2011 Poetry Theme Challenges

#04 Protesting Poetry

First of all I would like to say a huge thank you for your wonderful response to the love challenge - even an old cynic like me is convinced rommance still exists. Part of me wants to stay with love as it is giving some wonderful reads on Tir but hey ho we must change I suppose so a totally different direction for the pen.

To me one of the bonuses to being a writer is being able to voice my opinion and state my beliefs. Not just on a religious footing but as some may know I am an old campaigner for equal rights for a certain grouping of society. Now we all have things we want to shout out about whether it be green issues, injustice or unfair treatment at work. So here is your chance to step up on the poetic soap box and give a your piece of mind.

Sock it to 'em poets!

Happy Quilling


Protesting Poetry

Divena Collins

Consuming Misfits
Paradise Lost

Jem Farmer

Tossing Cat

Ivor Hogg

Careless Raptures
I refuse to be a clone

Ryter Roethicle

Look at You
Unjust Thoughts

Divena Collins

Consumers Misfits

One evening in a supermarket
When the store had just closed
A bent cucumber wilted and soft
Chats to another hard and posed.

So sad when the store was empty
The bent one was really depressed
Nobody wanted a bent cucumber
For a straight hard one was best.

Consumers insist on a straight one
The market garden must deliver
Bent cucumbers were out if style
And so they were all left to wither.

"How can they make us straight
Can`t they accept how we are,"
"It`s a secret " said his friend
" If I tell. I`d be pickled in a jar."

A tomato near by was blushing
"We have the same problem too,
Nobody wants us soft and round
My friend she is square and new.

She fits in a sandwich much better
In neat squares of four by fours
But when I split my skin to speak
I was reduced to basket on floor."

Why do consumers have rights
Why do they complain at will
One day they will have a suprise
When they end up eating a pill."



Forever a dreamer I was at school
Punished often for breaking a rule
I did not hear what my tutor had said
For I was lost in my dreams instead;
`Twas then I suffered grief and pain
Held out my hands for a belt yet again.

Every day I was punished the same
I lost once more with nothing to gain
Why was I treated so cruel this way
Why was I then just a creature of prey;
I was filled with both dread and fears
Unhappy I was with eyes full of tears.

It had left a scar and I rebelled
At times I wished to be expelled
And escape from this den of eniquity
To my haven of dreams and humanity
A far cry from a life based on dread
Images of precious dreams instead.

I had known back then I was not alone
So many others with problems unknown
Two of them had once refused the belt
It was taken to court, the hurt they felt;
Images of dreams inspired their brain
So they shall never be punished again.


Paradise Lost

What was once where ponies did graze
Now the start of a developement maze
Those meadows have gone now forever;
Bricks and mortar were then built to last
And that meadow shall now be the past.
Why should beauty of nature they sever;
Do they have to start yet another phase.

Where cool streams of water once run thro'
Why would they now want to spoil this view
And run a pipeline underneath the ground;
To build a long motorway over the stream
And rob the proud villagers of their dream
Protests ignored the plans were all sound;
Goodbye to the old for something new.

Houses are needed the developers say
The country is old and has had it`s day
While the land beneath is now in need
You shall be moved to a high rise flat
That they said would take care of that
They, self riteously obsessed with greed
While the aged shall be out of their way.

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Jem Farmer

Tossing Cat Among Pigeons

An argument between poets exists
as whether metric verse should still persist.
The use of sound to bring a rhythmic beat
each line in its own place must follow feet
Accented meter poesy as art
from this regime I will never depart.

The words that form a most beautiful rose
are never the same written as plain prose
with iambic rhythm sonnets sing love
as sweetly as the birds that fly above
or starkly utter the most vibrant curse
you simply cannot do that in free verse.

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Ivor Hogg

Careless Raptures

Sheís young and pregnant and confused
Sheís well aware she has been used
But sheís not sure what she should do.
Her situation, nothing new.
Men have their fun and then move on
and leave the girls to face alone
Decisions that they have to make.
The consequence of their mistake.
In taking men at face value.
Not the wisest thing to do
But she ignored all good advice.
So now she has to pay the price.
Be very careful what you do
Remember this could have been you


I Refuse to be a Clone

From birth to death it seems to me.
That we are never truly free.
To be what we would like to be.
We are expected to conform
to whatís accepted as the norm.
Dictated by society .

WE go to school where we are taught.
To memorise the things we ought.
But no one spares a single thought.
About what we would like to be.
They do not care apparently .
We canít escape too firmly caught.

Though some of us a very few.
Rebel and we refuse to do
What the system wants us to.
But most accept the status quo.
Because they arenít allowed to know.
That they are entitled to pursue.

Their cherished dreams in their own way
and no one has the right to say.
That they cannot but they will pay.
The price for their rebellion
against the states opinion.
But some. still do it anyway.

Iím happy to defy the state
and take control of my own fate .
Because I donít appreciate
being told I must obey
When I can see a better way
than that dictated by the state

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Ryter Roethicle

Look At You

Look at you sitting in your steel walled office
Looking out at the world through thick glass.
The glass that isolates you from what you see
The steel protecting you from your sins outside.

You sit there wearing your stupid supercilious look
Proud of your wealth, jealous of your power
Your lack of understanding hidden by buzz words
Prepared words, enunciated with rehearsed actions.

You have got where you are, by others knowledge,
And others cunning and stealth guiding your path.
Youíve clawed your way upwards using these weapons
But what have you learned except self satisfaction?

Insular in your life, nonevents your creation
Unable to move away and see the world around you.
Emotions hidden and secret desires created by plastic
The plastic of the false Gold of Oil or Mastercard.

You have sold out people who depend on you
For the greater good of you and yet you talk of God.
You have sold your soul and still you talk of God
And young men are dying every day because of you.

And young women will also die because of you
Their babies held to their breast in the purest of love
And those babies will also die because of you
Their lips around the nipple as they search for life.
A life that you will not allow to grow; sitting there
Insular in your steel walled soulless office
Looking out at the world through thick glass.
The glass isolating you from what you see
The steel protecting you from your sins outside.

Brick in the wall -----


I hear the harsh crying of life
Above the whispers of the night
The final flash of life beating upwards
Or being dragged downwards

Staring at the vastness of starlight
And the lack of fulfilled promises
Like precious china cups
Shattering against the wall in Fates rage

A satellite flashes overhead
As I look into the darkness around
And see a drunk vomit into the gutter
His clothes smelling of faeces and urine

A passing patrol car drives past the alley
And in the spotlight they see a body
The needle still hanging in a pock marked arm
White flesh contrasting against the black floor.

Crying with frustration
I question the 2 million years of evolution
And wonder about the creation
Of this Simian Matrix.



In days of old when men were bold
And poetry had just been invented.
Men roamed the land with lute in hand
Spinning tales that made folks contented.

But oftimes bastards from the bush
Would try to gag each stalwart lad.
For keeping people informed and sane
Was considered by some to be bad.

Each age that's been in countries seen
The written word has been oppressed
Religion has caused wisdom to be paused
And politics caused it to be suppressed.

But with each age in histories page
One person has let people know it.
His idealism has led revolutions
That is your oftimes humble poet.



A Tarantella upon the written word,
Treadings once woven become a snare
Creating in some a desire to lay bare
Biased paragons of truth speak the absurd
Catching the unwary in their vacant stare
Hammering non essentials til they swear
That black is white and always was preferred.

Now games are crueller than realised in youth
The innocent having to search for proof
Media portrays the predator as the prey.
Pursuit of lies, and none events occur
Thus non justice cause the blameless suffer
And read ignorance what the press portray
Because the media bred all that is uncouth.



A warm blue sky puts man to shame
That grey haze oíer the city heís to blame,
As his smoking chimneys pollute the air.
To much to do, claiming too little time,
Or nothing to do so turns to crime,
And buys the drugs of "I donít care"
Then ecstasy takes on another name.

The lack of discipline and responsibility
Was the age that removed common sense
All we learned previous became a pretence.
Impractical people rule a committee
Of academics without experience
And usually in most cases no sense
And no understanding of what should be.


Unjust Thoughts

Dark skies evoke a sense of melancholy
Where no life has been allowed to play or folly
Where are colours, the reds and browns of Autumn?
Instead it is the overall scene of flooded brown
Oíer saturated land that wears a different gown
Some greens previously had been unable to come
Now all are welcome, but you need bring a brolly.

With all this water for once weíre free from flame
Nature in her desire to grow has made her claim
And reclaiming her rights where ever she can.
Manís incidental, in the way, and pays the bill
Where Nature fights against Mammonís will
Some set by nature in her heat, and some by man.
But who causes it really, do you want a name?


War (After Gibran)

And a widow said to him, "What of war?"
And he replied

"We are all tainted with the sin of Cain
And that sin is still to be purged from us.
The more civilized we become the more tainted also,
For was not the sin of Cain a sin of greed and jealousy?
Just a few generations apart are all that separate us.
For we are all of us brothers and sisters
The Blacks, the Browns, the Whites and the Yellows.
Everyday we see little wars over rights
Territorial forays expand a ground or lay claim to protect.
In the end who has won and lost
And what has been the cost?

Sometimes a prophet appears and speaks the truth
And once again chagrined we live and love as God planned.
His message passed on by word of mouth and heresay
But with time we forget and others less worthy speak
Until in the end the message has been twisted and forgotten
And this is how it all begins,
The difference of a guided thought
A disagreement takes place
Pride overcomes commonsense
And death occurs
The sin of Cain claims another birthright?"

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The Poets Garret
2011 Poetry Form Challenge
2011 Poetry Theme Challenge
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