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Metaphor History Poems | Metaphor Poems About History

These Metaphor History poems are examples of Metaphor poems about History. These are the best examples of Metaphor History poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

World War - Benita Margaronis

RED  DOOR (collaboration)

by~ Benita Margaronis

War Of The World Death, pain, blood, 
Shell-shocked men, suffering and darkness. 
It's all they ever saw.  
Soldiers thinking about their lives.  
Rotting flesh and the whimper of dying men with their bodies half blown off.  
Other soldiers shooting them in the head to end their pain.   
The shattering sound of an explosive destroying life and more ground.  
Blood and body parts spray through the air and spread throughout the ground. 
Total emptiness and nothingness.  
Mounds and mounds of biting bodies and horses.  
Scattered planes, tanks, trucks and others.  
Burning guns and oil.  
Because the world went to war so much was lost for so little gain.  
The war of the world shall never be forgotten. 

by~ Poet Destroyer

War of the world Sacrifice.
Doors tainted red, tragedies never forgotten.
Mediterranean swept the soul of combatants without a word to say.
A war so defiant both sides lost more than humanity to each other. 
Prisoners, white flag surrendering, shot in the head with no remorse.
Brave soldiers wiping off the blood of their face like a tear.
Men in fetal positions crying hard like the day they were born for*mom-MA.
Soldiers pocket full of notes and dog-tags for a loved one.
Achievements that followed death without a mother's hand to hold.
Chaotic news and telegrams traveled without a moment to spare.
A flag brought to the door painted black.
Mothers falling to the floor broken hearted.
Because no one can mend the courage one gave to us today. 
The war of the world shall never be forgotten.

A collaboration with * Benita Margaronis

My collaboration contest

Details | Verse | |

- Temujin -


The purple Royal banners wave above the armored steel,
of Mongol Genghis Khan the Temujin who rules with wit,
and programs to expand his rights with sublimated zeal,
beneath his will to merge the lands, the warlords to befit.

Consorted by the Börte maid, of Onggirats' kin tribe,
the Mongol martial Temujin is honored by the clans;
a skillful warrior invades the lands while Börte bride
awaits; for no one else predestined is to be her man.

The chieftain slaughters on his pass across the western soils
invincible his tactics are and triumphs ascertain,
advance his rule, his territorial new marks 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 cold the winds of Northern steppe embrace the  ghosts
and Princess Börte of the Onggirat, 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 loveless, coursing blood,
and through the gusting of the winds, transports their saddened calls. "

© 01-20-2014, G. Venetopoulos
(Iambic heptameter)

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.

Details | Free verse | |

The Glass Goddess

All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground 
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…

Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.

So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess 
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-

We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane, 
Seizing the day
Because any moment 
We could disappear 

Jacob Reinhardt	

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?

Details | I do not know? | |

Tomorrow is Ours

Tomorrow is Ours.

Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear,
asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear,

the festering wounds of enslavement still remain,
juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain,

spewing out neo-liberal economic charades,
doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids,


tomorrow shall be ours,

casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle,
no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal,

tomorrow shall be ours,

we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces,
we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces,

of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows,

we are here, now, alive with hope,

we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.

Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation

The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation

The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.

The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.

Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part V

The English weather:
Rainclouds follow us from home
There is no escape.

Details | Lyric | |

Pledge Not The Allegiance

It's the third verse,
I got the urge to purge
All the curt words I've splurged,
I've submerged in sin,
I'll go to church repent,
Then go curse again,
Lets reverse this trend
We nurse tolerance,
When it might offend,
If I white wash my fence,
So try to not get tense,
When I do not defend, 
Those who chose to be dense
And not use their two cents,
To show kids the reverence,
For the pledge of allegiance.

Details | Free verse | |

There Is No Now

The pollution is psychedelic
Hell, you could even say poetic nature
Terms of enragement
Definitely not engagement
Can suffice in describing the depredation

Fire from the skies
Burning through the system
Dropping through to nothing
Learning not what’s in them
Always running from them

We may hide our voices
But you hide your souls
Torturing us with woes
Never able to feed our hole
Scars bleed out like coals

Paint it any color you like
Doesn’t change a thing
This war that you’ve brought forth 
Has killed us all
In the past and future

There is no now…

Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Dessert in the Deserted Desert

Boiling, baking and blazing,
               Other synonyms for heat.
My camel is happily dazing,
	He was not a restful seat.
Poolside I’ll later be lazing,
	Resting my sunburnt feet.
Air conditioning is amazing,
               Ice cream is a lovely treat.

Details | I do not know? | |

I Stand, Alone

I stand, alone.

Scratching for my truths,
peeling away the veneer,

I stand, alone, before this
impregnable cliff so sheer.

Cocooned in my solitary shell,
wrenching a smile from a tear,

I stand, alone, a little odd,
and definitely quite queer.

I stand, alone.

Details | I do not know? | |

The Sieve of Time

The Sieve of Time

Cast ashore,
along the banks of time,

whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,

Cast ashore,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,

clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.

Cast ashore,
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,

trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.

Cast ashore,
flung aside for no discernible crime,

my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,

I stagger ashore, 


embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.

Details | I do not know? | |



The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...

'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'

' your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike


take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.

Details | Tanka | |

New Jersey

Lenni-Lenape smokes
still climb Appalachians
To dream the Passaic`s Great Falls, 
the banks Delaware,Hudson,
and Long Island Sound`s echo.

Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)

they shot you down
all those years ago


your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
we shall overcome

(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)

Details | Nonet | |

Father of Independence

“Father of Independence”                Nonet Poetry

General Aung San was a hero  		
and father of independence   		 
of our country of Myanmar.   		
Aung San fought the British  		
and went to london           		
to claim freedom.            		  
He was killed                		
by the                       		
written by: Dr Ko Ko Thein
            Salt Lake City

Details | I do not know? | |

For Primo Levi

For Primo Levi

it darkened more
as light shone through
and the haunting past stabbed

you felt
silently the blind were led
'thieves' you called them
emerging from nowhere
yet everywhere
'thieves' you called them
no one
yet everyone
you felt

you left

Details | I do not know? | |

Port of Call

Port of Call

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,

and dips.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found, at long last,

my final port of call.

Details | Free verse | |

Gods and Devils

We built the Great Pyramids of Giza.
We made the Atomic Bomb.

We discovered herbs to heal.
We grow viruses in underground labs.

Religion was created to bring peace.
Religion was also created to divide.

Books have been written to inspire,
but also to spread hatred.

We have made love in war,
and war in love.

Different races have united,
and people of one blood have divided.

We are gods and devils....

Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains

Details | I do not know? | |

To the Nameless Soldier

To the Nameless Soldier

Your orders may come now...

...or at 19h45 this evening.

'Shoot to kill'
'Engage the enemy'
'Hold the line'
'Break up the gathering'

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you have felt too

the stab of hunger
the bite of thirst
the bayonet of loss
the wound of despair

but you have seen too

the pain in a mother's eyes
the grief in a father's face
the incomprehension in a child's down-cast look

'Ready, aim, fire'

but you, the nameless soldier have heard

the cries of the grieving family
the wailing of the widowed wife
the quiet agonizing sound of the child's weeping

'Ready, aim, fire'

your orders may come now
or at 23h30 tonight
or tomorrow
or the day after that
or next week or month or year

but you have seen and felt and heard too

the agony of a peoples' simple desire
the hurt of a nation long bludgeoned
the wounds of your stolen generation

so when that order comes


or at 03h30 tomorrow morning
'Ready, aim, fire'

let your humanity muzzle your rifle
let your conscience dismiss the order
let your better side come to the fore 

and let your very own people, your mother and your father, your sister and your brother, your son and your daughter, your friend and your lover
let them live
let them be
let your rifle fall to the soil of your beloved motherland

o' nameless soldier.

Details | Light Poetry | |

Human Campfire Legacy

" Human Campfire Legacy ... "

( Gen. 2: 4 / Gen. 3: 24 / Ex. 13: 21 )
( Ex. 3: 2 / Rev. 22: 5, 6 )

All & Every Family of Man
Must Have Gathered Around Campfires
Telling Stories of Dreams & Dramas of Life
(Tho' Some of Them Have Been Liars) ...

... Gathered Around Great Campfires
At The End of Sunlit Days
Gathered Close, Around Warm Campfires
To Hear What Storytellers Had To Say ...

... of Fantasy Or Forecasts Around The Flames
Feeling Protected By It Bonfire-Blaze
Or Gazing At Each Familiar, Glowing Face
... Gathered Around A Family's Fireplace

Such Was This Ancient Entertainment
Throughout Time & Tongues of Tribes
Telling Histories, Heritage, Legends, Myths & Fables
In Oratories of Bards & Scribes ...

" I Saw Four Men Living Out On The Street
Gathered Around A Big, Smoking Fire-Barrel
Their Hands Outstretched To Its Flames
To Ward Off The World's Ice-Age-Peril ...

One Was Gesturing & Speaking To The Others
And They Began To Uproariously Laugh ...
It Was Then, That I Saw A Glimpse of
How Mankind 'Sticks To' Campfires-Past " ...

... Gathered Around A Flickering Campfire
See, There Is Nothing New Under The Sun
And When Earth's Great Star, Staircases-Down
Man, Still Gathers 'Round Fires' Heated-Fun ...

So If You Find Yourself At A Campsite
Indulging In Its Ritual Tradition
of Looking & Listening To Campfire Tales
Or Gathered 'Round A Television ...

... It's A Long-Time-Honored, Human Custom
To Gather Around Warm Campfires
From Tents To Huts - To Applianced-Homes
Or In Palaces of Great Empires ...

The Civilizations of The Family of Man
Must Have Gathered Around Campfires
Telling-Visions of Dreams & Dramas of Life
In High-Def  ... 3-D, Wire-Pyres ...

In Conflagrations & Rubbed Frictions of Man
Gathered & Chronicled Thru Sparks of Campfires
Some Became Skilled At Fairytales & Folklore
& Yes, Some Were Just Branded - Burnt Liars)
( Rom. 3: 4  /  1 Tim. 4: 1, 7 )

 Written & Copyrighted ©:  5/20/2014
            by:  MoonBee  Canady

Details | Free verse | |

The Tithe, and The wills, And the lists

Guilty party Alcohol companies
and those responsible for that product being targeted 
to the youth
put my name
in your will

I don't care if you make it a metaphor for a prayer
in the amounts that you leave me
and the message you leave me
with the way you care to swallow your footsteps
you've left behind

Cigarette companies
and those who advertise for them
put my name in your will
find it for a way
make it an amends
to the past present and future
I will find a way with your amounts given to me
to swallow you down
to choke you out
from beyond the grave

Porn companies
porn stars
all those who think 
I don't have a black file
and i'm just some ghetto wizard
and maybe a gullible god
put my name in your will 
pay off your debt
how you have tarnished
tainted mankind's image

All those building weapons of mass destruction
welcome to Gabrielles dance
joining those greedy people going to hell
And this is also for those with the power to send people to war
wether you crawled for me or not
put my name in your will
find a message for me to carry out
with your money
to choke you out
to tear you out of reality
with your money 
you will leave me a better way

This is the list
This is my tithe, pay it well
don't think i don't have a list
and be ready to buy yourself a few more cycles under the stars
Light in the darkness
may hunt you down
poisoning the well
you don't see the righteous wolf in sheep's clothing
nailing martyrs to the past
i have the list
you pay the tithe
and we'll see your historical wills!

Let's not leave out
those making drug abuse seem good
put my name 
in your will
and a metaphor for a prayer
to tear your shadow into holes
all you thugs and druglords
who think theyve escaped the lists
thats my biggest trick
put my name in your will
pay my tithe
swallow this omen
to set the future right
put my name in your will

I might claim some of your hard earned dreams
you've stolen from the innocent
of radiostations and entertainment
I might claim a method to the madness
of counterintelligence
I just might one day be the name used
when someone is stalking you

You whisper my name
you say my name
put my name in your will
make your amends in your death
you threw everything
and everybody away in your life
one way or another
someone gets the last laugh

wether your soul gets revenge
or you question mine
You are a name a number
a disguise configured 
found and discovered on satelite
and I'm ready to pull the rug under your feet
I'm about to pull the wool off the wolf

Details | I do not know? | |


"When a self- centered animal cries it's considered weakness, 
which necessarily isn't a bad thing .However, 
when a  soulful animal cries it's considered strength , which necessarily isn't a good thing. For the latter, Its like the stars in relation to the universe. They  have witnessed the past present and future based on the weight of the ocean and the constant reminder of ones infinite sympathy and empathy"

Details | Free verse | |

Biography (the introduction)

Strip me bare like the land
Sacred and unprotected
That you come to claw and tear
To hold its sparkle 
In the ostentation of your hand
For man is more than spectacle
And I am more than
Just a sum of atoms, 
Or a bit among the pieces of the plan
Mine me for all the gold I am

It is a great project
Memory writing imagination 
To immortalize the castle in the sand
The salt tongue of sea
Have shaped like a human hand.
I shall learn too
Rocks like a metaphor for my strength.
Only bring not those productions here
Machines crawling 
Into my skin
Gnawing me with caterpillar teeth
Of a psychological reality
Of the Aryan world
Leave Sigmund and Karl
In the bleachers to wait with me
For the expedition that shall be
A better paradigm than El'Dorado
Those are superficial oars 
Too narrow the scope of vision
To plow and dissect
The TransAtlantic triangle
Of my reduction
To a stage of history
The savage
Unthankful for its civilization
Making the cosmology of the soul.
I am more rock
Than a caterpillar can feed.
And it, before it flies
Against the glittering sun
Is more paradigm
Than you excavate from a pun.

Strip me bare like the land
This limited space in time
Shall tell
The expanding universe of days
Not a new beginning
But a slow Columbus world
Coming to the reality
Of a preexistence beyond
Mere sensation
Laid out like cloth
Upon the table of the mind.
Cloth, you say
Another precursory thing to rag
O had you seen it
Form like cotter on the head
Or turban, or mat
Or sheet upon the bed
It carries babies too
Close to the fountain of its milk
But cloth, before all that
Woven and waiting for the design
Functional in service
And still a canvas of history
Only an ancient African understands.
Cloth you take off to change the landscape
That body stands naked in its innate beauty 
Despite the loss of soil and trees
Cloth shed like skin
Before we enter into the river
I from Darien look and shiver
At the sight of the newcomer
Standing like a Drake

Details | I do not know? | |

Ludwig and Vincent

Ludwig & Vincent...

‘They said that you were mad, Vincent’, whispered Ludwig to a silent Vincent.

‘I still am, quite insane’, replied Vincent, ‘but you, dear Ludwig, you were deaf, and mad, I hear’.

‘I listened with my soul, Vincent, I heard it all without hearing a sound. Yes, mad and deaf indeed I too, still am’, Ludwig said, smiling at Vincent.

‘just look at them now’, Vincent replied, smiling with Ludwig, ‘look at them now, as they hawk sunflowers, blissfully oblivious of exquisite starry nights’.

‘yes’, smiled Ludwig, ‘look at them now, they crave joy, yet they cannot hear an ode, dear Vincent, they cannot hear it! They do not care enough to hear’.

‘Yes, dear Ludwig’, Vincent sighed, ‘they do not care enough to hear’.

Ludwig and Vincent smiled, each tugging an ear.

Details | I do not know? | |

Awake at Midnight

Awake at Midnight

sleep retreats
into tunnels of dewy thoughts

teasing the worn mind

awake at midnight
dreams recede

into caverns of mist
to brew their hazy potions

awake at midnight
weariness seduces the being

seeking to slip away
thirsting for solace in
the numbness of slumber
awake at midnight


Details | Sonnet | |

The Date

Pulling teeth seems more appealing
than the squeaky reeling, the howling
experience, of the flogging date
I had with you; like catfish to bait.
Cracked my skull wide open.
Can’t think, can’t explain the straight pin
lobotomy I received from a kiss,
which, at first, brought cosmic bliss.
I thought my rocket expelled
into love space rather than Hell.
Had I known what I know now,
I would not have kissed the cow.

(A metaphor for the U.S. involvement in Iraq.)


Details | Free verse | |

C. L. R. James (From Pages)

Ellis Island
Men come here to see a statue
With hungry masses at it I knee
I come here to breathe again
The simplicity of the allusion
For I knew Moby Dick
Was not why alone
Our children were born
Blemished like the rainbow
So I come to see
Where he had slept resisting to return
While he decolonized my illusion
I have seen the pen in its might
How time was never fast enough
To catch a metaphor in flight
And yet always I fear more
The impotence of the sword
In a Proletariat hand
So this is where they flocked you
Among the impotent and dying
Among the anxious and lying
You who were our brightest son
Boldest mind,
Most fearless thinker of the time
I wept too without the Federation
But cannot find the courage to curse
My own wrong
I thought all games are wars
You think all wars are games
A means by which barbarity
Prevents my integration
With self and other self
And the selves
I become being civilized
I saw the sea
You invented the water cycle
The thing that no man yet has ridden.

Details | Free verse | |

The game played in the name of virginity

When kane is mankind's lesson in life
there remains a need for a lesson in love
when your television is hell's proof of a holy war
your blind muse confused with the legacy of christ
and the battle of troy
Both seem to have a name similar to genocide
and a plan to love this loveless weapon
since the planet is a homeless shelter
the realisation we have nowhere better to go
we cheer on the one man army at war
one in which we know there will be no victoms
and results in no non believers

When two peaceful men stand tall
one hand washing the other
even in metaphor in the midst of mankind's obsessive compulsions
that had left them thinking their wills to do good werre being tested as if they were flawed

A continual life lesson
of your media and music
string theory at god's birthday
simple cliches of your life lesson
gives you another chance at winning one of god's lottery's
either way, this is an ultimate payday

Details | Blank verse | |

Between the Moon and the Sun (Excavations)

I stared, and stared, and stared
Following the light with my eyes
To see beneath the dress
The deep bosom of water suckling
Babels on the ancient salt of primal seas.
We build our ladders not from mountains
But their stones
Children searching for the cookie jar
Orphans in a tidal war ...
And have found more solid answers
Digging down
When my only dream is up
How sense distort our ambiguities!

Dashur, Saqqara, and Giza
Extrapolate a northern line
Imaginary as an equator, as all
Our knowledge of wrong and right
We are the shards of a bitter fall

The Mayan built there
And Teotihuacan here
Light beyond the dark Caucus frozen caves
Map the heaven in solid mud.
It is a long walk between civilizations
But there is something in the cultures
That long to embrace 
A common history
From Palenque, Tikal, Tulun
Chichenitza, Copan, Uxmal
We climb the stairs of Babel again
Shaanxi, Nakkhodka
These undiluted Semites sing
Upon drums of stones 
The gospel's truth in them enthroned

There seven million shards of stars
In a broken desert shining
Through the jungle of present night
These poor Daedalus 
Their Khofu and Cheops
Just a different mound of dust
A metaphor 
For the excavation of human meaning
Something to break the spell of death
Something to say of my coming
Tomorrow is beyond our regret.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Do Not See Me at All

They Do Not See Me at All

they do not see me at all...

as I walk through these desecrated avenues

of soul-deadening frenzy

I see them all rushing past me

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call

they do not see me at all

it seems at times, that invisible am I

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl

they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall

still they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl

and yet they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl

for they do not see me at all

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness

where they cannot see me at all

Details | Free verse | |

Self reflection

Self-reflection is an art
A two edged sword that no one teaches
No religion philosophized
my own personal goal 
to better myself 
and understand everything 
by seeing one another 
through the slide of me 
through another’s eyes 
and that person 
through yet another’s eyes

Four good qualities you truly possess is where I start
The good things about me
Actually that’s a lie
That’s what I recommend
I usually get a little bit sad sit here and realize 
That I think I’m deep and no one understands

I know through self-reflection of understanding history
and putting myself in other peoples shoes
Like a mental actor of how I would feel emotionally and mentally
and then writing it down
is like self reflection but not quite
close but no cigar I have learned we are truly all actors and life is indeed a stage
And when we learn how to manipulate the greatest acts of man for the history 
The next generations will be taught in school how to prevent wars and live in 
piece by us selling one perfect life or lie
And I wonder if I’m a 27-year-old psychological lie of a ghetto wizard
I’ve described

Through self reflection I know they're are things I need to change
Some things I never will
Some things I am a part of
And at least the parts and pieces of my life I live like poetry that if they were 
captured like dreams in a butterfly net
They would teach something to the future like Jesus or anybody would if they 
Just how to self reflect emotionally mentally put yourself in another’s shoes and 
learn the lesson through writing a poem
or thinking it out

If each generation and the history books were all acts of men
and my generation has to top the last lie with a wisdom of the perfect metaphor 
to unlock the following generations thinking process
Is that the game of the planet?
Are those the reasons to the wars we fight today?
to teach tomorrow
When they write their essays that will become tomorrow’s politicians 
An insane asylum can teach politics and all we really want is to pay them to be 
rich and make global friends so we can have utopia
But in the history book of the essays they no longer write where life lessons were 
learned and taught through misfortune of man
there are gems to be uncovered of how to stop wars how to peace keep
How to mediate
How to live
How to heal
and every generation we discover it on our own as the teachers subtly shape our 

Details | I do not know? | |

We Shall Always be Many More

We Shall Always be Many More
(For the dispossessed of this world)
we shall always be many more
we who roast in your designer factories
our brows dripping with our salty sweat
we who may forgive but shall never forget
we shall always be many more
we who reek of cheap moonshine
we who stagger and often stumble
we whose stomachs never cease to rumble
we shall always be many more
we who polish your fine bone china
we whose pay gets docked if one cup is chipped
we who fight your wars, and off to battle get shipped
we shall always be many more
we who clean up after your pretty children
we whose kids are hungry, naked and get swept
into the bowels of desolation, as mothers’ tears are wept
we shall always be many more
we who do your dirty work each day
we who you treat like vermin, foul and rotten
we whose trampled dignity is always forgotten
we shall always be many more
we who will rise up and seize the light of hope
and reclaim what is ours for our daughters and sons
though we will always be in the cross-hairs of your guns
we shall always be many more
and there shall be many more of us still to come
to rid you of your smug arrogance and endless greed
for we too have children whom we have to feed
we shall always be many more
‘and the meek shall inherit the earth’
or something like that though we no longer care
for we shall rise up one day to demand our rightful share
we shall always be many more...

(With thanks to Ken Loach’s movie ‘Land & Freedom’)

Details | Free verse | |

Hollywood Homework

Since im an overbudget million dollar man
i should know how to act out one of the perfect lives
three of them a part of a matrix of pulling off a utopia
what life lessons do these actors need to act out
for the audience to understand which part of the holy plan we are at
which part of the rapture for peace can we all act out
the golden child metaphor no longer leaves you walking a red carpet grave
the hand you are dealing yourself you learn to stack your own deck

Muse of inspiration of such an elaborate plan
of writers, singers actors, working together in unison
step by step
scene by scene of three perfect lives that pull of world peace
the big plan for the planet to watch the show, and cheerlead them by song
if you have a job or are alive
either way you are hired to do this
a plan you cannot fail
because you will get it eventually
the world is a stage
welcome to the planet

Details | Narrative | |

Earthbound sobriety

While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture 
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.

Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.

A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.

The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.

Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.

Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.

But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.

As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.” 
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.

It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.

Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.

Details | Free verse | |

Hanging your sins on jesus

Look at this burden
to write out in perfect blasphemy
what you did
what we went through
what you did to me
so now after weeping
underneath murderous stars
i begin to hang your sins on jesus
every metaphor another scar

how do you tie into this
pointing the finger at me
messages from the past
sent forward written in the sky
a soulbound train for jesus to ride

Slip you this letter
of the dead word curse
hanging sins on jesus
lets hang him first
what army do the meek have that inherit the earth
a logical equation
to resurrect the truth we covered

hanging sins on jesus
an under rug swept routine
pull the wool of the wolf
and lets see what was that is
inbetween things that will be

Details | Free verse | |

Making History

Robbing history
sending time capsules into space
placing their illusions around me
and we all can'r believe this is taking place
talk about it
talk about me
make me something
make me everything
refer to me
my pain
my life the secret shadowfiend
be inspired
truly admired
hint at it like  a game
the path is the present
and you hold the educational keys to your chains
from page to page
the cup of your lover
might be a paper cup or a chalice like mine
the path to the house
is something 
the body of waters you all refer to
are your experiences in love and intercourse

all the way to the house of death
looking back to the past of the present of your path
to realise your futuristic forests
and somewhere
you need to point at me
you need to say here lies history
but not now
not yet
this is the underground
blue lipstick
of junkies and drug abuse
green eyeshadow of domestic abuse
no more shaved heads
and it keeps changing
look for your escape route from page to page

references to my own titles 
to keep you captivated
subject matter and puzzles of layers and themes
to keep you swaying
of philosophy of no death row
and we achieve world peace in unity
point at me
make me history
pay my tithe
resign your wills and desires
and recreate your lists of how you want to live your life
all because god lit the hells on fire

a metaphor for a prayer
and a sin at the same time
such innocent blasphemy
and the bible remains a crime scene of which political player
won the world war and choked us out with lies

making history and paranoia
point at me
and realize
we didn't study psychology 
to sell ourselves drugs alcohol and cigarettes to children
so I'll keep fishing
but until then revolutionary
offering you a truth or dare