Revolution
Learn more about other poetry terms
There is no revolution but
The inner revolution of
The deeper revolution of
The utter revolution of
The soul.
And I am only free when I
Can feel that I am free to truly
Know that I AM FREE
One day every business will be converted
into an artist's studio.
Business is a dead art form, and does not
guarantee a culture it's success.
I hear the Rienzi Overture of Wagner
Don't believe the hype with the Gov't categorizing lies about POC we are all
shades who tell a different story but when bled together we become one voice, Unified.
Hell in Haiti, Hell in Hispaniola
Hell in Haiti, Hell in Santo Domingo
Hell in Bohio, Hell in Quisqueya
So What Does Revolution.... ?
In TRUTH... Mean To You... ?
Fighting The System Or Being A Villain...
Whose Mission Is Fuelled By CASTRO Type Views... ???
Now There Was A Dude Whose Visions Were Viewed...
To know thyself
is to self destruct
out of luck
Crying out in newborn desperation
People watch in fascination
Called to discrimination
Ears filled with litigation
One nation
There is only one way to love.
We work and work and still we fail
Taking our breaks and trying to resolve
Only to leave each other and devolve
We're cheated and hurt, hoping for someone
Different.
Hold your sign
Tout your voice
Hide your gun
Love your choice
The only way for change to come
Is standing there and doing none
while singing fantasies of peace
illuding that this all can cease
Gil Scott-Heron
Question,
Did you ever realize who the biggest kingpin is?
They say real eyes realize real lies
Well the Revolution will not be televised
So, I was sent to open eyes
Does it not hurt to think about the digressions this world goes through?
To know that people descend and ascend everyday, and how it could've been you?
the Corners of my life were my home.
pushed into the spaces in between—unseen,
side by side, shoulder to shoulder
beside other shadows of Perfection.
stop taping young
people’s mouths shut
and telling us where
our places are
stop screaming over the
voices of tomorrow
and stop telling us we don’t
know what we’re talking about
Dear Artemisia,
When you were a teenager,
You were raped by your tutor,
A friend of your fathers.
When you were a young adult,
Your father sued your rapist,
For destruction of property,
A woman who speaks her mind without hesitation.
A woman who follows her own path and dismisses the disapproving voices.
A woman who knows her limits and knows that we are lifelong learners.
Excuse me-I don't mean to be a bother-I'll move out of your way-So sorry for the interruption-Please excuse my rudeness-My deepest apologies-I'm so sorry-Please forgive me-I don't mean to intrude-
“O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave”
How much of that can we say remains?
Everyone scared of scaring the people that need to be saved.
Donald Trump plans on putting "America First."
It seems like that could succeed.
Depending first, on what "America First" means
and exactly what is guaranteed.
"America First" would mean supplying our people
America.
It's all I've ever known.
Except some bordering mexican cities, this is my home.
But home isn't always your safe place. Home can mean arguments and separation.
(America Poem) a Quartet of horse-Men/Women/People/Children of Apathetic Apocalypse! and redemption-
part one:
IAMIAMIAM, or
Is this how you think? I am trying to understand
1.1: the moderate
I dressed my baby!*
What do I see in the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Fat minds grow restless, fed stories of the hardship and challenge of older days.
Pride blooms like a plague in the hearts of the prosperous.
I pledge allegiance to the flag,
stitched together only to be sectioned,
ripped apart,
burnt at the stake
for minority sake
and for the love
of the Divided States of America
they march
The man in the orange mask does not know my struggles.
He does not know my intentions.
Or my dreams.
But how could he?
For it is a nation that strived on the working class,
Let us deceive the 18th century;
turn scrap metal into jewels.
Set chicks free until man and
cockerel become indistinguishable.
Let them run hot headed until
mothers’ cries-
"A woman's place is in the revolution!"that is what we will sayas we are marching your way
You can't stop uswe are here to stayLady Liberty sent us she yelled "today is the day"
We have nothing to say
But we can sure sound cute
My generation has got a brand new pair of boots
And we're not taking em off
Mamá always lied to herself
I used to think she lived
covered in a silk of illusion,
distancing herself from her thoughts–
measuring happiness with grains of rice.
How confident I could be,
What I could be,
I did not know
At first.
My future seemed so far,
The present so comfortable.
Growing up was the plan,
But not entirely reality.
What a damn free world we are living in
Some came from England for religious freedom
And others came to escape their corrupt piece of land
Now somehow, we all gather in some place called the freedom land
You expect us to stay docile in the face of oppression
To accept the death of our people without exception
You wish to see us stay quiet as our children lie wounded and bleeding
The spark of one
Became the flame of many
Trailing through city to city
Clouded eyes, unjust hearts
This type of blaze is a painful art
One by one the trees burn down
Mortal
the word which strikes fear in our bravest
and shakes even the most reasonable minds...
giving birth to ardency in apostasy
but also dogma, hate, and intolerance.
I've reached the point where there's nothing else to say
I've written every poem and song
thought every deep thought that transcends
the common state of mind.
over analyzed and dissected every action and memory
I will slay the king of poverty
And slit the throats of segregation
For who are we? Who are we?
But mice in a rat’s race
What are cries?
But words to God
What are words to God?
But words
“Sing a hopeful song!”They said.“A catalyst for revolution!”They cried.“A song for the rebels…”They shouted.
Awake and sober, while in a state of sedation.How can this be? I have no explanation.Bored with digging in this life’s excavation,
I am not a martyr but a revolutionary with my poetry as my weapon i know you all wonder what a few rhyming words can do and to that i say not all poems rhyme...but i digress i am not a hero but a revolutionary with my cloak of knowledge and my ar
Scared screams fill the streets,
As they watch their city torn,
From the roots of the trees,
To the fields of corn.
Their small homes fall,
And burn to the ground,
With flames so tall,
Black is defined as the very darkest color owing to the complete absence or absorption of light
Black is the opposite of white
Black is people asking if your hair is a weave and a line of people waiting to touch it
my father is a man of many colors.
on the nights when the moon stays asleep,
he lotions his palms with pomegranate juice.
the sugared blood pools in the creases of his
skin and stains it India’s red.
Are we one?
It's hopeless I know this devoid of devotion.
So tired of the maddness and sick of emotions dividing the classes and poisoning the masses.
So I'm strictly devoted.
I'm a very secretive person, I lurk in the shadows. I come and go like some godfather. I hide behind my mask, built off of past experiences.
You captured kings and warriors and now our bloodline fights back
You underestimated the mystery and power behind those of us who are black
You saw our strength and resilience and said “They’ll be fine to do our work”
How can I cease to be
The person that is me
For when I look in the mirror,what do I see?
I see a girl that society is breaking,
I see a girl that society is making.
A girl that yearns to stand tall,
I am making mistakes
Bumping down the road without a break,
Binging on food so that I can be in a bettter mood.
I am the rock in the leather jacket,
Standing against the gate looking cool
Beyond the shadowy, pitch-black night,
A new morning's beacon begins to ignite,
Now dawns a day in which you will see,
The people's will has set them free.
For all I want to give this nation,
Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain
She longs to tug on the fabric, to pull it miles away
She hides so that her mold matches that of society
So that she won’t be seen for her flaws and mistakes
Can you feel it? Can you feel that Change?
I can feel it blowing our way.
Can you see it? Can you see this new day?
I can hear it calling our name.
Change is coming down.
Change is coming now.
From my youth, I recall thoughts and wishes
Of my life being as the wind that swayed the trees.
It didn’t hide its true self behind something fictitious
It was powerful, beautiful, and noticeable, just as I wanted to be.
One voice
speaking out to the world
I speak for the youth that are constantly being silenced
Freedom to speak
confused as violence
my words, can be used as a form of protest
Over the years I've lived through a lot of things;
Over the years I've been a lot of people,
So many that I lost myself.
Sometimes I look,
Today is never ending--
the start of a new beginning.
A story of characters without a home,
A story of passionate love and burning hate,
and fighting which always makes us feel great
So sick of freaking war
I turned on the television
Flipped the channel to watch some CNN
For maybe bout an hour or more
All I could see was war
All the fighting in Washington
its a world hidden behind
the appearance of intertwind
shinanigans and crime
i aplogize i didnt mean to rhyme
see its not just fun and games
to get their names
Before you try to silence me, judge me
Before you treat my story with negativity
what makes me click
the metaphors
that you ignore
the obvious
the actual being of human beings
the words my mother spoke
and the moment when I would see them
surviving
thriving
The story of a corrupt society
The alcoholic priest preaches about sobriety
Religion brainwashing people
Children sexually abused in the steeple
Another day another conflict. It's an ongoing fight.
Another law passed to strip us of our God given rights.
They take away our land. They keep their hands in OUR pockets.
The white sandy beaches crash against the waves as if battling for the territory of land.
The birds fly through the air sending signals of impending danger
to their nearby relatives.
People are sensative, caring and often kind
People are rude, oblivious and even blind
People are people and will act as they please
No suprise considering all the tempations of this world are just a tease
What would I give today
To change the world
To see and hear the call of the wild
And how she cries out in pain
The answer it seems
Is that mankind has gone astray
This is their place,
the place they freely roam;
This is their place,
the place they call, “Home”.
My pockets have been picked
But why mine?
They are nearly empty
The paper goes as it comes in
There must be a hole in there
Who would do such a thing?
Some things in this world give me hopeWhen I hear the clash of voices speak outI am surprised by the peoples empathy
My raging heart was tortured by my demented flesh
Temptations tried to eat my soul for evil
I was trapped in sin with no more rest
It’s when autumn
in its final throes
surrenders
and one morning
you draw in
a peculiar breath
thick with frigid air
that you realize
the winter’s made
its presence.
Resolution
to never be a part of any institution
to cleanse my heart of this pollution
In Christ alone my absolution
because mankind won't provide solutions
I am the one the leaders should answer to,
I am the one that began a nation,
I am the one who fights, the one who dies,
I am the one you depend on.
I am the people!
Money vs Survival
Another worry versus another worry
Seeking money to survive veruses just survivng
Slaving away versus Living away
Tears of hardship versus Tears of real life.
A close to oppression ,
A ending to subjugation,
A conclusion to despotism,
A death to darkness,
Finishing of the copious tears,
The people have acted,
Tyranny is of the past.
How do you define revolution? It's simple, but this
is my way. It means to be different than everybody
else, that's how we are suppose to be. We stand out
from other crowds, The ones who have a great passion
We are all human, yet we kill one another/Willing to hurt anyone, our sister or our brother/Living in a world filled with greed and hate/The earth is dying, is it too late?/
Track records are damning, They slip into the folds of your skin like bar codes of your past.So that the technology of our future generations may simply blink to download them. Tracks records are the tattoos of prostitution to a prior cause.
I am an African, an African
taken from my homeland and
brought into a place where I am known as
being "inferior" Why was this happening?
Do I not shed blood and cry as any other
Into antique graffitiYou slam me;Books filled with the company ofEnemies and falsehoodsMold me,And them,And usInto mechanized monsters,Unable to breathe,With disparities for
In the world you live,
there are villains,
There are villains who call themselves heroes,
they're given your rejection,
attempting to eclipse the shining truth with deception,
after the trayvon verdict
there were vibrancy of disbelief
as if they were watching a horror flick
it was frightening
how a young black male was killed
and the killer walked
It has been engraved into my brain,carved onto the tips of my nails,sewn into the seams of the clothes that I wearthat I am the future and I crave for change because I am the heart of a revolution.
I lived to walk among the scenes
Of people walking by.
I lived to hear the mother's scream
And hear the baby's cry.
I lived to lend my helping hand
Until one day I saw
The thing I could not understand
Color’d Shadows
They hate us
They love us
We were created by them, society
If we talk to them, they’ll hate us
If we help them, they’ll hate us
Everyone growsThe more we learn the more me fearThe unknown casts a shadowWhere do we go from here?
This is a monotone spectrum, waving in and about our minds, releasing emotions and making us feel.
I fear we are the same, each and every day.
in eighth grade,
we had a test on the baltimore bank riot
i got ten points where it asked why it started
and zero when asked why it ended
Fragment No. 1
…I keep my mouth closed
I don’t try to speak
But I can feel my bones
Rebelling
My blood is screaming,
“REVOLUTION! REVOLUTION!!
LIBERTA! LIBERTA!!”
My bones are howling,
It is time to get up;I hear the pounding on the door.He yells-because it is what I deserve
Kids cryin’ and dyin’
Whites and colors never getting along
How did everything go wrong?
Have you ever seen a troubled Mexican girl walking alone?
Or a little boy behind a glass on the phone?
You see, I have
Little girls growing up. Limited in their visions.
Little boys growing up. Limited in their prosperity.
Who are we? We the people. We are supposed to be free.
Who are we? We the people. We are meant for simplicity.
Land of the freeLand of the apatheticLand of the dreamersLand of the broken
Home of the braveHome of the hopefulHome of the better tomorrowHome of the bitter
As we complain about things being unfair,
there are families in the US without health care.
You may not have gotten what you wanted for your birthday,
there are people in Haiti trying to survive after an earthquake.
I step out of the plane
Baggage on my right hand
A bag of toys on the other.
One foot touches the concrete.
The hard surface onto the soft soles of my feet.
If today were the last day to live,
would you call your enemies and forgive?
or would you go to the shelter to give?
something simple can express so much
our hands together is a simple touch
Abnormal, poor, weird words I hear daily
Growing up poor wasn’t a choice; wishing it was a choice
Each day I struggle looking over my should, hearing them laugh,
Avoiding the landlord, rents overdue.
This is a narrative.
It begins and it doesn't exactly end yet - there's no end of an era here yet. The Nineties Kids are growing up, coming into our own
these hands, subjacent to my heart,
brush tears from eyes,
push water through space,
teach children to swim,
feed hungry lost souls, faith,
make art, heal wounds,
and open doors... for you.
Life is like dominoes,
each one has an effect,
wherever the first one falls
has an influence on the next.
I need answers
I need prayers
I need sympathy
In this dying misery
I need affection
I need hope
I need this wind to tell me which way to go
So come with me now
In some ways we were journeymen on another mission
We were all apprentices searching for some new edition
Of our lives.
In some ways we were just chicks being pushed from a nest
If the heroes of old learned how we kept this place
They would rise from the grave and they would spit in our faces
The land and the sea is soaked with blood and their tears
Maintaining our freedom for hundreds of years
We are the majority who are limited.
We hear the pockets of the privileged rattle with their riches,
While we with no money, pay the King and the Churches.
Women.
The evolution has changed drastically.
First there were role models, then there were icons
But now a red sole defines one as her majesty.
From the likes of Sojourner to Rosa
Blindly, we follow and nod our heads to the beat.
Lyrics are nonsense when music is an industry.
Nobody wants to think.
Nobody wants to learn.
We defer to the media to dictate our concerns.
BOOM!
Goes the sound of a bus backfiring
As it leaves a stop with no passengers
Once again
The bus driver silently laments to himself
And hopes the boycott will be over.
Through midnight gates at Nivky Station
run teenage revolutionaries, raising Kyiv to the ground
with snare drum steps, violin tremolos shout,
They cannot stop us!
-
Sliding, gliding on aluminum bannisters,
Beware of Artists for they mix with all classes of society and are therefore the most dangerous.
They study and socialize with any and all people.
They are unafraid of what is different, strange, or new.
My conclusion, revolution, only solution
Government pollution, prostitution, no given restiution
Conisistent years of slavery, soliders die from bravery
Veterans don't get the respect for what they get paid to see
Im about to get to writing
Tired of the wars and the fighting
I’m ready to make a change
Underage, strike like some lightening
Tired of dividing
They just wanna conquor
More interested in Jersey Shore
The road is marked with sorrow,
My undeserving hollow
Heart waits for every morning,
When it wakes refreshed from its mourning
What a shame, how we all were treated before,
False accusations, people judged the color of skin.
Our potential, needs, and feelings were forgotten, ignored,
Our worn and torn shoes, no one has thought to step in.
The roots of my hair
come from the roots of my background.
Though I am my culture,
I am not only my hair,
my roots, I’m free.
If anything, my hair is me.
Golden paths,
chocolate delights,
Timid resentment underneath it all
Power hungry leaders notice nothing
What is the cut off before the last call?
Injustice and violence lead to something
Last match is lit it ignites the people
