#atrocities
I want to write a poem about Palestine
but I have no words.
The nouns are drenched in blood.
The verbs are obscene
and the adjectives unspeakable.
The sentences have no end
and there is no punctuation.
I am having trouble pronouncing
my own name.
Nov 13, 2024
Nov 13, 2024 at 9:49 PM UTC
It's simple...
There's no heaven, there's no hell,
Only good and evil
Atrocities carried out by people
One of the biggest cover-ups is under the steeple
...and even still,
Just to shiit and giggle a little,
Let's say da bible is factual
Then heaven is empty & hell is full
No one can live up to that mantle
Not a single soul
And if you do, by some miracle
Don't forget about his branding of a sin original
I'm not getting tossed in hell
To burn eternal
Because I couldn't unravel
Some self fulfilling riddle designed to be impossible
And as a whole
"Where the Fuuck've you been?" That's all we'd like to know
I'll go one step further, I want him held accountable
As the trinity or individual
I can't wait to ask questions that make a "GOD" uncomfortable
To watch him back track and stutter a little miiiiiiiiiiight be worth it all...
...okay, here we go...
©2024
Mar 5, 2024
Mar 5, 2024 at 4:00 PM UTC
Unconditioned to channeling the inner parody,
Actualizing the adaption of an animal apt for apathy, actively act in atrophy.
The vessel a fractured vapid faculty,
Of exactly the amount of human trapped in how not to be.
Lock and key, the property you deem your thoughts; a metropolis of atrocities.
Listen, don't listen, push and pull the pensive pistons,
Re-position, your decisions, until you got what you'd envisioned.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
They stay vigil, ever waiting the new design of sigils.
Kinda simple, keep their fingers pressed to pimples,
The pus a pit of petered parts,
Perceived by the reckoning of depleted hearts.
I rushed the doors at the sound of a great escape,
The process a repeat coordination of hurry up and wait.
Ever balking at the atrocities of cost,
Average Joes chasing dreams at the velocity of sloths.
How to be content with immense disparity?
Hands out faking quivers, shaking for some charity.
Forsaken someones somewhere surviving on a sliver,
Watching all the getters, I see myself a giver.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
It is
not precious
it is just plain ludicrous
and full of atrocities.
Lose it, lose it
before
you thought
you can
feel it.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC
when no mornings
follow nights
cities lie without their lights
little beasts root happily
children can live all their fears
forests break
mountains shake
then it’s time again
rockets roar with deadly freight
sharp explosions rock the night
soldiers shoot
graveyards bloom
it is war
when scrawny skeletons
creep through the streets
parents weep
dead bodies radiate
new death
and crumpled shapes
spread more disease
then it’s time again
the general orders strategic attacks
and watches how the metropolis cracks
rivers stink
battleships sink
it is war
when the bakers bake no more bread
when the butchers chop off their hands
when the doctors’ only prescription is death
corpses float in the village pond
and supermarkets stay closed
24 hours a day
then it’s time again
maybe the ultimate time
for the warriors to storm from their heights
to the valleys to lance and destroy
they also **** women
all children are dead
the moon is all red
the stars are so wan
we are counting the corpses
as long as we can
it is war
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
the ville was just women,
old men, young children--mostly gaunt ghosts
before my platoon arrived with our own dead
men walking
I gave the order to burn the village,
rout its dazed denizens and grease any
who offered resistance
only one woman did, clawing
at my boys like a crazed cat, going after Freddie
from Fresno with a bamboo stalk
I don't know who shot her
but I remember standing over her
with Freddie and Mickey from Milwaukee
who stepped on a mine within the hour
Freddie bought it too, but not until
that night, when small arms fire from the jungle
woke us from our dread dreams
the apparitions that haunted our heads
whenever we spilled the blood of innocents
or even the red devils' kin--perhaps
an equivalent sin
the next day we ****** back
to base camp, a twelve click hike;
as hours passed, and the earth dried,
our shadows became sharper, darkening
reminders we could run
but never hide
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Congrats you did it again
You threw your own pity party and took it all away
I'm just 'so sorry' for your loss
These atrocities you've committed
With your bare hands
It's hard for you apparently
So all you can do is cry in pain
A broken animal without a purpose
The wingless bird we all pity
What a shame
It's happening again
More people will fall for that trap
I can't wait to see it fail
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
Only God knows all our wrongs
But though arrows point at our souls
The whispers of the lamb dull his vengeance
A man has to die before he lives forever
While parades remind us of his courage
Some stand still thinking only of progress
Train tracks laid across holy ground
Desperate men laid to rest
They ask if evil killed each other
Or did we also sacrifice the saints?
They made peace with their destiny
A story they never thought to question
Right can never observe wrong blithely
And those whose spirits keep watch
Silently shed their hopes for the truth
Because history is still written by man
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.
The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.
These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.
There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.
The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.
This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
Speak up is what poets do
Speed up attention
To a matter of Concern
With all honesty
Unknown ears open
To reflect in accord
Along with the poet
On atrocities weighing down
On a human heart
Poet is restless until
All perceptions are penned
Only to feel empty and alone
With his own thoughts
Solitude fills the cup
Of the parched Sonnetist
Once again to compose
Percetptions of his mind
Speak up is what poets do
Speed up attention
To a matter of Concern
With all honesty
Unknown ears open
To reflect in accord
Along with the poet
of atrocities weighing down
on a human heart
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
The war ravaged everything
Red smoke of revenge
Blood boiling within
Bloodshot eyes devours
Life comes to abrupt halt
Only they see the end
Nothing stops the atrocities
Until all is lost
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
After all is said and done
does humanity really care?
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 6:47 AM UTC