"fanaticism" poems
You lived alone in the solititude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
If you’re not white
And your state is red,
Don’t be surprised
If you end up dead.
As maybe some one
Will beat on your head
And demand to know
What goes on in your bed.
If you are any race
But Holy Caucasian
Like African or Inuit,
Mexican or Asian
That includes Islam
And all such nations
The bigots will hate
On every occasion.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
In World War Two we
Fought against fascism
And now we entertain
An unholy American schism
In which Americans plan
With gleeful fanaticism
To make every effort
To maintain totalitarianism.
For over two centuries
We have sung of equality
And the inalienable rights
Of American humanity.
We continue to fight now
But it has become a calamity
Because now we are fighting
Within each of our families.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved.
Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others! My manner of thinking stems straight from my considered reflections: it holds with my existence, with the way I am made. It is not in my power to alter it; and were it, I’d not do so. These manners of thinking you find fault with is my sole consolation in life; it alleviates all my sufferings in prison, it composes all my pleasures in the world outside; it is dearer to me than life itself. Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. A traveler journeys along a fine road. It has been strewn with traps. He falls into one. Do you say it is the traveler's fault, or that of the scoundrel who lays the trap? If then, as you tell me are willing to restore my liberty if I am willing to pay for it by the sacrifice of my principles or my tastes, we may bid one another an eternal adieu, for rather than part with those, I would sacrifice a thousand lives and a thousand liberties, if I had them. These principals and these tastes, I am their fanatic adherent; and fanaticism in me is the product of persecutions I have endured from my tyrants. The longer they continue their vexations, the deeper they root my principles in my heart, and I openly declare that no one need talk to me of liberty if it is offered to me only in return for their destruction.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
We all have seen
people,
places,
and different situations
that questions
everything we have learned,
believed,
seen,
and heard.
It is up to us whether to
label those things
as mere fallacies,
or to uphold them
as utter truths.
But this isn't always the case.
The process of acceptance
is not always easy.
It involves a lot of self-berating,
self-loathing,
listless moments,
melancholic states,
and finally,
reluctant adaption,
to the current norms,
notion,
and societal views,
that forces us to change
our views,
our versions of truths,
our perception of reality,
and our own self-image.
We must always beware
those situations; let it not
deter you.
For, dear, you are
what you are,
and what you believe;
your conviction,
your truths,
your freedom from
these mind-altering moments,
will not be taken away from you.
Do not let yourself
be washed away
by the waves of
fanaticism.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
I am a traveling salesman
and in my travels I have
sold many a thing
in middle class America,
I sold debt, love, lies,
wasted youth, and forgotten dreams
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.
My travels brought me to
the south of the Rio Grande.
Disease and poverty were
on the first of my list of things
to sell. Soon, heartbreak, hate,
tyranny, and fleeing for a future
followed,
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.
I traveled to the east, the
exact opposite of where humanity
once tread. I sold many things there
to people none the wiser.
Racism, genocide, and intolerance
I removed from my bag, and they
received tyranny and fanaticism
for free,
and none were the wiser
of what I sold.
I fled to the north to sell my goods.
The land of former kings provided
a great market for distrust, poverty,
and eventual declines from the great
history the land once knew.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.
So I went to the last place of my sales
the not-quite-Far East. And there I found
the best market for civil wars, censorship,
arms sales, rebellions, and most of all,
potential.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.
And so I fled this world to sell to another
and in my travels, I sold the world
to things leading to destruction.
And none were the wiser
of what I sold.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
I SOUGHT a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.
II
What can I but enumerate old themes?
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the ***** of his faery bride?
And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
The Countess Cathleen was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intetvened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy,
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love.
And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.
III
Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving ****
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
1.6k
I
I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.
II
What can I but enumerate old themes?
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the ***** of his faery bride?
And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intetvened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy,
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love.
And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.
III
Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving ****
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.
1.5k
It was a bag of prejudice tied up with strings of judgement. I would know it anywhere. The chill of its indifference never failed to give me nightmares.
Curious thing this is, never curious about the things that tie, a strange fascination with the catabolic, breaking down bit by bit, every standing bridge, till in loneliness, paranoia takes seed.
You call it religion, I call it fanaticism.
You call it ethnicity, I call it a lack of humanity.
You call it antisemitism, I call it disparity.
Diversity versus equality: we know who always wins.
It is always easier to pull apart.
We pull apart a country, a society, sometimes a family just to fit into boxes that do not matter. Whatever doesn't fit we scatter till we are surrounded by blood splatters.
Cannibalism is bad. It is bad to consume but when you destroy the other when you take away their means of life and livelihood, is it any different from taking their lives?
You notice diversity by the differences, not the radiance of their smiles, that does not depend on colour or creed. It is simply a bunch of basic human need.
But you would rather take than provide. You would rather push everyone aside who is not from your own box and then you put yourself behind locks to protect from those you deprive.
Why not for a change simply be alive, appreciate another life?
Why not smile at another smile, irrespective of race, colour or creed?
A new day starts with a new cry for life, every day, around the world, a new beginning.
Let's open our boxes. Let's give away our prejudices and exchange them for compassion. Let's untie the string that ties us to our antiquated narrowmindedness. Let us spread our wings and fly.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
The crystal face is missing from this witness to the deed.
It doesn’t have its’ seconds hand, there is no longer need.
The date displays “11”. That it always will
to remind us of the day on in which fanaticism killed.
I look upon Todd Beamer’s watch and experience a chill,
realizing that while Time truly flies, it also can stand still.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
The Flame of Blessing
America’s warriors face dangers untold in a country unlike our own where violent war is a way of life
In evils caldron that burns with natural order hate, teaching laced with poison and ****** is honorable
This can only thrive in a society that kills truth and then in falsehood their black robes invite all strife
Chaos butchery all manner of anarchy is used to try to subdue a people’s God given right to be free
Our troops in one way or another are set to burning Miss Liberty is in their hearts although latent
All that is needed to cause liberty’s flame to blaze is put these blessed ones in contact with tyranny
Every insult and criticism is leveled at the U.S. we need improvement but let evil show and be blatant
Ordinary kids from American streets will rise the last thing you will see is freedom blazing in their eyes
Black hearts are tuff pushing the weak and there fanaticism pretends at being brave every bully’s trait
These cannot be reasoned with madness has one cure annihilation this fight not for the faint hearted
The enemy needs a history lesson Tara, Iwo Jima; Omaha beach a brother hood reborn gun barrel strait
You posses by ideology penned by hell’s most convincing liar we come bearing truth then arms
God’s shadow first then Miss Liberty looms then the unquenchable prayers of a nation they pray for you
Peace, tranquility is worth our sacrifice you are left with a tattered rag a soiled flag marred by carnage
To bleed, true honor the making of a house of arms it will succeed in all war and conflict peace to accrue
We take God given might temper it with mercy and justice for all we are not timid in freedom’s fight
This is the my candle burning
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
.
'The wall on which the Prophets wrote is cracking at the seams'
King Crimson - Epitaph (In The Court of the Crimson King).
.
I have no God.
I have no religion.
But one thing I do know ...
Any self-respecting Prophet
would be spinning in their grave
if they knew about
the atrocities and violence,
the fanaticism and ****
carried out in their name.
Any self-respecting Prophet
would be crying through time
if they heard how
their thoughts and teachings,
their messages and words,
were used to justify hate.
© Pagan Paul (25/05/17)
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 6:07 AM UTC
I don't need you to read my words
any more than I want to re-live the past.
This world is burning,
fanaticism is rising,
interests are separating and
this American Dream is lost.
But please, do carry on...
tell me how hard math is,
or how love isn't what you thought it,
or how you cut yourself to feel alive,
or how life isn't fair.
Fill me up with ****** nature poems.
Convince me that sacrifice is what happens
when you give your iPod away
instead of what you read in
after-action reports from Afghanistan.
Tell me it will be okay.
Write me the perfect poem.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
**A wise oracle once said,
"Men shall become slaves
to the mocking light
of a yellow stone
They shall wage
wars over it
They shall go mad
with fanaticism
They shall blind themselves with
its emptiness and
care for it as their valuable catastrophe
It will ******* weak hearts
It will trick the righteous in a dark,bottomless pit
with no way out for anyone
...
In the end that magnificent,
sparkling stone
will bring out the hungry beasts
in all of us
and polish them
taint them cunningly
with its infinitely depthless beauty"**
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Some people act like doing favors and pretend they seek nothing
in return. But i've looked at their eyes listened the tone of their
voice and saw the truth between the lines.
It's about power, makes them feel superior, in control, but all they do
is creating chaos and seeing where the chips fall to hell with the
consequences. It's like a complex, do a favor for one person, someone
else suffers. Doing good things is also a warning. Ιdealism can easily become dogma and dogma to fanaticism.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
Institutional religion makes good people better
But rarely makes bad people good because
Their religious extremism makes the
Good and the bad, far worse due to
Their fanaticism for adhering to
Simple solutions in an
Increasingly
Complex
World.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
you leave me gasping for eternity in our darkened slumber and I fall deeper into this mystical feeling. the tenderness trails my body and i can't stop melting into the covers while you hold my head. bright eyes can't deceive me anymore an somehow i was gifted with yours, free of lies. i see a universe of hope and fanaticism and calmness that something about it entices me to stay. there's nothing left but tired. sleepy nights after making love when you let me stay;
and you held me.. and i felt real again.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
Recalling fanaticism
Angry eyes swollen into the night
Full and proud the lunatic stood
Offering a seemingly worthless soul
To the blinding light of the moon
Heresy became virture
As daylight crept onto the horizon
Helios and his knights purging
The shadows of the Lunar kin
An orchestrated arsonist's betrayal
The comfort of the evening air
Bitter as it now is, is tempting to some
Those enkindled with righteous flames
Bleed their religion into a new day
Wildfires spread to the ways of old.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
I can't stand this nonsense, this indifference
this moat around the edge of my sight. My life.
I can't stand this overindulgence,
this unfettered decadence,
while the rest of the world isn't even given the privilege of weeping.
Of sleeping.
Of light.
Insistingly,
I can't sleep - my dreams too a world without dreams.
An unfiltered montage of my insecurities playing out the reality I feel behind the forced optimism. The fanaticism,
for the smoothly ironed pressed.
Life.
I call out my own name -
behind the darkened and forgotten windowpane,
is the version of myself, angry, lonely and free.
Free of the freedoms that suffocate me.
Apparently I'm free to choose my fate,
my desk, my jacket, my dinner plate.
Yet where is the queue for self-expression?
For social justice? For unadulterated streams?
I am waiting, and getting rather impatient
with this facade
that we call 'the way it is.'
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Your strong belief in nature,
Is too detrimental for my taste.
The deep feelings you have,
Compresses and destroys nature.
The eerie emotions you have pertaining to the outdoors,
Helpless and closed shut is nature.
You make every day life unbearable,
With expressing your opinion about nature.
People become humble and lifeless,
For you are sadly not compatible with nature.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
When I was a kid,
I wanted to be a pilot.
I wanted to fly all kinds of planes
Fast plane, big plane, small plane,
I also wanted to fly the jets, and the HUGE cargo planes,
and then the gliders, hot air balloons, from the classic indian the pushpak vimaan to those double winged old airplanes, as seen on encyclopedias !
And ahh..
The fighter jets too
but a fighter jet would not have seats for a family picnic,
so may be I’d fly the passenger jets.
A Boeing 777 perhaps-
but all of this, my air plane fanaticism, was because I had a special place that I wanted to fly.
In one of my dad’s many stories, he once told me about a special plane.
It was called Moment 001- The first and the last of it’s kind.
Now, Moment 001 was the best kind of plane,
It was colored like the rain, it was faster than the human brain
It was lighter than a car, and it’s speed – INSANE !
So fast that not even time could catch up,
Moment 001 was a time machine.
But with wings and blinks and pretty little things.
A machine that goes so fast it can escape the grip of time.
When I was a kid, I could not wait to grow up !
And it was confusing,
The plant that I planted in grade 3 by the time I was in grade 4
was taller than me, and I would be the same.
I wanted to grow older faster,
in order to fly airplanes
and may be- just may be
get my hands on Moment 001.
And then it happened,
slowly, but it happened.
Growing up I realized time is a funny thing.
You can’t turn the clock arms around and go back to yesterday,
and then realizing that time and space are both quantities,
and then again some theoretical physicist say-
that time is not really timeless.
Basically,
We humans have not figured time out.
No time machines !
Moment 001 was an airplanes that did not exist.
But where science failed me, art found me.
Airplanes were replaced by poetry,
and I was fascinated by words.
I wanted to fly words.
All kinds of words,
Strong words, Science words,
some right words, some wrong words,
used up words, and some left over words,
rap words and pop words-
And it turns out,
They have invented time machine in poetry
A long long time ago
And no, I did not grow up to be a pilot,
but that does not stop me from flying-
my paper planes.
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 11:13 AM UTC
Abandoning my religion,
For the new God inside my head.
Her fanaticism knows no limits,
She’ll push me until I’m dead.
No atonement will ever be enough,
My soul marinades in eternal guilt.
Starving and without food,
Like a flower, my being begins to wilt.
“You’ll never be good enough,”
“You don’t deserve food,” she tells me.
So I sip on warm water,
To feel full when I’m empty.
I’m trapped and I’m lonely,
In a prison created by my own mind.
You can’t see her, but she can see you,
And someday, you’ll leave us far behind.
Making sure there is no escape,
Are the thoughts that want me dead.
My body can walk and talk for me,
But I’m stuck inside my head.
I am fearful and helpless,
I’m not control anymore.
So alone in my fight,
As I cry on the bathroom floor.
There’s a war raging in my head,
My thoughts are giving me a beating,
But you don’t seem to notice,
That I’ve stopped eating.
The compliments come pouring in,
And, for a moment, Ana smiles.
Then she goes back to berating me,
For not running ten miles.
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
There were envelopes addressed
With letters inside of them
Written to people
That I'd never met
Words for people that have
Never existed
Fodder for the fanciful devil
Terror for the trembling weak
Remembrances dance memories
Can't speak
But what is the voice
When it has nothing to say?
When it has nothing to say at all?
And encouragement,
What is encouragement,
But someone else's attempt to fall?
There was dew on the tree from
Last nights rain
It trickled down the banister
Cool, quiet, and wet as I made my
Out
A woman crossed the street weeping
She was meeting a man
She honestly didn't want to see
And these are the people that live with
Encouragement
"Go get'em!" attitudes
Faking clear eyed
Fanaticism for the ends meat
For the prize
For the win
Winning in a land that produces
Corrupt meals
On
Wheels
That shoots bullets towards men of
Change and honor and
Liberty
That breathes down the necks of back breaking
Men and women that have just
Nothing, no nothing at
All
To suffer here is to live correct
Flipping a silver coin toward a burnt buttered toast sky
Is to live high
Is to live quiet high
Is to live
So one can die
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 7:51 AM UTC