Rage Poems

ARTIST : 3 - verse

contemporary Persian ancient 
blending intro-imagery with peach
                                    vulnerability            
identity

Bad Times for Questioning

Everyone can be a critic.
Few can take criticism.
I’ve seen the results of youthful play
The paths half-buried of sandy ethics
The holes and pitfalls of reliance
Mounds of dirt clods and chocolate chips
Success tastes so fine –
Like a drink of ice cold water
On the last lap of decision
‘Cause we are all infinite genius
We know what we know –
Because

When Paris Was All The Rage

A quarter rest breathed into my consciousness, a playful pretense of a warm hand gently placed above my heart, calming my sedulous spirit.
—by the Poet

When Paris Was All The Rage

Slow sound of the sax; I lay back
and listen to good-old-day lyrics,

when Paris was all the rage,
and the time of love has past

for the old maid

A riot born of flames and rage

A burned up system of control
A revolt spoken with flames 
Silence was no longer an option
Peace had been exhausted 
The only language they communicate 
Violence 
The police man specialises in brutality when it comes to the black man

'Stop and search'
An excuse they use
To abuse 
The 'blacks"
Used as a slur
By the oppressor
As if it's poison, as

From Ashes, I Arose Anew

Your love flew wingless with the summer wind,
And left me stranded, hopeless, in a pit.
Alone I became too much for my mind,
With my love jailed by your self-written writ.

I was consumed by the flame of your rage,
Yet from the ashes, I arose anew.
I found a heart whose kindness could assuage,
And clean even a faintest thought

The rage of a tired black woman

Rage.
Fury.
A constant burning anger.
A rage stemmed from generations of those who have come before me
An inheritance we have the right to own 
Something passed through each black child born
One that clings to our skin and bones
A communal experience we share alone

Every time a black child comes home from school
Fallen tears from racial slurs
Another wave of

A Year Has Past

Nothing beats the summer breeze 
The memories of the ones who leave 
Lotus flowers smile at me
Saying this will pass, you’ll come to see 
Walking in a forest with my shoes in my bag 
Wishing I were leaving the town that I have 
The year is almost over, and I’m still lying on the grass
The

Woman Is a Hole

Woman is a hole,
Soft with spongey walls,
Press the button, make her howl,
Crash through her virgin halls. 

A newborn baby, little girl,
Fresh kitchen rag to store,
Waiting ignorant of the day,
When she too will be soiled.

Decades later, kitchen rags,
Sit discarded in a bin,
A loony bin for hags to talk, 
And squeeze out salty drips. 

Streaming semen pulling

Born to Rage

I woke with blood in my mouth
and no memory
of the scab that sealed the rasure.

I’m cat-spitting
dog-growling
peregrine-divebombing
rooster-flogging
badger-flipping
hornet-stinging
wolverine-ripping mad.

I fired the sun for showing up late
cursed the fridge light until
yogurt soured in terror.

God called
I let it ring twice.

The therapist said breathe
so I swallowed my tongue
now I speak
in the language of things with canines.

coyote-howl syntax
vulture-vowel decay
the guttural grammar
of

Rage

The seething waters took them.
I rage,
rage against the deluge,
an unmoored,
unrestrained rage.

I rage for the innocents,
a rage that drowns all else
except more broiling,
more roiling waves of rage,
an anger that unstrings
the harps of angels.

Rage I now, at the blind horror
of godforsaken moments
that snatch all away
as suddenly as a surging,
untethered,
Texas tsunami.

I rage against
the ever-deceitful aspirations
of peace and calm,
rage

Bars of rage

Bars of rage by Adejola Joseph 
Bars of rage 
Angry 
Very angry 
What does anger bring?
City of destruction 
Temple of anxiety 
Anger is a boiling water 
An H2SO4 acidic 
Bars of rage 
Anger.

Rage, Against the Light!

The howling lightning tore the sky.
I screamed, I'm free. I won’t comply.
I'm blasting away with wild angry sound,
Fighting back in this battleground.

Rage, Rage, against the light!
Against the coming of the night!
Rage, for what's damn right!  
With fists up! For the fight!  

I rage for innocents betrayed,
Their voices silenced, their debts unpaid.
As angels' harps

rivers hum silently until rage spills

rivers stay silent
happy to hum to themselves
until a rage spills
in torrents, cascades and falls
only quelled in spells of drought

The Caged Phoenix

They locked her in a box of gold,
with chains that shimmered, stories told.
"Stay pretty,  still–don't ask for more,
The fire in you? Just folklore". 

she smiled like myths were make–believe, 
But hid a flame beneath her sleeve.
each breath she took was kindling slow,
A furnace marked in ash and glow. 

The saw her feathers, red and bright,
But

Compassion's Rage

Your name leaves a bruise on my lips,
like a ghost that lingers, life to strip,
with eyes that threaten as they smile
and a voice that cuts, low and vile.
My heart cries out in silence dark,
which you incinerate with careless spark.
Your compassion's rage rules my life,
twisting love into chains, sharpening strife.
I speak my truth and ask for

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