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Poetic T Nov 2018
A penny on the floor,
          costing more than life.
          For those who pick up luck
have run out tonight.

A penny on the floor,
            where others shoes now
            collect before curious gazes.

                            its cold out tonight.

A penny on the floor,
            the last thing you see,
                     is it heads or tails.
       The breath of another falling.

Curiosity is never a gift when its obvious.
                For a penny is never fallen in jest.
                              every one cost something.

Tonight its your life,
Tonight its your life,
Tonight its your life.....
Nomkhumbulwa Sep 2018
Why is this still happening?
So silently, yet still reported;
At great lengths they will go
- to make sure its reported.

Although the Government are in denial,
We are grateful for those who report
The ongoing slaughter of innocent people
Men, women, and children are caught.

Journalists themselves are risking their lives
To tell the world whats happening;
There can be no more dangerous a place
From which to report the sickening.

So where is the world?
The situation is dire -
And unless action is taken
...its going to catch fire.

People are still leaving,
For Tanzania,
A country now turning them back
Back home to face their fears.

But where are the World?
What is holding you back?
How can you just sit there
And ignore these attacks?

For I for one cannot,
And I have no power to act,
All I can do, is spread the word
And hope someone...will act.

Yes there was a time,
When a hundred thousand were killed each day,
That is hard to comprehend,
Not just for me - but for locals who got away.

It may not be happening quite on that scale,
But the fact that it is still happening,
Surely is warning enough.....
And the Government is in denial...

I am worried for Burundi,
But why is no one else?
How can you just sit there
- are you leaving it for someone else?

The attacks are still happening,
Day after day after day,
Bodies are still being found....
Before being rushed into the ground.

Such brutality is hard to stomach,
And I have the stomach for much,
But when I encountered the plight of Burundi,
That was just too much.

I dont know if I will finish this poem,
Because the images I now have are horrific,
So what must it be like....
For those having to live there with it?

Imagine the fear,
The total despair,
And the feeling of more
- that the world doesnt care.

It can be no wonder
That this little country
Is the unhappiest on Earth,
It is so clear to see.

Or for those who choose maybe
To see what others refuse,
Or ignore, or belittle,
Cover up- whatever word you use.

Each day there are reports,
Women and children found dead,
Their throats have been cut,
Bodies lay with no heads

They are *****, they are tortured,
For hours, days, or months,
There are forced disappearances,
- those run into the hundreds.

A machete is no longer an agricultural tool,
It has become a symbol of terror,
It is used to slice, tear, stab, torture;
It is a symbol of ******.

What must go through these peoples minds,
When they see someone with a machete,
What was once a necessary tool,
Now been used to butcher so many.

The genocide may be over,
And few even know it took in Burundi,
But the torture, the butchering continues
It continues horrifically.

I am a strong person,
I have read about, seen, and stomached a lot,
But there is nothing that even comes close
To how this puts my stomach in a knot.

The info is there if you seek it,
And please do - its risky to report;
I wonder how much more blood must be spilt
Until someone decides those responsible must be caught

The images they are many many,
The videos they are there too:
But why is it just me seeing this?
Where are the rest of you?

The day I saw the video,
I will never forget,
After what I had suffered myself,
Again I will never forget.

I do not regret what I saw,
For I believe it to be necessary,
Necessary for people to see,
But - those in Government - not me.

Now I have to be careful,
Because of what I saw,
That video put me in hospital -
It triggered something in my core.

It is spread through desperation,
To get a message to the world,
But I was one of only 3 to have seen that,
Maybe rightly so, but also absurd.

Pictures are horrific enough,
Sometimes missing parts are "shaded",
But then comes along another
The shadings not there, its a person beheaded.

But it it not the effect on myself,
Which pains me so much,
It is the fact that this is still happening,
And the world is so out of touch.

I now have to be careful,
But I will not stop,
I wont stop spreading the word,
Until this killing in Burundi stops.

The graphics are hard to put to words,
The testimonies harder still,
But I have tried to help you see,
Without making myself more ill.

The Imbonerakure,
The youth wing of the CNFDD,
Even seeing that word now..
Makes the panic rise within me

For they and the security are responsible,
For the majority of the brutal killings,
The ****, the torture, the unthinkable,
People are not even safe when leaving.

They come out at night,
The raid peoples homes,
**** entire families,
While others watch on.

They harass in the streets,
The harass at the borders,
They are everywhere,
Butchering as they are given orders.

The President thinks he was put there by God,
This is nothing shocking I know,
For for Burundi it means a lot,
It means he may stay for ever, death will be all they know.

There are memorials built,
To the many genocides to take place,
Each containing thousands of skulls,
Cracked where the machete went through the face.

Thousands and thousand of skulls lined up,
Of course there are no bodies -
From "Ear to Ear" was how the saying went,
As each head was cut from its body.

It has become so common to find someones head,
Something that for us here would cause fear in itself,
That now in Burundi there are proverbs and sayings,
School children quote wise words from these heads themselves.

Headless bodies float along the river,
Headless bodies dumped in bags with the *******,
A machete taken to the throat and then to the torso,
Ripping flesh, drawing blood, organs pulled out of the body for show.

For this is a living nightmare,
Blood flowing down roads and rivers,
Finding a hand, a head, a liver...
Would make many strong people shiver.

People are literally hacked to death,
Occasionally they are shot,
If I ever found myself in that position
I would outright beg to be shot.

The person I saw die in the video,
Took way more than 10 minutes for sure,
As hit throat was cut, he was stabbed, his skin ripped,
His blood spurted violently across the floor

I refuse to go into more detail than that,
For thats the one that triggered me,
I will never watch it again,
But I do want those in power to see.

Will someone please help Burundi?
I feel I have not done it justice with this poem,
The machete, the blood, the horror...
Please help... we all know who is to blame.

We all know....
Sorry for the graphic nature.  I rarely write poetry not driven by my own situation, but this is one I also cannot ignore :( And its not a very good poem, so apologies.  Hard to express it actually.
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
The talking heads used to sing a lullaby
now everyone dreads when they even sigh.
Creating static that no hands could hope to block out
hiding in the attic but the sealing’s peeled and so has the grout.

I can’t bear to hear another word
of resentment that is undeserved,
even the slightest breath of air
is a kin to irritation I can’t compare.

The talking heads used to compose magic
but now their frowns illuminate something tragic.
A life that pushes me out of place,
my skin, my heart and soul; a waste.

If you’re questioning what these words mean
while you’re reading them on an LED screen
you’ve yet to experience silence’s bliss,
when you do you’ll see it’s something to miss.
Noise cancellation fails the trial,
cars honk and phones dial,
I remember the sound of just the breeze
of damp grass and brushing knees.

The talking heads trapped in my ear
never seem to want to stop.
Telling me all I don’t want to hear,
I beg and plead but each topic they won’t drop

I can’t bear to hear another word
of resentment that is undeserved,
even the slightest hint of a sigh
is too much of an attempt to pry.
Wish it could be about the band, but it isn’t.
Shirley Antonio Sep 2018
Tick Tock

It's time to wake up.
It's time to burn
It's time to use the kaleidoscope of life.
It is time to flow and create weapons to spread love.
It's time to close the bibles and not talk about idols.
It's time to stop begging for mercy.
It's time to let the girls dream.
It's time to stop regretting lost things.
It's time to use time.
It's time to let the sun burn my skin.

Tick Tock

It's time to wake up
Today we will not go home.
Today we are going to be happy girls in white dresses.
We do not want to look pretty today.
Today we are going to be ***** for our skin to breathe.
Today we go to the land where everything is good, where we can scream.
Today we go to a place where people do not talk about the things we do for fun.
Today I want to stop hearing people complain.
Today I want to count the coins that we do not know for what.
Today I do not want to hear people flaunt.
Today we're shaving our heads.
Today we're going to let people blow.
Today we will dream while the moon controls our dreams.
Today we just want to appreciate how the sea is blue.
although the election results,
(and his imprimatur dissolving, fading, receding,
et cetera now ranks as old news,
i still feel that adulation beckons cheers

defying odds to win the hearts and minds
aside from this one voter who cast his vote
for a (as he calls himself "mutt" of mongrel -
with no insinuation for denigration)

toward a biracial mortal male who epitomizes
that je nais sais quois ambition du jour
to tackle the multitude of local
and/or global challenges
with his prized defensive team.

no doubt he probably already composed
some rough draft per his inaugural address
(or yours - eminent president elect
if ye happen to be perusing the contents
of this email) will address the outstanding crisis

that confront the home turf
and international world stage
populated with tough rooted quandaries,
which hardly allows, enables
and provides for mushroom to err.

rather than fritter critical and valuable time
to blame or fear for the prior
republican administration
that could be held accountable
for the current morass, i reckon

that tis prudent to expend
the precious sands of time to ameliorate
those most serious issues without resorting
to fear, which machiavellian technique
this admirer begs to differ.

aside from begging to differ
with your philosophy to affect guilt
in other (as like an invisible ****),
the paradigm presented promulgated
(in prestigious media resources)

pleases this papa of deux daughters,
which principles of the first
african american occupant of the white house
brings solace within this spirit.

no matter mind boggling and overwhelming lesions
seem to witness this two hundred quarter
plus democratic experiment to hemorrhage
and require emergency action,

i feel reassured that resuscitation
of this body politick will recover
and become restored to vibrant health
thru the confident intervention thru diligence,

intelligence, ordinance, et cetera of (emma)
eminence filled pride without prejudice,
sense and sensibility to become like
some wunderkind in the oval office.

even now (about one month or less)
when that oath taken to heart to uphold
the covenant of life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness

(as attempted to be codified by founding fathers
of this country - i.e. these united states of america)
stunned disbelief still abounds
within my liberal filled conscience,

yet excited at the prospect
one young(ish) noble representative
of **** sapiens exhibits
much esteemed aura, charisma, dogma,

and persona so pertinent at this juncture
in the history of fifty states who weathered
(yet survived) dramas that nearly rent asunder
the very fabric of this amazing society.

unbeknownst to anyone such as dumbledorf,
estimable magicians with awesome powers
of prestidigitation, j.k. rowling, santa claus,
seers, soothsayers, the wizard of oz, tooth fairy),

la de da to forecast if thine indomitable agility,
civility, electricity, gentility, integrity,
et cetera will be effective to deliver
superhuman feats of accomplishments.

this audacity of hope (telepathically communicated
from dreams of my widower father and late mother)
blessedly delivered some capacity of genuine faith
that seems hinged on the evident decency enunciated

(time and again - ever since ye took
to the campaign trail and now amazingly finds
one gracious honoree to guide the populace at large)
to offer deliverance and salvation.

Julia Aubrey Dec 2015
maybe, if it's ok to say now, I still dance alone to the melody you put inside of my mind.

scratches on the splits of a turning black vinyl, a little out of tune perhaps, and skipping to the chorus at times unexpected.

my bare feet jump around this effervescent tune, afraid of taking the wrong step, not following your lead.

and as the song slows, as it comes to an end, I delicately observe the ringing remnants left dangling around our heads...

forever gone, but a hazy redolent all the rest.

-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-
Sombro Nov 2015
I found three heads
Rock toils from the earth
Their eyes expressive with sculptor’s mistakes
It seemed as if the forest had let slip
Its fantasy into mine
Why heads? Why just three?
I don’t think they were meant to be there
As the trees hear you coming they hide their playthings
Perhaps I was too quiet.
A poem I wrote a while ago. I love it because it tells me that there are amazing things lurking behind every fog and every dark night.
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