Hung
Today...
Hung has a new meaning,
For men of huge balls
That have stalled the lives of those innocent!
But death to seeds returned to Earth...
Does not result in a peace that increases!
One tyrant quickly deceased,
Does not lay dust on the gallows!
Or marshmellows to roast,
For men who may boast...
Yet still bear arms!
With missions to destruct,
At campfires where no one is heard rejoicing!
There are weapons to clean and reload...
To patrol misunderstandings undefined!
Hanging on threads of hope,
Answers will come forth to make sense...
To acts that have yet produced any!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
No validity
Hope lives till the result.
Hope to live lasts till death.
Belief lives till the result.
Belief in future lasts till death.
Faith lives till the result.
Faith in God stays till death.
So, their results inconclusive,
They bear no validity.
19.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Believe In Nigeria
With so many battles and killings,
with slim chances of healings.
Our peace has been taking away from us,
and our glory days are far behind us.
Our nation has been torn apart,
by those whose love are from our heart.
With tears runing down our cheek,
with the killings and violence at its peak.
Every where is been flooded by innocent blood,
and our treasure been lost in the mud.
Everyday we live our lives in fear,
with so much pain that we can't bear.
People been nurtured to the highest level of hatred,
and now innocent lives are been affected.
Hatred has given birth to death,
and death taking away our precious life on earth.
With people living their lives in hell,
even when they mean to do well.
Properties are been destroyed everyday,
and thousands of lives are been laid to rest each day.
Is it a crime to be a human? ,
or is it a sin to be a nigerian? .
Is it a cause to crave for peace in our nation? ,
a nation thats moving closer to the point of destruction.
Each day our kneels are planted on the ground in prayers,
to erradicate pains that is been inflited by peace haters.
All i know is that all hope is not lost,
because in the ebullent nigerian spirit i trust.
No matter the trouble we may be going through today,
it will be a testimony we'll say some day.
For every pain that we feel in our heart now,
the peace of heaven will erase it some how.
For every sacrifice we make for the peace of our country,
will go a long way to erase every of our misery.
No matter the level of destruction in our neighbour hood,
i believe one day everything will change for good.
poem by Stanley Oguh
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Why? (How Can We Understand Why?)
looking at what inspired
the man
is not that really good and smooth
and flowing
there are rough edges of wood
imbalanced perspectives
some parts are not really in place
there are places that sow
the seeds of envy
and lay the grounds for
death
somehow you are put there
(without your permission) and you
wonder for a while
why?
there are no answers
there are echoes of the mountains that do not know you
the clouds are less interested
and the sea as usual is noisy
why?
you mend some broken hearts
yours is not
you walk away looking for something undefined
you pick up stars that evade your gaze
you follow rivers
looking for the outlet to the sea
why?
you concoct answers you
lay on the grass rest your body
and put your hands on your forehead
it is nighttime
there is no one here
and you are longing for something undefined
and it is always, same,
same, same, query
why?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dream Of Peace
Soft cotton balls in a room with no doors
Peace for a thriving world without wars
The Benedictine monks offer Gregorian Chants
The absence of fear for tomorrows plans
Promises dismiss the dark night of the soul
Soldiers returning home no longer on patrol
Humanity revisited and races for ever united
Endangered species are commonly sighted
Weapons of destruction no longer needed
Redundant politics forgotten and weeded
Money is no longer in print and out of style
All people are fed and life is worthwhile
Animals treated with respect and love
Abuse is non existent and not heard off
Our planet no longer exploited but free
Clean rivers flow into an abundant sea
Without guns violence no longer exist
Children play happily among our midst
Open borders and a land without police
I hope not to wake from the dream of peace
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Stampede
It is happening today!
Those deceivers, cheaters,
And thieves...
Are being chased away,
From their hiding places.
This is not a perception.
This is seen to be believed!
It is happening today,
As gossip told on ears received...
Many are being forced,
To reveal...
Truths unspoken to release and free.
Devastating fiction,
Created to distort facts.
Has produced a host of conflicts.
And those conflicts have returned,
Disturbing paybacks.
It is happening today!
Those deceivers, cheaters,
And thieves...
Are being chased away,
From their hiding places.
One must step quickly,
To clear a path for those who run.
A stampede increases...
As these people are clearly in fear.
They are frightened and appear...
Afraid of what is to come!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ones Considered Once On 'Abnormal' Missions
It wasn't that long ago...
When those who regarded themselves,
Normal...
Would campaign openly against,
Those perceived as strange and individual.
Because those who did not accept,
Their restricted visions...
Were made to feel like lepers.
Who had abnormal missions.
Well, well, well...
Here we are in twenty ten.
And the ones with those 'abnormal' missions...
Seem to be more than quite normal to me.
They were the ones watching their diets and exercising.
Meditating and speaking of a higher consciousness.
And those who once lived self righteous lives,
As they passed their judgements...
While making the 'weird' ones singled out to despise.
Seem today the ones totally crazed.
The ones now wishing to get away from those like themselves.
As the ones considered once on 'abnormal' missions...
Wishing to keep their peace and distance.
With the hope those of high moral 'standards'...
Do not find them to taint!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Innocent
Oh, johnny wishes he was famous
Spends his time alone in the basement
With lennon and cobain and
A guitar and a stereo
And while he wishes he could escape this
But it all seems so contagious
Not to be yourself and faceless
And a song that has no soul
I remember feeling low
I remember losing hope
And I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
Oh, I dreamed of losing faith and what she knows
And some music hits on the foreclose
Thinks of surgery and a new nose
And the galleries of war
And while she wishes she was a dancer
And that shed never heard of cancer
She wishes God would give her some answers
And make her feel beautiful
I remember feeling low
I remember losing hope
I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
One day, youll have to let it go
Youll have to let it go
No...
One day, youll stand up on your own
Youll stand up on your own
Remember losing hope
Remember feeling low
Remember all the feelings and the day they stopped
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
We are, we are all innocent
We are all innocent
We are, we are...
We are (one day), we are all innocent
We are all innocent (youll have to let it go)
We are, we are (youll have to let it go, no..)
We are (one day), we are all innocent
We are, we are (youll stand up on your own)
We are, we are all innocent (youll stand up on your own..)
We are, we are all innocent
song performed by by Our Lady Peace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Golden Balls
Red Chevy truck comes passing by,
with gold balls hanging bouncing
in the sky.
Truck zooms around all cars
without a care.
Golden balls wagging
in the air.
Now I heard of a comedian
talking of these “golden balls”
on stage,
She said “Why is “gold balls” all the rage? ”
Guys real balls are ugly enough,
looking at them hanging outside
a car or a truck
makes you shiver inside,
I think I would rather look at
something else when I drive.'
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 7,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Worthy Of The Suffering
So much do they want to express love.
And so much is that expression shown,
As an interpretation of a sign of weakness.
So much do they wish to express respect.
And that respect is not returned as expected.
So much talk is there of peace.
And how conflicts will increase those chances.
But if someone should step on my toes...
And I'm sure I am like many others,
Who are not deluded by deceit.
And that person proceeds,
To slap me where I stand...
I will not quote Biblical scriptures.
Nor not a cheek will I turn.
And my extended hand,
Done to welcome.
Then becomes a balled fist!
I'm sure I am not the only one,
Who feels like this!
I will then seek a weapon...
With an intention to use it,
Against anyone who believes what is mine...
Is theirs for the taking!
My reality is not a myth scripted in Hollywood.
I will deliver an equality of pain!
And/or solicit assistance!
Call me an enemy if that is what you wish!
However,
If you are familiar with nightmares...
I will try to apply one that comes custom made!
Those living in peace,
Choose to do so.
And they will defend it!
No matter what the perpetrators...
Coming to destroy what they value,
Call their nonsense to inflict upon them.
I'm sure they are not the only ones,
Feeling like this!
Although there are some...
With a disturbing ignorance,
To rule over others!
Proving this can be done!
And in these cases,
Some may need...
A quickly delivered mental upgrading!
Not a weapon used to date...
With advance uses of technology,
Has produced a smidgen of peace!
Unless they were prematurely deceased.
Believing these barbaric acts...
Are worthy of the suffering done,
To receive a forgettable honorable mention.
Hopefully with names pronounced correctly,
Of those donating their lives as sacrifices...
To uphold the rights of others who could care less.
So much do they want to express love.
And so much is that expression shown,
As an interpretation of a sign of weakness.
So much do they wish to express respect.
And that respect is not returned as expected.
So much talk is there of peace.
And how conflicts will increase those chances.
However...
Better odds,
Could be obtain from any gambling casino!
And with a higher return for the wastefulness,
Of the investment.
And with loans provided...
For anyone foolish enough to believe,
They can actually correct their stupidity!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Will Still Make Sense
You can read it as it is,
For the rest of your life!
And...
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not condensed...
From the meat of the purpose.
And left as intended.
There is no pretense to delude sentiments.
Or to mask evidence...
Of a truth that defies,
Embellishments used...
To boost the attraction to seduce,
A deception produced with sweetened...
And/or spiced lies.
You can read it as it is,
For the rest of your life!
And...
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not condensed...
From the meat of the purpose.
And left as intended.
It will feed and tease curiosities.
To please a seeking of depth....
Once the foolishness has left!
Go ahead,
Read it as it is...
For the rest of your life.
Let it dust,
And its pages curl.
Put it on a bookshelf...
Or leave it by itself.
To be discovered by someone else.
To treat one's mind to intoxicate,
Much like a fine wine over time!
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And not be condensed...
From a purpose that is intended.
There is no pretense to delude sentiments.
Or to mask evidence...
Of a truth that defies,
Embellishments used...
To boost the attraction to seduce,
A deception produced with lies.
It will still make sense.
If it connects to a meaning meant.
And for you reviewed,
Like a treasured document.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Pan Of Sorrows
I will give you the grain of tears,
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
O, tender of the fire.
Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
I am late already,
The shadows are fading,
The cattle have returned,
From the forest.
The birds have raised their clamor.
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
Tender of the fire.
Hurry, be quick,
I have far to go,
To the place
Where my companions have gone.
I have heard the road to that town is difficult
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
When my turn comes,
Your bale of kindling is damp.
Why has your earthen pan
Become flaccid?
What has gone wrong with your fire?
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
Mine is just a handful of grains,
Roast them, and let me go on my way,
Don't leave them raw,
Roast them well.
I beg you, bring an end to this wrangling,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
The wind has dropped,
Its mournful weeping ended.
A sweet heat
Is rising in the stars.
My breaths are like a marriage procession
Whose bridegroom is displeased.
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
O tender of the fire.
Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi
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God is a referee
Fire is to burn and he will burn,
No matter who is the victim.
Air is to fill and he will fill
All the space without prejudice.
Water is to wash that it does
With no relevance to the places.
The earth is to bear that it does,
With no bias to the kickers.
It’s their nature, hence their virtues.
The ground is not accountable
For the goals scored or wounds sustained.
The collective acts of the players
Result the individuals’ fate.
Bound by fire, air, water and the earth,
One’s rise and fall is the result
Of the collective acts of the live force.
The God is mere a referee.
07.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Long Live Africa
O great people of Africa, you rise
Wait for no sweet and hollow promises
Prefer to plough your own field
There will definitely be very good yield
Motherland wants more sacrifice
Not happy with unnecessary bloodshed and demises
Let them commit cruelty and spray bullets
Answer them with your own hands and ballots
Key and success is in your hand
Extend hand of friendship to them as friends
If no result comes out of it then also go forward
Now there is no scope of looking backward
Why African blood has turned yellow?
Why do they bear pain and allow
Why there is no positive result so far?
Because you have stretched too far
Let your children not suffer
Even if you may have divergent views to differ
Stand united and offer resistance
Peace is he only way out and bright chance
We shall extend cooperation
We can maintain relation
Yet it may be you who only will have to fight
Means may be wrong or right
See that no innocent is killed
See that unnecessary blood is not spilled
Freedom must be realized at any cost
Your will power and tough stand is must
Leave no stone unturned
Let peace chance not die and returned
Pick the threads from where you lost
Human misery must be avoided at any cost
Dream about peaceful nation
You may be able to establish good relation
Peace may not be far away
Stand firm; keep freedom torch burn on and stay
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Its Not My Birthday
Well the rain falls down without my help Im afraid
And my lawn gets wet though Ive withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
Ill be hanging from the hope
That Ill never see that recipe again
As I walk, I think about a new way to walk
As I think, Im using up the time left to think
And this train keep rolling off the track
Trying to act like something else
Trying to go where its been uninvited
Its not my birthday
Its not today
Its not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down, never more will be around
Though Ill wish you were there, I was less than we could bear
And Im not the only dust my mother raised
So, Im rattling the bars around this drink tank
Discreetly I should pour through the keyhole or evaporate completely
But thered be no percentage, and thered be no proof
And the sound upon the roof is only water
And the rain falls down without my help Im afraid
And my lawn gets wet though Ive withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
Ill be hanging from the hope
That Ill never see that recipe again
Its not my birthday
Its not today
Its not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down, never more will be around
Though Ill wish you were there, I was less than we could bear
And Im not the only dust my mother raised
I am not the only dust my mother raised
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Probing Questions
Is there something more to life, than endless days of toil and strife?
Is there something after all of this; a Hell below or a Heavenly Bliss?
Can there truly be life after death, this when we take our final breath?
That question always asked is why; do innocent people have to die?
Why do righteous people perish, while evil seems to always flourish?
Friend is there truly a Living God, who rules above the earth we trod?
And does God truly care for us; mortal beings that return to the dust?
Can anyone have true peace of mind, in this world that is so unkind?
Why’s there evil darkness everywhere, if He is a God filled with care?
And why would a God full of love, simply sit and watch from above?
These are just a few of many more, questions asked about my Lord,
Questions that you may have asked; some in the not so distant past.
Many questions are Satan’s reproof, to keep many from God’s Truth,
Let none of them keep you from, Christ who from Heaven has come,
With answers to these and more, on questions about Heaven’s Door.
The Spirit leads to God’s Word, with the answers to questions heard,
Eternal answers which you will find, fill your heart not just your mind.
Where God not just answers them, but gives new life to all my friend.
Then all the questions are second to, the Eternal Life He’s given you.
And now an answer in my life, is to Heaven I’m going in Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
Return of the exiles for M'lady Lucianne
At last the dragon race is free
from the long exile they have served.
A very heavy penalty imposed
although it was not deserved.
Found guilty although innocent.
They had no choice but to obey
and so began their banishment.
Reluctantly they made their way.
To a far distant galaxy
where they were forced to make their home.
The Dragons waited patiently
they knew in time the call would come.
They have returned triumphantly.
Their unjust exile at an end
back to their home world eagerly.
Where they are needed to defend
the human race from anarchy
They reassume their ancient role,
as guardians of humanity
and once again they will patrol.
The skies of earth vigilantly
and will restore the old values.
Neglected by the humanity
allowed to fall into disuse.
All will be treated equally
and peace will reign on earth once more.
Now that the dragon race is free
These benign guardians of the law.
All will accept this gratefully.
The gentle and the innocent.
But some will tremble fearfully
afraid of well earned punishment.
Today I saw the dragons fly.
A sight I never thought to see
in graceful arcs across the sky.
To guard and guide humanity.
13-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Tourtured Child
Tortured child sitting on the window pane
Innocent boy, hurt through inner pain
Bleeding arms cut by serrated knives
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Bruised little girl sleeping in her little bed
While she lies she wonders in her head
“Why did he touch me? Why all the lies? ”
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Young lonely girl sitting in her chair
All alone crying in her lair
Hanging from the rope as her friend cries
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Beautiful little girl covered with tears
Down the stairs lie all her fears
Though she cries she sits alone
Her beatings sting, straight to the bone
She refuses to scream and yet she cries
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Black crows sitting on the branches crying out
Dark clouds hovering about like the veins of God
Children screaming like
There is no hope of salvation
Trees swaying in the breeze like life
It keeps going without a care
poem by Melanie Hannon
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These Acts Are Often Quickly Returned
I have never understood,
Why some people would take it upon themselves...
To say or do things with evil intentions to another,
And not perceive whatever is done they do...
Will not come to be done back to them?
And...
With a doing that never ends.
Once their doings have been discovered.
And those who believe others are sensitive,
When in the acceptance of misdeeds done...
That have come to affect their lives,
Should think of their own.
Especially when condoning the temptation to perform,
An approval of blind acts of thoughtlessness!
These acts are often quickly returned.
And with a specific and swift stinging!
'That's it!
No longer will my patience be misinterpreted.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak
The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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