Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak
Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept
Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity
Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!
Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010
Woke up to a new life in Egypt
I was young not more than seventeen years
Adorned with gold and precious stones
My body was in the shroud of silk and jewels in my hair
I sat on a throne as a Queen
My name was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile
During the day I lay on the silk cushions
and dozed in the shade of palm trees
Beautiful men and women kept flitting
around me with all sorts of temptations
Fed me all sorts of fruit and cold drinks
When evening came, it was time for romance
As Queen I had many to choose
My choice was of course:
"The greatest men of Rome"
Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius
Why choose one when I can have two?
On a long journey down the Nile with
my love Julius Caesar, I was forced to
make a choice.
But a choice one must take...and the
choice was that I gave birth to a son
and Julius Caesar was the father
My love life was not popular
my husband was killed and I
was no longer popular
It was no longer a life of happiness and joy
No, it was war and national mouming
and I would not live anymore
Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely - red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.
She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be Queen;
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.
Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping, like a willow tree.
Then the sky begin to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that Irish rose,
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.
The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.
The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone
That still stands alone upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.
Written: June 18, 2010
Note: To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway.
in the East
so long ago
A heavenly light
that guided wise men
to the place where He lie
In a manger on a blanket of hay
* * * * *Christ -Immanuel - a radiant child - a gift from God* * * * *
His only son who died on a cross
for teaching us to love and
help one another
for this is
Haze up in the heavens encircles this orb.
Half-dark, half-light, shines from above.
Twinkles of light appear to absorb.
Fractions of darkness within lighted glove,
Speaking to lovers held in each other’s arms.
Answering questions of science to some,
Floating around spreading blessed charms,
Listening close at times, hearing a hum.
Lovers for centuries, graciously, captured by,
Sweet serenity and magical mystery,
Others entranced with secrets, which fly.
From words written and spoken in history.
Satellite, orb, lady, they are all the same.
Mythical goddesses, gripped in flame.
These tales have spread so many games.
This object seen most nights has no shame.
There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope
Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care
About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you
We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace
And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive
As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife
And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids
We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good
Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal
We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice
We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong
Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through
The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care
We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone
And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you
Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest
This disconnected intellect of society in retrospect
Is nothing but a retro spectrum of colors.
Gold chains and disco lights,
Black, white, and grey faces, red Adidas stripes with no laces
Cardboard boxes unfolded on concrete streets
Where the founding fathers of modern culture would meet
And write our Constitution by moving their feet.
With a spectacular repertoire of flashy moves
And a deep reservoir of verbs that mingled with words in the mind’s river
That flowed from the banks of lips as the first freestyle
When style was really free.
Not compromised, chopped up, glamorized, marketed, processed, pasteurized
and then subliminally delivered as a shrink-wrapped, shiny medium of bad ideas.
Back when people actually had ideas,
Not just the regurgitation of pre-chewed vomit music.
The DJs cooked up beats in their basements
Just crack for the bass-heads
Denied treble ‘cause trouble was all they were faced with.
There was music laced with dope, and dope was good.
Darwinism of hip-hop.
You know what I mean?
Of course not ‘cause these young bucks would rather spend fifteen dollars on 50
Then spend fifty cents on a education.
Flagrant, our testimonial to a religion that’s pagan
We pray to money, pray to greed, pray to fame, pray to succeed
And denounce life when we pray that our bullet hits its target.
The Boogie Oogie became the Boogaloo
And the Electric Slide met the electric chair.
Time is money.
Money is life.
Life is a game.
I invest Monopoly money in the New World Clock Exchange
To collect interest in fate and become disinterested in buying my life back.
My soul is currency, currently spent on reverting from the current state.
Back to when sex was more taboo than a smile
Back to when freedom didn’t equal censorship
Back to when love for family didn’t negate the fact that times change.
Back to when the Big Hand spun backwards two seconds too late.
And minutes were miniscule and minute, hip-hop was rediculed
Not because it was demeaning, but because it represented Revolution.
An occurrence that has come and gone with the wind.
My name is Hip-Hop O’Hara and I am in love with Civility Wilkes.
Reverend Run preached gospel, now he rolls in his grave
If musical revelation is impossible, than who will be saved?
The essence in lyrics is kept underground in a cage.
Struggling to survive like illiterate slaves.
Reaching for freedom, which lies on the next page.
Free the music.
I do not know?
There you go again doing things that you are not suppose to be in and then you look at
me like oh i'm so sweet if you only knew I can be a freak without showing it. Here they
go listening to the rumors but i'm your friend so in the end I know that they are true.
How could you do that with him and her and they were on the ground you were pretending to
pick up gum? You need to be safe, making out with strangers girl I aint no saint but god
what are you doing? I don't want to see you years from now telling me you got aids, I
worry about you and I feel like your special so I even wrote about you come on look how
much you mean to me. You like him I get it but how many other guys have you liked in the
past. He's your only, he's a phony make sure he's not just in it for the prize because
girl you never know some guys are. It's the truth and you need to listen, I don't mean to
sound bossy but soon enough your name is going to be posted on all the bathrooms walls.
Telling things that you haven't even done yet. But you will front about it, Lie again.
Telling everyone it's happened how do we know what's real or fake. I love your
personality I wish I could steal it, Your loud, and flirty, daring and smart girl you got
too much heart to be showing it to everyone who wants a sip. this is for all the nasty
girls out there who think I don't know what i'm saying just ask anyone of them who are
dead now or are on the streets prostitiuting. Don't be afraid to be a freak it's healthy
but sometimes it's better when it's secret closet freaks have more fun.
I do not know?
I never wanted it to be this way, I never wanted to feel the pain. Bruises all over me.
Invisible but I can see them.
You hurt me everywhere. My heart is shattered and the blood has frozen. But I won't be
Stare at me like this all you want. Try and hurt me with your words just as long as you
don't use fists.
I don't ever want to be your victim. I refuse to be one of those few girls who end up
losing their whole world.
Love isn't supposed to hurt, but maybe I was just naive because the moment I loved you my
heart never stopped bleeding.
I won't be your victim, I won't run away. If you have something to say I won't avoid it.
I'm not scared I can take whatever you try to throw.
Don't hold back I promise you I will not cry. The moon is shining just like all the
diamonds that you called pretend love I can't even imagine why I fell so hard.
It's never clear until the glass of water is gone. But now that you've gulped me to the
last I want you to know I won't be your victim.
I kissed vulnerability goodbye the very last time I cried over you and I won't be your
victim your not even worth it.
If you feel like you must shove a door in my butt but don't make me afraid because I
don't want to be I don't want to be your victim.
Let go of my hand so I can peacefully drive away if you want me to I can drive over you
as well. But don't make it seem like i'm causing you pain because it's obvious to see
that I've been a victim and it's a shame.
But I don't want to be it anymore then you so just let me go and I won't have to run. I
promised you forever I laugh at this now you were never eternity love in my mind.
I kept counting until the madness in ourselves would corrupt. Tears flash down my eyes
as I speed down the lanes. Two bottles of Gin and I think i'm going insane.
It wasn't until I crashed into a tree that I realized I was never your victim I was
merely your suicide mission.
Knee deep in surf
The water clung to her
Changing silk gown
To wrinkled shiny skin
Never had I envied ocean water so
But then t'was I who'd let her go
Drowning in green eyes
With fear of clinging ties
Holding me back
Softly the desert winds do whisper, her name
Scheherazade, in swirling words of eloquence, she recites
Enchantments tails, a mystical infusion of mysticism,
And mystique, is weaved by this storyteller of
Myths and legend.
In the bards imagination of thought, lies inspiration
Onassis, a fantasy realm of illusions, materializing as
A beautiful mirage, before the beguiling eyes of the
Draped beneath the canvas tents, in far off Arabia,
Seduction's mistress spins her loom, with intricate
Precisions perfection, illuminating intrigues tantalizing
Pleasures, as the canopies flaps blow freely, in
The breath of the night winds breeze.
A thousand and one, veils fall unto the sands
Of time, as loves mystic weaver, fashions silken
Robes of desire, written within every line spoken,
Forbidden erotica, dared shared between mortals.
Provocative enchantress, dancing with graphic
Designs decadence, wetting the appetite of
Royalties palate, leaving his majesty hungry
For a larger portion, of embellishments
Mysterious, exotic flavors offered unto him,
By his temptress of a thousand verses.
Flowing visions of motion, left floating in the
Air as if crystal castles built of smokes illusion,
Than evaporating, melting beneath the horizons
Setting sun, softly are crushed by the dawns rising,
Vanish at the first rays of light.
Queen Scheherazade, beloved wife of a tyrant king
Whom lost his heart, to a poetic charmers soothing,
Voice, a snakes flute played to calm the heated
Heart of lusts passion, never satisfied.
A single desert rose grows in the harsh land
Of the middle east, and it's name is beauty
Personified called by historical legend
As she known as Scheherazade.
Rarities precious petals are cast aside by
Times intervention, yet the sands remember,
And whisper her name, beckoning one last
Tender splendor's tail, but all is silent in the
Realm of this mystical enchantress, alias now
Scheherazade belongs to the ages themselves.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The purple Royal banners wave above his armor's steel;
the chieftain carries his Mongolian, relentless wit,
young Genghis Khan, the Temujin, applies his sovereign zeal,
to merge the lands beneath his will, the warlords to befit.
Consorted by young Börte of the Onggirat kin tribe,
the martial Temujin receives high honors by the clans;
a skillful warrior invades the lands while his young bride,
awaits; for no one else predestined is to be her man.
The chieftain slaughters hence his passage through the western soils
invincible his tactics are, and triumphs ascertain,
advance his rule, expand his territorial rights and spoils,
while Börte, granting loyalty, in virtue she ordains.
How valued is the flight of eagles that conduct above,
depict trajectories, and soar to vanish where the Gods
embrace the sadness of unanswered prayers and bridal love,
the Royal maid in loneliness, defends against all odds?
So priceless have become their plumes upon the Mongol plains,
where the persistent Northern steppe cold winds enfold the ghosts
and Princess Börte counts her solitude, stands tall and reigns,
believing that her Temujin bestows his kind riposte!
" Support him Goddess of the moon when grooming Charon thuds
and sends the clanging of the steel, commanding thus, the souls,
to travel the descending route of coursing loveless blood,
and through the gusting of the winds, transports their saddened calls. "
© 01-20-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Fourteener, Iambic heptameter)
In days of old,
ye knights were bold
And Dragons roamed the land
Sir Lancelot, he was a knight
And Fought with Sword in hand
White horse he rode
With his lance
A shiny suit of armour
Beware this knight, the story goes
He really is a charmer!
Now one fine day, he saw a lass
And whispered in her ear
A shock he got, when she revealed
I’m lady Guinevere
In love they fell
Before too long
Merlin cast a spell
While hunting out one afternoon
The king, black knight would tell
Black knight ‘s plan
When Lancelot was banished
Shed a tear, did Guinevere
When she learned he’d vanished.
Now this legend
Hath been told
A morale doth contain
Keep your lance, tucked in your pants
And save yourself the pain!
I was as high as the eyes could see
A giant dark cloud of pure misery
I seemed to roll as one with the wind
A giant black wall that had no end
I stripped the land and left it bare
Of the lives I destroyed, I didn’t care
Those who stayed I covered in dust
As their children died I broke their trust
From my hell many families did flee
Left to wander homeless in misery
I changed the word these words are true
Black Sunday brought darkness on you
I didn't see any direct link but just goggle
pictures of the dust bowl and you will see
what i have written for Brian's Contest.
The Dust Bowl - Alexandre Hogue - 1937
Singing praise of past lives
with the dreams of swastikas and rose-tinted spectacles
floating through my head.
One moment, a Polish Jew,
the next, an Aryan German -
dual reflections held in the iron gaze
of a predatory raptor and the sharp-angled, six-pointed star
perpetually spinning, reopening wounds
which the weeping Roses of Sharon cannot heal.
I held you in my youthful arms,
serpents rising from the secret codes of my loins,
and I worshipped you as an old, universal lover
as I penetrated your dark womb;
a sanctified temple of Angels and Daemons.
Initially we prayed to the inverted graves
sliding through oil-slicked skies,
so young of heart and mind we were.
Our love was purified in the hellish Axis-kiln
paralleling the flames flickering against our skin.
The vessel of our love shone like glass,
cooling off to less dangerous levels
in the forgiving breeze of empathy
(aside from the fact that when I watched you move,
the world stood still for me).
And then we wiped away the green grins from the glass.
We became one pulse,
the Jew and a Nazi
teaching each other how one should not pray to 'him' alone,
for both phallic powers are needed
to light the spark of creation:
"Our Father AND Mother who art in Heaven(after),
hallowed be both thy names."
Male and female energies
breathing life into each other,
like slightly distorted transvestite, Siamese twins.
We wanted to stay in our fleshly pleasures,
but our minds spread wings.
ascending smoothly within turbulence,
we transformed into golden light,
moving invisible objects with our thoughts,
removing shackles, opening secret locks,
figuring out who was who --
who were the real Jews, and who were the true Nazis,
who were the Angels and who were the Daemons....
....who were Daemons and who were Angels.
The first thing that I recall knowing
As a sturdy and young olive tree
Extremely well rooted and growing
Was the sweltering sunlight on me
For two centuries I took deep root
To prepare for my ultimate fate
So when I could no longer bear fruit
There was then but a decade to wait
I was cut—left to dry for ten years
So that seasoned I’d perfectly be
For what the carpenter engineers
For admirers my beauty to see
Finally, the time came to carve me
Into the stout piece that would bear
The One who came down from His glory
I’d become a rough-hewn olive chair
Into the great city I traveled
The same city once fated for doom
Through alleys, then up a steep stairway
I was put in a small upper room
Beside the simple wooden table
I was placed in center position
Where the King who was born in a stable
Sat prepared to accomplish His mission
He prayed and broke bread with His brothers
As a symbol of what He would do
He blessed it then passed to the others
As His body; ’twas "broken for you"
Then to signify His precious blood
The red wine from the cup He did sip
So that it could cleanse as a flood
As from nail wounds it later would drip
To this day, I still can remember
How it felt when Christ Jesus did rest
I sensed that His love was so tender
Even when He was put to the test
He said, “Father, Father, forgive them”
As He faced His long prophesied death
The love for all things He had poured out
As He uttered His very last breath
Today, the risen Lord I remember
Whose story has long since been told
As I sit in the same dusty chamber
And recall that Last Supper of old
* Placed 1st in Deborah Guzzi's contest, "The Chairs Tale"
How deeply Ameinias loved you
The beauty that your face adorned.
The adoration you thought your due
The love of youth you lightly scorned.
As consolation a sword you gave
A paltry gift for such devotion.
You did not care for grief so grave
Derision stoked the devastation.
That sword robbed him of his life
In bitter despair he cried in tears,
"May you one day feel the knife
Of unrequited love that sears!"
In the pool you saw a boy so fair
Felt the fire kindled in your mind,
In awe at such beauty you did stare
Love that will so ensnare and bind.
To seduce this boy in tender kiss
you found reflection in the pool.
Ah Narcissus, how did you miss
Loves sweet embrace in waters cool.
You killed yourself in deep despair
Unrequited love that burn until,
The body that once was so fair
Transformed into a dancing daffodil.
So listen young lovers, hear my plea
Be careful when young love you scorn.
Remember Narcissus, when in spring you see
How daffodils the chilly earth adorn.
Nippy air bites the skin, sunlight trails off in a sky so morose;
bare trees contemplate the yellow grass below mourning their lost splendor;
be that messenger of the Season's Greetings and avoid being sad and alone...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
Assist me in decorating the pine-scented and candle-lit rooms ,
of my lair; please, come in and accept my hospitality with ardor;
let's chat over dinner and sparkling wine until darkness looms...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
Anticipate the thrill of the Holidays with a big smile spreading cheer:
dream of snow, of Santa riding his sleigh from the cold North Pole;
he'll remember every good kid who has shown obedience and grace...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of the year!
I looked for a Christmas Tree crossing the snowy boardline,
searching the nearest forest for the tallest, prittiest one
with the help of neighbors who had a good will and no fear...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year!
So much I will share and learn this Holiday Season announcing a divine birth
to the Earth below brightened by candles, twinkling lights and mirth;
admire my decorations of garlands and golden bells to make you merrier...
welcome to my Holiday home at this very special time of year!
Family, friends and neighbors gather around this fireplace that will bewilder us,
let's remember the wonderful birth of our Savior Jesus, who came to visit us;
hear the song of the angels echoing through the chilly air...
welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year!
I do not know?
The little drummer boy....
He played this beat for you!?
But you could not hear
Still, he kept rapping upon that drum ~
Even as the salty tears they did flow
Standing all alone?
While the Heavens rains, began to pour....
Yet, still, he played ~
With somber upon his face
As the world about him
Continued to fade away?!
Drumsticks made of flames....
And Angels, that often sang
The tunes of tomorrows, beginnings ~
Amid, todays, shades!?
He played and he played and he played
But no one wished to dance
Because no one could hear or, see
Nor, did they ever understand....
Standing all alone?
They laughed while he stood
Watching, the mountains melting into the sea
The stars, waving their forever goodbyes
To the shadows, upon the rise....
Beating his drum, to these end of days?!
Creation unknowing bathed, amid their moment
Frolicking within the merriments
Beneath this blinking Sun ~
Living, but dying....
Holding tightly these, evaporating dreams!?
But still, he played; rap tap tap
As the end of tears; rain would fall
Yet, again, they could not see nor, did they hear
So, how could they have ever known?!
Though some did; oh, how they loved him so....
....The little drummer boy ~
Note: Smile ~ Just another repo; Winter 06' & 07'....
"Pride In The Name of Love," by U2 ~ "Love," John!:) ~
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed ~
The division should be acute, the before her, the with her, the after her,
Yet there is this constant rattling of doors, though they remain locked,
in theory. I think of her as gone until I turn a page and read a passage
of pompous dialogue and she returns, My Joie de Vivre, entertaining me
with that puckish wit, unabashed. She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons, changing clouds unexpectedly. What was I
before Joy*? Content, pleasant and productive. But was I alive, aware of
Life, its blissful rhythms? Irony defined: the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats. Finally, I understand. Lessons are sharp things which
infect both fresh and aging amputations. What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language that is no longer spoken, a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful. Faith dismisses hauntings, yet she does so
in daily degrees, oh, the sweet ghosts that peer from those notes, my name
underscored in margins. Why is there only one glove in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me in the garden. Perfume almost, but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares. I dare not open a kitchen drawer. Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self, a staunch gent, so sure of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me in the shadows, land of man’s rage and despair.
There is no pretty death, no words can comfort the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry in our departing; I only pray there is Godspeed in mine.
*Written Nov 4, 2012
Joy Gresham Davidman, American poet, and C.S. Lewis, English writer and Oxford scholar, were good friends and married solely for the purpose to keep Joy in England (contested). But love came, as it has a habit of doing, when least expected, after Joy was diagnosed with terminal cancer. There love was true and deep, and her death shattered Lewis. His book, A Grief Observed explores his anguish and a Christian’s questions which arise during times of suffering. The film, Shawdowlands, is based on the biography, Through the Shadowlands: The Love Story of C. S. Lewis and Joy Davidman. Lewis died 3 years after Joy. The above poem is a conjecture on my part, as no one can truly know what lies in another's heart, alive or otherwise.
Me myself and i
For I myself,
Believe in myself.
For I love to stand by the book shelf.
In order to read some nice stuff.
Yoruba is my lineage.
I’m seen by my image.
And am called by my real name.
Buying things, I buy not fake.
I aim to be among the greats.
For one of my saying, says,
“Pays to be popular than being famous’’
Cos, famous people could be no-torious.
People say am pretty shy
That a time, I wish to cry.
Cos, I know I do try
To hide that, am really shy.
I’m a Muslim,
For my religion is, Islam.
So, pock meat is an haraam.
But I’m free to dine on ram.
I wish to be a doctor
So that youngsters can see me as a mentor.
I love teaching as a Professor.
For all that are great, are my mentor.
People don’t really know me,
So, this is to tell who I be.
For I prefer being a Lewis’ base,
Than to be a bronsted’s base.
Ridwan is my real name.
Olyrid is just a nick name.
You better know before it’s too late,
For I involve not in a criminal case.
My advice for you in life is this:
Serve you GOD, when not in pains
For in good health a person fails,
But calling unto him when soaked in pains.
Is my yahoo mail.
I’m dark, friendly and a little tall.
And all I love is winning soul.
For all I hate, is the “big boys” style.
Cos “sagging” is what they like.
For all I do, it’s my own style.
So if you like, you can be my type!
People are commonly different
Symbol of diversity piece
Pure race doesn’t exists
Color and creed are just an identity
Believe only in human history
God sculptured them from clay
People are equally created
Having many opposites
But respecting others taste
When everyone is treated equal
Nothing appears but peace in hand
Discrimination, disunity and, suffering won’t be born anymore
Written to advocate to suppress racism
Bandar Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia
10:30-11:00 am, November 13. 07, Tuesday
Through shadowed forest glade she rode
'Midst grey and gloomy chill
No single thought of safety did
A moment stay her will
The mist clung to her nostrils as
She charged into the brush
The creatures of the forest paused
In terrifying hush
Foreboding seeped into her bones
Ghastly, from ages spent
Urging her mount to breakneck speed
Resolve would not relent
To slow would mean downfall into
A consequence of dread
She knew if she but lost an inch
He lover would be dead
This morn she was awakened by
His servant at her door
And with his last breath utterance
Fell bloodied to the floor
It seems a tartan wearing clan
Appeared in red and green
‘Tis true that a more fearful sight
Is rarely ever seen
Unwittingly, they’d crossed the line
Into the Fraser realm
It was then they were set upon
In stand of noble elm
So, now she raced to intercede
Upon her love’s behalf
To beg for mercy from the chief;
That he withhold his wrath
The secret she had hidden would
Surely offset slaughter
It was true she had been born the
Fraser Chieftain’s daughter
She’d fled her home ten years before
With young Lord Cameron
The rival clan’s incumbent heir
Her lover and champion
She’d not been sorry up to now
For following her heart
She knew the toll her love would take
Right from the very start
But this would be a sacrifice
She'd never wished to make
That for his life she would exchange
Hers for the clan to take
Sweet heart of the dead
Adored by generations not yet born
Marlene we love you.
Your beauty burned the wings of JFK
And brought big John to his knees.
For your love, was meant for more.
You shocked the World with a velvet kiss
An elegant truth in a sea of Fools.
It took one voice to start a War,
One bullet to unite false prophets
One woman to speak out.
You ostracized the Nazis for what they were.
Stood tall, through treason
Did not follow, Hitler’s Spell
Chose to Love America s freedom instead.
When Reapers scythe came
Song and Compassion was your shield.
It Gave comfort to the damned as shell and mortar pound
Your words a respite, from the fear
And your beauty, a reminder.
That love awaits the Soldiers return.
Back to the German farms and the English meadows
For love knows nothing of war.
You witnessed holy sacrilege,
Saw blind disciples fuel the reapers fire
Both sides, in the name of god,
Oh how heaven must have wept
Marlene you dared to question religion,
For Your soul could see through the flames,
While others perished in mortals Pride.
You Asked god to review his plan.
Only you, Marlene could do that
Where have all the flowers gone
Your message to Humanity,
But the Heinkel and the Spitfire
Flew too high to hear
And the flowers of youth
All Eaten by silent sheep, and taken to yet another slaughter.
Yet be proud Marlene
For Your echo awakened a new generation to peace,
Although lasting peace is like true love, so hard to find,
But never the less, a goal we devote our lives to.
Some countries have found their Peace
While other search.
Humanity is still a child in these matters,
And war still goes on
When will they ever, learn, when will they, ever learn.
Try to forgive us,
Perhaps the man upstairs,
Really does have another plan, Marlene Dietrich,
At least I’m sure that Eternity
Will be a far more beautiful and interesting place
With you in it,
and I look forward to meeting you.
Footnote to this poem
JFK relates to her affair with President Kennedy
Big john relates to her affair with John Wayne
The Velvet kiss was the first lesbian kiss on main stream cinema 1930
Marlene was bisexual.
The line where have all the flowers gone and when will they ever learn comes from the song forever associated with Marlene Dietrich.
Born 1901 in Germany
First film in 1920
Became American Citizen 1937
Awarded Medal of Freedom USA 1947
Awarded Legion of Honor by France
Died 1992 in Paris.
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "