"gun" poems
Death told her
her life should end
and he was her friend
Calmly, she stole my gun
she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude
I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
|I draw a rose there.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
How do you explain
to your children that the
horrors of the world are real?
How will I tell my son, We
found a place you can call home but
your bus might not make it to school.
Do not look too Jewish in this part of town
Do not play in the train station
Do not get used
to the weight
of a machine gun.
Or look my
daughter in the eye and say, someday
you might say “no” and someone stronger than you might
not listen
You will not tell me
Know that this happens a lot
Know that your wrists pinned against a
backboard will
echo in the way you move your hands
for as long as you let it
But
human hands aren’t as heavy as metal shackles
And I’m so sorry
but I won’t be able to
take the weight for you
You’ll wake up in the morning
That I can promise you
You’ll wake up
and your lungs will fill with air
whether you tell them to or not.
One day
I will hold someone
small, with my face
and they’ll cry and I’ll say,
*I know.
I know you’re tied with little yarn strings to the last life
I know it hurts to be here and
(honestly)
you’re never going back
But
the older you get the less you’ll remember
what it was like
before you had a body
when you were made of ash and infinite light
You’ll convince yourself you live here and
that your hands are you,
But remember that once you were boundless
Inside my body, without yours.*
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
175
I have never seen “Volcanoes”—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—
Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!
46.7k
A loaded gun behind the perfect shot,
infiltrates my mind with memories I forgot.
Pills and potions couldn't help ease the pain,
the man with the mask I can no longer keep sane.
And in the bleeding sky I saw,
scars I've encountered once before.
The depth is scary, but I can't look away,
I dive and drown in this red ocean every day.
I close my eyes and hum a song,
trying to outshout the things I've done wrong.
It's a suicide mission to try and win this fight,
so I'll just get lost with the strangers of the night.
On the gleaming tracks I run with no goal,
it's just an endless journey within a distant black hole.
I'm just a fraction of something that could've been great,
but, I know it's too late to change my bulletproof fate.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
Please Midas,
Take the golden gun
And shove the golden bullet
Right through my golden skin
And tell me a story about
"All that glitters.."
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
Eternal consciousness
in the Void
(makes trial & jail seem almost
friendly)
a Kiss in the Storm
(Madman at the wheel
gun at the neck
space populous & arching
coolly)
A barn
a cabin attic
Your own face
stationary
in the mirrored window
fear of restroom’s
Tragic cold
neon
I’m freezing
animals
dead
white wings of
rabbits
grey velvet deer
The Canyon
The car a craft
in wretched
SPACE
Sudden movements
& your past
to warm you
in Spiritless
Night
The Lonely HWY
Cold hiker
Afraid of Wolves
& his own
Shadow
~~~
The Wolf,
who lives under the rock
has invited me
to drink of his cool
Water.
Not to splash or bathe
But leave the sun
& know the dead desert
night
& the cold men
who play there.
~~~
a ha
Come on, now
luring the Traveller
Mighty Voyager
Curious, into its dark womb
The graves grinning
Indians of night
The eyes of night
Westward luring
into the brothel, into the blood bath
into the Dream
The dark Dream of conquest
& Voyage
into night, Westward into Night
33.5k
To be a woman
Is to be property
To act ladylike
Is to mold into the stereotype
To speak up is unheard of
Just go crawl behind the white man you see in front of you
A glimpse
Of steel is all you see before
The warmth of blood drains every part
Every being you thought to be strong
Now gone
Pick up the pieces
Bandage that wound
We have a war
One that was fought before
Blood on the knife
Stained the suit of the man walking to the congress chair
He holds it up with a smile
And the other men in the house follow
As they add it to the closet of achievements
We are strong
We are not blind to perspective
We see in color
Stitch up the knife wound
Targeted at the abdomen
Property does not fight back
A piece of land does not speak words
The cornfields do not unite
To be a woman
Is to have a voice
One loud enough to be heard over laws
That prohibit natural human rights
Our bodies are not to be tagged by the market vendor down the street
Politicians now playing a game of operation in their makeshift white coats
Forgetting all that we have achieved
Women's bodies are now more dangerous
Than a gun on school property
To have a body
Is to have a choice
To be a woman
Is to bring justice and unity to all
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies,
It was the cruelty of man to man's fellow man,
That caused his young heart to break,
It filled him with sorrow to learn that tomorrow,
There was no difference or change he could make.
First there's the teen with no hopes or dreams,
Who holds the gun to his head,
If only we had heard that four letter word,
"Help" and he might not be dead,
But parents ignore a child's implore,
Move along there is nothing to see,
Then comes the day when he's taken away,
Pushed over the edge by the bully.
The starving young pup who lies all beaten up,
By the teenagers too cool for school,
They've come to learn that next it's their turn,
Drunk fathers are awfully cruel,
Or perhaps the poor homeless just hoping for kindness,
And ends up completely ignored,
We can grumble and shout from our comfy warm house,
That most likely, they're all just big frauds.
Then there comes war the thing all Governments adore,
They can line up their pockets with gold,
The war against terror? Or just the oil endeavour?
It doesn't matter soldiers do as they're told,
"An air strike for peace" is the press release,
As civilians are rained on by bombs,
Can they really believe that what's been achieved,
Is greater than the innocent lives that are gone?
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
What do you know of war?
First person shooter
Simulated gun fire
computerized blood splatter
What do you know of war?
Tag team alliance
Kids slaying kids
for virtual dollars
What do i know of war?
I saw the carnage
Devastation, the horrors
The smell of death
What do i know of war?
The pain haunts me
every day
every hour
It NEVER goes away!
War ain't no game, bro!
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls
Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle
Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms
Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues
Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare
It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
I take a drink
And then I think
I'm not alone
But still on the brink
Of insanity
In calamity
Flashing lights
A gun blast sounds
It keeps me sane
It keeps me bound
I sip again
And take another shot
I sit again
And get shot a lot
You all might think it's lame
But I love my *****
And my video games
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 1:59 AM UTC
A harbor town, just like this one, swept up in fog
the seagulls, ghosts emerging from the skies
the river glistens soft & wide,
the Cranes for now are sleeping giants
he kisses her, the anxious gun pressed tight
against his hand in his pocket
he is a dock worker
she is a seamstress
they're a black & white film
because technicolor here is impossible
he is you & she is me
we speak only in French
the kids on the block
will get you the next day.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Ambar ki aftaabi mein muskurata hai tu
Samundar ki gehrayeon se gunjtah hai tu
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Darkht ke har patton mein lehrata hai tu
Baarish ki har boond se barasta hai tu
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Har takhayyul mein nazar aaye tera hi kalam
Innayat rahe hum pe sada tera bas karam
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Har tassavur mein hai teri hi tasveer
Muqqamal karde ab meri bhi taqdeer
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Har nabz ke tarranum mein gun gunata hai tu
Har labz ko mere haathon se likhata hai tu
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Kabool kare meri ibadat mera ye junoon
samet le kadmo mein, mil jaye sukoon
al-Ala As-Salām, al-ʻAziz As-Salām
Translation
Your smile is in the radiance of the skies
Your sounds echo from the depths of the ocean
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
You sway in every leaf of a tree
you are in every drop of the rains
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
behind every thought is your pen
continue to grace us always with kindness
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
In every portrait, I see your image
help me complete my destiny
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
you are the hum in the melody of every pulse
My hands are mere instruments of your every word
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
Accept my worship, and my fervour
absorb me into your feet, and grant me peace
the most High, source of peace, the most glorious , source of peace
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
Fake smile,
Dried eyes,
Scratched wrists,
Bruised thighs,
White pills,
Rope tied,
Gun loaded,
Suicide.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 3:37 AM UTC
**** the non-believers
**** the ***** and **** the fools
Go grab your Dad's gun and we'll go shoot up the
whole
school.
Yeah.
I got her nudes,
don't you think that's pretty cool?
You know that Jesus loves you,
would you like to see him soon?
You're so offended these days
well **** my **** you ******** *****
******* licking my Dad's ****
Donny T's alright,
Don't you think?
Jesus loves you.
I don't,
But Jesus loves you.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
Backdrop of hues from heaven's palette
Two silhouettes stood hand in hand
A pair so in love on their deserted islet
Only witnesses were the sky and the sand
Two silhouettes with roles of lovers
Frolicked forever in the setting, evening sun
Only they'd know what laid under covers
Secrets of pure passion in their blood did run
Their merriment presented bare in a playful dance
Two silhouettes engulfed in their own private universe
Kisses and embraces offered in a reciprocative trance
Dark lips matched the other's voiceless whispers
Two silhouettes then dissolved with the set of sun
Strained my eyes to unravel this sweet shadow clad mystery
Last few moments pierced through like a shot from a gun
Because I realised that one was you while the other wasn't...
me...
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty
*you know
i never echoed until you died*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
The sun sets on dripping blood
Shed for love
And brought out from a gun
Elizabeth is close to death
Drawing final breaths
She was so fine and so young
Pedro runs across the barroom floor
Bursting through the door
On his way to the border by the sea
His hand is still hot from rage
There's nothing left to save
All he can do is flee
Now that heaven can finally breathe
Resting on the sea
While Pedro hides away from law
Elizabeth wore Pedro's golden ring
Along a silver string
Yet she moaned among the farmer's straw
Pedro shed the lonely tears
Of a love lost in years
He made a promise that he kept
As he read aloud the vows she wrote
With the heart she broke
The sun set as he wept
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Gangsta
I'm the gangsta who can rap,
give me **** and on your face I'll crap.
I'm the gangsta who is white,
you all know my rhymes are tight.
I'm the gangsta who calls the shots,
inside my head are tiny blood clots.
I'm the gangsta who will kick your ***
show me respect, or I'll take you to class.
I'm the gangsta who does no wrong,
only the good stuff, goes into my big ****
I'm the gangsta who needs no gun,
carrying a pen is much more fun.
I'm the gangsta loved by all,
black people call me the chosen cue ball.
I'm the gangsta who needs no posse,
hating people who are to **** bossy.
I'm the gangsta who poses no threat,
always broke and knee deep in debt.
I'm the gangsta who likes living,
never forgets, but sometimes forgiving.
I'm the gangsta who doesn't care,
walking around in my stained underwear.
I'm the gangsta who can't sing,
but if I bite, it will sting.
I'm the gangsta like no other,
if you don't believe, just ask my mother.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
homeless, no
metropolis without a home
blaring and clinking and laughing
lights sharp like daggers
me and strange men—and
you
blinding
motorcycle
red, yellow, purple, neon
all blurs together
then, music, like iceland, like
a flooded jungle, drowning
I let go,
take me away
you are my key,
---
gun in hand
orchestra in other
and bach and beethoven in between
I'm sure we heard the same organs that day
but you, other hand on bible
prayed
why hadn't I?
my actions will have consequences
.
---
my only chance
test after test
failure after failure
higher
and
higher
suffocating desperation
I
grab on and
never
let go
**** you, and
I'll
be
free
Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
**i'm in a dangerous state of mind
with no care for living this life
where human emotions are traded
for less than a pack of rubbers
but you didn't even use those
so how much did i truly mean
when the push came to shove
and grinding hips
with moaning lips
that whispered, screamed,
and cried his name
on the night you ****** my heart away
where loyalty takes a literal backseat
to pleasure
and a long term relationship
is laughing stock material
ha ha standup, ain't i funny
to look for something more than this
but i would choke on my own tongue
before i'd speak bad of you
my backstabbing lover
unfaithful friend
i hope to god it he was worth it
the cost was more than just tears
but blood spray on the bathroom mirror
and an empty place where i once
used to love
permanently empty
i can't find the will to care
more than a few half-hearted,
correct that, heartless
obscenities muttered under my breath
with ****** on my mind
a 3:30am fantasy to help dull
the pain that i should be feeling
maybe i'm just a pessimist,
fatalist, cynical, and negative
but my lack of surprise cuts the most
lied to by my mind for those
two months of my life
that i thought i had it all
better to have loved and lost
but even better to **** it all
and just go out with your name on my lips
and your lies in my heart
i hope you think of me when you're with him
that you choke on your tears
plagued with the worst emotions and loss
a better killer than any gun**
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood before the zoo elephant.
Wilson said, "What is its name? Is it from Asia or Africa? Who feeds
it? Is it a he or a she? How old is it? Do they have twins? How much does
it cost to feed? How much does it weigh? If it dies, how much will another
one cost? If it dies, what will they use the bones, the fat, and the hide
for? What use is it besides to look at?"
Pilcer didn't have any questions; he was murmering to himself, "It's
a house by itself, walls and windows, the ears came from tall cornfields,
by God; the architect of those legs was a workman, by God; he stands like
a bridge out across the deep water; the face is sad and the eyes are kind;
I know elephants are good to babies."
Snack looked up and down and at last said to himself, "He's a tough
son-of-a-gun outside and I'll bet he's got a strong heart, I'll bet he's
strong as a copper-riveted boiler inside."
They didn't put up any arguments.
They didn't throw anything in each other's faces.
Three men saw the elephant three ways
And let it go at that.
They didn't spoil a sunny Sunday afternoon;
"Sunday comes only once a week," they told each other.
15k
The private gun salesman
divine savior of our life,
liberty, and pursuit of happiness!
Washes his own hands
of the matter,
he has no need for Mary Magdalene,
divine ********** hippie.
Arms outstretched
he sacrifices his own collection
(for a sum of course)
for the anonymous benefit
of a person who
"seems alright".
They aren't Mexican or Black after all!
Or God forbid, Indian!
What would we do
without that Just defender?
Our private gun salesman,
divine savior of America.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
I wear beads and African bracelets for beauty. I forget why the people before me wore them. I wear them with pride not because I earned them but because I simply look beautiful. Beautiful!? What does that even mean? My Nana has scars on her body. She shows them to me with pride. Narrates stories of the war in the past like an action movie only she didn't have a gun only bows and poisonous arrows. The missing teeth in her mouth causes her to spit almost every second she talks. But this embarrassment is only felt by me. She is proud of the hole in her mouth. Suddenly I feel the urge to remove my African beads. They have no meaning only that they are African and I am and so am entitled. But I have done nothing for my heritage. Not even fight for it. Slowly it's being forgotten and people are crossing over without a care in the world. 'To civilisation' we say. 'For the good of the people' we say. But is it? We were a community wrong as we were to circumcise women, marry them off at an early age, burn the wrong... We were a community. We loved each other. We cared. We taught our children how to feel and be the earth. We taught our children to respect the earth and in return the earth blesses us with herbs to cure. What did they call it? Aaah yes 'witchcraft'. We were not animals who forget their children in pit latrines or by the river side just because we cannot afford them or don't want them. We cared not of individualism because together we grew in spirit, body and soul. It was not backward it was culture. And culture is flexible. It can change but can never be terminated. It is not a shoe that when you grow out of you throw and buy another.
And so I am not telling you to go back to your roots because if am quite honest you were never in it. Rather embrace it. See how 'civilised' you will feel then.
yours
The Red_Head
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
.
•
re-
kindle
the spark
that governed
this game•the fire
that once burnt as bri-
ght as sun•all of this once
before, had a name•but now
is weak from the time it had be-
gun•there was a time when it wo-
uld consume•......it would defy the
odds....just so it could burn as one•
frantic and desperate for the magic
to resume•uncertainty has carved
itself into the heart that has come
undone•winds bearing ill no-
tions revealed as the enemy•
stitch up the gaps keep-
ing out the rogue
gust•
pro
tect
the
light that burns ever weakly•rejuve-
nate the spirit that harbours broken trust
•rekindle me now... i'm still in the game•
the heart save the you will
isn't candle need
ready and to see
to make nur- me
sense ture with
of the it this
dark• to in-
fla- sig-
me• nia
as my
mark
•
.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC