"stateless" poems
In this Developed Nation, a 19 year old woman sleeps in a bag in a door way.
In this Developed Nation, a working family of four relies on the local food bank.
In this Developed Nation, grandmothers live on a pittance and die lonely.
In this Developed Nation, my friends use drugs to fill a spiritual chasm.
In this Developed Nation, stateless refugees are kept in cages while processed.
In this Developed Nation, slave labour is abolished, but persists.
In this Developed Nation, the media patronizes and panders to the lowest common denominator.
In this Developed Nation, the unscrupulous employers bulldoze workers rights.
In this Developed Nation, the population is kept divided and ineffective.
In this Developed Nation, ‘I’m not a racist...but...’
In this Developed Nation, black people are stop/searched nine times more than whites.
In this Developed Nation, under four percent of **** reports end in conviction.
In this Developed Nation, seventeen percent of adults take anti-depressants.
In this Developed Nation, suicide is the biggest killer of men under fifty.
In this Developed Nation, children cut themselves to relieve pain.
In this Developed Nation, I’m a snowflake if I care.
What has this Nation Developed into?
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC
We gather them,
These stolen moments,
These orphaned seconds,
These lost dark minutes.
Stateless, Unattached,
These refugee clicks
With no form or voice
Do not belong here.
We pile them up,
These off cuts of time,
These shards of passing,
This swarf of tempo.
Shreds of interval
And dislocation
With no named event
To give them title.
And with our small words we bind them,
A suture in the wounded day,
To make a tiny poem of the scars.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
oh once upon a time i found a soulmate,
filled my heart, it overflowed, i drowned
so deep to ocean's floor i simply died,
translated to the heavens of the skies,
though years, it was a drop in ocean's depth,
that we would be together in our bond,
against all my beliefs and thoughts it broke,
oh yes, so possible, it truly did,
she changed and fell right through the floor of glass,
past clouds and vanished to the earth below,
so mortified to stone i followed suit
and landed in an open grave closed shut,
to my surprise a new love, moschiach,
did resurrect me from my stateless tomb,
and showed me things i'd missed from my dear love
long past but not forgotten in the mind,
yet she could not accompany me there
upon the clouds in steps rising to sky,
for she was chained to one some distance off,
and she was his, and though our hearts be tuned,
we could not mesh and cleave into one flesh,
yet showed me soulmates are not one for one,
for there must always be another one
somewhere in space and time, like us, like this,
and now standing before my former grave,
with hope for life yet hopeless in my search,
should i climb down and sleep or walk a path?
a path to where? to whom? now death, now life...
and so i wait, eternity if must
be done, somehow, for here alone i can't,
an oddity among the pairing souls,
comprising all that heaven's meaning is
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
The Last Priest smiled his blessing
indiscriminately, bridging, seeding,
building a new priesthood
beyond borders, across tribes,
ignoring gender, discounting class,
blind to race, snubbing rank,
denying privilege and preferring
a new holy nationality for refugees
for stateless souls like mine
- like ours
Oct 5, 2023
Oct 5, 2023 at 5:11 AM UTC
Join hands
at the campfire
Wish into
the night
for transfer
from states
into
stateless
diaspora.
A
world
away
in love.
b
u
t
i know i know i know
we know we know we know
The
heavens won't save us
I wager
weapons etch distant
moons with craters.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
London welcomes visitors.
Vagrancy.
You can't see me but I see you
uncaring
staring at the faces
hiding in the hiding places
the alley ways and short stay cubby holes poor souls in poor condition
welcome to the new perdition.
Down at Millbank
the embankment
a euphoria
we live in Victoria under the droppings of the day where we lay
and you can't see us
but we see the bus
we were bussed in
put our trust in
and now we are here in the heart of the City
with no job or no home
and if you feel alone
think of how we feel.
Can't integrate or get help from the state
and we're stateless and helpless
and guess what,
some of us drink
some of us think it's the answer we seek
until today becomes next week and next year
and on the streets paved with gold we've got old.
We should have stayed at home.
I'll put the NVQ's on a barbecue
that's what I'll do
because it's cold
the only options I'm told are to sink or to swim
I think I'll give in
pack up my stuff
enough is enough
and I'm fed up.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
The Last Priest
smiled his blessings
indiscriminately
bridging
seeding
building
a new priesthood
beyond borders
across tribes
ignoring gender
discounting class
blind to race
snubbing rank
denying privilege
and preferring
a new holy nationality
for refugees
for stateless souls
like mine
- like ours
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 4:37 AM UTC
In my sleep.
Between the hours of twelve and one,
You came to me, you were hot,
So very hot, so arousing,
While a Stateless voice sang,
I think I inhaled you,
You linger behind my eyes,
I feel you in my bloodstream,
We touch, hold each other,
Body against body, so natural,
Your scent threading the air,
Yes, I think I inhaled you,
While a Stateless voice sang,
We snuggled up close, hmm,
So very close, caressing, ah,
You look up, I see you smile,
We kiss, so sensual,
Then you are gone,
But I felt you, yes,
Or imagined you,
Dreamed you,
In my sleep.
©Paul Chafer 2014
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Here I go again
Back on the train
Going in the opposite direction
Of my home
I have been here before
I know this pain too well
Home ridden
He no longer wants me around
In exile - from my own home
Stateless
Anxious
Panic rises
As I carried that heavy suitcase on my way to the train station
I heard my own sighs
Be strong be strong now
I tell myself as I gasp my way another step further
Keep walking
Don't break
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
When the mountain don't come to the man with the gun
he blows it up with some
plastic explosives.
This leap of faith
This placing of trust
this prophet who sleeps must be dreaming of Christmas or whatever it is that keeps Prophets from waking.
I keep taking the tablets, but Moses being angry at me
refuses to part with the red sea and so
left in the land of a thousand and one,
where the plagues of my forefathers
linger,
I go on.
No mountains for me,
No Messiah who'll be
a deadweight
no walk on the wild side of the water where fish glide so
effortlessly.
In a state of a state in which I am stateless I stare,
the prophet, a wise man who never goes there
looks at me with the eyes of the daughters of eons, through
the eyes of chameleons.
The mountains will crumble anyway
whatever the men with the guns do or say
whatever the prophet and in who's pay he might be
The mountains will crumble anyway.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
So how did we do it
Stateless we were it
New Hebrides was the Colony
oppression to all an any
who stood for my countries
freedom
we fought against the two giants
British and France
Nowadays i enjoys the independence
i enjoy my dads stories of the protest, so tense
When the Giants don't give a dime dollar or cent
for the freedom of my elders and their descendants
i asked my dad what was the secret
he said its Unity but that's no secret
He said the people were hungry for freedom
And hunger spread to cultural villages and chiefdom's
he said that with pride and tears in his eyes
i took of my hat as the guns go blazing
twenty one gun salute for the freedom fighters
Long Live Vanuatu
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
Tick-tock the hands of the clock plock
the pendulum swings to the immutable
rhythm of hypnotic seconds measuring time,
the soundtrack to the great oeuvre that is
our life. An existence we perceive
ephemeral, thus instinctively preparing
suitcases since inception, on an earthly
sphere we interpret merely as a vestibule,
be it a pretty one awaiting to embark
on a journey to a destination unknown,
neatly folding experiences one by one,
hiding mistakes between the nethermost
layers, shameful feelings, regrettable deeds
tucked under blankets of tears, loving
sentiments nostalgically stowed as valuables
in secret pockets where fears glow.
Achievements meticulously placed in side-
compartments for easy retrieval, references
just in case, identity printed in capital letters
on a stateless passport holding the blank
ticket stretching ears to heed announcements,
last call for immediate boarding, hopefully
after blowing on candles times enough
for departure to be tolerable, desirable. Yet
the bell tolls every so often unexpectedly,
rendering the baggage of a life time instantly
redundant, while climbing the invisible ladder
naked, slowly dissolving into the ether, a rapid
transition between who we are, have been
and will be once more, pure energy melting
to recompose, metamorphosis in tune not
with the pendulum but with the mute
timeless cosmic flow encompassing all,
the solemn moment the weight suspended
from the pivot ceases to swing.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC
On the branch of Time our hearts tremble many times and then fall back; our proud destiny holds down like the roaring flames of stray comets! We will be dusted as the eternal part of the Universe! The Tree of Life may still survive in this way; trembling above a twisting price insecure We carve the gallows of our existence if bitterness settles on our eyes! You are an amphibian and many times stateless! Neither in redemptive serenity nor on an Odyssey trip can you find peace until you get to know the One-One who truly loves you!
Well, as a diver, you often ponder the sins of your selfish hatred! You leave me foolishly guilty, let the eternal, found moment come on while you accuse yourself of stupidity: you would already need a sure point of rest so that you can gain not only crying self-confidence, but also karakan courage! You would call the eternal Beloved; a personal good friend you loved for yourself and who could decorate your crypt-dark home with your golden heart in the eternal May!
In silence, waterfalls rustle from the eternally hesitant wells of your eyes and everything will be flooded with self-forgiving, unconditional Grace! And on your tormented face the flame of offended Love burns as if oppressed by a heavy dream; my unexpected insomnia encourages killer vigilance! “Many times I still allow myself to be loved as a deceitful child so that the aggravated insult can sleep in me; his half-nailed man sneaks into his unhappy little snail shell if he doesn't dare risk it!
"What is Life for if you do not sacrifice to do something noble ?!" "Your conscience is still sounding, albeit fading, and when will the fleeting pagoda of Peace be yours forever ?!"
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 2:14 AM UTC
If money is not the problem...
right? Goes wit out sayin' jus'sayin'
sup
sup posed over your mind? You know?
Confirmed bias to ward what
ward off evil?
toward, in the direction away from evil
do anions attract cations?
how do things go
round and round, if positive attracts negative
and negative attracts positive
What is the problem, old man?
I can't say.
Stateless state asked for a cookie,
cookie monster,
as prophesied on Sesame Street
accepting cookies
will some day be the only way
strangers may arrange dangers
familiar,
tested servants arrive saying please take
my cookie so the quants
can see
they are blind
otherwise, just think
these things as your bias confirms
they were intended.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
God threw me into the toilet
And flushed me down
Mix... mix in again
Get mixed to black and white presence
I smeared on yin-yang the blue.
Under the rainbow I challenged God's algorithm.
Then they excommunicated me outta blue planet.
i fell to Zoroastrian temple way.
is Ahura Mazda in my veins?
The gods of all religions wait for my falling with sin.
Purify... Purify with sincerely and pain
a stateless who is fired from every land.
A traveler who boiles her feet by walking.
I've been covered through presence itself.
Where is the presence?
Rebellious Kawa's tirade on the theater arena
Oh rebels get in my hell
- forgive me, my God! We are the fruit of evil as a part of your being!
She is fired from god's way
A voice which never been heard and a colour which never been saw
Goes up to sky by piercing her heart
black and white is painted by blue
Rebellion goes up to sky by winging
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC
The Last Priest smiled his blessings
indiscriminately, bridging,
building a new priesthood
beyond borders, across tribes
ignoring gender, discounting class
blind to race, snubbing rank,
denying privilege and preferring
a new holy nationality
for refugees, for stateless souls
like mine
- like ours
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
We loathe one another
they love it
brother against brother
state against stateless
and unless
we change, then
them
will be the death of us
the death of me
the end
of it
and
yet we pray to
those gentlemen
who work us for
pittances
I say
give them the shoelaces
and
I'll tie the bow.
they **** me with eight to four
eight hours?
what the **** for?
We are the servants of
the super hate
the gateway to the
altered state
but they
have beaten us there.
I'm going
not sure when
unsure of where.
But it's twenty seven to five against
that they'll sit on the garden fence
like fishwives on their
periods.
Makes sense to the lunatics
who get up to
all sorts of tricks
I ought to join them
become
one of the
stateless men.
One of the gentlemen
but
they
are not
me.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
*Inclined to stay in that imaginary pause,
Where you're being pulled into inertia's triangle,
The image of a sunset front and center
To a cloaked morning, where existence is deniable.
Suffocated by the storm of dust,
That the departing horses have left in their wake,
Behind the weight of two closed lids,
The silence is a marathon that inner voices partake.
And the world is but a whisper, so far away,
Trespassing to reality's sullen grounds is forbidden,
The difference in pressure makes my legs stateless,
Too tired of treading the same roads, eager to stay hidden.*
•●•
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC