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Poetic T Sep 2019
I'll never **** with her,
           she's more lethal..
   than a James bond villain…

Her legs have more power
  than a Fukushima releasing
             her poison between
     my hips.

I'm a rod and she's
the water containing my
          explosion...

but she evaporated,
             never watching...

Realising,

that what I release is like a virus.


           Contaminating the womb
of creative contagion...


You'll float in the abortion of my
         chock hold of words...


You'll never be born, still born words,
                     I'll burn you in a shallow grave.
And you'll realise that I'm never  to be ****** with.


My words were like a machete of gunfire cutting
            you up before you even knew pain.

I'm a nationwide hunt, and you'll be buried
                                                       in my words,
shallow rhymes, given a urinated burial...
  
                           I'm relieved your here and not in my view.
Dani Nov 2018
Whiteboard and students, classroom with desks
Who knew, here could be something so grotesque
Lit up bright, full of supplies
Art and math, science goggles to protect your eyes
Who knew this is where fear could live
Shouldn’t it be a laugh and a love note to give
Wouldn’t it be nice if this was a sacred place
Could you imagine if schools were all safe
Instead of brightly lit fluorescent lights  
We see gun fire in the halls and fist fights
Worst of all we see children dead
In the ground we put to rest their head
Bully killed bully, maybe it was someone mean
Becoming the bully is worse! LISTEN to me this is keen
Love your neighbors, love your friends
End this hatred, or it will be all our ends
Speak love or do not speak at all
Believe in yourself, and believe in others …
That is all
. . .
No!! There is so much more to be said
This isn’t working, our kids still wind up dead
What needs to change, what can be done
To love your daughter and son?
Yes of course, love is important
But we need change, can we be absorbent?
To soak up our mistakes and our flaws
Turn it around look at what's wrong, take pause
Address the real issues, we don’t need more pep talks
We need a reconstruction, all the way down to the bed rocks
haley Aug 2018
you couldn’t imagine
the
pains all over

Being
Fixed rigid
from
The
Shot

Another
pain in my gut
A horrible throb, throb, throb

it seemed to me that
I could not
Even if I tried to
Get
Out of the line of fire
blackout poetry from A Clockwork Orange, page 116.
Shannon Aug 2018
She is the ocean
Between two warring islands
Not involved in the conflict, yet
Most of the gunfire hit the water
Belongs to both, yet
Neither shall pick up the white flag
To save the ocean from drowning herself
Polluted and corrupted, yet
The perceived saviours are really just pirates
On little boats, but who dares cross the sea.
Can't you see that she's damaged enough?
Real saviours offer no solution,
Offer no ignorant reaffirmations of
It'll all be fine, because
They know that forcing the sunlight onto the sea
Will only burn her, yet
A slow shed of light shall warm her.
I am the ocean
Between two warring islands.
And my soul is lost at sea.
Shane Leigh Jun 2017
A stag bold.
Majestic,
his antlers – emblem of his dominance –
perceptive,
his eyes – ever observant and wide.
Instincts, keen and sharp;
his ears know no sounds as crisp as his home;
His hooves know the feel of hard stone and soft dirt
scraping and clotting underneath them;
his coat a shade of amber.
This Stag is the last of its kind.
Yes,
This Stag!
This Glorious and Righteous Stag!
Honor and power;
ah, but ignorance and pride.

A piercing shriek that breaks the wind – shatters the silence;
a deep vibration resonating through the trees.
A moments pause and a vision of red,
then white;
a second of shock and his hooves stagger,
then rest;
an instant passes, his antlers grow heavy.
An image, unknown to him;
this creature, this thing, walks among him;
its weapon aimed at This Stag’s beating heart.
But, right before another crackle of gunfire,
this creature –
this man – would know the indomitable resilience of This Stag.
With his antlers, he breaches the threshold;
plunging into this man’s center like water through rapids.
That Man!
This Stag!

He will never again deny This Stag:
his power, righteousness, dominance.
He will never again deny that the wounded stag
fights the hardest,
and therefore, is the strongest.
This Stag.
© Shane Leigh
Vexren4000 Mar 2017
The sly scry sits upon scoured lands,
A stalwart stagnant sentinel,
Staring over the somber land,
Searching for a new target,
To turn his ire upon,
The stalwart sentinel,
In conflict with the ******,
Who sits across the field,
Aiming his unwavering eyes at the watcher,
Preparing to, shoot to ****.
The Sentinel knows this,
That his fate may be sealed,
By the man with eyes like his,
Trained to watch the horizon,
For enemies, soldiers to, Tsunami over the horizon line.
Bringing with them
The cacophony of wartime
And the drowning sound of gun and cannon fire.

©BAS
Stanley Wilkin Nov 2016
It was the day the toilet broke,
the day the bank was robbed
when my wife walked out,
suitcase in hand. Her head
blown off on the pavement
in the gunfire between bank robbers
and police. It was that kind of day.
That evening I had the toilet repaired.
Crimsyy Oct 2016
Today,
I just want to exist
without the burden of
a million things plummeting
on my shoulders...
I think life has driven
existence to an airport,
I think it told existence
to fly away,
and now life for living organisms
tastes like decay
and airplanes feel like
a death sentence;
not even up above the clouds
can you find peace;
gunfire and chemicals will still
find you even when you are
10 thousand feet in the air...
Today, I just want to exist
without the burden of fighting
for my own survival
but how could we possibly think
that a ceiling alone could protect us?


- Crimsyy
Lark Train Jun 2016
War does not stop for the good man who dies.
War is too cold for the good man to warm.
There goes his leg as artill'ry takes his arm.
War does not stop when in pieces, he lies.

War does not stop for the child who cries.
There is no umbrella can hold that great storm.
The tears of the orphan resound in the form
Of the news that is silent to pleading and sighs.

War is a hellfire like none else on earth.
When war rages on, who minds the hearth
In home which must necessity bind
For no one is list'ning, no one is kind.

The demons have run, the children have sobbed
For men unknown, upon whom, the red gunfire daubed.
This is a sonnet, enjoy!

— The End —