Stolen By The Lie
chained down, spread-eagled,
to the floor of a van....
being taken back to the lie...
that, waving flags, kills babies
not yet born to mothers
without faces or names...
subdue and enslave
in the name of holy freedom...
only held by those
not of color....
marching to the M16 beat
of tyranny driven by oil....
no flags burning?
perhaps they should...
wrapped on the bodies
of souls stolen by the lie!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Burning Flags
they're burning flags again....
sit down stand up protesting,
cracking heads like eggs,
yolk running down on hallowed ground....
they're burning flags again...
soldier boys coming home
to no work, living in cars,
no help, without a country...
they're burning flags again...
your sister died giving birth.
your brother-in-law cant get work,
making meth in the tub...
crying at night 'neath a picture
of Jesus hanging on the cross....
they're burning flags again...
small town football heroes
in prison cells learning
to live outside the law....
they're burning flags again....
and the words of Jefferson
fall in the empty rooms
where justice and equality lived....
they're burning flags again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Land Gone Black
the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....
the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;
pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.
nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....
winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....
in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....
the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm
of oil rigs in a land gone black!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Could Bear To Look!
broke down,
system.
faces peeled,
razor knives.
hands cut off,
feet bloodied.
mouths open,
gulping air.
eyes plucked out
by the lies.
souls bartered
for a cup of rice.
flags burning,
bodies strewn.
the well oiled wheel,
turns in spite.
no god,
could bear to look!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Abortions on the Increase
The world kills babies by the millions;
What cruel hearts could love to kill their own?
The babies killed are wholesome and healthy;
But Nature kills just those who can’t survive.
The right to life is baby’s basic right;
To kill a new-born babe is not correct;
God sees the tears of unborn babies all;
The God of life will punish those who kill.
The guilt of abortion can wreck one’s life;
Some mothers have committed suicide;
What insane minds dare kill their unborn kids?
Though maimed, some fetuses are born alive!
No species kills its own within the womb;
The right to life is prime for all species;
All parents rear their young ones though deformed;
But man alone kills babies though well-formed!
Oh, won’t you stop such treacherous killing?
Breast cancer afflicts mothers who abort;
Abortions lead to more miscarriages;
Stop murder of unborn babies in womb.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-4-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Seventh Plague
and there came a time
when darkness covered the land,
and sucked at the souls
of the living.
and the darkness had faces
insulated in plastic tombs,
waving flags and rhetoric,
thriving on despair.
and the lips of the dying
were parched with thirst;
bodies thrown in the great fires,
melted into vapor.
and the promise of apathy
came to be with violence.
the carcass of the eagle lay rotting,
feathers lost to the infidel wind...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Give Us Rain
'Give us Rain, Rain,' said the bean and the pea,
'Not so much Sun,
Not so much Sun.'
But the Sun smiles bravely and encouragingly,
And no rain falls and no waters run.
'Give us Peace, Peace,' said the peoples oppressed,
'Not so many Flags,
Not so many Flags.'
But the Flags fly and the Drums beat, denying rest,
And the children starve, they shiver in rags.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Hear....
i hear the cry of a thousand naked voices.
i hear the sound of the turning wheels.
i hear the guns, and the moment after,
i hear the blood of bodies in the fields.
i hear the cry of babies without mothers,
i hear the hunger of faces without names.
i hear the whisper of god in the homeless,
the hearts of the poor in the falling rain.
i hear the truth beyond all lies,
i hear the hand that takes another.
i hear justice's cry for deliverance,
and the prayer of the stranger that is my brother.
i hear the hammer and wings of freedom,
i hear equality chanted and sang.
i hear the beat of life calling forward,
to dare, to give, tis not in vain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Run, Rabbit, Run!
chained face down,
spread-eagled,
to the floor of the van...
a radical, flight risk,
armed transport,
in the land of the free...
perfectly still,
listening with every pore,
eyes closed, waiting
for the faint crack of light.
get him up, stand him up,
dont turn your back...
he's loose, he's invisible,
run, rabbit, run!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Frozen Snow
heroin and homelessness,
broken relationships and guns.
cold nights, broken glass windows,
even Jesus got baptized
in a muddy river!
blood on the kitchen floor,
roaches crawl up the walls.
Agent Orange, and picket signs,
flags burning in the alleys.
babies never seen their daddy,
mothers working, minimum wage.
breaking into churches,
and sleeping at the altar,
dont turn back time, or stop the wind!
empty graves, orphaned parents.
the nursing home smells like death
seeds planted in summers past...
wait beneath the frozen snow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
KU Thoughts, XIV
Flags and marching bands
Veterans won our freedom
History takes zeal
6th of November,2009
poem by Catrina Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Free Souls
Free Souls
Rise from the depths of the graves hidden way back by a thick fog of hate
Free souls
Surrender themselves to the red moon turned crimson by the blood stolen from their hearts
Free Souls
Tainted Scarlett by the filthy hands that cut their bodies like the cactus begging for moisture
Free Souls
Let out deep sad moans that make no words... moans that are harmonized by betrayal and pain
Moans who's' symphony cuts their ears like razor sharp insults...
Free Souls
Wonder in this circumference filled deep with cold dark debris... blinding them from hopes of ever seeing the morning glow....
Free Souls
Weep thick murky sewage flushed from others insecurities and selfishness
It runs down their eyes and bodies burning every hope of purity they tried to hold on too
Free Souls
Turn their bodies on all humanity as backstabbers throw rusted daggers into their backs
Laughing with disgust as they hope this will be the one way to take their freedom..
Free Souls
Fight to stand tall and peel off that layer on their bodies created by molested mouths breathing fiery words meant to burn their souls but fails as it disfigures their rotten tongues instead
Free Souls
Kneel as they become one with their bodies once again... their heart beat finds a familiar rhythm breathing life into them...
Their blinded eyes widen as their path becomes clear..
Their flesh heals from all the wounds...
Their lips move to the motion of sweet sounds manifesting from their hearts....
Their words shout out in song and praise to themselves... the waves destroying the weapons being cast at them...
Free Souls
Are are free... never to be held captive by chains inflicting sharp pain into their every being
Free Souls
Can now be FREE... free to see the morning glow
I AM NOW FREE.....
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
January 8th 2009
poem by Lerato Shuping
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Shadows
who's invading whom?
shall we kill again in the name
of freedom?
does capitalism have its own
savior, complete with cross and grave?
in the name of security,
we take human rights...
now the truth becomes a threat.
bodies bought and sold, sacrificed to wars,
bodies without faces!
and freedom well armed and lusty,
kills justice and equality in the shadows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When Scarborough Had Land
I remember Scarborough proud Protestant and blue,
With portraits of a Queen near every pew.
No Sunday shops, no music hops, no liquor on display,
Where the Lodges and the Legions marched each Victoria Day.
Where ensigns flew, Union Jacks too, unique uniforms on parade.
A raucous rush of pompous pride by pals from every trade,
As they beat the drum down Danforth Road on the twenty fourth of May,
Out to the country and back by Byng, again on Dominion Day.
Those were loyal times before the war for king and queen and all,
For more than a few, this love did cause, their ultimate downfall.
It did at Dieppe and D-day too like their seniors at the Somme,
They died for king and country; they did it for a song.
And soon they were forgotten, those who fought for king and crown,
Though those lucky to return had saved the country and the town.
They would walk again forever with their flags flying high,
Marching medals of the heroes that no one could deny.
Except the town of Scarborough was down on the drawing board,
And those fields and sheep and meadows didn't fit the grand accord.
No newcomers paid attention as the veterans vied for space,
And their parades of marching medals only had an old-time grace.
And Scarborough changed by day and night from a township to a city,
Old soldiers faded fast and few and no one had much pity.
And the immigrants came in wave after wave from places far and wide,
As the soldiers went to grave after grave with their flags and faded pride.
But still a few survive today and I'm sure they are not pleased.
'bout the changes to the town and how Scarborough had been squeezed,
From a township to a city where no one cared for esprit de corps,
So they amalgamated with Toronto and Scarborough was no more.
And culture clash and bureaucrat and ever changing rules,
Of mandarin and moguls and Tamils dressed in jewels,
While traffic roared and the buildings soared sometimes to sixty stories,
Where women wrapped in saris sashayed in all their glories.
They had lost the town without a fight, those men from long ago.
And everything was centralized; they said to save some dough,
But the authorities had lied again; it was all politically correct,
And no one marched, no flags did fly and no one did protest.
There are sometimes you still can hear it, the distant drone of pipes,
And men in kilts still carry on, just watched by boys on bikes.
They're just a faint reminder now of the many marching bands,
When those with flags and medals marched and Scarborough had some land.
DEC 1ST 2010
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tea Party
the Tea Party,
modern day Pharisees,
waving flags, and
driving SUV's....
draining the color
from the face of humanity....
in the name of a
lilly white God,
with a bank account...
and every step mortgaged
on the path to success!
crucify the poor...
draw a crowd, charge admission!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Price
we should have learned
in Vietnam... but no,
we keep aggressively
opening the doors...
keep our finger on the pulse
of those we would control...
wherever there's a dollar to be made!
we liberate for profit!
while in smoke filled rooms the
plans are made, ... to dominate,
to shape, and to destroy....
and somehow freedom becomes
enslavement... it's all good!
the bodies of women and children
killed without thought,
rot and stink in the ditches.
oil, power, turn the dollar wheel!
with 'God' on our side,
fear and lies as our tool....
do we dare sleep at night?
body bags and flags a waving....
but in the end,
who will pay...
the price?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Illuminations
Smith is a loyalist good and true,
And a lad of the 'whole hog' class:
And yesterday, when he went to view
The Royal procession pass,
He'd flags in his buttonhole, flags in his hat,
Flags all gaudy and gay;
And he splintered the welkin from where he sat
With many a loud 'Hooray!'
Last night when the town was a blaze of light
Smith was still on his way;
And I saw him pass thro' the brilliant night,
Gaudy, vociferous, gay;
He was still in the fashion and going strong,
And I gather he'd been to sup
For he chortled a song as he went along,
Thoroughly well 'lit up.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pink Butterflies
Unfurled flitting pink
butterfly flags flutter
in forests
near
unfurled flags of
phlox
in the meadows of Fairfax
poem by Saiom Shriver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Coronation on the tele
In 1953 the television came
A big brown wooden box
which coddled a tiny screen
behind the glass
On either side a knob to twizzle
but my dad said If you touch
the screen will all explode
So we didn't
We watched the tiny Queen
waving from her big glass coach
-except it wasn't really glass
except the windows - not the wheels
The neighbours crowded in
to borrow sugar - or to see the prize -
sitting on our mam's armchair arms
refusing to go home
And as the Queen was seen
they clapped and cheered as if the Queen could hear
and waved their little Union Flags
just like the crowds in London
standing in the rain all day
to see the people passing by
The enormous Queen of Tonga and her son
- and boring Heads of State
Children wet and waving flags
were standing on their daddies' shoulders
Some were clutching guardsmen's trouser legs
and waving from the gutter
But we could see it all at home - and jockey with the neighbours
Our mam spent all the programme making tea
and moaning as the milk was running out
and missing all the Queen
06Feb1997 CPR
poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Major Congenital Anomalies (’Tis better to be dead but...)
A babe that’s born with brain anomalies;
With some inborn metabolic errors;
With chromosomal abnormalities;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Some babies with thoracopagus;
Some with spinal cord abnormalities;
Those with true hermaphroditism;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Some babies born of mothers infected;
Babies with teratogenicity;
Babies with just seal-like limbs:
’Tis better to be dead but...
Abortion is the treatment of choice then;
Yet, when babies are born accidentally,
Life on earth can be miserable to all;
’Tis better to be dead but...
And still such babies continue to be born
To faulty diagnoses antenatal;
Litigation may award money;
’Tis better to be dead but...
Yet, parents kill their healthy babes in womb;
Can abortion be ev’r justified then?
Such unborn have been killed without reason!
’Tis better to be live but...
Copyright by Dr John Celes 17-09-11
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Poems
We have Fathers Poems
Why not Mothers Poems?
Without our Mothers, we won't be born,
Without Mothers, We are so forlorn.
Babies, Mothers nurture,
And guide us in our future.
To Mothers everywhere,
Lovely poems, I do declare!