Who are the tyrants within?
The ones from past experiences, yelling opinionated.
Younger Self.
Sitting at a bar,
Yelling jokes and sitting stagnant.
More naive Self.
Stuck in violence,
Accepting anything as love.
Childless Self.
Hopeful but uneducated,
Incapable of understanding eternal love.
Sabotaging Self.
Feeling like the good is closing,
Grasping onto each joyful moment in fear.
Conditional Self.
Requirements to embrace again,
Forgetting how far they've come.
I've met these TYRANTS...
I've sat along side them in empathy,
Who am I, accepting them again?
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Severe tyrants, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ herd your visions
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ with sledge hammer
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ knowing ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ the tight bag of grammar,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ the clever sidestep
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ is a comfortable
prison. A mirror ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ uttered ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ from the secret.
(Blackout of The Trade-off by Ruth Stone)
Time's gone, religion's in decline,
Why don't we care about this line?
Used by tyrants, the poor consider it fate,
Do they care about the poor's state?
The night of darkness started soon,
But still shining the brightest moon.
Tyrants swimming in a pool,
Poor watching, feeling cool
Different religions, different rules.
Poor confused, but they are fools.
Horror dreams, horror thoughts,
They are holding charity pots.
Not sure! What future might grow,
But the brightest moon will always glow.
When you are lost,
look for the stars.
They share a mission,
lost in time,
lost in graves,
lost in feelings.
Become what you sought out
to become.
There is more than one
of you.
But they reside in
the same body.
Choose wisely
who you befriend.
The world is only cold,
when lost in
someone's hands.
Never abide by regret.
Shade the feeling
of hatred.
Look away from stems
of false prophethood.
Become the truth.
The candle that lights
the dark room.
And also
the wind that
blows out the candle.
An abnormal desire
to scathe and to kill.
If we all let them
they can and they will.
Tyrants, Despots and Dictators
remember it never ends well for tyrants, despots and dictators
4-13-22
Contest: Bite Size Poem No. 42
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
In tribute to Lt. Col. John W. Bell,
B24 pilot during WWII.
He was an ace in his flying machine,
Could spiral downward at full speed,
Then pull out and level off just in time,
To touch down safely on the landing field.
Well taught and ready for hostile combat,
Sent off to fight, our freedom to defend,
Was not there to socialize or chat,
But to drop bombs upon the tyrant’s den.
Flying with skill of a bat in the night,
He hit the targets time and time again,
Each sortie could have been his last flight,
Into the cold heart of the tyrant’s den.
He sat bravely in the pilot’s hot seat,
Shrapnel went through the wing and cockpit pane,
But he flew committed to defeat,
The wicked intents of the tyrant’s den.
And when the final victory was won,
He came back home, a new life to begin,
In a nation singing freedom’s song,
Having put an end to the tyrant’s den.
Tyrants of the Ruling Sun
Let the universe swallow my slaving soul
As the sorrows surround the sinking shoal
The light lingers before it falls on my face
Edacious echoes engulfed will embrace
Sisyphean stars of sadness will defuse
The barbarians of Babylon will bemuse
Silent screams slumber in nomadic night
As the dogmas of deceit deluge in delight
Wandering waves of woe thru the mist
The blackness bereaves with a feudal fist
Apparitions appease the malefic mind
Idolatrous illusions a cancerous confined
The red moon menstruates the mirthful
A lunatic laughter of the hidden hurtful
Dimensional demons deft in their defend
In impeccant infinity’s imperious amend.
March.24.2018
Alliteration poem
Sponsored by: Silent One
Bright sons and daughters of war
Rejoice for you are now the bringers of light
Vanishing the darkness
Now take life by the hand
Tie the threads of a new upbringing
To be in cold, desolated in the nature of evile
Now we can scream from are vocals of joy
We have escaped the void
The chosen few stood against many
Escaping the deepest of fear
Illuminating the heart
Once remembering are eyes written in torment
But we will forever have are wounds of emptiness
We had to face the scorn, believing in are useless tears
Tired of the fight, falling into the nightmares and shadows
We shall remember the fallen
Are brothers and sisters of the battlegrounds
Those who kept their heads held high
Their honor goes far beyond death
For they shall be revered forever in time
(In December 1851, Napoleon III, nephew
of the great Bonaparte, staged a coup d'etat
in Paris.)
The child was dead. Two bullets in the head.
The room was decent, humble, honest, clean.
An Easter palm was pinned to some old print.
A grandmother wept quietly in one corner.
In silence, we took off the little boy's clothes.
His bloodless mouth gaped open, and one eye
stared wild, surprised, unseeing, drowned in death.
His arms appeared to ask us, as they flopped,
for help; one pocket held a wooden top.
You could have put a finger in each hole.
I don't know if you've ever seen a hedge
with over-ripened blackberries; that's how
the darkened clots appeared. His broken skull
reminded me of firewood, split in two.
The old grandmother watched us as we worked,
saying, "How pale he is! Come near the lamp.
Oh, God! His poor hair's sticking to his head!"
Once we were done, she held him in her lap.
The night was ugly. Shots were ringing still
along the street. Others were being killed.
"The boy has to be buried," someone said.
A walnut cabinet gave up a sheet,
but grandma wasn't ready. Not for that.
The world is run by tyrants who don't really care
Like the Cameron's the Clinton's the Bush's and especially Tory Blair
These warmongers ruin lives and destroy communities
And they all should spend life in prison doing toilet duties
People are coming together realising where it went wrong
United in solidarity is what'll make the people strong
We need to keep up the momentum and push for fairer times
And stop the evil Tories committing heinous crimes
Because under the current Tory rule it's caused a lot of pain
Theresa May and Hammond I look down on in distain
Giving tax breaks and subsidies to their Etonian chums
While offering the poor and vulnerable only loose change and crumbs
So why do we accept homelessness and foodbanks today
While the rich quaff shampers on luxury yacht's far away
Because under the current system it only benefits a few
So people need to suffer and that includes me and you
The world is run by tyrants who don't really care
Like the Cameron's the Clinton's the Bush's and especially Tory Blair
These warmongers ruin lives and destroy communities
And they all should spend life in prison doing toilet duties
They look down from their holy thrones
They pass judgement onto those that stray from the pack
To be different is to be unique
To be unique is to be a sin
And to sin is to burn
With venom filled words they whip our backs,
They strip us of our humanity
They toss us onto the wildlands
Just for being who we are,
We're nothing more than scum to them
The sacred boundaries they claim,
Have been defiled with our very existence
To love is to bring about hate
To hate is to commit suicide
And to die by our own hand,
Is just another proof of our sin of life
The robed men preach their indignity
Scream their hate
March their ignorance
Banned from a hypocritical dystopian
We're scared and traumatized
Divided and hunted down
Hurt and dying
To be a loving God, you must be Perfect
To be a holy angel, you must be free of all sins
To be human, however, you must learn to love
So now we ask you, the "holy" tyrants
If to be human, you must learn to love,
What is it that you truly are?
Perhaps, just maybe, you're the blasphemous sinners you claim us to be
Tyrants make a lasting name,
They ruin life and lure fame.
Their name incurs all sorts of shame.
They think alike, and die the same.
The Way of Tyrants (Tanka)
Red nosed circus clowns
Behind mad grins… hate the laugher
As with dictators
In absurd fantasy uniforms
We hoot only when they fall.
Tyrant in his cave
Resentfully reflects on life
Western big shots came
Ate roasted lambs in his tent
How could he be so gullible?
Impossibly still
The very worst of our kind
Often lead us all.
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