"stoning" poems
Relating the incompatible
Reconciling irreconcilable
Forgetting the indelible
Walking the liquid ground.
Turning the dark on at noon
Being an octopus in the body of a racoon
Melting the stone, stoning the melted
No utterance commented.
How does it feel to be unreal?
You may not like me when I disagree
But teach me how to like me
While I'm
Relating the incompatible
Reconciling irreconcilable
Forgetting the indelible
Walking the liquid ground.
Turning the dark on at noon
Being an octopus in the body of a racoon
Melting the stone, stoning the melted
I'll romance the unloveable
Place my shoulder under the unbearable
The pose we take in an argument
Sustainable measurement.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Probe me antagonists,
For I am no longer afraid-
Of your shunning or your lynching,
Or stoning, or blade.
You all stare with luscious eyes,
Jealous, cruel-fiends.
Malicious and vindictive,
Hating by all means.
Under the sheets-
Gasping beyond belief,
You kick me,
I can not breath.
No longer am I easy,
No longer tease to please.
Sick with rage and frustration,
Consumed like a disease.
I know when you lie to me,
The only question is why?
Who said you could judge?
Who made you GOD when they died?
Stare at me, look into my eyes!
Oh how I trusted you and you made me cry!
Let down, alone
I crumble by his side.
Running from reality, he holds me at night.
When silent sobs seep from inside.
I wanna scream, but instead I hide.
And sedate myself from your hellish wealth,
And your perfect life,
And your easy ride.
I'm alone and I'm fine.
I do not need you to pry.
Or to pity me as I die.
Twisted and dismayed;
I am ****** but definitely unafraid.
Foolish and used,
Ill live to see another day.
And the pain you caused will finally fade.
And the love we knew will be replaced.
I'm moving on and out of place.
I don't need you, or your approving face.
And all of its grace.
Your drama and chilling pace-
Graphic and slow, savor the chase.
God what a waste.
People just love to hate.
'Round and 'round,
Stuck in their rut of a mental state.
Dyeing, hell-bent on leaving a trace,
On hurting and watching me break.
Karma neither is predictable,
Nor is it fast.
One day you'll bear the burden
And the pain of an outcast.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:35 PM UTC
She was the kind of lost that was unseen before
She was the kind of broken that's unfixable
She was the kind of beauty that's unfadable
She was the kind of love that was unforgettable
But her heart was cold as stone
Her truth were only lies
Her faithfulness was nonexistent and her love was false
But he couldn't stop
Deep down he knew it wasn't right
But there was something about her smile, her laugh and her touch...
That made it impossible to stop thinking about her, being with her, admiring her and loving her
It was painful, but necessary to feel alive
He couldn't breathe without her near
She had him on his knees, she had stripped him off his independence
To make him her needy wreck,
Filling the empty void in her heart
She loved the power and didn't care the cost
Her heart was made of stone
Stoning him alive
Until the day he dies
For all eternity
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
O
Out of a bed of love
When that immortal hospital made one more moove to soothe
The curless counted body,
And ruin and his causes
Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an army
And swept into our wounds and houses,
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only
That one dark I owe my light,
Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is none
To glow after the god stoning night
And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the sun.
No
Praise that the spring time is all
Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows joyful
Out of the woebegone pyre
And the multitude's sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall,
My arising prodgidal
Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire,
But blessed be hail and upheaval
That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and sing
Alone in the husk of man's home
And the mother and toppling house of the holy spring,
If only for a last time.
3.7k
How does it feel?
To be a girl,
And to bleed,
Whenever we create
Something beautiful.
The dunce cap
Fills the void;
Where the crown should be.
Life grew
And fed, from these *******
Now ripped apart,
Pieces of shame.
Judas’s Cradle,
Destroyed our flesh.
Left us humiliated,
Like Lady Godiva
Hours of ******
From impalement
In spite of Eve
Whom bit the apple.
Hot irons,
Through vitality’s tunnel
To fallow the holy book,
The Malleus Maleficarum.
Confession induced stoning
Drowning, burning
Just to be whipped like animals
For social bonding.
The battles of power
With the entertainment of ****
Still two Hundred years of
Forced sterilization.
A pear of anguish,
For the miscarriages
A coffin,
For the son.
Who can be civil?
When survival
Even today,
Is about exploitation.
A dowry for obstetric fistula,
In Pakistan.
Under the union of god’s will,
Of course.
The ****** test
Out lives the Bison,
Only still being bred
For the hunt
Mutilation for those,
In Southern Sahara.
Huge abscesses,
To cover the curse.
The breaking wheel
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
I am going to **** you American!
You are not a piece of ****
Your *********** and fornications
won't be something that is never found
in Allah's lands!
Infidel with your luxorius hair
and smooth silken skin,
exposed flesh and temptations,
you are **** and beautiful
aren't you,
a prime canidate for a stoning?
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 6:53 AM UTC
Neither the stone nor the stoning
Or the finger pointing up in the air
Not the knife that cut the throat
Not the rational or the irrational
Not the oil and the oil production
American troops on holy ground
No command of terror nor a laugh
Not the mountain or the new born
Nor jihad or of intelligent significance
Not god and god is not great
Cause god does not exist.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
It's a bad day when you can't get Celene Dion out of your head
Titanic was good
It was not that good
I found a dried flower
Buried in Leviticus of my sort of grandma's bible
She must have liked that part
The only quote about Leviticus I've read on the internet is about stoning gay people
I hope she didn't like it that much
I saw a bagel get made
No one has the job of eating the middles out
I'm 23, this was a let down
I still like bagels a lot
I tacked the dry flower on my wall
Above the reminder that it's $3 a day to swim at the public pool in the mornings
I hope it's not a homophobic flower
I hid the bible behind Lauren Conrad's book
Lauren Conrad's book embarrasses me less
My sort of grandma
Is only sort of alive
I often feel that way
I feel most alive while dreaming of the impossible
Realistic dreams lead to disappointment
Outlandish dreams leave little 'remember when’s’'
No one hates themselves for not becoming an astronaut
A lot of people hate themselves for not losing 20lbs
Friendships are often measured in favors
That is all
That was not all
Favors are measured in sacrifices
Favors are not measured in reward
Today is a reflection of not dying yesterday
There is a one in seven chance that today is Friday
And it is imperative that we get down on Friday
Because the anticipation for this weekend is very high
If today is Monday all of that is no longer relevant to our conversation
I am losing weight
As I lose weight more and more fat girls hit on me
I do not like this as much as what I was imagining would happen
I have learned that being funny **** cool
Like I am becoming
Does not mean hot girls will hit on me
It means they will actually think about it before saying no
To supplement my soon to be chiseled physic
I am learning a Jack Johnson song on guitar
This worked for an acquaintance in 2006
Maybe I should learn Colbie Callait instead
The world would be better if schools had better teachers
The world would also be better if high school seniors paid attention to the teachers they already have
I don't know which one is easier to fix
My past seems rosier than my future
Except in the case of February 16th 2007
And now February 16th 2012
Corner buildings and modern light fixtures are my favorite aesthetics
My favorite building has neither of those features
Those features are not that awesome
Dead flowers smell like dead things
To combat this I spray cologne on my grandma's flower
I have never been to a funeral
I wonder if they febreeze the dead people
Or maybe they use Chanel No. 5
This is something I would like to learn more about
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.
Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.
The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.
Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.
A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.
If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.
Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.
Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
History has shown
They will **** their own
Before living with others in peace
Have no doubt
That hatred is as nourishment
Sustenance
Subsistence
A necessity for existence
They can not do without
Burning hot as fire within the wretched souls
Of those
Whose evil knows
No bounds
Would **** you
As soon as kick you
Because your skin is Olive or Brown
Or you pray to a Deity
That your life revolves around
The depravity
The corruption
Never cease to be astounded
By
Those that NEED someone to hate
Who would these mongers hate
If successful in their efforts
To eradicate
Everyone who was, from themselves, different?
If they knifed all the *******
Burned all the *******
Chopped up all the chinks
Would this, their hate, augment?
If they tortured the towel heads
Killed the catholics
Hanged the homos
Would this, finally, curb discontent?
Or
Would the haters implode
And begin to feed upon themselves
Would short people
Shoot tall people?
Would merely looking at skinny
Make fatty incensed?
Would brown-eyed people
**** blue-eyed people?
Would red hair and freckles
Be a stoning offense?
Would black-haired people
Break blond-haired people?
This is a hate poem…
And hate seldom makes sense…
But sensical or no…
Seems the real status quo
Matters love that we show
There will always be those
That just plain NEED
Someone to hate
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
I guess you could say I'm different
But I see myself normal, the way others used to be
Rare interactions condemn me to a snob
But dig deeper and you'll see its insecurity
Choosing the company of men labels me a threat
But in truth I'd rather be the object of lust than take neverending beatings
I often stare in silence, people assume judgement
But I'm searching for that goodness which remains hidden in so many
My words overheard suggest to all a preaching
But a preacher I am, and I remain unashamed to admit it
And back my words come, stoning me for seeking power
But it's not power I preach for, it's you.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
a qualified transgender,
who could answer better!
the art of being cruel,
spirit crushing human stoning,
well, none can do it better than
the ***** female,
who made me
what I am today,
that made her man,
a woman
thin smile with shining eyes,
as she harpoons you repeatedly,
and dying you is
her midnight snack,
in between eating you
alive three times
daily
so I became a woman
but not like her,
no ***** here
gentle loving tenderness mantra,
so I can resolve this question
men commit cruelty unintentionally,
with no sense of sensibility,
taking, using, with nary a thought
of what they crime committing,
to their unintentional intentions
they are so ******* blind,
it hurts so much worse,
cause they cruel us girls
just for the using,
that a cruelty so unreal
its definition cannot be found
in any dictionary..
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:28 AM UTC
Trapped in a cavernous haze
A blazing inferno which burns on for days
Relentless, eternal
Incendiary waves
And you stand no chance of escape
Death by Stoning!
Buried in Smoke and Rock
Never Knowing
Where it all went wrong
Dwelling in a hellish abyss
Looking for the way you came in
But you're lost as your cause
And time gives no pause
To those barricaded within
Death by Stoning
Apocalyptic Revelation
All is Burning
Succumb to Smoke Inhalation
When the world is on fire
And the flames are only growing higher
Then try to ride the dragons thunder
And let it drag you under
Dying an ethereal death
Laughing at the chaos
And mayhem you left
Taking that final breath
Say Goodbye to suffering
with one final step
Death by Stoning
Apocalyptic Revelation
All is Burning
Succumb to Smoke Inhalation
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
Smouldering pain of ancient harboured, in the heart inflamed
of a passion, amassed whole of suffering earth nestled in your breast,
came alive in her who mastered the seven realms, whose
aspiration ardent brought down in that simpleton, grace that
poured forth like a pitcher upturned on this world enamoured of death.
Ah, that simpleton who never could fathom caprice that condones
commerce in the very heart of the temple of justice, the virtue and sin
the learned uphold that cannot see in the neighbour's fall,
ones own, or how if the father that birthed the world is divine,
his children be brutes or kin of daemons that deserve stoning to death?
O Magdala, Magdala, your daughter weeps today!
A drop of blood dries the sands today, heavens weep in the tears
silent of she who stands by the cross today, even abandoned by those
for whom he gave so much; In the still dark night grace walked
the stormy water; and Lazarus returns from wherefore who knows;
A husbandsman reads and answers doubts in minds of learned pharisees.
For every whiplash cast was cast on the earth wide. Every insult
taunted the winds draping your arms. That girdle of thorns, mother,
was placed indeed on your mourning heart. When the cross
ascended slicing the firmament, heavens were mute to your pain,
lama sabachtani, sabachtani, grieves the earth unto the empty, parted skies.
O Magdala, Magdala, your daughter weeps today!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
In a far land known as Pakistan,
in the little town of Prym
Impiety was criminal,
And blasphemy a sin
A Christian woman stood accused
Of impious words and deed-
Did her words insult the Prophet?
Or did her neighbors hate her creed?
Tried and condemned for Blasphemy
in the little town of Prym,
The Christian woman waited,
for the stoning to begin.
The townspeople all gathered round,
pious Moslems one and all.
They chose their weapons from the ground
and awaited Imam’s call.
When suddenly the sky grew dark
The Sun obscured from view
A Nickel Iron stone from space
One, without sin, just threw.
In the place where Prym once stood
is a crater deep and wide.
There is no more impiety.
and no more fratricide.
Take to heart the lesson
Let hatred be unknown
Or next time He who is without sin
may cast a larger stone.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
losing you and it's effortless
redefining short and sweet,
a whiskey neat,
eight years, much shorter than the forever,
everyone's grand assumption feast,
wrongly assumed, love consumed,
making ***** of her and me
for believing,
and looking now,
as if it's almost
our own closing time,
the hour of our
just desserts
you lose yourself, asking yourself,
can a three legged stools
with two busted legs be
just merely rocky,
without another hand on the tiller~shoulder,
something
with haunting visions
of falling, failing, flailing,
down the stairs
victim of a stoning, or just ******
gravity, the Blackhawk down,
the string puller, the no-reason reason
the slow descent,
so effortless, glassine smooth at first,
barely noticed, shrugged away like a small bruise,
then you cannot help to stop and forgive the incessant
wondering of how we got,
the confusion contusions,
now body bejeweled resplendent,
everywhere, in everything
you were once
a rock, a star,
with all the answers to the questions
she was about to ask,
your arm punched,
attached to an affectionate smiling,
for the perfection of our mutuality of
knowing
was her rock,
and now, quietly,
this last piece of jewelry consists of
a necklace of stones,
a choker of
glass pebbles in both our mouths
wry cry
realizing that the
darkness cracks of
busted and rusted,
are voluminous surround sound silences
breaking up,
either side of
us
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Stuttering, muttering, fluttering
falling
like
a
****** woman
for being a thinker, a feeler, a knower, a croucher in the shadows
she gets ****** forever alone
a planet rotating without a sun.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
Unstable rabble
ill in mind, body and soul
unfulfilled and desperately unhappy
fearful always, insecure, lacking and inadequate
skeletons in cupboards, shaming secrets hidden aplenty
false, fake, white-washed and all semblance soulless nonentities
vacuous sad pathetic weak and academically challenged majority
ignorant belligerent bellicose cowards, drunkards n mob shysters
rise, rise. rise
jump, jump. jump
do the twist n put the boot in
stand up and bellow
you can't loose your chains
your self loathing is too great
your shame and pains hurt all the time
you are reminded of your insignificance always
your helplessness and your weaknesses shames you
you always have to fake it, scrape, beg, borrow and steal
the aggrieved spectators as talents, wealth and the ritzy drive past
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the locomotion and spread the ****
scream and shout
hurl slander and lies
fight like cowards and bully
get badass and wicked and mean
get ****** angry and get ****** even
leave your bacon butties and fry the greedy pigs
forget your chips and come chip the brains of the tyrants hogs
put down those pints and lets keep this momentum of hate alive so
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the stoning and lets move like Jagger
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows,
Chest puffed with pomp to gloat on gloried loss;
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.
At cenotaphs bedecked in bloodied rose
Bouquets, Lord Mayors regale in golden gloss:
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows.
Prime Ministers parading TV shows
Glory in hanging ratings on the dross:
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.
Young men talk tough of national pride; old woes
Won't heal by stoning rolling migrant moss;
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows.
Recall dull medals hung on fettered boughs,
Lest we forget the names of those embossed:
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.
Tread light through evergreen and tranquil rows,
Where heroes rest beneath white painted cross;
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows,
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
If no Christian priorly am i. And should all
I know about the David's Son was from the
Believers' lips. One act of Christ that shall
My vagabond soul convert is that poor lady,
Who was, by the righteous Jews, caught in
The act of adultery, and to the eternal Light
Was brought to be unto death ****** Stooping
Down, and with his finger began he to write
In the sand; rising up again, saying, he should the
First person be a stone at her to cast
Among the gathered accusers, who's from iniquity
Free and has committed, not in the time past
Neither in this present state, a single sin. And
They, hearing this, from the oldest head began
They to disappear--who had come to reprimand
The woman with a stoning sentence--one by one.
Having all gone, Jesus, thus asked the smasher:
"Woman, where are all thine many an accuser?
And hath no man condemned thee?" She answering
The Lord gracious, "No, sir." "Neither do i too,"
Said the Saviour. "Go, and sin no more, my darling."
Yea, such is the Messiah's love and mercy true!
To save came Christ, and not to sinners ****
The only Prophet that liberated man from the Devil.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
The colour of my blood
And the colour of your blood
Ain't they just the same?,
Red.
The blood that runs in both our veins
Is the same colour, Red.
The colour of my skin
And the colour of your skin
Ain't they just the same?,
Black
Yes I am from the Equatorial
And maybe I am darker than you
Blacker than you.
Yes I am from the East,
the west, the north or the south of Africa
But still we all black.
You might be lighter
You might be blackish
But still we are Africans
We are Blacks.
When the Whites come to your countries
You call them tourists.
But when us Blacks come to you
You call us terrorists
You call us refugees.
We more than just squatters in your land,
But we come seeking a helping hand from a brother.
Why welcome outsiders
Yet you oust you own.
Why burn our shops?
Why burn our shacks?
Why let our souls weep?
Brothers and sisters of Africa
Why the violence?
Why the killings?
Why the brutality?
Why the cruelity?
What happened to humanity?
What happened to Ubuntu?
Violence has never solved a thing.
Will killing a man with 5 children and a wife back at
home,
Bring food to your table?
What will burning a man down to ashes bring you?
What will stoning a man to death bring you?
Can it pay your bills?
Can it bring food to your table?
Can it pay your your children's school fees?
Brothers and sisters of Africa
I plead with you
Our, Black nation
If we come together with mutual hearts and minds
We can bring back love and peace
We can fight poverty
Just stop the hate!
Our the violence!
Stop the killings!
It's enough!!
Say NO TO XENOPHOBIA.
# Treeweezy_d_poet ©2018
I am the voice of the voiceless.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
I gotta feeling
and the only thing to make it feel real good
is a bit o' brickel
maybe a tower or two
I'm pretty picky when it comes to the Bahamas
can't tell me nothing
double negatives on photographs
sassyfrass
tea for a lifetime
all mine
gobbledy- gobble said the cow
he was tired, like usual
and like all animals he slept
and crept, past varying levels of waving sleepiness
all a dream
wanted to sing sing sing
a song
but give me a tie
a tulle skirt
chalk it up to bad caulking
walking for miles for thrills
just killing time
not brain cells
though they're practically suicidal anywhere
gimme gimme some of that
oh yeah,
and some pine tree air fresheners
smells like a sewer down and around
Lilly Petes won't miss a bunch of nothing
for nothing.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
Founded in one fatal mission,
Where joy is merest rumour
And the two toned colours
Of dun flower are drowning
In sepia, where separation
Is touch, folded and kept
Like a lock of shocking red
Hair, fine grains in my eyes
Are stoning pebbles of grey.
Soft is the day and wandering,
Birds always sing, beaming
As they fly, rushing away,
I am stilted sound, hushed
In a vale shadow of whisper,
Flood lights of leaving ways,
Curtains to my moulded stage
And all the airs of outdoors
Mute, closed.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:00 PM UTC
lays
gently between
my cage...
ribbed
in bone.
Combed with jaws
of
soft, sinful, slight
of hand
me your soul
survived the stoning
of ALL the words
they threw foolishly
thinking they were only
sticks....
and stones,
may
break my bones....
But,
IT
will always hear me.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
Settled for this setting
but wanted more
all I got
was war war war
The "righteous" stoning
breaking every bone
all their poison
sown and grown and I groan
This building was to be holy
but this place is lonely
cold
wholly unholy
Am I at any point better
to call the church a fetter?
silent judgments
& this severed letter
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC