Browsing Sociopolitical on deviantART

[x]

Political LimericksThere once was a man named Bush,
Whose head was stuck up his tush.
"There's weapons!" he cried,
He weaseled and lied,
Because his brain was made out of moosh.

Two men went to get married,
By parliament the two were harried.
"We have the right!"
They put up a fight,
Until Canada's views were varied.

Bush isn't the one who thinks,
Their routine's still working out kinks.
Sometimes they'll show this,
Did you ever notice?
He stops talking when Cheney drinks.

So the surplus could be bigger,
We could market a Chretien action figure!
With a kung-fu grip,
And a crooked lip,
He'd scare the crap out of Tigger.

The Conservative pPolitical Limericks7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

+ When Boys Kiss Boys +When Boys Kiss Boys

Eyes meeting,
Lips greeting,
Two hearts beating as one –
while crosses burn atop churches
and choir boys lose their angelic voices;
while priests drop dead between their pulpits
and bishops choke on holy water droplets.
Here, I stand with them by my side,
watching the end of the world –
when boys kiss boys.

Hands traveling,
Clothes unraveling,
Souls marveling at the sight –
while the trumpets sound from ear to ear
and demons rise to make their steal;
while fire rains from the blackened sky
and the faithful fear we are out of time.
Here, I sit with a martini in hand,
watching the end of the world –
when + When Boys Kiss Boys +8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Fuck What You Call UsI am not a "total fag"
and don't call me a fairy
I dress in spikes and rock to metal
leaving your stereotype contrary.

I do not speak with a lisp
and fashion's ass I do not kiss
heavy lifting doesn't scare me
and I even call them tits.

Just because licking a lollipop
reminds me of throbbing dick
surely does not mean
I have the characteristics of a chick.

So shut up with your stupid shit,
what did I do to you?
I hate all this hostility,
but what else can I do?

You insult my very flesh
everything that I am.
You don't deserve to stay alive
but I really don't give a damn.

In the end I know you're wrong
and how that really maFuck What You Call Us2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

SexFlesh is the new style
so bare some skin honey
wear it out
like all the trends
that cost so much money
this ones almost free
the only cost being
the rest of your dignity
so be a whore
forget your humility
A whore to fashion
sex sells
and you sold yourself
Flesh is the new style
so bare some skin
wear it out honey
like all the the other trendy sins
that cost so much money
remember this ones almost free
the only cost being
whatever is left of your dignity
sex sells
Ah honey show a little more
you sold yourself
your such a trendy whoreSex7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The Cutting Curse

Momma, see, I've got this curse,
I hurt myself; my God it hurts,
I tried to stop but it made me worse
I've cleaned more wounds than a full-time nurse.

I have this thing inside of me,
It just can't stomach me being me.
It turns and twists and I can't be free,
It burns, it cuts, it scratches me.

Momma, see, it's at it's worst,
I've lost control and how it hurts.
I tried to cope but I made it worse.
I needed help to kill this curse.

These scars are now a part of me,
These wounds a tragic diary.
I hope, I pray, I beg, I plead,
I cry, I scream, I bite, I bleed.

Momma, see, I'm all alone.
It doesn't matter if you're at home.
It dThe Cutting Curse6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Wara lonely heart
a lonely song
a lonely tear now that peace gone
a tortured soul
behind fearful eyes
having to be all that you despise
a dying hope
a raging hate
that you must fight while leaders debate
that you must die for other men's quarrels
the tears of a dying warrior's sorrowsWar7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

8th April, 1973

Avignon knows that April has arrived;
a week has passed, and perfection closed -
who has seen the crazy life inside?

The Man recants, his life deformed, perhaps,
should shelter become intensified
and an easier existence found for tortured Art.

When War came, and open flowed expense,
can curling pleasure hurt the Earth
now that pain is documented?

In Heart's true strength the burden passed
into quiet ceasing moments; years;
fragrant pastures blaze in golden light.

She is softness, your Renaissance, old man;
ninety famous stretches, fulsome workaholic -
pretty Jacqueline, clothed at last; your love.8th April, 19738 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Lest we forget

In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow,
and we who walk among them know
that here men fought, and bravely died
with equal courage, side by side;
the lark has overcome the crow.

We touch the Dead in memory –
embrace them through the century.
The earth enshrines their valiant hearts
in Flanders' fields.

The torch has guttered years ago;
the enemy has been laid low.
And though your names should slowly fade,
your blood a better world has made.
Rest you now where the poppies grow
in Flanders' fields.Lest we forget6 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

How to Fix The World

How strange
This abomination...
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
Of humanity.

To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
of History.

"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave

The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
of Civilization.

"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed anHow to Fix The World6 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The WaitingRoom is large but
paint is peeling,
from panelled walls
and alcoved ceilings.
An old woman is buried
in a damp chair.
A warm smell of piss,
yellow air.

She does not turn but
speaks clearly:
"Americo, do you remember
your blossoming power?
The whole world despised it
but I loved you dearly.
My wanton child-
Red in matricide,
white in supremacy
and blue here now,
in your rosewood seat"

Americo laughs briskly
at Britannia's slight.
But they are both disturbed
and chilled by the sight,
of Romulus' freshly starched sheets,
and all his leafy golden crowns,
in a tied black bag
beside the door.The Waiting2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Grey Birds RoostingRemember remember,
The birds of September
That darkly floated in,
Before the sun-burst of colour
And heavy briefcase rain.
Before all falling shapes were lost
In choking clouds of concrete dust
And journalists, (that's full grown men)
Showed their tears on CNN.

But my diction only sours-
So remember remember,
The birds of September,
Gliding into towers.
And when you see infantry in the East,
Lament then;
The price of our peace.Grey Birds Roosting3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The Charnel HouseThere is a place,
and there is not a place
with one million rooms.
And in every cheaply
furnished space,
someone rolls the news.
A masklike orange patriarch
featureless over thoughts.
Below a tortuous flickering bulb,
in every room a box-
muted and all meaning lost.
A myriad displaced shapes,
crash about in ringing gloom
In the darkest place:
We are moths-
One in every room.The Charnel House2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Sunflower Flux

He played hard this month: She played well this month:
Mortgages prefixed sales Chlorophyll quotas left in the wake
and rows of steadfast hotels, of cushioned lovers and tickling tiny noses
plastic monuments saluting a gaudy cannon A row of gently dandling milk
flashing jail-cell smirks warmed by the notion of a golden god
as his firing squad gained two more guns. as they dawdled from nap to nap.

They scratched his name into a plaque, Sunflower Flux9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Post FeminismPost Feminism

Post feminism they call it,
A time to put away,
The voices of the women,
Who fought for equal pay.

How cliche it is to be,
A female freedom fighter,
All the while the unseen chains,
Grow stronger, firmer...tighter.

"Honey, sweetie, baby
Please smile while you clean,
After all this is your job,
What being "woman" means."

"Go put the kids to bed,
Then spread your legs so wide,
So I may be the burly man,
Who sticks himself inside."

Too ashamed to stand up tall,
For fear of seeming radical,
All the while our laws and rights,
Are taking a sabbatical.

"Your role is in the home,
And home is where you'll stay
TillPost Feminism7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Respect is DeadThe people killed Respect today
They hung her from a tree
She swayed there all alone until
They killed poor Courtesy

Now I am a fugitive
Afraid to live and hide
Afraid to walk the streets alone
Afraid that I will die

They're seeking me, and hunting me
To make the dead ones three
They'll use some rope to make a noose
And hang me from the tree

I used to be so popular
Honored by society
I guess they have no use for me
No use for good ol' EmpathyRespect is Dead2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

You're The One to Blame

When Johnnie comes marching home again,
Wars will still exist.
There'll be more tags
On body bags;
Names upon a list.

When politicians tell us lies
And play us all as fools;
Stand up my friend,
Life shouldn't depend
On elephants and mules.

Write a letter, take a stand,
So things don't stay the same.
Shed no tear,
Look in the mirror;
You're the one to blame.You're The One to Blame2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Rue BritanniaThe Picts, their pyres, and arcane fires
Are but dull impressions upon the earth.
The Greeks, for their speech and cultured mirth,
Like Rome are merely the gaps in stone
And armoured spectres, staunch in death
Swing heavy swords through stagnant breath,
Trapped in pewter, princes proud
Hear nothing of the turning world.

A century saw stratospheric fall,
From the lion, the shield and the lady tall,
The warden watching, trident turned
To manifold foes, who still were spurned
By the might of arms, and weight of gold,
When one might shoulder an elephant gun
In the darkest land and take a hold
On the savage innate, one battle won
BRue Britannia4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The RoseAt a desk, coffee sachets rest.
Long-life milk harbours
white dreams of expiry.
Shuffling in his forgetful nest
a grey man blinks
at the intruding light.

Americo, do you remember
your antique power,
that opened like a rose
on the walls of Hiroshima?The Rose1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

the love I'd die forMom and Dad cry
As I prepare to die
I take your hand
And face the damned
They ready their guns
I want to run

*BANG!!!*

I shed a tear
But there's no fear
Cause I die next to you
The one I cling to

The one whose love I'd die for... <3the love I'd die for2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

The ClosetThe monsters aren't in the closet.
The monsters are outside.
When we grew up we realized
That in there's where we should hide.

They chased us in here with their knives
And framed us for our "crimes".
They point and say, "Beware the closet!
Monsters are inside!"

I hear them talk about "my kind"
Through cracks between the door.
All I ask is for respect,
How could I ask for more?

The hateful glares, those judging looks
And all the dreadful things
Assault my waking moments
and stalk me in my dreams.

I shake and shiver, whimper and stir,
Safe inside my closet.
But safeness seems so temporary
when outside foes appall it.

We'veThe Closet1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Poem: Surrender:AbsolutionSurrender:Absolution

Brother, I am finished.
I will fight no more forever.
I'm wearied so of war; of watching
Bright lives coldly severed

We turned our backs; I walked away
In anger from my brother.
But walking 'round the world just brought us
Back to face each other.

In you I see the opposite
Of everything in me.
Bound in that opposition,
We've never yet been free.

There's no hope of forgiveness
For all we've said and done.
But understanding might make space
For love where there was none.

So I come to you, my brother:
My Other Self, my Friend –
The mirrored image I must face
At every cycle's end –

I come to youPoem: Surrender:Absolution5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Uncle SirUncle Sir...

Once the boy said to the man
On a hot summer's day,
"Uncle will you tell me please,
Why can't I go play?

The other boys all laugh outside,
And all are having fun,
Why must I sit here with you,
As they play in the sun?"

Staring daggers at his child,
The man's eyes grew from calm to wild,
And as he stroked the poor boy's head,
The man looked at the boy and said,

"I'm the one to hold you tight,
The one to make your world all right,
No matter who you search to see,
The only one for you is me."

"Yes Uncle Sir I know you're right,
But don't you think that they,
Might not truly be that bad,
Maybe they want to play?"Uncle Sir6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

caution, much2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

Show More