"panem" poems
There was a young lady of Panem,
District 12 and had a sister named Prim,
She and Peeta won the 74th Hunger Games,
But she hated all the glory and fame,
Her name is Katniss Everdeen and she is the Mockingjay for the rebel's team.
written by maegan cattermull
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where I place flowers by her grave
That I wish she could see
I remember her laugh
Her smile
And her scream
Have dreams of her death
That place the blame on me
Under the Willow now
Weeping with the tree
I'll stay here
By my sister's feet
The funeral is done
The rain is pouring down
Everyone is gone
No one remains but me
I read the inscription on her grave
The one chosen be me:
Your life is what you gave
To help set Panem free
I wish I was dead
It should have been me
He should have ran
She should have tried to flee
It cannot be changed
Not even by me
So I take a breath
And bury her ashes
Underneath the tree
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Bread and circuses
Our world today,
In our sweet, free homeland.
We grow fat on breads
Pastries and sugars
And watch our
Sit coms on tv
Oblivious to the world around us
What's really happening?
Outside these walls of our free country
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
panem et circenses keep
the animaux at bay
while politicians sell out cheap
to lobbyists who pay
top dollar for the proper vote
the proper bill to vet
twould be enough to get your goat
were there a goat to get.
the clowns have been elected
and the acrobats do spin
no child left unaffected
and the bread is getting thin
elect the thief who steals from you
and wonder why you're broke
your budget strangled till it's blue
and you've no throat to choke
you've spent your time to buy their lies
the check is in the mail
the economic house of cards
stacked all along to fail
to think that wealth would trickle down
and feed the huddled masses
you're full of something rank and brown
and sanctimonious *****
so till the revolution comes
enjoy your present stations
sure, have your cake and eat it too
it's called regurgitation
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 6:15 PM UTC
ale czysto w tej E - U - Ρ - Ω - Π - J - Η.
islam leiben historie, nicht Ottoman,
Ottoman pseudo Khan, islam leiben historie:
eins, zwei, drei und vierte maulkor'bzeugè'naussagé
(sausage marathon); they love their history
mind you ψι and τρι... kaganiec u stóp w
krok stu odpowiedzi w jedną droge:
raz jeszcze, w las i w cienie iglą tej tętnicy wybryk chęć
na gre, by zadać zbyteczne pytanie! na odpowiedź
oskarzyć czas z wiedzą zegara,
i tą ostateczną, wartą końca, namylsnością...
ponownie oskarzyć jako począt narodu -
tylko golasa, warte imie kroka ka ka kar Kasymir'ah!
wedle Tsara, czołem w tło wymagań na wyryte
zapomnieniem lat: oddech'u Uzbeku chafta
wspomnień wiatru i chorongiew latawcy
jak niby urojen konceptu narodu...
ja człek tylko w psiarni! i tak powiem, tak,
wiara, panem na zbyt wiele pamięci Janosika
i Radio Maria;
o tyle czerpie zgon, ponownie, ponownie,
by ocalić, niby swiętego, i pogrzebać swój naród...
ale wstyd! wstyd! by ocalić jednego niby
swiętego, lecz nadać obszar rodem Polak'a
ponad Polske i w ramach Irlandie; jaki to wstyd
nawet ten mnie wart, co nie nada snu!
co za wstyd - nie warto umierać wiele razy,
kiedy ten ostatecny oznacza raz jeszcze -
quo vadis, qua lectio? -
ten raz jeszcze, i ten ostatni, o tyle wiele poradni
przed wieloma nocami snu.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
In Ancient Rome the Emperors ensured the populace were kept quiet,
With bloodied slaves to gawp at and a stomach filling diet,
Of bread and wine and spectacles before a baying crowd,
Soporific panaceas channelled the roars they were allowed.
But on Bulbaos’ house in Pompeii he wrote “Militat om nes”
Which in our simple modern tongue in an idiom he says
“I am just a lover but I know that I must fight”
His spray can was a chisel and he made his mark at night.
"… Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses."
Juvenal AD100
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
Fog billows over to company, drear,
Of the sad wide river, armadas of mud
Charged to go forward yet locked as they appear,
Where I am in constant motion, confined to constriction.
Noon is never as bleak as it is now
Growing ever darker
With bags beneath its eyes
And the shining sun a novelty
A flag of finitude the morning star flies.
Take up the banner since this land is conquered
Emblazoned in every miserable seam,
The mark of tragic mien.
And if this is my greeting into the world,
Surely it’s my way out,
Awakened and forced to the blurry line
Between the oughts and desires against
From here to dreams, then permanence
No other want plagues them, also, like this.
Then I’m in the company I can call my kin
Who shall greet me as I greet the day:
Et panem meum, et fratrem.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
You foolish men
Who toy with others' lives
Act as though you're safe
From a revolutionary's knives
You may be fine
With your panem et circenses
But be warned, your actions
Do carry consequences
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
dear eurydice,
what did it feel like to die twice?
did it hurt more the first time,
weaned onto the sticky honey of love,
only to drown in the sugar as it turned to poison?
or did it hurt more the second,
when you were already bled dry,
to once more hear the siren’s song of your beloved,
only to be gutted by his greed?
did it feel more like a stab and a twist,
or was it more of a thud, then emptiness?
did you die a third time,
when you realized your beloved had run out of chances,
and that you had forever sunk?
///
eurydice, i heard a little rumor
that orpheus used to sing to you under the stars.
did his songs paint you a perfect little world
"for your eyes only" he would say
the way that my love did for me?
one that locked away all your fears,
washing across your vision
until it was tinted over with rosemary?
tell me eurydice,
did you dream of orpheus’ song
like i dreamed of my supposed savior,
humming sweet promises
that couldn’t be kept?
///
did you know, eurydice,
the first time i drowned,
i too had been the victim of a viper?
its venom had blinded me first,
it cursed me with sight;
i saw the world unraveled,
bared in all its debauchery
as savagery unsheathed silence,
nailing women to the cross,
and children to their graves;
an utter panem et circenses
while society watched them bleed.
did you know too,
i was smothered in honey,
just like you?
i tasted the sugared ashes
of the skies unfolding,
as stars turned to bombs in the air,
one little boy crying,
and one fat man dying;
society had found its penance
a faux but effortless salvation.
i like to think it was a blessing:
a little gift, the anesthetization that followed,
how the viper had wrangled out my lungs,
emptying me before i could breathe again,
only to find toxins rather than faith pouring in.
i can’t help but wonder, eurydice,
why were you given your lungs back,
if only temporarily?
did it feel good to have that final breath,
a final glimpse of your favorite delusion,
even if you had already fallen?
///
they say that everyone is born twice:
once on the day their umbilical is untangled and cut,
and once on the day they untangle their own mess;
but what happens when you die a third, a fourth,
and a fifth time before you are born again?
i ask this to you eurydice,
because it seems, like you,
i am already dead.
Aug 17, 2024
Aug 17, 2024 at 12:32 AM UTC
The truth is clouded from our vision
In a plan to steal our minds
They want us to be fat and happy
So we don't care whats going on
They fill our heads with empty knowledge
So they don't lose what once was ours
We gave them power for a moment
And they took all that they could rob
We sit in a half drunk stupor
And watch whatever **** comes on
While they walk in the front door boldly
We don't know that our stuff is gone
So what, you say you're fat and happy
And now I've talked for way too long
But you will see in the near future
That what I say is far from wrong.
Cheap thrills are driving me insane
Don't know whether it's spit or rain
The time has come for me to shout it
Free bread and circuses mask pain.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Posting once meant sending a letter
Written in cursive, observing good form;
Decency good - politeness much better
Both mindful and kind, was most people’s norm
The internet came with lightning bolt speed
And missives, then dismissives sped about
The craft of writing, soon began to bleed
And Johnson’s words* became a lost redoubt
Soon all could chat alone, with ‘friends’ worldwide
A foamy blather, that soon turned cruel
As politics dilated our divide
And set us, verbal swords in hand, to duel
We fight and hate for ‘likes’ - and our pretenses
We **** our souls with “panem et circenses”**
©2018 C. Green
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC