"massacres" poems
I am not just a person in
a uniform, I am a Soldier.
Every time I arise, I obey;
Each time she calls, I step up
To defend her freedom,
To restore her home of peace
I arise, I obey, I soldier on.
Into the forest of her terrors
I charge, not without fear for that
which is mine but with love and strength
and faith, I March. Defending the labour
of heroes past, I march; fighting
for dreams of her children bright-
the future she deserves.
I arise, I obey, I soldier on.
In the army I serve Nigeria, my
Country with heart, might and spine.
Though a thousand times I have fallen,
bits and pieces of me, lost to her darkness,
still I obey, knowing it may be my last. I arise,
leaving my family and friends behind.
I obey your call of duty. My service and loyalty
I pack on with my combat gear, that you may live
to see yet another day, to feel yet another ray of
light on your face. I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier, the Nigerian Soldier,
Ambushed and slaughtered in 40s, 70s and 100
for lack of resources.
Bless me O Nigeria as I arise and obey
Send me to your enemies with arsenals
and might to match the fire in my eyes.
As opposed to the massacres of me, let
the headlines read of our gallant victory
For my victory is yours over those who
threaten our unity.
I am not just a person in a uniform.
I am your Soldier
Do not let my bravery dissipate to stupidity
For I rise, I obey, I soldier on
still.
©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
**** masterminds
steer clear of this man
He's relentless
a pitbull
Lumping up Pinkman
for no logical reason
He's a madman
Massacres Mexican
kingpins and button men
Knocks out Keith Jardine
in a barfight
initiated as a ptsd
relief valve
Maddog brothers
Axe murdering elite
eliminated with a bullet
a fender
and a little help from Gustavo Fring
The only man
to walk away unscathed
from the exploding head of Danny Trejo debacle
Houndog Hank
the sherman tank
is hot on Heisenbergs trail.
Its almost guaranteed
One of them will die
Heisenbergs Bad
But Schrader
is badass.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
Match, match forward and go, you heroic sons of America
Reconnoiter into the strongholds of boko haram,
And restore our captive girls from the foul custody,
Lawlessly held hostage by the connoisseurs of terror,
Go on and recover poor souls from ribald of religion
Impishly created by Moslem from the satanic verses,
Regulating foray of terror on the poor of the poor
****** mahyeming, looting and executing massacres,
Match on and on yee angels of democracy,
Don’t stop in any haste or in any wonder,
To help in the sham flabbergastations,
About the Igbos who fought the Biafra,
And the Yorubas who federally defended,
Under the aegis of Obasanjo the Sandhurst
General, where are they all to save the girls
Of Nigeria from the Islamist terror
Excuted by boko haram the handmaid of evil.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
This was supposed to be a poem,
about warriors.
About great men and courageous actions!
About heroes and patriotism and bravery!
But, it is not.
This is a poem, about broken lives and shattered minds.
This is a poem, about dead children, and massacres and all the images and acts of war,
that crush great men, brave men.
This is a poem, about the defeat, in every victory.
This is a poem, about living men,
who will never leave the battlefield.
It was supposed to be a poem,
about warriors.
But it is not.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
No one knew.
Why: the reasons we did what we did.
Massacres and chemical warfare, the draft
Because no one would volunteer.
Why did we go to war?
The government spinning lies of what happened,
Yet the footage on the news says the opposite.
We were losing everything. Killed
For no reason, and so were they.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
How many massacres must we endure?
How does killing others, changes procure?
How many suicide bombers are being born?
Do their consciences ever leave them torn?
How many terrorist sympathizers we call friend?
Hardliners preaching terror is the new trend?
When next must innocent blood be spilled?
Inhumanity to man by man whose heart is hate filled?
When does the nightmares finally end?
Is peace and harmony around the next bend?
© Perveiz Ali
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
In a short 24 hours
We transition from
Condemning the lack of
gun control
Shouting cries of
Murderous misogyny
Lamenting over lost souls
Innocent
and Never Forgotten
Players in our Facebook Novels.
In one day
We switch to watching
Glitzy action films
Of men in tight suits
Saving individuals
Innocents
Quickly forgotten.
Because we are reassured that
At least one is safe.
But not until after
We see 20 minutes
At least
Of destruction
Chaos
Explosions
of Innocents
Screaming and running
in Terror
Fearing for their lives
From a madman on his
Massacre
Innocents
immediately forgotten.
And we are uneffected.
We do not mourn over these
Innocents.
Despite seeing them die
We are unaffected and Entertained
Before our very eyes
We saw them.
And we forgot them.
They are not mentioned
They are not remembered
And they are not Lamented
In our Facebook Novels.
Despite the fact that
We Know
These tragedies actually happen.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
***** stories make front pages,
Massacres and killings,
Mayhem and ****** ,
A mad man is dealing,
This masked man antics
Is masking the city ,
The mind behind the gore
Is on 30th floor,
In a dormitory with no door,
Only a window,
With which
The nocturnal tenant tends to
Look over.
Watching
The overnight onlookers
Night walkers,
Alley cats,
Insomniacs,
And boulevard hookers..."
"....My eyes lay
On a prominent, candidate
For cannibalistic practices,
My dominant traits
Widows peak,
Vampirical feats,
Long, hollow teeth,
With massive molars,
Used to chewing meat,
Which sit beside my
Sharp Canines.
But my sizable incisors
Scissor inside the side of my
Silent victim
Select venom in him
Bereft of vocalism
Vocal cords torn
I violently vanquish
His speech.
He’s paralyzed from his
Neck to his feet
I throw him over
My shoulder,
Escape the obscene scene
Before I am seen..."
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC
In a sphere of infinite narcissism
Wicked homosapiens tread the horizon
Daunting threats of turbulent tragedy
Dawn upon the hopeless, roaming souls
Sheathing them with treacherous shadows
Of atrociously, covert crucifixion
The elite coquettes hearken
The tumultous sound
Emanating from multiple, acrid massacres
Tainting these notably wounded hearts
Within a satanic plethora
Of acrimonious equivocation
By nightfall a harrowing suicide
By daybreak a dreary mourning
Catastrophe is all that occupies
This infamous wasteland of avarice
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 (All rights reserved)
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 7:15 AM UTC
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing,
Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love,
From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.
My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his,
“Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says.
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble,
In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.
His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth,
It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth,
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass,
May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.
My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men.
The men, women and children, who will lead us all,
Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.
She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun,
But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone,
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell,
The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.
Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here,
They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere,
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.
They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs,
They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs,
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing -
Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing.
Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers,
Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed.
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain,
but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 10:06 AM UTC
Inside their tombs, our martyrs are whispering,
Oh God, we are coming back.
On land they are lifting their hands,
and their voices grow in the silence of the grave:
Oh God, we are coming back.
Stones fall, ashes rise, and their eyes beam,
Oh God, we are coming back.
Our martyrs stepped out of their coffins,
lined up and raised the shout:
Shame on you cowards.
Our home is sold, our nation
a herd of sheep, and you sleep.
Our martyrs travel to Al Aqsa Mosque,
they pray in the churches of Lebanon,
they wander the streets of Jerusalem,
they break into prisons in every land.
They rise from the ashes of the captive home
and preach on every corner of a beaten nation.
They call in the midst of massacres,
God is greater than this man-made world,
God is greater than this man-made world,
God is greater than this man-made world.
Our martyrs are approaching, their shouts echoing
on the walls of Beirut. They gather in the streets
to fight in darkness despite the pale light.
In homes bound by humiliation and madness, they call,
Oh God we are coming back.
One day our coffins will light all of Jerusalem.
They are coming back to break into the castle.
***
On every corner, they ask the cowards,
Why did you tolerate the wolf, sleeping
amidst sheep, a home as whole as the universe
auctioned off, overrun with rats?
Cowards who sold out our broken home,
our living ancestors, there you are
on the screen, drunk in the fuss,
walking Death, hypocrisy, and control,
we will rid our holy dead of you,
and of the irony of the age.
Oh God we are coming back.
Don’t believe that people killed
in a battle for God are dead,
they are still alive in God.
***
Our martyrs, roaring on every corner of the land,
streams of them asking,
Oh living, what are you doing?
Every day you’re double-crossed and slain
like sheep, surrendering your rights,
running like rats to the wolves,
leaving your people weeping
while you are prostrate before America’s
dollars and the images on screen.
Rats in all sorts of compromising ways.
And in the mad laughter of calamity,
a nation is sold into collapse.
Two images collapse into one:
while kneeling,
your heads under their shoes,
and our Arab Jerusalem,
given to wolves by the drunken.
***
With Lebanon adrift in blood, and tyranny
on the prowl, our martyrs shout
from every corner, Does honor
have a place? Where have the rebels
disappeared? Why have the sellouts fled?
The silent, the forgetful, and the two-tongued
all keep their mouths shut.
If you ask, they give you official nonsense.
If you ask, you get a bullet in the eye.
***
When you march in the parade of commerce
you wind up sold. History shows traitors
no mercy. The flood washes
over all of you chasing death
with the ad-man chasing you
to sell you tomorrow in the slave market.
Our priests are oblivious in their seats,
drunk on the power of reign and rule.
Our people in prison-darkness. All of them asleep.
When do the sleeping awaken?
When the sleeping wake.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
The bond of brickwork is vital to the structural integrity of delusional tradesmanship.
Idaho is a state to be reckoned with when the future of marital and maternal roles stand in juxtaposition with self-loathing.
Yet downtown Boise is a cultural centre of safety even though massacres occurred on the Oregon Trail.
I am now drawn to consider the simplicity of a cheese and pickle sandwich.
It is all in the shape and tactile quality of the word.
Teachers can be boring in their unconvincing sterility, so it all depends upon the type that we are talking about, doesn’t it?
Let us never forget, that we cannot build meaning upon the foundations of a vacuum.
It is incumbent upon us to hold hands as we traverse this challenging path where we seek to avoid psychological ****
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC
apparently
we live in times
in which disasters chase each other
around the globe in never-ending sequence
or is it just the real-time news media hype
that gives us this impression?
yet even if I generously discard
the ****** massacres and crises
far away
there are enough rough dreadful things
that even if they don’t affect me ******
do touch my heart and make me grieve
with the afflicted
methinks we’re coming near the point
when the majority of normal people on our globe
will rise an tell fanatics of all creeds
to shove it
take a shower
just go home
and let us live our lives in peace !
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
The crackle of light separates into
Sparks that drape over me.
An anticipated BOOM jolts me
into a state of terror and Awe.
I see this beauty and recall
Warriors,
Ancestors,
And a 7-year-old boy who lost everything to this majestic assassin.
The explosives now screech out a familiar name
Paxon,
Paxon,
Paxon.
Beauty massacres the young
I am filed with joy and sadness
On this Memorial Day.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
I can’t remember when,
The last time I we didn’t cry,
The last time we were happy,
I can’t recall,
When there was no blood shed,
Why do we have to suffer and mourn?
For the losing of our loved ones,
Why?
I can’t tell when,
We'll escape away from our sins,
For the tide will always hit,
And we’ll feel the storm,
Scrape your hearts,
I don’t know when,
We’ll never be found in massacres,
Alshabab? ISIS? Xenophobia?
In worthless clashes many perish,
Religious leaders,
Aren’t you tired of burials?
Haven't we sinned against God,
Who do we expect to save us?
If we don’t see our wrongs,
Air crashes and road accidents
Attack our beloved continent,
Now it’s politics
We fight each other like fools,
The police ****** us like chicken,
Increasing number of the dead,
Disaster after disaster,
Politicians cheat you,
They lie to you with intentions,
They blinded us long ago,
Feeding our minds with hatred,
We think that they are the Bosses,
Yet we are theirs employers,
We should wake up and fight,
Fight for peace and justice,
If not so,
I don’t know when we’ll be free,
Free from problems,
Free tribalism and racism,
Flee from all your sins,
Where are we heading to?
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
Columbine&Blacksburg;&Aurora;&Newtown;
senseless and evil and crazy and psychotic
are words they throw around like piñata candy
“pray for _____, poor things,” they say.
pray.
Sodom&Gomorrah;&The; Whole World&Jericho;&Ai;&…
they deserved it or
god had a plan or
the babies went to heaven or
the lord works in mysterious ways or
god wills it to be so.
No.
No.
**** you.
there are days now
when my teeth crumble like bleu cheese
my nails fall out of bed
and i weep in the closet,
hair in face and
knees drawn up.
because i cannot dehumanize.
what separates the victim from the killer?
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC