PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As real as this is, as real as this feels,

I know it won’t feel really real

until I experience something tangible

like a riot

or being told to wear a star.

Under influence of a Demon,

French Sorcerer, black dog,

Being known as The Smasher,

Not of this world...

Placed in a Fransciscan monastery,

By his mother in her commandery.

He became enraged, abusing him,

By beating him, he plotted revenge.

He said a black spaniel appeared to him,

Promising to help him, going to his aid

Surrendering himself as in a raid.

Arrested on charges of Sorcery,

Spell-casting, hatred and grief.

The Demon never rescued him,

For against such forces of the law he couldn't win.

He was found guilty and hanged,

But his spirit was encouraged.

Now he hates even more,

Horror, destruction and gore.

[He was executed on July 20, 1582].

A part of history!
eyes wide open and a smile from ear to ear humbled at all I saw
standing inside history today surveying the past in total awe
speechless at all I saw when looking at a past so grisly
unable to speak in this moment in time seeing a part of history
walking thru a part of history I saw many things my eyes wide open`
I cant describe the feeling I got learning about a past so broken
I couldnt speak because to me there were no words to this story
standing inside the past thinking about a part of history
in that place so stained with blood, sweat and tears
all I could think about was those people who were full of fears
not knowing what lies ahead for them in a world of mystery
it made me realize how luck I am to be standing in a part of history

                 Zoeycup

 When I was a child

I remember you carrying me in your arms

the grey pseudo membrane covers my pharynx

making it difficult to breathe

Diphtheria was common in those days

You were turned away

from the footsteps of Holy family hospital

I saw despair

Flow down your cheeks

Where to now

You murmured

As I slipped into unconsciousness 

The haveli in Shimla

Amidst blue pines

You, your young family

My father, his brothers and sisters

Settled, content and happy

Forest was your business

Himalayan cedar, silver fir, white oak

Your touch turned them to gold

You took to the road in ‘47

Independence from British Raj and idolaters

carnage ensued

innocents, vulnerable

those who had no say, paid

The Punjabi sky above endured,

said no word but it poured

you spoke little about exodus of your own choice

and loss of everything

the hardship years, the eldest his fits of psychosis

chained, there was no PTSD in those days

people took things in their stride

his young siblings, their silent cries of pain

for the valley, the green trees

the wind that rustled between

the paths that led to nowhere

your hands never spoke of the stories

but you rebuilt the nest

and one by one they flew

some near

others to faraway lands

I want to know more about you grandpa

I am not small anymore but your legacy is so much bigger

One thing I am certain

giving up was never in our blood

His name was King, and he was worthy of the title.

Everyone everywhere enjoyed listening to his speeches, until they disagreed.

The world listened and heeded what he had uttered, but never changed their ways.

We wanted to go to war, the angry men were always angry, but King was always tranquil.

The oceans roared and the continents screamed from the lack of care, we were always damaged.

Because of King, our eyes are finally opened, he was truly God's anointed.

My time remembering him is almost up, but his valiant actions will always be shown through me.

Communism can stay way it is, and capitalism where it is, what happens, happens.

All King wanted was for us to be happy again, he wanted success and joy, peace on Earth,

He was a warrior and is fit for the title of honorable and harmonious champion.

Destroying statues, burning books

   By jfarrell

Sorry,

Statues, paintings, art

I feel ill equipped to comment on

My idea of art was 2000AD.

Burning books….

Books I love, books I know;

Some books scare me; yes ban it; burn it;

Some books shame me; yes, ban it, burn it.

But I saw pictures of Mosil, after ISIS;

Like Dresden, after England’s Royal Air Force;

Like Pompei, after the eruption;

Is ‘Holocaust of Art’, ‘Holocaust of History’ the right way?

I have never read, and never will, wotever Hitler’s book was;

But I instinctively want it burned;

Though no personal connection,

I can give you 6 million and more reasons why.

But, I don’t study hate, or politics/religion;

Maybe, if I were clever enough,

Reading this ‘material’ really would help

In resolving all the world’s hate, and achieving Utopia.

A great coldplay song….

“i’m gonna buy this place and burn it down”

There really are some places, some people,

I wanna burn.

But, if we burn our past,

Our history;

How can we learn from it?

And what might it teach us, if we didn’t burn it?

On Nights, Such as This…

By JFarrell

On nights, such as this…

The rain teems down in sheets

From a deep indigo sky

Laden with thick, heavy, ominous clouds

The lightening strikes down as serrated blades

Followed by, at first, a quiet, almost unnoticeable murmur

Which grows in depth and volume to become a deafening rumble

The only other sound

is the hypnotic sibilance of the rain

Droning out a tattoo

On nights, such as this…

Guy Fawkes and his conspirators plotted

ISIS contrive their next act of cowardice

The dark creatures feel stronger

Highywaymen held up coaches

Punks with knives rob the weak

And those that thrive in darkness feel braver

On nights, like this

Vermin are given more courage

To rob, rape, kill…..  

anything a coward thinks will make him a man

Because, the day shows the shameful, pathetic excuse for the man he really is

Write H I S T O R Y,

Not with blood,

Not with hatred,

But with victory!

This is the time,

This is the moment,

Grab the dream,

Bell the blissful chime!

Make us witness H I S T O R Y today,

Make us proud in every way!