav,
whether or not ancestors (mine)
even tangentially linkedin
egregious mockery, travesty
yours truly never forgave
horrendous genocide early settlers
wrought onto indigenous peoples
hoodwinked, notoriously
thrashed "noble savage"
feigning burying hatchet until
last proud redman buried in his grave.
Similar saga countless instances played across
four corners of globe,
white man self anointed himself boss
subsequently slaying innocent lives
all in name of Christ crucified on cross
denying original rightful inhabitants
their preexisting misnamed
new found lands
invaders justified execrable massacres
on par with clearing away dross
trumpeting art of the deal (albeit) gross
and unfair, whereat decimated loss
lovely bones long since
covered over with moss.
The colored pains are carved onto the back of my ancestors’ history.
My oppressors see my Africanness as a curse,
the rotten fruit of savagery, slavery, and the barbarity of colonization.
The blackness of my skin has made me a suspect since the cotton fields.
I am from the cradle of humanity.
I grew up in a colonial trading post.
My homeland never had factories that manufactured weapons of war,
yet I know how to handle a Kalashnikov like those child soldiers.
My first shock: an infant, cut to pieces and stuffed in a sack hanging from a palm tree.
After the colonial massacres, dead cities to soften the cruelty of a bloodthirsty dictatorship.
I share the same convictions as those independence fighters
that the general’s colonial army labeled as “rebels.”
I am neither a suburban kid nor a ghetto dweller.
I took my first steps in a shantytown of Equatorial Africa.
Some cross the Mediterranean toward the Western tyranny of misery,
while others choose the illicit path to shine in the gloomy cells of capitalism,
lit by the flashing lights of the “Republic of Enlightenment” slavers.
These Western impostors treat Africa like an open-air dump,
while their neo-colonial military bases protect the safety of multinational corporations
that have been savagely plundering Africa’s wealth for centuries.
They finance Islamic terrorist groups so that African dictators
can sing the globalist symphonies of Western democracy.
I am a Sub-Saharan animist like the first pharaohs.
I remember the massacre of the Amerindians
when I see African Americans filling the prisons of a nation born from genocide.
My holy land is Africa.
I will never submit to the negrophobic laws
of supremacists indoctrinated with the vile delusions of the Third Reich.
I remember Pope Nicholas V’s papal bull
when I see the Catholic Church meddling in the political affairs
of Africa’s banana republics.
Slave blood in my veins,
in my heart too much pain, only love, no hate.
My conscience has never been chained.
My criminal record remains spotless,
like the orifices of the Christ’s own mother.