"downtrodden" poems
Cast a Vast Million Colored Words, a Canvas of Solace
Dedicated to Tajudeen Shah
who wrote those words,
a fellow poet, a comrade in words.
----------------------------------------
With words we paint,
With syllables we embrace,
Tasked and ennobled,
We are forever fully employed,
Missionaries to all,
You too, are one as well,
Your fate can't be renounced,
So,
Before you pen words of
Lost love, woe begotten troubles,
Nature's royal blues and purples,
Spirits, demons, speeches, mumbles,
First
Write the uplifting sounds,
Cast a million colored words,
Upon a canvas of solace,
Bring one molecule of comfort
To the misbegotten, to the downtrodden,
In any way you can, form matters not,
But let this be our mantra shared,
Let this be our only morning prayer,
A prayer we are obligated to utter,
A prayer we are obligated to fulfill.
Solace, given,
Solace, granted.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
She sees things of beauty in all that she see
And what's beautiful to her seems ugly to me
What to her is a flower to me is a ****
We do seem so different so different indeed.
The window of her soul is open to light
She always seems happy and bubbly and bright
And her type of person a pleasure to know
For beauty goes with her where-ever she go.
Of those who are different good things she does say
And for to help out others she goes out of her way
She helps out the homeless and those in dire poverty
I do not know of anyone as great as she.
And sad to think her type are becoming more rare
For the poor and downtrodden she genuinely does care
To the most worthy causes her work free time she devote
Yet she is not seen as one worthy of note.
A beautiful person with a heart of gold
And surely her story deserves to be told
Not proud of her beauty and free of conceit
And people like her one does not often meet.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 5:57 PM UTC
Allah was his ears
As sounds unlawful, unethical it never heard.
Secrets, gossips and rumours were also barred.
It buzzed with words of Quran day and night
Always Open to sounds just and upright.
Allah was his eyes
As it looked parents, orphans and needy with love
Brimmed with tears thinking of Almighty above
It never despised his brother and from lust it was freed.
Gold and silver had no worth and had no signs of greed.
Allah was his hands
As it stopped things reprehensible with force
In Allah's cause spent abundantly his resource
It caressed the head of an orphan in affection.
Time and again meekly raised it in supplication.
Allah was his feet
As it never moved towards things which Allah hate
Avoided walking arrogantly with a strutting gait
It always ran to help downtrodden, oppressed.
For knowledge for light it was on constant quest.
He had mountains of obligatory good deeds
He had mountains of non-obligatory good deeds
His protector was Allah The Almighty
His enemy was enemy of Allah The Almighty
He was beloved of Allah
He was friend of Allah
He was Wali of Allah
He was Waliullah.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
The First-Born Blues
Sara L Russell 22nd August 2014 20:59 revised 27th Aug 2014, 13:58
So I bite down on bitter words
and I eat my humble pie
for those who will not understand me
Until the day I die.
self-pity's for the birds,
where the golden egos fly;
if you will not understand me
should I bother to ask why?
So you know I'm always me
and I never will be her
and you know she's gone forever
things can't be the way they were
I survived, unworthily
though you think I should concur
that death struck out unfairly
- should have taken me, not her.
So I wear my comfort cross
and I carry my cross of woe -
each a spiritual placebo
from the God I used to know;
and an eerie sense of loss
follows everywhere I go
for this poor downtrodden ego
that you always overthrow.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
They walk into darkness
exiled from fear.
Relinquished cerebral thoughts,
freedom wanes,
dissolved into rote-reality,
into a spirit of ****
cast downtrodden,
embracing submissive bogus security.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry
split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire
pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail
raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char
thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july
smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem
stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace
quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead
past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack
sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone
cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Green
Refreshing
Maturing to become
Grains that will feed us
WIth the sweat of the farmer
WIth the tears of the widows and daughters
WIth the sorrow of the indebted ..
WIth the curse of the deprived and downtrodden..
We don't see the stories behind the scene
We relish the fancy recipes of the Master Chefs
Of fragrant rice, golden rice and the slim and slender grains
We forget the dark, thin, slender bodies who make it for us...
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep
scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.
Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.
Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .
Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.
Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.
Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .
Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.
Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .
Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.
Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose
Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .
Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix
Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .
Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.
Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
A newlywed man was talking to me, saying that
he and his wife had just become homeowners yesterday.
"Last night was our first time in our new house,
but I didn't close the wood stove right... It burned to the ground
in the middle of the night"
He was clearly intoxicated, downtrodden and red-eyed.
It was 10:17 am in an airport bar, and I was four beers deep waiting
for my 12:26 pm flight as he was telling me this.
I looked away from the clock and into his eyes and said:
"Well it must have been a great housewarming."
I killed the rest of my beer and went for a cigarette,
and never saw him again.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
The tongues of the poor are silent
their bellies do most of the talking
the backs of the downtrodden break
a thousand times each day they snap
bullets fly in every direction, even upwards
celebrating some kind of victory
the whole wide world watches a TV screen
as they get thinner, wider, more HD
we can now see spots and dimples more clearly
on all the faces of killing projectiles and casualties.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
A Tribute
A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind….
The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush.
The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins.
The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor.
With that, Steve Jobs is dead.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
*Glitzy gowns, crisp suits
Dainty personalities, well-groomed gentlemen
The crème de la crème of society
Poised reveling in an aura of importance
Flex their financial muscle
In the name of philanthropy.
Handing out gifts to hoi polloi
Their hands gloved
Smiling from ear to ear
Their noses twitching
Apparently un-accustomed to the “smell” of poverty
Has poverty…a smell?
Self-aggrandizement overwhelming their souls
Having warmed the hearts of the downtrodden
It’s a deal…sealed
Effortlessly*
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
Blackbird oh Blackbird
Where is your proud song
I heard you sing in the sixties
Aren't you still downtrodden and all
Have you grown complacent
Did they clip your wings
I marched with your Fathers
They wouldn't hear of such a thing
Why was it they suffered
If not for the chance to be free
They had their eyes on the future
Is this what they wanted to see
The cage that contains you
The latch is on the inside
Blackbird in you is the power
To take freedoms ride
Blackbird oh Blackbird
Where is your proud song
If you'll sing it again
This time we'll all sing along
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Won boxing matches with Lewis , Lasky, Corn Griffin, Swiderski,
Then many more titles with Griffiths, Farr, Stillman, and Levandowski,
Jackson, Caggiano, Darnell and Dobson
Something he could tell his grandson
His greatest match of all was the title he earned against Max Baer
The fight was the ultimate win at Gardens of Madison Square
A very passionate man for his wife and children he went to great lengths
To keep his family together during the depression, even in times of brink
Served honorably in WWII as a 1st Lieutenant
Owned a surplus supplier of marine equipment
Helped to construct the bridge Verrazano
It was the proud city’s beautiful Picasso
Gone is Jim Braddock, a movie about him, CINDERELLA MAN to be sure he’s not forgotten
His Granddaughter Rosemarie Dewitt played his neighbor Sara Wilson, who was downtrodden
Copyright 2014
All Rights Reserved
Biopoem
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
burdened with the weight of it all,
the camel stops and lies
in the middle of the desert
the man driving the herd--
the herd that's laden
with tired, overworked
camels, walks toward the downtrodden
offender with his arm outstretched
and in his palm, sat a pistol--
then, he hesitates--
as he stares into the eyes of
the camel--
deeply--
intrigued--
but beyond that,
he felt a sense of calm, which
soon turned sour--
everything turns sour
he gazed into the dark abyss
of the pistol
turned it toward his temple
and pulled the trigger
all the camels scattered--
except the one lying down
he placed his head in the sand,
then slept
in memory of
the
fallen
herder
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
She was crying.
So he approached
to lessen the anguish,
her life has notched
He exchanged her tears
with his cozy smile;
to calm down her nerves
at least for a while.
The language of tears
has always appealed him;
as to the insects,
the sundew's gleam.
Innate was this nature of his
to weep for the poor,
for the women, for the children
and for the downtrodden, to be sure.
But with hollow chauvinism
then, the men ruled the society.
And accounted weeping as a sin
resulting from inferiority.
They disliked the boy
and his uncommon ways
to heal the sufferer,
to their utter dismay.
They called the boy
and asked him to change
his beliefs and ideology
or to be ready to estrange.
The boy couldn't understand
how his actions have been
outrageous in their view
and thus sentenced as a sin.
He stood against them
and let the proposal decline.
He advocated his logic
to those ****** swine.
But their ears were concealed
to even the rumbling thunder.
Intoxicated by masculinity
they committed blunder.
The men enraged
and reached for their knives.
They shouted, they cursed
and skinned him alive.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Life is a journey that slowly ends,
but not allowing you to make amends.
How can I right the wrongs I have done,
With all the lies that I have spun.
Nobody teaches you right from wrong,
not in this life's tragic song.
where will I be in 10 years time?
what about this old heart of mine?
Love is for poets, or so they say,
not for my heart to wilfully stray.
for my heart is broken and scarred today,
there is no hope for tomorrow, so into the fray.
As Life is a journey, or so they say,
Nobody will love me or even pray.
So how do you travel on this exhaustive trip?
How do you travel without a stumble or slip?
Hope is a friend that regularly visits,
Hope is a friend that stands and spits!
But without this friend, how do you travel,
on this road of downtrodden gravel,
But hope is a friend, a true friend of mine
Hope is the one thing that's with me through time.
One day this journey will abruptly stop,
with hope behind me when I hear that knock.
The knock I hear so loud and clear
From deaths door alas I truly fear.
Life is a journey so full of promise
sadly its mostly full of solace.
what will be said when I am gone?
good riddens to ******* I hear from some.
I have tried to travel with love and compassion
but others may say I am just like fashion
as fashion changes and never stands still,
I am true to this hardened will.
Here lays Neil, may he rest in peace,
as his journey now has begun to cease.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
***Blackbird oh Blackbird
Where is your proud song
I heard you sing in the sixties
Aren't you still downtrodden and all
Have you grown complacent
Did they clip your wings
I marched with your Fathers
They wouldn't hear of such a thing
Why was it they suffered
If not for the chance to be free
They had their eyes on the future
Is this what they wanted to see
The cage that contains you
The latch is on the inside
Blackbird in you is the power
To take freedoms ride
Blackbird oh Blackbird
Where is your proud song
If you'll sing it again
This time we'll all sing along***
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
A monotone voice
and a downtrodden persona
a cup of tears
a tablespoon of PTSD
a teaspoon of bullets
a bucket of camouflage
a sprinkle of hope
a mile of death
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
Walk across the marshes
View from the distance
into the streets of London
The downtrodden man,
contrite and solemn,
with weathered shoes
and a weathered soul
Walk in his shoes,
View through his eyes
into the streets of desperation
The downtrodden man,
worn and hungry,
with no bread to eat
and no cent to his name
Walk beside him,
View of his world,
into the street of questions
The downtrodden man,
simple and depraved,
with not an answer
and no life to live
Walk to his grave,
View of his stone
into the streets of nothing
The downtrodden man,
asleep and alone,
with no one to care
and no one to see
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
Boots sanction the hearts of men.
The victims are wailing and smiling
Death keeps on knocking and waiting
Who will liberate us?
Denial of our voices made us cry
Downtrodden wept as their voices
Dwindle and cracks for liberation
Who are the kindhearted?
Nation begets unruly masters
As the country pretends to smile
Honest people are followers!
Why the contradiction?
Bemourning the scourges of men
Humanity strives to speak but ...
Money, power and fame supercedes
When are we going to rise?
Hatred is begging to put on a smile
Laughter covers herself with rags
The future bleeps and sorrows
Can we revolt against the status quo?© Uzo
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 6:13 AM UTC
#
Sadly true, and difficult.. all of it..
but you are the defiant-one--
Your greatest act of defiance
is to love deeply, the very one
that she so excelled at
in nearly completely dismembering.
We who care about you, cringe
at the thought of you even remotely
agreeing with the horrendous
message that she put into you.
No one that cares about you
agrees with that message..
including you.
She did her job well, gorgeous..
you are split almost into
two separate people--
the you who agrees with her
because of the guilt and shame
she put on you,
for going against her self-centered
view of the world
(and the all too vulnerable, little you)
But there is another part of you
that thrives through creativity..
almost as an advocate/encourager
of the misfits.. the downtrodden.
You are in essence, a comforter
of your own, broken
and dismembered self.
#
Dec 27, 2021
Dec 27, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC