"dissent" poems
stand fast
raise your warrior arm
in splendour and dissent
carve the path
besieged on all sides;
the penance of deviance
awaits with open arms
embrace the battle cry
let it ring in the ears
of your foes and their kin
fulfill the oathes
uphold all that is good
in a world of devilment
that crawls beneath the skin
You are a Viking
in this life and the next
do not falter
your name depends on it;
resolution and absolution
await only the brave
the Viking exists in you
do not ignore your dreams
until your grave
your last breath
will be the final kiss
upon this world;
make it count.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."
And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.
But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.
They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.
Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.
So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.
And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 2:11 AM UTC
Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers,
Pass’d o’er thy head; many light hearts and wings,
Which now are dead, lodg’d in thy living bowers.
And still a new succession sings and flies;
Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot
Towards the old and still enduring skies,
While the low violet thrives at their root.
But thou beneath the sad and heavy line
Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark;
Where not so much as dreams of light may shine,
Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark.
And yet—as if some deep hate and dissent,
Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee,
Were still alive—thou dost great storms resent
Before they come, and know’st how near they be.
Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath
Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease;
But this thy strange resentment after death
Means only those who broke—in life—thy peace.
5.2k
He struggles and ponders,
reads and re-reads,
My markers fail before his eyes,
his naivety takes over,
A fruit? he queries,
I burst out in laughter,
Can be, I agree, but I await for more,
he peruses and my ribs tickled,
amused and curious, I stayed,
at his innocence that shined.
A Mango! he exclaims!
No! I equally enthused
'A woman, a fruit,
delicious and mystical,
for a man who craves'.
'Oh' the meek sigh, a tiny sound,
concurred or dissent, I know not,
In a flash came a verbal rebuff,
back to his annoying self.
He annoys and appeases,
A friend I have known for years,
Mine forever, I know for sure,
no matter what he says.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
1159
Great Streets of silence led away
To Neighborhoods of Pause—
Here was no Notice—no Dissent
No Universe—no laws—
By Clocks, ’twas Morning, and for Night
The Bells at Distance called—
But Epoch had no basis here
For Period exhaled.
4.9k
Among the most necessary things
for the survival of intellectual constructs
(such as personal rights, privileges, and information in general)
is the notion of Satyagraha, as coined by Gandhi:
The notion of Peaceful Non-Compliance
to the ******** of your time.
It is truly Compassion manifest.
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
of which you will never hear in our Schools or Churches
or on packages at Wal-Mart
or from Politicians.
Civil Disobedience is the Voice
that cannot be taken until your Death.
Civil Disobedience is the Music and pulse
of a truly living Culture.
Civil Disobedience is the respectful denial to conform
to the laws imposed and policies enacted
by those who are undeserving of such power,
or those who abuse the power they so grandiosely wield.
Civil Disobedience is necessary
for the survival of a thriving popular Democracy,
and thus is punished by the Authoritarians
who use Democracy as a veil for Totalitarianism.
Civil Disobedience is the only vote you'll ever be guaranteed in your life.
It is Democracy seeking refuge in Vigilantism,
It is Anarchy embodying the greater good.
It is what must be done in the face of Oppression by Authority.
I most sincerely and personally maintain:
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue,
Civil Disobedience is a Need,
Civil Disobedience is a Philosophy.
Civil Disobedience is Peace and Harmony
in the faces of Chaos and Tyranny.
Civil Disobedience;
Peaceful Non-Compliance
Respectful Dissent
Informed Resistance.
Pacifism is not for the faint of Heart.
-\-
*Then again,
the options are few
when we couldn't fight back
if we needed to.*
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
I felt my organs fighting a good fight
But my body giving in
Declining the offering of nutrients
Do you remember I told you I was going to die?
Do you remember telling me I was the apple of you eye
But I wouldn't even eat the fruit they gave me
The next morning I woke with you by my side
Worrying I didn't make it through the night
And dissent dreams of eating at restaurant's
Feeling out of sight.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Their lies are prompted
from teleprompters
and executed flaw-fully
from taxpayer's helicopters.
They say we're protecting
foreign daughters
while filtering profits
to desert clad marauders.
Blank faced public
fear conversing religion and politics
while passively electing
lunatics with trigger switches.
Arm the rebels
they bite the hand that feeds
the middle east burns
while America ******* bleeds.
The white, blue and red
camo helmets on their heads
farm fed frat boys
equipped with jackets of lead.
We watched Saddam crumble
his statue beaten with shoes
but the same war we already fought
the puppets now will choose.
Fight the good fight
support the troops.
Drone strikes by twilight
**** the troops.
An Army of one
Sempter Fi
Do or Die
I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket
covered in a flag you valued more than your life.
Our heroes are our welfare
stop blaming single mothers
plastic bags tied around throats
water boarding dissent, it smothers.
**** the Medal of Honor
I'm tearing up your portrait Obama.
How many can benefit from free tuition?
But we give it to those trained to slaughter.
Our priority is the police state
Nazis pretending to tote freedom.
We sip our Americanos
And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading.
**By Evan Ponter
@evanponter**
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
And when you fast
Sate your hunger
With more of the Father
And when you fast
Weld it as a weapon
And prepare for battle
For his coming kingdom
And when you fast
Fast with intent
Ignore your stomachs dissent
And listen to reflect
And listen to expect
More than you had dreamt
And when you fast
Take your fill
Of all that he has in store
For yours and you
And whenever you fast
However you fast
Don't be downcast
Fast with a laugh
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
(Composed by Billy Liebert; Recorded by John Wayne -1973)
Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son! Read what's written there--
The history, the progress and the heritage we share.
Our flag relects the past, son, but stands for so much more,
And in this Age of Aquarius, it still flies in the fore.
It leads the forward movement, shared by all mankind,
To learn...to love...to live with peace of mind;
To learn the mysteries of space, as well as those of earth;
To love each man for what he is, regardless of his birth;
To live without the fear of reprisal for belief;
To ease the tensions of a world that cries out for relief.
Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son! Take a good long look.
What you're seeing now can't be found in a history book.
It's the present and the future, son. It's being written now,
And you're the one to write it, but the flag can show you how.
Do you know what it stands for? What its makers meant?
To think...to speak...the privilege of dissent;
To think our leaders might be wrong...to stand and tell them so.
These are the things that other men under other flags will never know.
But responsibility...that's the cross that free men must bear,
And if you don't accept that, the freedom isn't there.
Face the Flag of stars and bars,
Of red and white and blue,
A flag that guarantees the rights
For men like me and you.
Face the Flag, son, and face reality.
Our strengths and our freedoms are based in unity.
The flag is but a symbol, son, of the world's greatest nation,
And as long as it keeps flying, there's cause for celebration.
So do what you've got to do, but always keep in mind,
A lot of people believe in peace...but there are the other kind.
If we want to keep these freedoms, we may have to fight again.
God forbid, but if we do, let's always fight to win,
For the fate of a loser is futile and it's bare:
No love, no peace...just misery and despair.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
We, too, had known golden hours
When body and soul were in tune,
Had danced with our true loves
By the light of a full moon,
And sat with the wise and good
As tongues grew witty and gay
Over some noble dish
Out of Escoffier;
Had felt the intrusive glory
Which tears reserve apart,
And would in the old grand manner
Have sung from a resonant heart.
But, pawed-at and gossiped-over
By the promiscuous crowd,
Concocted by editors
Into spells to befuddle the crowd,
All words like Peace and Love,
All sane affirmative speech,
Had been soiled, profaned, debased
To a horrid mechanical screech.
No civil style survived
That pandaemonioum
But the wry, the sotto-voce,
Ironic and monochrome:
And where should we find shelter
For joy or mere content
When little was left standing
But the suburb of dissent?
3.1k
learn your questions.
discern the myriad as One, and console your misery with service.
pour your fumes into the heart of mars; press pause when your gods
make you nervous. and when they don't exist, you whistle while you hurt...
as if
the Master Plan
had jokes.
but know this.
your cathedrals have killed people, and your faith was crushed -
whenever sincere. so i
bid you peace. a peace with
tranquil thoughts and night lemmings;
squealing
right over the Cliffnotes to Oblivion, in vapid terror and happy herds.
their little parachutes; cumbersome, with snapped threads to a forum, that unpack, once filled
with air and
parents .
you inherit
the edge of your vague notions.... that expand
upon dissent .
heretic tick
BOOM !
then make love, all day Wednesday
learn your questions. gain the gist
of your out-risible ignorance and invent the humor of "precise submission"
as humility will boast , enthroned above the kingdom of desire
aching hermetic in a mob. but knobs -
that turn, despite severed hands
turn Truth's *****
learn your throat.
hold only the notes to your music
to a golden standard !
Brandish your exile, like a rogue -
from it's sheath of Turin
[ and flash! ] it's blade of grasp
in Walt Whitman's
Verile Phase...
face your loved ones, but only
with the face
that got away.
return...
return unbridled and
unkempt. more windswept
than lost and found
haunted...
and remember
eat whatever
you **** well please
because
" **** Dr. Phil, Really ? "
Have you ever seen an anorexic
Buddha ?
and bought that one ?
if you have...
you might be
ascetic.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
A student of the crowded breeze.
On a whim Raise like the dandelions' seed,
Vibrantly dissent like, in fall, trees' leaves.
An apostle of purpose beyond what one sees for the unknown is nothing and possibility.
Our lessons are on the topic of practical whimsy, in their way; the wind that cools your face also fans a flame and guides the rain.
The Sensei go by many names, I know them from the roles they play:
Boreas shepherds my turmoil,
A tempest;
senseless, cold and violent as if without vision only vengeance.
Notus shows my passion;
A gust to an ember on dry land,
Unreasonable, unpredictable and destructive without a plan.
Zephyr entices my love;
A subtle intimate current for dance,
The beauty of birds and bees flying from flower to flower and branch to branch.
Eurus reflects my way;
A flurry that moves the sand.
The removal of sediment,
the return to foundation born from action mixed with patience.
They can only guide me
I can ride the winds of the odyssey or resign to the winds of dreams
but I know
I Am
A student of the breeze.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
father flesh your vows were made
with certain good intent
better yet the brows you raised
could see no self dissent
strong, you were
a rock of sorts
which seldom moves an inch
long, you were
on life of course
life is but a cinch
oh so brave to walk the fire
the fire gone unkindled
a smothered flame to breathe again
once properly swindled
conscience plays a partial part
in stemming liability
but time you'll find will rob your mind
of valuable stability
it's a tell-tale sort of story
though no moral or no fable
and if you'll kindly pay the ransom-
the deed to my betrayal
we shall climb this rugged mountain
together we shall ascend
and once atop the sound will drop
"my father is my friend!"
©Jason Cole
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
You don’t have to wave your country’s flag;
Nor do you have to boast and brag
That yours is the best country on earth—
Whether or not it’s the land of your birth—
To be a patriot.
There’s no need to brandish your weapons to show
That you have your rights that you’ll never forgo;
Nor do you have to copy the ones
Who feel the need for an arsenal of guns
To be a patriot.
You don’t have to heed everything you are told,
Fear seeking truths that your leaders withhold,
Or forget that in your laws there’s a reason
That public dissent’s not the same thing as treason
To be a patriot.
You don’t have to feel that the government is right
To force young men and women to fight
In wars that profit the War Machine--
And which you in your heart know are obscene--
To be a patriot.
There’s no need to always bewail and prate
On the separation of church and state
Or let the troublemakers upset you
By saying the government’s out to get you
To prove you’re a patriot.
But caring about the poor and the needy;
Wanting to have, without being greedy;
Feeling concern for the rights of ALL;
And helping others up when they fall:
That's being a patriot!
- by Bob B
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
There's this guy who constantly gives me grief online
as if I need a reminder that I am not funny or smart
that I am incapable of posting any story without his remark
as if he should impart and bestow all of social media
with his divine and seraphic academia:
what is with that?
He posts comments about how illiterate my poetry is
how it doesn't follow the rules; the do-nots and the do's
pontificates how its not properly punctuated
as if I should give up altogether and just shine shoes
and forget trying to construct sentences
just wander in the carousel of nebula's
eternally seeking the tentacle of enemas:
what is with that?
This guy enjoys winding me up like a persistent hobby
the reverent devilment of sadistic entitlement
pushing my head under water for a digital baptism
that I should thank him for his rhetoric enlightenment
as if he was blessed with a correspondence talisman:
what is with that?
This isn't even a poem.
I am letting off steam like an overused kettle
fed up of his mortar forever rammed in my pestle
the temples are raging and my brain is just draining
to explode on cue on the next digital heckle
the cracked and broken vessel
into a vengeful steam-driven projectile:
what is with that?
This, < here > , is my only escape
and creative cathartic vent
I'll post this lament
with the stench of discontent
and tag his name and then just wait
for his feverish malcontent
that I should dare to
prevent his God-like dissent:
memo to self
to a digital antagonist
and his verbose verbal cyst
and the keyboard of twists
when you push
sometimes you get
a big shove back
so don't be surprised
by my riposte
and this poetic attack.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Hidden coves of love disguised by cold eyes
Chances not yet given.
Angry tones escape tooth filled holes
Drilling dissent through another's soul.
Selfish is the only answer,
yet not an excuse.
Forgive the fool.
He is you
She is I
We are one.
Negative polarities combusting innocent eyes.
Lost in the essence of the moment.
This is an apology for the mournful cries.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
distinct beings intertwined amongst the influx
passengers and neighbors, reactive tension
impulses of separation.
pause for a moment. breath together.
similar beings galvanized by difference
nutrition for acceptance.
forgive the fool
he is you
she is I
we are one.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich
Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink
Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work
We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God
Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Love affairs
Seem fair
To those
In despair
This pair
Of cheaters
Single-handedly
Broke the vows
Of divine law
Runaway bride
Rides
In a getaway car
With
A stolen groom
Driving
Up hell’s rode
Laughing loudly
Menacing
Thought to be missing
By the abandoned
Lovers
Undercover haters
Of commitment
Committing
Their first ******
Further destruction
Of the sanctity
Of marriage
Has yet to come
But will
Once the wheels
Slow
At their final destination
A place
Where foul
Actions
Will be enacted
Loud enough
For all to hear
Mr. and Mrs.
Turned
Mister and Misses
Mistresses misled
By the aisle
In which they walk
To positions
They would rather not
Say I do
But
The diamond ring
Pops the question
A girl’s best friend
Is not a man
And man’s
Is his dog
A *****
With intent
To dissent from real love
As she ***** him
On the altar
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:41 AM UTC