state sanctioned violence poems

The Affair | Shelly Blankman - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

The Affair | Shelly Blankman

You’re in bed with the NRA,
shades drawn, door locked,
no one can hear, no one can see,
but we all know it’s lust that drives you.

Dollar signs glow like gold as you gaze
in their eyes, entangled in covers, flushed
in their web of deceit, blinded with promises
of cash with your tricks.

Your web spreads past the walls of your
tryst, where schoolkids are killed
while you’re getting paid and dams of tears
burst while you seal the deal.
Blasts of gunfire by the mentally ill
still ring out like some sick New Year’s
welcome as you toast your new flame
with wine the color of blood.

When the War Comes | Tilla Sonrise - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

When the War Comes | Tilla Sonrise

When the bullets start singing
where will you be,
humming tunes
in your canopy under your
juniper tree,
when the buildings go a blazing
like blunts and bongs
will you still be singing those freedom songs?

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

When they drive tanks
through your neighborhood
and trample your
hopscotch chalk
are you gonna bust back
or are you full of talk,
when they bomb your homes and
murder your babies
what are you gonna do
when they
take your bags lady?

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

When the law
breaks the law
they are under themselves
freeze mister officer
this is a citizen arrest
we’ve been watching your
police state test
you’ve been planning martial law
since 1999
this land isn’t your land
this land is mine.

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

The war is coming
revolution is on the rise
it’s them against us
and us against them
you better open your eyes.

Civil Servants | Langley Shazor - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Civil Servants | Langley Shazor

Blue lights
White skin
Silver cuffs
Black wrists
Blood red
Protecting and serving
Whose interests?
Violence begets more violence
But why do the opposite
Meet the same demise?
On both sides
Lines drawn in the sand
Barriers made in streets
Standoffs and showdowns
“Put down your weapon”
Which one’s drawn?
Hypocrites

A Familiar Truth | Gil Hoy - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

A Familiar Truth | Gil Hoy

For so long as the NRA
controls Congress

With its pumping

Mutant
Pecuniary
Poison
Lifeblood

Corrupting souls
Buying silence

Innocents will
continue to die

From high-powered
Weapons of War

Bought in America
like a bag of groceries
from a grocery store

While Wayne LaPierre
Scribbles his want list
for Republican

Bought and sold
baby-kissers counting
their bankroll gore.

If Congress had lead balls
in its hearts, brains
pelves

If images of dead
school children grew
so palpable, so intimate

That their fever
opened a passageway

To eternity and back
Would the madness
Stop then?

Would lone wolves
Still sing their rancid
Noteless songs

A Witch’s Brew of shrill
staccato tempo

Tentwentythirtyfortyfifty
Pigeons intheblinkofaneye

That numbed ears
don’t see anymore

That tastes forgotten
and too familiar
anyway.

Baltimore's Son, Freddie Gray | Najwa Kareem - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Baltimore’s Son, Freddie Gray | Najwa Kareem

Would you have guessed you’d be next?
Perhaps you said so to someone close once in a text. Your suspicions concerning the police kept you running.
Did you ever consider that maybe you were too stunning?
That maybe your continuous smile was too bright.
That maybe your face was filled with too much light.
That maybe your comings and goings, your daily visits to Mom were too much.
That perhaps your happy, cheerful, respectful demeanor could reach out and touch.
That maybe a look into your eyes, they were blinded by the sun.
That surely at the ripe age of 25, your life would be done.
An act of racism I ask?
An act of brutality I ask?
An act of inhumanity I ask?
An act of injustice I ask?
Where in police school does one learn that a young black man standing on the street makes him a suspect?
Where in police school does one learn wearing Prada makes you a
prospective criminal?
Where in police school does one learn that having a nickname Pepper
makes one a target?
Where in police school does one learn that a citizen’s lead
poisoning makes him a magnet for a 6 police officer raid?
Where in police school does one learn that having no knowledge of a
man carrying a knife makes him the next chase?
Where in police school does one learn that being a human officer
entitles one to act unjustly against a human person?
Who are you or I to say because he couldn’t read as well as you or I his life didn’t matter?
Who are you or I to say because Freddie lived like many in low-income housing he didn’t deserve a chance at a better life?
Who are you or I to say because he had been arrested for drug
possession in the past he didn’t deserve to live out his dream?
Who are you or I to say because he liked to sing and make others laugh he didn’t deserve a life of dignity?
Who are you or I to say he didn’t have the right to continue
visiting his dear Mother, Mrs. Gloria Darden?
Who are you or I to say he shouldn’t have had the privilege to
continue walking Baltimore’s streets?
Now Freddie our hearts grieve your loss.
Now Freddie my heart grieves your uncalled-for death.
Now Freddie your prideful city has simmered down but it still feels
the pain.
Now Freddie my warmest sympathy to you, your family, your friends,
your supporters, and the city of Baltimore.

Voiceless | Carl Wade Thompson - A Poetry Website Featuring Poems by Contemporary Poets

Voiceless | Carl Wade Thompson

55 people shot this weekend,
quick start to the New Year.
Seems like old news in Chicago land,
place where the random get killed.
What does this say about us,
that it happens on our watch?
Not far from home, another world,
but right here in our back yard.
Why are there no marches,
no talks on Capitol Hill?
Why does the President not react
when blood is spilled in his own burg?
Democrats, Republicans,
no one takes the mayor to task.
Emmanuel instead turns his back,
as the suffering reaches a screaming pitch,
a banshee’s call for the dead.
All I know is no one cares,
as long as non-whites are shot.
Just let them kill each other,
our very own urban onslaught.
I don’t know what to do,
so tired of the death.
Just have to bear it down,
until I watch next weekend’s news.

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