"rioting" poems
To give life you must take life,
and as our grief falls flat and hollow
upon the billion-blooded sea
I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed
with white-legged, white-bellied rotting creatures
lengthily dead and rioting against surrounding scenes.
Dear child, I only did to you what the sparrow
did to you; I am old when it is fashionable to be
young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh.
I hated you when it would have taken less courage
to love.
15.2k
Yo soy *****
**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes. Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo. I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
the dutch colony ascended on our shores
replacing traditional african education on culture
with teaching slaves how to pray
we saw the deterioration of black schools
and state-mandated segregated curricula
whites being taught better than blacks
who was only destined for subservient jobs
policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education
and later forced us to learn languages
which was not our native tongue
the youth could no longer be silenced
soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause
we have protested throughout the decades
silenced by the apartheid government
simply ignored
with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy
and a single education system, we were finally equal
however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar
which has still not healed
our parents not able to give us the education they were denied
now students are holding the government accountable
who promised free education for a vote
the movement trending as #feesmustfall
anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting
i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting?
why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
Ok, I didn't want to do this
but there's rules that you must know
Etiquette to be followed
A line that you must toe
Listen very closely now
I think you all should try it
The things that you will now learn
About a protest and a riot
Firstly, have a purpose
Just random shouting, that's persay
If you do not have a topic
Then all the new folks go away
Throwing bricks at coppers
Breaking windows on the street
Is this a sign of protest
Or is it idiots in heat
No signage, and no speakers
Just random yelling for a cause
This isn't a good protest
Just breaking random laws
A protest has a purpose
It presents a point of view
A riot is an ugly thing
Which one is right for you
MLK could run a protest
Make a point and get things done
All without a mob forcing
A cop to use his gun
The rules really are simple
Keep the young ones all at home
For people in glass houses
Should really not throw stones
A peaceful resolution
From a protest is the goal
But a riot is just aimless
It puts the city in a hole
Victims of a riot
Are not the ones who are to blame
They're just owners of the business'
Who get caught up in the game
Next time that you protest
Protest rioting instead
It will turn out for the better
And nobody will end up dead
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
Forsythia,
here blazing out,
in,
is it tractor,
center stripe,
or school bus yellow?
A distant cousin to the olive tree.
Would that a rioting branch,
when offered,
would never fail to restore
tranquility and peace.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
It’s all laundry and cigarettes
White-knuckle odd jobs
And freezing your *** off, at 7 AM, to
Help your buddy out
Breaking and bleeding, and
Smoking and shirtless, and
Spinning your finger and thumb
Counter-clockwise until the
Resulting ring of fire and fury can
Torch your inhibitions
No one ever restricted you from
Rioting with grace
And through the windshield of your vision,
The streets wake up to the smell of
Alcohol and experience
It’s all rubble in dumpsters, and
Spray paint that swears
Oaths, to bands and bandages
Singing the praises of
Stolen promises, their swiftly
Prying minds can’t understand
And you’re standing
In front of the truck
Arms outstretched
Pistons firing air through your
Organs, that vibrate with the
Trepidation of nightmarish resolve
It’s all battlefields and accomplices,
The kid that kicked you down so,
That you’d eat the dirt,
Place your teeth in
Leather pouches,
And taste defeat for decades
You’re pleasantly high on the
Smoke of your still-burning debt
You’re a supermarket superhero
You’re the queen of the Gasoline Dream
It’s in the way that
Your outline is
Edged out
By your insides, and the
Arms of the chair have become
Wings, that unfurl over
Valleys and oceans, of headstones,
And nursery wards
Tinted windows promise nothing
Regarding secrecy of soul
What would your wisdom teach me
About sentience?
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
*oh you
body of a woman
you've cried in the dark to long
with your enormous thrilling charm
you
under my skin
with your blood thirsty neurosis
like a queer moon
begging to be hollowed out
slow and cruel, you begged
calling me sir, like that
your mouth gleaming wet
your eyes piercing like flashing cleavers
you groan wild
like a hyena on fire
leaving all sense behind
saying yes to my darkest of whims
and weeping echoes
darker
darker and darker yet
twist me in circles
and circles in circles
my soul a rioting expectation
she eats the backward apple
God knew you would
the sadist
good destroys
evil heals
you eat apples of sin galore
your **** puffs
a fluttering gate drooling
madness, all Adamite
an iron jawed angel
tides of panic in the dark
kisses that ground you down
paralyzed by the black pit
true will of desire
atavistic compulsions torrential
pain that makes beauty stunning
pain that hums
like needles and tongues
sliding curves
milk and blood
doomed by carnal opportunity
under leaves of darkening green
depth charge
shifting flesh
towards a swift arrow
i am a sudden storm
like Caligula's kisses
and you are absolute sacrifice
draped drooling
in heavens arms
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
god is the devil and the devil is bob
god is the devil and the devil is bob
god is the devil and the devil is bob
you see god triumphs all over poor bob
you see today bob was going to the local bowling alley to reform the messiah, you see
this person believes he is the messiah, and his mate brian was annoying the pants off him
by every time he got a strike, brian copies TV, saying, yes, there is a GOD, about 100 times
and drove the messiah nuts, saying why are you saying this, then brian got another strike
and said it again, yes, there is a god, and the next miss, brian will say 100 times , no there isn’t a god
brian never offended the messiah, but he said, yes there is a god, or no there isn’t a god about 100 times
and at the end when brian got 182 as his bowling score, brian yelled out, yes, there is a god up there
and when someone got the same score, he said, there is no god, it still drove the messiah nuts
and bob delahunty said, why are you saying he drives you nuts, he is a family person, you can
learn a lot from brian, and brian sang we are the champions, the messiah left going
god is the devil, and the devil is bob
god is the devil and the devil is bob
god is the devil and the devil is bob
GOD THE DEVIL AND THE MIGHTY BOB
bob delahunty wanted to understand the messiah, so he made brian and the messiah go to a ACT Brumbies game
and brian filled with the simpsons lines in his head, went go brumbies, go brumbies, and when they dropped the ball
brian yelled out we stink we stink we stink, and it happened again, the brumbies ran up the field with brian saying
go brumbies go brumbies go brumbies go, and they dropped the ball, and brian said we stink we stink we stink
and the messiah, who has bionic hearing said, the two islanders behind us, said, why does he keep doing that
and brian said, he was copying frankie j holden on TV, or trying to be the GOOFY homer simpson, which to brian’s
opinion is cool, it was the messiah that has the problem, and the messiah walked away saying
god is the devil and the devil is brian
god is the devil and the devil is brian
god is the devil and the devil is brian
god the devil and annoying old brian
and then bob delahunty decided to follow brian and the messiah around, and it seemed brian had a point
every time the messiah had problems, he would yell out, GOD DOESN’T WANT ME TO HAVE ******* FUN EVER IN MY LIFE
and the messiah would say that again and again, saying god doesn’t want me to that or this or every fucken thing
you see, the messiah wanted to live with some old soccer mates, better than brian because he was a total ****** and brian
said, i am not a ****** i am trying to be nice to you, allowing to go to the coast together, and to the movies
and you still say, and making me say god doesn’t want me to have fun ever in my life, and bob gave brian the messiahs drug to
help him beat the ****** in him, and stop that silly thing to say of god doesn’t want me to do that, it forced brian’s best school mate
ripping into brian’s head after hearing he is a buddhist, saying sit there, buddha doesn’t want you to go on the computer
and i told that voice, buddha wants me to join the next generation, which is better than being a ****** saying, if i eat a banana
god will punnish my family, and force people into rioting with one another, brian knows they wanna party, and bob told the
messiah, the way to make you better dear child, is split this friendship, ok, so the messiah walked away singing
god is the devil and the devil is bob
god is the devil and the devil is god
god is the devil and the devil is god
GOD THE DEVIL AND MY MATE OLD CHUM BOB
god is the devil and the devil is god
god is the devil and the devil is god
god is the devil and the devil is bob
god the devil and BUDDHA AND THE JEWS, makes bobs day really complete
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
I hear the screeching sound,
Of the rioting crowd roaring like a lion,
When the weathered football is kicked,
Falling down like a missile,
Touching earth.
I see the opposing offence,
Passing for desperate yardage,
As our insane defense,
Forcefully sacks the quarterback,
In the backfield,
Providing our team with momentum.
I feel of the cold,
Icy wind as the ultimate play is about
To unfold,
As we play the fourth quarter.
The excruciating pain,
Of deliberately being bowled over,
By a linebacker with such vigorous
Power,
That your helmet is knocked off.
The relief of winning,
A difficult ballgame,
As we celebrate,
Another outstanding victory.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
The West End wanders in my recollection
like a quiet madman. All the times we were
reminded of the War, pointed out the bullet-riddled
walls of the Old Tate, the Arch, guided through the
rooms where Churchill walked. All that aside,
we looked to keep homesickness in its box with strong
black beer or red, by wandering Regent's Park strewn with
fallen gold, or the Garden's rioting roar of flowers, apples, oranges, potatoes and
all of it turning to the ceaseless industry of men and women.
Mystery was the grey-haired Underground men, grey clothes
stuffed with crumpled paper. Once, I stumbled on a scrap
of unreclaimed, timeless London: shattered glass and rubble
carpeting the dull ceramic tile. Ghosts and dusk entered
where ceiling once had been, the silence of a grainy,
blackandwhite Blitz echoing.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
When you told me that this was your seventh shot
With those pomegranate lips of yours
That drunken smile mixing with the salt on my brow
I knew you were trouble
Or to say I knew you were in trouble
Your laughter echoing hollow
And by the time we got to that party
Your legs were more like foreign languages
And your words sounded more like feet
The sweet slurring of your tongue
As you told me that you loved me
And I just laughed and dug deeper into the party
So by the time I had finished my first beer
You were leaning O so dangerously on the wall
As if it were your last chance to be vertical
I wasn’t that surprised to come outside and see your
Blue dress horizontal, bent over behind a car
And hear sweet sounds of your stomach crying for sanctuary
But when you fell forward like a tree alone in a forest
And you lay their like a dead dove
I knew we had a problem
Your head flailing back in my arms as I held you
The last bits of ***** falling like snow from your mouth
And you hung there like some angel
Beautiful
And maybe dying
Crying we carried you into the emergency room
Your eyes swirling like the night sky
All stars and shadows
The wheel chair your great cradle as you rocked your self to oblivion
And they wheeled you away
And left us wondering at what kind heaven
Or hell you were venturing to
As you lay there
Shivering
Wrapped up tight so as keep your pretty heart
Pounding out the beat to your existence
We waited
Quietly at first
And then
Like cold beer glasses
The condensation of our eyes
Let forth in torrents of love
And hope and longing
For you to stop that quivering
For your eyes to return from their pilgrimage into the back of your head
For the earthquake in your hands to recede
For your mouth to regain that quiet smile
And I remember clearly
The urge to pray
I remember holding my head in my hands
And whispering to the lord
Whispering and begging
Knowing that this is wrong
And girls like you don’t die so easily
That’s about the time they told us we had to leave
And after our rioting calmed down
Into quiet murmurs
We piled into the cab
And left your
Golden face
Sleeping
Sleeping
Sleeping so that you could wake
But we didn’t sleep
And as the minutes stretched and hazed into hours
I thought of your smile
And the drunk way you said you loved me
Love be strong
Hold tight girl
We will be the dawn of your morning
We will be at your bedside by the first rays of light
Be strong girl
Be strong
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
**** you society
For making people believe
That there is a certain way to live and breath
Everyone is the same, there is no variety
You outcast those for rioting
And living their life defiantly
What gives you the right to judge me
You are not god almighty
You are the reason for my anxiety
And loss of sobriety
And visits to the psychiatry
But I stand in protest finally
I will no longer sit quietly
And let you decide unjustifiably
What I should be
Your judgment makes people feel insecure
Why do you believe that everyone has to be similar
Why don't you understand that no one is perfect
Why do I have to conform to your culture to earn respect
Why is money the only way to achieve success
Every person lives just like the next
This makes me feel so depressed
**** you, I chose to be unique
I refuse to live a life that's boring and bleak
My life does not need to be critiqued
Your approval will not bring relief
Happiness is key
I will live happy and free
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
A helicopter fashioned
from feathers and fairy dust
buzzed the rioting fuchsia,
Newton's laws upended,
outsmarted,
The ruby-throated flier darted
over and under blossoms,
taking samples
with the lightest touch--
like a visitor from another planet
intending no harm,
then he backed off, surveying,
Lingering in weightlessness,
Suspended in the moment before,
when all is possible,
Poised on the edge of
free fall,
deciding what's next.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
I am not found loud in revelry-
in the noise of the night I am quiet
without the distinct need for rioting definition.
Not to debase their need
or to glorify my sweet bashful greed.
For peace, is something I crave, unsatisfied- I am unsavory.
The noise brings meaning to:
Ring in the New Year.
I find your little cries delightful, a better noise:
the groans of sleepy pleasure shrouded in night-
which is full of cupped spoons soon to be rinsed clean.
Deemed sparkling humanity,
with the presence of goodwill
presenting a better side of selflessness.
It is good medicine for a creative ego.
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 8:30 PM UTC
Wake up tear faced
Wet and soggy pillow
Thoughts of yesterday flood my head
Mind wrenching messages
True or untrue?
Shake off the hurt along with my covers
Lost in a book to escape the realness of life
The last page's turn brings back reality
Sneak away from the ache and into the shower
Mind buzzy busy
Dry off to get clothed
Close the drawer and stop
Just like that
Pause.....
And it all floods back to drown me in my own guilt
Completely unannounced
Hot tears stain my cheeks
Break down and a mind ****
Doing fine I told myself
How dare Thought be rude and burst in uninvited
Unaware of how much I've ignored
It makes things better
Until hurt sneaks up on you again
All the time
Never ending
Once a day
To all day
No one to honestly talk to
Serious matters
Everything on the chest must come off
They say it will feel better
You'll walk away with light feet and postured shoulders
But....
I know
For some reason
Difference calls my outcome
Mind games whisper failure to my heart
Slouched my shoulders stay and brick by brick my steps
Every day gets heavier
More stress and more panic
Across my message will not go
No one to hear me out
Always the factor of skipping out on my feelings
Listen instead of ducking into a battle
Wishing I could say all the words rioting in my mind
It drives me crazy in there
Desire to scream lungs out
Craving fixed hearts
Hungry for your lips
Devoting all my sorrow
Encouraging accepted apologies
My battle never won
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
beads of salt and sweat edge
the Cuban sandwich zest from
the tip of my tongue
flavors of my own theme song
echo in my throat
I'm merry ******* footfalls
on hot concrete snares
and the groans swinging
between my thighs take lead
singing cat whistles
along Main Street
snakes will be snakes
and tight cotton shirts
is asking for venom vial shots
don't worry though
those are my brother's loosened trousers
I'm a sweet gardener
I hold doors open
and voted for Hillary
I'm blinding reflection
standing over the hill
but don't shake my thoughts
with your pepper singed howls
cleaning you up messes my stride
dress like a lady and
monsters look for prettier things
oil stains dripping through
the elbows of my shirt
writes working man sonnets
across noir alley doorways
named Touch But Don't Tell
keep quite and use the suggestion box
and don't blame me for chromosomes
genetic randomness isn't my fault
biochemical cocktails don't drown babies
you just fill your bathtub with them
why do you need life jackets
to fill my shirts
empty your oil can and get a promotion
so you can buy your own
I'm tattered sheets stuffed
over hotel window rails
you're a frail damsel selling dreams
I won't buy, I peep keyholes
save digital copies and call the cops
stop screaming and let me save you
your fingers compress a sweaty glock
rioting my stomach
your tones too ******* loud
remember I loaded the bullets
so at least credit me the shot
beads of blood and sweat
whisper cat o' nines tails
see I'm your martyr
but only on favor street.
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 10:32 PM UTC
I am trying to write poetry about flowers,
The messy, spillingover kind, rioting, too
Bright, so alive something in me cracks like sidewalks
When tree roots push up the concrete like When molars
Erupt from sore gums that time she said when I grew
Too big for carrying, I had to learn how to talk
like an adult. Whatever. Money. Car. *** Pill.
Capitalism. Work. Responsibility.
But something about tangly sunbright flowers still
makes my heart say whee.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
I could be rioting the abominations
Of homophobia and sexism.
Being an activist.
Helping changes occur.
Doing good for myself, my friends, the whole country.
And I'm here.
Studying rocks under a microscope
To fill a ******* lab requirement.
Doing psychology research.
WHICH MAKES NO SENSE BECAUSE I AM A MATH MAJOR.
Waking up every morning with more debt on my shoulders.
I could be out saving lives,
Or seeing the world
Or starting a family
Or creating things that bring people joy
Or making people happy
Or making changes.
And I'm here.
Picking a career field that will make me a lot of money
For the soul purpose of paying off my two hundred thousand dollars in student loans.
I didn't realize I had other options when I started school.
But I am in so financially deep right now
That I literally have NO other options.
This is how they get you, kids.
Don't follow in my footsteps.
Because you'll ******* hate your life.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Have you ever looked into the face of God?
Had your name drip off his lips like honey?
No shame in licking it off
Because in that moment,
I too was a Goddess
Righteous, Raving, Rioting
Begging to hear my name drip from his tongue again,
To know he was thinking of me.
That night
I was the one who could make God himself drop to his knees
And speak my name,
Until our bed was the land of milk and honey.
Baby, we created the Promised Land.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
Scaffolded, encased in mortar
Propping up bricks of self esteem
Doubt had set in. Crumbling top
Layers absorbed....did they notice?
Felt but.....did they see it?
Who are "they"? Seemingly
Important and high ranking
Well....on a scale of 1-10 "they"
Pushed the 100 button golloped
Up all you can eat buffet.
Sit tight on your swing swaying to miss
Their broken sentences to avoid choking
In the solid efforts to snap your
Backbone, your spine tingling 'sit in'
Scares the beige from its safe spot
Red rioting around alerting the bull
Standing in the corner field, far left
Of your vantage point. Scraping hooves
Kicked up a stink large enough to have
You believing "they" hold all the cards
You trodden underfoot bilging cement
Running through your veins.
"They" didnt just see it
"They" designed, patented and claimed
The rights to "You"....
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
standing high atop
the place where he cashed his checks
armed with 5 gallons
Arrowhead's extinguisher
a hero in a bottle
he foolishly fought
the flames of civil unrest
then the roof caved in
good intentions killed in vain
swallowed by the fire pit
days dressed in mourning
haunting the cemetery
tending her grave's grass
grieving guilty tears of loss
for the young daughter she had
she was too busy
caught up in "bargain's" frenzy
lost sight of her girl
her 12 year old was trampled
beneath the lust of looters
gasoline cans brought
to burn the local market
were beat back badly
chased away by baseball bats
a homeboy fire brigade
"This is our market!
The only one in the hood.
It ain't goin' down.
We saw the news on tv.
That **** ain't happenin' here."
tales of rioting
the worst and best in people
national headlines
the leviathan rises
through the smoke, fire, and ash
anger incited
latent hooliganism
an unjust verdict
for police brutality
can't we all just get along?
Jan 9, 2010
Jan 9, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC
Dear Trayvon,
We should be rioting in the streets
But it’s raining.
We should be banging our fists
****** against the locked doors
Of state buildings screaming justice!
But the tea kettle is on and
I had one too many drinks last night, so.
I feel guilty for the protection of patriarchy, for never
Wondering as I walk home in the evenings
Who will shoot me
For my skin,
For never waking up at night from
The nightmare picture of my son’s killer
Smiling as he walks free.
They pretended this was
About youth violence and
Text messages and
Self defense, which is like saying
Matthew Shepard was about a broken fencepost
And the Holocaust was about the right
of innocent Nazis to collect gold fillings
From shattered jewish teeth.
You were black.
You were black. And being black
In America makes you threatening
And being scared
of a teenager turns ****** into
Neighborly behavior.
And I will never have to worry
About someone protecting themselves
From the threat of my skin.
So I will never have to question
My complicity in a country
That would rather shoot down
Than stand for
Its young men.
So I will stand outside
Drinking tea and letting the rain cry for me
While I beat my fists against nothing
And by the morning you will
Already be forgotten
Just like all the other
Beautiful threatening boys
We never cared enough to know.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
*No Justice. No Peace.
We're killed for jaywalking,
But are expected to remain at ease.
We're seen as looters.
When terrorists are heroes.
And never unjust shooters.
They "protect and serve."
They protect each other.
Whether its inhumane doesn't matter.
Then they serve morgues...
with young black bodies on shiny silver platters.
They don't want to hear us.
So we're told to remain peaceful because it's easier to ignore a sound that isn't being made.
And if we remain quiet the passion for wrong doings will begin to fade.
Black people are ashamed of each other for rioting in their own community. But it doesn't belong to us. So feel free to burn down gas stations and break the windows out of a Toys"R"Us.
We'll be executed in suits. We'll be executed in sweats. We'll be executed when we're armed and We'll be executed when we pose no threat.
So scream if you have to.
Let it all out.
Fight fire with fire.
It will grow, and eventually someone will put it out.
Because remaining peaceful has gotten us nowhere.
When we're peaceful they don't care. They torment us. And we're mocked. And are attacked with tear gas while rubber and wooden bullets are being shot.
So don't shoot. But when you need to. Shoot back.
I want us to be able to raise children who won't be murdered for being big while black.
And it isn't in the U.S.A.
Where Unjust Shootings are Admissible.
And Uniformed Shooters are Admired.
So fight back. Even though we're already so tired.*
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC