"rebels" poems
Live in the shadows
And flee from the sun,
An army of rebels
Marching as one.
Mingle your voice
With the other outcasts,
Your single goal
Is to simply outlast.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
In reality everyone judges.
So caught up in their name brands.
Whether or not we hold our grudges,
Labels are for soup cans.
We assume that everyone we meet fits a certain frame,
It's easier to do this, so that we will understand.
But once you get to know someone, your first impressions' put to shame.
Because labels are for soup cans.
Smart kids are nerdy and will never be intimate.
Popular kids are jocks and girls with fake tans.
Then there's the rebels who take risks and think nothing of it.
But labels are for soup cans.
In reality everyone judges,
But again, labels are for soup cans.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
O' how they rise above each other,
the descendants of Babel!
Rebels to forefathers.
All as righteous as they seem –
to the law, but not to reality
Towers Among Towers!
unreachable by mere ones
mocking the lowlands
with their heights
Even dreams could not fathom!
And oh, how Towers fall too,
at the top of their limit.
Catastrophe! Phenomena!
their power too is frail
because there is always
One that stands taller
than any other could avail.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
"Be careful who you call a King"
All the romantic girls want a 'knight in shining armour'
All princesses want some noble king to sweep them off their feet
All the bad girls want a rebel who's mean with lots of green
Well... I'm all three
I want the joker
Who can outwit the knight in a fight with only his words
Who can make the king laugh with accents and gestures so absurd
Who can cause the rebel to cry and fly away like a scared little bird
I want the joker
I'm a poet
I need the joker to take away the sadness in the words I write
I need the joker to willingly fight for me with his own life
I need the joker to stand tall and proud, yet admit when he's not right
I need the joker to love me fully, unbiasedly and with all his might
I'm a poet
Knights are overrated
Kings are old and outdated
Rebels are deathly fated
Jokers are an eternity
Cause laughter can surely never die
Jokers are everything
Cause my heart will surely never cry
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
I am Katniss Everdeen.
I volunteered for my sister in The Hunger Games.
I survived, so did Peeta.
I know the Capitol hates me.
I am a rebel.
I love Peeta.
I wonder if he is alive.
I am the mockingjay, symbol of all rebels.
I killed President Coin because she killed Prim.
I live in District 12 now.
I have 2 kids.
I watch them play in the meadow, the unknown graveyard.
I am Katniss Everdeen.
written by maegan cattermull
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
The Peace Process
I don’t know where I'm going with this
but there is peace in Colombia, the Marxist rebels lost
and their **** women soldiers in green fatigue and
weapons in arms will hand it all in for fashion magazines
Hair- dressing salons and babies in arms.
For women, a change from war to peace is easy to make
it will be worse for men who feel inferior without guns.
If Texas as an example had been a gun free zone you would
have ended up with tall queens as cowhands,
or what do I know left their oil wells and gone to Montana
So why did the Marxist lose, ******* I think more economical
beneficial, cash in hands better than a Marxist bible on the roof
28 years of peace the political parties in Colombia will have
no consensus as the blamed is car mechanics or ranchers
Everything is possible from the first female president in Colombia
or and openly gay governor in Texas.
Festive dresses and bulls with flowers on horns will be marching
down the Avenue in Houston.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
Battles raged on for
the cold, iron throne.
Kings were slaughtered
of origins, unknown.
Misery and death,
that’s what it bred.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
Rebels had risen
to claim the throne
whose kingdom from hatred
had slowly grown.
The hunger for power,
the thirst to rule.
The throne turned
the wisest, into a fool.
The land was soaked
with blood that was shed.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
In a kingdom built of hate,
with pillars of lies,
stands the cold, iron throne
as it’s glorious prize.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
I'm the Emperor and my face looks like a prune.
I have dark circles around my eyes which also makes me look like a raccoon.
My name is Palpatine but I'm also known as Darth Sidious.
Everybody pukes when they see me because I look hideous.
I was able to trick Anakin Skywalker into turning to the Dark Side.
I actually convinced him that I had the power to save his bride.
I can't believe that I was able to turn him into a Sith Lord as easily as I did.
He actually believed that he could save Padme by killing Separatists and kids.
I thought that my new Death Star was safe from the rebels, I thought that I had won.
But Darth Vader dropped me into the main reactor of the Death Star to save his son.
Luke Skywalker removed Lord Vader's mask and he became Anakin Skywalker again.
I still can't believe that those **** Ewoks were the reason why my Empire didn't win.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Funny men in tall chef hats
Marching about so wildly
Stone soup and humble pie
Main course and dessert delight
Give me a dose
And that girl two
Vanity, her dream come true
Narcissistic uncaring and cold
A mid-evil blunder
So daring and bold
Spoiled brats
And rotting Brauts
Sugared too sweet
Not telling the truth
The gossip
And all
The Court jester
The village idiot
He sinks to the bottom
She cheers to the top
It's amazing the wonder
The high school scene
The many things
That relate to its sheen
The short stout bakers
Making profit from weakness
Some goods so smooth
Some just the opposite
The geeks and nerds
Hackers and slackers
Jocks with jerseys
And rebels with rock
Serve up course two and three
Let's make it a festival
Just you and me
Vanity and sheen
Were just getting started
This is high school
This mid-evil concert
For four years we live it
A new melody
A new song
It's not the end
But the struggle
Is on.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 1:04 AM UTC
Tossing and turning
Heavy breathing,
Tears of frustration.
Screaming at my brain
To dismiss, erase, forget
All memories of you.
But it rebels
Like a stubborn teenager
It eyes me
In a huff, says,
"No!"
And proceeds to
Replay
Those moments
Over and over again.
My exasperation
Soon turns into
Sadness, despair, misery
Knowing that
It's all gone.
Forgetting you
Why can't it be easy?
Like how dried leaves
Are swept by the breeze
Into the river
And float away to
The point of no return.
Feeding myself
Thoughts of how
It's hopeless
Just doesn't work.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
A funeral for a Great King
Mourning
Ageing
Descendants carve their paths
Glory
Heorot
A Demonic mood-killer
Lonely
Grendel
A hero answers the call
Distant
Majestic
A vow of aid
Impressive
Doubtful
Claims become realized
Death
Celebration
Danger revisits
Vengeance
Maternal
A journey to the marsh
Darkness
Fiends
An underwater duel
Headless
Reward
The hero departs
Sadness
Homecoming
A joyous return
Stories
Changes
A death in the family
Sadness
Inheritance
50 years prospers the Hero-King
Greatness
Theft
A beast is awoken
Ancient
Furious
The people suffer
Dust
Ashes
An old king rebels
Victory
Grief
A funeral for a Great King
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
Every inch of my body is screaming, blazed with fire
There's lightning between my shoulder blades
Rain dripping from my dewy greens
And electricity weaving between my tendons
There is a chainsaw cutting my bones
There are needles piercing through my chest
There is lava rushing through my veins
There is a hurricane in my head
I can feel my cells shrinking
I can feel my branches breaking
I can feel my leaves crumbling
Everything hurts and there is no remedy
This is the life of inevitable misery
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
When we talk
We reckless teenagers
We rebels without causes
We James Deans of the world
We talk about wanted tattoos
"A 3 on my back"
"Wings"
"On my lip"
And piercings
"My nose"
"My belly button"
And alcohol
"Icelandic chocolate"
*****
"Whiskey"
Because we want to do the things
We can't
We're on the edge
The brink
Does that make us reckless?
Greedy?
Something to be laughed at?
It makes us human.
We're greedy.
We want to be different
So we sit in circles
And curse and drink
And play stupid games
Like truth or dare
Because we're reckless
And we talk about ***
Talk back to our parents
Because we worship sarcasm
And complain about how poor we are.
What else can you expect
From artsy
Reckless
Hipster
New York kids?
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, ******** trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
Honkey-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gelato Nation
There is a place,
location secret,
mine to keep,
mine with which
you to tease,
make you envious,
a back room 'office'
jealous guarded
by a barkeep,
whose chosen invites sweeps
you into a reality that is
what you will it to be.
But nota bene, note well,
remembrances of things swell
from your past be the
only tongue spoken here.
Code word entry only,
a shared whisper.
Perhaps One Woman,
may reveal its pleasures,
if she so chooses,
which are:
gelato laughs, poetry snaps,
Beatle songs sung ensemble,
by rag tag strangers
self-collected accidentally,
sung de rigeur off key
by voices lubricated by
cognac, laughter, and
the coldest of white wines,
issue of the very soil
upon which we sit.
Words to value properly,
not in my possess to capture
the few moments in time when;
Strangers transform themselves
into a triple A nation united,
that will never be
S&P; downgraded.
A holy alliance
celebrating July 4th
all night long,
all participants
signatory witnesses to
its gelato conception,
as well as pallbearers
to its last drink dissolution,
the fullness of its lifetime
a vintage of a few hours extant,
a vintage, once drunk, is
a history, forever gone.
Mixologists please record:
One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist
with a dash of museum director,
and do not forget the
Hundred Year Old Woman,
whose Dowager Princess Daughter
(she, a mere eighty)'
from Central Park West
clarifies all of life dilemmas with
the singular analytical tool of:
But is it good for the Jews?
**But t'is the barkeep
who is the leavening
in this evenings human
pastry-petrie dish.**
He makes the pastiche,
the ions of personalities,
coalesce best,
guitar strummer,
singer of songs that were our
multiple national anthems
when we were pseudo-rebels
starting out on our
long and winding roads.
Long the King of the Keep!
Long live the memory of our
Gelato Nation,
may it stay sweet in
our antique collection of
the best moments of
our intersecting lives.
July 2011
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
I'm a simple electron.
And, although I have my quarks,
It's usually a persona I don,
Pretending I enjoy meaningless talks.
See, I was once in a pair,
With a fellow electron.
And, although it was difficult to bear,
The laws of physics ultimately won.
The closer we got,
The more we repelled.
When she was ionised, it hurt a lot,
She left, regardless of how much I held.
She soon paired with another,
Leaving me to start a bond.
It was my emotions I tried to smother,
Of myself, I was certainly not fond.
For a while my thoughts were scattered,
My emotions being forced up and down.
But none of that really mattered,
As I soon met another who would invert my frown.
You see, she was a blinding photon,
And when we met, she certainly did excite me...
And, just like my friend the boson,
I hope you don't take this lightly.
She perked me up a couple of energy levels,
Until she pulled me out of my shell.
Now, together, we're quantum rebels,
I'm a simple electron, and this is the story I tell.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their genitals until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
I can’t help but wonder if we have crossed paths
Over and over again, tangling each hello
Catching a hint of mischief when we first bumped into each other
And how easy it was for us to slip into
Conversations, plotting to take on the world
But first things first, we have to catch the moon
And hold the stars ransom in our back pockets
I swear we were pirates singing sea shanties
And conquering cities, but now we settle
For late night dance parties, and one shot, two shot, three
And sure, we are invincible, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our stories layering, life long friends
Or maybe arch nemeses, and each time
Tagging out a new adventure
Where we are chasing after each other
I swear we were renegades, young rebels
Questioning authority and pushing boundaries
Now, we collaborate artistically
Broadcasting in a world of social media, one shout, two shout, three
And sure, we are strong, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our history repeating, kindred spirits
Or maybe pieces of the same soul, and each time
We meet, we find a part of ourselves
We had forgotten
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
But I remain a believer in my ancestral religion
Whose God is wele but not the Germany world, it is a religion,
Like most of universal ancestral ones,
With appalling moral threshold,
When Elijah Masinde of dini ya Misambwa
Despised those who condemned man as notoriously religious
He meant human religious approach to life is absolute in nature
However diverse religions compete for human ears
Rich ones glorified in the luring away of modal ears
But all are devoid of spiritual impetus
Disappointing the progenitors of religious imperialism
These short-cutters in matters of sanctimony
Will not come to our heaven
They will get me sharing a cup of tea
With my sister- in-law; Mary, the mother of Jesus
And I will shun them, I will not know them
I will not invite them to a heavenly cup of tea
They will be suffocated by cadaverous appetite,
For we honor our religion with ancestral regard;
The Faith of Our Ancestors
But in ridicule they call us kaffirs, pagans, christo-pagans,
Animists, atheists, gentiles, non-believers, mediumists,
Rebellious rebels or whatsoever they call us;
The anti-muhamedan-mis-christologists,
Let them delude themselves,
If they disparage us with sick contumely
Abreast the dumbfounding development in sciences
Plus so fortuitous humanistic awareness,
Humanity in Religion has to adjust optimally
Religious masters have to help
Interpret the religious Books, bible, gita, quran
All Written or verbalistically in the glory of epical orality
In tandem with the best centered
Life extant,
Otherwise selfish religions becomes an old wine bag
With its old and stale wine,
You will persuade Russian carousers to drink
But to your chagrin, none will condone, your stale wine
Do not seek to sell your faith
Because every human community
Has an ancestral faith
Respect them all for that is gods in their accolade of
Omonipresecence,
Any man or woman without religion is dangerous
But do not advantagize yourselves
At the expense of people of other faiths
It is good you reciprocated
Planet earth is our only sure and known abode
If we lived well here, and there is another world
For those who will be good, we hope the conclave of Gods
Would all sit in judgment for their credit
And reward those who helped humble humanity
Of their religions as well as those of other religions
As for all the Gods love humanists.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
We are members of a poetic society
A unique learning class
We may or not be good at other things
But mentally we kick ***
We value all our words
Cherish our thoughts not heard
We are on the road to self discovery
Choose only words that we feel tell our story
We see the world differently than most
The world makes us.... then breaks us
So we write for survival and to give hope
Some say our heads are in the clouds
It is safer there in our own creative playground
We are miles up and never want to come down
No use for conformity
We escape the constraints of uniformity
We break out from the box ~ find new ground
And Seize the day ~ Unbound
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Their lies are prompted
from teleprompters
and executed flaw-fully
from taxpayer's helicopters.
They say we're protecting
foreign daughters
while filtering profits
to desert clad marauders.
Blank faced public
fear conversing religion and politics
while passively electing
lunatics with trigger switches.
Arm the rebels
they bite the hand that feeds
the middle east burns
while America ******* bleeds.
The white, blue and red
camo helmets on their heads
farm fed frat boys
equipped with jackets of lead.
We watched Saddam crumble
his statue beaten with shoes
but the same war we already fought
the puppets now will choose.
Fight the good fight
support the troops.
Drone strikes by twilight
**** the troops.
An Army of one
Sempter Fi
Do or Die
I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket
covered in a flag you valued more than your life.
Our heroes are our welfare
stop blaming single mothers
plastic bags tied around throats
water boarding dissent, it smothers.
**** the Medal of Honor
I'm tearing up your portrait Obama.
How many can benefit from free tuition?
But we give it to those trained to slaughter.
Our priority is the police state
Nazis pretending to tote freedom.
We sip our Americanos
And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading.
**By Evan Ponter
@evanponter**
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
who are you?
You
upon whose skin comedies are written
in bruises and scars like graffiti on your heart
scrawled upon the walls in the language of
maddening imperfection.
You
who exhumes the bones of demons
from the graveyard growing
inside of you
the cemetery where you bury your grief.
who are you?
who rebels at the crimes,
self-inflicted, yet
cannot bring yourself to bury the hatchet
(a hurricane that refuses to be named.)
You
who has learned (to your sorrow)
that the world has teeth
and homes cannot be made
out of human beings.
You
who cannot help but idle
on the question
"what parts of me still function
properly?"
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC