It is not hard to slip away
From generalizations
They put on you in case you stay
Within their observations
They are the ones who hold the truth
Which we supposedly deserve
In truth they tell I see no use
Cause I’m behind the curve
Dissenters, silencers like me
Are many, more than they
Would ever count, just to see
How falsly we obey
We’re hypocritical and cold
Ambassadors of fun
We never think what we are told
We’re always on the run
Escaping is a job I do
For each and every day
And I can swear you do it too
Although you wouldn’t say.
Categories:
silencers, deep, peace, philosophy,
Form: Rhyme
Would you take a chance with coarse anomy:
A folk with dreams like yours tag an enemy?
A partaker does hurt vibrant economy,
Dropped farms for power: Poorest Agronomy…
Rivals to get rid of with shameful hustles,
Paid full cash silencers who love their rustles:
I’ve long learnt to think of all power tussles
As “For the wrong reasons flexing one’s muscles.”
On the African scene badly burnt car,
Owner politician with its rude scar,
Life savers much afraid he would not go far.
“They might finish him off in some lone bar!”
Times it meant with cash, asking that one step down
But mostly with weapons to forget The Crown,
Bizarre shoot-outs and scuffles in a calm town,
In the end wasting Senators Charles and Brown…
Stark evidence one can’t targets deliver,
His subjects to meet with enclosing river;
One would only be worsening the fever:
The merely interested in Gold and Silver…
Yes, not at all times take one to the Tower,
Sometimes, hands one over to Grave with flower;
From oneself one takes away easeful hour,
A crazy idea: one hour in bower..
Like games greatly checked by youth-crushing age;
One shouldn’t in one’s seventies open the page.
Categories:
silencers, death, political, vanity, violence,
Form: Rhyme
IF ever I had a country : XIX - XX
XIX
If ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Industry
I'd put a stop to the production of machines that disturb the peace
Electric-drillers motor-bikes clanking street-cars trains infested with fleas
Exile all Formula One champions to Singapore and Monaco
Where only the reeking rich besides you-know-who go
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Industry
And even if I never ever had no country
XX
If ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Minister of Technology
I'd clamp huge fines on manufacturers of machines without silencers
Banish all noise-making inventors wifeless to the Antartica's fastnesses
Lock-up for life all architects and engineers who build tenement-flat cities
With walls and floors so paper-thin to permit all kinds of sleepless atrocities
That is, if ever I were the Minister of Technology
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 8, 2018
Categories:
silencers, abuse, environment, nature, peace,
Form: Dramatic Monologue
You abandoned me...
But, you had your reasons
Other people’s control
Fears, changes, plans
Yet, those changes, took my life
Turned it into a secret and a lie
It took me years of strength
To come out from underneath
What my life had been molded into
Courage to break the silence
To face the backlash from ‘silencers’
But, I am grateful for the years
When you helped me be who I am
Even the words I write now,
Come from the letters you taught me
When I think of the freedom,
You gave me so many days,
I feel free to do the mighty things
- You said I would -
Heidi Sands
6/12/18
*Placed 3rd in the Abandon 2 Poetry contest.
Categories:
silencers, appreciation, growth, loss, strength,
Form: Free verse
I hail from the green land
Really green for sumptuous serenades
But too many grey lepers lay on the succulent carpet
And the milk of my land mills through rotten breasts
The windfall of power brings pesty prongs to her nipples
Let me tell you my sad story
Not the blues from the evening guitar
Listen to the pulse of time’s recording
The many moans of mangled voices
And the jubilant choruses of their silencers
Those now mangled, the lathers
The jubilant mounted through our greenest height
Let me tell you my story, sad
The blues, not from the evening guitar
We talk tough for change
They lay languid in old robes
Expectant of business as usual but
The beastly beards are shaven from goofs while asleep
Change soon sweeps through this clime
While the silencers snore off
Let me tell you my story, sweet
From the blue wake brass, not the night grey gong.
Categories:
silencers, abuse, africa, angst, betrayal,
Form: Free verse