Long Swastikas Poems
Long Swastikas Poems. Below are the most popular long Swastikas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swastikas poems by poem length and keyword.
I saw Nazis march yesterday
upon the streets of Charlottesville.
And, with swastikas on display,
crazed clansmen chanted blood will spill.
I saw Satan grinning with pride
at racial slurs shouted in hate.
And, bigots standing by his side
help the violence escalate.
I saw torches light up the night,
snaking through the black neighborhoods.
And skinheads looking for a fight;
all that was missing were white hoods.
I saw white supremacists, proud
of drawing blood and spreading fear.
And a car plow into the crowd,
its intentions made all too clear.
I saw President Trump place blame
on both sides for this killing spree.
And, a shocked nation reel in shame
at how prejudiced he could be.
I saw the projected end of
tolerance and democracy.
And, mantras of hate replace love
with smugness and hypocrisy.
Quatrain
8/13/2017
My ideas are in hiding
Afraid of the secret police
For they are in Kansas City
My poems are not wanting to goosestep
I hear glass breaking
It does not wake me up at first
But when it does I am in Minneapolis
And my poem is standing on a man’s neck
I am screaming for it to get off
He is yelling that he cannot breathe.
Terror infiltrates me as I realize I am paralyzed.
I can hear my heartbeat; double-time now.
My ideas are in a fetal position, lying under benches.
Visualizing concentration camps
Oh, excuse ME! Internment camps.
Mexican children being torn from their mother’s arms.
Crying and wailing. Cages. Dirty rotten government men.
My poems are turning themselves into stories.
I am no help. I am paralyzed. Cannot stop the thoughts though.
Swastikas are swirling around which is not comfortable.
Now the Klan! Are you kidding?
I am being marched out by chicken shi.....white hooders.
My writing is holding its breath, lying in wait
Thinking I will return. I may never be the same.
This new development has me buckling at my knees.
Someone cracks me across them with a whip.
Someone speaks Russian at me.
Craph! I barely know English.
That’s a good one my muse says, making a note.
I try to wake up, but there is someone sitting on my neck.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle,
I scream
Nothing comes out.
My worst nightmare, and of course it is three a.m.
The time I always have to go to the bathroom.
Something big is sitting on my neck and my head.
I give up, not caring about anything except breathing now.
It’s the Covid 19, my muse says. We are obsessed with it
I am so irritated, for it might not be my muse.
It might be another personality; I have plenty of them.
I sit quietly, waiting for the urge to write to pass.
Unfortunately, it never does.
When we were young there were heroes and there were monsters
and in our innocent and limited childhood view…
from Fairy Tales and with our parents help
it was easy to tell the difference between the two.
In the evening when we woke from a nightmare and our hearts were filled with dread….
our heroes were our parents who vanquished the monsters beneath our bed.
In our Fairy Tales it was easy to tell the good people from the bad.
They were strong honorable men and woman…just like Mom and Dad
But it becomes more difficult as we grow…the more our wings are spread…
when the monsters aren’t just the ones who sleep beneath our bed.
Some monsters were easy to spot…they didn’t try to hide themselves away.
They wore swastika’s on their clothing like the Nazi’s or white sheets like the KKK.
But it became more difficult to tell the heroes from the monsters…
when their swastikas they shed
when they wore tailored suits to work instead of hoods upon their heads. .
What makes monsters different today is that they could be anyone we see….
At first glance there’s no way to tell difference between them and you and me.
They can be our neighbor…or someone we once thought of as a friend…
and we will never comprehend or fathom the horrors they intend.
Today the only way to distinguish one monster from the rest
Is to follow their path of evil, their destructiveness…their unrest.
Now, when we search for a happy ending…dream of a better day…
it’s up to us to become the heroes and every evil monster to slay.
To work for the day with the other heroes help these monsters will no longer exist…
the day when we are blessed to have no more monsters in our midst.
The day when we live in a world where we don’t cause our children any dread
the day when the only monsters they need to worry about…
are the ones beneath their bed.
People of Isreal the true
isrealites my own family
persecuted branded with
swastika during WW11
my pop hid Jewish people
from Hitler the use of the
swastika the taking of a
religious symbol used to
cause harm for the Jews
my prayers are with the
Jewish families Jewish
memorials are in place
for anyone in need of
comfort and healing
awareness saves lived
stop branded Isrealites
stop persecution of Jews
I am reminded of thee
cruelty and killing
of Jewish infants
reach out support our
Jewish communities
People of Isreal listen
People of Isreal pay attention
People of Isreal dance
People of Isreal shout for Joy
Swastikas hurt
Well! sycophantic misanthropist, verbose agitator of spite
Club footed whore master, couldn’t goose step for his life
Malicious propagandist, spreading hatred in every breath
His wife willing disciple, poisoned their 6 children to death
Demanding patriotic nationalism, big speech carcinogenic
Snickers in vehemence, sardonic grin, genocidal eugenics
Never dirtying his hands, an aryan superstar, not by blood
Master race aspirational, looks into the mirror then shrugs
Doctor of nihilistic supremacy, swearing hypocritical oaths
5 ft 4” gigantic paradigm, inferiority complex, slow growth
Promising victory up to the last, faithful to his fuhrers flag
Cowers from nearby artillery, blasting Swastikas into rags
Hiding amongst his sewer rats, goes insane down a bunker
Mixing morphine with champagne, to alleviate going under
Saved the best cocktail for last, cyanide and bullet casings
Fitting end to crawling malaise, and cockroach infestations.
Biting Satire Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
24/02/2021
My ideas are in hiding
Afraid of the secret police
For they are in Kansas City
My poems are not wanting to goosestep
I hear glass breaking
It does not wake me up at first
But when it does I am in Portland
And my poem is standing on a man’s neck
I am screaming for it to get off
He is yelling that he cannot breathe.
Terror infiltrates me as I realize I am paralyzed.
I can hear my heartbeat; double-time now.
My ideas are in a fetal position, lying under benches.
Visualizing concentration camps
Oh, excuse ME! Internment camps.
Children being torn from their mother’s arms.
Crying and wailing. Cages. Dirty rotten government men.
My poems are turning themselves into stories.
I am no help. I am paralyzed. Cannot stop the thoughts though.
Swastikas are swirling around which is not comfortable.
Now the Klan! Are you kidding?
I am being marched out by chicken white hooders.
My writing is holding its breath, lying in wait
Thinking I will return. I may never be the same.
This new development has me buckling at my knees.
Someone cracks me across them with a whip.
Someone speaks German at me.
Crapppp! I barely know English.
That’s a good one my muse says, making a note.
I try to wake up, but there is someone sitting on my neck.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle,
I scream
Nothing comes out.
My worst nightmare, and of course it is three a.m.
The time I always have to go to the bathroom.
Something big is sitting on my neck and my head.
I give up, not caring about anything except breathing now.
It’s the Covid 19, my muse says. We are obsessed with it
I am so irritated, for it might not be my muse.
It might be another personality; I have plenty of them.
I sit quietly, waiting for the urge to write to pass.
Unfortunately, it never does.
And so the soup’s, coming to a boil
Very difficult, not to get embroiled
Rumour has it, Hitler’s on the rise
Goose stepping, in poetic disguise
Jackboots kick open, doors of rhyme
Acrostics embed, swastikas sublime
Vaxxers accused, of a new blitzkrieg
Covid deniers, offer vapid intrigue
Enigma encoded, in sonnets of fear
Lady Haw Haw, sobs crocodile tears
All together poets, salute Sieg Heil!
Conspiracy theories, jabs are on trial
Contagious haikus, causing upset
Biden instigating, everyone’s death
God’s gone paranoid, so we’re told
Playing both sides, to steal our souls
Armband stars, equal covid passes
Monoku writers, killing the masses
Limericks are evil, piled full of poop
No place for crap jokes, tainting soup
Poets reincarnated, in nom de plume
Childish dark magic, one has assumed
So do ends, always justify the means
In war and pandemic, mania’s routine
By
David Kavanagh
I once wrote a POTW, getting to know you, was the theme
Simple little rhyme, about soupers commonalities it seems
Now I’m discovering disparity, divisions, different schisms
Joining the dots together, one picture emerges, extremism
A few (leading lights), have gathered sheep into their pens
Who in turn follow them blindly, to anywhere and back again
None of my business you say, and I would be first to agree
But our paths must cross sometimes, as now you can see
Such is lies, such is truth, it’s all immaterial within a poem
A story is a story, our imagination counts, on bringing home
I manipulate words, trying to imbue you within stark verse
Encouraging open-mindedness, never planning to coerce
Others have hidden agendas, encoding influences of ambition
Deluded in their own self importance, to maintain recognition
Suppressing freethinkers, using propaganda, covert pretexts
Don’t like the tone of your language, get shunned by request
Teach us a lesson, an opinionated authority, waves a big stick
Seen this crap before in institutions, got caned as a small kid
Gaslighting, solipsistic, narcissistic, torchbearers of nothing
Pushing your own egos, not poets work, shameless plugging
Some fellow poets do fall foul, getting led up the garden path
Instead of expressing independence, write to appease wrath
So this message is from a nobody, and I’m calling you to task
Why! because I have a pair of balls, not satan behind a mask.
This is no exposé, majority of soupers, see through your cover
Easy now, I won’t mention any names, best ignore this nutter
I proffer diversity and conversation, no nihilistic atheist stray
Unlike his predecessors, won’t get disheartened or walk away
Look at history what happened, when pandering to dictators
Carrying swastikas in suicidal obedience, to Hitler their savior.
I’m not trying to tempt your faith,
write about god write about man,
But when man believes he’s god,
Yeah! we’ve already lost the plan
And for that habitual poltergeist
that keeps messing up comments
Are you trying to tell me something
or just afraid of the open contents
By
David Kavanagh
WHEN THE FROG GROWS HAIRS
To her, my sister Santa Pe
Slim and pretty
Our mother wanted to marry
As soon as possible
But she didn't want to do.
Forced, she met a boy
That he loved her
But she didn't even want
Nor in photography.
As he invited her to Cinema España
To see the movie Salon Kitty
A luxurious Berlin brothel
That the Nazis used as a cover
Of espionage and sexual misdeeds
In which Helmut Berger works
That she loves and adores
She accepted the invitation.
At midnight they went to the cinema
And the very naughty
As soon as they sit in the seats
Lights out
Starting the movie
The rogue was going to the chestnut
His sword out and outstretched
With the intention of penetrating
Or that she rubbed it.
-Stop right there, stay still, wimpy
Santa Pe told him.
I know what you want
I know where you're going
I know what you've come for
Do you want to charge the entrance
Sticking your sword up my thighs.
Go dig chives
Or to your mother, fool.
I will give you my love
When the frog grows hair.
He put the sword in his fly
Grumpy, sad and heartbroken
Left the cinema
ting on the mother
That Santa Pe gave birth.
She was happy, very happy
Watching how Helmut Berger
ed good girls
And, once ed
He offered them to German officers.
She also saw how
Some dwarfs with swastikas on their es
ed Jewish prisoners
Trying to make them
Prostitute agents.
Her mother was on the balcony
She was on the balcony
To see if her daughter came.
When she saw her approach the balcony
Her mother asked:
- How about daughter?
How did it go?
She happily replied:
-Mother, he is the third one that I send for a walk.
Nobody is telling me:
"Open your clam, Margarita
That I want to charge the entrance”.
With my clam, mother
I don't intend to earn a living.
(Is this better than ChatGPT did yesterday? We're having a contest.)
dormant as naked
shivering trees
falling before me
yearning
for warmth
and companionship
in neverending
cold cruel
winter
Armageddon
solace at
the Grand
found it
in a hot toddy
and hugs from
Angela and Shelby
my favorite bartenders
Angela's latest
watercolor
just emerging
stunning
goddess
full of symbology
I see
dream catcher
earrings
colbalt silk dress
hemmed with
gold Hindu ohms
and swastikas
soft light
falling from
glowing moon's face
embedded
with
Cancer rising
astrological chart
Angela laughing
takes her
phone away
Shelby
petite
blue haired
pixie
swaps
toddler stories
her three year old
daughter
my two year old
granddaughter
being so adorably
horrible
I share
latest pics
from most recent
journey
youngest's wedding
big blue sky
soft white whisps
gracing over
beautiful bride
sequins sparkling
like snow
in setting sun
her handsome groom
in spiffy
mallard green tuxedo
crying
yeah...
and I have to
share my latest
girlfriend/online dating
experiences
always amusing
and hear that?
it's Billy Joel
Piano Man
playing
in the background
nothing like
day drinking
the bleak and grey
away
happy hour
happy day