I pity the refugee’s road of flight,
the children of the shanty and the gun
who on all humanity are a blight -
who die or live unto be an orphan.
I pity the meagre, the forgotten
who a crisis of ravages endure,
whose fate is that of the misbegotten
and whose need is now, real, grave, just, and raw!
I pity the terrorised, the wartorn,
the sacked and conquered that bury their dead -
the child bride, the child slave still to be born
and alas the lost soul already bred.
I pity the brave girl I used to know
and wonder dreadfully where did she go?
Written: August 2006
*I wrote this many years ago about a little girl
in Sierra Leone named Marie (pictured above)
during the civil war who I used to sponsor.
She and her family had to flee their village
and I never heard from her again. That was in
1997. Seems the one constant in this world is
conflict. Dedicated to all the Maries out there.
Our own history disadvantages our weak soul
We were conquered by our weak thoughts
We defy power thinking we were deceived
Guilty or not we acted more than we should
Angry! Upset! Terrorised! Empowered! Entitled!
How can we defeat our strength? how can we devour our overflown emotions?
How can we prove we’re right when it does not matter at all?
All mixed up circling in circus
Our actions does not rhyme in rhythm
When our words does not worth anything!
Misunderstood! Isolated! Punished!
"Legal Fiction "
Black Skin, dark desires.
Lewd behavior and carnage,
thus we do not achieve?
Comprehend why we are loathed, we inherited voodo that placed a hex on the moon.
Our heroes were never heroes simply zeroes, the dream of Martin Luther King, the nightmare we live in. Malcom X was a terrorist, the lies he preached terrorised the nation.
Lesions left by the whips that tried ed to discipline and tame the beasts within us.
Slavery was an intervention to free a nigga from the demons that make him a leper and an abomination to God's green earth, therefore he should be chained, victimized and eventually decapitated.
Pale Shelter
A Song by the Band
Tears for Fears
Was i supposed to know ?
The answers ?
Or whether they were merely questions ?
With changing goalposts
Less and Less
The relationship power sands shift
In opposing directions
When all i want is love
You reduce me to tears
All i want is love
Yet you highlight my fears
How am i to know ?
When i am at your mercy
Treated with unloving courtesy
When all i want is love
You reduce me to tears
When all i asked of you was love
You terrorised me with fears
Im not going there with you again
It's time to break this unholy covenant
All i ever wanted was you to love me
But all you ever gave me was tears
And brought to life my fears
28 November 2019
For John Hamilton's
Pale Shelter Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
true terror... trashing...
tortured... tricked... teased... terrorised
tough trees tremble too
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Modern haiku form created by Beatrice Evans, aka Ronnica at Allpoetry
It requires only strict 5 7 5 syllable construction
with all words beginning with the same letter
Today at six I tuned my television set
To gaze attentively... Propaganda they
All say and that today I could testify to
The spelt evil. The vision telegrammed.
To no avail the brother that was caught
In betwixt the shooting and rampages
Of the commuters was not screened...
Yet they say no to press censorship too
I later realised that I had no saying even
When terrorised by my own. So absurd
And my groans never impact the comrade
Even the commissar so reluctant to my plea.
I dont sleep, i hate losing control,
I dont weep, i hate to be exposed,
I am a book, see my cover and judge,
And you shall never see me open up,
I pass my days fleeting time like waves,
Calm on surface, rumbling in depths,
I hate the sun, it exposes my salt,
I hate to be cold, it makes me halt,
But it's not my choice to be this way,
It's weather deciding how I shall stay,
The ones who see just water on me,
Aint got right eyes by which to see,
My surface dont say what I am bout,
Like the land, everything on ground,
The monsters mine reside deep in me,
Am not mundane, but anomaly,
The land has been terrorised by space,
But nothing can destroy my peace,
I have been here, alone and dark,
And I shall be here, the message is stark,
So if you see and go from far,
I won't care much, I dont get scars,
Sagar for sea shall I announce,
Everything'll be dead if one day I pounce
Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside
Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?
They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.
A mysterious moan rose up from below,
Up through the floor boards of our age.
This curious, extraordinary wail rose up,
Becoming an ungoverned, impotent rage.
I queried this torment, this bubble of noise,
Would it murder with a savage of blind.
Would this cry grow and envelop, devouring our thoughts,
Consuming every bit of our mind.
We began to panic with irrational fear,
We chose flight as desperately fast as we could.
Flight from this house, this terrorised house,
With the screams coming up through the wood.
And we ran like a riot, through green fields of farmed crop,
Crop that was now in full blossom.
We heard the chainsaw behind, and glanced back into eyes,
The eyes of the small Brushtail Aussie possum.
written 30th August 2016 which is not new, soz, but I like this "horror" poem and thought it might fit. hope u enjoy it. Ranked Second place Eve Roper 11/16/2016
Emergence
Alfresco
Prison
Labelled
Numbered
Indoctrinated
Jobbed
Subliminally
Terrorised
Politically
Corrected
Chemically
Fed
Laboratory
Medicated
Damned
Gangs are here
And their here to stay
Going about their day to day
Harassing me
Harassing you
Infidels in our Human Zoo
Triads, Yakuza
The Wild West
Terrorised townsfolk
With their gangland zest
Mafia, Nizari
Guys like Al Capone
Persecuted the innocents
Never leaving them alone
Identification through various ways
Communication
Street says
Tattoos, piercings
Dressed sense too
The Gangs of our Human Zoo
Members are many
In certain cities
Victimise the weak
Pick on the pity
These are kids
Of mums and dads
What makes them
Turn out so bad
Brothers, sisters
No questions asked
Shot and knifed
A Gangland task
It makes them no better
Than you or me
We are the difference
A different sanity
The treasure that is a woman
is far greater than silver and gold
the way men treat them brazen and bold
and through it all they stay true
they are but the glue
that holds a family together
and the fuel thats drives a village
eventhough e take from them
rape plunder, and pillage
we have terrorised them in their own home
and yet with a rose and a note
they bless us with a hug and a kiss
I dream of a day when we treasure our treasure
and bless them as they have blessed us
praise them as they have praised us
and lift them up as they have lifted us
for behind every great man is an amazing woman