"pacifism" poems
my shrink told me:
"Feelings:
Pathetic.
Baked clouds:
Attention!
A broken butterfly:
Holy fear"
abortion, gay marriage, suicide, depression, faith diversity, disunion, pacifism, the internet, green peace, the national institutes of guns, alcohol and cigarettes, math teachers, poorly written books and well-written books, science, documentaries, the 90′s Cartoon Network, solutions for first, second and third world problems, the Venus project, conspiracy theories, poker, chess and backgammon, ****** music, female ******* boys playing with dolls and offensive language are nothing
we are all attention ******
we are born and buried
for attention.
we endure awkwardness
for attention.
we have *******
for attention.
god will be afraid of us
for attention.
so I told him:
"Let's face it
nothing will be everything!"
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 6:03 PM UTC
Among the most necessary things
for the survival of intellectual constructs
(such as personal rights, privileges, and information in general)
is the notion of Satyagraha, as coined by Gandhi:
The notion of Peaceful Non-Compliance
to the ******** of your time.
It is truly Compassion manifest.
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
of which you will never hear in our Schools or Churches
or on packages at Wal-Mart
or from Politicians.
Civil Disobedience is the Voice
that cannot be taken until your Death.
Civil Disobedience is the Music and pulse
of a truly living Culture.
Civil Disobedience is the respectful denial to conform
to the laws imposed and policies enacted
by those who are undeserving of such power,
or those who abuse the power they so grandiosely wield.
Civil Disobedience is necessary
for the survival of a thriving popular Democracy,
and thus is punished by the Authoritarians
who use Democracy as a veil for Totalitarianism.
Civil Disobedience is the only vote you'll ever be guaranteed in your life.
It is Democracy seeking refuge in Vigilantism,
It is Anarchy embodying the greater good.
It is what must be done in the face of Oppression by Authority.
I most sincerely and personally maintain:
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue,
Civil Disobedience is a Need,
Civil Disobedience is a Philosophy.
Civil Disobedience is Peace and Harmony
in the faces of Chaos and Tyranny.
Civil Disobedience;
Peaceful Non-Compliance
Respectful Dissent
Informed Resistance.
Pacifism is not for the faint of Heart.
-\-
*Then again,
the options are few
when we couldn't fight back
if we needed to.*
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Sadness
Weapons of mass destruction
Witness protection program
Mutually assured destruction
Plausible deniability
Too big to fail
Pre-emptive strike
The final solution
Master race
Total Spectrum Dominance
Untouchables
Genocide
Greed
Racism
Sexism
Homophobia
Cancer
Hate
Hope
Blessed are the peacemakers
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you
Turn the other cheek
Judge not lest ye be judged
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone
Sacrifice
Non-violence
Integration
Pacifism
Environmentalism
Empathy
Understanding
Tolerance
Equality
Cure
Love
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
strength doesn't mean courage
suicide takes courage
persevering takes strength
approaching that pretty girl
you saw in starbucks
takes courage
loving her
even at the times
when you think you might hate her
takes strength
fighting takes courage
pacifism until you find something
worth fighting for takes strength
encased in our ideals
they catch quite the beating
and if they still stand
once the dust has settled
the smoke cleared
then you know they were strong
I might not be brave
and I might be short and skinny
but don't relax that guard
I have strength enough to know
that you are mistaken
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Back with only memories of tomorrow.
the Personality that simply engulfs mine.
A hazel blaze that ate the small flame.
Tomorrow, you changed the entire world
burned down the sky, for the color of sunsets.
cynic turned something more facetious.
Pinwheel-heart only moves when you walk by.
simplistic melody of “ba-dump, Ba-dump”
fought for pacifism and won.
You and your crazy handful of nothings.
tore down the libraries to save the books.
Killed the dreamers to save the dreams
Dark Brown sunshine fell on your shoulders.
crescent moon sat under your nose.
and the stars twinkled across your face.
I only look to the sky to see you.
Build a life where tomorrow is not so far away.
where should we meet up? i know.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’ve been.
Lets meet at the edge of where you’re going
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 12:08 AM UTC
In our voyeuristic ambivalence
In our savage pacifism
With bureaucratic diarrhea
We **** on Lady Liberty
And wipe our *****
With the Constitution
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
The chagrin is profound,
A heart is marred,
And bane mushrooms diffuse spores ---
But they deliver elation,
They all deliver pacifism
For which the weary
Spirit yearns.
They deliver elation
In a trivialness
From where
No spirit returns.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Peeve growled
at the gnashing, hypocritical teeth
took a step back to avoid another fight.
His pacifism remained unnoticed,
his pride maliciously mauled again.
It’s difficult to beat a pair of dogs
demanding retreat
yet never retreating themselves.
He has doubled his weight,
newly found power pulses in his pupils,
his lacerated skin begs for revenge.
Legs fully cocked,
pleading for release.
Try growling now, *******
I dare you.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
I have no fear of anyone who opposes me,
Shall I live? Forever, I am
****** to die, regardless
Of the life I lead. So,
To nihilism and cynicism; should I cling?
Or fight for my ideals and beliefs?
What is it, to fight? To be violent, to the pacifist;
To resist violence, with pacifism.
I fear no man that would oppress me,
Shall you live? Never, would I
Bend the knee before being
Brought to kneel. Rightly,
You can **** me
But what I die for lives on;
Drown in the wake
Of those that love,
Those that bleed
What peace allows;
Time to think, of
What freedom means
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 1:03 PM UTC
Constantly suffering like this is never a good thing.
It's peculiar to think otherwise.
I mean, I can't really do anything stupid.
Sure, I'll suddenly gain that rush of temporary popularity;
Since the dead are always so glorified,
But when they're living, they're trash.
I mean, isn't that how things work?
Well, that's the cynical, dark way of thinking about it.
What about the reverse?
Alternate dimensions, multiverses of beings that are you.
Six or eight, I forgot the precise number to them.
But the importance is that there are other outcomes,
To the solution you long for.
Then again,
Problems can't really be solved by the conciousness
That created them.
Just like wishes are only a success plan for failure.
Well, what's more important?
To be or not to be?
Pacifism or aggression?
Earnest Hemingway was always active with his words,
But there's nothing wrong with being the other.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
As migrants from our own pious bodies,
we held hands through pouring rain and
ran from those things which hoped to keep us.
We submerged ourselves deep into the Cuyahoga,
letting the currents ease us away from our lives;
her pacifism, something much more to learn from.
We let the water glaze our skin with rich culture
and vagrant God’s who’d settled along her banks.
We thought it chance that life would become
something much bigger than we’d planned.
We designed skyscrapers to build with our
hands as we’d tightrope across wire cables
high over upper-Manhattan or someplace grandeur.
We let our tears fall from rainclouds and hummed
along to the soft music which played inside of us.
Young nights grew into days as we learned
how to use our youthful bodies as something
more than for breathing and running.
We read books for the promise of a greater tale--
maps for the promise of finding ourselves
through the devilish hellfire of the Arizona
desert. We thirsted for love and found it on
park benches and back seats. We prayed to the
Sun God’s that this summer would last an eternity.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:15 PM UTC
During the pre-evening liturgy
Betwixt a shabby stall
Irate I sit scribing seasoned verses
Silent as an infant in production
Whilst the slaughtering of pacifism
Across the universe ‘tis my soundness
Perforated by the eerie current
‘Twas delivered via the vapors of her breath
Curtly, such graphic memories gnaw the very bones
Of what I had thought to be timeless romance
Though once again I’ve been forsaken
To drink all ‘twas left unsaid and unknown
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
I subside on the constants
in waves and meters.
three am or pm:
one in the same.
apathy begets
apathy
in a circular swirl.
I remain insaitable
in my thirst for fluidity;
I foam at my breaks.
I remain solid;
jaw jutting against liquidity.
despite my pacifism,
I still cannot dissolve.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Sewn, stitched above the bubbling scare,
Where children learned the world’s ways
And soldiers accepted their dismal fates.
Where one white shoulder moves from East to North,
And the two quivering fools never split –
Their cousin never wagged incessantly like he does at parties,
He hid behind the wall like a yellow beetle, fearing the house owners may come home.
Yet what to utter in such circumstances
Where the belly falls
And the arms divide to point at the planets.
This, now, is the end of syllables and rapture,
Intelligence and effort,
The sacred voice that shattered mirrors
Now frozen forever in guilty shakes.
Frankly, I never possessed the stomach.
Pacifism is the hot blood rising from groin to punch the stomach
And the dry sand that erodes the throat.
And anger – that chained, wild dog thrashing, snapping its teeth with the dead sound of a slap.
And pride – the hands entwined in the chains, forming shadowed figures against the fire.
I see myself no higher than him.
Submerged in the afterthoughts of the silent battle,
Our cocky speeches dictated in private
Now seem like pillaged playgrounds.
Nevertheless –
Time is the hands wearing away,
And unleashing the beast with fire on its tongue.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Oh Yorick, you little crunchy skull, tell me, baby,
answer all the questions in "Blowing in the Wind"
on pacifism and what-is/how-to-be a man, please
and then play the piano while I lie on the lid of it
and let's sing the blues about being and nonbeing
and get drunk on scotch, as old as little young me
and the places, faces, and names we've forgotten
all while my rusty-stringed guitar gently weeps,
and geese run in droves over my grave, shivering
up and down my spine as my ears just burn alive
with the sword of death on a frazzled dried string
hangs over our heads to remind us we are young
we must not waste a second of life with "frivolity"
we are young, dead, all roguish,
we are real, but not broken--yet!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
You said, I want to go where the riots are,
Where my affliction has no name.
That's what you call it, your pacifism:
Your affliction, your disease.
Like a flaw that keeps you from fighting.
But I've seen you argue with
Unclenched fists and
Disappointed eyes and I know
It's not that you can't fight,
It's that you won
A long time ago.
'Q
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
try to make a psychology
off a meatball... and i'll bet you Bolognese's
worth of inadequate pinball bowling with a slack
on the lost ************ wrist tweak...
hence the welsh longbow man's V
salute to the french guard of the king.
guard? heavy calvary - hence
an arrow loosened and indeed i still can
claim pacifism with the V as the index
and middle finger of archery's splendour
prior to the befallen brethren of
the muddied stage encompassed at a distance
soon to be an encompassing grave of my own tiresome
example readied for neither god of fanciful
tastes or a god of omni- encapsulating surveillance.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
you know it needs the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers to clasp the eroticism of the neck for the geese to fly in man inverse to the hellish fires of emotion that have no sense of temperament?
even the existential french philosopher sartre was fooled
by what the common man conquered
deemed the end of rome...
but the conversion gave us the long standing
byzantines: saint who never warred
and so warring turned to sainthood,
but the man was rags to riches fraud,
as archaeology - that thing above history proves:
can't deny the papyrus came from india
when it was found in egypt by a real shepherd:
unless you're in it for the money...
and not the fact that pharisees would not have
thrived unto exdous for muscle the 2nd time,
so why such intellectual diversity and thriving
under roman rule... because there was no dislocation?
the conversion of constantine empowered 2nd rome,
byzantine fabrics of jewel of sainthood
than never took to taking an acorn for some reason...
western rome was overrun with orcs, northern folk
previously not conquered when julius caesar looked
and the women of gaul and said: easy **** soldiers...
easy **** brit girls easy too, but have to pierce
the membrane of fickleness that mediates man conquering
and man scheming (paedophiles).
of course women are worth the conquest...
but in a western society what wages "justifiable"
as war outside of itself... inside it there's a sexist war of pacifism
of one *** *** changes... you name it...
in a society that exports war and imports pacifism
you will only get angry women and confused men...
pacifistic war is far from the pacific,
it's horrid... woman gets all the weapons:
**** **** nakedness, ***** and *******
man gets confused with what war is actually for:
profit... so he earns his share...
honestly... even though he's not warring...
so woman lives longer... becomes entombed
with inheritance... gets ken barbie the 2nd
******* of flamboyant killjoy mansion investments...
and it's equal: the worst sexism is one
that demands a pacifism of one *** but not both;
and we're living in a time when masculine sexuality
is pacified, and where feminine sexuality
is warring... easily duped by womanising wolves
that would reincarnate the third ***** somewhere
far from germany... like syria.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Butane lungs,
forty different faces, too many of them too numb.
Too many cups, too many cups, too many times I've called your bluff.
Stop your eyes from fallacies and incoherent lies, stop your mouth from the ******** that's falling out.
Inconceivable pacifism and flower petals made out of eyelashes and dead skin.
I don't want to go through this again.
Complicate the scales, complicate your lengthy tales, complicate the way she says your name, complicate the way I have too many finger prints on my veins.
Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Smile like there is no such thing as goodbye, smile while your teeth fall out, smile while you die.
Keep your eyes peeled, keep your eyes open with blood shot lies.
Covering yourself in lucid dreams, covering yourself in water it seems, covering yourself in pieces of me.
I'm too ****** up, I swear to God the Devil knows this isn't how I wanna be.
Overtime, over the night, over time, over night, under your flashlight, shadowed with with regret, I was never a satisfying bet.
There have been too many times that I've heard the phrase, "Darling, you're possibly the darkest person I've ever met."
I just talk to the ceiling and tell it about how I hope you never forget.
But I know this is it, I know I know I know, I know because you already forgot.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
our cry of war;
peace
the streets, O, how they testify
accused of false prophecy.
but a people's truth
known best by
them who walk it.
weapons,
bluebird hashtags,
palm portals broadcast high definition.
hands of pacifism write a
play of sunken morals
a stage—the world
capturing heart;
caging it beside mind
no longer abiding forced compliance
to the dollar,
and the jester king's control
making mockery of the throne they sit—
unrighteous fools.
we refuse a subject's posture.
they deem a mask cowardice,
fickle and shallow understanding
an insult of fear.
a brotherhood of belief to represent—
uniformity
together
by rank and by file,
stalwart to stem the loss of blood;
against greed.
independence
from them—from one another,
from the cookie cutter's imposition
advertisement imprisonment
once thought killed
succeeding only, they
made his cause indefinite
made message
immortal.
forever grinning,
lips curled across porcelain visage
on asphalt battleground
a rose outstretched,
the bearer beaten with sticks
put in chains.
soaring cans noxious,
tears not their result,
but of sorrow
for them, and
their acceptance of bribe white picket, the
Judas price.
hypocritical perpetrators
betray hollow oath,
smashing split fingers
the unspoken message portrayed
outlasting beating's bruises
heftier and more distant in reach, than strike.
hands cut by thorn whilst seeking to tear down
rose
regretful tears of power's illusion
wash the ground
but freed of blood impossible.
power's impotence seen,
the world's future bearing witness to
false truth.
a promise greater
a seed planted
generations to grow, in time
shading all mankind
when children lead men,
the mask removed
unveiling equality in our difference
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
anyone can tire of the belittling hippy pacifism hiding Stalin in its underwear like it was the höchste lösung without nappies; because the left believes we were born with drink-hardened-bladders!
we can't fathom the new intellectuals
and their soberness
like we can't fathom the fact
that some went into battle
with amphetamines and some with
alcohol; we simply can't accept
a sober enemy, the fear of death too dragging
in a reggae of a continuum
and bedrooms' pleasure racked
in lacking a womb -
found the index imitating a fly,
and a king with it too - who's to kneel?
thus they fought intoxicated, but argued sober?
why not reverse?
why let these schoolchildren, these hitlerjungen
fight intoxicated while the bulging argue sober?
the fighters intoxicated and the politicians sober?
sombre? did i hear it right?
the berserker fight intoxicated while
while the old men squabble sober?
send the old men to fight sober and the youth
to politicise intoxicated!
i take to war the intellectual concern for
your piano and your wallpaper and your pseudo
Marxist class struggle -
where war knocks via intellectuals, war will come
and intoxication will be the new intellectualism -
where intellectuals knock for ginger
they will reap Blitzkrieg...
where war comes intellectuals exploit first...
with intellectual agitation war comes easily,
******** animal readied...
you cleave from the vacuum you created
you will meet the tailor and the barber...
so must intelligence gone to waste...
your little post-communist intelligentsia...
with us not involved come party come the new
right and dei neu nord!
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
I will gnaw my feet off to escape you
I will fight tooth and claw
to stop the cruelty you do
Pacifism becomes violent after a while
something must be done now
this country is absolutely vile
If your foot is on my neck I will cut down your legs
you can silence me no longer
My patience has been drunk to the dregs
taking back our land, our rights, the name of our game
Isn´t it the consequences of your actions??
What a **** shame
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 10:35 AM UTC
So why do we rush in so fast?
Man has come and gone,
Seen countless wars pass,
Bloodshed, violence, bombs and more,
If there was a way to make this
World a better place, we "need" war.
If we could have chosen differently,
Fear "forces our hand" every time to
Go out and use destruction on the enemy.
I sit here, dumbfounded and confused.
No one will ever find these three things popular:
Pacifism, love, patience. Yet without these we really lose.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
childish, shattered blue pottery
rivers and a diversity of children.
to each, their broad shirts and scribbles
for heads, mouths, faces, arms.
winking at me about heaven or nirvana or both. more.
they seem wiser.
i heard that all time is occurring at once.
looking here, i see it all as reflection.
the bright infant depictions hand everything back to me as if to say-
this was this wall. this, was where you sat
and looked into it and laughed your little laugh. see? then all the leftovers-
so soggy, how they dripped off the cheap white plastic. so sad, how
you lived, some others died.
they hand me the truth like their homemade bread in the linen
(this is my body...)
joy, like anything, is born to fragments made more whole.
place your thumb on the ones with the silly chipped paint and buried toddlers’ finger nails,
and remember how both happen all at once.
like a cough.
like a child (yours) letting go of life and then the pillowcase.
like rain and the fireworks.
like all the ways how you can collect someone in your arms and speak to them
about this moment.
here is a construct.
make into a home.
after all, there is so little time.
the children meet at the hands to make a circle. everything all at once.
a pacifism of crayon box hues.
they each confide that they’re the end, the middle, and the beginning.
and one after another,
like green blips on the panels
like god and a pulse, those pyrrhic, incandescent blues
then breakage-
I close my eyes to believe them.
(do this in remembrance of me)
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC