"tyrannis" poems - Hello Poetry

For an Actor, preparation is everything. We are much more than our face paint and props. Rehearsals can go on for hours, as we block out our scenes in our parts. So it will not surprise you that Friday The fourteenth of April found me at Ford’s theater in Washington preparing for my part in the play. My horse would be held at the ready My pistol was loaded and clean. I was known and well liked by the company. Like a ghost, I could wander unseen. I’m disappointed Grant missed my performance His wife Julia hates Mary some say. Her aversion has stolen one target, but the other will not get away. Theater is a matter of timing and I knew this crowd and this play I entered amidst raucous Laughter and fired, once, in the “Emancipator’s” brain. Some soldier attempted to grab me and got himself stabbed for his pains. I balanced myself on the railing preparing to leap on the stage. I could hear Mary Todd Lincoln Screaming. “Sic Semper Tyrannis!” I raged. My boot spur got caught in the bunting I lost balance and fell on the stage. The actors were stunned to inaction as I limped, none impeded my way. Mister Lincoln has made his last speech and likely seen his last play. What actor worth his salt wouldn’t **** to make his exit my way?

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Jan 4, 2012

Jan 4, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Making an Exit

For an Actor, preparation is everything. We are much more than our face paint and props. Rehearsals can go on for hours, as we block out our scenes in our parts. So it will not surprise you that Friday The fourteenth of April found me at Ford’s theater in Washington preparing for my part in the play. My horse would be held at the ready My pistol was loaded and clean. I was known and well liked by the company. Like a ghost, I could wander unseen. I’m disappointed Grant missed my performance His wife Julia hates Mary some say. Her aversion has stolen one target, but the other will not get away. Theater is a matter of timing and I knew this crowd and this play I entered amidst raucous Laughter and fired, once, in the “Emancipator’s” brain. Some soldier attempted to grab me and got himself stabbed for his pains. I balanced myself on the railing preparing to leap on the stage. I could hear Mary Todd Lincoln Screaming. “Sic Semper Tyrannis!” I raged. My boot spur got caught in the bunting I lost balance and fell on the stage. The actors were stunned to inaction as I limped, none impeded my way. Mister Lincoln has made his last speech and likely seen his last play. What actor worth his salt wouldn’t **** to make his exit my way?

35

The line to which every tyrant dies, The saying to end all tyranny. Yet it has not found every place tyranny lies, Despite some places being quite... elementary. People are constantly sent to schools, While these schools are run by greedy fools. And if you enter school to satisfy a need for learning, You will certainly leave with a sense of yearning. But few beg for the system to be changed. Whilst those who do are deemed deranged. Oppressed by a system that rewards based not on merit, But on obedience. The talks of change claimed to be out of the budget. Left to blindly follow their credence. Sic semper tyrannis.

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Feb 3, 2016

Feb 3, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC

holden-feldbauer

Sic Semper Tyrannis

The line to which every tyrant dies, The saying to end all tyranny. Yet it has not found every place tyranny lies, Despite some places being quite... elementary. People are constantly sent to schools, While these schools are run by greedy fools. And if you enter school to satisfy a need for learning, You will certainly leave with a sense of yearning. But few beg for the system to be changed. Whilst those who do are deemed deranged. Oppressed by a system that rewards based not on merit, But on obedience. The talks of change claimed to be out of the budget. Left to blindly follow their credence. Sic semper tyrannis.

15

_To Jess_ She wanted to bury me alive but i will (not) hand her the shovel to dig my grave. She wanted to ignite me but i will (not) bathe in gasoline and revel in the incense. i almost thought i saw heaven when hell had me at hello, almost. But i am flesh and fire, i am iron and ice. Do I burn? And burn and burn, reduce her down to ashes and (if I have to) light the torch to My lungs, My bones, My skin, My blood and My sanity, Burn and burn and burn until nothing is left of Me just to cremate her? (*as I yell with shortness of breath, "sic semper tyrannis!*") or do i fall and let her take all?

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Apr 14, 2018

Apr 14, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC

eliciahurst

I Choose Fire, or: How to love your enemy

_To Jess_ She wanted to bury me alive but i will (not) hand her the shovel to dig my grave. She wanted to ignite me but i will (not) bathe in gasoline and revel in the incense. i almost thought i saw heaven when hell had me at hello, almost. But i am flesh and fire, i am iron and ice. Do I burn? And burn and burn, reduce her down to ashes and (if I have to) light the torch to My lungs, My bones, My skin, My blood and My sanity, Burn and burn and burn until nothing is left of Me just to cremate her? (*as I yell with shortness of breath, "sic semper tyrannis!*") or do i fall and let her take all?

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Does God have a Dark Side? Yes, I think She does Frightening indeed Wind to water was Stranger Than Fiction Her father is a priest Her dad a Simple Man Prisoners get released Un pequito Spanish Vegetarian burritos John F. Savage Hall University of Toledo Saw my brother today I got a Ticket to Ride 2072 After I have died Tyrannicide!

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Jul 20, 2023

Jul 20, 2023 at 11:06 PM UTC

myqualyxians

Sic Semper Tyrannis

Does God have a Dark Side? Yes, I think She does Frightening indeed Wind to water was Stranger Than Fiction Her father is a priest Her dad a Simple Man Prisoners get released Un pequito Spanish Vegetarian burritos John F. Savage Hall University of Toledo Saw my brother today I got a Ticket to Ride 2072 After I have died Tyrannicide!

17

Too many ghosts Who’ve drank from the Grail, Have commented on its peculiar shape: A vital substance in a Klein bottle Has nourished the metaphysical, And gave it suppleness Like skin, but without nerve-endings— Like plastic These mobisian volatilities have taken All vertices outward, prisons of prisms Are not special to the spirit inside But the monstrosity appearing Astride the Rio Grande: Eyes and ears posted All along the prism’s edge Contain so many lives yet to be lost, The arms of the ghost Surround the outside With rusted-over armor to keep the Fates Locked away indefinitely Beating, starving, and ****** All lives coming to the edge of the undead. There, from across the impossible barrier, One can see the astral projection Of death-animate within— What is a prison outside is, by definition, A prison inside Guarded by a lily-white panopticon And its pale imitations Kept warm and safe in the rebel’s undead embrace. When the transformation happened Is anyone’s guess, but by the love Of a dispassionate hatred, A distant, fever-dream voice From a white house upon a hill, A clarion made of echoes, The prisoners latch to one another And form the body of a great scavenger— By the vulture’s keen eye for death, It picks off those who cannot stand On their own two feet, Those poor, huddled masses, In one hand holding the AR-15, The other, a bushel of nooses. The vulture screams! Ride, ride you wraiths! To the border, ride! The invasion of pained flesh Shall never break the adamant heads Of the patriot’s ghost, hungering For the blood of a place Victimed by the very body It sought to bury, As the body labors, Eats nothing but its pride, Drinks nothing but the slop From piss-and-vinegar soaked Rags of American flags strewn, Torn asunder, ringing them out To, one day, make Molotov cocktails So hot, their blaze could boil ectoplasm and Finally rattle staid hearts Thousands of miles from the suffering, A distance turned artist, apathy and hatred Become this new face of humankind.

0

Sep 29, 2019

Sep 29, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC

jp-goss

358. Sic Semper Tyrannis

Too many ghosts Who’ve drank from the Grail, Have commented on its peculiar shape: A vital substance in a Klein bottle Has nourished the metaphysical, And gave it suppleness Like skin, but without nerve-endings— Like plastic These mobisian volatilities have taken All vertices outward, prisons of prisms Are not special to the spirit inside But the monstrosity appearing Astride the Rio Grande: Eyes and ears posted All along the prism’s edge Contain so many lives yet to be lost, The arms of the ghost Surround the outside With rusted-over armor to keep the Fates Locked away indefinitely Beating, starving, and ****** All lives coming to the edge of the undead. There, from across the impossible barrier, One can see the astral projection Of death-animate within— What is a prison outside is, by definition, A prison inside Guarded by a lily-white panopticon And its pale imitations Kept warm and safe in the rebel’s undead embrace. When the transformation happened Is anyone’s guess, but by the love Of a dispassionate hatred, A distant, fever-dream voice From a white house upon a hill, A clarion made of echoes, The prisoners latch to one another And form the body of a great scavenger— By the vulture’s keen eye for death, It picks off those who cannot stand On their own two feet, Those poor, huddled masses, In one hand holding the AR-15, The other, a bushel of nooses. The vulture screams! Ride, ride you wraiths! To the border, ride! The invasion of pained flesh Shall never break the adamant heads Of the patriot’s ghost, hungering For the blood of a place Victimed by the very body It sought to bury, As the body labors, Eats nothing but its pride, Drinks nothing but the slop From piss-and-vinegar soaked Rags of American flags strewn, Torn asunder, ringing them out To, one day, make Molotov cocktails So hot, their blaze could boil ectoplasm and Finally rattle staid hearts Thousands of miles from the suffering, A distance turned artist, apathy and hatred Become this new face of humankind.

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