#politicalpoetry
A cockroach knows a cockroach—
not by insignia,
not by the parchment framed behind mahogany,
but by the odor of survival,
that cold administrative hunger
that outlasts every anthem, every oath.
They know each other by residue.
By the practiced contempt
folded beneath public language.
By the elegant speech of sacrifice
delivered while the people’s bread
still clings to their teeth.
Neither sovereign nor savior—
only leeches lacquered in ceremony,
feeding through the arteries of the republic,
calling extraction governance,
calling decay order.
They do not arrive as tyrants do.
No drums.
No boots striking the square.
Only robes, citations, televised restraint—
the slow confidence of men
who believe institutions belong to them
by natural right.
And so the rot advances quietly.
Through adjournments.
Through sealed rooms.
Through the grammar of procedure.
Like termites in cathedral wood,
they hollow the structure from within
while praising its strength in public.
Their loyalty is primitive and exact:
hunger recognizing hunger,
filth answering filth,
one infestation sustaining another
inside the same exhausted machinery.
Cockroaches gather where public trust once stood upright.
In courts.
In studios.
In ministerial corridors perfumed
with constitutional language
and the odor of managed truth.
They feed upon justice ceremonially—
turning law into spectacle,
verdict into theatre,
delay into doctrine.
Priests of process,
parasites of the nation—
they inherit the shrine by stripping it bare,
then preach sanctity over the emptied altar.
And when the streets finally remember themselves,
when students, workers, lawyers, families
begin speaking in one rising voice,
when the screen itself burns white with outrage—
the script changes.
Suddenly corruption has a smaller face.
A safer body.
A more disposable name.
Now the disease is “fake degrees.”
Now the infestation is narrowed
to the minor and replaceable—
as though the great engines of theft
were built by clerks alone.
Strange how power launders its language.
How an insult hurled at millions
returns as precision.
How the same mouth that stripped dignity
from a generation
now retreats into footnotes,
clarifications,
televised innocence.
Even this naming feels too clean—
as if language stood outside what it serves.
But memory is stubborn.
People remember the laughter.
The contempt.
The rehearsed humiliation
disguised as public wisdom.
And slowly they begin to understand:
the law is not sacred because men recite it.
A robe does not cleanse decay.
A bench is still wood—
still elevation—
still vulnerable to the weight seated upon it.
That is the terror beneath every failing order—
not protest,
not outrage,
not even exposure—
but recognition.
The instant the public looks at power
without reverence,
without hypnosis,
without fear—
and dares to name the cockroach
while it sits upon the bench.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 1:10 PM UTC
White roses captivate the elected victim—
haunting voices thick with angst condemn
the lonely soul to a corrupt system,
forming cracks within the foundation.
This very room becomes a place of judgment—
Is it time to evaluate our government?
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 1:56 PM UTC
I tried the warnings.
Wrote them on the walls.
Shouted them from the passing trains,
my voice drowned by
crushed metal
and bent powder.
A spine from the 1960s,
which called us to the table
to feast on
rotten horses
abandoned by the side of the road,
did it too
after the headlines broke
in a cloud of dust
and the parents of the world
bought color TVs
to watch the radio.
Our children too will get new screens.
Because nobody reads walls.
- I should have known this:
Graffiti is now mural.
Thinking accrues interest
in offshore accounts.
And we pay our debts
with crispy skin
and building dust from our faces.
So I don’t shout from moving fortresses
anymore.
Instead,
I do minor gardening on Saturdays
and spend a good chunk of Sunday
digging out
invisible splinters
from my fingers.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 4:25 PM UTC
Уж так устроен этот мир —
Империи всегда воюют.
Но без империй — в хаос кань!
И межусобия лютуют.
И центры силы так нужны,
Как воздух. Разум в то не верит...
Нет равноправья на земле,
Но не войти в другие двери.
Лишь только сильный правит бал
На этом сумеречном свете.
И демократий светлый зал —
Лишь тень надежды в том балете.
Летит в Анкоридж самолёт
Через Хартленд — зовут: Россия.
Летит в Анкоридж самолёт —
Из Вашингтона — это сила!
Две силы встретились в пути —
Им никогда не разминуться!
Им только рядышком идти —
И компромиссами обняться.
Уж так устроен белый свет:
Решают судьи судьбы мира...
Иначе ждать большой беды,
А вместе — то двойная сила.
На поле встретились они,
Пожали руки крепкой хваткой...
Стальные кружатся «Стрижи»,
Звезду рисуют белой краской.
Красна дорожка... Труден шаг.
Надежда бабочкой летает...
Мир с замиранием наблюдает:
Кто в мире друг и кто есть враг?
Но неизбежен переход,
И солнце встанет на востоке.
Мир не колышется вразброд —
Два флага реют на флагштоках.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 4:11 AM UTC
My word doesn’t matter.
The problem is, I’m nobody.
I just watch this **** from the sidelines.
I don’t matter so neither do my words.
I sit back on a beach chair with my feet in the sand.
A lit cigarette,
and jerrycan full of gas.
Sunglasses on, watching it all go down.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 8:12 PM UTC
A wise way to speak is to let silence perceive—
Yes! Yes! That is the way to live.
Arguments and violence are the norm,
While the silent ones are obviously a freak.
Enigmatic world we live in;
Society rants status, yet none pass the criteria.
Oh, you've such a beautiful fever dream—
Nope, I’m just suffering from malaria
Everyone's a threat until you get them to confront ya.
Weren’t you speaking volumes?
Talkin’ about how you’d demolish me!
Nope, that’s just my dyslexia.
Even the once stiff Language now follows the belief.
Instead of “figures of speech”, there are “figures that speak”.
They swear to follow democracy! They care only about our currency.
Oops! I meant to say they only care about competency.
I swear it isn’t a gimmick! Oh! you meant to say Hypocrisy.
Well a little dilly dally is fine for such a huge democratic bureaucracy!
Let’s change the tone a bit.
These niche little hypocrites
Care only about positions, propaganda and politics!
You think they care about us?
Sure, when the chicken talks to sheep
which causes a flock of birds to beep, just like when “Thanos” snapped the gauntlet and blipped and none of us got up our seat and raged all over the streets when “Iron man” died on that clip. Welp let me order me a figurine!
These are the things that I’d rather do
Than hear you people preach about bigots called idiots!
(Hahaha No apologies for this slip.) I mean figures! Are you asleep?
Crude words that stick to anyone. Ribbit!
But trust me when I say these figures have powerful latency.
Sure truth maybe a little twisted
Like how dark humour is now everyone’s shtick!
I just bend it so that you too can steal laugh for a bit.
I vent in verses, absurd as concrete truths!
Ahem! I mean to say as absolute as concrete truths!
That feels like a little play fight, isn’t it?
Maybe my memory is rigged but I can’t remember a time
when there wasn’t a confrontation among the fellowship.
Maybe I am a crazy little minx
But it’s crazy how they get to fully live.
A grand life with luxury
That isn’t earned since they were born with it.
Well Excuse me for interrupting a serious topic
But wasn’t there a figure who promised
To build a machine where you throw a potato and get gold on other side of it?
Such a revolutionary idea isn’t it?
Such a great figure with masterclass tapestry
Even Victor Von Doom and Reed paused their fight to gnaw upon such mastery.
Okay back to the topic
Let me remember the times of brilliant dictatorship!
Time when roads were clean.
Homelessness wasn’t a thing.
Sorry, what? You said something?
You mean to say I said dictatorship?
No. I said leadership!
Yeah. That’s what I sai-
Oh! Sorry for the little slip!
Wait a **** minute.
Wasn’t that ‘cause the Poor folks were banned from sleeping
Near the area of regime!
Because it dropped down the housing stocks of the rich
They dropped down a ****** scheme!
I mean that’s understandable, coming from a bloating blob
You’d need a brain to perform a valid thought.
A Nuke of an order to clean the **** with the machine.
Tragic how standards change
For one of them was the teacher
That taught the **** fool how to act pristine.
Now lost his job so slept near the Bungalow
Until things turn serene.
Now that same tutor is one of the many victims.
None with morality. Not a shred of goodness in them.
All money-hungry, power-driven, slaves of temptation—
Atrocious beings.
Yet we cave in when we are presented with a bunch of choices.
Just for favour or advantage from others.
We play the cards they predict!
And just like how the house always wins.
The circus starts once again.
It's not a party trick.
It’s not a magic trick.
Just a “figure of speech.”
Figures that, you’d speak.
Careful though or you may get the “Slip”.
— Asher Graves
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 10:30 AM UTC
Alien.
That’s all it takes.
Say it enough times—
with enough pride,
with enough certainty,
say it like it’s harmless—
and you start to believe it.
You convince yourself some people
don’t belong here.
That some lives weigh less.
That some suffering is acceptable.
And soon,
you forget they were ever people to begin with.
This is where it begins.
Not with camps.
Not with walls.
With words—
small, familiar, deadly.
Words that divide.
Words that erase.
Words that strip humanity away
layer by layer,
until you look at a person
and only see a problem.
And what happens next?
We dress it up.
We call it safety.
We call it policy.
We call it normal.
But let’s not pretend.
Alligator Alcatraz is not a policy.
It’s not a technicality.
It’s not safety.
It’s a concentration camp.
Built by people who learned nothing
from the blood their ancestors drowned in.
And I am from Germany.
I know this pattern.
I know how fast words become walls.
How quickly division becomes destruction.
How easily neighbors become strangers,
become threats,
become numbers.
We screamed it into history books—
Never again.
We tattooed it across generations.
We carved it into memorials.
We taught it in classrooms.
We promised.
But promises mean nothing
if we look away now.
It never starts with gas chambers.
It starts with small lines—
borders,
walls,
categories.
It starts with us and them.
When fear speaks louder.
When division feels safer than empathy.
When language poisons the foundation
before anyone notices.
It starts
when people feel so distant,
so different,
that hurting them feels justified.
And I’ll say it plainly—
You cannot be neutral while this happens.
You either fight—
or you help them build the fences.
Because it always ends the same way—
with camps,
with cages,
with bodies counted in hindsight,
and the world pretending
no one saw it coming.
But we do see it coming.
We see it now.
And if we refuse to speak,
if we refuse to fight—
history isn’t repeating itself.
We are repeating it.
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 7:50 PM UTC
News flows like wildfire, Reporters outside covering the case
Actuality is falsified, Justice as always late
-Asher Graves
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC
O People,
I have become your Sultan,
Break your idols after your misguidance,
And worship me...
I do not reveal myself always,
So sit upon the pavement of patience
Until you can behold me.
Leave your children without bread,
Abandon your women without husbands,
And follow me…
Praise God for His grace,
For He has sent me to write history,
And history cannot be written without me.
I am Joseph in beauty,
No golden hair like mine has God ever created,
No prophetic forehead like mine,
My eyes...
A forest of olive and almond trees,
So pray always that God may protect my eyes.
O People,
I am Majnun Layla,
So send me your wives to bear my seed,
And send your husbands to give me thanks.
It is an honor to eat the wheat of my flesh,
An honor to pluck my almonds and figs,
An honor to resemble me…
For I am an event unseen
For thousands of years.
O People,
I am the first, the most just, the most beautiful,
Among all rulers.
I am the full moon of darkness, the whiteness of jasmine,
I am the first inventor of the gallows,
And the best of the messengers.
Whenever I think of leaving power,
My conscience forbids me…
Who, then, shall rule after me these kind souls?
Who shall heal the lame, the leprous, the blind after me?
Who shall bring life to the bones of the dead?
Who shall draw the moonlight from his cloak?
Who shall send down the rain upon the people?
Who, tell me,
Will flog them ninety lashes?
Who, tell me,
Will crucify them upon the trees?
Who, tell me,
Will force them to live like cattle?
And die like cattle?
Whenever I think of leaving them,
My tears flow like a cloud,
And I put my trust in God…
And decide to ride upon the people
From now until the Day of Judgment.
O People,
I own you
Just as I own my horses and my slaves.
I walk upon you
As I walk upon the carpet of my palace.
So bow to me when I rise,
And bow to me when I sit.
Did I not find you one day
Between the pages of my ancestors?
Beware of reading any book,
For I read on your behalf.
Beware of writing any speech,
For I write on your behalf.
Beware of listening to Fairuz in secret,
For I know your intentions well.
Beware of reciting poetry before me,
For it is a cursed devil.
Beware of entering the grave without my permission,
For that is a great sin among us.
And keep silent when I speak,
For my words are a sacred Quran…
O People,
I am your Mahdi, so await me!
And my blood pulses in the heart of the vines,
So drink me.
Stop all the hymns that children sing
In love of the homeland,
For I have become the homeland...
I am the One, the Eternal,
Among all creatures.
I am stored in the memory of apples,
The flute, and the blue melodies.
Raise my portraits above the squares,
Cover me with clouds of words,
And marry me the youngest of brides…
For I do not age.
My body does not age,
My prisons do not age,
And the instruments of oppression in my kingdom do not age.
O People,
I am Al-Hajjaj; if I remove my mask, you will know me.
And I am Genghis Khan,
I have come to you with my spears, my dogs, and my prisons.
Do not resent my tyranny,
For I **** so that you do not **** me.
I hang so that you do not hang me.
I bury you in mass graves,
So that you do not bury me.
O People,
Buy me newspapers to write about me,
For they are displayed in the streets like prostitutes.
Buy me green, polished paper like the grasses of spring,
Ink, and printing presses.
Everything in our time is for sale,
Even fingers.
Buy me the fruit of thought,
And place it before me.
Cook me a poet,
And serve him among my dishes.
I am illiterate,
And I have a phobia of what poets say.
So buy me poets who sing my beauty,
And make me the star of all covers,
For dancers and actors
Are never more beautiful than I am.
Buy me all that cannot be bought
On this earth or in the sky.
Buy me
A forest of honey,
And a pound of women.
For with hard currency,
I purchase what I desire.
I buy Bashar ibn Burd’s poetry,
Al-Mutanabbi’s lips,
And Labid’s odes…
For the millions in the House of Muslims’ Wealth
Are an ancient inheritance of my father,
So take from my gold
And write in the great books
That my era…
Is the era of Harun al-Rashid…
O Masses of my land,
O masses of Arab nations,
I am a pure soul sent to cleanse you
Of the dust of ignorance.
Record my voice on tapes…
For my voice flows like a green fountain,
Like Andalusian melodies.
Capture me, smiling like the Mona Lisa,
Gentle as the face of Magdalene.
Capture me,
With my dignity, my grandeur,
And my military staff.
Capture me
As I sever the people’s necks like apples,
Capture me
As I hunt a deer or a gazelle.
Capture me
As I tear poetry apart with my teeth,
As I drink the blood of the alphabet.
Capture me
As I carry you upon my shoulders to the eternal abode!
O Masses of my land,
O masses of Arab nations,
O People,
I am responsible for your dreams, when you dream,
I am responsible for every loaf you eat,
And for the poetry
You read behind my back.
For the security apparatus in my palace
Informs me of the birds’ whispers,
And the secrets of the ears of wheat,
And of what happens inside the wombs of pregnant women.
O People,
I am your jailer, and I am your prisoner,
So forgive me.
I am the exiled one, within my own palace,
I see no sun, no stars, no flowers of oleander,
Since I came to power as a child,
And the circus men gather around me—
One blows a flute,
One beats a drum,
One polishes my boots,
One kisses my hands…
Since I came to power as a child,
No advisor has ever told me "No,"
No minister has ever dared to say "No,"
No ambassador has ever stood against me.
They have taught me to see myself as a god,
And to see the people, from my balcony, as dust.
So forgive me…
If I have turned into a new Hulagu,
I have never killed for the sake of killing,
I **** only to entertain myself.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 7:10 PM UTC
I came on silver wings,
drifting past dying stars,
hoping to find a world soft enough
to call my own.
I saw blue first,
a planet breathing,
wrapped in mist and promise.
I thought, maybe here—
maybe here I could stay.
But then—
the silence of women swallowed whole,
voices drowned in laws not their own.
Skin held as a currency,
love twisted into a crime.
The ones in power, chosen by fear,
speak with empty mouths
and call it truth.
I watched men sharpen their edges
on the backs of women,
their laughter carving scars,
their hands taking without asking.
The food—
not food at all, but ghosts of what once was,
pumped with things that do not belong.
The trees fall,
not from time,
but from greed’s impatient hands.
And I wonder,
do they not see the world turning brittle?
Do they not hear the earth gasping?
I do not understand your wars,
your hunger for more,
the way you cage each other
and call it freedom.
I only feel it—
the ache of something wrong,
an unraveling, a sickness,
a grief I do not have a name for.
I did not come to be a witness
to a planet choosing its own end.
I came looking for home,
but this—
this is not a place to stay.
So I turn away,
silver wings catching starlight,
searching for a world
that remembers how to be kind.
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 12:52 AM UTC
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who will rise and who will fall?
Who will suggest?
Who will deride?
Who promises safety?
Who propagates lies?
Who lives for the people?
Who works for themselves?
Who lines their pockets?
Who's stocking the shelves?
Who keeps us informed?
Who knows what to do?
Who has the solutions?
Who prepared?
Who knew?
Who wonders?
Who marches?
Who decides what ensues?
Look! Who's coming to your rescue
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 8:00 PM UTC
Haunted by words
unsaid hope and fear unite
The future is not written
All but hidden in plain sight
Innocence welcomes winds of change
The calm before the storm
Reform, recourse, reaction
Everywhere
Uniform
New threat
New law
New normal
What's done now shall it remain?
Digital connection
Parroted refrain
Solutions from the experts
Make haste, emergency!
Only time can answer...
For the love of philanthropy
Close
Disclose
We distance
All for our safety
Report
Resort to witness
The price?
Sweet liberty
Oh! Mighty saviour on high
Prophetic Algorithmic eye
Who will prosper
Who will perish
Freedom
to live or die
Can it be that all around us
Greed and power tighten grip?
The band played on
Lest we forget
Down with the unsinkable ship
Mother earth how she is plundered
Controlled consumption now ensues
Vested interest
Turn a profit
Are you tempted to abuse?
Future still remains uncertain
So much joy in every day
Rite of passage
Right of movement
Withdraw
Stay home
Stay
Stronger now
For there are answers
To the questions you may seek
The truth
It won't come easy
Too weak
Too meek
To speak
words of reason
Oh so grateful
For the seeds lovingly sown
We know not what lies before us
Though examples clearly shown
Finding purpose in a passion
Create intention with an art
We all stand in time together
And we each will play our part
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 7:56 PM UTC
Our king-kong sized terrible two has realized
an even more devious way to line the Trump
organized crime family's pockets, he's having
NASA do a trip to Mars in preparation for a
manned landing by some white guy who'll also
be tasked to play golf on the moons too.
RumputiN will throw in a little histoire to
make the photos more appealing to his multi-
millionaire foreign dictator pals: "They're
named after the Greek mythological twin
characters Phobos (panic/fear) and Deimos
(terror/dread) (The Donald's domestic and
foreign policy, respectively), who went with
their father Ares into battle. Ares, god of
war, was known to the Romans as Mars. This
will up the price he can charge them for
renting out the Lincoln bedroom, cafknching,
being the united **** of assassins new motto.
His current fav tool of stealing tax dollas is
still doing genocide, classwar style against
Latinos. He ripped apart 7000 families to
gift overtime, doubletime, more hires, multi-
million dolla private detention center
contracts to republican manned anti-immigrant
Gov't agencies + his lifelong criminal cronies.
These kids are caged, allowed little soap,
showers, running water, food, etc.. Similar
conditions to 40's US internment camps. This
should be one of the articles of impeachment
against him. Dinos, like Nancy 'Chamberlain'
Pelosi, can be scolded if impeachment doesn't
go only forward, for if it's not completed
in the House before the 2020 elections,
RumputiN/vlad-the-impaler may be re-installed
into the Blackhouse by the same conspiracy
that did it in 2016. Viva la evolucion.
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC
Sky has fallen on your head, Earth erupting has upended you into two, is it time for change yet?
Everyone knows the extinction's coming, racing towards US from our future,
Seen on the horizon, still, no talk of evolution, adapting to reality,
Not the worldly world of criminal insanity? Non-republican caucasian
Newborns to men who are heterosexual are still neutered as newborns,
Mutilated as toddlers, kids, mass-raped, and every crime done against them
As kids and teens, yet the Roman Catholic Empire doesn't even acknowledge
Their inquisition against them, let alone slow it down, stop it. How is
It that Pope Benedict (Arnold, the Rat...), the last inquisitor, hasn't
Been prosecuted in the ICC? Just so you know, if "...we(e),..." don't
Uninstall RumputiN/vlad-the-impaler from the Blackhouse by 1-21-21, the
United **** of assassins is the new notsee Germany and since it's citizens
Haven't stopped it's Gov't, it must be destroyed at all costs, for life,
Humanity, the Earth, to even exist. Is impeachment peachy keen now?
Do you feel like keeping it in the ground, abolishing fossil fuel use yet?
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC