When I can no longer bear to think of the victims of broken homes, I begin to think of the victims of intact ones.
quote by Peter De Vries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Victims No More
Victims No more on this Mother Earth,
No More killing of her
people, animals, mammals, fish and birds,
to them she has given birth.
Yes, victims no more,
For all of us as one,
what you do unto the innocent
with your weapons,
has devastating repercussions.
From a standpoint of victims you make us your slaves,
bringing all of us to an early grave.
No Victims of the Sea,
the sea creatures are meant to have a destiny,
and swim in an ocean that is clean.
No one is here to have their homes taken away from them,
be it through pollution of oil from which it stems.
This oil drilling has to end.
So put down your weapons.
Copyright 2010 Christina Surnise
www.purplepoems.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Victims No More
Victims No more on this Mother Earth,
No More killing of her
people, animals, mammals, fish and birds,
to them she has given birth.
Yes, victims no more,
For all of us as one,
what you do unto the innocent
with your weapons,
has devastating repercussions.
From a standpoint of victims you make us your slaves,
bringing all of us to an early grave.
No Victims of the Sea,
the sea creatures are meant to have a destiny,
and swim in an ocean that is clean.
No one is here to have their homes taken away from them,
be it through pollution of oil from which it stems.
This oil drilling has to end.
So put down your weapons.
Copyright 2010 Christina Surnise
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Victims
Who are those that stand by the pillars
Of stop signs or in front of liquor stores?
Are they the forgotten heroes who were once
Served and sent to wars for this country?
Or, are they the victims of social users incense
Of illegal drugs, alcohol, or sex for money?
Who are they?
Are they the victims of our country's economy,
Who lost their jobs outsourced by their company?
Or, are they the victims of love losing their sanity
By rape, battery, or purely the victims of poverty?
Who are they?
That I can no longer pull change from my coin tray;
That I can no longer look at them with eye to eye;
That I can no longer put faith or minute of honesty;
For I was also their victim of their luscious trickery.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Are the Victims of This Misguidance?
They were not aware they were being treated special?
Like one who waves,
From the backseat of a limousine.
Did it occur to them...
As they passed those homeless,
Hungry and poor.
Their very presence had been considered obscene?
And why was it necessary...
To careen through lost and vacant dreams?
Who are the victims of this misguidance?
Who are the victims of this scene?
They were not aware they were being treated special?
Even when hints were dropped...
They should continue and not stop.
They should not ask any questions,
But proceed to throw bread...
Out of the window instead.
And consider those who ran after crumbs...
As birds without wings.
Since they do not like to be called bums.
Who are the victims of this misguidance?
Who are the victims of this scene?
And they were not aware they were being treated special?
Those who rode inside by a driver.
Nor did they who chased collecting another's waste.
Believing their needs were being met.
By someone who accepted them...
And left them to forget.
As those electing to choose values of poor taste.
Something neither chose...
As they ran or rode,
To remember or regret!
Who are the victims of this misguidance?
Who are the victims of this scene?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The generosity of the American public toward the victims of Hurricane Katrina and the Tsunami has been reflected in the outpouring of support for the Pakistani earthquake victims.
quote by Jon Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To they who survive on less than one dollar a day
Hobos who're denied a decent shelter
And stripped of all vestiges of human dignity,
And poverty stricken villagers and desperate refugees
Who're denied decent medical care and access to justice,
And children who must forage for food in the dustbins
The just of the world have not forgotten you
And the soldiers who wage the wars of extermination
Against their own people,
And those who're forced to be the sex slaves
Of the moneyed and the toddlers who become child soldiers
And the misguided and greedy drug mules who are raped and
And tortured and hanged and left to rot in foreign jails
Our children
We have not forgotten you
And the world demands a true and more humane
World order that stands up to demand justice
For the victims of state sponsored violence
And justice for the victims of ritual murder and female
Genital mutilation and the victims of AIDS
And the entire universe demands
Justice for the victims of racist attacks and the victims of mob violence
And from the bosoms of their hearts the children of the world stand
Stand up as one and they demand justice for the victims of mindless
Violence and they cry out for justice for the victims of genocide
And they want to see the perpetrators of ethnic cleansing
Brought to justice to answer for their evil deeds
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For His Warped Dreams Of Fame
Someone should have told him he should not murder others and then kill himself for fame
Since all he left of himself is his legacy of shame
A gun in the wrong hands can cause sorrow and tears
And the kin of his victims left to grieve for years.
For decades of years they will grieve for their loss
The burden of sorrow is a heavy cross
That the families of his victims are obliged to bear
Of the consequences of his actions he was not aware.
The kin of the dead gunman deserve sympathy
'Twas hardly their fault he lacked in empathy
He was old enough for to know right from wrong
He will not be remembered in story and song.
Mass murder by gun is no longer rare
Many unstable people with firearms in the big World out there
For his warped dreams of fame the innocents had to pay
They were in the wrong place at the wrong time that does seem sad to say.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Developing Their Defensive Team
Why are people quick to run,
To someone with a telling...
Of what is being done to them.
As they portray themselves as victims.
Few people would ask,
What it was they've done.
And why they were chosen to become,
'Willing' victims.
I use to take sides with people who cried.
Those who confide in me with their version,
Of reality.
But most folks are just not that honest,
When developing their defensive team.
Only to eventually find themselves quarantined.
Truth has a way to reveal,
What from others is intentionally meant to go unseen.
Or heard from one who attempts to another to demean.
Why are people quick to run,
To someone with a telling...
Of what is being done to them.
As they portray themselves as victims.
Why?
Because they are bona fide liars.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too much mercy... often resulted in further crimes which were fatal to innocent victims who need not have been victims if justice had been put first and mercy second.
quote by Agatha Christie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autocrat
Many say your trial
Would not be a fair one
It is the richest that
Are given this gift
You may rape and take
Your dollar can eat
Whatever it can afford
And your victims are
Nothing but liars
In the eyes of the law
And I should be killed
For naming them victims
Because you have enough
Money to buy this, more
Than enough gold to spare
A penny to force down
My already sore throat
poem by Stefanie Fontker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crime Victims Fund is distributed to service providers who assist millions of crime victims annually throughout our communities in a host of ways. It is paid for by fines levied on criminals, not taxpayers.
Posting Pictures
i'm going to quit writing poetry,
and start taking pictures...
pictures of the homeless,
the jobless, the hungry,
the war victims, drug victims,
crime victims, victims of oppressive
regimes, beaten, imprisoned, threatened...
starting right here!
the elderly left to die in want,
those left to live on the street,
families sleeping in cars,
parents burying their children...
smoke stacks smoking,
nuclear disasters, oil spills,
mountains being mined,
timber being cut...
lonely people walking alone!
small children crying...
lovers left in the cold...
empty churches full of people.
i'm going to post these pictures in color
for all the world to see,
post them in dead silence...
maybe then someone will hear,
hear, and offer a hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jenny Greenteeth
There's a hag by the name of Jenny Greenteeth;
Of human life, she is a well-known thief.
She waits under the water of the Old Mill Pond,
For an unsuspecting victim to happen along.
She claims her victims at the dead of night,
When many folks' hearts are full of fright.
It is always under the light of the silvery moon
That her terrified victims meet their final doom.
The victim won't believe what they are seeing,
When, from the water, they spy a strange being.
The victim will think that it is all just a dream;
They will open their mouth and begin to scream.
She bursts forth from the water with staring eyes,
Filling her chosen victim with shocked surprise.
With her long, bony fingers, she grabs at limbs,
Then having taken a hold, she drags them on in.
Her skin is pale green, and her hair is long.
Her breath gives off the most dreadful pong.
Her teeth are pointed, like those of a shark.
Her eyes are large and, like coal, are dark.
Her reaching arms are as skinny as a rake,
But unwilling victims, these arms do take.
With hair like waterweed, and a very thin face,
Her appearance makes her victims' hearts race.
To the pond's edge, most will not venture near;
Of Jenny Greenteeth, there is a very great fear.
The young and the old should take special care
Not to venture too near to Jenny's watery lair.
With ferocity, like that of a mighty lion,
She grabs her victims with fists of iron.
Into the murky depths, she drags them down;
They breathe their last, and then they drown.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Victims Of The Past
Shallow graves
of the victims
of the past
Haunt their tormentors
to the last
There's no escape
from the victims
of the past
Their coming for you
as you catch
your last breath
So tormentors beware
Just because
your victim is dead
It does not mean
they do not see
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pages Of History
Martin Luther King had a dream,
No more racism was his theme.
Gandhi, 'Father of the Nation',
His dream was poverty eradication.
Buddhist monks took a chance,
Against oppression made a stance.
Tanks filled Tiananmen Square,
Students with placards in despair.
Holocaust victims screamed with pain,
Auschwitz ruins still remain.
Hiroshima victims of A-bomb blast,
Children ran naked, faces aghast.
John F. Kennedy in his limo was shot,
Lee Harvey Oswald blamed for the plot.
John Lennon wrote'Give peace a chance',
His peace shattered by a gunman's stance.
Sri Lanka survived the Tsunami flood,
Homes and villages engulfed in mud.
Dafur and Ethiopia ravaged by drought,
Malnutrition and disease remove any doubt.
Poverty and pain over many long years,
But daily we live with the same old fears.
Have we learned nothing from victims tears,
As Armageddon beckons, we ignore wise sears.
poem by John McKay Withey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Victims Of Circumstance
They stand bewildered by all that goes around them,
living within their own little worlds,
which we cannot even understand.
These victims of circumstance stand.
We all look on and bow our heads,
when they bury victims of war,
but turn away whenever we see
these poor lost souls.
Some are there because of defects at birth,
others the aftermath of disease,
while others involved in accidents,
and left to suffer humiliation.
The brain is a wonderful thing,
when it functions properly,
functioning wrong its host
is charged with insanity.
There are those who are violent,
and in institutions are the only life they will ever see.
Others have strange ways, and act in a childlike manner be.
While others need constant attention, because of hardly any brain activity.
All are victims of circumstance,
beyond anyone’s control.
They would live a normal life,
if they had a choice to be.
They are victims shunned by society,
who say they are a blight, on our lives,
and locked away out of sight,
every one of them should be.
No one wants to associate with them;
their only friends are of their own kind.
They look out with pleading eyes,
for someone who may be kind.
The names they are called are hurtful,
yet they do not understand.
These poor lost souls
only ask for a helping hand.
Those who have worked with the mentally ill,
will tell you, not all of them are stupid.
They can feel just like us, love, hurt and pain.
Some can do what we call menial tasks
and others look after themselves.
Sadly, some do need to be institutionalized
because they are dangers to themselves or others,
and some have to be there for the constant attention that they need.
Yet others because they look somewhat strange,
and do childish things at times.
They are all labelled under an umbrella,
and simply called insane.
But, for the grace of God,
we might have walked with them there,
these victims,
victims of circumstance.
18 - 19 May 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scrawny Wolf with Sharp Fangs
'Altho his fangs are still sharp the sheep no longer fear
For the scrawny wolf has no strength left for killing
The end of terror against his prey is drawing near
As his once compliant victims are no longer willing
(End illegal invasion, occupation and war now)
(ROTMS)
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I believe the best service to the child is the service closest to the child, and children who are victims of neglect, abuse, or abandonment must not also be victims of bureaucracy. They deserve our devoted attention, not our divided attention.
quote by Kenny Guinn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Victims
Victims
Chorus:
The victims we know so well
They shine in our eyes
When they kiss and tell
Strange places we never see
But youre always there
Like a ghost in my dreams
And I keep on telling you
Please dont do the things you do
When you do those things
Pull my puppet strings
I have that strangest void for you
We love and we never tell
What places our hearts in the wishing well
Love lead us into the stream
And its sink or swim
Like its always been
And I keep on loving you
Its the only thing to do
When the angel sings
There are greater things
Can I give them all to you
Pull the strings of emotion
Take a ride into unknown pleasure
Feel like a child
On a dark night
Wishing there was some kind of heaven
I could be warm with your smiling
Hold out your hand for a while
The victims
We know them so well
(chorus)
Show my heart some devotion
Push aside those that whisper never
Feel like a child on a dark night
Wishing we could spend it together
I could be warm with your smiling
Hold out your hand for a while
The victims
We know them so well
song performed by by Culture Club
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me Me Me!
Some of the victims fighting for their lives after being wounded in the movie-theatre shooting rampage may face another challenge when they get out of the hospital: enormous medical bills without the benefit of health insurance. me, I, me me republicans don't care...they got health care and theirs got it...screw the rest....what a sick attitude....
MINE, me, I is the new right....fend for yourself all you victims! ! ! ! they call themselves Christians....so phony
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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