PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

At a distance the photograph of the bombing

of Gaza portrays only streaks of light.

It is those who are bombed who smell the blood,

hear the screams, and see the panic as dead

children are pulled from the rubble. The victors have bulldozers, tanks, drones, the homes of those they've evicted. The poor have slingshots, but like ancient David they will prevail against this modern

Goliath. It is time for the UN to mediate and enforce a peace treaty.

SHANTISWARUPLAARA

Sanskrit for a human being fashioned of peace

*

God, Indweller of all beings, whether the cry of Your humans, Your animals, birds, fishes and frogs

 is voiceless, or a scream,

overpower stubbornness overpower as an ocean wave ocwepours the shore.

I was starting to believe

that in me grows a Siberia

that birds will fly soon and all that’s left is the log

on which the ravens will hang like bowls

and will lighten dark.

no, I  don't open myself too much

you know

these things come simply from you

and scream.

let me scream then

about the red led that is watching me since the night began

about the powerless cactus flower

about those lost on the bumpy road

because

nothing is earned without a fight

I have already learned the fish’s movement in the fishing net

you would say I am ready

in reality I spin around people until I get dizzy

I stop only when dreams curl my hair

and  you are on my island of words

only then I can get together

like a stray dog above a steamy sewer.

Something happened to me and it was extreme.

As I was aborting a baby, it let out a loud scream.

The scream was heart-wrenching and it was chilling.

It was terrifying and I certainly didn't like the feeling.

There were no ifs, ands, or maybes.

I decided to stop aborting babies.

I can still hear that baby's horrible scream.

I would give anything if it was only a dream.

It was an experience that I truly deplore.

I decided then and there not to abort babies anymore.

the eyes are so beautiful... 

people abuse their lips too often.. 

ugly words.. distraught faces.

passing through dark voids.. 

black spaces.. 

footprints in cement..

writing in sand.. 

mistakes made, but by the time I realize..

it always seems just too late.

maybe we don't deserve a second chance..

sometimes I feel like that's all I need.

guess i'll have to deal.

in my mind, i've kneeled to you & cried.

in this heart, my yearning towards you will not subside so easily.

my soul is screaming..

there's a spirit looking down..

such disappointment,

destroying me.

false reality you try & pull her into..

worn limbs, shattered smiles, heavy eyes.

the pain is swelling..

so fake, you keep on, like a robot, with no cause...

fuck these man-made laws.

I don't need your restriction to enjoy myself.

these rules crash down, fallen stones on the ground..

I will blow away with the leaves, for I am not stablized as the trees.

some night, near or distant, I will fly up & greet the moon..

when I get there, i'll ask, "is it still too soon...?"

silent screams and suicidal pleas.
distressed and stressed,
he says she couldn't care less.
"love me, you don't",
do anything... he says, "she won't."
her sanity is peeling,
she's getting tired of dealing,
again and again.
she wants to give up,
and he's lost all trust.
she's trying to be,
and trying to succeed,
but all she's doing,
is the devilish deed.

Gotta do something. It’s coming. It’s coming like a train, or a thunderclap you wait, breathless, for. Surprise of an expected break in space so loud and there it is, pour yourself into it, scream into it and push your soul in there. I know why the wise sang in resonant wordless syllables to drumbeats. It comes—it will come—it is coming—and if you don’t pour it out it rips out of you. In you it builds up like Babel, up to the sky with unaligned dialects, all kinds of
words maneno
palabras
ordet kata
parola

—I bet you don’t even understand me now. I’m throwing up words hoping you know but they deflect.

Defect.

Gotta do something. Gotta scream to get it out. Gotta write some words down, stupid poetry you hate and hide in notebooks, stupid pictures drawn with a hand so forceful it burrows backwards in your paper; shiny graphite in the ditches of your pencil marks
making some kind of record—like graffiti, like a stain, like bleach on your clothes and blood on the floor and scars on your face and
prove you are really here and you got a soul to pour
see how it drips down between the cracks
and the train is running into you, through you, the tower is falling down
fiery around you, better let it
I wanna fill the world up with my screams
I want the world to run through my small collection of stains.

This is not rehearsal,
the blood you see is real.
There will be no reversal,
these scars will never heal.
No masquerade is allowed here,
be sure your weapon's sharp.
Your nemesis can smell your fear,
like honey, in the dark.
Interacting with pure blood,
smeared with hallowed stain.
Gore he can't get enough of,
wet dreams of your pain.
Dancing with the spectral Death,
Jezabelian scheme;
You won't feel His claws or breath,
before He hears you scream.
He has been around for aeons
He designed the game.
His specialty is crucifixion,
do you know His Name?
Competition's stiff; mindless zone,
where the trophy case stays filled,
better leave the Origins of chaos alone,
let it balance karma at will.
" Oh", you say, you "thought" you knew,
familiar tactics, sure.
Well, I feel sorry then for you...
let's ask Lucifer...."