"dissenter" poems
Incognizant of the excrement,
I'm the dozing tenant of advertised adversity.
I ignore the fact that the world now is like a toilet,
And I avoid it, I avoid it, I avoid it.
Boy, did you get exploited?
How could we know we're
No more than numerical exponents?
Can consolation prizes console him?
We're not aware of the ventriloquists
Or their true motives.
Popular perfume conceals
The stench from the load of,
Finite excrement that
The suited men sold us.
They told us that it would be beneficial,
Not an imposition on our self-image,
Pinocchio before he found
Out he was artificial.
Is the American Dream a reality?
Why did I hear a dissenter
Say it was superficial?
We must have missed something,
We see no issues.
Meanwhile, my Uncle Sam designated
You as the mental missile.
Originally written 5/25/11
Revised 10/15/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
I am a creator,
a builder
a maker.
Bringing substance to the void,
brings me the greatest sense of joy.
A blank page.
A clean slate.
I draw out form,
and bring forth shape.
And I am a musician,
a lyrical magician.
The man.
The myth.
The mission.
My own unique rendition,
In every composition.
BUT
Can you identify my theory?
I'll be shocked if you're correct.
If this is sonic engineering,
then I'm a sonic architect.
And I am an inventor
A leader,
A dissenter,
A believer,
A protester,
A deceiver,
And a mentor,
A compatriot,
An apprentice,
A confederate,
An accomplice.
And I am a teller of stories,
of horrors, and of glories.
And I am a writer of tales,
of triumphs, and travails.
And I am a creator.
A builder.
A maker.
A musician and a writer.
Not a lover, nor a fighter,
Not a fixer,
Nor a breaker.
Not a giver,
Nor a taker.
No.
I am a creator
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
They swore I’d be that girl
The pitiable dissenter, to whom
You would not dare confide your thoughts
Or allow one moment of your time
But I’ll leave a shadow in your heedless heart
A place I once called home
Where destiny was wrongly scribed
And cruelty ceaselessly presides
On the dusty mantle, now shall sit
In this pale and vacant room
The portrait of a son, a life
Bartered for your vain delights
Enjoy the silence.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 3:01 PM UTC
i rolled up the sleeves of my sweater
and felt the impertinent nagging
of the cold frost in this winter weather
the need to stay warm diminished
this new sensation left my tingling skin satisfied
in the cold frost that too soon relinquished
gray haze consumed the sky
sunlight was no longer evident
this cold frost inundated all but one single cry
that cry was my own asking for a change
and in that very second
the cold frost turned into a heavy snow, spotting my arm like mange
the last of the sun disappeared behind a dark cloud
without even a last glance
i imbibed the cold frost as it never made my skin tingle so proud
my skin that longed for my clarion winter
to feel something new that was not warmth
thank you cold frost, my beautiful summer dissenter
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Nimble foe you've taken plenty o' life,
Condemned spirits of right to disdainful strife,
And illness of absence at that of departed,
Wrongfully beseeched at what you'd started.
And here with these twigs, I abolish at once,
Unable to return to these lands for months,
And shall we meet again at the glimpse of eye,
Let it be known that thou be sentenced to die -
Employed upon you ever so swiftly,
And might you remember such last moments stiffly.
Here I warn you once, no more,
And command you away from this land you'd tore,
For your existence has given thee such shame,
It is all but you, you are to blame,
And for once might you realize in agony, in fame,
Your callous actions have set surefire to name,
Alas, may you conclude tis' not a game,
As you walk among a blaze, for you are the flame -
At once, which all, seize to burn out,
Shan't you menace and retort with incentive to spout,
Rejection, forevermore, your friendly bloom,
Yet now even disgust stay wretched in Moon;
So that one day might you seek to learn,
That dissenters hereby are condemned to burn.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
The orator speaks as the masses run towards the flame. Not the light of knowledge, but the radiant beacon of ignorance. The masses embrace the false comfort of surrender as they bask in the light. Life is too hard and we must not think for ourselves. Release us from responsibility they cry, give us our desires and protect us as we give up bits of our freedom for false security. Many are mesurized by the hypnotic words of the Sphengali's that promise them everything, but deliver little. The fault of your life is too much freedom surrender and be at ease. To those who go willingly the dissenter are the obstacle that must be overcome. As the mass delusion carries the masses to their doom, some struggle against the light of ignorance, but in what seems a futile fight. The curtain begins to fall on freedom as democracy is replaced with lies. So goes the book of liberty as the chapter of the script of ignorance heralds the end of a story as freedom is closed out of the scene.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
A prisoner of memories
locked in the shallows
of the past .
A true dissenter of the war
on my conscience education.
A burning freight car
keeps haunting my dreams.
A spyglass
destiny of fire .
More energy spent
unlearning than learning.
Living life toiling
in enemy territory.
Sweetly decadent this
flesh and blood woman .
Feminine as lace
lyrical and ferocious,
exquisite and dangerous.
Unintended consequences of
the violence of religion,
a famine of spirituality.
The terrible separation of faith.
The poet ablaze
with the poetry of fire.
The laurel has withered
in the talons of the dove .
The sun rose as they danced
over the renegade landscape.
Nine stones surrounding
the olive branch that’s broken.
Confessions of evil,
lightning and lace .
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
Once upon a time
In a distant land
Lived a king.
He was a bloodthirsty tyrant,
A lover of massacres,
Excited by war,
With a lust for fight.
Every day the axe fell
Upon the head of some dissenter,
Every night the body
Of some enemy
Dangled on the castle's walls.
He showed no mercy,
He felt no pain
In witnessing the horrors
Of his ****** rule.
War was his entertainment,
****** his joy.
He had no friends.
He knew
Only enemies and servants.
So this king
Once went to war,
With his knights
and his horsemen,
Aiming at a merciless victory.
His horse was the on of champions,
His sword the masterpiece of blades.
His shield was shiny and strong.
But he lost the war.
And then the enemy captured him
And put him in jail,
Almost naked, wound and fragile.
The tower he was in was cold,
The chains were tight,
His fate unsure.
Nothing was left of his glory.
The first day he cursed
The enemy and all his ancestry,
The second he promised
All the money
He could give
To the prison's watchmen.
The third he just yelled
Unrepeatable slurs
And unspeakable atrocities.
But the fourth day
Something happened.
The king started to feel.
All the pain he inflicted upon others
Was now his pain,
Their suffering was now
The same he was feeling,
Their moaning was now
The only sound he could utter.
His was the head cut by the axe,
His the feet dangling from the walls.
His the wounds and the mutilations
Of every veteran of war.
He felt all of that
And he cried.
And so he cried,
And he cried, he cried
For hours and then for days.
He asked no mercy,
For him never granted it
For his victims.
He begged no forgiveness,
Because he was aware of his nature.
But he was forgiven.
The winning king
Had mercy of the tyrant,
Hearing his crying
In the middle of the night.
He set the ****** enemy free
And all of his army
Was able to follow him
Back to his kingdom
Knowing that something changed
In the tyrant's heart.
And so it was.
The king was amazed
By an act of kindness
He could not even conceive.
He felt so strange.
Suddenly he has become
Permeable to the pain of others.
Suddenly he gained empathy
For all the suffering
He could never feel before.
He felt so human.
All his life he wanted to
Distinguish himself
From the common men.
Now he just felt
Like he could live
In the heart of every man.
When the king died,
Many years after that fatal battle,
Everyone remembered him
As a wise, tender man,
A lover of peace,
Moved by compassion,
Delighted by love.
No one knew what happened,
But everyone
In that lucky kingdom
Knew that it was something
Unspeakably beautiful.
This happens to many men:
They're cruel when they're sheltered
By power and glory
Validated by honors and praise.
But none of them can stand
The power of an heart screaming,
When the discover this ancient truth:
Money and power
Make people different,
But common pain make us all equal.
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC