Abstract Images
Blood and bones of fifty bodies,
Laid mixed and mingled,
Legs here arms there
Of men: young and old,
Shreds scattered all around,
Skulls laid asunder
As if melons on the farm,
Over-ripe and flattened,
The stems lay with ragged bellies
And with no extremities,
Brains splattered on the walls,
Red-essence splashed
As if a skilled artist sketched,
A piece of abstract images.
Yesterday indiscriminate scrap
Of human bodies was consigned
To the collective grave.
Mr. America has planned today,
For peace and prosperity,
And well-being of humanity,
To launch more Drone Attacks,
On troubled pole of the world.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Game Of Butchery
Bomb blast then holocaust,
Blood here, blood there,
And blood all around
Is the fate of my countrymen.
The down trodden are crushed,
The rulers just condemn the deed on T.V,
Sitting in the warm chambers in winter,
Air conditioned in summer,
And ask us to be patient a little more,
Till we reach ashore,
On the ship with no pilot.
Human shreds scatter,
Amid the burnt destroyed vehicles,
Legs here, arms there,
Pieces of heart splatter on the walls,
And skulls lay on the roofs,
All jumbled, unrecognizable.
The game of butchery is played every day,
At the busy spots,
But only the play ground is changed,
And the bodies go to different grave-yards.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The Second Day
I went through
This busy bazaar
Yesterday;
Here sat a man
With the wares of bangles,
And fake ornaments,
Who chanted with a melodious sound,
Echoing, mingling,
Into the evening gale,
And around him sat some damsels,
With overflowing emotions,
Selecting the ornaments
Trying them on fingers,
And delicate wrists.
There sat an old man:
A fruit-vendor selling oranges,
And claiming them the rarest in the land.
I can recall the beheld smile on his face,
And shine in the eyes.
There beside the electric-pole,
Lay a man with amputated legs,
And each passerby threw a coin or two,
In the begging-bowl,
Place in front, and went on with penitence.
I n the middle
There stood a steak-seller,
Who fanned fire of coals,
And with agility turned over
The spicy steaks,
Forked on the iron-spikes;
A few men gathered around,
Ate them with relish, and I too
Passed by with a drooling mouth.
Beside him stood a toy-seller,
The kids dragged behind the parents,
When they passed by,
With a wish to afford them
Balls and balloons.
In that corner
There sat a fortune teller;
Around him sat the young boys
Spreading their palms,
Anxious to know about their future,
And the palmist described to them,
Stars and crosses, and hair on
The lines of life, heart and mind.
Ah! Today the spot is lamenting,
Just a few hours ago,
Have been gathered,
Human shreds, bones and skulls,
Limbs and legs,
Placed jumbled, indiscriminate,
In the ambulances.
A few remains left behind
Of destroyed vehicles,
Of blackness of soot mingled
Into redness of human blood,
Of explosives: a pungent smell.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The War
The war, and exhibition of human shreds,
A show of skulls, flesh, blood and bones,
A bestial game, turning men into beasts,
And abhorrent spot on the fair forehead,
A dance of death with the exploding,
Music of blasts and thundering of canons,
For fond glories, and vain victories,
For a piece of land or contradicting creed.
A field where aggression pretends righteous,
Where Carnage and Greed the twin sisters,
Always indiscriminate to false or fair,
Ravage about with roaring howls,
Upon the hapless weak innocence,
Who being offended vainly defends.
Oh Man!
Change not the world into inferno,
Forbear patiently the existence,
Of fellows infesting upon the Earth,
Intrude no the limits of liberty,
Fixed to breath with solace and ease,
For tactics are ripe to the culmination,
Slight recklessness might result in havoc,
Leaving behind neither winner nor loser.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Peace Was A Dream
Alas! A dove sitting today
On the termite-eaten branch of peace,
Looks sometime towards the garden
And sometime towards her curtailed wings.
The big fish must not think the small
Foodstuff of her own fate;
Tears are amazed in eyes of the deer
And paws of the lions are blood stained.
Scattered are the bodies un-shrouded,
Flown away kites and crows
Scratching them all, they are sitting In the arenas of mosques and temples,
And some have perched on walls of churches.
Nature of the veracious animals never changes, Though they move in the civilized aprons, Yet a wild smell emits out of their bodies. Lo! Under the flag of peace and friendship Blood flows from all sides on the globe.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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America.... Revolution, Or The Fall!
America, America,
your pale skinned death testifies!
the cross of your democracy laid down,
the blood on your hands names your guilt.
your bodies laid in soldiers' graves,
strewn across your planted fields.
while wild fires rage,
and your tenements boil,
as your children march to death.
the poverty of indifference,
strikes the bell that cannot ring.
while the wealthy drink the blood
of your disembodied men.
and your hallowed god turns his face,
disgusted by what he's seen.
blood sacrifices on your borders,
blood sacrifices in your mills.
your families driven from their homes,
while your prisons turn the wheel.
and the hungry walk your streets
wearing familiar shoes.
the haunting cry of liberty,
rattles against your walls.
while justice is bought and sold
in your sacred halls!
and the colors of eguality,
bleed into your angry streets.
your schools struck numb
by propaganda's thumb,
your daughters sold like meat.
America, America,
revolution, or the fall!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Prosperity to humanity
Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity
I brought to you
Love and solidarity
Peace and harmony
Kings go to war
And humanity fall
But i brought prosperity to humanity
So why then should you curse me
Instead of blessing me
I need you to love me
For it is prosperity
I brought to humanity
It power and glory to humanity
Accountability and transparency
A higher levity
Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity
poem by Matt Ancient
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Earthquake (HAITI)
Sad beyond comforting...
...I see the bodies in the rubbles,
Their souls have gone up and evaporated like water,
Into a slumber, their gentle 'soul sleeps'
Their flesh mixed with concrete and rocks. It gradually becomes dust & dust.
I hope the survivors don't feel forsaken,
Though their loved ones have been taken
By death in disguise with a name-'earthquake'
What did over 50,000 people do to get swallowed by mother earth?
Has she not eaten enough from tsunami yet?
Faiths tested,
Atheists ask,
'where is your God at this very moment? '
Millions left suffering,
The rest of the world are left pondering
and wondering,
Saying,
'It could have been us instead of them! '
'It could have been me instead of him! '
Unconsolable, grieving
Sad beyond comforting,
Bodies upon bodies--: -(
Mother Nature, was thou that hungry?
Every fibre in thy body
is devastingly saddened.
Alas, Mother Nature was thou that angry?
Seemingly shattered and hopeless,
The living and the dead co-exists on the streets of PORT-AU- PRINCE,
Heartbroken, soul shaken;
Ah, I see a skull cracked open,
the brains splattered and spilled all over,
Corpses on corpses all over.
We shall write and sing for the departed, a lot of dirge and elegy
We shall mourn them till' we sap out our energy
Our faces wet like the morning dew: -(
As we mourn & pay to the victims their sincere respect and due.
How I wish I didn't have to write this piece,
Poet Ivy prays you rest in perfect peace.
poem by George Obizulike
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The Bag Of Bones
When first I dug my garden I thought I heard a groan,
but I continued digging and found a bag of bones.
I emptied the bag of bones cautiously on the ground
and from the human skull came a sighing sound.
The bones moved slowly before my astonished eyes
and took the look of a skeleton of a taller larger size.
The incomplete and missing grew to form a connection
and this completed a full skeletal resurrection.
It stood up tall and strode over to my garden hose,
sprayed water over it’s his head and down to it’s toes.
It grabbed hands full of soil and made a sticky mud
and plastered it’s bones all over the best that it could.
As the brown mud dried it turned to a hard flaky skin
and then a pair of white eyes appeared from within.
Curly black hair grew and features formed on its face,
and it wasn’t by far the prettiest of the human race.
He stared all around as he stood in the shade of the tree
two strides later he took the spade away from me.
Laboriously he began digging more holes in the ground
and out of each, many more bags of bones were found.
Each and every bag of bones became the same as he,
and I gave up counting when I reached twenty three.
Feeling anxious and terrified I backed out of the way,
I certainly didn’t like what I was seeing today.
None of them spoke they just gestured and groaned.
who could have buried these bags of human bone
and why did they reform, and enter this world of ours,
and who gave them their supernatural powers?
When darkness came they went into the street
as though driven on by some evil streak.
Where they were going.., I just didn’t know,
but be it day or night they frightened me so.
At the end of the street they divided and separated,
without a doubt they looked full of hatred.
The following morning I faced up to the garden’s mess,
and filled in the holes where the bones were laid to rest.
I noticed a flat piece of wood half buried in the ground
and on it writing; the answer I had probably found.
‘These bags of bones are those of tormented African slaves
who were washed ashore after suffering watery graves.
They hated every man who had broken their bodies and will,
and promised to return to take revenge and kill,
all the descendents of those who tortured and murdered
the fifty or so whose bodies become dismembered.
One of the slaves who survived this massive slaughter
was a tribal witch-doctor’s gifted only daughter.
She chanted and laid a curse for all the bones of the dead
and before she died, she made sure it was re-said.
And when the last descendent falls from their disgrace,
these wretched souls will go to their final resting place.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Today... 'Author of Peace
No more confusion the world will be at peace
all killing will stop and all the wars will cease.
So do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid
for the Author of Peace the ransom has paid.
The Lord has blessed His people by His grace
and laid down His life for the human race.
Perfect peace now replaces the guilt of sin
and the blood of Jesus whispers peace within.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
Depp
The wonderment of nature and the late bloomer!
But the bases of her emotions are influenced by alcohol;
And now, she lies down in a fantasy world.
Two melons in a sack,
And of the Great White River around it! !
But, take a lesson from the King and move on with your life.
The world of thoughts,
The world of love,
The world of wars!
The world of peace;
There is something if you eat you will die! !
And, if you don't, you will surely die as well;
But, what is it?
Oh, beautiful blue water!
You are better seen than read;
And like pre-matures who need to check their breasts always! !
For, they hurry to expose their bodies in the name of lust.
My name is Depp and,
I am in the middle of the court;
But, the golden age of love is now around me!
However, many are far behind the glass walls of technology today.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Soldier Of Fortune
laid my weapons down
today, had one too many
days of spite.
laid my hands down
today, they carressed
one head too few.
laid my soul down
today, had I only been
wiser. Sooner...
Laid my body down
today. I ain't gonna be
nobody's soldier no more.
June,2012
poem by Aleksandra Spaseska
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Juxtaposed
Give me a piece of your body
before you go.
A tooth, a nail, a curled hair.
A relic, my sadness wants to keep.
By your absence I will live
in the bones of tangled bodies,
who were shot down on their tracks
under the sun, eyes apart.
The trembling does not stop.
Bread loaves were lying uneaten.
Wailing rises, reaching a crescendo.
Blood splattered soil, my hands collect
for god, to show a dirty game,
when I meet him as a witness.
Wanting to know, why not the right to live
was the most sacred thing?
poem by Satish Verma
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Lamentation
Yesterday at noon
A farmer,
Was run over by a Parado,
Blood splattered the road,
People of the village,
Tattled about the death,
A moment few,
Then silence prevailed,
As if nothing happened.
Today a crow
On the electric pole
Has entangled
Amid high tension wires,
And the whole family of crows
Lamented over the death,
Almost the whole day,
As if nothing of theirs
Remained in the world behind.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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O! Judges Of The World
O! Judges of the World,
The Guardians of peace,
Listen!
In the ablaze valley of Kashmir,
To the dripping trickling of blood.
O! Judges of the World,
The Guardians of peace,
The breathers in the spheres of liberty,
Realize you the human rights,
And fix no limit of cruelty,
In Kashmir who inflict atrocity.
Now our houses remain or not,
Our heads, the bodies retain or not,
We will utter the word “Freedom”,
We will snatch the right “Freedom”.
O! Judges of the World,
The Guardians of peace,
Listen!
In the ablaze valley of Kashmir,
To the dripping trickling of blood.
The sons died tossingly in front of mothers,
The sisters’ shawls ragged in front of brothers,
Coated in blood is each leave and plant,
Each grain of Kashmir now does chant,
Listen to the Freedom’s band,
Look to the loyalty of the land.
O! Judges of the World,
The Guardians of peace,
Listen!
In the ablaze valley of Kashmir,
To the dripping trickling of blood.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Laid Down God!
i laid down God,
and found the stranger
at my door....
hungry stare, dirty clothes,
nowhere to go...
i let him in!
i laid down God,
and found the orphaned child,
crying in the darkness,
the darkness that swallows souls.
i took the child in my arms,
and whispered, 'you are home'...
i laid down God,
traded my guns for hammer and nails...
began building houses
for the lost and dispossessed...
i laid down God,
and quit thinking about me...
found peace in involvement,
with no need to possess...
i laid down God,
and God found me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Murder Of Humanity
Once there lived two friends,
human and humanity.
human was loving and caring,
while humanity spread peace and brotherhood.
under their friendship tree,
everyone was happy and merry.
in the same world lived Hate and Greed, full of sinister.
very different from all the other.
who were always jealous of human and humanity,
and they tried hard to part the friends
and throw them away in different ends.
the did succeed,
in the heart of human they planted hate-seed.
soon the seed started to rear,
and human was left with no love and care.
it turned furious towards humanity.
all their friendship woes turned into enmity.
hate and greed infected human one after the other.
and made human to commit the murder.
end of peace was marked with the murder of humanity,
in some lost corner is the grave of humanity,
now the world knows only hate, greed and enmity.
Busy Bodies
So you think that you have seen her
When youre lying in between her
And you tell me that you dont care
Busy bodies getting nowhere
Evrybodys getting meaner
Busy bodies
Caught in the concertina
You check her outline
Break her regulations
You watch her legs through several
Service stations
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youre ready for the merger
With the company youre part of
And you do the dirty business
With your latest sleeping partner
Youre becoming
Automatic
Busy bodies
Out playing with the traffic
You want attention
You try my patience
With the best intentions you are nothing but a nuisance
Busy bodies
Busy busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youve given your performance
Though the matinee was idle
And you find that a wave of her right hand
Could seem so tidal
Just a second
Satisfaction
Busy bodies
Temporarily out of action
You wash and brush up
You want to dress up
You want to kiss her
But shes busy with her makeup
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere (x6)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Billions Billions Alive Today
Officially half of all the human beings
who have ever lived are alive today.
The entire population of all human history
an equivalent of all humans who ever lived.
Half entire human race who were ever born
are alive on earth now living on earth today.
Asia China India regionally 2.5 billion alive today
in fifty years Asian population will double triple?
In fifty years planet earth will need to produce more
food than has presently by humans ever been eaten?
Are these food figures statistics not impossible odds?
Famine pestilence war pandemics what future awaits?
Will compassion seeds flower in collective soul humanity?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Engineered Evolution
Science is an art of the possible;
an art that will spearhead a new
human evolution; an engineered
evolution that will divide humans
into species rather than
black, white or brown.
Soon there will be a race to develop
the best humankind, a process
that will produce a thousand
and one kinds of human species
to marvel and terrorise us;
humans with eagle eyes and wings,
some with gills, others with
legs that run like cheetahs,
some with chlorophyll-covered bodies,
others with bodies that glow like a firefly,
some with dolphin-size brains,
others with lion-size hearts,
some with polar-bear fur,
others with body systems that can fight
any disease copied from creatures
in the forests, in the
seas and in the mountains....
Scientists dabbling in gene grafting
will change the whole human race
that those remaining like us will
be discarded like an old transistor radio!
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Murder is a Colorful Thing
Red is the color of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Orange is the color of her stained shirt because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Yellow is the color of her shirt before it was stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Green is the color of her stomach as I cut her tummy open through her once yellow shirt stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Blue is the color of the happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Violet is the color of my swollen face from crying under the blue happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Murder is a colorful thing...
poem by Tamara Buengener
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