Social Justice Poetry

Scott Thomas Outlar

Kingdom of Chaos | A Social Justice Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

We don’t want your money,
just your soul
on a silver platter
served to order
for our warm feast
while we spit out your raw famine.

We don’t want your respect,
just your energy and time,
just your mind
to the frequency
of propagandized pestilence.

We don’t want your love,
just your heart
bled dry
as every vein
withers in the Winter wind
while our chalice remains
ever full to the point of overflowing.

We don’t want your vote,
just your faith
that such a course of action
can actually influence
the order in which our puppets
dance to a song of chaos
upon the public stage.

We don’t want your salute,
just your obedience,
just your hands
kept where we can see them
while your feet continue marching
to the drumbeat of our wars.

We don’t want your laws,
just your land,
just your culture,
just your customs,
just your heritage,
just your traditions
snuffed out
beneath the global kingdom
at our command.

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Kicking up Dirt | A Social Justice Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

Another twist of the knife
with pinpoint precision
to bleed the world’s angst
upon the already drenched ground
as division flares
across the airwaves
with a corporate media
pimping and pumping the problems
one right after another
in a steady stream of chaos
to keep the people
afraid and at each other’s throats

Another gunshot fires
trigger point to the bursting flesh
in a hallowed church
where no salvation can be found
just an old tattered flag
being waved as a sign
that some hatred never dies
it’s the devil’s gift that keeps on giving
down the line
from one seed to the next
in a polluted bloodline
full of sins unto each generation

Another mother weeps
as the saviors and sages
from a time long past
turn over in their graves
kicking up dirt
that gets slung in all our eyes
to keep us blind
of all the superficial face value bull
so maybe we can start to see
something a little deeper
at the core
where everything is One
and solutions might soon be found

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Back down to Earth | A Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

A state of perfect inner peace
is not necessarily conducive
in the effort toward establishing harmony
for the whole of humanity.

Being blissed out
in the la-la land of enlightenment
sort of knocks one off the path
of caring about
the problems affecting the world at large.

While I’m sure it’s quite nice
to chill out and relax
in the pure grace
of source consciousness
from time to time
in order to get a taste
of what eternity has to offer,
the real point of the game
here on earth
involves participating
in the cessation of All suffering.

So if you no longer feel any sorrow
in your oh-so-wise psyche,
it’s probably really cool and everything,
but do try to keep in mind
that most everyone else still does.

Maybe you could cut yourself
every once in awhile
so you can offer a sip of blood
to those who are dying of thirst;
that is, of course,
if you still have any pumping
through that detached heart of yours.

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Broke His Crown | A Social Justice Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

Hey, Mister Mason
what’s that you’re building?
Do you think that it’s sturdy
and not destined to fall?

Finger to your lips
shh, it’s a secret
Once out in the open
the truth will be revealed

Black and white pieces
hold your positions
Checker the floorboard
as we settle all scores

Oaths that were taken
were given in shadow
Now run to your corners
the Light has come on

Hey, there, King-Maker
your puppets are tattered
Hey, Wizard of Darkness
your reign is dismissed

Dawn of the New Day
ain’t what you thought, eh?
The Phoenix is rising
as we leave you below

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Front Page | A Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

Here’s a city…burn it down
Here’s division…rip its throat out
Here’s a spine…feel it snapping
Here’s the war…welcome home

Here’s the truth…media blackout
Here’s the riot…pour gasoline
Here’s the protest…keep it peaceful
Here’s the fallout…nuclear

Here’s the front page…corporate owned
Here’s the ghetto…unemployed
Here’s the future…no one’s safe now
Here’s the death kiss…on the cheek

Here’s the postscript…eulogized
Here’s the finance…global banking
Here’s the fiat…golden boardroom
Here’s the pink slip…broken home

Here’s the garbage…ruined streets
Here’s the teargas…bloody eyes
Here’s the damage…empty pockets
Here’s the solution…lips sealed shut

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Come and Conquered | A Social Justice Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

We have come
for your women and children.

We have come
for your silver and gold.

We have come
for your oil and opium.

We have come
with a pretense of peace
to bring hell upon your land.

We have come
with a pillar of salt.

We have come
with a manifest destiny
to shove down your throat.

We have come
to suck dry your land
and then leave it behind
as an arid desert for you to perish upon.

We have come
as wolves in sheep’s clothing

We have come
with smiling faces,
crossed fingers,
and bombs strategically held behind our backs.

We have come
with banks
to pilfer everything you’ve worked for.

We have come
with mercury for your shots,
pesticide for your food,
smog for your air,
and a cross for you to bear and bow down before.

We have come
with our program of chaos
and promises of a New Order.

We have come
with our machines
to welcome in a future
where humanity is obsolete.

We have come
with our blueprint
for a One World Revelation Kingdom.

We have come
with our televised frequencies
to keep your revolution in a trance.

We have come
with our marketing campaign
to make you feel inept and worthless.

We have come
and conquered
while you slept in apathy.

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International Fallout | A Social Justice Poem by Scott Thomas Outlar

granted personhood
by a simple stroke of the pen
by some fascist politicians
now conspire with and work for
international banking conglomerates,
sucking the blood,
soul, and wealth
from their lofty perches
from the real people
whom the laws
are supposed to represent,
but obviously don’t.
In a similar set of circumstances
it once was said,
“It’s off with their heads.”
And so it might just happen
that such a thing comes to pass
as the cycle of history turns again,
spin, spin, spinning
with a greedy guillotine,
sharp, sharp, sharpening
its whetted teeth
for the sacred ceremony.

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