Related quotes: Gnarled Lust is a blackened...

Gnarled Lust

Gnarled Lust
is a blackened tree
feasting on a murdered landscape;
having been watered by poisoned fertilizers
sprouted gray leaves
displaying a history of
driving Love's Bent;
but, more importantly, also a history of voracious greed, death, blood and atrocities,
its spread now reaches the dead vampire desire for immortality
by sucking red blood from prone victims
who crave
love, sex and death in swain's sucklings
fired of the desire to cheat death and live forever,
even at the cost of dead hand affections
and dark broodings
outside the light-
an ultimate narcissistic
confection
consumed
of poisoned drops;
of failed promises
illusioned drinkings
and bloody hands.

All there in history:
power mongers
mind killers
word demons
culture jailers
dead limp drug healers
all seeking to bury Faith alive
strangle Hope in its baby crib
all watered
under Lust's tree
and producing
millions of dead gray leaves
all embraced
reeking of the still warm blood
sucked from others.

All these in human history
seen marching
lashing the backs of slaves
of women, hapless men
of children;
an obsessed march
toward Lust's Dark Horizons
contorting history
while True Virtue
miraculously at History's Turning Point
ultimately showed its face
and started it's own march toward justice, mercy
and democracy
progress slow to be sure
but relentless
with these transfusions
now turning gray to green in some places,
and that battle
while not yet won
has been joined.
The lesson here my friend
then
is that there is a difference
between Good
and Evil.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes

The History of Now

The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.

The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.

It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.

Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.

We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.

The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.

The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.

It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.

poem by David SmithWhite
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Black History Month

In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.

But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!

Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...

*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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History Stones People.

History stones people.

They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see

Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.

Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.

History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.

History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.

All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.

All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.

You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.

They are there captive
in history's stones,
never to be again what they were;
wilting flesh and
breakable bones.

People look up at them
they are victims too.
History's stones fall far,
even on to you.

Those stoned to live
are like the ones stoned to die.
enslaved to the search
of the frozen smile.

Life is a burning bush
that doesn't get consumed.
not a dead rock
or a statue of history.
It's a fusing wind
of happinnes and misery.
An exploding volcano
of courage and fear.
It is the stem of the flower
struggling through the seasons
to stand and bloom
above the drying soil.

Life is the fighting wave
you see at sea
forgotten and denied
by the stones of history.

poem by Samuel Katz
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Lust's Needs

Who lies in deepest cave
vampire like twisted away from outside sun-swept light
longing for death
blood and love
sucked from marrow's neck?

How deep is Swooning's Need
to suck teeth
from vampire lips
expediting sexual egress

to have all in Swain's Grip;
immortalitites death

love's lust and blood
punctured thus

this must be

life to greet

thereby cheating death lustily

is most

and all to please
in these Seduction of the Vampire
Times
for Lust's Needs

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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War Is Our Worlds History

I Look into a history book.
And what do I see?
Pain and agony, death and suffering,
I see history that tells a lot about our world.
War!
Our world's history is war.
It is the pain and agony, the death and the suffering,
I see large fields of dead bodies,
I see our heritage being destroyed by other people
because it is not what they believe in,
I see people begging for mercy, but they do not get it
instead they get a bullet in the head.
In our history I see many mistakes in which we can learn from,
but we obviously we do not.
They say not to judge a book by its cover,
to me this quote means nothing to our history.
Our history is our cover,
and the book is filled with pain and agony, death and suffering.
Plain and Simple
War!

poem by Christian Cervantes
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By Those Interested In War History

By those interested in war history war history is read
But the winners write the war history or so it is said
That is how it is and will always be
What is true to one is not to another that's how it seems to me
Of war and war heroes many stories are written and many poems to recite
And mostly of war winners that war writers stories do write
And readers believe what they want to believe
And the mothers of the war dead for their dead children grieve
In war as in life 'tis the winners who count
And the stories of losers to little amount
For the dead war heroes many a parade
And far too many films of war have been made
And 'tis mostly the winners write the war history
That is how it is and always will be.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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My History Teacher

My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER

I sewed my heart up one little stich at a time
One shotty job done, it is true, but I
couldn't do it by myself, you coulda done the rest
But you went and ripped it right outta my chest

My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER

I wasn't even finished
I needed more thread
I got distracted by the
'Good' ideas you put in my head

My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER

You remind me of my delicate past
You remind me I'm good for nothing
You tell me that you love me[lies]
And remind me I wont be anything

My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER

You make me remeber what I've done
Because you make me remember I have no friends
You make me remeber It's all my fault
For making my happiness end

My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER

poem by Gabriella Franco
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History why do we care

History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....

poem by Andrea Thepoet
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Talons of a Gothic Mind

She of talons, borne from gothic mind-
Steel of blue her chilly stare,
Pitch of black her fetid blood-
Whence there came an evil flare

To terrorise the weeping kind
Befogged in mental mire; to rape
The shore with phallic waves -
And all for lust, her one desire:

Corrupt the sand of innocence
Without a case for penitence,
Or cause for such as reticence -
While coming on her priapismic fire.

Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The History Teacher

Woman!

Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?

Am I History?
Or a part of it?

And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?

Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?

Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.

Are you making me
An emperor?

Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?

And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?

poem by Atef Ayadi
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The ugly human face

Wailing with tears and
Helplessly in commotion,
All of you’re telling to write
The history of hatred, enmity, killings,
The history of human ugly face.

My pen is dried up,
Tell me in which medium,
And language should I write.
Where to begin and
Where to end
Such history of human ugly face.

Oh! Betrayer
You’re telling me to wipe out from the history
Of such human ugly face,
That shattered and shook human conscience,
That haunts the face of those innocent people,
Killed and hurt; widows and orphans.
That hums: that reminds.

Telling me just to close my eyes.
But I’m not blind.
Telling me not to speak,
But I’m not dumb.
Telling me not to write the truth,
But I cannot write anything but the truth.
How can I deceive the history where I belong?

Human memory is short,
Tears would dry up,
The blood would be washed away with time
But the silent words, written in the heart of each human ugly face
Imbedded forever and immortal.

Let me dip the pen in the smeared blood,
The blood of all religions, caste, creed and colour, poor and rich,
The thick blood of those innocent persons.

poem by Dr.bhagya Chandra Rajkumar
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The crown and its pain

Don’t envy kings for their crown.
They had no rosy history;
Either murdered, killed in the battle,
Shot dead, feared dead by ghosts
Or slaughtered by wives’ agents,
They had no rosy history.
Don’t envy kings for their thrones.
25.04.2003

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Majestic Tree

They bow to the winds that pass
The beautiful majestic trees,
With arms up toward the skies
They laugh in the summer breeze.
They provide shade and shelter for the bee,
He plants history, who plants a tree.
They provide lumber for houses, and barns
For a roof to cover our heads,
Lumber for aeroplanes, ships and cars
And for caskets, to bury our dead.
This is only a few uses you see
He plants history, who plants a tree.

They provide rest for the weary man
Food and protection, for many wild things,
Home and sanctuary, for millions of birds
And rock their babies to sleep in swings.
Their magestic grace so wild and free
He plants history, who plants a tree.

poem by Della Hodgson James
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Song from Aella

O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be: