Rebellion Poems - Poems about Rebellion

The crops grows from the tears of the enslaved The ground quakes from the harsh sound of the whip Their calloused hands evidence of a life of painful labour Wounds etched their skin A twisted reminder of what happens when you don't comply Their bones crushed under the weight of exhaustion Their eyes burned by the harsh sun Despite...

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Everyone hates my poetry Because it doesn’t wear makeup. Because it stares too long, or not long enough. Because it mentions the body like a room that remembers every man who left his name in dust. Because it’s too sad, too loud, too holy, too raw— because it does not ask permission to bleed where others would politely weep. They say I should whisper. I scream in stanzas instead. Line breaks...

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She was the rain He was the thunder And together they were an unstoppable storm Both activists in their own form Both doing what they were made for A duo who held a power that could destroy A system Meant only to break them Built to control them Her voice was fire Loud and unforgiving His mind was like...

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A district in the south On the coastline it has graced Is a well established charter Ancient roots from which it’s based The symbol of the city Placed on the Corporation seal That Latin script around the edge Enshrines the common weal A pair of towers at the Port Consolidate the fort Allowing commerce to flow forth For there’s more tea...

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In the heart of Cork City, Where the Lee runs swift and wide, Fought a man named Seán Ó Misteil, With a fire he couldn’t hide. He lead the First Cork Brigade, Not for glory, nor for fame — But to break the chains of empire, Not just change the flag or name. So here’s to Mitchell’s Brigade, Let their story now be told, As...

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They mistook her silence for softness. But beneath that stillness, the ground was shifting. She wasn't snow– she was the mountain before it breaks. She held her tongue like a fuse, every word a spark she wasn't ready to let go. Not yet. She didn't scream– she shimmered. Until the heat in her lungs became truth, until the truth was too molten...

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The scars they don't see Are the ones filled with the most painful memories The ones you don't have to touch for them to hurt Our bodies are permanent scars A reminder of what was once ours Now the use to start wars They made it our prison of skin and bones Condemning us to a life where silence...

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Written: June 27, 2025, for contest: Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin ************* Mirage suggested on the run "Hydrate or be well-done, my son" The ice cream rebelled, The sunflowers yelled— And the night couldn't outshine the sun!...

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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...

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The Sun forgot to rise one day, and never came again. The stars blinked out like dying sparks– the world went cold, and then... the silence grew, the stories died, and no one dared to dream. But deep beneath the weight of dark, inside a cave unknown,  one ember breathed–not bright, not bold, but fiercely on its own. It had the...

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Our pleasure is political Our presence anarchy Our smile a rebellion Our hair A revolution Our blood our fire Our blackness A force to be reckoned with Our joy to them is a declaration of war Our resilience an act of political warfare Our resilience a threat to the system of oppression they built They don't like when we take...

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They claimed they freed us But if chains instead of whips Was your idea of freedom We'd rather be dead At least then we wouldn't have to deal with your racism All you did was remove the sun Put is in solitary confinement Psychologically tortured us If this is your idea of an apology We'd hate to see the solution Was...

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You would pardon insurrection -freedom to mob, good people; while pouring ICE on immigration -Free rides National Guarded Rebellion Breached Vigilante Patriotism Rebellion Protest Discontent Nonviolent Rebellion While pouring ICE on immigration Free rides -National Guarded, you would pardon insurrection -freedom to mob, good people ...

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My heart The voice Each beat a chant Refusing to be silenced Each beat getting louder An act of defiance It would not be quiet Our skeleton The foundation The vessel which carried the rebellion It's the ground that doesn't crumble Even as we march It doesn't take the attention It remains humble Knowing that it was not bigger than the movement The blood...

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If soil could complain- if air could sign, if Earth could weep, and if humanity could truly speak of what it has done to itself.   They would recount quite wounds, buried in silence, echoes stifled by times, memories sealed away, folded within like secrets- the world refused to hear.   But silence is not peace, it is a storm held in the lungs, a scream never given voice.   And if...

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