Long Protest Poems
Long Protest Poems. Below are the most popular long Protest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Protest poems by poem length and keyword.
So I sit here and self reflect going through the lessons I was taught and forced to
spit out the right answers I disagreed with and now have the chance to say Hitler
was the victim
and in Vietnam there was no hero but a cleansing of getting rid of thousand of
serial killers desperate for the love of an abusive god they didn’t know how to
stand up against who wanted someone to blame
When we write the next history book of lies about today’s liars and propaganda
and confusion
And if I could sneak into the history pages
What lessons would I try to teach the students of a continent to say you don’t
have to have church in school for there to be a god
Look at me look at me
Figure out my riddle
If you’re that brave but write down the wrong answer or you’re in trouble
And then wait to find like-minded individuals
What lesson would I teach the world using all of the world’s actors?
Me as everybody’s fool
So the spiritually impoverished could study one chapter of history and walk away
with their hands full of gems and spiritual crowns and realize
they now have a test of psychology to figure out all the pieces of their world
to under stand the script we have written for them
and who amongst them are false and true prophets either playing along or who
knows what domino is going to catastrophically going to fall
What’s the perfect act for my actors with me to carry them into history?
If I could just sneak in
But how do I get in there?
How do I show them history doesn’t care if you’re skinny or fat?
Ugly or beautiful
Stupid or smart
Do I care what essays the might write about me in the future if I was to make it in
comparison to our politicians
Would there be a whole course in school called figuring out the world’s scripts
101
I could change the world if you let me
And in all honest as I protest some things here and there
You are another domino
and a piece of my claim to my fame
and maybe one day it will be someone else
but 27 years of serenading me and stealing my dreams
Id rather have lived my hell on earth for a reason of where vie cried for the world
and had the confusion as to why my names are songs to be for good
then to be jealous of a man who spent three days in my shoes and was crucified
for trying to live a lie
But ignorance is bliss
A fairyland fable is a magic table floating around but nit with a rallying cry. That is purely reserved for several synchronised cruise ships whose sunbathing missions thwart many a delivery driver. It is with great interest that an interest is neither a monetary aim at a bank or an inked out financial score singing a palate of possibilities. So go call the cat then. Go on. Meow meow. Dinner time. There you go. Fresh tuna is very scared now. Oh dear. And all the little flakes hard at work minced flesh in factories never really has a rest does it? Dilapidated dog during digging. And a great big wish from a ten thousand kilo cake is a celebrated glow in an outer solar sphere. Clap them all. Many cakes many spheres. Loud claps. And shouting at the mail is equivalent to eating beans on toast at several hundred miles an hour upside down in a bucket. It is in many weathers that a tall lanky snail circles a circuit in a rally car. Very very fast. Well done. There is a crown and a bursting champagne bottle whose antics on the plane were quite rude and non productive. However showering the podium with released bubble is quite a feat of engineering and requires precision mathematics too. So never ever become intoxicated if holding a compass, a text book, six lined sheets of paper, ten pencils and an organic cheeseburger with salad. Marketing making money moguls merry. And the swimming curry is out for the day in the lake occasionally resting on a Papadopoulos papadum boat who whips a papaya to create a cocktail. How rather quaint that is isn't it? How many radiuses are there in a pear? And how many tents can be made from a single pair of tights? These are highly significant questions to ask at a time when the antipepiscides are at the protest. Rioting. And tootling along the lane came a little green car whose plan was ever only to drink copious amounts of tea at the inn of then. Saviour not a sanctified secretion of a sweet set of stagnant striped silk. And enter no password of hi dee hi on a billboard for frames are allowing much to pass by over the cliffs. So watch out if carrying ten cars, a wobbly bus, and a twelfth century castle for it is the marksman who are marking a book from a diocese, a school and a university of agha banks. Couple that then. Great. Hahaha fantasy fig floating around hahaha banana bandana bringing bee balancing. Xxxxx metropolitans z
Form:
Deep within the world so modern,
Lies a hidden road not trodden,
That states the obvious truth be told,
Printed in ink black and bold,
That lost in worlds of ecstasy,
Trapped in snares of misery,
That wars the rumors be told they sneered,
Now not alive a bray a’bird,
Gone are thoughts that thinketh straight,
And now to turn back it's O’so late,
Truth is gone, and truths be’come,
Lies run wild thru’ Urb and slum,
Prove me wrong this not happen,
But wrong they are yet shamelessly clappin’,
All so jolly good way they are,
From the Truth they stay afar,
Given in to the delusions be,
These strange worlds move so surreally,
That eats place a first a crown,
And Wannabe’s laze and fuss arroun’,
Talks about this and that and all that’s good,
Ney earn their money and cry for food,
When not given they stage a protest,
What they think is unjust!
But truth be told they sloth all day,
Sit around and laze away,
Their youths burnt dry, so willfully done,
When the brave reproaches them, they rant and away they run,
Sad to see, this is our reality,
Where all but’s none have time for thee,
Where life’s no respect and death appraise,
No wonder! They fit in with Artemis’ ways,
Tis’ are days of Noah’s time,
Filled with false hate and unwanted slime,
The hot is cold and the cold is hot,
They should be left to these ways to rot,
For no amount of reproach or preaching change they,
They want to remain that way,
So, let it be and move on in life,
Find a place to settle, build a home with your wife,
But when they come, O’Brave men of life,
To scandal your family and toss the knife,
Don’t debate them in anyway by words,
Take up your weapon and massacre they featherless birds,
Let them cry foul, whine and weep,
For they are into misery so deep, even the good that they do is evil so steep,
Let it be, let it be and protect your families,
From these so called ‘Justice Warriors of all the Sissies.’
What is well, when men of old just a teen,
Went to war for freedom’s freeing,
No scandal was found heard, no loose talk in the winds,
They wives waited for them, rather than sinned!
But if now one were off, to fight for justice cause,
In their absence does much spend, party’s all that splend.
Not all I say that way be done but are true, true indeed to none,
Tis’ a tragedy with my pen and ink I write and run.
..She felt so damn nervous making that call,
and when he picked up she just gushed it all,
he listened quietly, then she asked to meet,
she quickly wrote down the place and the street.
She met him at one of his restaurants,
he looked different now, his eyes didn’t haunt,
he had no gun, just company t-shirt,
but something about him still spoke to her.
She asked him, “Why did you do what you did?
Why risk it all to go and save my kid?
We destroyed your business, threatened your life,
made it clear we hated anyone white.”
He gave a sad smile, and then explained,
“If that’s why you’re worried, I’ll make it plain,
how could I have just let your child burn?
The thought of it just makes my stomach churn.
“He’s a human being, in danger great,
what kind of man would leave him to his fate?
Whatever rage that the mob felt for me
had nothing to do with a child of three.”
Jacinta learned forwards. “You didn’t care
that my people didn’t much want you there?
After what happened, and what we destroyed,
you went to rescue a random black boy?”
“My ‘people’ call themselves American,
and I’m pretty sure that you’re one of them.
Even if you weren’t, I’d still have to go,”
he said,”Such horrors children should not know.”
She felt amazement, and shame more than a bit,
that it took all this to understand it,
she thought ‘color-blind’ had been some quaint phrase,
those were the words that her family would say.
But this man had felt that her son mattered,
even when he had been just a stranger,
and she realized that his life mattered too,
whether black, white, or brown, such people were few.
This one man refuted lies she’d been taught,
her brother’s nonsense had all been for naught,
she saw a good man, wanted to know more,
started talking with him about his stores.
He told how his father had opened the spot
that the mob had burned, she felt her soul drop
on hearing how he’d played in the kitchen,
and chatted when young with those who came in.
She told him of Keenan, where she now lived,
he offered a job, said, “It’s mine to give.”
Soon enough Keenan would play in the back,
and the man smiled, gave him lots of slack,
mostly because he was dating his mom,
Jacinta didn’t stay on welfare for long,
the other workers snickered, she let them,
where would she find such a lover again?
CONCLUDES IN PART V.
Watching the Olympics news
coverage today
Sadly this is the conclusion
i came to afterwards
Our British male duo won gold
in the synchronized diving event
Brilliant yes of course an
unbelievable achievent
But given more than any other
sport the clue being in the name
It should be equal appreciation
and praise for each as without
the other winning is simply
an impossibility
So how come then i know who
Tom Daley is but don't even know
his diving partner's name
Maybe that's because he was
made to appear or seem
totally irrelevant by the media
news coverage
After the pair won they cut to
Tom Daleys family his mother
husband and their baby
Then we see Tom being
interviewed , Tom singular
on his own fielding questions
mostly regarding his personal
life and sexual preference
And thanking the LGBT
community for all there support
Exactly what that has to do
with diving i hold my hands
up i do not know admittedly
i am no expert on the subject
But personally for me what
i found was the real kick in
the teeth smack in the face
As i for 1 absolutely love and
breathe sport the gift the ability
the dedication the sacrifice
Was how it was constantly
infered it was only Tom's
dream since he was a young
child to win a gold medal
Again personally and only
to me what i seen goes against
the very ethos and ideology
of what the Olympics itself
stands for
I felt so sorry for him and his
family as Tom family husband
and child got more coverage
than he did
I tried to put myself
in his or his family shoes
and tried to wonder
How they must have felt having
their joy pride stolen and cheated
from them
Reduced merely to a bit part
or side show to the main event
And again i protest because
the clue is in the name
Synchronized Diving a duo
a pair a partnership a team
1 simply can not without
the aid of the other 1 win
So tell me where on earth
is the justice and sportsmanship
to be found here
And his name by the way
just incase you missed it
or care is
Matty Lee and he to also
wanted to be and win a
gold medal
And was just as dedicated
and trained just as hard in
order to achieve and make both
theirs dream a reality
Rather than as the press and
media barely refer to him as
Tom Daleys diving partner
or the other guy
Why Do I Write?
I was born in an era when Shakespeare, Shelley and Wordsworth were kings. Reading them was like hearing beautiful music and after all these years…it still is. Then I fell in love with Emily Dickenson and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam…what wonderful words of wisdom they imparted!
I write because it allows me to express myself…my thoughts, my compassion, my soul… much as my singing has done all my life. Now that that part of my life is waning, I can still be a “diva” in my own eyes! lol
I write, because my heart tells me to in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes me. I write because these thoughts and words which are choking me...screaming to be free...must be released.
I write for those who mourn, or who suffer illness, to console them and say I understand. I write for the lonely, for those who have no hope. whose stories tug at my heart. Since I can't hold them close to me, I try through my poems to convince them there is hope and tomorrow will be better.
I write to be heard...to show I am still relevant and have viable thoughts and opinions to share with the world. Experience is still the best teacher. I write to protest injustice wherever I find it. To be silent would be cowardly.
I write humorously about inconsequential, everyday situations, to bring a laugh or two into our lives. I wrote my memoirs for my grandchild, to preserve the past for future generations. I wrote poetry to release grief and sorrow when death came to call, to help me find peace and acceptance.
I write my religious poetry…not to flaunt my religion…but to praise God and thank him for his sacrifice for me and for the peace his presence brings to me.
I also ask his blessings for my friends and loved ones and for the heavy in heart, so that they might find peace and deliverance from the evils of this world.
I do not expect my work to be published…I have no illusions about my talent…I write for everyman, most of whom would shy away from the literary world and consider it elitist in the extreme, but when tragedy befalls them, they take comfort in simple words of encouragement and consolation.
But most of all, I write for the sheer joy of it and because my soul requires it!
Copyright©2008 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
For Frank's "What turns you on" contest
PROLOGUE
Biographies are for men who have a need to cry
To spell out what we remember is to subtract all
We forget, for knowing then nothing knew, a lie
Conjured by history, there's no a priori here at all
If you will not abuse my love
I will dive for you deeper forgotten things, bring
Up from bottom hate to prove
To be a better god we gladly, boldly took the sting
And could not have merely comprehended joy until
Our serpent made the safe-God to repent of his will
Here is my life strands of sands upon your windy palm
I'm the syllables of every gospel, beginning at the Psalm
Proverbs skinned like rice from the shaft, seeking balm.
History immaculate pristine in no myth ever shall sleep
Introspection vigils struggle between words and memory
Philosophy is a dream, not I, who numbers days urgently,
The sleeping dog will sleep, but my promise let me keep.
i
IDENTITY
I do not even know how it began, night or day
Rain or shine - nor what season they had interplay
I only know that nine must have been too long since
I overstayed my time and made her grimaced, grunt
And groaned to push me out. So of course, I wince
Privy to so much uncertainty. I have a given month
A date, but what is time alone for anyone's beginning
I want to remember the pool I paddled in the flesh
The long rope that called my navel a primal mouth
The red tide of mud from her veins which so much clout
I was hooked on it, around the perimeter where I thresh
So much more can come from a real truth of beginning.
I mean, how comes we have no control over our beginning
And you expect me in the middle to give you meaning
I will not buy the lie, I choose allegiance but know not how
The end shall fufill its promises of me. The air burns still
Like an acrid vapor on the lungs, and not yet I shall spill
The anger from the fumes of air, nor low ever can I bow
Before the hand that slapped my butt and told me scream.
You say indecent, I say unjust, for he proved no love so
Soon nor knew of me any wrong. The conspirators team
Around a common cause: a man must cry so they know
He has life; my kicking legs were not enough. The water
Suddenly left me swaddled in air and just a little laughter.
I do not take kindly to being whipped, nor did I protest then
About my eviction, and the sudden weight of many things.
Whats in the news today
and how much snow is on the ground
they say in the paper there is 2 600 homeless people
in my home city
but word of mouth and the people who work in the centers
estimate its more like 5000
so I ask
is this a protest of a country who has been lied to
who was led to a war that did not concern them?
who demands to have their own backyard of chemical warfares cleaned up?
Is this a protest against war of I'll never pay taxes
but I'll humble my own country
turning innocent men into serial killers
who join the smuftee killing patriots levelling a country flat
firing machine guns at innocent men listening to dance music
not to mention the reports of raped thirteen year olds and arson
and parents being forced to witness the whole thing before being executed
So I ask
wanna know about terrorism
as winter approaches
and you know soon
you're gonna be walking amongst streets
of frozen corpses
because there is nowhere left for them to go
and the soldiers join forces with some other country who feeds you
lies through the television
and then your own backyard says were going in to peace keep and the truth
surfaces that yes it is an all out war and we've been lieing all along
5000 homeless
a protest?
a government abnormality of one city?
terrorism of chemical warfare
and we're told some government across the ocean
can't handle their own nightmare of terror and assassins
so we have to go in to attack them
even though 9-11 under rug swept from years ago through our books of lies
was an event they catapulted unto somebody else!!!
5000 homeless
are we under attack?
Is that why no ones worried about the seial killings
of hookers turning up in fields anymore that farmers keep reporting?
Is taht why every neighborhood is swarmed with druglords and junkies?
and the prison that houses 300 has more than 700 people in it?
and all i see in my head are frozen corpses
and now i'm wondering
do the professionals im amongst
helping me through this rough patch
are they on medication too?
did we point the finger in the wrong way?
Is it US or them
and what does that have to do with the price of tea in china ask the British?
but what does my underground know of saints
divine intervention and methods to madness?
People, open ended, bargain BASEMENT
Everything’s on the fence, quickly done;
Fifty-nine cent penny candy, and plastic bubble gum;
Quick decision, triple vision
Saints on the run;
We all need an relationship, a relationship with God
Pray for healing, no more drug dealings, spit out that aspirin…
Pulpit screaming
Of neighborhood robbing, drive by shootings, murders and guns
Every LIFE MATTERS
NRA and the Political systems a joke…
Anyway though….
Don’t need no religion, don’t need no religion
With any of my decisions;
All I need, all we need is a
We need an relationship with God
We all need a one on one relationship with God, with God
All I know it that;
You and I aren’t right;
And that when you’re up, you’re UP but after this, (after that comes) comes the fall;
That just beats all
Pulpit screaming
Of neighborhood robbing, drive by shootings, murders and guns
Every LIFE MATTERS
NRA and the Political systems a joke…
Anyway though….
Don’t need no religion, don’t need no religion
With any of my decisions;
All I need, all we need is a
We need an relationship with God
We all need a one on one relationship with God, with God
We all need an relationship, a relationship with God
Blue horizons, grown men crying;
Bout’ what not they haven’t accomplished
Grown men yes they to do need love and hugs
Help them Lord, Oh God, help them Lord;
In life you see only in God is there victory
I want to be free in the spirit of Christ
Slow ambitions day old hamburger buns
In the winter time placing my tongue on the frozen fence post
Children though that this was just fun
Prayer of deliverance
Man’s wheeling’s and dealings, will we ever past the tests;
Don’t need mercy we’re had are duties
Warring on now we protest
My best is not second best, I insist;
Wonder faces, beautiful places;
Quick decision, triple vision
Saints on the run pray for healing
No more drug dealings, pulpit screaming
Of neighborhood robbing all the drive by shootings murders and guns
Don’t need no religion, don’t need no religion
All I need ever need is…
All we need is a relationship with God
Let us pray on
We need an relationship with God
10/28/10
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Arranged music by Jonathan Kabore
From Anthology “ KABORE PRAISE “ 2010, 2019©
I never fought in Vietnam…my parents never had to worry…to fear…to morn…for the simple reason my draft number was connected to the day that I was born.
I sat watching draft numbers being picked…wondering what I was going to do until my birthday draft number was finally called and I was 322.
As luck would have it I had a friend whose birthday was number 4….So I went off to college…while he went off to war.
A war that had been raging for 9 years…causing pain and grief and tears…
Sadly, the anguish and the agony of that war would rage on for 10 more years.
The soldiers who went off to fight…young men and women side by side…like any soldier in any war…they served, they fought…some died.
Over 58.000 young men and women died in that war…a number both sad and profound…some of their bodies never made it home…to this day they’ve never been found.
But those who returned alive from that Vietnam…found their war was out of fashion…they did not receive their country’s glory…nor their countrymen’s compassion.
It was a war that divided our county…pitting Americans against each other…
In the streets, to protest a war, we fought with our own sisters…our own brothers.
Yesterday we stopped at a park near a downtown South Florida neighborhood…where, to our surprise, a replica of the Vietnam War Memorial stood.
The wall was erected to memorialize these soldiers…whose lives went un-completed…with the hope the lessons from that war would never be forgotten…or repeated…
In a solemn, sobering moment I was filled with sadness…tears began to fall as I ran my fingers across the name of my friend upon that wall.
How sad it was to gaze out on all those names…trying to ascertain…after watching what Americans did to Americans this week…if my friend and all his friends hadn’t died in vain.
Wondering in the aftermath of a week where we ignored old lessons…where old mistakes were, once again, repeated…how many more people will be hurt…how many more lives will never be completed.
Wondering if it’s possible, as I ran my fingers along that wall…if there will ever be a time when there’ll be no wars at all…
I believe it is possible, without war, for people to come together, to compromise, to help their hate and anger cease…I believe every language has a word for this…
I believe that word…is PEACE