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Controversial Poetry
January 16, 2010 - 3:51pm
The Grinning Hero
The death machines roll like thunder,
Over the broken land.
Doesn't it make you wonder,
Who will take a stand?
The wail of the warbird mocks the screams of babies slain,
One man gives the word and the bombs fall like rain.
And in the aftermath pretentious presidents are always there,
Stomping on the flowers growing from the bodies buried everywhere.
The teddybears bleed here like the child soldier who fights with a stone,
His mother and sisters killed by the grinning hero who "couldn't have known".
Now painted as an enemy of freedom and hated - the child is hunted in the battlefield he calls home.
LoneWolf Bunn © 01/01/2003
And this is the other side of the coin.
Fallen Soldiers
Stood for the American Dream
Fell for the Oilmens' Scheme
Yesterday another brave one in his prime,
Left to defend freedom and the American Dream.
From the poor side of the tracks,
He'll be put in the frontline,
And he won't be back.
Today another mother fell to her knees on the kitchen floor,
Opening a letter stating she lost her son but we're winning the war.
From the poor side of the tracks,
She'll be put in the back of the welfare line,
So she can remove her boy's funeral bill from the stack.
LoneWolf Bunn © 11/09/2008
Illusion of Justice
Got no respect or trust,
For the bullies with the nightstick.
To serve and protect... my ass.
More like - to beat and harass.
Suburbanite lightskins may not understand,
But some of us know first hand,
After being handcuffed and beaten,
For absolutely no reason.
Processed as a criminal - yet committed no crime.
Until my day in court - I'll be doin' time.
Guilty till proven innocent.
We call it a deadtime stint.
Weeks later - sorry our mistake - you're free to go.
The illusion of justice - a convincing magic show.
My free lawyer works for the prosecutor,
Acts like a wicked king's court jester.
No money for bail?
You're gonna rot in jail -
But a paid holiday for a cop that shot a brown boy in the back.
Threat of a lawsuit always makes them pigs laugh.
And the hammer of justice,
Pounds on the poorest subjects of this land,
The illusion of justice,
Sure is grand.
LoneWolf Bunn © 02/02/2007
If the Tables Turn
I find it hard to laugh,
After witnessing the suffering,
And I cannot ignore it,
And I cannot forget.
If you see me smile, it's only on the surface.
The sight of starving, dying, and enslaved children,
Cuts me inside -
And leaves a scar on my face I cannot hide.
I'm not going to try to make you laugh -
That's what clowns are for.
I'm not going to try to make you cry -
That's what conscience is for.
So go ahead - look away,
But if the tables turn one day,
Should they look away in your time of need?
Should they ignore your oppressors greed?
Should they be silent -
And never speak of your plight,
To the only ones who could help you?
Should they pressure your slavemaster -
To crack the whip into the night,
As the Walmart CEOs do? [Not very poetic but it had to be said]
LoneWolf Bunn © 01/01/2007
Great work Lonewolf! I like them all.
Thanx
...
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trying now be back wiTH BETTer virus protection
SLAVE CHILD
We know it's hard,
When your heart is forever scarred.
Hard to know what's right,
All alone in the night.
Slave child, who knew?
One - two, make our golfing shoe,
Three - four, still so poor,
Five - six, pick up bricks,
Seven - eight, is it too late?
Nine - ten, never again.
Street child, fall asleep,
To the siren lullaby.
Sweet child, please don't weep.
Wish I knew why,
The cruel masters never seem to die.
Little hands blister and bleed,
From commands of masters' greed.
Trying to meet OUR endless need.
Slave twelve hours,
For a rancid meal.
Another life of drudgery,
The price of our good deal.
Sweet child please don't give up.
One day we will all wake up.
LoneWolf Bunn © 01/01/2000
Good stuff LWB! Thank you.
LWB,
I was looking at some food/farm rights stuff today and this great line came up''''why is it that when people are in bondage to a government it's called tyranny and when they are in bondage to a corporation it's called efficiancy?". It's all just post-modern slavery and we are all the Haitians.
thanks for your work, EPH
Run rabbit run, it's now coming down on you,
but where is there to run to now, where is there to hide?
Like any cornered animal, you'll make a last desperate stand,
but the young you left behind you will be finished by the hunter,
the hunger that could never be filled, that emptiness inside.
Once, I too believed, that we could escape our own cold chains,
and even the life-blood rivers drained could once again flow free,
When those overbearing towers of long dead heroes fell,
and our children no longer bowed before sterile gods of gold,
But now I can see too clearly, we might never see that promised day,
Our towers will only fall upon us and the rivers they'll run away.
There will be no sunlight, shining through our windows,
there will be no blue birds, singing in the trees,
There will be no phoenix, rising from the ashes,
there will be no hope, with which we'll be released,
The cooling rains will still fall freely, on the good and bad alike,
but the only mercy they'll bring us is the mercy of the grave,
Some remnant witnesses, will stand for some time longer,
but only as twisted effigies of the world which we consumed.
Mr. Redburn, it is saddening to witness the bleak outlook expressed in your poem.
I cannot deny I express sadness in some of my poems but it is because I want to awaken a change in people that have the power to end the suffering.
I hope you are not a prophet. But if you were a prophet you would already know that prophecies are preventative warnings rather than doomsday promises of punishment.
By RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE
"It's set up like a deck of cards
They're sending us to early graves
For all the diamonds
They'll use a pair of clubs to beat the spades
With poetry I paint the pictures that hit
More like the murals that fit
Don't turn away
Get in front of it
Brotha, did ya forget ya name?
Did ya lose it on the wall
Playin' tic-tac-toe?
Yo, check the diagonal
Three brothers gone
Come on
Doesn't that make it three in a row?
Spoken quietly: "Anger is a gift"
Come on!
Brotha, did ya forget ya name?
Did ya lose it on the wall
Playin' tic-tac-toe?
Yo, check the diagonal
Three million gone
Come on
'Cause you know they're counting backwards to zero
Environment
The environment exceeding on the level
Of our unconciousness
For example
What does the billboard say?
Come and play!, come and play!
Forget about the movement
Spoken quietly: "Anger is a gift" " http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvqcM5lVoteQ&h=f6372
Red and Blue - Flashin' in the Rearview
Red and blue,
Flashin' in the rearview.
Profiled on my race - and the race is on.
Pedal to the floor and I am gone.
Those colours now twinkling in the distance,
But they'll be back - closing in from every side,
To process and finger-print this rebel prince.
I'm no criminal - just guilty of stubborn pride.
They call it the 'land of the free'.
Is it really?
One look and they profile and judge me.
I put the pedal to the floor because I wasn't guilty,
Just didn't have the money to prove it.
Wasn't about to pay for a crime I didn't commit.
Pedal to the floor because they profiled me on my race,
And I profiled them - as a disgrace.
LoneWolf Bunn © 02/02/2007
Good one! I enjoyed that!
Half Moons
When God hung naked on His cross,
goody men couldn't depict Him,
though they tried every way, but one
it's impossible, as God intended;
And old Lucy Satan surely roared
at the sight of goody men,
while ashamed of Him naked, used His word
to justify use of contempt and sword,
in depicting the naked of the world....
Goody men with staccato pain,
the thrill of getting over
common colds the daily wages
for sins committed attending routines
learned in schools slowed down,
Where the acceptable is necessary
to the mounting of wives on edifices
and life of the party children
stamped in concrete morals
growing confusion as things change,
For the better according to T.V news
doctored by considerations
of safety guaranteed arm bandits,
careful lest 3rd worlder gets
to first base in defiance of orders
Goody men ashamed
for pretty forbidden fruit
catching them with pants down
on naked pagans in 1492
and later when it was found
No riches but flesh
breeding godless night and day,
to white hot disapproval
made from steeds of steel thunder
Running away, half moons flashing
in fields of sacred panic, shrieking,
offering their bodies to any gun, chain
or god with powers to save them,
and whose brands they
provoked to satisfying ends.
On scales formed in such eyes
contempt and pity tally and measure,
conveniently indifferent to dead dignity
encountered in his story unfolded,
as learned in schools slowed down,
Where goody men secretly admire
god's henchmen in grim historical reality,
and Darwin's virus gained ground,
on recall of 3 little
technical one‑up‑man-ships
Stumbling over parasites'
final solution's maiden voyage,
Satiating their unfortunate greed,
until righteous dominion moved on
plus sophisticated ground,
Where helping hands needed
blunter associations than what
went down in that tropical paradise;
But holes and their shadows,
prove fortune's got the right
to teach the future of a friendly
imposition of laws and order
as backbones of polite societies,
The fruits of which the children
could partake in if they voted
with their heads instead of bellies
grumbling in shacks the Kept People Culture
pre‑disposes them to,
And degradation burned into
the racial memory dulled by feeding it,
the polluted manuscript tries re‑examine,
since the difference is the same
this late in the game....
Thus seeking higher ground,
adventure seekers after truth
try legerdemain weirdly self‑satisfying in that
political correctness can be used
by loony lefty with nothing to do,
while howls of outrage demonstrate
the capacity for clear thinking,
in a cruel world whose losers
were unheard of in olden days made noble
By historians less interested
in telling the truth,
than justice for goody man,
whose conscience feel the prick.
So caught in a bind,
confusion issues stamps to adhere to any belief
goody men want sent to him;
Take J.F.K. buying the farm
in conspiracy with every Pick A Bad Guy who suits
goody men's crossed inclinations,
For the salesmen knows how to devalue
the currency of truth by show and tell
with as many variations marketable...
The design seems so innocent in broad daylight,
where goody men live a life,
and half moons shimmer in the night
Next to God's picture.....
Wow - did you write that clandestiny? If so you are very skilled in the art of the written word.
Saturday night: 915 PM
i'm getting off the train. train pulls in.
in front of me on the platform a sea of bodies dead center in front of the door.
me-in bad mood.
doors open: no words spo˚en, li˚e excuse me. i plow thru the crowd creating space for myself, sending some mofos against the pillar.
surprised expressions, 'he's so rude", "excuse me mister", blah blah blah.
me:58 year old native NYer with no time or patience for FUC˚ING IDIOTS. WHEN THE DOORS OPEN STEP TO THE SIDE JAC˚ASSES.
but you ˚now what? IF FELT GREAT SLAMMING INTO THESE IDIOT. It was a goal line stand and my ass was in the end zone. call this white
boy brandon fuc˚ing jacobs, or for you older fol˚, MATT SNELL.
Location: times square
(As they say) They may have won the battle but not the war... because generations later, the truth is STILL there.
Having been through many battles THE SWORD OF TRUTH is just as true and straight as the day it was forged.