"blockade" poems
A gentleman is not brutal,
but he will prove all vendettas futile.
He is not immune to bullet, fist or blade
but any insult raised against him
will be met with a blockade.
He is stoic, but still smiles,
cracking his face open without reserve
for a friend, to calm, to a foe, to unnerve.
A gentleman dresses his best,
whether it Vans and sweater, or tie and vest.
No-one is beneath his attention
he gifts compliments quite often,
but when a man puts a hand on him,
that man goes home in a coffin.
No matter his orientation,
he respects every inclination,
He holds the door
the same way he strikes true,
every time.
He knows his weapon well,
but in blood, he doesn't buy nor sell.
He knows the time to fight
but of violence, he makes no light.
He respects every man,
every woman,
every child...
But,
if his family is ever hurt
and this one renders apologies inert
then they shall receive only
a box and a white shirt.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
The sounding alarm starts the frenzy
I hurry myself to shower and dress
Slowing just for a moment
To strategically place fragrant surprises
For later explorations.
Accelerating with all urgency
I weave through the blockade of traffic
Risking it all to preserve
Each second, each minute, every moment of time
For my waiting infatuation
Flushes of excitement consume me
As I near my destination
I am overwhelmed with pulsating urges
As I search for a way to impress you
Show advanced appreciation
Welcomed with a sensual eagerness
Each of us knowing and wanting
I ask "Can I play you a tune?"
A Love song plays to a faintness
As you bring me to satisfaction
Then,
Ascending to kiss me softly
You wish me a good day at work.
Wiping excess from your chin
You smile and say "See you tomorrow."
© Tina Thompson
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
An inland blockade from Israel cut off life
giving supplies to the Palastians in Gaza.
This happened around 2010.
Formulated was the "GAZA FREEDOM FLOATILLA".
Their strategy was to dock in Gaza-away from land-and deliver much needed life saving supplies.
However, the flotilla was seized- on the sea -by the Israeli
Navy consisting of one hundred and fifty sailors.
Around ten people from one of the flotilla ships
were killed and brutality reigned supreme. ( a Turkish ship fought back )
Incarcerations from the floatilla to Israel's jails took place.
And so I dedicate this writing to these wonderful people of
conscience and their brave hearts upon the sea...
Days of siege
Days of conscience
Days of hope
Sailing to their destination
Days remembered
Day's compassion
Days remembered these needed cargoes held
Engines turning on paths of caution;
love is carried on sailing symbols
Each ship and boat will shout her name
Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie,dear Rachel Corrie
Will shout in spirit dear Rachel Corrie
Brave hearts you suffered so upon the sea
Brave hearts you fought for truth, hope and dignity
Brave hearts on floating love
Brave hearts you are that peaceful powerful dove
Brave hearts you are our guiding light
Brave hearts you pierced that darkened blackened night
Brave Hearts upon the sea...
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
As the wind blows across the fiery desert,
The desperate people of Yemen sigh.
How many more will suffer today?
How many more children will cry?
A Saudi-led coalition
Strikes with a heartless disregard,
Leaving behind misery--
Death and destruction its calling card.
Choking the poor country, the Saudis
Organized a major blockade,
Cutting off vital medicine,
Food, and water, and stopping all trade.
Cluster bombs have fallen on cities.
Thousands of innocent people have died.
Hospitals and schools have been hit.
How can such horror be justified?
Millions of people risk starvation
If all the bombing does not end.
The Saudis hunger for more and more weapons,
And they have billions of dollars to spend.
A bomb made by Lockheed Martin
Hit a Yemeni school bus
Killing fifty-one people, and hurting
Many more, thanks to us.
A U.S. bomb hit funeral mourners;
One destroyed a marketplace.
That our support causes such
Atrocities is a disgrace.
The people suffer from cholera--
Something that is hard to avoid
When a country's sanitation
Facilities are being destroyed.
A massive humanitarian crisis
Plagues the country despite appeals
To end the conflict by caring nations,
While major players dig in their heels.
Sunni-Shiite conflicts continue
With innocent citizens caught in between.
Callous leaders turn their heads,
Afraid to speak up or intervene.
-by Bob B (10-17-18)
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
The Syrian process is a serial problem
When the disenfranchised
Cause a landslide
Of historical hatred
The key that ignites
Business and commerce
Wildfire hearts
And boiling skin
The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera
The blockade of the forceful armada
The coalition forces
Run wild like horses
The bombs keep falling
The people cry
The engine keeps stalling
The car dies
The white phosphorus
Brought by the white prosperous
Can burn to the bone
And wounds can ignite up to three days later
But the people of Raqqa
Are used to reigniting scars
They're used to searing flesh
That melts like tar
Where this will go
No one knows how far
Machines must be sustained
Hearts will be untamed
Lives constantly rearranged
A human rights activist attempts to send a report
What he's witnessed in Raqqa
Injustices; perceived and objective
But Hellfire
Turns the Internet cafe
Into a senseless violence display
The dirt, blood, and bodies
Mixed and spread like the art
That was ignored to lead to this quagmire
Whether this calamity started
At the Melian dialogue
Or a market diagram
Or a martyr's diatribe
What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds
But who will save us?
When noble protectors are blown up
And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
like the ocean on a bright sunny day,
like the winter sky devoid of the blockade of clouds.
it's the feeling of the cool breeze
and the rain,
falling to the earth
on a hot summer day
and the hot breath
that you exhale onto
the cool glass,
melting it into tiny water droplets.
and the sound of the deep bass
of the drums
in slow motion
as the sound waves reverberates
in the air and
travels to my eardrums.
it's the sensation of
the sharp-icy touch
of your skin on mine,
like icy sophistication that
later warms into me,
as i cool to your being.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
This is for the helpless days.
Lonely days.
Where with every battle
Pits you against the world.
And should you lose,
Or should you win,
Your victory is heard
by only two ears.
These are the words for the
Mouse-like people.
The great number of quiet strugglers
Who say yes to the fat cat
By Instinct!
So they won't be the meat
Of someone else's meal.
\ \ \
But this is not to cast you down.
Not a giant- making pinching gestures
With people sized fingers.
This is a challenge!
A day to reach up into
Your oppressive heavens.
Cast aside the disciplinary
Blockade and- Breathe.
Breathe in the tastes
Of a life worth living.
Of the courage to be on your own feet.
And this is an urgency.
This is an urging that
All the doormat people
Sweep out from the heavy feet,
The ones you welcome for trampling.
Because|
-You know exactly what you're
Missing
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
“Top of the Morning to ‘Yuh, Guv’nuh.”
Oh, to be father of a
Cockney flower girl,
To be Eliza Doolittle’s
Dear old Dad,
Alfred P. of that surname.
Oh, to be a cockney dustman,
On this fine day,
Another fine day in
Northern New Mexico, as I
Sell my daughter to
‘Enery Iggins, or
Some equivalent
Princeton poofter.
I am Rhett Butler,
Daring blockade-runner,
Persona –non-grata
For any decent
Family—including my own,
Charleston Carolina.
In time, I crave
Social acceptance for
Bonnie Blue—my ill fated
Would-be equestrian offspring;
I surrender my daughter to the
Upper Class.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Stretch your hands forward and gaze beyond it's reach,
And then ask yourself what do you see?
Those many eyes surrounded by your presence speak,
but they are leaves followed by the winds that past by your will,
and their blockade will only seep through like cloth against water.
Does a lion faint or fear by the sound of any creatures it stumbles upon,
Let alone does a squeaky mouse not follow it's instinct to hide?
Not even Goliath can take your deeds,
nor can anyone stand by the front of your palm to dictate your will.
For your action is a will of your own, and your's alone,
For you have only the person in the mirror to resolve!
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
HUGE W A L L S
overlook
the
future....
timeline tunnels blocked--
Pink Floyd wasn;t kidding
about THE W A L L S....
But a HUGE hug hangs
the stone mental blockade
on the gallows under a crescent moon
while gypsies cheer with tambourines and
artists draw with the ashes from their cigarettes
and
writers jot down the joyous carnival mood between shots
Chinese lanterns and Ramadan Fanous
illuminate the b r i d g es
brrrrrrrrighter
iridescence and
swinging
with misfits dripping anticipation
spinning sufis swaying
to see the mural landscape opposite THE W A L L S.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
I have to admit
That I immediately knew what the media meant
As I grew up I drew out-
Side lines
Meaning kinds when you omit the 'n' so I'm sent
To set askew a few lies, yes my butterfly knife flies like a feather pen oh I've been
A berserker moving farther
Further herding words heard for war it's forward
But since before he was drafted roughly but justly
Just to sink in ink engrafted ****** because he's
Made for brigades who blockade it to shock it
Force it shoot it and make it play its poor music to Bach it
Oh face it, we rock it
The battalion's out there and they're shouting
I'm silent but they rattle
Yeah my rabble of stallions, they're rowdy
But of course, off course it is not all Norse my love because
They say the other north
Yeah your horizontal course turned up with a
Tincture of madness
And that is the one, single error and I'm glad of it
If you catch it
Maybe a troublemaker by nature but baby a peace speaker missing demeanor
With misdemeanors when getting meaner
But I practice a bit
In an out-there train re-accident be-
Cause the battalion's out there while they're shouting
I'm silent but they rattle rapidly
Yeah my rabble of battle lions rabid
To vaporize vapid rabbits
They're rowdy and
And love is getting much louder than growling it's
It's sounding much louder than growling
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
flame in a dark pit
rain on a mountain
ice
in the veins:
blockade
one of these days
techno nightmares will break
through
analog purity, of course
they will but, then
you'll have it your way,
where dust becomes you more
than your electric
dreams, of course,
you would rather be muted
i won't
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
London subway
metro train station connection,
busy off-peak City rush,
escalator packed, another northern crush.
Ticket barrier blockade,
pass through tomorrow not today.
Police at the exits,
a black sea of law abiding abyss,
protectors of the peace.
Another announcement over the crowd,
“Platform 2 is closed for the storm cloud to be cleared”.
Body parts have spread
over carriage doors,
torn from their sockets,
slipping pictures from necklace lockets.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
Whines and groans of melancholy
Knock on my door
Upon opening the blockade
The guest looked very eager
A small, furry stuffed animal sits
Eyes fixed on my complexion
When I smile, the doll imitates
When I brush my hand on the doll's fur
A tongue reveals and kisses my cheek
As I walk down the corridor
The fluffy rascal tails right behind
My eyes dart towards a toy
And the puppy snags it thereafter
With its brown precious eyes gleaming
It's impossible to resist the innocent tug
I take the plushy victim
And fling it across the room
The puppy witnesses the ~Plop~
And immediately dashes
Sprinting in the ten second race
Like a boomerang
The furry speed demon returns
With the plush trapped between its dull jaws
All I can remark is...
"Good Boy!"
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
i stopped in the crosswalk to light a cigarette
then continued on my way down the street
the cars were of no threat to running me over;
they've been still in the streets all day, a traffic
blockade of holiday proportions
and as i stare through every windshield into the
warmth and luxury of the car's interior, I see nothing
but looks of misery, boredom, a sense of stagnant souls
and i began to laugh and smile like it's my ******* birthday
and i smoke my cigarette and become the only thing traveling
down this four way mall highway full of automobiles and people
they roll down their tinted windows and pelt me with their trash,
their negativity, their wasted times, their immobility and weight
and i begin to laugh harder, my smile lines stretching towards heaven.
merry christmas, shoppers!
merry christmas, chumps!
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 5:29 PM UTC
The day the sun refused to rise
Weathered and taxed, people began to fade
This was the beginning of our demise
Sickened by all the mortals lies
The divine produced a solar shade
On the day the sun refused to rise
The gods were unswayed by our cries
Through the darkness man was left to wade
This was the beginning of our demise
On the darkened horizon we left our sighs
Cold and sodding, crops rotting in the shade
On the day the sun refused to rise
This is the time that man withers and dies
Sickened with the trespasses we have made
This was the beginning of our demise
Tears and broken dreams stained our eyes
The Gods enforced their fatal blockade
On the day the sun refused to rise
This was the beginning of our demise
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
life was so incredibly vivid the day i was released
like a butterfly from a cocoon
i could not yet see my wings
but i knew they were there
and that they were ready.
i flew through the sky
like a shooting star.
millions made wishes on me
and i carried them each
until i was covered in tears
and desperate for rest.
but yet i cannot relax.
i sit in a bathtub and create shadows
with my body
and my hands
matching with the music i hear in my head
and your voice just keeps interrupting
a blockade to serenity
which will be my daughter’s name.
i wear a necklace from my brother each day
but i’ve learned i can live without it
even though i cannot live without you.
i’m so heavy.
i’m so desperate.
please do not be afraid of me.
don’t be ashamed.
i only want to be good enough.
and now my wings have drowned
in a basin of tears of wishes
and i don’t know how to dry off
or if i should.
all i know
is that my kisses
mean nothing
and i’m afraid
that they never will.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Bled for truth in subtle honesty
Hope the day's sacrifice will mean
Then end of this crazed tidal dream
For you know of what I speak
The cute candor of nothing more
Will be the downfall of what you implore
Drift aloft through midnight hopes
Another helping of roses to forget
Watch the petals fall past your regret
Posed in eloquent and harmonious prose
I mean for the guise to be it all
Where the days will garner the fall
Watch the scabs and scars fall away
The clarity that escapes the day
See the blade fall upon your head
For after this, it will be dead
In circumstance and in time
The wine will flow and the words rhyme
Hazy dreams matter not in frame
The death of something far more lame
The hope that guards the fantasy within
The night that counters thoughtful sin
To play with the words is to dance
And to dream of happenings and change
Remember how the days came together
With buzzing electric skies and tremors
I stood in awe as the sparks began to fade
For I hoped the night would be a darker shade
Where we took the truth that the day dies
In the trunk of a tree where our stories coincide
The remembrance of the singular past will shake
And the realities of love will make your soul quake
To open the truth to the calling of the sirens
For I know not what is means to ever cleanse
The music and song will change the temper hence
In the misdemeanor of what can make no sense
The disappearing guise of nostalgia and fate
For this suspenseful story can only ever berate
A change of heart met with force and blockade
For in the end, I can only ever think of what stayed.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 6:04 PM UTC
You come to me with your problems.
And like a psychiatrist.
I tries to help you solve them.
I only advise.
It's up to you to decide.
You speak of things that was of your own making.
You offered up.
And found many takers.
They operate around see a fool.
Use a fool rule.
You're not the first.
And you won't be the last.
To place your trust in someone.
Who wasn't worth the trust?
What you do is build your confidence up?
And stay focus on what's important to you.
Place yourself first in things you do.
Least when you're sure folks out to hurt you.
I'm on advising.
Cause I'm not certified to guide your live at anytime.
Don't place up a blockade of isolation.
Just use wisdom during any ocassion.
I'm only advising.
It's up to you to decide.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
What is the crisis
a quarter of the way
through life?
Existentially existing in the moment,
I'm constantly inside of myself
while also out.
Conundrum of being up while
I'm also down,
freedom within a blockade.
Oxymoronic hodgepodge of
tantalizing confusion,
tastes sweet on my brain
and thoughts ponder bitter on
my tongue.
Half and whole,
part and full,
questions answered with questions,
seeing things through in simultaneous
interrogatories.
Top here, bottom there,
rights are right,
and lefts aren't wrong.
Phone, texts and emails,
vibrating inside my skull
as I laugh and I cry,
as I seek to find.
Orange to yellow to green to brown,
seasons coming and going
inside my soul,
and I constantly blossom
and refreeze.
Everywhere feels like nowhere,
nowhere my somewhere as
I await a somewhere that's
everywhere.
Losing myself as I find it too,
letting some parts sail away
at sea,
and too there comes new
horizons,
as I surf, skating on the
foam, on the water's edges.
Wading into one crisis,
I'm swallowed by a
wave,
until I burst through the sea and the
salt;
and then the next wave
comes...
for life, it seems,
is salty and sweet,
one tide coming in to sweep itself away
in place of another.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
I follow you like an obsession
Seeing your life from the outside
Noting the smiles that frequent your face
The contentment of yourself in that space
I no longer see that disturbed longing to be free of that place
That backwater town that has no place for me in it
No future
Besides a deadpan existance leading its citizens astray or
Contenting them with a simple life
You have those who love you
Genuine friends and you seem to find a way to be busy
Find enjoyment in that simple existance
Not seeking out the exoteric meanings of life
Re-emerging back into that mentality of everyday people
Happy with just being in the moment in time
Devoid of that driving passion to find meaning in this life
To understand the worlds complexities and learn the beauty that is humanity
The vision I have escribed to myself to seek the truth in this world
To see the nasty and feel a sense of calm in the face of our own self destruction
Feeling as if my mission drives and beliefs are becomeing coersive to your health
How do I connect with you anymore?
You who used to abore the simplicity of your upbringing
I see it now
As you talk to your brothers and sister
I try to communitcate experience your world
But I am an outsider to this realm
My words don't fit
And all eyes make me feel castrated
I don't speak as they do, I use words they don't understand
A language and understanding that they do not employ
Not saying that I am better than anyone of them
Because I know I am not
Humble to the fact
That they don't find those things worth doing
Worth any merit
Secular in their reasoning
I see you fit this mold
This world where I cannot speak
Without offending or offering explination
Leaving me mute,
Feeling outcasted
Dumb to the workings of their order.
But you are a camilion blending in
Taking that world as your own
Transforming before my eyes into someone
I don't know
Or would know if I had realised you were
Developing without me
It is subtle this changing
How the conversation gets more complex on my end
Reaching out for anything that will relate you back to me
My mind becoming a blockade
A boundary to you
Where I crave none
I feel you here in my being
Shifting changing
The face you show me smiling happy
Loved and no longer in need of me
Wondering when you will see this yourself
When this distance will become leagues
And you determine whether it is worth it to cross
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Fantasy. Take a second look. This is literally one angle on the only fiance I've ever had. No joke. Mebbe see the sonnet titled "why did you hafta die?" next?
(sonnet # DCCCXXV)
We skidded round the corner and the p'lice
Were in our face. "Oh boy, we're out of space
Babe--just be brave, we're gonna win. Disgrace
Will keep them on our case 'til we decrease
Those ******** 'Til they skulk and beg for peace.
Now hang on tight"--(shifts in reverse)--"and brace
Yourself"--(tires squealing loudly)--"we'll retrace--
It might be hard--hold on--don't drop your piece!"
We ducked our heads, careening blythely through
A blockade, sending cars flying everywhere.
Out on the open road 'gain finally, too
Alert to miss a beat--"Get ready! Ere
You see them--fire! This is our rendezvous--"
We won at six. He's now their head. Take care.
05May12
D185c
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 11:04 PM UTC
I don't relate to
any of this anymore.
Buildings rip the sky
blocking out the light
of stellar smiles.
If I look out I can only
see for a few feet
not miles and miles.
I've worn out the soles
of my shoes
walking the streets
that sandpaper my soul.
I don't connect to
any of it anymore.
The lights on all night
pretending to be extra-
terrestrial
or the stacks of ads
that blockade my mail
But there aren't
any letters for me anyway
cause I don't relate to this
anymore.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
Headaches with earthquakes create milkshakes in the brain
Oozing out delicious thoughts
While freezing up the **** I once built around this town
Fondly known as Stephanie’s Brain
And people still come and visit; for the taste of what I’ve got
And sometimes these earthquakes don’t exactly hit the spot
Creating a well knowing that not everyone is the same
For the hope that one of these earthquakes will create the right amount of shake
Making it somewhat sane
And when it happens it will mix up my already jumbled thoughts
And produce what was once known as my brain
But now in return for my delicious thoughts,
Is nothing but a mixed up milkshake
That will once again freeze up the dams that blockade you from entering
And well we all know we once fought reality, like we do now
But ironically it is all the same
Our causes linked, like ice on a safety rail
Causing confusion and caution,
Which would normally be avoided with the mention of a “safety” rail
But now seems to cause even more danger then without one
And I feel light headed as you drink
The delicious nectar that has been produced for you
And all you can think is,
Man it tastes like chocolate…
I try to be different but ironically it just makes me the same as everyone else.
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 2:58 PM UTC