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#republic
Republic Of Sharjah. A new Republic is born where freedom Flies beneath the vast and new open skies No chains of old no master's hand and It's breaking away from UAE no American slave no more and self rule guides this verdant land and the Republic of Sharjah The people's voice a mighty sound On sacred independent ground With hopeful hearts and spirits bold A future bright for all to hold So a country is born breaking away From the UAE and In unity they'll stand so tall Responding to their new country's call A new republic strong and free and For all eternity.
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Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 3:40 AM UTC
Republic Of Sharjah.
What's your blood, And what's mine, We all are humans, Ain't that right. Should we fight, On who is more red or white, It's ain't right, We're playing along the game just quite. You know who wants it, The one with power, The one with desire, To rule us all under his empire. I ain't a slave, To think we're free, If we were, We wouldn't be fighting on it. Was who superior, And inferior who was, Those are the past, We can't change or live cast. We still think it's the truth, Cause we think god said it so, Did god actually made slave, Or man made god do. We ain't gonna fight for them, To help them get wealth, And power of all land, Let it fall and modern republic rise.
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Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 4:00 AM UTC
Let it go
So the freaks who have more alienated themselves, And as consequence us all, As though they are royalty Slander the name of all of Europe; It's nobility & law, It's cultures & histories? Asia and the Africas, Even those of this same continent? Where do you hope to go, creatures? For when, not now if, You craft for yourself a throne, We shall pin you to it And make ourselves a new monument. There, on the banks of reflection, You will hear our rally call; Then you shall fall. Ad tyrannos calcamus!
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Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
In Such Themes As Vindication
Bow to the aspirant? Be defiant! Quite the to-do of the ado hoo-ha. Shan't you have forgot, The place you have come up Is and forever will be democratic. If Kings are making a comeback, Kneel. Give me the crown Or I will pick it out of the gutters: I will pick it off your corpse. If there's pitch to be made, Prepare for the tar & feathers. Prepare for the pikes & pitchforks, For the oil & torch. Blockade your birdges, flood your moats, Ready the given defenses! If Kings are making a comeback, I will **** you with pen And put you to death by the sword. We will march your head around After we've torn it off. We will parade your silly decrees about After we've ripped them apart. We will drag your body through town After we've murdered you. There we'll leave you In some famous roundabout, For the crows to feast; For the animals to pick you clean. They will say of you, "Now he's only skull & crossbones! I had thought him a royal But he burned & boiled - Screamed & soiled, Just the same as I would!" Sins of the father, eh? I only hope you didn't ***** your family With your crimes & repulsiveness. Submit to the giant? Slay the tyrant!
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Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
Kiss The Ring? **** The King.
O Say, can you see By the bonfire’s cries What so fearful we strayed As our kingdom was vain? Whose broad stripes and bright stars Ran from perilous fights O’er to isolation Were so anxiously leaving? And the rocket’s red glare Was a sign we don’t care Still we gave up the fight With our flag draping there O Say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the “free” and the home of the “brave”
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Feb 19, 2025
Feb 19, 2025 at 12:04 AM UTC
Star Spangled Death
Lawrence Hall [email protected]   https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com                                    For the Good of the Republic                                To the Caesars and their Generals         (But not to the Senate; they have made themselves irrelevant) Illustris: You have medals and money and country estates Book deals and bank accounts and pleasure gardens You can retire in soft luxury now - Your military contractors have seen to that The Rubicon is ruby with your soldiers’ blood And the Tiber is stopped with the loyal dead Who fell upon your sword-sharp signatures - And now you conspire against each other You have done enough; go home to your musicians Your receptions, your hunting parties, your…wives You could pray for the dead But you won’t Still, If you love your nation you will not meet At the Milvian Bridge
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Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 8:56 AM UTC
An Address to the Several Caesars and Their Generals
I met a man. No, not just a man. I met a gentle soul. I met a knight hidden in the tropics, I know he would fight for me if he could. He is a man of kind words and promises, He means what he says. His eyes are dark, They hide his beautiful heart. His love is sincere. His smile is fleeting in pictures, But it lights up the world. His voice is deep, It moves me like thunder. His intense gaze never makes me falter. Souls like his are few and far between. His words soothe my pain, But they also make me laugh and cry. He is a rock to support those he cares for. He never gives up on them. I met a man. I met a strong, dark knight. I met an incredible soul. I found a love. Or did I meet Eros in disguise?
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Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 10:18 AM UTC
Dominican Knight
Like the last Roman empire   Our republic is but a facade Capitalism has sold out to corporatism   Our establishment has sold out to the highest bidder I join the quitters..
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Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 10:58 AM UTC
PANDEMIC
The crazy caucus Shameful No doubt Must've forgotten Of their Stained Glass House
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Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
The House
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
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Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
The Tragedy of King Charles
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
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Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
The Gracchi are Dead
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;
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Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Look, We the People
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;
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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.
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Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
100 years on
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
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Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
#Symbolic
The illusion of freedom in a democratic republic in decline
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Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
America 10w
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
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Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
if i should die
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.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
A Secular Republic
The clock gets me. It comes to me in the middle of the night Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko." Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids, It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go Out to do something, whatever something is. Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me Again. And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your Boyfriend, say Fighting the Nazis, say, Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to That rando guy we met in that club that lives in Prague- I throw the clock at the ******* wall. Because who knows, I make the bed wrong Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or Smile the right way at the right Time. And you start thinking that I have to die. The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're Supposed to be, say Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of David Attenborough. Instead you're thumbing through that index of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes A feat, an unjust cause of mine to Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've Been sewing up Monday twilight. That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
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May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
F**k Jaw
The clock gets me. It comes to me in the middle of the night Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko." Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids, It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go Out to do something, whatever something is. Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me Again. And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your Boyfriend, say Fighting the Nazis, say, Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to That rando guy we met in that club that lives in Prague- I throw the clock at the ******* wall. Because who knows, I make the bed wrong Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or Smile the right way at the right Time. And you start thinking that I have to die. The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're Supposed to be, say Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of David Attenborough. Instead you're thumbing through that index of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes A feat, an unjust cause of mine to Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've Been sewing up Monday twilight. That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
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Happy Tantra Diwash सभ्यता र विकासको सदकमा आज विस्मृतिका गाडीहरू हुकिएका देख्छु सपनामा देखाईएका सुन्दर बगैँचा आज कालो धुंवाले घेरिएको पाउछु ठल्ठुला श्वरमा जोड जोडले चिच्याइएका टोल टोल वस्ति वस्तिमा गुन्जाइएका कहिले लोकतन्त्र कहिले प्रजातन्त्र कहिले जनतन्त्र कहिले गणतन्त्र नामका अमृत वचनहरू आज सम्झिन्छु सम्झनाको हरेक प्रहारसगं आत्तिन्छु आत्तिन्छु म सोच्दै "के मैलेभाषाको अर्थ नबुझेकै हुँ त?" "कुनै तिर्सनामा मैले गलत व्याख्या पो गरेको छुँ त?" यदि हैन भने किन स्वतन्त्रताको जन्जालमा अल्झिएको पाउछु? किन सुक्दै छन् तिर्खाहरु किन डबिन्दैछन् पाइलाहरु किन म आफै देखि भाग्न बाध्य छु? किन यति धेरै प्रश्ण छन् वरिपरि? तन्त्रै तन्त्रको मन्त्र उच्चारहणले गुन्जायमान भड्रगोल भई फात्तिएको छ किन यो सडक यदि हो भने धिक्कार छ सबलाई यत्र तत्र छरिएका सपनाहरु अझै तन्त्रैतन्त्रमा रुमलिएका आशाहरु मलाई अनि तिमीलाई जसले तन्त्रहरु कैयौँ जन्माए तर मृत जन्माए।
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
ह्याप्पी तन्त्र दिवस
Happy Tantra Diwash सभ्यता र विकासको सदकमा आज विस्मृतिका गाडीहरू हुकिएका देख्छु सपनामा देखाईएका सुन्दर बगैँचा आज कालो धुंवाले घेरिएको पाउछु ठल्ठुला श्वरमा जोड जोडले चिच्याइएका टोल टोल वस्ति वस्तिमा गुन्जाइएका कहिले लोकतन्त्र कहिले प्रजातन्त्र कहिले जनतन्त्र कहिले गणतन्त्र नामका अमृत वचनहरू आज सम्झिन्छु सम्झनाको हरेक प्रहारसगं आत्तिन्छु आत्तिन्छु म सोच्दै "के मैलेभाषाको अर्थ नबुझेकै हुँ त?" "कुनै तिर्सनामा मैले गलत व्याख्या पो गरेको छुँ त?" यदि हैन भने किन स्वतन्त्रताको जन्जालमा अल्झिएको पाउछु? किन सुक्दै छन् तिर्खाहरु किन डबिन्दैछन् पाइलाहरु किन म आफै देखि भाग्न बाध्य छु? किन यति धेरै प्रश्ण छन् वरिपरि? तन्त्रै तन्त्रको मन्त्र उच्चारहणले गुन्जायमान भड्रगोल भई फात्तिएको छ किन यो सडक यदि हो भने धिक्कार छ सबलाई यत्र तत्र छरिएका सपनाहरु अझै तन्त्रैतन्त्रमा रुमलिएका आशाहरु मलाई अनि तिमीलाई जसले तन्त्रहरु कैयौँ जन्माए तर मृत जन्माए।
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