Long Protests Poems
Long Protests Poems. Below are the most popular long Protests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Protests poems by poem length and keyword.
Was It Worth It?
Where did it go?
I knew so many that had the passion
Protests against government abuse
Refusing to live without questions
Why do men have to die in a war to conquer others?
Guns, bullets and death for an extra acre of land
All coming from the desire of one man
A man who plays God
Sending the young to fight for him
Dying for him in fields a half a world away
Did he have a choice whether to fight or not?
Why did the government send him that piece of paper?
Who decided that he was the one to go?
Did he even know that Vietnam was a country?
He left right after school
Never able to find out about life or love
Now, his blood stains a small patch of land
Worthless land on the edge of a rice paddy
What did the man in Washington gain from his death?
Did he even know the young man died?
He doesn’t care
He got his small piece of land
The five inches where the boy died
Was it worth it?
Was it worth a young man losing his life?
Ask the man in Washington
Ask the government the people elected
Ask the family who buried their son on a Tuesday
Everyone should ask of every young man killed to fight a war
Was it worth it?
there's protest in my praying
a defiance that keeps playing
I raise objections when I talk to Father God
about the dissatisfaction within my heart
I remonstrate I demonstrate
I tell God how I feel
I speak from places of pain
that I need Him to heal
I protest about my circumstances
and my situation
I challenged Him to perform
a godly reformation
there's protests in my praying
and like Moses was, I'm unsure
that what God desires from me
I don't know if I can speak for
I remonstrate, I demonstrate
I tell God how I feel
I speak from places of pain
that I need Him to heal
I protest about my circumstances
and my situation
I challenge Him to perform
a godly reformation
I need God to respond to my words, my needs
and my desires
I need Him to put into place
that which will have me inspired
so that I can become the best me
that I can possibly be
for God to mold me, to enfold me
and recreate my destiny
and like Hannah who fiercely desired a son
she prayed in protest until the deed was done
I remonstrate I demonstrate
I tell God how I feel
I speak from places of pain
that I need Him to heal
I protest about my circumstances
and my situation
I challenge Him to perform
a godly reformation
and like those two midwives who refused
to kill little boys
they prayed in protest until
God's might was deployed
I remonstrate, I demonstrate
I tell God how I feel
I speak from places of pain
That I need Him to heal
.
I raised objections when I talked to God
and He addressed the dissatisfaction
that was in my heart
I no longer remonstrate
I no longer demonstrate
God now knows how I feel
He's taken away my pain
and me He's now healed
No more protests about my circumstances
nor my situation
for God has performed on me
a Godly reformation
God responded to my words, my needs
my wants and my desires
He's molded me and enfolded me
and in true faith, I'm now inspired
The pundits and talking heads
The chaterati classes
All assure us
That it can’t happen here
Fascism will never happen here
Our democratic system
Superior to all others
Check and balances
Power of the media
Will prevent fascism
From taking root
In the American soil
They laugh
And talk amongst themselves
And laugh some more
Convincing themselves
Meantime the darkness
Continues to descend
As our President becomes more erratic
And frankly shows signs of insanity
The fascists supporting him
Gather strength
And one day
They strike back
With furry
When the powers that be
Try to remove the President
He mobilizes his army
His army of deplorables
And they mobilize
And his fascist supporters
In the government
Demand law and order
And restoration of the Leader of the people
As they have started calling the President
He comes back into power
And demands
Unspecified emergency powers
And so, the cycle ends
And fascism wrapped inside a Christian flag
Comes to America
Full vengeance
As they take charge
And the chaterati classes
Are all arrested
The first to be rounded up
America has fallen
The media stars
All comply
The leader is great
America is great
And all who oppose him
Must be terror sympathizers
Or Tersymps for short
And deserve to be rounded up
Public protests are forbidden
Muslims must register
Atheists must be fired
Alt media is shut down
The internet is censored
And I weep
As I see the once great American nation
Descend into a fascist nightmare
And I wait for the midnight knock on the door
Knowing that I am on the list.
Knock Knock knock
Open up, it is homeland security……
Beside the enormous Oak tree she was resting
When the Mage of Night woke her up, cheering
By putting Her cold silver enchanted robe
Upon her and everything else around the globe
Mage on its fourteenth was rising from the east
She started walking towards Her with ease
Orange pale dried leaves shrieked in protests
As she walked bare footed upon them with zest
Dragging them along with her extended hair
She finally reached the noisy river
Showing a blur image of her, the Mage, and a white doe
Doe… what was it
Oh it was her own shadow
Water shining like diamonds in the sky
And glimmering crust and troughs on the face of mountains
She then had to turn her head 90 degrees
To look at the Mage hanging between sky and the earth
The sight terrified her
Enchantment broke... she then realized,
Something was to be there
But it was not
What was it____ her own former self ?
Or something or somebody else
Panicked, she looked around
Everywhere____ But it wasn’t there
Among the trees, behind the cliffs, with in water
But it was no where to be found
And then morning breeze lulled
The Mage and stars to their beds
Horizon was now adorned with orange pale hue
She too walked towards the old Oak tree
And lay upon its branch which was inches from the ground
Emeralds fall down from her tired eyes
As the doe came forward to see her shadow in them
They shined brighter than the sun, before vanishing in soil
Her almond eyes stopped on the hourglass for a moment
Before they were lost in the world of sleep
~Paghunda Zahid
A pool table lined with blue felt
sports a lively, raucous game,
ivory cracks, the men drink,
shoot the bull while they play.
A humidor lined in fine wood
stocked with Cuban cigars,
a smoking lounge grandiose,
ceiling painted like the stars.
A bar right out of the Wild West
serves beer and old whiskey,
an insurance guy loosing at darts
to a bookworm with a PhD.
A library stocked with real books,
no paperbacks or e-books there,
classics vaunted alongside the
spy novels and western fare.
Gym in the basement, no windows,
where everyone toils and sweats,
a sauna large, and no member
has grown tired of a steam yet.
Upstairs is the banquet hall,
used once a month for feasts,
where steak is served bleeding red,
no concoctions of soy or yeast.
On the third floor, rooms to crash
if you’re visiting from out of town,
or if you’ve drank a bit much,
relax, and lay down you head.
Fixtures in brass and mahogany,
reminders of more elegant times,
side rooms for talking business,
a cellar filled with fine wines...
This is our place, our shelter,
when the world rears and ugly head,
yet at least once a month feminists
show up outside and wish us dead.
They like to shout and chant a lot,
with their one word, ‘patriarchy,’
never seeming to realize
their protests are pure malarkey.
This world had lady-only gyms,
and female-only hair salons,
they never decry that as sexism,
they just go along to get along.
Turn-about must be fair play,
so we made ourselves this place,
what really bothers them about us
is the mere existence of male space.
But this club is a private affair,
so they’re wasting their powers,
they have places where men don’t tread,
so this place, this is ours.
...He and a girl had gotten drunk,
and sure enough did slip outside,
both of them had been caught f-cking
in the stairs on a dorm’s north side.
The outrage brigades went crazy,
the snowflakes all just lost their sh-t,
claimed this woman couldn’t consent,
it was ‘rape,’ and he had done it!
That he himself was quite drunk too
didn’t matter that much you see,
that this woman raised no outcry
did not mean they should show mercy.
They ginned up their two-minute hate,
called him ‘sexist,’ ‘rapist’ and ‘scum,
demanded that he be fired
before he could 'hurt anyone.'
Harassed the fire department
with protests that dragged on for weeks,
spammed the city’s internet sites,
even interrupted a mayor’s speech.
And the media latched on it,
lied boldly, like they always do,
got a survivor to declared
she would not have gone if she knew.
Ed, obviously, was surprised,
but knew his team would stand by him,
yet when the politicians called
saw things were looking rather grim.
And when the mayor explained to him
that the city must protect itself,
he resigned to keep his pension,
cursing public servants to hell.
And now he can no longer save
good people when they might be hurt,
but the SJWs don’t care,
they cheered taking down ‘a monster.’
Words hang from rafters in cobwebs of silence
The candle flickers on a window sill in pain
Locks with no keys stare into closed chapters
The poet’s unhinged mind holds its threshold
Floor boards creak without pace like a ghost
Out of step a lonely sandal slips into motion
As slumber refuses to claim yesterday’s dreams
The clean sheet of insomnia stares into nothing
Reaps restlessness where slumber should reign
A script of smudged ink and unfinished business
Dances under the weight of dried tarnished ink
He counts sheep into flocks of thunderous clouds
All of them black howling at a camouflaged wolf
A bloody pelt seems hung and quartered at night
Scraps of thoughts tease the bleary eyed writer
His resolve is crushed under cover in discomfort
The crumpled feather pillow protests the squeeze
Merely suspends for a moment tar oozing out
Onto a slope passed so often it cannot keep track
Of meaningless journeys for no particular purpose
Direction leads straight to the pointless lack of return
Wide awake and yet tired he removes the blindfold
Unplugs his ears and touches the relentless void
And yet he hears only a crescendo of white noise
Has visions of tombstones veiled in ivy and scorn
Presses the surface of an underworld of confusion
Tears skin and recollects scars and wounded remains
I am no one but who I am and have failed to become
At last the inkster finds relief in an illusion of sleep
Engages in nightmares and apocalyptic resurrection
Grasps a few hallucinations and deluded images that
Give him some resemblance of control over chaos
Becomes his own metaphor and pictures escape
Hopes that the one way street is not a dead end
Loses himself for better or worse and begins to write ...
In opposition they criticize all that is wrong
and all that is good, according to their agenda.
They put clogs in wheels, aided by defiant unions
and often bringing the country to a standstill
with senseless strikes and organized protests.
Mud is thrown at government and individuals;
much of it sticks; the end justifies the means.
During the run-up to elections they use the media
to their advantage; the message drummed over
and over during house visits and heated mass rallies
rousing the rabble with heartfelt oratory.
They promise transparency and accountability;
fair sharing of wealth, help to the homeless and
to the needy; curbing favours to friends of friends
by resorting to the ideal concept of meritocracy;
lowering taxes and bills and introducing new social
benefits that would put all on an equal footing.
Most of all they harp on the eradication of corruption.
They hold roadmaps to solve all the country’s woes.
They promise heaven on earth; they promise Utopia.
Glittering manifesto is presented with much fanfare.
The gullible, switchers and uneducated are brainwashed.
As expected, election produces the desired results and
the party in opposition gets in power...on promises!
Promises that cannot be kept. The devil wants his due.
He grins, pointing to the small writing on the manifesto...
The majority had failed to notice it. It reads...SUCKERS.
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Contest: I Can’t Breathe
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Placing: 1st
Covid-19; Hunger-20 (A duet)
Wems Henry Temmy
If money can turn the wise fool
What will agony be to bones that suffer calcium?
If death is a pleasure to watch a game on stool
What shall bring fear to the heart dwelling in crematorium?
It is true "money is the root of every evil"
Faith Anthony
If lives can be bought at the market of greed,
Of what use is the force driving the conscience ?
Humanity has long been lost in a vain pursuit of Power
The protests against all the evil and violation of our soul
Sits inside of us, waiting to tell the truth
Wems Henry Temmy
Plague beautifies the world in deceit
Humans' petals flowered its garden
Many falling petals are mistreat
Received enough support but garden isn't pardon
All to the honor of your pleasure, we forfeited
Faith Anthony
Deception permeates the entire region in a steady order
It is now a clash of Money and Power
And being subdued in fear, She(Africa) had to bow
Pledging allegiance and made to Cower
A soul sold out, defenseless without a 'why'
And silence becomes her only hope
Wems Henry Temmy
Gardners have an awesome merry go round
To watch out others in disguised anticipation
Whereas, their harvest bloom and abound
To the mess of Hunger-20 promotion
A scope of care "stay home" is well propounded
Faith Anthony
An enemy has surely done this!
The gardener suddenly cried
An enemy has sowed tares in the garden
Stay at home is the new Creed
Keep social distance or risk going six feet Below
Wems Henry Temmy
It isn't a prank to joke with for all reasons to insanity
Though it seems they had make workers go days starving denizens
Keeping a lot of grains in store for themselves and their cousins
While this is a threat to humanity
They claim to still cherish the welfare of the citizens
© Wems Henry Temmy & Faith Anthony
®2020
Gag my mouth to thwart my speech and seal my protests
But the language of my eyes will be heard in the hallowed highs,
I speak not to be heard by those that have no ears to hear
But to confirm that my words have reached the skies.
Tie my feet and hinder my motion
And I still will globe-trot the untrodden earth,
For I walk not on the legs you see,
And I will walk on every road and sail to every firth.
You cannot manacle my hands
Although you may handcuff them with a chain,
The arms I have are invisible to you
And the ones you see you bind in vain.
And you never can kill me
For my life is in the air you ignore;
My body died long before I was born,
Before the rains of brutality began to pour.
I will speak against your contrary wish
And I’ll walk although my legs you may tie;
My hands will wield miracles wherever they’re waved,
For my soul has sworn never to die.