RedAnarchist
17th February 2007, 02:10
The poems are listed below. To nominate, you should choose three poems that you think are the best, second best and third best. You need to give the title (e.g 1st - "Untitled", 2cd - "Poem" and 3rd - "Title"). You don;t need to give a reason why you chose the poems, but if you have any constructive criticism, feel free to share it.
The poems -
Can't you hear the Drummer tapping?, by Question Everything
Can't you hear the Drummer tapping?
the Soldiers feet rapping?
Oh can't you see the glory?
The Drinking, the toasts?
the way he boasts?
How they say Good-Bye,
As their mothers cry?
See the Glory now?
How they are hungry, muddy and tired,
Though not yet a bullet was fired?
See the Captian ask them to be brave,
as they march on to their own grave?
See the Glory now?
See the men march through bullets of Hades,
while their hope slowly fades?
can't you see the pain,
of the ones who die invain?
See the Glory now?
can't you see the look in his eyes?
As many a camarade dies,
as all Ideals disappear,
as hope gives in to fear.
See the glory now?
How he fights with out remourse?
With every ounce of force?
How for those who no longer draw breath,
he himself becomes death?
See the Glory now?
see how he soldiers on?
the last of his bradavo gone?
the drummer still tapping,
the Soldiers feet still rapping.
See the Glory now?
Home from school, its hour 3, by Big Manifesto
Home from school, its hour 3
Walk to the kitchen, make cups of tea
As i put the spoon in the jar
I think about the Iraq war
Disaster victims that flee
And put a scoop in the tea
Put the spoon back again
My mind visions again
We rely on religion instead of our fellow man
I put in sugar again
Too much pollution under your carhood
Too much politicians denying truth
People following religion without proof
I add the 3rd scoop
I drink the tea
Soon find out and see
This cup of tea is messed to me
Represent, by Fawkes
I represent the man from Timor-Leste
In this rap game I'm tryin' to be one of the best
Not a typical man growin' up in the West
I fight for the man dressed like a woman with breasts
For the poor Mexican worker who doesn't get a chance to rest
For the people who welcome me as a guest
To the young poor girl who failed her pregnancy test
To those livin' in a home worse than a bird's nest
For the mother who every night she cries
Sits at her home and wonders why
Her poor little boy just had to die
She can't forget his face no matter how hard she tries
The peasant farmer who's in the field every day
He has to work 'cause he's got no other way
He's got a family to feed and has bills to pay
His god won't help not matter how hard he prays
To the man in jail guilty of homicide
To all the victims worldwide
Of America's continuous genocide
To the balemic girl thinkin' of suicide
To the poor wool farmer from Uruguay
To the teenage boy bullied 'cause he's gay
To the social outcasts transexuals
To the ones like me bisexual
To the girl called a whore 'cause she slept with more than one
Who nine months later gave birth to a son
The daddy was called a pimp and a playa 'cause he knocked her up
She had to move to a new town 'cause she was so fed up
Love Note, by SanPatricio'sSoul
She is my muse, my love
I let her notes strum through me like the blood in my veins
In her I see Ultimate Sin, Ultimate Pain
She is an instrument of God, Used to cry out to the heavens
In her I see Overwhelming Joy, Overwhelming Love
She makes me laugh, cry, and wish for a better world
She worships many Gods, and is used to worship
She is an Anarchist and a Fascist, A Racist, and Tolerant
Her skin is the Blackest of Blacks encompassing all colors and hues
We made love many times, but it was the sweet nothings she whispered in my ear that made it all worth it
This woman is the most beautiful of all women
A woman of all styles, all walks of life, and all perspectives
She is my best friend, my wife, my psychologist and my teacher
She is Music
The Coast of the World, by RadioFreeJuan
Glistening rain in a mundane downtown at night
Typical, seen before, cliched...but swim deeper. Walk the streets and hear the upbeat basslines at the jazz clubs, the tearing power chords of the punk's guitar, the eternal thrum of the discotheque
Feel the commotion of unfiltered humanity, that incredible force of beauty, atrocity, love, hatred, reaction, progression or some confused combination that has yet to be classified and needen't be.
Embrace the soft glow of distant traffic lights signalling advancement for the incessant river of metal. Hold within you that unbroken, reflective sheen of cars slipping through the night, and laugh in wonder at the absurdity of what we have made. Consider from a tall building the vast panorama of the world, and you will have no choice but to weep.
My Smallest Boast, by peaccenicked
I am Celtic and shameless
as though I was the very hound of CuCulain
as though I dug the grave that saw the bones of FInn Mac Cumhail
To tell you what
I' d be better thinking of yon older times
when I drank two lakes of wine
(you say only two lakes)
I ate every goat and tiny mouse
between John O Groats and Clear Island
on just one Sunday
Now I stand here
filling gaped mouths
with tales of great adventures
making muse and great delight
of detail small but bountiful
I 'll tell you this
your heathen shylock ways are gone forever
your dismal salt of the earth will taste like sugar
You have got no chance at all
So away with your nuclear bombs
and precise missiles
No force on earth
is worth my spit
Inequality, by Fawkes
Inequality extends farther than gay marriage
There's more to it than the right to have same-sex parents
Or the right to do whatever drugs you please
Or practice any religion or preach any philosophy
Or the right to own any kind of gun that you want
Or walk around naked or wear shirts that taunt
Inequality is being born into a life of slavery
Something supposedly gone by the 21st century
And I'm talkin' about in America of all places
The Land of the Free is one big plantation
Why do you think the North wanted emancipation
It wasn't empathy it was industrialization
And a new, much less profound form of slavery was birthed
THe Proletariat and the Bourgeois found their places on earth
Have you ever thought to yourself "I work so fuckin' hard,
But why don't I earn as much as those guys at Enron?
And why do I stay stuck in this shithole no matter how hard I try?
Why is having money the only way to stay alive?
My neighbor worked hard every day but last winter she died
She couldn't afford heat so one of her natural rights was denied"
The reason you stay poor isn't your race it's your class
I'm sayin' this to everyone, whites, hispanics, and blacks
I'm not denying that race is not a huge issue in the world
But it pales in comparison to class that's why we need a class war
Have you ever wondered why nations even exist
They're meant to divide the workers and create global rifts
Why do you think the pigs never stopped the L.A. riots
It was to make blacks look crazy and disspell an alliance
Between all the members of the working class
Cause that'd be far to powerful the cappies were just watchin their ass
Think about it, you work hard every day
For minimum wage
How does that make you any different from the white guy that does the same
Fuck racial seperatism
Why should my ancestor's exposure to sunlight
Be a factor in how far I make it in life
Get the fuck off your trip
Race doesn't even exist
If the Nords were from Ghana they'd be blacker than Paris
Why would you want to preserve
Something as pointless as how bad you get a sunburn
You don't even have control over the color of your skin
So why would you be proud of somethin' you had nothin' to do with
It doesn't matter if your skin's black, yellow, or orange
You still - fuck, wait a second, nothing rhymes with orange
It doesn't matter if your skin's black, white, or blue
In the morning all the Proles go to work just like you
All the workers and wage slaves need to unite
And fight not the race war
Fuck the race war
Up the class war
After the first two verses if you still don't believe me
Ask yourself a couple questions and see what the answers be
Why do the majority of poor people stay poor?
How come rich kids never fight foreign wars?
If going to school is the only way to get rich
Why are the schools in the ghettos so malnourished
Excuse the personification it's the best word that fits
And every time a ghetto kid's a genius they get tripped
Why does patriarchy and sexism even exist
Why does homophobia and racism even exist
It's no coincidence the only people affected by AIDS
Are poor people from the ghettos, Africans, and gays
You say George Bush sucks and yeah he does
But do you really think he's worse than all the others
The slave emancipator in reality was
An Indian slaughterer but we still give him love
National Liberation is Internationalism
There is no line between Nationalism and Patriotism
Workers will never be free until there's Socialism
They will always be oppressed under Capitalism
And to think that you can make change by Reformism
Revolution's the only way to abolish all negative -isms
That's why we need to unite the working class
Pacifism is naive there will be a violent clash
And whomever has more will to win will succeed
Poke yourself with a needle you'll see that everyone of us bleeds
City Reflections, by Hate Is Art
I've never changed. It's like those sticks of rock. Bite one all the way down, you'll still read Brighton, Ida (Brighton Rock)
Into our cities lights,
I was born.
In our cities nights,
I was kept warm.
Amongst the aristocracy,
Homeless and Junkies.
I fought our cities fights,
I was disgraced.
I saw our cities sights,
I was embraced.
Amongst the golden fields
And burnt out factories.
Graffiti expresses how we feel.
In between the unemployment and the rain
The city has always been this way,
In between the sea and the sky
There is nothing more to find.
Our
City
Sinks
Bright Blue Day, by Hate Is Art
J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été, A Rimbaud
we left in the morning
burnt our love in to the bright blue day
and we pic-nicked packed nothing but wine
and through an empty bottle of londons dry gin
i came to a certain realisation that its divine
that everything is fine
because you're looking so pretty and i'm looking
pretty thin
and after hours of conversations and deliberations
on ironing, god and sunshine
we decided it doesn't matter
if we substitute deities for drugs
and the moments of sobriety
take on new double meanings
fully in control of my vision
suddenly conscious of the fact i have hands and how awkward they feel
i have to smoke to keep them occupied
and the saddest thing
is not that your so pretty
nor that im so thin
but that this in an empty bottle of londons dry gin.
Take a Hammer, Swing Against Buildings, by Marmot
take a hammer, swing against buildings,
BANG BANG BANG
nothing is left, except the debris of capital and church spread over the street
fire raging,
bring a bottle of gasoline
spread it over, and over
FWOOOSH
who are we?
disenfranchized individuals--
pathetic students,
homeless drunks,
factory workers,
unemployed bastards--scum of the earth
how are we?
bored to death.
enemies paging...
man dressed in white clothes,
praying, holding a cross
(anemic half-dead man depicted on cross)
destroy him?
i say destroy him!
clock at work,
maddening tic-tacs, skullcrushing
annoying boss--suit and tie
destroy them?
i say destroy them
man typing frenetically
dorito covered fingers dancing
should i destroy myself?
DESTROY!
Mother Earth Sunburnt, by TAKN
Mother Earth sunburnt
The waters rise with no barrier known
A blanket of heat for the already hot
These creatures of metal that breathe out their fire
And Earth suffers for what we've done
The Carterets are sinking fast into the waves
Killed by what once sustained life
Their people innocent of the crime
Yet we the guilty go free in our cities
The rulers claim to fight it
We know that they don't feel a thing
Mother Earth is sunburnt
The Sky Spoke To Me Today, by TAKN
The sky spoke to me today
Not screaming or shouting
Not in the whisper of a church mouse,
But in the calm tones of a summer shower
It rained down the feelings of the clouds,
It shared with me it's deepest-held secrets
And admitted that Heaven was not above it,
Only the universe,
In all it's lonely glory.
The Night, The City And The Last Journey, by Leo Uilleann
The world was as dark as the city
and the moon was missing,
and the stars were lonely...
We open the doors, we pass through
and at the end of the dearest journey;
neither the city, nor you.
The train leaves the rail road
The ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean
The plane falls from the sky
And if I could once more begin this journey,
I would go on, fight again and die.
And I am a son of the Night,
always living in misery,
hiding from light.
They took my life...
They came in their fancy suits one day,
and they took my mind.
I woke up one night,
and I had chains in my arms
I closed my eyes,
and I was thrown into the darkest dungeon.
Oh, sweet torture,
where have you been?
I've been expecting you every night,
can't you be seen?
And I had so much I wanted to do,
traveling the beautiful world on a train,
and then going all the way back home,
from the edge of the world
with a plane.
And how painful it must be for you
to be losing your only child,
Oh my dearest mother,
oh my dearest Night.
And what a sad event it is,
knowing that I will be going,
before holding my child.
And how disgusting it is,
to our beautiful world
in decay
looking at all
who can't stay...
And I wanted to be on that ship
which everyone is talking about.
The ship, going abroad,
although it is old, dirty and rusty
although I know it is going to sink
at least it has good company.
The train leaves the rail road
The ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean
The plane falls from the sky
And if I could once more begin this journey,
I would go on, fight again and die.
Rush Hour, by Palachinov
The sun arises
Like miners from their dark mines
Others wake up eyes still drooping
Onto the streets where chaos is rife
Smoke from the automobiles, clouding their minds
Like drones they walk on, searching for the buildings
Men and women sit still on the bus
Looking obliviously through the misted windows
Onwards they go to labour as slaves
There can be change
There must be change
There will be change
...and when that change comes, people shall truly wake
But for now, darkness reigns in the Kingdom of our masters
Elegy To War, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
I stand under the desert moon as tanks
Move around the sandy battlefield while men
In uniforms carrying guns fire at each other and
Smoke and the smell of gunpowder fill the night air…
The darkness was blinding but I can vividly see lifeless bodies
As they moisten the dry sand with their own blood
The sound of bombs exploding was deafening but I can clearly hear
The haunting cries of broken lives and stolen dreams
The sight was unbearable but all I could do was watch
The lifeless bodies rotting away as the vultures feast over them
And listen to the endless cries of tomorrows lost forever
As I stand under the desert moon and wish that my own blood
Would also moisten the sand soon…
Tierra, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
It was the father of my father’s father who
Cleared the woods, tilled the earth and planted
Crops in this land but the oppressors came and
By some decree of law, it was taken away deliberately
Leaving him just a tenant of his own land
A hundred years has passed—a hundred years of blood,
Sweat and tears poured unto this land making
The soil rich, making the crops healthy so that
During harvest time, my landlord’s pocket
Is filled with money and while his children
Never heard of hunger, my children sleep with
Empty stomachs and I, with my calloused hands,
Continue to till the soil, plant crops
And remain a tenant to my own land
Par Avion, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
You travel to foreign lands
And promote the beauty of our
Country to imperialists who,
In time will turn into
Vampires, sucking the blood
Out of your people and leaving
Lifeless bodies behind to be
Fed to the vultures...
When the Little Prince Met Milan Kundera, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but I am empty
And the Baobabs are starting to consume all that is left of me
But one day you came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And pounded on the gates of my poetic memory
I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
But I am the one you have watered and placed under a glass dome
I am the one that you have sheltered behind a screen
And for whom you killed the caterpillars
I am the one you have listened to laughing or crying
Or sometimes remaining silent
Yes, I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but empty no longer because
You came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And wrote your first word into my poetic memory
Speechless, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
Why won’t you watch the flowers grow with me?
I wish I could say that but you are watching flowers
Grow with someone else in your part of the world
Where the sun kisses your cheeks and the sea foam
Touches your feet
How I wish I could be the sun and the sea foam be
My feet that touch yours while they are clasped
Together under the sand as we watch the sun go to
Sleep and wait till the milky moon shine upon us and
Listen to nothing but the sound of our heartbeats and
The waves as they rush to the shore
But my heart is taciturn
so I just place this shell on my ears and
listen to the sound of the ocean while I watch
The flowers grow alone as
The Sea foam touches your feet and the sun kisses your cheeks
on your part of the world
We're Sitting Near A Windowsill, by Sir_No_Sir
We're sitting near a windowsill,
just sitting,sitting still,
and the rain is falling,
the heavans are falling,
the beatiful gray sky lights
and in the midst of this glum day,
or is it night?
I can't tell anymore, but I have a question
Am I still the knight?
The one in shining armor,
Are we to go through a beatiful manifestation
of Love, laughs,and life?
Are we good or have we hit a strife?
Tell me, just lean over and whisper baby.
I might be there. Just Maybe.
Six AM, by Hate Is Art
Is it the people we hate?
Is it the songs we hate?
Is it why we go out every day?
Is it six am
Is it six am
Is it time?
Whats the time?
Shall we to go to bed?
Is it six am
Is it six am
Am I still?
Am I ill?
Am I just out of my head?
Is it all the mdma
and the bands that say
They are fed up with life
being an underclass?
Is it the people we hate?
Is it the songs we hate?
Then why do we go out every night?
PS. It's the beautiful destruction of parked cars
Burning out our lucky stars,
(We are the people our parents warned us about)
Feeling My Boots Fill With Sand, by Kerfuffle
Feeling my boots fill with sand.
I'm stoned. The term coined,
Biblical - printed and pressed
and handed around like joints,
by the shared sensation of man,
of having boots filled with sand
and being stoned
All these are beautiful poems - we seem to have a large amount of poets on this forum.
The poems -
Can't you hear the Drummer tapping?, by Question Everything
Can't you hear the Drummer tapping?
the Soldiers feet rapping?
Oh can't you see the glory?
The Drinking, the toasts?
the way he boasts?
How they say Good-Bye,
As their mothers cry?
See the Glory now?
How they are hungry, muddy and tired,
Though not yet a bullet was fired?
See the Captian ask them to be brave,
as they march on to their own grave?
See the Glory now?
See the men march through bullets of Hades,
while their hope slowly fades?
can't you see the pain,
of the ones who die invain?
See the Glory now?
can't you see the look in his eyes?
As many a camarade dies,
as all Ideals disappear,
as hope gives in to fear.
See the glory now?
How he fights with out remourse?
With every ounce of force?
How for those who no longer draw breath,
he himself becomes death?
See the Glory now?
see how he soldiers on?
the last of his bradavo gone?
the drummer still tapping,
the Soldiers feet still rapping.
See the Glory now?
Home from school, its hour 3, by Big Manifesto
Home from school, its hour 3
Walk to the kitchen, make cups of tea
As i put the spoon in the jar
I think about the Iraq war
Disaster victims that flee
And put a scoop in the tea
Put the spoon back again
My mind visions again
We rely on religion instead of our fellow man
I put in sugar again
Too much pollution under your carhood
Too much politicians denying truth
People following religion without proof
I add the 3rd scoop
I drink the tea
Soon find out and see
This cup of tea is messed to me
Represent, by Fawkes
I represent the man from Timor-Leste
In this rap game I'm tryin' to be one of the best
Not a typical man growin' up in the West
I fight for the man dressed like a woman with breasts
For the poor Mexican worker who doesn't get a chance to rest
For the people who welcome me as a guest
To the young poor girl who failed her pregnancy test
To those livin' in a home worse than a bird's nest
For the mother who every night she cries
Sits at her home and wonders why
Her poor little boy just had to die
She can't forget his face no matter how hard she tries
The peasant farmer who's in the field every day
He has to work 'cause he's got no other way
He's got a family to feed and has bills to pay
His god won't help not matter how hard he prays
To the man in jail guilty of homicide
To all the victims worldwide
Of America's continuous genocide
To the balemic girl thinkin' of suicide
To the poor wool farmer from Uruguay
To the teenage boy bullied 'cause he's gay
To the social outcasts transexuals
To the ones like me bisexual
To the girl called a whore 'cause she slept with more than one
Who nine months later gave birth to a son
The daddy was called a pimp and a playa 'cause he knocked her up
She had to move to a new town 'cause she was so fed up
Love Note, by SanPatricio'sSoul
She is my muse, my love
I let her notes strum through me like the blood in my veins
In her I see Ultimate Sin, Ultimate Pain
She is an instrument of God, Used to cry out to the heavens
In her I see Overwhelming Joy, Overwhelming Love
She makes me laugh, cry, and wish for a better world
She worships many Gods, and is used to worship
She is an Anarchist and a Fascist, A Racist, and Tolerant
Her skin is the Blackest of Blacks encompassing all colors and hues
We made love many times, but it was the sweet nothings she whispered in my ear that made it all worth it
This woman is the most beautiful of all women
A woman of all styles, all walks of life, and all perspectives
She is my best friend, my wife, my psychologist and my teacher
She is Music
The Coast of the World, by RadioFreeJuan
Glistening rain in a mundane downtown at night
Typical, seen before, cliched...but swim deeper. Walk the streets and hear the upbeat basslines at the jazz clubs, the tearing power chords of the punk's guitar, the eternal thrum of the discotheque
Feel the commotion of unfiltered humanity, that incredible force of beauty, atrocity, love, hatred, reaction, progression or some confused combination that has yet to be classified and needen't be.
Embrace the soft glow of distant traffic lights signalling advancement for the incessant river of metal. Hold within you that unbroken, reflective sheen of cars slipping through the night, and laugh in wonder at the absurdity of what we have made. Consider from a tall building the vast panorama of the world, and you will have no choice but to weep.
My Smallest Boast, by peaccenicked
I am Celtic and shameless
as though I was the very hound of CuCulain
as though I dug the grave that saw the bones of FInn Mac Cumhail
To tell you what
I' d be better thinking of yon older times
when I drank two lakes of wine
(you say only two lakes)
I ate every goat and tiny mouse
between John O Groats and Clear Island
on just one Sunday
Now I stand here
filling gaped mouths
with tales of great adventures
making muse and great delight
of detail small but bountiful
I 'll tell you this
your heathen shylock ways are gone forever
your dismal salt of the earth will taste like sugar
You have got no chance at all
So away with your nuclear bombs
and precise missiles
No force on earth
is worth my spit
Inequality, by Fawkes
Inequality extends farther than gay marriage
There's more to it than the right to have same-sex parents
Or the right to do whatever drugs you please
Or practice any religion or preach any philosophy
Or the right to own any kind of gun that you want
Or walk around naked or wear shirts that taunt
Inequality is being born into a life of slavery
Something supposedly gone by the 21st century
And I'm talkin' about in America of all places
The Land of the Free is one big plantation
Why do you think the North wanted emancipation
It wasn't empathy it was industrialization
And a new, much less profound form of slavery was birthed
THe Proletariat and the Bourgeois found their places on earth
Have you ever thought to yourself "I work so fuckin' hard,
But why don't I earn as much as those guys at Enron?
And why do I stay stuck in this shithole no matter how hard I try?
Why is having money the only way to stay alive?
My neighbor worked hard every day but last winter she died
She couldn't afford heat so one of her natural rights was denied"
The reason you stay poor isn't your race it's your class
I'm sayin' this to everyone, whites, hispanics, and blacks
I'm not denying that race is not a huge issue in the world
But it pales in comparison to class that's why we need a class war
Have you ever wondered why nations even exist
They're meant to divide the workers and create global rifts
Why do you think the pigs never stopped the L.A. riots
It was to make blacks look crazy and disspell an alliance
Between all the members of the working class
Cause that'd be far to powerful the cappies were just watchin their ass
Think about it, you work hard every day
For minimum wage
How does that make you any different from the white guy that does the same
Fuck racial seperatism
Why should my ancestor's exposure to sunlight
Be a factor in how far I make it in life
Get the fuck off your trip
Race doesn't even exist
If the Nords were from Ghana they'd be blacker than Paris
Why would you want to preserve
Something as pointless as how bad you get a sunburn
You don't even have control over the color of your skin
So why would you be proud of somethin' you had nothin' to do with
It doesn't matter if your skin's black, yellow, or orange
You still - fuck, wait a second, nothing rhymes with orange
It doesn't matter if your skin's black, white, or blue
In the morning all the Proles go to work just like you
All the workers and wage slaves need to unite
And fight not the race war
Fuck the race war
Up the class war
After the first two verses if you still don't believe me
Ask yourself a couple questions and see what the answers be
Why do the majority of poor people stay poor?
How come rich kids never fight foreign wars?
If going to school is the only way to get rich
Why are the schools in the ghettos so malnourished
Excuse the personification it's the best word that fits
And every time a ghetto kid's a genius they get tripped
Why does patriarchy and sexism even exist
Why does homophobia and racism even exist
It's no coincidence the only people affected by AIDS
Are poor people from the ghettos, Africans, and gays
You say George Bush sucks and yeah he does
But do you really think he's worse than all the others
The slave emancipator in reality was
An Indian slaughterer but we still give him love
National Liberation is Internationalism
There is no line between Nationalism and Patriotism
Workers will never be free until there's Socialism
They will always be oppressed under Capitalism
And to think that you can make change by Reformism
Revolution's the only way to abolish all negative -isms
That's why we need to unite the working class
Pacifism is naive there will be a violent clash
And whomever has more will to win will succeed
Poke yourself with a needle you'll see that everyone of us bleeds
City Reflections, by Hate Is Art
I've never changed. It's like those sticks of rock. Bite one all the way down, you'll still read Brighton, Ida (Brighton Rock)
Into our cities lights,
I was born.
In our cities nights,
I was kept warm.
Amongst the aristocracy,
Homeless and Junkies.
I fought our cities fights,
I was disgraced.
I saw our cities sights,
I was embraced.
Amongst the golden fields
And burnt out factories.
Graffiti expresses how we feel.
In between the unemployment and the rain
The city has always been this way,
In between the sea and the sky
There is nothing more to find.
Our
City
Sinks
Bright Blue Day, by Hate Is Art
J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été, A Rimbaud
we left in the morning
burnt our love in to the bright blue day
and we pic-nicked packed nothing but wine
and through an empty bottle of londons dry gin
i came to a certain realisation that its divine
that everything is fine
because you're looking so pretty and i'm looking
pretty thin
and after hours of conversations and deliberations
on ironing, god and sunshine
we decided it doesn't matter
if we substitute deities for drugs
and the moments of sobriety
take on new double meanings
fully in control of my vision
suddenly conscious of the fact i have hands and how awkward they feel
i have to smoke to keep them occupied
and the saddest thing
is not that your so pretty
nor that im so thin
but that this in an empty bottle of londons dry gin.
Take a Hammer, Swing Against Buildings, by Marmot
take a hammer, swing against buildings,
BANG BANG BANG
nothing is left, except the debris of capital and church spread over the street
fire raging,
bring a bottle of gasoline
spread it over, and over
FWOOOSH
who are we?
disenfranchized individuals--
pathetic students,
homeless drunks,
factory workers,
unemployed bastards--scum of the earth
how are we?
bored to death.
enemies paging...
man dressed in white clothes,
praying, holding a cross
(anemic half-dead man depicted on cross)
destroy him?
i say destroy him!
clock at work,
maddening tic-tacs, skullcrushing
annoying boss--suit and tie
destroy them?
i say destroy them
man typing frenetically
dorito covered fingers dancing
should i destroy myself?
DESTROY!
Mother Earth Sunburnt, by TAKN
Mother Earth sunburnt
The waters rise with no barrier known
A blanket of heat for the already hot
These creatures of metal that breathe out their fire
And Earth suffers for what we've done
The Carterets are sinking fast into the waves
Killed by what once sustained life
Their people innocent of the crime
Yet we the guilty go free in our cities
The rulers claim to fight it
We know that they don't feel a thing
Mother Earth is sunburnt
The Sky Spoke To Me Today, by TAKN
The sky spoke to me today
Not screaming or shouting
Not in the whisper of a church mouse,
But in the calm tones of a summer shower
It rained down the feelings of the clouds,
It shared with me it's deepest-held secrets
And admitted that Heaven was not above it,
Only the universe,
In all it's lonely glory.
The Night, The City And The Last Journey, by Leo Uilleann
The world was as dark as the city
and the moon was missing,
and the stars were lonely...
We open the doors, we pass through
and at the end of the dearest journey;
neither the city, nor you.
The train leaves the rail road
The ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean
The plane falls from the sky
And if I could once more begin this journey,
I would go on, fight again and die.
And I am a son of the Night,
always living in misery,
hiding from light.
They took my life...
They came in their fancy suits one day,
and they took my mind.
I woke up one night,
and I had chains in my arms
I closed my eyes,
and I was thrown into the darkest dungeon.
Oh, sweet torture,
where have you been?
I've been expecting you every night,
can't you be seen?
And I had so much I wanted to do,
traveling the beautiful world on a train,
and then going all the way back home,
from the edge of the world
with a plane.
And how painful it must be for you
to be losing your only child,
Oh my dearest mother,
oh my dearest Night.
And what a sad event it is,
knowing that I will be going,
before holding my child.
And how disgusting it is,
to our beautiful world
in decay
looking at all
who can't stay...
And I wanted to be on that ship
which everyone is talking about.
The ship, going abroad,
although it is old, dirty and rusty
although I know it is going to sink
at least it has good company.
The train leaves the rail road
The ship sinks to the bottom of the ocean
The plane falls from the sky
And if I could once more begin this journey,
I would go on, fight again and die.
Rush Hour, by Palachinov
The sun arises
Like miners from their dark mines
Others wake up eyes still drooping
Onto the streets where chaos is rife
Smoke from the automobiles, clouding their minds
Like drones they walk on, searching for the buildings
Men and women sit still on the bus
Looking obliviously through the misted windows
Onwards they go to labour as slaves
There can be change
There must be change
There will be change
...and when that change comes, people shall truly wake
But for now, darkness reigns in the Kingdom of our masters
Elegy To War, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
I stand under the desert moon as tanks
Move around the sandy battlefield while men
In uniforms carrying guns fire at each other and
Smoke and the smell of gunpowder fill the night air…
The darkness was blinding but I can vividly see lifeless bodies
As they moisten the dry sand with their own blood
The sound of bombs exploding was deafening but I can clearly hear
The haunting cries of broken lives and stolen dreams
The sight was unbearable but all I could do was watch
The lifeless bodies rotting away as the vultures feast over them
And listen to the endless cries of tomorrows lost forever
As I stand under the desert moon and wish that my own blood
Would also moisten the sand soon…
Tierra, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
It was the father of my father’s father who
Cleared the woods, tilled the earth and planted
Crops in this land but the oppressors came and
By some decree of law, it was taken away deliberately
Leaving him just a tenant of his own land
A hundred years has passed—a hundred years of blood,
Sweat and tears poured unto this land making
The soil rich, making the crops healthy so that
During harvest time, my landlord’s pocket
Is filled with money and while his children
Never heard of hunger, my children sleep with
Empty stomachs and I, with my calloused hands,
Continue to till the soil, plant crops
And remain a tenant to my own land
Par Avion, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
You travel to foreign lands
And promote the beauty of our
Country to imperialists who,
In time will turn into
Vampires, sucking the blood
Out of your people and leaving
Lifeless bodies behind to be
Fed to the vultures...
When the Little Prince Met Milan Kundera, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but I am empty
And the Baobabs are starting to consume all that is left of me
But one day you came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And pounded on the gates of my poetic memory
I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
But I am the one you have watered and placed under a glass dome
I am the one that you have sheltered behind a screen
And for whom you killed the caterpillars
I am the one you have listened to laughing or crying
Or sometimes remaining silent
Yes, I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but empty no longer because
You came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And wrote your first word into my poetic memory
Speechless, by Che's Long Lost Daughter
Why won’t you watch the flowers grow with me?
I wish I could say that but you are watching flowers
Grow with someone else in your part of the world
Where the sun kisses your cheeks and the sea foam
Touches your feet
How I wish I could be the sun and the sea foam be
My feet that touch yours while they are clasped
Together under the sand as we watch the sun go to
Sleep and wait till the milky moon shine upon us and
Listen to nothing but the sound of our heartbeats and
The waves as they rush to the shore
But my heart is taciturn
so I just place this shell on my ears and
listen to the sound of the ocean while I watch
The flowers grow alone as
The Sea foam touches your feet and the sun kisses your cheeks
on your part of the world
We're Sitting Near A Windowsill, by Sir_No_Sir
We're sitting near a windowsill,
just sitting,sitting still,
and the rain is falling,
the heavans are falling,
the beatiful gray sky lights
and in the midst of this glum day,
or is it night?
I can't tell anymore, but I have a question
Am I still the knight?
The one in shining armor,
Are we to go through a beatiful manifestation
of Love, laughs,and life?
Are we good or have we hit a strife?
Tell me, just lean over and whisper baby.
I might be there. Just Maybe.
Six AM, by Hate Is Art
Is it the people we hate?
Is it the songs we hate?
Is it why we go out every day?
Is it six am
Is it six am
Is it time?
Whats the time?
Shall we to go to bed?
Is it six am
Is it six am
Am I still?
Am I ill?
Am I just out of my head?
Is it all the mdma
and the bands that say
They are fed up with life
being an underclass?
Is it the people we hate?
Is it the songs we hate?
Then why do we go out every night?
PS. It's the beautiful destruction of parked cars
Burning out our lucky stars,
(We are the people our parents warned us about)
Feeling My Boots Fill With Sand, by Kerfuffle
Feeling my boots fill with sand.
I'm stoned. The term coined,
Biblical - printed and pressed
and handed around like joints,
by the shared sensation of man,
of having boots filled with sand
and being stoned
All these are beautiful poems - we seem to have a large amount of poets on this forum.