"interrogations" poems
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
Semester Exam
Fluorescents flicker and fall upon bowed heads
And printed letter-paper, organized
By title, paragraph, number, and line,
Interrogations set in Bookman Old Style
And then words fall, flung bravely to each sheet
As desperate, inky thoughts flailing for breath
While to battered be by split infinitives
Demanding an A, praying for a prom date.
The paper's a mess, one’s mind is in shreds
Fluorescents flicker and fall upon bowed heads
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
*Not everyone has to go through these struggles
Accusations, lies and broken glass rumbles
Tempers that flare
Parts eveywhere
Yelling and banging
The neighbors must stare
They wonder how a girl like me could fall for this trick
The promises have all made me quite sick
Name calling, ranting, interrogations and such
Have left me to feel like O' quite the 'duck'
But it's my history that has left me scarred and flawed
One which has come back and opened a door
A door for a future that is peaceful and sweet
One which I have yet to meet
But I'm on the brink, with the knocker in my hand
Just about ready to take my final stand
Look my history dead in the eye
I'm finally ready to get over this high
"I'm all grown up now can't you see"
Then close the door
"Stop ******* with me"
It's time to stop repeating the mistakes of others
For the love of god I don't want to be my mother*
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Sharpeville, 21 March 1960
"The native mentality does not allow them
to gather for a peaceful demonstration.
For them to gather means violence."
- Lieutenant Colonel Pienaar
1.
We went with wrists ready
For metal shackles
To clench
Their cold grip
Onto fire hot skin
Boiling with white rage;
The appropriate rage.
This situation has justification
In the predications they hold true
Where to some
Human is synonymous with
******* nature,
Dangerous and hungry for
Light white blood we
Must be caged
To prevent the massacre
We could create.
2.
A child’s body is not a hurdle.
But when fleeing,
Feet pounding on dirt paths,
Black with dark blood, leaking
From shafts of taunting revolvers
And throats of the permanently
Silenced,
What do you do but run?
5,000 bodies bound together,
Melding flesh with flesh,
Fusing unhinged bones to bones
Still cradled in their skin,
Line the street where
Puddles are forming next to
Concaved skulls emptied
By misinformed bullets.
Last thoughts and worries
Are forever splattered on faces,
Tracing red lines
On skin
Sooty black,
As dark as nights will be.
3.
Sixty-nine lay dead.
A rock they said.
When interrogations
Took place
A rock they said.
Empty hands laid
Palm in palm
But a rock they said,
This, they said, sparked
The worry
That made it right for them
To make bullets fall
Onto us like metal raindrops
From an angry heaven
Hungry for black skin
And black blood.
Hands digging into earth
For retaliation,
For blood they said,
But everyone else said,
The rock that flew
Was in hands white as light
As bright as the day was
They say.
If the rocks they said that,
Spurned uniformed egos,
Flew from ground,
To air,
To gunned men like they said,
Does it justify the dead?
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 6:07 PM UTC
.
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 6:56 PM UTC
This life aint' love song whilst i march on blindly....
Each secretion of dissections interrogations are on...
on my LIVING soul
man ,
if only you knew ,
i slip like a hidden seamstress
into the alcoves of plenty, the catacomb of mind
and sit and wait untill
the seductress is ready -
her lesions
are lessons
learnt in TIME
she is the mistress of the dark
she needs no title but if you prefer you can call her Q.
this is because , yes , not only is she an insane nerd
she is also -
the softest heart i ever ( dang ) - had the chance to grace ,
Mother for those in need ,
Brother to those indeed
Lover to the oh so lucky few ,
Who she might like to point out, are just as glaringly brilliant too...
so , it's simple.
The layers of time are VERY FLEXIBLE
we need not notion ,
to the motions
at futures unclear - well
but see glimpses ..
- of , past's rejuvenation's born again into different actions
conclusions ..0...
the butterfly effect are the ripples : figment metaphor ( metaphysicians apply inside)
of wings - we are all ANGELS of a sort...
but i like to call angels = experts
they seem to know what's what...
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
Shell peeling
and cracked;
Attracting stares and
questioning eyes-
No way to hide
from those
seemingly oblivious.
Concern and confusion
with doubt-filled looks.
Interrogations on
old information
flame up from
every direction.
Cannot conceal
what's really inside,
but it just
might not be
what you think.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
What am I supposed to think
To see
To do
As the crime scene grows,
I make connections, perhaps false
Perhaps true.
I take the evidence, analyze it
Scrutinize it,
Hope I find the one responsible
And so begins the interrogations,
Crucial questionings,
The agony of not knowing...
Before it happens again,
Another crime scene.
Hopefully I can prevent it.
Or is the next one,
Just around the block?
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 7:43 AM UTC
I feel like I have no other option
Like it’s the end of the world
and I’m not going to have time to find anyone else.
or I get out and realize that you’re better than everyone out there and that means I have to settle with you.
I stay because I can’t afford my home with out you and
I don’t want to be poor and go hungry.
it’s because I’m afraid of being alone and I don’t have any friends to comfort me
these are all very good reasons to stay.
but you’re a slob.
and you don’t listen to anything I say I could tell you a thousand times to put your things away but I will keep finding them in the same places do you just not care about what I say ? you say you are listening but are you even in there ?
you don’t make time for me.
but I make time for you
it seems like all the effort in this relationship comes down to me.
You’re not funny.
you can’t even make me laugh
your humor is childish and dumb
I smile so rarely.
You’re a child who doesn’t communicate.
when there is obviously something wrong and I ask you what’s the matter and you tell me it’s nothing but I know that it’s something so I ask and keep asking until you finally give in to my interrogations
why can’t you just communicate your feelings and thoughts I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.
you get angry because I won’t have *** with you. I have low libido because you disgust me and deep down inside I know I don’t love you anymore.
I DONT WANT TO SETTLE
I don’t want to marry you
I don’t even like you
but I’m too scared to leave you.
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 11:37 AM UTC
.
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
.
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 10:59 PM UTC
The accusations, interrogations,
The threats of ending us.
Lamentation, of an aberration
Of love that lived alone, so long.
The blood that pumps, your cause,
Does not dry, but ebb and flow.
But interruptions, from obstructions,
Can lead it to die instead of grow.
Without communicating,
How do we form our interpretations?
Absent enumerating,
What is love? But an unsolvable equation. And if all we are is wrong,
The only answer is separating
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 11:27 AM UTC
It's been 10 hours since we broke up,
I still can't bring myself to admit it's for real.
You said you want me out of your life and I didnt even put up a fight.
I simply bowed out and left you.
See am tired of fighting for this;
Of telling you am for real.
Proving myself to you and yet you still question me.
Tired of your interrogations,
Of answering for what I do and say.
I knew you were the one and I gave it all to you.
But I still wasn't enough.
So i guess this is it.
All I have left are regrets.
Gosh I wish I could block you out and the pain.
It's tearing me apart that I cant text you, call you, hug you.
I will always love you.
Just you.
I meant those words.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Alienation is the constant theme
A child for whom the family dinner table
Is the scene of nightly interrogations
Can never be at home outside himself
Alienation is the constant theme
When every word is dissected by others
For any taint of beauty, love, or truth
And any deviation from today
Alienation is the constant theme
When trust is but a morning-broken dream
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
Alone with the wind am I,
the darkness is quiet but not shy.
An eternity of sleepless nights
a night of broken lights.
My mind is a library,
full of pondering and wonders.
The darkness is a blanket
as I am under covers.
Thinking , planning
at the hours of mine.
When the darkness is around
And the lights do not shine.
But I do not choose
to be full of interrogations
I do not choose
to spend countless nights
with my mind racing.
My eyes are red, tired, raw
my body is surrendering,
But my mind is not tired through it all.
I am doing constant laps,
all through my mind.
Of differing opinions
in differing time.
Alone with the wind am I.
I struggle to get by.
As the darkness controls me,
all I control are my cries.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
Having followed tram-lines along cobble-stoned roads of marine industry, I am reminded of the smell of cold meat and the sound of an early siren, which beckons me to dilapidated buildings and disused railway tunnels.
There is a loud sound when car headlamps are dropped from a height onto pornographic concrete.
All that you have to do is to go to the dairy and reach over the counter, and you will find that a jubilee leaves indelible evidence to scrutinising faces and invites unwelcomed interrogations.
Let us walk up this crescent and kick leaves into puddles of Autumnal darkness.
The number five will always trigger the musky scent of cats and the sound of diesel locomotives, whilst uncertainty and aggression seek to establish a sense of equilibrium amidst social isolation.
Having said this, I will leave you with one final admonition: never forget the power of a steak pie from the butchers shop.
This is the essence of Partick.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
A detective woke up from a deep slumber
To only get a glimpse of his wife
Bathing in her own blood, lifeless
It was truly a ghastly sight
Stunned by what he saw
It took him a long time to comprehend
And when he did
He weeped and mourned
He ought to bring her justice
A million questions
A thousand interrogations
Hundreds of suspects
Numerous clues
Time passed by
And the culprit hasn't been caught
Fraustration ate him
And he screamed curses into the abyss in vexation
The day finally came
He now knew who it was
He knew who the monster was
He miscalculated everything
The culprit is starting at his soul
With ****** hands and a devilish smirk
"Good job" it whispered to him
As he started at the reflection of himself
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 4:12 AM UTC
The heavily snowed day is
the oldest day of the year
The day annual rings mark, those scars
you see are enhanced interrogations
I had to take
The smallest inner circle is
my blessing to you, see it?
the double-sided pattern I carved
on your window timber. Be aware
one evening
a little breeze will enter
into your room through
your closed window
to blow the moonlight and
put out the last piece of
your softest sorrow
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
Hot, blistering weather;
People ask me how I'm so comfortable with it.
How there's not a single drop of sweat on me.
I thought of it as odd at first;
But I came to the realization
That my body has completely disregarded
The hellish climate because
the real burn was happening in me.
Blood boils
as I think about how I was pathetically treated.
How I was entirely misunderstood,
unappreciated.
Swollen knuckles start to show,
They ask me about them,
But even I don't know what I hit.
Was it the lamp post?
Or was it the wall?
I can't remember.
Red lines
appear on my forearm,
They ask again,
And I still can't seem to recall
how such beauty has been painted
on my skin.
Was I the artist?
I can't remember.
I can't stand their interrogations
anymore.
I stop thinking for a minute.
I break a sweat.
They think I'm okay now.
(c.j.p.)
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC