The Joshua Tree (solitary man)The Joshua Tree (solitary man)2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A man for the people, a man for the times,
a man for all reasons and rhymes.
Made the top of his class, outshone all the rest,
somehow it made up for old crimes.
But the past catches up, ensnares whom it wants,
makes haughty men subject to taunts.
Skeletons from of old, inevitably,
come out and require response.
Former friends fade away, the rich and the small,
as the mighty man takes the fall.
But the wife and the kids, loyal to the end,
do their best to endure, stand tall.
'Tis lonely at the top, the old saying goes,
'specially when an ill wind blows.
Like a Joshua tree, in a barren land,
the fallen man reaps what he sows.
Calavera de HaciendaCalavera de Hacienda3 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Más engendros infernales
Son calaveras fiscales
Nada valen ya los pesos
Todo es caro, si lo hay
Dejo a todos en los huesos
El tal Luis Videgaray
De tanto ajuste que hizo
Aquel miserable infeliz
El maldito cacarizo
Mató de hambre al país
La Muerte -¡al fin!- se dio apremio
Y lo arrojó por el caño
Mas no le quitó su premio
De financiero del año
Calaveras en el metroCalaveras en el metro1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Para variar más las cosas
Ocurrió en el Defectuoso
Cuando mandaba Mancera
Un asunto bochornoso
(Por no decir chingadera)
Bien nueva la línea doce
Del metro, rieles baratos
Que no aguantaron, se dice
El peso del aparato
Sin pedir ni una disculpa
A los pobres ciudadanos
Mancera le echó la culpa
A Ebrard, lavándose manos
Haciendo su candidatura
Ebrard estaba ocupado
Quejose él de conjura
Y que lo habían embarrado
Cada uno al pleito le saca
Nomás la hicieron de tos
Pa’ no discutir la Calaca
Les dio en su madre a los dos
Calavera a la poblanaCalavera a la poblana1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
De tremendos reyezuelos
Que nos protejan los cielos
Si vas a Puebla, no te halle
en un día que esté de malas
El matón Moreno Valle
Porque te llena de balas
Fue colega de Elba Esther
(Pero con más suerte que esta)
Pa’ gobernar fue menester
Fusilar a las protestas
Con su pan que se lo coma
A tan malvado oligarca
Lo mató bala de goma
Que le disparó la Parca
RevolutionWith eyes upon the heavensRevolution2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And feet upon the ground
A hand upon the Prussian flag
In Friedrich's name do voices sound
They echo, shackles breaking
And thunder marching feet
Return, forgotten history
Take back our land so sweet
Our sword is mighty singing
The winter's cold our shield
With soul and heart raise crushing stone
And fight the bear, don't yield
Wit blessings of forgotten gods
And raiment of deepest blue
I will march 'fore Friedrich's flag
And if need be, I'll die for you
FreeAblaze, my bloody wingsFree2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Ridden on charred winds,
To fall in broken shout
Swift death, without a doubt.
A thousand feathers cry,
A hundred mouths, they lie
Ten bodies brimmed on fat,
One single mangy rat.
Just feast on the decay,
Bring vermin in to slay
A dying song of love,
The symbol of the dove.
To PlatoI do not think you sat alone--although you might have satTo Plato2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In dusty rooms, by oil lamps
And as the flicker bobbed and dropped, you wrote. I know
That others came to hear you speak
As we still do.
I wonder if you ever spoke like him, who spoke alone
To crowds, and single men, and then
In front of those who stirred the hemlock-cup, and bade him drink.
I do not think they listened well
To what he said.
I read the other day what you had thought, upon his death
And where you thought he went. Your friend
I hope, took comfort in the words you said he spoke, although
We know you wrote them all alone
When he was dead.
Calavera a la michoacanaCalavera a la michoacana1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Gobernador no era el hombre
Gobernó sólo en el nombre
La Parca que fue a Michoacán
Con ironía que disfruta
Le dice ya al viejo truhan
-Que me lo busca La Tuta
Al ver al pobre pellejo
La Muerte dice, elegante:
-Me disculpo, Don Vallejo,
Debía llevármelo antes…
-Se me juntan osamentas
Con lo mucho que me ocupo
Con tanto ajuste de cuentas
(Que dice usted, nada supo)
Calavera a la chiapanecaCalavera a la chiapaneca1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Harán cada chingadera
Pues no tienen llenadera
Hablando de historias de asco
Y despilfarro indignante
Está un tal Manuel Velasco
Queriendo ser presidente
Siguiendo un viejo libreto
Vendió su alma a Televisa
Quiso hacer cual Peña Nieto
La Flaca mató su prisa
Llegó a Chiapas, puesto el luto
Al verlo, le dice seria:
-¡Cabrón!¡Gastaste a lo bruto
Habiendo tanta miseria!
To a BrotherLord, lift up this lost brotherTo a Brother2 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Into your hands
Tell him what is wrong
Show him where he stands
You have sent him to Babylon
But he still refuses your promise
This man's heart is in danger
Turning to idols for solace
May his pride lessen
And his spirit strengthen
Direct him on the right path
Prepare him for Heaven
I pray for this brother
That he settles for what is best
Lord, fight with him through
His life's biggest test
The MachineThe MachineThe Machine2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
Nobody knows from whence it came, when its gears began to turn
Black smoke pours from its jaws, the stench makes stomachs churn
Onward it moves, its bladed wheels always roll
Forged in anger and chaos, destruction is its only goal
The engine is not fueled by oil but by the blood of men
It cannot be stopped, it cannot lose, only won
Beneath its wheels, bones are crushed and turned to dust
Eternal as time, never shall it rust
Indifference is its Mistress, but it obeys none
Try as we might, there is no safe place to run
In the dark, it pits everyone against one another like a mere pawn
Hunger rumbles its stomach as the plot for Armageddon is drawn
It waits patiently for it knows that it is the end of the line
Metal grinds against metal, screaming "Mine, Mine, Mine!"
Working in silence it bears no name, the grand finale that cannot be seen
The finale called the Machine
Poem - The Gray of WarThe Gray of WarPoem - The Gray of War4 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Poem for Day 054 – 20141116
I say back.
You say white.
Battle lines drawn.
I am in the right,
and you are in the wrong.
How did we arrive here?
Too much pain sustained.
Too many sleights imposed.
Enough is enough.
You will no longer be unopposed.
The battle has begun.
We will assume the enemy's ways.
It worked for them, it will work for us.
Their tactics were brutal,
our version is necessary.
Fire will fight fire.
Have no fear, this is only temporary.
Take no prisoners says the leaders.
Maximum casualties are guaranteed.
There will be no wounded.
Scorched earth will be the policy.
Our dead speak in united congregation.
We must exact your extermination.
The day ends,
our work is done.
Vengeance has been granted,
and we must have won.
So says mute testimony by the dead,
sadly there is nobody left to bury the departed.
I was black,
and you were white.
You were my enemy,
and I was yours.
Now we are no more, our blood is one,
and all that is left is th
A Vacation to a Strange Realm Awoke the Goat Man from his grave,A Vacation to a Strange Realm4 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Where he felt the presence of humans that day.
Feeling their emotions, their conformist ways.
Oh how it had sickened him in every way.
How can these flesh walkers be so blind,
To all their thoughts that are confined?
Easily controlled yes they are,
a bandwagon parade, almost every day.
Goat Man knows why this is, and with a thought,
he thought like this!
A like minded individual, keeps a like mind,
while the unlike goes on, to aspire in time,
and with their brain, now fully grown,
their words like strings to a guitar.
They pluck their strings to the like mind,
and with glee the like mind listens.
and with that the unlike weaves it's strings,
it's strings now a web, and in this web lays the like.
This analogy soon disappeared yes it did,
as said before the Goat Man was sick,
he had hoped for a vacation, but a vacation he had not
ANCHORSdisconnected danceANCHORS1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
anchors in hand
herded and branded
distractions on demand
stimulus of connection
humanities cellular infection
addicted by the thrill
turn your back to talk
call it what you will
RevolutionRevolutionRevolution2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
Please lay down your arms, cease and desist
Or we will be forced to shoot if you persist
Are you so blind that you cannot see
That this is the only way to end this peacefully
There will be no compromise, no other resolution
So please give up this ridiculous revolution
You ask us to lay down our arms, but what for?
So we can go home and be slaves just like before?
Slaves to a government that doesn’t care about anyone
A government that never asks, but always tells with a gun
We no longer can stand to face persecution
Thus there is only the people’s revolution
Go home, go back to your husbands, go back to your wives
Think about your children, don’t throw away your lives
We have promised to protect the security of the state
Turn back now before it is too late
Have some faith in our institution
And abandon your reckless revolution
If you kill us here, then more shall rise in our place
The children of our children will remember your face
Nine ChulainnsPray, my sweet stagnant dandelion -Nine Chulainns2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
her djembe choirs haunt panned ancestry,
miles below starry Celtic Fire.
True Hounds of Ulster fight tainted pups,
yet, how the cruel carnyx plays empty -
saving systematic catacombs,
and purging monsters on mattresses.
But we shall wake, kind dandelion,
auxin fueled anew, soundly sunbathed
hollowed against the healthy brittle
that scream to whatever "good remains."
Surprise! They have no point to argue.
Clear your glasses, foolish blinded minds -
it did not swallow too many pills.
Hah~, they may indeed shriek "defamation,"
the molded grain, a perverted seed,
swordsmen, sacrifice, grossest god grace.
Bring on The Morrígan's Masochists;
we'll never desist until black ice
is behind us - infinitely tamed;
Do not think you can bury our blood.
?Podremos?Cuando la justicia degenera en ira?Podremos?2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
y se deshecha la verdad y la razón
porque se prefiere una bella mentira
¿queda aún esperanza a la nación?
Ya se aviva de la venganza el fuego
contra una oligocracia corrompida,
y cuando la llama arrase todo, luego,
¿podremos ver a nuestra patria renacida?
Ideas Never DieIdeas Never DieIdeas Never Die2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
In shackles, we were dragged before an allegedly honest court.
There would be no pardon, no innocence, nothing of the sort.
Quick, ruthless, and efficient there would be no legal document to sign;
For us, only the firing squad lay at the end of the line.
Fear does not consume us, we still stand with iron resolve and clenched fist.
The court never spoke of our crime, pretending it did not exist;
If they did then the idea might grow, what’s the reason?
Because if it grew, none would dare call it treason.
The execution was to take place immediately, there would be no reprieve;
No plans of grand escape, for us they hoped nobody would grieve.
They paraded us through the streets, at us civilians threw rocks and fruit.
They called us vermin, evil wretches, and thieves that did nothing but loot.
Finally we were stopped, backs shoved against a brick wall, black bags veiled over our faces.
This wall would be our final stand, of all the places.
LeuchtfeuerLeuchtfeuerLeuchtfeuer1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Durch Nacht und Schnee
Wie Hoffnung in der
Selbst für jene, die
Die Lichter hassen
Die Stadt brennt,
Macht euch bereit.
Durch Nacht und Schnee
Brennt der Mensch
Am Ende die Gesellschaft
Youth Gone ByYouth Gone ByYouth Gone By2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
Grown ups always ask, "When you grow up, what do you want to be?"
But none of them want to hear that I want to be me
That I just want to be a kid
That I want to look back later and remember the stupid things I did
Instead I grew up fast in a world not as perfect as it may seem
Instead I grew up fast and I never got the chance to dream
My father is a hard working man
I better work just as hard, the best I can
Give it all my all, give it my years, I have to be strong
Anything else is just plain wrong
"When you grow up, what do you want to be?"
They ask but they don't see
Pushed through countless schools
Told to sit down, shut up, and follow the rules
Told I still have more to give
Told that this is the only way to live
"When you grow up, what do you want to be?"
They say but I don't want a degree
Work everyday, work until I'm dead
Just for a bit of bread and half a bed
Without fail, day in and day out
Is this really all life is about?
They ask, "When you
The Monster He BecameThe Monster He BecameThe Monster He Became2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
Society made him the monster he became
Now he doesn’t even remember his name
Constantly trying to be something he’s not
In some hope he won’t be forgot
What’s worse, the man who hates those that cause him pain?
Or the man that tries and tries to hate but all in vain?
Sometimes he wishes he didn’t care
That he could look at the world with a blank stare
But he is always the monster he became
Still unable to hurt another, still a loser in the game
He simply smiles, that infectious carefree grin
That harbors a sundered heart within
Who’s worse, the man who acts out of anger and rage?
Or the man who keeps it all bottled up in a cage?
Sometimes he wishes he could yell
At everybody else, but he’ll never tell
Instead he merely watches the world pass him by
Never stopping to greet him or say goodbye
And at the end of the day he’s still the monster he became
And he knows he’ll never be the same
Down In The SlumDown In The SlumDown In The Slum2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zach Wampler
Dirt covered cheeks, groveling on hands and knees
No low is too low for just one kind person to hear her pleas
This little girl begging for the smallest amount of food
To feed her mother who is starving, cold, and nude
But the well dressed people just walk by, not even giving a crumb
Not even caring about those down in the slum
Ignorance is bliss or at least so they say
The meaning of poverty still eludes her today
Her mother just smiles and tells her money is tight
But recently her mother’s smile has become a little less bright
She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she misses that smile
And she’ll do anything to see it again, even if it’s just for a while
She’ll work until her muscles ache, until her frail body is numb
She’ll work her best to carve out a life down in the slum
It’s hard work, brutal work, no place for a kid
She had to save her mother though if it was the last thing she did
At least she could
Being a Dreamer Isnt So BadBeing a Dreamer Isn't So BadBeing a Dreamer Isnt So Bad2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By: Zachary Wampler
I was always told to pay attention in class
As I often got caught gazing out the window glass
I would just tune out and drift away
To a place far away from the troubles of everyday
But adults always criticized my idea of fun
Saying, "Stop being a dreamer and be someone"
Society says dreams are for the fool
That I should take what I can and go to school
Where they don't care what I want or what I need
Where they replace your dreams with a book to read
A factory that spits out whatever society desire
Fueled by broken dreams thrown into the fires
They don't want me to think my dreams could be real
Because the scars of their own broken dreams have yet to heal
And if they can't dream, then nobody can
That nobody has a choice, nobody can write their own plan
But I keep gazing out that window at the sun
While they keep barking, "Stop being a dreamer and be someone"
I'm told there is black and white but never grey
Told to sit down, shut up, and
The Poem that Wasn't Meant to BEStraddling the night,The Poem that Wasn't Meant to BE2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Peering beyond naught,
Wind clatters to me,
Now striding with exertion,
I've must been followed,
Yes, that's precisely well,
Sardonic clicks of insects...