If I had my hammer the blows truly and swiftly would land.
Bereft of implement overlong and injurious my task.
The deed, parting and depriving me of it, from your need or greed?
—When Seeing Turns Upon the Seer—
One look—no more; I ask no arms of thee;
Look, and let sight pronounce what words conceal;
I came not here to sue for sympathy,
nor bare my wounds that thou mightst call them real.
I came not for the holiday of hearts,
where love makes sport of what it cannot keep;
I came with nothing borrowed from the arts
by which the weak make treaties with the deep.
So look: what thou hast witnessed alters thee;
The eye, once opened, hath no backward door;
What thou hadst thought was yours to name or see
may stand beyond the judgement given before.
I asked no love; one look shall take its toll—
Now win, if thou canst, the self thy seeing stole.
Eight
hundred
indie
fringe godfath-
ers stole thunder from
forty frayed dandies who thought they
were today's trendy
answer to
tonight's tiny fright-
ened finger
toads but in fact were
only dreadnought friends
of the hidden thrifty fudge in-
ferred from a rougher runty third
of the grounded ruddy roundheads
remaining defi-
ant 'til notified not to
be
and
to return to fraught infight-
ing at their always
well funded freehand orgies.
-
Rumple Stein locked the
bedroom door and grinned,
his eyes reflecting the pale
moonlight outside.
"Beneath your very
mattresses lies the Shadow
Snatcher," he whispered,
pointing a crooked finger
downward.
"This skinny, faceless
monster stays awake forever,
hating the peaceful dreams
of sleeping girls and boys."
The children pulled their
blankets up to their noses,
freezing as the bedframes
creaked softly.
"He creeps out into the dark
because he desperately
wants to fall asleep like you."
A cold breeze swept through
the room, through all the
windows were tightly shut.
"Since he cannot rest, he
reaches up to steal your soul,
hoping its warmth brings him
sleep."
The youngest child
whimpered, realizing their
feet were hanging off the
edge of the mattress.
"If you close your eyes
tonight, he will snatch your
spirit right out of your chest."
Rumple Stein blew out the
lamp, laughing into the pitch
black, "Better stay awake forever!"
Who am I?
Am I the glittering pink eyeshadow pallet I crave?
Or is my sparkle dimmed by the hurt that swims amongst dull green
and fading tanned blotches on my face?
Can they see through my veil,
Through the very thing I am not?
Sharing is good, a basic lesson
I learned in pre-school
And it’s what most people
Both rich and poor go on to do
But when it’s forced, coerced
Taken without consent
It’s not sharing
It’s just theft
Something I also got lessons about
When I was just a child
(1/10/26)
Let's steal a country
That's easy to do
We have the recourses
Our Military forces too
Other countries do it
We should too
Take their land
Until they're through
Who can stop us
Their rule is through
This is a Kingdom
That's what we do
Who cares
What's right or wrong
We'll make them slaves
Take their homes
And if they fight back
We'll show them wrong
Make them suffer
Until their resistance is gone
We're planning what's next
When this is done
Where are other places
That need to be won
As the New Year is almost upon us
It’s becoming clear just how rotten
The smiling face of our nation is,
So what better time
To set it straight.
Everywhere you look waste, fraud and abuse
Overflows, as it has for many decades,
But now that the Somali day-care fraud
Is being unearthed,
Not only are the molars seen as totally rotten,
But the gums gingivitis infected as well,
To the extent all the teeth
Now need to be pulled.
And where does that leave US?
Toothless and sore and helplessly vulnerable,
And yet we’d still be alive.
Which is more than it will be
If we don’t root out the rot
Tooth and nail.
(12/28/25)
Mind theft occurred
It was a kind of stealing
Geneivat da’at
Hebrew for deception
Capturing it for the abuser’s empty self
Placing it in its own circle of Hell
Ripping apart the fabric of life
It created one mind between two persons
A terrifying harm was done
Cruel and brutal surgical control
Then Looking out from poverty
We saw nothing that belonged to us
Where all promise once existed
There was now just an empty husk
….
The King’s chest of treasure lay bare
Devasted by the cruel jealousies
Of the madness of commoner’s warfare
For dominance in power heresies.
But, finally God’s glory was restored
And all the former graces and strength came in
On fluttering wings the Holy Ghost bestowed
The wealth and riches of heaven carried back within
In an afternoon of providence’s reconstruction
In the perfumed mist of apple blossoms
And Italian boxwood topiary structures.
The angels were its witness with tearing eyes
They started singing Glorias and Hallelujahs
We live in savage times so tough
With open socialists elected
On promises of more free stuff
As all around fools are subjected
Everyone in huddled masses
With faces blank in dark veiled threat
Sitting on their passive asses
Hands open like an expectant pet
Everyone knows it’s expected
How the value of these hollow suits
Grows with every dime collected
With our necks beneath their dirty boots
Oh noble lords we submit now
To the brazen theft that you impose
And even as we smile and bow
Start our rebellion under your nose
When the day comes for the takers
To account at last for all you stole
Be prepared to meet your makers
And serve us for life without parole.
(11/14/25)
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves,
Their mansions glimmer,their hands still foul of gold-
We want the money back, the people grieve.
They steal from the hungry,spin deceitful weaves,
Made poverty a product easily sold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Each tender lost,another dream bereaves,
A nation's trust auctioned,betrayed,resold-
We want the money back,the people grieve
The tombstone shines but cannot reprieve,
The curses of the poor,the stories untold-
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves.
Let justice dig through soil and broken eaves,
Expose the empires' corruption controlled-
We want the money back,the people grieve
No grave absolves,no legacy deceives-
Return what you plundered,return what you stole!
Do not let death be a hiding place for thieves-
We want the money back,the people grieve
Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's-
but Caesar has stolen everything:
the land,the tongue,the airwaves,
even the prayers we whispered under stars.
Render unto God what is God's -
but God is tired of excuses,
God wants justice,not jingles.
God wants bread for the barefoot.
God wants truth that does't trend.
So tell Caesar:
We are the new prophets bro,
we carry Scripture in spray cans,
we baptize pavements with protest songs,
and our psalms wear hoodies and sneakers.
Tell him the meek are armed
with metaphors and memories,
Tell him our tithes is uprising,
our sermon is survival
our altar is the street.
Render unto Caesar his coins -
we're doing trading our souls.
For the kingdom of the poor is rising,
And the drum is the only law we obey now
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Theft In the Name of Good
The rise in popularity of socialism
Especially amongst the religious
And not just the usual godless Left
Shows that theft has become a moral good
When used to fund one’s own pet projects.
Want to house the homeless? Tax the homed.
Want to educate the young? Tax the elderly.
Want to feed the poor? Tax the middle class.
Want to expand healthcare? Tax the rich.
Want to destabilize society? Tax everyone.
The bottom line is taxation is theft,
The taking from another involuntarily by force,
And we accept it as a necessary evil
Until it crosses the line into things we don’t support
Like the killing of babies, bombing of villagers,
Lining the pockets of corrupt officials and contractors,
Locking up the righteous while freeing the insane.
The bottom line is taxation is theft, and
Anyone who tells you otherwise and supports it
Is just another thief.
(9/9/25)
When you steal, it’s more than an object you take—
You sever a thread in the soul you forsake.
That bracelet? A gift from a mother now gone.
That wallet? A dream that someone leaned on.
Behind every item lies a story untold,
A piece of a life that was cherished and bold.
To you it’s just something—cheap, small, or fast,
But to them it’s a moment that never comes back.
You may not hear the silent cry,
Or see the look in their searching eye.
But a wound is made, silent and wide,
And something pure begins to die inside.
In taking what’s not yours to claim,
You tarnish your truth, you darken your name.
A flame within flickers low and cold,
And down a darker path, you’re pulled.
Yet there’s a choice before that fall—
To rise, to grow, to heed the call.
Learn the worth of honest trade,
And let your light shine undismayed.
Respect what’s theirs, find your own way.
Stealing may take, but it won’t ever pay.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.