Daily Archives: September 28, 2017

National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Freedom, the great illusion by Ryan Woods

I am not a silent poet

Freedom, that tangible sense of liberty
The essence of democracy
Free love. Free thought. Free speech
But, are any of us ever really free?
We extol our freedom of choice
But, how many times
has that voice
inside our head said, “No!” “You can’t do that”
And whilst the fat cats, get fatter
and the rich, get richer;
we never see the whole picture
The puzzle is always missing that one piece…
Peace, like freedom
is little more than a fairy tale
It is something
that we reassure our children about,
so that they can sleep at night.
Because, in our dreams, we can be anything we want.
In reality, we are all slaves; to the system.

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Freedom, what it means to me… by Gaz the Trailblazer

I am not a silent poet

Obviously I could say it’s being out on my bike, not staying indoors watching tv.
But with everything going on in the world there’s a bigger picture I’m sure more people will see, so I wrote this poem as my understanding, not as my belief.

There’s something more to the structure and I’ll try to keep this brief, it’s an illusion and there are solutions that could ultimately give us relief. 
I know things are bad, very bad indeed.

But we are missing the simplicity while talking about money corruption and greed.

Apparently most people hear the word sovereignty and misunderstand what it means. It’s not about nation states, royalty and the queen. 

Individually It is our ability to disengage from the system by peaceful means.

But you must know the language being used and how it can easily mislead. 

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Caged by Liz Magee

I am not a silent poet

She crouched with her head in the corner, not leaving the crate.

Pimpled and raw patches of skin a pathetic reminder of the packs in the freezer.

Growing impatient, they lifted her out.

Wasted muscles would not support her.

They offered her food but it was not the food she knew.

They offered her water but she only understood water that came from a tube.

They offered her the company of her kind but she only knew how to bite.

They were disappointed that their benevolence was wasted and moved on to more rewarding tasks.

On the third day, she scratched at the thatched earth.

Dust rose as she shook her spiny feathers and held her head up.

Looked freedom in the eye.

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: SKIN by Leanne Moden

I am not a silent poet

You have no right to tell me what to wear;

and how I dress is no concern of yours

coz I’m in charge of how much skin I bare.

I thrive upon your disapproving stares

and you can’t crush me now, so rest assured

you have no right to tell me what to wear.

I’m flattered by how much you seem to care

by pointing out my weaknesses and flaws

but I’m in charge of how much skin I bare.

I know my clothes won’t lure some hungry bears –

I’m pretty sure I’m safe to be outdoors.

You have no right to tell me what to wear.

A chair that’s covered up is still a chair

and un-uphostered flesh still isn’t yours.

See, I’m in charge of how much skin I bare

and, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re scared

because you can’t control me any more.

You have…

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Facebook Free by Scott Tyrrell

I am not a silent poet

Fat and fragile

and swimming in choice

determined that everyone

hear’s your voice

drowning in thoughts

bailing out of your phone

Assured in your ground

Terrified you’re alone

Facts unchecked

and glued to groups

who flatter and like

and never say whoops

The warrior in the comfy seat

context free and incomplete

This is the life, this the dream

The unaccountable monarch supreme

The worlds outside squeezing their asses

through your ever-decreasing rose-tinted glasses

It’s safe and it’s sane and keeps out the pain

These self-imposed blinkers and digital chain

An embittered empowered detainee

perfectly placed to disagree

and your carefully picked social army

right at your back and reason free

The oracle of all you choose to see

It’s the best way to be

It’s good to be free.

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: two poems by Surbi Chinki

I am not a silent poet

(1)     “Quest of soul”

In the fillings of spider junk

Fluttering the conscience

Searching of existence

Why come in this world !

Bothering the aspirations

Twinkling in this flame

In their own type to live

By own efforts,

I made foundations

But to make fort there is

Need of heights !

Restrictions,

Through, them one by one

What if you are a girl,

Fount your legs !

As you have volcano inside

Will take the type of fire

By puberty glow burn the

Boastfulness !

Fear is a rock

Collide with the rock

By collision the flame ignites

The beauty of you

This queen will be called

A golden lady !!

(2)      “The Poet”

The poet able to describe

The life in the best way

Which is just like

Two sides of a coin

The feeling of poet is very much

“heart-touching”

The poet describe things like

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: I want Freedom by Shirley Redd

I am not a silent poet

Freedom from lies

Fear and pain

Fredom to fall

And rise again

Freedom to stop

Freedom to go

To laugh and to cry

To say yes…then say no

Freedom to be angry

Freedom to love

Freedom to claim benefits

Or to work at . gov

Freedom to be me

And for you to be you

If we really had Freedom

Then….what would you do?

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Hungry for Freedom by Dave Rendle

I am not a silent poet

So long as a human being thirsts for freedom
and is shackled in a concrete cage
without charge under a policy universally condemned
called administrative detention
I will sound alarms.

and if my poetry drifts towards polemic
I will make no apology
with the absence of the unseen in mainstream news
I will spread their dreams and hopes.

So long as bulldozers
destroy peoples homes
and walls are built that divide and uproot
I will raise my voice.

and when peoples lands are stolen
daily from under their feet
I will not be cowed into silence.

When rules of law are twisted
that allow voices to be unheard
I will not feign blindness
pretend ignorance
I will try to be an echoe.

and if some are allowed
to steal the richness
from peoples souls
I will stand up
and stamp my feet.

and will proudly raise my fist
proudly raise…

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Stop Taking The Tabloids by Peter Roe

I am not a silent poet

My anxiety is rising… my stress is off the scale

I glimpsed a bloody headline in the Daily Mail

They fill you up with crazy and make your mind obsess

We should waterboard our MPs and make them all confess

Leaning left, leaning right, then they’re on the fence

Scrap the trident, ban the bomb, spend more on defence

The security forces watch you with your own webcam

Phishing, skimming, hacking the latest techno scam

Why did they put those masts in the centre of our towns?

Wireless from our smart phones is used to dumb us down!

The rich are getting richer they are standing on our backs

The poor are sponging off the state according to the hacks

The foreigners are coming they’re going to take your job

The criminals are outsourcing… to the Russian mob

The food we’re eating will kill us it’s gone beyond a joke

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National Poetry Day Freedom poems part 2: Trees Rooted Strong by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

(For Gran and Mum; wife of a miner, and daughter of a miner.
For the women who waited.)

There were no phones then, no quick ways.
News spread by word of mouth in the rows,
shot down the streets, barely hit the cobbles.
The women, pinnies still tied under their coats,
met on doorsteps in the coal dust evening,
and walked to the top end without talking.

An invisible cord of steel connected
all of them tight together, all of them knowing
without speaking what the message meant.
Strong women, like great trees rooted long
into the hard deep earth stood and waited,
heads up, staring out into the October frost.

Through darkness, the scrape of working boots
clattered the road.The arc of a swinging lamp,
and the low murmur of men, floated relief
into the stoic silence. The still coiled air,
that held its breath, let go.They moved as…

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