Long Ransack Poems
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how many people in your life that have been murdered?
probably none
my grandfather was a war herp
coma tosed
to have his wife a cripple
so i could run away scrambling from bs people for the rest of my life
11 tragic deaths in my life,
my family and friends
and their family and friends dropping like flies
the bills sent for the ambulance ride
leave me wondering why did you even bother come
to pretend to save my life
to wake me up and send me out the door
without being able to thank the people who just kept me alive
4 suicides, and im the lucky one to survive mine
4 murders have taken place in my life
and three tragic accidents
i have no idea what it would belike to see my family smile
theyre all dead
nothing but bs people come to watch me cry
who dont know who i am
never talk to me
and have no time for someone like me
off i go back to the hospital for more poison
and brag about malpractice
my stomache that cant digest any thing without pain or discomfort
but hey off your meds i can finally achieve an ********
love music by the way
the terrorist psychological attack with my name on it
offering me reason after reason to cry
what do i need another excuse to hate you
the politicians i cant contact
the police force harassing me
breaking my door down to ransack
stalking me to hand out tickets
breaking my nose afer a hostage situation
and its the bs people who tell me
trying to kill myself was the right thing
the military doesn't care
but make things happen over night
love watching you walk around in your underwear
at my pity party to be happy for you
but im not
im jealous
i hate you for it
your bs people
like these poetry sites with no clue
nice poem huh?
what a read....
go die
maybe after i get crippled they will have the heart to shoot me
but i doubt it
been raped, and tortured, and drugged, and beat by police, and held hostage
to be cyber stalked and have my accounts compromised
off and on and off and on
for 13 years
go kill yourself
war pig loser nation
what do you want me to say?
i know why people drop bombs now
i truly do
put me in a tank
and suck my d ick
existance is my enemy anyway
i hope he quits bothering to live
screw you face book
and twitter is a terrorist organisation
go ask microsoft
Slaughtering Eng-lish not in anger but in a vikingr way nor in rangr using my servo of skald in poetica engraved within you may to wit grafa Dirt don’t hurt so they say, so dig Danzleikr, enjoy, do a little jig Please don’t pull out your har It is not English but not far I am not giving you the renna around nor kindling a fire upon fótr an about Do not worry a freknur on your head It not spoken much but it is not dead You use these words every day but maybe not Thursday Look in your own window but you’re the skipper, you know An ode to the old if to be so bold - A little help - ransack – rannsaka (to search a house) slaughter – slatra (to butcher), Víking meant an overseas expedition, and a vikingr was someone who went on one of these expeditions. Rangr (unjust/ wrong, Servo of skald - sword of artful poetry, window – vindauga (lit. “wind-eye”), foot – fótr
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
where bones are picked cleaned by talons crook's of raven-wives like steely ice-picks dripping of the Valkyries verb-thieves of morpheme drain the meaning through sunken wind-eyes of cloudy skulls in the sky the bearer of speech-figures forums of a Norman's-ransack shutting one's eye bare-shirts run away to rid hawk's ground of Kenna's-abode
yore's measure-tree nigher are's not having scrapes-inn but all are vital framers-anvil lost tropes of the metaphor this saga was shy not a peep from windows of the folk so now I must not cut but again write not to RE:WRITE so some can better see learning knew ways breaking yokes free verse at first but now a inquisitive rhyme Word meanings fly away through windows of time snatched by Harpy's torn from memory buried in the field of a long ago rhyme but digging deep you find teasures stolen by Valkyries like a grotesque pic surely strown by death's scythe arm loads of gold stored ready weapons for another warrior which in another time may be erased but not today hold the sword's wife writing again holding high and protecting the courier of the quarrier by word of scop not to stop but increase your scope
Peace is though difficult
Yet not impossible to uphold,
All the kings of the states
Must remain self-concerned,
Without poking noses
Into the affairs of others,
Curbing cupidity
To expand the territories,
Subjugate the nations of the world,
Enforce the so-called personal visions,
And put the humanity
Into new-fangled trials.
All the weapons
Latest, conventional or primitive,
Precious or utterly worthless,
Nuclear or less potential
Made of common explosives,
Be spoiled,
Be thrown into the deep waters
Of the unexplored seas,
Wherefrom no devilish character
Could ransack them back.
When some is killed
Neither Hindu, nor Muslim,
Neither Christian nor Jew is killed,
But a man: a child of Adam and Eve,
The same red substance
Pours out of his injured ragged body,
And it pains me.
All the weapon producing units,
And the blood spattering gadgets:
The tanks and cannons,
Mortars or machines guns,
The armadas
With the squadrons of fighter-jets,
Submarines that navigate
Secretly chase the nautical targets,
Catapults and all the missiles launching frames,
Be thrown into furnaces
To be remodelled and redesigned
Into of the earth moving machinery,
Instead of the appliances
Colouring the Earth red.
All the medals or symbols
Of chivalry be taken back,
Combatants and men
With the crowned shoulders,
And medalled chests,
Who often move in the battle-fields
Puffed with the martial pride,
Imparting, rendering
No service to humanity
Be employed to plough the lands,
Plant the gardens,
Make the dams and reservoirs of water,
Feed the cattle and get them milked on time,
Engaged them
To perform some rewarding assignments.
Upon the earth,
There must not be a single
Blood-claiming weapon;
If men are incensed
And fight is unavoidable,
They must fight with knives and rapiers,
Swords and shields made of gossamer,
All the time heeding
Lest they should break;
And all inhabitants of the world
At least once a day must trim their nails,
Lest when they are indignant
And resentful should scratch
The skin of fellow beings or their own.
Form:
“I wish to have them.”
What does that mean?
To “have”
No one can “have” anyone else.
And yet,
We say it as though We can.
As though We can gather everything,
All that We desire,
From another being
And call Them Ours.
It is human to have.
To take,
To consume,
To ransack.
To find what person can be instrumental
And snatch Them up.
To Their detriment?
To Their benefit?
Into the sinking,
Beating,
Pulsing indulgence
Of a heart.
To “have”
What a cruel way to desire,
We scream
And fall
And push
And pull
And love
And hate
Full of every name for every feeling.
We all pray to have
We all pity Our loneliness
Or rather Our guilt.
Guilt of Our greed,
Our conscious
Our subconscious
Our said and unsaid.
To desire the beauty
The peace
The flame
The cold
The heart
The brain
The likeness
The ability to care for others
The need to help
The guts to do it
The eyes that see through to you
The face that treats vision softly
The lips that move with dancing speech
The touch that trickles down your spine
The smell that ignites the senses
The warmth and breath of comfort
Of Another.
We weep at the sight of the loss
We crumble in Their gaze.
If it’s all We give,
Then it’s all We take
And more
And so much more.
Or are We all wrong?
Do our considerations,
And thoughts
And ideas
And policies,
Mean no thing to no person?
But They wonder too,
So how can We be discontented?
If They are so inclined to be the same?
Must We be strong?
For Their sake?
Be the figment that shines so deeply,
They cannot help but love Us.
But it’s all just an inundation
Of words
And feelings
Of anything We can distinguish
From the dark of Our souls,
Which are so enlightened by Their presence
But so gutted by Their absence.
We cannot be but human,
But yet
We are not people.
We are not a committee,
We persist in a writhing mass,
One of disgraceful anguish.
Of Our sins;
Our Wrath
Our Gluttony
Out Lust
Our Envy
Our Greed
Our Pride
And of Our Sloth.
Who are We to have?
Or even to love?
We can barely own Ourselves.
But who am I to judge.
Slowly our pride fades away
Like a smoke entwined with the air
Rots and decaying dreams
Sends waves of pity upon our soul.
We were drafted like soldiers-
Into the four walls of a classroom
Watching as our destiny was being decided by a system filled with avarice.
Oh! I would like to be a teacher
Or simply be a doctor.
I would like to be a lawyer
Or simply a farmer.
So we learnt the abc
And meant to see what failing could be.
Up the chain we moved
As time moved along with our being.
Then as we grew, reality wagged its tail at us.
And struggle called a bluff of our person.
How do we move along?
What if all we laboured for went wrong?
In this land the veil was lifted from our faces
As we watch the same system
Which has been the sole determiner of our fate
And our dreams became steam of vapour as we-
Take over the baton from where our parents left,
Running a race which we knew not the number of laps left.
We pledged our allegiance
To serve this great nation,
And give from our ration-
Those whom we can help survive this oppression.
As daylight turns night
And days matured into years
We watch as souls drift to a world beyond
And dreams die before the call of dawn.
We watch as our friends leave the shores of their fatherland-
And drop their allegiance for alien ones.
Now that we have grown
And ready to reap all we have sown,
Only to learn that all we laboured for really wasn't our own.
We have to serve a system
Filled with corrupt leaders
We were locked-up in class all these years
Only to be subdued with fear.
In a land of concocted dreams
Is just where we have been all along,
Singing ourselves sullen song
Watching thieves became heroes
And innocent men languish in jail.
In a land of concocted dreams
Hopelessness is just a plague
Ready to consume all elements of hope.
Chaos, murder and tribalism ransack our being
Stealing and oppression is an everyday thing.
shoes untied, hair uncombed
waling the streets so all alone
tatted clothes ransack house
eating out trash cans day N night
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
has a cold, twenty-four with a runny nose
stands on a corner everyone disowns ya
no place to go, no one goes by him
he poses sitting on old cardboard boxes
watching the people go by in buses
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
(HUSH......................there is a pause in this song a stillness
wait for it
wait
résumé???)
HOMELESS
not fit to live but fit to give
you go by him and ya hearing
you hear him talkin to himself
murmuring passages sounds like scriptures to me
and why oh, why is he so happy
and why oh, why is he so happy
Lord God why or why is he so happy
no! family none than admit to be his
no job no wants to employ him Well!!
not even a place to say shelter's keeps him hid or telling he they're full
tattered clothes undeserved
tooth's in decay why is he so happy pains everywhere
why does he sing and shout (a loud)
why where does his joy come from
HE IS HOMELESS
BUT HE HAS GOT JESUS
HOMELESS
AND ALTHOUGH HE IS A MESS HE IS STILL BLESS, HE IS JUST
HOMELESS
OH NO! HE'S NOT ASHAMED
NO ONE IS TO BLAME JUST. . . HE'S JUST
HOMELESS
HE HAS God's grace and this is sufficient for him
Written Words by James Edward Lee Sr. & The Corinthian
Arranged music by The Corinthian
July 3 2007(c)
From Anthology "Something To Sing Praises"2007(c)
Poetic paean to papa's princess
Otherwise titled:
Mien wonderful wedded divine wife
whose piercing deliverance...,
a balm ameliorating tattooed strife
despite being dirt poor,
I cherish her pricelessness, how nice,
a beacon complementing/
supplementing homelife,
who will forever be with me
even during our (mine
atheistic couched) afterlife.
She, the mother
of our deux darling daughters, I adore
though ofttimes, she never knows...
expressing love tis quite an arduous chore
concerning me upon this (we quietly celebrate
wedding anniversary two days hence, whoa...
how quickly time doth pass, cuz we wed
yes already number xxiv, i.e. twenty four)
orbitz around the sun, we reminisce...
So much emotional turbulence
nearly rent asunder,
I accept culpability (yours truly)
strayed against sacred covenant
went wayward intrepid misdeeds
nearly perilously upended marriage,
said vaguely worded insensate blunder
wrought catastrophic upheaval
reigned analogous how millenniums ago
Vandals, Huns, Goths,
et cetera did plunder
and ransack the
outer limits of Roman empire
our pledged troth shattered,
whereby the missus outclassed Zeus,
she emitted deafening thunder,
yet annulment nor divorce,
she would not grant
sigh of great relief
and mystery I wonder...
To this July twenty third -
how hands of father time
speedily lept away
two thousand and twenty,
an (extra) ordinary day
to be alive and appreciate sticktoitiveness
toward her, whose troth I pledged
courtesy thee (sacrilegious infidel)
mine discreet liaisons spouse forgave
NOT telling me hike along highway
and/or boulevard of broken dreams, motorway
avoided, cuz she thee missus
WANTED me to stay
in role of legally wedded husband
(and father to deux special grown lasses)
when they (progeny)...
were just newborn babes yesterday!
My brother David met William Geris
A former head of state of Utopia
Having dinner in the city of Paris
They talked about big things
David had plans to run for the state Judiciary
So he discussed it with William Geris, He said
Go ahead David, for me that will be beneficiary
Play the music and let them dance to your tune
Get to the poor folks and promise them heaven on earth
Woo them with sweet words of a better tomorrow
Breaking the cycle of poverty and a prosperity rebirth
Promise them free education and free health care
You need to go to all the churches
Promise them every valley will be filled and every mountain made plain
You need to be charismatic to show you are ready for service
And don’t forget to say your long prayers
You need to hang out with the drug smuggling gangs
To really show you are one of them
Tell them to give you the chance to emancipate them from death pangs
And know well, they love to break laws and ransack state properties
You need to link up with Organization for Youth Ablaze (OYA)
“A Change you can see! A Change you can believe in!!”
Now that is what I call the ‘advertising phase’
Promise them of gargantuan jobs and scholarships
You also need to hung out with the financial gurus
A kind of ’Dating’ before Marriage
Sound it aloud, they are the ones with the clues
Cars-Yes! Gargantuan contracts-Yes! Meetings at some posh hotels-Yes!
Pull the wool over their eyes, indicting songs of hope and peace
But when you lose the election insists on a recount
A diversionary tactics of getting the opposition votes cease
“I’ll slap you so hard that your teeth will come off”
Mr. Geris is this what is on the ground, you call politics?
It looks like I will be a schoolboy fantasy and a sketch cartoon
David, my son most politicians have with them a bag of Poly-ticks
I call it the absurdity of the absurd Poly-tricks