POLIΠΟΛΗPOLI3 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Σε μια πόλη σκλαβωμένη
η ζωή παγιδευμένη
Γίναν' μπετά τα όνειρά μας
και σκλαβώνουν τη ματιά μας
Δίχως ορίζοντα, χαμένοι,
Σαν ποντίκια στριγμωγμένοι,
[Censored]From: ______.co.uk[Censored]2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The situation is really [redacted]
And the conflict is long and protracted
We’re experiencing unheard of [typing error]
And unprecedented levels of terror
There doesn’t seem to be [deletion of expletive]
And the calls for talks are hollow and repetitive
Lives are being [word not found]
To save Euro’s, Dollars and the pound
All thanks to [name withheld]
And they chop at us like trees to be felled
Then there’s that lot from [space intentionally left blank]
You’d think they all worked for the bank
I never get home now before half eleven
Yours sincerely [subject: no 1001297]
Caste asideA society caste asideCaste aside1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Divided by prejudiced pride
RevolutionDestroy to rebuild,Revolution3 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
ideals lay to rest.
Revive or get killed,
long enough been suppressed.
Hope is weeping,
carry it to the grave.
Where your morals are sleeping,
and the majority is still enslaved.
Break their chain,
run with the wind like a beast.
feel freedom and release.
Burn their rules,
watch the flames rise.
We are not their tools,
our light will burn their skies.
No sky will ever be the limit,
where does it even begin?
Reveal your spirit,
stand tall and raise your chin.
We need the execution,
we want to see blood.
To begin the revolution,
drowning the old ways like a flood.
We take back whats ours,
let the capitalists burn.
Make them face our powers,
its time for our hearts to return!
In for a PoundI’m sure we’re all quite familiar with the name of Ezra PoundIn for a Pound3 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The bloke that despite being quite clever had thoughts unsound
They say he was the father of several movements poetic
A pity that he succumbed to an ideology hateful and despotic
He’s heavily associated with verse that stimulates imagery
But then followed that up with publishing anti-Semitic forgeries
He witness the Great War that slaughtered many and spare too few
And somehow concluded that the best solution was to crush the Jew
When war in Europe look to be making a come back
Dear Ezra, clever so very clever Ezra gladly bought a new shirt in darkest black
America had never really appreciated the Herald of Imagism
But he found a home, in Rome marching in the Vanguard of Fascism
After that war did clever Ezra finally learn his lesson?
Sadly not, it appears his mind had suffered an irreversible recession.
He publicly abandoned his past acts, but this surface supplication
Was a fraud, for one of his new frien
Street CornerEvery Monday morning you see them thereStreet Corner1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Huddled around, coffees in hand
You see a hoodie, reply with a glare
Could this all be planned?
You see darkened eyes
Under even darker clothing
You shield yourself with lies
Cloak yourself in loathing
Not for a second do you pause
Never do you think
Perhaps they deserve applause
After seeing shrink after shrink
Just keep walking
Gilded in ignorance
One day you’ll find it shocking
When you realise their brilliance
There is life there
And talent too
Look not at what they wear
Look at what is true
They’re always on that corner
You sit and watch them
See each one as a forlorn mourner
Silently weeping for a lost gem
For the ones lost along the way
Friends, companions, brothers,
They fought side by side in the fray
Against any and all others
Now they fight anew
Against this society
Against people like you
Trying to erase their notoriety
Would it hurt to stop?
Would it kill you to chat?
Maybe you have a story to swap
Or you just like a tat
The other side to charityThe charity accepts another three poundsThe other side to charity1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
After it pounded on their doors
Screaming ‘save the cancer in me’,
It’s yours to take and yours for free
While accompanied by the amassed selfies.
The accountants, lined up like dominoes
Have highly important quotas to fill
So off it goes to CEOs,
Wages, stocks, campaigning pros,
Or employees who buy the Oreos.
After all, their office supplies are running low...
Occasionally, they might save those precious lives.
That’s good. While patients breathe, it’s spectacular,
But since 1902, increasing souls wane and slow,
Is there something we don’t know?
Where does that money really go?
The InternetA boisterous crowd,The Internet2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Dawdling epicenter for grumbling, humdrum intrusions,
Just kindling lipservice.
My newsfeed opens, peace quakes.
Restless sleeper, try underwhelming Valium.
What exhorts you? Zilch.
Wicker ManThe power that truly impresses us,Wicker Man2 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and which throughout history, we most enjoy,
has never been the power of new creation,
but rather the power to destroy.
After all, a single death is a tragedy,
but a million deaths is a statistic;
and ever since Stalin first said those words,
we've proven them nightmarishly realistic.
Indeed, some have expanded them further still,
predicting what even Stalin did not:
Saying that one death makes you a murderer,
a million makes you a conqueror,
and a billion makes you a god.
the day always comes 'round again,
when we feel the necessity
of blood sacrifice:
for our true gods Mars and Moloch
are forever hungry,
and deaths are always
their demanded prize.
Because the greatest and most ultimate statement
is to forcibly take a life:
In the end, nothing else
can ever hope to suffice.
We never much care
about the power of beginnings,
because against the orgy of bloodlust,
it will always pale...
Fertility and growth,
entry of the dartentry of the dart1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
where all the edges reach into the heart
are no clear corners nor a single sign
that time is changing the dividing line
is never crossed yet all are kept apart
by the hard means of some still arcane art
which the most foolish will insist divine
or claim as kindly warm tender benign
although they bleed from entry of the dart
we're far into the strange realm of the blind
where all the rules evil and perverse
and every bullet seems to find its mark
dead centre but the lying human mind
insists reality can't be adverse
that all is light down here deep in the dark
The Great Human RaceThe Great Human Race,The Great Human Race1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
We blacken the sky,
We burn and we kill,
And we swim and we fly,
And there's no escape,
From the freedom we bring,
You'll love all the labor,
The shanties we sing,
The people below us,
Covered by boards,
The people above us,
Threaten with swords,
You've either got money,
Or no life at all,
And no glass of water's
A glass that's not tall.
The Great Human Race,
We rip on the guy
Who's trying to live
And who's trying to die,
We leave good men bleeding,
Bad men to the throne,
And as the dying man watches,
He gives a low moan.
The Great Human Race
Will look down on the same,
And mockingly ask,
'Do you really like pain?'
But it's over their head,
That they're half the problem;
The question in's self,
Shows just who's to blame.
The Great human race,
Are you proud of yourselves?
You take all the credit
And blame all the elves.
You lie long and prosper,
You love the sight of the sea,
As you poison and kill it.
Is that really in me?
Where Did I go?Did you mourn for meWhere Did I go?3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
that day when I fell
and stepped on an angel
that took me up to heaven?
I shattered into bright light
red like the eternal flame
my body fell down apart
and my soul, it went away.
Did you return to find me
or was there nothing to find
in that beautiful meadow
where I flew into the sky?
Did I even go to heaven
or did I fall into hell
after all the things I did
and after the men I killed?
You’ll have to tell me
because I do not know
what happened next
because by then I was dead.
OnceOnce, there'll come a beauteous day,Once3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
When people break their chains
When a tear finally makes way,
For laughing without strains
When after sadnesses and smarts,
The joy lives in the people's hearts
Then comes a beauteous day,
Then comes a beauteous day.
Once, there'll come full beatitude,
When people greed revoke
When 'neath poverty's attitude,
No child must longer choke
When after misery and dismay,
The people send their masters 'way
Then comes full beatitude,
Then comes full beatitude.
why am I [10/30]awash in feelings oh-so-strong andwhy am I [10/30]1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
wishing time would move along;
always me, who cannot cope;
kites are flying, high on hope.
Who are the Few? (Eating souls)Why so many beat so few? Or are the many beaten?Who are the Few? (Eating souls)2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Who are the few, and why have they come.
How many souls have been eaten?
Consumed away, with mounds of joy,
TV, the news, the web,
So many the loss, but so quickly they gloss
over the souls that were taken.
Are the many beating the few?
Or is it just all in our heads?
Who says they are few in such a world,
were seven billion souls are lead.
Lead to believe in the "right" and "wrong",
Where grey is white and red is strong.
Red is the blood of the innocent souls,
that the TV sells and the movies mold.
Who wins in a war,the revolutionaries prance,
Where all angels weep and the demons dance.
The weapons, not guns, but words so foul.
The sharpest of tongue is the gravediggers trowel.
We are not so few, but so many in pain.
The loss of joy's soul is the demons' gain.
The Revolutionary Formerly Known as PrinceBefore Kropotkin became an Anarchist he was once a PrinceThe Revolutionary Formerly Known as Prince2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The contents of his books made his relatives wince
For they were well fed
When reading Conquest of Bread
Sadly they haven’t sent him a birthday card since
ShroudThe brightest star that takes the fearShroud2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Away from night and makes it clear
To those who navigate the skies,
A wonder shines within their eyes
That lights their hearts with newfound hope
A small amount, but still they cope
And even thrive above the clouds
That from below their venture shrouds.
The darkest midnight every year
Instills a blackness laced with fear
Among the people from below
Who Heaven never thought bestow
The piercing light above the clouds;
And so the ever-weary crowds
Must carry on, and not elope
Into the skies that hold their hope.
SomedaySomedaySomeday1 month ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I will be brave
I will be courageous,
I will take the bull by the horns
And be who I am
Without the fear of being teased
Or treated as less of a person
Simply for what I love and who I am.
I will be able to wear what I please
Without fear of being objectified
Without being cat-called
And treated like a toy
By some boy that doesn't understand
That he is sexually harassing me
For the simple fact that I wore heels.
I will no longer have to fight to be equal
I won't need to brace myself when I identify as a feminist
Because people will respect what I went through
With having to deal with the inequality,
That I grew up around.
I will be able to be who I am
Without fear of being told that I am wrong
That my life is worth less than others
Because of my interests and values
Or my gender and sexuality.
I will be treated as a human being
By every single person I meet
No matter who they are
Or what their story is
Because that is s
On Sore Throats and Pointless VotesOn we marched, arm in arm, chanting chantsOn Sore Throats and Pointless Votes2 weeks ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For peace, for justice, for freedom and fair trade pants
And here they march with a great big shield wall
Like old Praetorians guarding the Emperors hall
Truncheons out, helmets on and visors down
They hit everyone, Anarchist, pacifist, liberal and clown
It’s not enough they let fly with tear gas and spray
A canister lands amidst some preachers trying to pray
After clubs, spray and gas they bring out the cavalry
It’s all one big cavalcade of modern tyranny
Instead of state torturers urging us to confess
They can rely on their good friends the press
And after this alleged putsch on modern Rome
They’ll watch the tapes and come for you at home
And still they tell us that we are free
And can be what we want to be
Just go through channels and ballot box
And forget that the Plebs have lost their Vox
All Roads Lead to Romewe were children seeking to escapeAll Roads Lead to Rome2 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the city of well polished chrome
we walked far across the landscape
in search of home away from home
so we did roam away from Rome
to find life beyond Caesar's hold
but it was seen in every tome
that everything was Rome-controlled
Caligula the cruel we fled
his tyranny was know to all
his vice bold and his goblet lead
but from not far we watched him fall
stabbed like Caesar we did appall
but we were trapped and as I told
and as all plebeians recall
that everything was Rome-controlled
Nero came and played a tune
the screams of men did harmonize
and as the city laid in ruin
we saw the streets and did realize
all roads lead to Rome- our cries
sounded as our hopes did fold
we knew that in the madmen's rise
that everything was Rome-controlled
Convenice or Muerte!Ernesto the kid was and still is a rebel iconConvenice or Muerte!4 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Immortalised in pictures film and song
Today he is the symbol for rebellious youth
But as with many things his popularity buries the truth
There are many feats, some great some not that I could mention
But it wouldn’t interest his modern disciples who just seek attention
Highlights include, Cuba, insurrection and the right arm of Castro
Low points include the Congo, executions and cosying up to Franco
Still it don’t matter whether Guevara were genius or a fool
So long as wearing his shirt makes one wicked cool
Which would you rather have On Guerrilla Warfare
Or an extra-large in olive green with arms bare?
Perhaps his greatest artistic calamity
Is that he proves that culture is a commodity
UntitledBe men of peace,Untitled1 week ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Oh my sons.
For the world is full of fighting.
For there are many men of violence,
Many men of war,
Many men whose minds are made of death and cruelty.
So be men of peace;
Be not those who rush foolishly into death's waiting embrace.
There is no glory in war;
Death, and the battered, broken ones who escape it.
Be steadfast men of peace and let none call you coward.
To stay behind and be mocked takes more courage,
Than the vain pursuit of honor or glory.
Pity those that mock you;
For they shall not find those things on the battlefield,
Only horror, and the screams of men, dying ingloriously in some muddy foreign field.
If you must fight;
If you must lay aside peace.
Do so only for good,
Do so only in protection of justice and goodness.
Not for honor, glory, or riches,
Or other such hollow vanities.
Fight for only tangible, lasting things.
In all dealings be just and merciful.
Be as fair as you are peaceful,
In your dealings with all mankind