The Man Without a Name
Deep within the chasm,
Lives the man without a name -
He’s come to represent
The secrets hidden in -
And so we, do we castigate
Those things not understood,
In culture and in worship,
In ideals and shades of skin
This society
Is it not hypocrisy
To cast as demons, if but only for
Subjective sin and character
Unlike our own -
If only I could exorcise
My coded prejudice, my DNA,
And pave a plane of equity
For our homogenous affinity -
And I would be the first
To grasp your outstretched hand, my friend,
To seal the man without a name -
To heal the man within.
poem by Kelly Vinal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sad Notes
You were spotted with a beard and a moustache on this case,
But pummelling my chest to leave you in peace;
However the society is ready to reveal your hidden secrets.
Love at first sight,
And like a self-seeking putsch;
But everybody knows where his or her love is.
Newsflash! !
Tome, dome, come, home, some;
She was caught pants down with a man on top of her!
For se had thrown away her wedding ring,
And like the sad notes of life with many things at hand.
'Uhmmm'!
You are sleeping with somebody's mistress and you are going too deep;
And like the sad notes of life with many things at hand,
But you were spotted with a beard and a moustache on.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Can’t Feel Your Heartbeat, But I Can Feel Your Breaths
Hell fire and high heels –
Blue pills and backseats,
Needle points with track meet hearts,
Death rattles, and blood baths, amongst the dead heat.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
She is mental atrophy, emotional paralysis –
Love's sweet and unyielding cancer,
She is pandemonium at its worst, carnage at its best,
This woman is the devils dancer.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
I breathe her.
I need her!
I lust for her lies!
I thirst for her ways.
I crave her legs!
I'm fed by her sinful eyes!
I drink her dire secrets.
I'm nourished by her flaws!
Lost in the walls of her deceit.
It's sad, so sad when the demons creep.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
She is the catalyst of my demise –
The architect of my wayward prayers,
Jezebel seducing Samson,
The owner of all my lustful stares.
Now I dance in the moon light,
Gold and good intentions pave my streets.
These words lost in notions of wrong and right,
A sad, sad day when Angels and Demons meet.
poem by Caleb Crow
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Never Mind The Brand
(This poem was inspired by a comment placed on one of my pieces by my friend Alison Cassidy.)
When a friend throws you a line
never worry about its brand,
just think of that friend
with the outstretched hand.
The line is there to help
you through the bad times in your life.
Never mind the brand name,
just grasp hold
and be glad it is there.
Every lifeline is different,
but is common in one way.
The line is from a friend
with your best interest at heart.
23 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Cannot Have Trust And Justice
We cannot have trust and justice if we deny the truth
If in the face of prejudice we do remain as mute
Where one race feels superior to another there never can be trust
Let us drink to equality and what is right and just
In our narrow society where rank is seen as good
And where the true meaning of equality by most not understood
We cannot have equality and a fair go for all
If not one prejudice free society of which one can recall
In the 21st century we have not learned from the past
For old prejudices and hatreds in our time seem to last
As long as there is an underclass and as long as there is poverty
We will never even take one step closer to equality
The past may be behind us but the past from us not gone
As discrimination, war and poverty are things that do live on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Political realism believes that politics, like society in general, is governed by objective laws that have their roots in human nature. In order to improve society it is first necessary to understand the laws by which society lives. The operation of these laws being impervious to our preferences, men will challenge them only at the risk of failure. Realism, believing as it does in the objectivity of the laws of politics, must also believe in the possibility of developing a rational theory that reflects, however imperfectly and one-sidedly, these objective laws. It believes also, then, in the possibility of distinguishing in politics between truth and opinion — between what is true objectively and rationally, supported by evidence and illuminated by reason, and what is only a subjective judgment, divorced from the facts as they are and informed by prejudice and wishful thinking.
quote by Hans Morgenthau
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It's A Disease
Prejudice is a disease.
Unlike deadly viruses;
West Nile and S.A.R.S
Prejudice does not harm you.
Prejudice is an alcohol,
that brain-washes you.
Makes you think some people
deserve less than you
because they are different.
Just because their skin colour is different
Or because they dress differently.
Maybe because of their differences in religion
or because of their difference in sexuality.
The truth is,
Prejudice may not be able to harm you,
But it is the deadliest disease that ever entered our planet.
It is this disease that gets people murdered,
and then some thrown in jail.
It is this disease that starts gangs against people who are different.
And it is this disease that has our world in a problem today.
So whatever you do,
Never let this disease into your body
or else you life will be gone-forever.
Some men worship rank, some worship heroes, some worship power, some worship God, and over these ideals they dispute, but they all worship money.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghana's Most Beautiful
When drums are head
when beads on the ankle rattle
when flute gives it traditional rhythm
one thing comes in mind, the lives of our fathers
the rhythm of their heart beat.
Their quest for unity. We display them
We are Ghana's most beautiful
the eyes of our region.
We represent our culture and the beauty of
Ghanaians.
Our culture and hospitality makes alien natives
of our land
we are Ghana's most beautiful.
We are women of diverse culture
but common history.
We use beauty to promote unity
we use beauty to discourage conflict.
We use beauty to tell you, your history.
We are Ghana's most beautiful
the eyes of our society.
poem by Lovett Listowell
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Kind Words
Kind words are always free
as are best intentions of honey bee;
therefore why do not more
give freely of nobility to shine adore?
Kindness is best indicator
to rank true good character;
high ideals moral character
sows fair fruit in all weather.
A noble unknown class
may grow as common as wild grass;
how green is my valley
in this beauty without any hypocrisy?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Ultimate Truth
The preaching of dharma
To conceal the evil within themselves,
To lead enlightened lives
As the saints of purity and virtue.
The crouching tiger inside the innocent lamb’s skin
Is ready to pounce……….
But, obtain five precepts
Trying to be pious
In a benignant society,
Which does not virtually exist.
Blinded by hypocrisy and prejudice……..
The deep insensitivity and hunger for power and personal gains,
The suppression of maverick ideology,
And the incapability to comprehend the sufferings of the ordinary,
Helps the sinful pigs,
To enjoy the riches in abundance.
But, a time will come,
For the commoners
Sooner or later……..
To come out of the illusion
And to discover the cunning deceitful nature
Dominated in the form of virtues,
To reveal the nakedness of the king and his loathsome men
The corrupted morality under the white robes,
The ultimate truth about unchaste purity……….
The public uprising,
Will burn them in hell fires………
The paying off,
Will not be as easy as committing sins……...
poem by Pabodha Hettige
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A Friend LikeYou
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend I don't regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend I can't scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that I don't want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend I always wanted
A friend like you is awesomely awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that I love to death and I will never let go
A friend like you is a friend I can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister I've always wanted
A friend that I can go to tell them what's wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things I say or do
A friend like you is a friend I am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Shubham Kumar
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I Am... (Human Heart Beating)
i am...
the silent tomb that has no face.
the burnt edges of the holy book.
the hand that fits the yearning hand.
the light inside the shadow.
the cross carried without a murmur.
the house built out of simple things.
the grandchild, and the old dog.
the plane dropping medicine
instead of bombs.
the oil rig shut down and deserted.
moonlight on the ocean calm.
straw huts burning with devouring fire.
lines of women and children going nowhere.
the stock market crash, and the day after.
big trucks shut down, and markets bare.
familes joined together to share the little.
the wind crying freedom's hidden name.
white skin, brown skin, black skin one.
the human heart beating, red and raw!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Coldest Night
He could feel the secrets
She was hiding deep inside
Tell me of the nightmares
You have to fight
Rain of ice was fallin'
From the black clouds in her eyes
Demons on my mind
You can't exorcise
It's the coldest night
When I will wake you
If you follow me I'll take you
To the weird obsessions
In my soul
It's the coldest night
When I will let you
Look inside my hell - so that you
Feel the pain that noone
Can console
If you ask a liar
He will leave the truth behind
Looking into fire
Can make you blind
Tortured by the unknown
Couldn't love her anymore
And he heard her cry
Just as he closed the door
song performed by by Vanilla Ninja
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Lives Are Mostly Unsaid
Our lives are mostly unsaid
We have countless poems in us
Which will never be written-
The beauty of so many things
The hidden secrets of so much we sense
We can never fully tell-
All of us each of us lives poetry unwritten and unspoken-
This is God’s gift to us all
We have holy lives
We do not ourselves truly know to tell
And we enjoy them as sensations only our own
Which our very existence gives us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Attainment
Use all your hidden forces.
Do not miss the purpose of this life,
and do not wait for circumstance
to mold or change your fate.
In your own self lies destiny.
Let this vast truth cast out all fear,
all prejudice, all hesitation.
Know that you are great --
great with divinity.
Do dominate environment, and enter into bliss.
Live largely, and hate nothing.
Hold no aim that does not chord
with universal good.
Hear what the voices of the silence say.
All joys are yours if you put forth your claim.
Once you let the spiritual laws be understood,
material things must answer and obey.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Tolerant Society
A tolerant society we've heard it all before
That fellow he is different he is from a distant shore
He never will be my friend so him i will ignore
I will only tolerate him just that and nothing more.
A tolerant society those words often used of late
By the leaders of the Government in a so called egalatarian State
Yet his birthday or successes we will never celebrate
We will only tolerate him he will never be our mate.
A tolerant society words best used to describe
That we will put up with others but we'll stick by our own tribe
Them we shall not acknowledge or to them say hello
And about them and their culture we do not wish to know.
In a tolerant society we only tolerate
And closer ties or friendships with them we do not wish to cultivate
He is from a different culture and our differences are great
And we only tolerate him he will never be our mate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Affinity
to say that i have a deep affinity for the Tibetan
people would be correct... but i also have a deep
affinity for all oppressed peoples.
for too long Americans have been insulated from
the hurt and suffering experienced around the world.
now it's come home to haunt us!
we can never forget: as long as anyone is hungry, we
are hungry. as long as anyone is struggling for freedom,
we are struggling for freedom. as long as anyone is
in need, we are in need. as long as anyone lives in
poverty, we are poor!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Friend Like You
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend i dont regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend i cant scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that i dont want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend i always wanted
A friend like you is awesomly awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that i love to death and i will never let go
A friend like you is a friend i can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister ive always wanted
A friend that i can go to to tell them whats wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things i say or do
A friend like you is a friend i am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Jenni Cortes
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No taste without society
A society is
An army wherein each one
Is an unchained slave.
A society is
A fortress in which each one
Is under the siege.
A society is
A kennel wherein the pair
Is in surveillance.
A society is
A prison with prisoners
Kept in unshackled.
Without society,
Pride and prejudice will fail
To add to one's taste.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar (22 March 2012)
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The Actress
The actress stands upon the stage
And the bustling world that surrounds her
Silences.
Only on the stage is there
Solitude.
Only on the stage,
When pressed under the repellent gravity
Of open eyelids, is there
The peace of mind
To react instinctively
To the mechanics of social magnetism.
The spotlight burns down, bright upon her,
Softening her make-up—
Letting it melts slowly down her skin
As if it were a glass
Through which we could see her.
She prefers the classics
And the avant-garde
When she needs to perform.
She would rather have a brilliant tongue
Sit in her mouth behind her cosmetically
Bleached and re-calibrated teeth
And vibrate the words she could not imagine;
To speak the poetic vespers
That came deep from the dark mind's early gloaming.
She would like to exorcise the demons
That torment her in a public display
Of plagiarized mimicry.
She would pantomime the emotions
She could not express,
And, in doing so,
She receives the pity and applause
That, through her abstruse personification,
She is not able to receive personally.
For a moment—
A moment of collective illusion—
She and the public
That loves her,
That would tear her down,
Can cry together
Over the suffering of the character
That possesses her nimble, choreographed frame.
Reality is suspended
And the air grows thick as the melodramatic dialog,
As both she and the world search
For the lingering traces of humanity
In the commercial world of cynicism
And disbelief.
Later, she will peel off a layer of skin,
Unpainting the chiseled sculpture
Of her persona,
Revealing who she is behind the curtain
Of articulated gestures and scripted language.
She removes her costume
And stands naked in front of a mirror.
She looks at her reflection,
Wondering if she is looking upon herself
Or if her likeness is looking upon her.
Perhaps she is the reflection,
She muses. The masks of the past
Peer down on her as she gets dressed,
The glowing light bulbs above her mirror
Cast a shadow down upon them
And they hide in the translucent cross-hatching
Of shades.
Without her make-up,
Without her costume,
Without her direction,
Without her material to impersonate,
She is indistinguishable from the crowds on the street
That tousle around her
In their irregular patterns of comedy.
There, they do not recognize her talent,
Or that she is one of them,
As she wanders through their flurry
Of furcated destinations and desires.
What separates them
Is not who they are,
But how they are manifested
By the things that compose in them
The saturated lines of interest.
She walks home.
They walk home.
Who is to say there is any difference?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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