"genocidal" poems
I am somebody
Shot in the Head...
Found the bullets.
Coroner Said.
A child of God struck dead.
Gang related disputing Fools.
Aiming cowardly bullets right at you.
I guess praying prayers just won't do.
There is no safe in these hard knocks realities' Truths.
Our Sista child!
Our mother child!
All the while the bodies pile.
Her body now adds to that 'the shootings aren't as bad as last year' body count.
Can't even stand anywhere in your city NOW?
Something has to truly give.
There's a plague of rigid legalities, relaxed moralities, and political realities stealing the 'safe' from our dying breed.
The Black man withering away in siphoning inequalities.
Doubling unemployment stretches outward like a statistical wild fire....
Our present fact.
There is a genocidal component to these criminal acts.
Copyrighted (C)
Published in the 2018 Edition of the Reconstructed Literary and Visual Journal at Governors State University.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Every time people start to rise up, a whole buncha problematic mess gets thrown around regarding VIOLENCE.
So, what is "violence" really?... It's the use of force. Plain and simple.
What makes folks uncomfortable (who are otherwise comfortable in this system) is that UPRISING IS A SOMETIMES VIOLENT (read: forceful) REACTION TO SYSTEMATIC VIOLENCE: Yes, just like the Hunger Games...
Thus, there are many types of violence...
The fact that we are paying taxes that are funding the genocide and ****** of people of color (here and abroad) is violence.
People with guns (former slave patrols and overseers, now cops) who come from outside our community and treat our folks as criminals on the daily is violence.
Capitalism, i.e. wage/property/ecology-based exploitation in the name of profit is violence.
The fact that LA County spends more $$ than anywhere in the world on prisons and police is violence.
The fact that the US locks up more of its own people than any other country on record is violence.
US aiding/funding the genocide of Palestinians at the hands of Israel is genocidal violence.
From Congress, to the boardrooms, to the classrooms, from the gaze, to the unwanted touching, to the **** to the pay, Patriarchy everyday, is violence.
A few people jacking some **** at Walmart or breaking a window is really minimal violence in comparison.
A couple people throwing **** at armed cops is not serious violence.
The idea of owning property that other must rent to live is violent.
Systemic, chronic, global insecurity in the form of material poverty is violence.
Wage slavery is violence.
Gentrification is violence.
The War On Youth, i.e. the School-to-Prison pipeline, and, thus the War-on-Drugs with its attending 76% recidivism rate in the prison-industrial complex, whose populations are disproportionately black males, is violence.
The fact that people can't go to the doctor and dentist, or eat food every day is violence.
Deportations are violence.
Homophobia is violence.
The world's largest global military that vaporizes people without due process in dozens of countries violating their biophysical and national sovereignty is violence.
The United States government sanctioning the ****** of non-white, but especially Muslim bodies across the world... is violence.
So, when you condemn violence, do you mean resistance?
Because there is a whole lot of violence you should be condemning instead.
Adapted from Emilio Lacques-Zapien
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
If society was a person
it would be a girl with
perfect hair.
If society was a person
it would be a burden too heavy to bear.
I society was a person,
it would have rotten insides.
If society was a person,
it would be a Rottweiler
or a runaway bride.
If society was a person,
it would be a student
and ideas it would seek.
If society was a person,
it would be as sharp as a mountains peak.
If society was a person,
it would smell like sweatshirts and gigs.
If society was a person,
it would hide behind colourful wigs.
If society was a person,
consider it suicidal.
If society was a person,
its acts would all be genocidal.
Society is a thing,
heinous but misunderstood,
Society is ruined,
like the embers of burnt wood.
We broke it
Not bothered to fix it
Want to know it
Want to change it
Go and understand it
Change it
Break it
Make it
But I’m just a writer,
What should I know about it?
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
The King of the World is on his way now,
he always shows up when the chips are down.
Everyone just loves The King of the World,
he always arrives with his banners unfurled.
The King can be a loud chap,
or The King can be quite a quiet mime,
he even puts his pants on
one royal leg at a time!
The King might eat breakfast,
or The King just might not,
he is everything you are,
yet is is all that you forgot.
He's a musician of sorts,
with a very big band,
his arrival is in herald,
throughout every land
-with brass trumpets a-blare,
and snare-drums rat-a-tat,
he makes everyone aware,
that he's now where you're at!
The King marches his forces
through the cities and fields,
assure of his courses,
lying flat beneath his heel.
He revels at the sight of deterioration,
fills his belly with the joy of nations in extinction.
The King grounds everything down to things he scrapes off his boots,
he topples the governs and poisons the cultural roots.
The King's fixations are splashed with spatters of blood,
turning kingdoms into crumbles of ashes and mud.
He bulldozes the bodies into toxic pits of ****
contaminates by obscenity, wringing his hands at the wit.
Lionized by his minions in the empty empires he wrought,
The King's elite ruling class is dictated with rot.
In the aftermath of the bile
of his genocidal, sweet plight,
The King celebrates with great style,
turning the daylight into night.
With bonfires a-blaze on the wicked, windy wasteland,
The King of the World strikes up his big band,
and once marching again will torch and ravish the land,
dropping massive, beautiful bombs for the sake of the thrill,
melting the people and villages and eroding the hills.
The time for The King
always is nigh,
for he is surrounded by
the conjurations of lies.
Some say he is evil,
(but, he's not the Devil, you see)
-He's The King of the World,
he is you, he is me.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 9:14 AM UTC
Oh man oh man you should have seen him
I said whiteness is a mental illness
a dissociative disorder
dissociating from being human to construct something
constantly
never finished
never human until it stops
his head started to shake
then spin around like an angry owl
people were scared
the police stopped traffic
a priest came for the exorcism
the man made out the words
“I…no…you can’t just group everyone together like that”
see what I mean
thats dissociative behavior
whiteness is the grouping of humans
it is not an ethnicity
like the humans are actually made of
that it tries to possess
It needs to stop
It has had impunity due to legal dissociation
Whiteness was invented
to create skin color based slavery
for profit
for the exploitation of being human
unless you are trying to create slavery
whiteness is a mental illness
needs treatment immediately and those
that whiteness traumatizes by dissociation
also need impunity and protection from
a genocidal maniac called whiteness
narcissistic
smash its mirror
to treat whiteness as a mental illness
and to treat it
is overly compassionate
considering it is actually criminal
the mans head stopped spinning
he came back and said calmly
“Thank you. You are right."
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
Genocidal midmorning serenade
We paint tomorrow with
Corpses
We see the New Lands
God the father is here
Blessed Israel!
---
Oh the inferior races
Gone without a trace
Genocidal liberation!
Come come
If you got a lot of money you may live
To sing the free world into place
To stand before god's face
And the world death shall create
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
(Went out today,
Charter boat
Trinidad Bay
Limited out on rock fish
in two hours
Watching Elks Head
from the ocean,
Grandpa)
Isadore
Called him Izzy
Chewing all day
on a fat cigar
Looked at lot like Jimmy Durante
His father stowed away on a ship
Wasn't going to be a Russian military conscript
Genocidal pogroms were coming
how he knew
we'll never know.
Ended up in Philadelphia town,
Scranton Pennsylvania
Moved along to Brooklyn
Stubby Izzy
fighting it out with the Irish immigrants
Dreaming of having a chicken farm
over there in New Jersey
Izzy met Grandma Sarah at the family clothing store
they fought it out for 70 years
The 60's book
Games People Play
They were the star attraction
The friction was the glue
that kept them together
The friction was the match
that lit their passion.
Grandpa Izzy
funniest man I ever met
Drove an old 48 Ford
selling housewares in the Southern route.
In the morning far too early
Sneaking into his room
tickling his feet to the sounds
of ohhs and hoho's
At five years old
Grandpa Izzy
took me fishing
on some New Jersey pond -
Afternoon sun with yellow colors
bringing all the foliage alive
Sun setting
fish rising
a hand held in mine
defined the peace
I seek
in reoccurring dreams through out a lifetime
A troubled teen
all suicidal
the drive in the 48 Ford
with Grandpa Izzy
running down the Malibu pier
catching the half day boat before it
disappeared
Grandpa Izzy
never lived far from a race track
I don't know about those losing days
but the secret he said
Was to never lose your sense of humor
Always be able to laugh at yourself
Izzy smoked those big old chewed cigars
lived until he was 94
Ended up not knowing
Who or where he was
Maybe we all
end up
that way too
But in my memory
there is sharp focus
he remains alive in me
If heaven is there
I know I'll find
Izzy and I
on that New Jersey pond,
a fishing line
and
peace inside.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
When
cheaters and liars
rise to the top of the polls
When genocidal speech
wanna be torturers
let their goals unfold
advocating killing relatives
Something every drug lord knows
When words don't mean anything
Images are everything
When words and images disconnect
When words don't work
It's what we call psychosis
in the psych biz
We're all thinking
That can't happen here
A cousin they call Germany
Refined
Civilized
Educated
Defined art
Music
Ethics
Found out exactly what every **** head
knows when you go too far
There's gonna be advanced window patrol
Getting out the duct tape
Wrapping up the house
Can't let any light
in or out
You may end up in leather restraints
On a plastic sheet on a metal bed
America better call the crisis hotline
Stand in line for same day services
5150/Legal 2000/72 hour commitment
Being a danger to self and others
Rapidly becoming gravely disabled
Hold on, I'll write that Hold now
Bring out the atypicals
Risperdal Zyprexa Serequil
Take an Ativan
Take a Zanax
**** it take a ******
If you don't come back down now
Find the ground
You'll be okay
In a decade or three
The suffering of course
Will be burns in the third degree
Psychosis can be unkind
All civilizations have their day
Incline
Recline
Decline
It can't happen here?
Chaotic brutality knocking on the door
You gotta know what's in store
We need an intervention
Breathe it back on in
It can still be okay
Reality check
Words sometimes mean something
And people sometimes mean what they say
And though
Images dissolve
Evolve
Fracture and split
Those that are seeing and hearing
What's going on
are holding their breath
Wondering how crazy it's really all gonna get.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Crashing off caffeine.
My body's in a wet dream.
Spazzing,
orgasmically
twitching as I'm switching
up the rhyme scheme
with a little bad timing.
I'm spacey like Kevin.
I get **** like Mooney.
Looney-toony in the boonies
gettin lucky like Slevin.
Super nerdy like Melvins.
Getting heated in Kelvins.
In a spectrum
I'm extreme
like 1000 baby screams
or something obscene
like genocidal regimes
dumping bodies downstream
with severed heads in their ******
I'm darker than my complexion.
Come in! Your more than welcome.
Just let me wipe the slate clean.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
The Paragliders like ravenous vultures flew
to southern Israel to predate on soft targets.
Like swarms of bees, they snuck, ***** maimed, shot, burnt and slew.
Terror did every man's fragile conscience becloud.
Hate made their embittered hearts to mercy forget.
Abductions followed, having to terror avowed.
Then came the IDF's genocidal intent,
having intended global laws to circumvent;
Children, women, all consumed by mighty vengeance.
A disproportionate response beyond balance.
Homes, hospitals, Mosques, Churches and schools are levelled,
as Gaza is by torrents of bombs bedeviled.
I do not with a livid Israel sympathize,
nor do I with a besieged Gaza empathize.
With humanity I have my affinity,
for my deep love for it, tends to infinity.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 4:37 AM UTC
We aren't on speaking terms
but
we **** nightly
that way
we don't have to see one another.
All day long we are:
coarse hair fly legs under each other's skin,
black drops of ink in a jade bowl of milk,
genocidal gestures.
There is a part of me that loves you
(despite all the harm we've conceived)
it slides in and out of you as I write this.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
**** you!
I yelled to the past
how could you do this to us?
then I read your history
dismantled your genocidal machine
refocused on my breathing
scolding past
rexamining the present
recreating the past
provoking the future
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
I want to be a dog's growl:
as rough as bark.
As I ruff and I bark
until my throat bleeds,
down my tongue,
and clots, choking me.
Strangling my anger.
I want to bite God's hand
and taste the scars and lines.
I want to run alongside
the downfall of man
like I'm chasing cars.
Waiting to be run over.
I want to be castrated,
neutered,
so I can fall in line,
so I can conform,
so I can be me in a sea
of nobody else.
I want to be beaten
with a chain
attached to my neck.
I want to be on t-v.
I want to be saved.
I want to betray trust.
Generic. Generic.
I want to be like this poem:
generic, you martyr.
You genocidal ****
You deadbeat.
You racist.
You sexist.
You intolerant ****
I want to chew off
my trapped leg.
I want to be a dog's growl.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
The truth is turning plastic
And politicians spastic
As they dream up fantastic
Ways to be bombastic.
The anti-intellectuals,
Their rhetoric effectual,
Demand a perpetual
And lucrative processional
To a place they know the score
Where they can amass more
Of money and stores
In disregarding the mores
They were elected for
And continue waging war
Like high-priced political ******
The truth has no chance
In this genocidal dance
Of unfortunate circumstance
Created to enhance
Resultant happenstance
When, by the seat of his pants
When we happened to glance
Away for a particular moment
And were swamped by the foment
Of eight long years of torment;
Freedoms arteries turned to cement
And any chance of sanity
For American humanity
Got buried in some inanity
About hanging chads and counts
Giving a fool a chance to pounce;
To squeeze the last pure ounce
Of dignity out of the Presidency
By merely taking up residency.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
August Sixth
Emily Okita
I.
Little Boy
Fat Man fell into red ocean
Walking ghosts
Where’s mother?
Grave of Fireflies
Tiny flames consume everything
Infrastructure destroyed
Infernal windows
to the end of the line
Burning, Screaming, Lights out
II.
Keiko-chan
City of Death
Miles from Ground Zero
The River
A baby nursing in a blistered mother’s arms
A man cradling his eye in one hand
A friend trapped under her home
A mother, her headless child on her back
A neighbor, belly open, intestines spilling
III.
Keiko-chan, I ran away from my sisters as they called out for help
Keiko-chan, disease X
Specimen ABC
Study for long-term effects of radiation disease
120,000
One day a year
Doctor would inspect me
It changed after my twelfth birthday
Keiko-chan, stand up on stage and take off your gown
Wide room with bright lights
Doctors, different languages
A doctors’ meeting
“You’re turning into a woman, Keiko-chan.”
Why am I naked?
Why do I have to show myself in front of these doctors?
Purple spots, hair loss, bruises, swelling
I cannot tell my mother, my father
No one. I’m alone.
IV.
August 6, 1945
A war I did not start
Mushroom clouds, shock waves stabbed me
A Beautiful Invention
Genocidal Physics
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 7:54 PM UTC
beats banging the bolts of your brains your mind slumped back with thoughts of genocidal terrorist gangsters polluting your countries veins, rocking lines like no way but did bush rock the planes, and **** did we really give al-Qaeda all that money 6.9 billion **** yeah that sounds pretty funny, but back in the day they were the backed boys in blue fighting off the the red corner for their freedom to be renewed, but that wasn't enough for them
reunion of peace lost with the greed of the beast and the hate for the west and the hate for different beliefs, capitalism s bad but not bad enough for lives to be releived or taken, **** bugs me but im not shooting the lead at a different population.
and im not conforming to 911 being binladen cause the videos shown give me the impression those attacks were a little more expensive than the planes on the rota, the truth covered up like ill put it under the sofa or they wont notice just tuck it behind the toaster, its not for common knowledge to be a pile of **** out off cnn's rosta does anyone remember Mcintyre whos stated on paper that he beleives the pentagon was hit by something different than whats printed on the usual reporters notepad soo whos the joker?
the world needs answers now before this conspiracy is just another late night channel on the tv, or the page on the internet that no one sees xcept the fat man nursing a ***** and a bag of nachos with a little too much additional flavour bread cheese and cereal its all over his bed, forgotten how to live soo hes browsin instead, this mans a lost cause you stay tight to whats in your head
and im not guna turn around and say that my rhymes keep your brain feeling alive ive used that space to save you time so you can see the things i see
the way the world is lookin at me
and this **** keeps my dreams infant and my body just another delinquent, reeling around in this filtered hypocricy with the love and humour on hold till this chapter unfolds
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 12:59 PM UTC
To dream of dreams of dreadful sorts,
replacing ends with abundance of substance
for reluctance of ravishing rebels' tales.
The story of glory forever prevails
in the moments that pass in setting sails.
O' the mockery of labor on those Western rails.
A world untraced in forbidden trails.
The complex collaboration of conjunctive sorry hearts
pitches a feeling of ferocity and animosity
towards the generosity of the genocidal gender races.
When all they wanted was their "saving graces."
The unmarked tombs of those nameless faces.
Where were you when their race was wasted?
A race misplaced for the trending traces.
As I solemnly slip from the silhouette of sanity
to sit and revel in revolutionary frames.
These games we play to tame the sun.
If tomorrow never comes, then what have we done?
We're fixed on the war that can never be won.
But if you sit this one out you will surely be shunned.
Now tell me my child, why is it you've come?
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
Onward Christ’s invaders
Waging pious war.
Genocidal warriors;
Profit’s faithful hordes.
We know what we’re paid to do.
Hold our banner high.
Anyone gets in our way
Then that one has to die.
We ignore the whines of those
Whose relatives have died.
We are doing right because
God is on our side.
Christ died on the cross for us
Washed away our sins.
That’s why we must **** the rest
So they’ll be born again.
Slaughtering’s our holy right
It says so in our book
Someday we will read the thing,
Take a good long look.
Until then, we do what we’re told;
March and slash and ****
We are faithful Christians, we
Obey and always will.
Onward Christ’s invaders
Waging pious war.
Genocidal warriors
Profit’s faithful hordes.
We know what we’re paid to do.
Hold our banner high.
Anyone gets in our way
Then that one has to die.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Raining, raining on the ground,
Drops from a thousand hearts of cold.
The falling of the Gaulish crown,
The victory of the glory of Rome.
Falling, falling, everywhere.
Life is death, pain, and fear.
Never to live, nor to love, nor to cry in vain.
Blood-stained lilies, in the emerald lands...
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC