For The People

*I was reflective last night, thinking back on an uncertain piece I wrote about the worries and division about the current occupant’s inauguration. I decided to do this as a counter to that. Seeing Kamala Harris as the candidate I believe in after thorough vetting. The references here are mainly to things she’s said, things in her campaign, and the meaning of her name. There are a few other things referenced you may catch as well.*

Looking in the glass only brings despair.

A real resistance needs a call to arms,

Not through a show of force or thoughts and prayers,

But through the right leader with unique charms.

Only detachment can break division.

Unity is achieved through hope and joy.

We need courage, justice, and a vision,

To march onward rather than burn like Troy.

We have a chance to show who we all are,

To tell the world that we’re better than this.

We’re more than puppets of a paper tsar.

The road to victory is paved through bliss.

For the people, the lotus brings rebirth.

A path to heal is a fight that has worth.


Libertas

*Libertas is the Roman embodiment of liberty which the Statue of Liberty is based on. I wanted to capture the uncertainty of the nation. Questioning what comes next.*

Smiles fade away in the twilight hours.

A nation divided stands primed to fall,

From grace that was never truly ours.

Uncertainty and injustice for all?

Do we give in to the gloom of the grave,

And let bleak spirits continue to sink?

Or rise above like the banner did wave,

Far away from inequality’s brink?

Do we soar like eagles into the sky?

Or will we be prey for a growing bear?

Is the light of Libertas a war cry,

Or a symbol to snuff out like a flare?

Will love conquer in the land of the free, 

Or division from sea to shining sea?

World

*This one’s about 9-10 years old at this point. Just a really cynical one about how people tend to ruin good things. How we ignore peace and just make things worse with violence and threats and hate.*

 

The world was once a beautiful place,

But now it is turning towards disgrace.

World leaders fight both far and near.

Violence controls throughout the years.

Breaking people down and spreading their tears.

Hatred plagues all that exist.

Humans start drawing their fists.

The world was once a beautiful place,

But our wrong deeds have brought it disgrace.

A Time to Die, A Time to Live

*I found these very recently. It’s two separate poems that were linked together. Wrote them actually about this time 6 years ago while in the writing classes, but never used these for class.  The first 4 stanzas are “a time to die” and the second 4 are “a time to live”. They were two separate poems and are the way they are right now because it was the order they were written.  “The Clairvoyant” is the name of the song the poem titles came from.

The sound of silence,

Creeping like Death’s own shadow,

Life’s true paradox.

Darkness is some friend.

The kind that abandons us,

Taking us away.

We can’t stop our fate,

Death is our sad destiny.

At least Heaven comes.

Something saves us all.

Makes our mortal world seem small,

Dios Salva.

Love in our own hearts,

Overtaking emotions,

Action and the thrills,

The consequences,

The shaping of all our lives.

The beauty in it.

Pride, Love, Unity,

The code to our existence,

The need to survive.

The meaning of life,

To find love and remembrance,

Shown by existence.

Static Age

*from the class, kindof a protest at how we let the things on tv dictate what we think.  Yes the third line is a Buggles reference.*

Video static controls the whole world.

It warps all of our minds and leaves them swirled.

If video killed the radio star,

What will prevent it from leaving more scars?

Can’t understand when lies are dogmatic.

It’s only a matter of time ’till death.

As Macbeth betrayed the land of his heart,

The video lies will rip us apart.

Video static brainwashes us all.

It makes us all fools, awaiting its call.

Confusion and chaos are all the rage.

It’s hysteria in the Static Age.

Amerika

*creative writing class poem,  The Rammstein song with the same name is where I got the title idea.  About how sad things can be at times, not just in America, but really anywhere.*

 

The twisted world we live in is a sham.

The liars warp us to fit their scams.

All around us, is hatred and despair.

People go on with their lives without care,

The weak, preyed on ev’ry day of the week.

It’s said the good die young while evil grows.

Why they live fast to die, God only knows.

The image of the good fades over time,

While evil keeps its reigns tight with its crimes.

The heroes are cons who deceive and lie.

While true ones go unknown until they die.

Born in an era where villains live on,

With dimming hopes for our daughters and sons.

Chiaroscuro

*An old creative writing prompt, so Mr. Gowan if you see this, this was from your class.  I found a lot of my old writings from the class.  A good amount of it is on here already but this was one I thought I lost that I really liked.  About wandering the streets and reflecting on the world…Some British slang is thrown in here as well… there are parts in quotations, I can’t remember at all where they are quoted from but I remember it being part of the prompt to use them.  So this is the original. Anything in quotations is not mine unless the words are in italics to express the character’s thoughts.*

 

“Upon a rain-slick, chilled asphalt street,

Particolored neon skimmers like wormy rainbows into corners.

Glutted with green and brown aluminum beer containers.”

He walks alone int he city slums, on the broken asphalt of the boulevard.

The wanderer looks around to see the masochists with their fags lit.

He turned at the corner onto the avenue in the district.

The red light was burning bright, with the hypocrites paying with their quids.

He looks at them in disgust, the Spitzers and the sinners.

He looks down at the torn newspapers soaked in the rainwater.

“The dull white newsprint absorbs the crying red light.”

He wishes it were good, but the words just say the same as what’s on the subway walls.

The taggers, the junkies, the toms, and the thieves.

He just doesn’t understand how things got this way.

He looks over to the alleyway to see the nutters tripping from the Charlie.

“Nearby, a railcar clackers across hissing stems of steel.”

He hears the noise and sees the beaten and bruised on the car.

He sees the sorry bloke choking up his claret.

This is just the aftermath of one missed payment to the boss.

He becomes scared as he makes his way back home.

He takes notice of all he’s seen so far, and starts to cry.

He’s normally strong but tonight is too much for him.

Peter can’t grasp the world he sees at the east end.

He bows his head and starts to wonder:

“How the politicians were taken in by what they sought to defeat.

How the hellish gangs took over the streets.

How the red light thrives in the view of the daylight,

How the junkies suffer out in plain sight.”

Alone in his thoughts as the sounds of the streets surround him.

“No footfall breaks the hissing cacophony;

No hand slides shut a window to close out the rain.”

He’s Alone, and the only one who seems to care.

He passes the broken church and the hypocrites who inhabit it.

He sees the funeral hearse drive the doctor who betrayed his religion.

He again wonders what this small world is coming to:

“How did it all come to this?

How did the world throw itself into such an abyss?”

He remembers a time when things weren’t so bad.

A time, when his own life wasn’t all he had.

After he left his past behind, this became his new life,

Stuck in a cardboard box in the side streets without even a wife.

He would cry himself to sleep that night.

 

Cardigan’s Charge (The Crimean Light Brigade)

Cardigan’s Charge

Six hundred rode on to their bloody deaths,

To a chorus of cannons and last breaths.

Cardigan’s men lay dead on the cold ground.

Cries of death and pain filled the sky with sound.

Into the valley of death rode the men,

Against the fire, into the Devil’s den.

Under the moon in an October night,

Six hundred soldiers fought the Russian might.

They charged onward into the mouth of hell.

Hundreds dreamt of death while few lived to tell.

A light brigade was shattered in the war.

Much life was lost to pointless blood and gore.

Faces

* A poem I wrote because a couple friends brought up why this issue keeps getting on everyone’s nerves.  It’s a message to the people who are afraid to be themselves….STOP CARING, JUST DO IT! *

 

Faces

 

Faces in a crowd,
They all seem the same to me.
Can’t see the unique.

It doesn’t seem right,
But to them it feels so good.
All the same faces.

No one acts alone.
They’re too scared to be themselves.
Shameless mimicry.

It controls the world,
The fear of being different.
What is the big deal?

Why can’t they stand up?
Why can’t they march out of line,
To their own drummers?

I don’t understand,
Why this fear controls many.
Doesn’t affect me.

Its not difficult,
To simply just be yourself.
Why is that so bad?

Why follow the crowd,
When the lone wolf path is there?
Pointless, stupid fears.

They need a new path.
The crowd’s a broken record.
Why repeat the trend?

Uniqueness defines,
Us for who we truly are.
Mortal perfections.

What defines unique,
When to be different is bad?
What’s acceptable?

Why do crowds control?
Individuals make them.
Why do they let them?

Uniqueness is good.
It should be embraced as such.
Fears prevent this though.

The demotic god,
The brainwashing media,
Instills ignorance.

People are so scared,
Of something special and good.
Life’s contradiction.

Perception matters.
Judgment terrifies the world.
The crowd is frozen.

The fear stops them cold.
But being unique is good.
Judgment paradox.

March to your own beat.
Step out of the drummer’s line.
Stop being afraid.

Spin a new record.
Break free from conformity.
Be your own person.

Faces in the crowd.
Separate from all the norms.
Let true selves be seen.

Loss of the Innocent

*This poem was written as a protest against the Iraq war, because I am anti-war and support the troops, but not the senseless loss of the troops’ lives.*

Loss of the Innocent

He was a young man and barely of age,
All around him the sands were changing,
He saw the fading signs of life in the earth,
The noise grew louder in the passing days,
The earth shook and the bodies aged,
His lover stayed home crying for him,
He reminisced of the past before the troubled times,
He saw the ghosts of before of his fallen parents,
He remembered what it was like during his high school days,
Next to him a machine loudly roared,
Above him he saw the helicopters soaring,
The freedom he has is becoming limitless,
As he lays, the scene turns black,
He loses sight as the bullets pass.