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H A Vitatoe Dec 2019
The crazy caucus
Shameful
No doubt
Must've forgotten
Of their
Stained
Glass House
5-5-5
Dakota J Dawson Apr 2018
P.1
The crowd sings a tune
Most dreadful
Malice

It is with steel
Cold retribution
Uneven fire

That he shall die

P.2
Formalities unsecured
Royalty disbanded

Speech said
Hostility silenced
Peace has come

P.3
A hairpiece
Eyes an unnatural shade of blue
Hands reaching for a god

Face unsure
Blade ready
Head severed

P.4
Without God
Tangible mercy
England is set free

Gold to ash
Mind to dirt
Heir to none
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
The bottle is soft
To touch
Caressing my sorrow

Crows scream
A usual tune
Prudent, but useless

I have to run
Into Rome
Where eagles fly

Caesar across the Tiber
Cicero in *******
Pompey unfound

Liberty is dead
The restless have arisen
Dread seeming to bribe destiny

Sword and stone
Catapult and Trieme
Feelings are fleeting

Houses catch the flame
Blades seer flesh
A list has been made

The weak are dead
Strong circumcised
Demons feed
Vexren4000 Dec 2016
Echoes of rumors and fables,
From aged sages of Roman republics.
To broken fractured tribes tribes
Long disbanded and forgotten.
Technology and secrets lost to the tide of time,
Discoveries left to forever rot,
Left in cold isolation.

©BAS
RJ Days Nov 2016
must recognize our Form
in the mirror,
see our Face, and make our reflection
as we kiss it, though it regularly sickens
Us.

I

We are still Us, though
that probably means little if it ever did;

We have been amended beyond recognition
from centuries of lobbing
off limbs, appendages, stitching clauses
like bandages then forgetting about them
if we ever shower,
disfiguring the pale torso of our Body
politic, naked and middling before posterity
grotesque genitalia dangling
hopelessly, and useless
between marble columns
unable to unite in congress assembled
erasing pluribus unum;

We're our Legs, buckling under obscene weight
now cloture’s invoked, the question ordered
on history with yays and nays,
discourse long reduced to the nuances
of blusterfuck;

We're our Buttocks, passing gas
bills, denying a snowball’s chance of
melting in frozen hell or on house floor,
and our Brain, lobotomized
better half yearning “Yes, we Can…
…ada” beckoning the coasts, blue dots
on blue dot ever browning;

We're our Fists, clenching gavels
while advising Mother Earth to **** up
because even without her consent,
reality’s adjourned;

II

We're our Skin—yes, our Skin—, thin-
ly veiling contempt insufficiently concealed
by layers of spray tan and unmarred
by blood sweat tears of our foremothers
and our Brow, not sweating more perfect
when it's so easy to turn and follow storybook greatness,
when our Fingers, callused from tweeting
Little Bits of *****,
which though once again retitled
and re-released, remains a classic,
completely unrevised;

We're our Ears, nostalgic for the crack of doom
and we're our Tiny Hands, unable to help themselves
from popping a Tic-Tac and grabbing
onto those titillating, dusty buttons
on the hydrogen jukebox;

We're our Eyes, heavy
as a defeated queen
with makeup running, blessing us
all for this operant foray into madness,
ever observing how our Arms, which
(torches now extinguished)
flail in confusion amid incalculable darkness
still hoist our pitchforks low and
our Tongue still grievously petitions
for more deplorable words amid
hallucinations of victimhood;

We're our *****, *******
on progress, except
which—failing to rise to the occasion—
nonetheless manages
to flop over and strike once more: a dis-
chord in common defense of
fragile white male privilege
always showing, never growing,
general welfare and tranquility flushed down
the toiletbowl of history
hoping those old turds never
resurface, still ignoring the stench of injustice
and the chipping of gilded porcelain;

We’re our Lips–which neither Broadway hits nor
newspaper clips nor high minded pleas alarmed,
and with Dr. Franklin’s warning notwithstanding–
We are our Lips on treacherous steps which will be
all executive power herein vesting;

III

We're our Palms, grasping rope amid air
saturated in deathly vespers, which tugs
down-up toward unearned heavens;

We’re our *****, pretending to be
our Mouths which chide & otherize, while
our Shins expose their cuts to ****,
bullet-holes welcoming the swift infections
in what dank sewage now pours from open
Overton windows, broken along with
any pretense of civility; ultimately,
the only thing we could shatter;

We’re our Holes, shamefully enjoying
the prodding and poking caresses
of anarchy, be-
moaning un-
Equal Protection law & order bestows,
depriving life, liberty, property
when our Hearts, weary of
the long hard due process, supremely
malign centuries’ holdings;

We’re our Immunity, sovereign it be
fighting all insults foreign and domestic
and our Voices rising in lamentation
for what we’ve lost and what we’ve barely kept;

We’re even our Hair, unkempt, distracting us
from enduring corruption of our Blood;

We’re our *****, too. No, never mind.
We never had any. But She did,
and class despite the strength
of glass;

IV

We’re all that still, and our Souls'
politic too, fractured much asking
what Un-
ited States we’re in;
September 17, 1787 – November 8, 2016. Not a bad run, I guess.
freeing the mind Apr 2016
The green, white & gold flag rising outside the GPO,
Crowds gather to remember this day 100 years ago,
The proclamation read and the green colour floods the streets,
As the march takes place we stand in peace ,
To awknowledge our leaders who fought for our country,
To allow our citizens to be free,

History flooding through the young & old ,
All standing as one as the story we know re told,
The army saluting together United,
As we remember the volunteers our minds enlightened ,
The fight for freedom, For us today
I'm proud to be Irish, it is not hard to say.
24/4/2016 1916 rising celebrates 100 years.
Gourab Banerjee Jan 2016
The blood sheds
Are no more smelling
The surrounding is well sprayed
A fragrance of Night queen
Awkward seems to be with the
Shining day-light.
But yes,
We all are happy!
The constitution is successfully implemented
The roads are no more dumping ground
That place,
Now-a-days
Replaced by our heart.
I'm writing an open letter to you
Sir Ambedkar
Please guide us
We need you
Like never before.-26.01.2016
Cori MacNaughton Jul 2015
The illusion of freedom
in a democratic republic in decline
The third of seven poems written this morning.
Jay Ash Mar 2015
If i should die
do not say i died for myself
do not say i died for nothing
do not say i died

tell them how i lived
for You
for Them
for my Country
for Love

i never will forget
#death #love #patriotism #Republic #you #poetry #life #live
Äŧül Jan 2015
India was a secular state even before recorded history,
We welcomed all religions even before time,
Jesus is said to have come to Kashmir after Good Friday,
The English were welcomed just for business,
But what they did was occupying the nation,
As if that was not enough in itself they tried partitioning us,
After they endured the second world war,
They did decide to leave India to mind theirs,
But they decided to divide us into two.

One was the Islamic Republic of Pakistan,
Another was named as the Republic of India,
While they just tame corrupt extremism,
We tame irrationally extreme corruption,
We host unrealistic & unimaginable scams,
Sinners of all kind in the world are present here,
But there is some hope from our secular identity,
We are a progressive nation and I am so happy today.

One day will definitely come when India will be reunited.
A Republic Day write.
Our guests Mrs. Michelle & Mr. Barrack Hussein Obama are surely enjoying themselves a lot.
He is visibly impressed.

My HP Poem #762
©Atul Kaushal
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