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Mother History Poems | Mother Poems About History

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

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Details | Couplet | |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”


When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 



Details | Couplet | |

Marble in Columns on Green

On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute

For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes

A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken

So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife

On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys

For the living, life goes on 
Tomorrow is another day


Details | Ballade | |

WAVES MOTHER ME

                                              

                           Helen Lorraine Allison, 2, Titanic Victim


                                                    Oh, they swung the lifeboats out
                                                    O'er the deep and ragin' sea,
                                                    When the band struck up with
                                                    "Nearer My God to Thee."
                                                     Little children wept and cried,
                                                     As the waves swept o'er the side.
                                                     It was sad when the great ship went down.

                                                ~ The Titanic (Husbands and Wives), Folk Song ~



          __________________________________________

At first, the waters were so very cold,
And the night was filled with horrid weeping,
Some men were shouting like when Mamma scolds,
But others lay still like they were sleeping,
Then warmth I felt, oh, what a sweet creeping,
The sea called to me with almost a sigh,
Down, down I went, a treasure worth keeping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.

A ship is my playground, rotting and old,
Krill float through my home, so shyly peeping,
Starfish do what they want, are somewhat bold,
Anemones sway, forever sweeping,
Over still things, my spirit is leaping,
Though I’m in darkness, here I can fly,
The hull thins with its rusticles heaping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.

The ocean is quiet but stories I’m told,
Lost memories, tales of sadness seeping,
But I’ve no company, no hand to hold,
My doll is broken, my toys are steeping,
I’m so sleepy and my lids are drooping,
I remember how once I used to cry,
And then came the deep’s heartless kidnapping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.

Careless were they, I was for safekeeping,
Children shouldn’t be heard, please tell me why,
Hushed and rushed with death’s untimely reaping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.


Details | Rhyme | |

MAMMA ANNA MADE THE BEST BABBA' AL RHUM

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!


And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!


It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!


Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"


Details | Rhyme | |

Christmyths

If we read the gospel well,
We notice no one rang a bell,
To announce the saviour’d come,
And then when we learn of his mum,
There’s no mention of her donkey ride,
Or of the animals inside,
The stable were the child slept,
It does not tell us if he wept,
And of the weather? Did it snow?
Well we simply do not know,
It rarely snows in the West Bank,
Would be unlikely, to be frank,
And was Jesus born at night?
Did they at least get that part right?
Well it simply does not say,
It mentions not the time of day,
And that’s not all, not by far,
Shepherds saw Angels, Not a star,
It doesn’t say they gave a sheep,
(They were poor and lambs weren’t cheap!)
The Bible tells us many things,
But did not call the wise men Kings,
It doesn’t even call them men,
It only calls them magi then,
It says nowhere they numbered three,
Or if from the Orient they’d be,
It does say that our Lord arrived,
Lived a good life, was crucified,
Just to take away our sin,
So heaven will allow us in,
And this is the truth I will defend,
But just how can a footstep bend?


Details | Narrative | |

GREET THE LITTLE KING

Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight! 


My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.  


A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light 
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.   


Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer, 
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill. 
 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Monoku | |

Grandma

Threaded memories, the smell of my grandmother seeps from the pillow


Details | Free verse | |

Ode to my daughter on her birthday - 26

My Sarah
When I looked at you last week trying on your new boots
Those almond eyes sparkling at something new, a gift
I saw my little pink girl, a princess, playing dress up again
Your long hair draped your high cheekbones
Life still a game, tinged with drama and theatre 
As you look for fun in all your pursuits!
A player in life with a passion for cooking and music
You have become a kind, loyal, vivacious young woman
Self assured, grounded with a love of tradition
I looked at you and felt an overwhelming pride.

Sunday’s child is ' bonny, blithe, good and gay' they say
Befitting my Sabbath girl, a model child of few demands
Your bedroom a vast sea of Barbie and friends
A Passion for story-time and books
Your Dutch life with Irish sea-touched roots, 
You are a real continental
A great scholar with degrees in Law and Psychoanalysis
You have found your true love with Luis, a Spaniard
As you both prepare to leave the Emerald Isle
I wonder at the achievement of you!


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "


Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | Rhyme | |

Elenor Quine

Elenor Quine


Elenor Quine was her name, but they just called her Nellie. My late mother said.

She was born in 1909.She was always apparently the last one up to bed


She was one of my  Mothers sisters, who died when she was just  twelve years old.

Because she got soaking wet then caught a cold

It then turned to Pneumonia. The year was 1921.

There was not a lot that could be done 

My Mother was just ten, at that time. Her other sister was Winnie, Her brothers Bill and Tom.

But they are all now long since gone.

She did have another sister born years  after Nellie died.

She was called Bunty When she arrived everyone cried.

She too has long since gone. Throughout the whole of her life my late mother kept a little white dish with two handles on it.

Because it used to be Nellies, I can’t bear to bin it.

This afternoon I just got it down to dust. Then all the memories of what I have been told 


Came flooding back to me,. So much history it has. It is so old.



Now it is going back on the top shelf again.


A little dish that holds a story of pain.


So although Nellie I never knew you. 

I just wanted to write a little verse about  you.




 


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Salt

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.

A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.

When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each, 
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend. 

An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station, 
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet. 

Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.

What greater honor, that when a man moves forward, 
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was. 

A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior, 
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.

The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now. 

Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember, 
because he now resides forever in our hearts.

As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye, 
as he draws upon his pipe, 
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.



Details | Blank verse | |

Mother, Forgive Us

Mother,
I used to walk in dark places and know that I was safe.
Because I knew that I loved you.

Mother,
I have abused my brothers and sisters.
I have contaminated your purity with murder.
I have raped your daughters.
I have kidnapped your children.
I have brought your blessed bosom to the brink of destruction.

And now, even when I walk in daylight I do not feel safe.
For now I am aware of what I have been to you.
Worse than a prodigal, I have endeavored to exploit the very mother who nurtures me.
And now that I have worsened whatever imbalance was in you before I arrived,
I endeavor to flee you like a coward through the grace of an oblivious savior.

Mother,
I have dreamed a dream of water.
I have dreamed a dream of living water.
And in this dream Jesus, my Savior, told me that he was not oblivious.
And in this dream Jesus told me that he was fully aware of my crimes against you.

Mother,
I have dreamed a dream of fire.
I have dreamed a dream of unquenchable fire.
And in this dream Jesus reminded me that I was sent here to heal you as you taught me of manhood.
And in this dream Jesus told me that if I could not love you, my mother, who I could see, then how could I love my Father in heaven who I could not.

Mother,
I have dreamed a dream of air.
I have dreamed a dream of whirlwinds.
And in this dream I breathed in the breath of forgiveness and I realized that it was not too late for us.

Mother,
I have dreamed a dream of earth.
And in this dream, Mother Earth, I see you and us together, fighting for our freedom.
Fighting against the delusion that our fates are not eternally intertwined.

Mother earth,
Please forgive us.
For true, we have betrayed you.
But it is not too late.

Mother,
I promise you that as sure as my savior is in heaven we are going to make it.

Mother,
I present myself to you as a living witness.
The Lord has not forsaken us.
For within our DNA is the secret to your healing and the end of our insanity.

Mother,
Thank you for loving and protecting me, even as I raped and wounded you.
And now it is my turn.

“In the name of Jesus, the earth and all of the earth’s inhabitants are one mind, heart, and body.  In the name of Jesus, we are one person, one planet, and one purpose.  In the name of Jesus, the lion will soon lay down with the lamb and this beautiful sound, this sound of the sacred Gaia will know harmony!!” 


Details | Free verse | |

Will We Know Him

Will We Know Him?

Will we know Him if He stood in front of us?
If He walked by us on the street?
Will we know Him?
If we have a chance to meet Him in our  lifetime?
In that split second that we meet Him?
Our eyes met for the first time?
Will we know Him?
Yes reading the moment we stood side by side?
Our smiles are very clear
Our heart jumps around
Yes we do know Him?
That look, and that feeling
When we know we've found our home
Yes we do know Him
Yes we know what to say to Him
As we walk away together
Yes we know Him as He knows us His children
We are finally together

Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Free verse | |

Victorian poverty crime and squalor

Born into a life of poverty crime and squalor
where hunger and cold winds bite
and disease is rife
and it was a daily battle to stay alive
and find some food to stay alive.

Uneducated illiterate caught in the poverty trap
drinking polluted water
from the same polluted cholera riddled tap.

An impoverished woman
sells her body for a cheap bottle of Gin
and a lodging for the night
while a pickpocket and mutcher
ever watchful
look for a pocket to alight.

The deafening clunk and clatter
of horses and carts on the cobbled ground
and shouts from the street market traders
echo all around.

Children play and run through the narrow
crowded streets
dressed in rags no shoes upon their feet
The putrid stench from the gutter
and thick choking bellowing
smoke from factories
make one heath and make it hard to breath.

Dilapidated hovels and buildings
covered in black soot
horse manure and raw sewage 
under foot.

Beggars with large mournful eyes
reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry
to fill their empty bowls with plenty.

A peeler pins a notice of a forthcoming hanging
at the local Gaol for the few who can read
upon a rusty nail.

A  Mother desperate to feed her hungry children
steals a loaf of bread from a market stall
but is soon captured  in the sprawl.

The judge sentences her to 10 years
penal servitude far over sea in Botany bay
but she dyes aboard the ship of fever
upon the way.

Her 9 children are sent to the workhouse
for the poor to gain some education
and work hard behind it's hellish door
never to see their Mother or escape poverty
ever more.


Peter Dome.copyright.2012.


Details | Rhyme | |

Oh! Humanity,

Oh! Humanity,
How you’ve completely lost your sanity.
 
Did you forget how to grow?
Every one of you was planted row by row.
Did your heavenly Father not nurture you with love?
Did He not make the rains fall from up above?
Oh where is your heart?
Who gave you your first start?
 
Oh! Humanity,
What vanity!
 
Oh! Humanity,
What profanity!
 
Daylight hours just wash ashore,
With simple lives from once before!
Have you forgotten your heavenly Mother?
And what about your heavenly Brother?
Where is your Godforsaken mind?
What happened to being loving and kind?
 
Oh! Humanity,
How you’ve provoked such a calamity!
 
 
® Registered: Ann Rich   2006
 
 


Details | Couplet | |

Home

I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,
Even though it comes, from so many years ago;

Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,
Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;

The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;
In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;

Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,
It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;

My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;
Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;

It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,
And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.


(My Parents sold the house I grew up in last year - It still breaks my heart)


Details | Lyric | |

Alone

Me... I was standing on that stranded Island...... alone........ Looking back..... into my Life... the past...... I felt.... I was not alone in those..... I was surrounded with my friends, relatives and all... But here in the end.... I became alone...... For ever.... I felt like I was a romantic poet those days..... I looked into the mirror of time..... The past... I knew that I was a poet..... An artist..... A performer...... More than all, I was a clown to all..... I went back to to the time along with my memories.... There I saw her..... She was with me...... She was Crying, Laughing, Teasing me..... I felt....... I was in her lap..... for decades or more.... But today even she left me....... and I am alone...... Again I went back along with my memories...... There I saw my mother...... I was with her ..... for more than several years..... Now, I feel........ My mother was better any way... But I missed her..... All I know is I left all my fellow beings only for my love...... But today even she left me....... and I am alone......


Details | Quatrain | |

Grandma's Legacy

My grandma had a green thumb
She loved to garden, plant and grow
Didn't matter where they're from
Snatching cuttings wherever she'd go

Her pockets filled with seeds from trips to and fro
Labeling the envelops with names as she was home
Plant variety was something she would know
She also knew specific times when seeds should be sown

Her garden was her solace throughout her hardened life
She planted seeds and grew her plants anywhere she stay
Always fed her family through depression and strife
Many rows of vegetables were planted in her day

Years have passed and she is gone her love of planting seeds
Was passed on through her family who now are pulling weeds. 

Jennifer Marie Oliver


Details | Pantoum | |

Penny Thoughts

A penny for your thoughts my mother used to say
I wondered if she thought my thoughts just worth penny
Conversations at our house were mostly one-way
She would say children are seen not heard, times_many

I wondered if she thought my thoughts just worth penny
She didn't encourage me  to speak anyway
She would say children are seen not heard, times_ many
Those thoughts just bounced around in my head everyday

She didn't encourage me to speak anyway
I asked many questions as high priced attorney
Those thoughts just bounced around in my head everyday
Because I was not free to speak mind went on journey

I asked many questions as high priced attorney
Conversations at our house were mostly one-way
Those thoughts just bounced around in my head everyday
A penny for your thoughts my mother used to say


Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest: Rhonda & Cyndi's Penny Pantoums


Details | Quatrain | |

The Birth Of A Girl The Birth Of A Boy

In a forest a girl was born   
A girl born oh so poor
This girl then caused this world now torn
Her birth opens a sore

But we do not now this girl mourn
She was left some money
A thrifty woman not to scorn
Then a taste of honey

She met a man she was forlorn
Bore a son Alois
Unwed and aging, no ring worn
No ring, so still a Miss.

Her bastard son none could be warned
When his mother did wed
He gave a name the world did scorn
A name that all wished dead

If his mother knew what was born
Hitler the name we know
I wonder would she have  been torn?
To give him birth, or no.

© 09/01/2013 ~GG~

Contest Entry.


Details | Elegy | |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 1)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.


Details | Free verse | |

A True Credo Of Love

(To All Who Believe It Can Be Achieved)


Caucasoid, Mongoloid,and Negroid
Colour the conscience progression 
of Man's ethical Truths...
The cultural aggressions of violence
and ignorance must end!
Extend your heart, hand and life
Towards the Precious Don of Honour...
Freely, keeping the sincere
Brotherly Creed


 

Comments:  Brothers and Sisters it is time that we stand up and let the Love of God in, after 
all we are all one in the same under the skin, so why not give it a grand try... One Love and 
Many Blessings in Him Always, Adell


Details | Free verse | |

marking time....to my friends on poetry soup.- the Lord helped me fight death and won.

i don't want to be just marking

time.  i died on november 20,

2008, during surgery.  i was

on a vent when i awakened 

december 2, 2008....my sisters'

birthday. what made me llive

i'll never know.  i know there

are things to do on this side

of death.



i have no time for marking time.

i have a stupid bag hanging from

my side now.  i am supposed to

"get comfortable with it".  well

that was a laugh.

that was a laugh until i thought

of the people that had these

things with no hope of ever

getting away from them.



i am so lucky.  14 days i laid

on a vent, then 22 more.

i came home 3 days, 



then 


i had
great pain in my chest...
.
well this is great i said,

a pulmonary emboli, 15 more

days, three days home.



then back to e.r. blood pressure

too high.  this bought me 

4 more days in e.r.



i am home now and finally 

have spent 19 days home.

i feel every pain and i feel

every time that i feel good



yes, i am never marking

time again.....there is

something about fighting

for your life and your sanity

that straightens things out.



i don't recommend it but

i wish i could let your hearts

know what i know.

janetta


Details | I do not know? | |

What people might think

People may say that i am a spoiled little brat.
    Only becuase they see what they wan't to see.
   We all have been through things in our life time that we just want to forget, but we just can't  seem to forget.

My mom has put me through many things "but lets not say" in the past.  And i have learned from some of those things.  It made me a stronger person inside and outside. 

  I don't know my father at all. I wasn't even born when my mom was around him.
 But i have a loving family.

I would never change my past even if i had the chance.  Becuase if i did then i wouldn't be 
where i am now.

 People who are out there that are judging people based on how they act or look, are stupid. Wise up and grow up... 
Those people you judge have a GOOD reason for the way they look or act.
 And maybe they need some one there to talk to. To get things off their 
back.

                        Just like the saying. "Don't judge a book by it's cover"



*just something  that i had to say* :)comment if you have a thought (or fav poem if you like it)*
  
                                        


Details | Quatrain | |

Redeye Gravy

Now sits the redeye gravy in the pan
It certainly is not at all like jam
Mom made it years ago  for her man
Fry some country ham, pour  coffee bam

Never knew why it was called redeye
Then my grandson informed me just why
Men who had been out late had bleareye
Who looked like they had been drip-dry

I always thought that it was because
It had dark red color from drippings
In my home it  got an applause
I thought that it was God's blessings

I learned my husband doesn't like it
My grandson doesn't like redeye gravy
When I make it only make a bit
Always redeye gravy left heavy

Today decided to place on grits
Feed to the cats see if they like it
Now cat is running around won't sit
I guess that caffeine gave them lift


Details | Monorhyme | |

No One Told Me

No One Told Me
A cement block is tied to my heart
Need a running start
At night my voice carries like a lark
Death’s arrow has hit its mark
My life is so dark
The side of the ocean is full of sharks
Some days I feel like such a tart
I used to be such a sweetheart
No one told me life would be so hard.


Details | I do not know? | |

You call yourself a father

Growing up was hard for me,
I think i grew up to soon,
I had to take charge in the big brother role,
But also i had to take hold to the father role somehow.

My mom was the only one who was there for her children,
We knew that she loved us,
She was in love with my father but he wasn't faithful,
So she found someone else who showed her true love.

My siblings never truly understood it,
I tried my best to encourage them to behave,
Which they listened but to a certain point,
Finally my mom married her true love and the caos began.

My father tried to step back in the picture,
My siblings began to side with my father not knowing the seriousness,
I decided to talk to them one-on-one but neither of them listened,
They wanted for my mom and father to be together.

One day my mother sat them down,
Telling them the hurt and pain she experienced with my father,
She explain to them the whole nine yards,
They understood then and began looking at my father differently.

Getting to the stage of middle school,
We began to see less of our father,
It was his choice...not ours,
He wouldn't call for our birthdays or holidays,

So we leaned mostly on our step-father,
They wouldn't accept him as father,
He would do all he could for us,
But instead the only one(s) who really let him be a father figure was me and the 
youngest brother.

My step-father loves my mom and has been there for her going on Fifteen years.
He is a firm talk like he's a policeman or something,
But he is a nice person.
My mom loves him and so do we.

So this is a message for all of the children out there who has a no good father....if 
your mom has a man or husband, please treat him right because he is there to 
protect your mom and you all. Thanks for listening!!


Details | Narrative | |

MEMORIES OF AN AUSTRALIAN CHILDHOOD

From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | Bio | |

The Man Behind the Mirror

Behind the mirror, the man is seen Where on our streets surrounded, Friends Thousands met cold, untimely death With screamed echoes of souls unrest Bullets flied, guns blasted ceaselessly Children dead in their mothers’ arms Father, for his lost son searched Found him only, with parts cut in shreds. Behind the mirror, was the man there? Our Young children, to soldiers turned Educated only in field of war Guns carried, bigger than they can bear Faught battles, of no cause but fear To read or write, they dared not do But to shoot or kill, well informed they were. The man behind the mirror, how did he rest? Our babies, dead while he sound slept In his glorious, paradise mirror he kept Still offered nothing, but violence more Promised, inflicted upon innocents, murder If anyone dared open their mouths to speak Or, if orders came of his seat to render. Behind that mirror, my freedom he took Our homes Burned; our stores looted Citizens, chased out of a land to love Forced into exile for years so many Adapted to a culture so not ours From scratch, we started to build Until bit by bit, we rose so high above Like an eagle, up up and away. The man behind the mirror, for him I always blame The color so dark, on our backs stained Bruises so deep, forever left to heal Visions of his bloody watch, repeatedly, us plagued Flashbacks of dear ones loved, Snatched, And palmed away by cruel, hateful death With tumbled bodies over bodies All soiled up into one tiny hole. Behind that mirror, the man will always be With blissful look in his red, budging eyes Wishing evil gleefully, with a dark smile His laughter,joy, through my anguish I see My heart beats fast, like a thunder sound And the more my hate for him increase Oh how I wish, that mirror came crashing down Then, a taste of his own medicine, he shall get


Details | Narrative | |

A Two Woman Duo

A Two Woman Duo
 
By Missy Yourist 



I am from the inside of a woman whom I have never met. 
A birth mother who I do not know one ounce of who or what she is about. 
A person who bearably carried me for nine months. 
Gave birth to me, a 3 pound toe-head baby. 
She had to have held me right after, but my baby eyes don't seem to remember. 
Blurred by the brightness of the world, 
I never saw who my birth mother was. 

But after two months, I was passed onto the most beautiful creature 
that my premature eyes had ever seen. 
A woman who would ultimately become my real mother. 
A wonderful being who would raise me with pride. 
Teach me the ways in which she thought we right. 
A mom who would love me with all of her heart and care for me 
for the 14 years that she would be able to share with me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

RED ROSE

it be here soon
now  the flower bloom
get in the after noon
its mother love shower
it has the power
as the story goes
give her mother
a
RED ROSE


Details | Free verse | |

Prized Possession

Prized Possession


When was it that society and religion
Became so afraid of the sexuality of women

Or was it just men who became afraid

Trapping and turning beauty into pornography
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession

There was once spiritual prowess in her nakedness
Once long ago
The symbol of womb and breast
Gave birth to life

And a possession was once the sexual expression
Of both women and men
Connecting
Copulating
In an essence of a spiritual unity
Defined by the pleasure both received
In giving to life

So how did sex become a sin
Dirtied by morals
And then sold in a tin 
Of instant readily affordable self gratification
When did your own sexuality
Become a commodity
For them to sale

And poor Eve, lead mankind to ruin
And she alone made responsible for the fall from Eden
So shall she pay the price in cultural centuries
Of Christian and Muslim oppression

Such is the weakness of men
That by muscle alone defends them
Such is the weakness of men
That their God must of course; be a man
Such is the weakness of men
That in the face of beauty
It must be their possession

Such is my contempt of those men
Who cannot comprehend
Where their own lives began
And who’s wives and daughter now exists
In a poor excuse for love and worship
Trapping and turning beauty into pornography
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession




Inspired by Brandy Megens poem “News at 5” 






Details | Free verse | |

Warmongers

Generations of warmongers spew their lies
outward into the waiting abyss of greed
as the adult throng of drones 
buzz the factories and the farmlands, 
carpenter ants wasting the bounty of mother earth.

And we ..children of the flower children screamed
“Hell NO we won’t go!”
We burnt draft cards and bra’s
freed from the tit by the acid dreams of Leary
we rose, ran, flew, with flags on our arses.

On campus’s we marched
bandana’ed brethren, fuzz busters
picket carrying freedom fighters, a blaze
with a hatred for everything and every one 
establishment…
and the establishment killed.
Killed its own children
at Kent State and got away with it.

As napalm dropped over naked children
in Vietnam, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius
rang from the rafters of Broadway.
Naked as the day we were born
coated in the honest to God mud of
a farmer’s field in Woodstock, we danced.
And we still marvel that Nero fiddled 
while Rome burned.

Where are our children now?
Still fighting ..still drones, still bombing
Still ‘liberating’ the oil fields around the world.
Still raping mother earth. 

And the beat drones on…………..



Details | I do not know? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day


wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last


...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust


...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen


...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands

but...

now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell


...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
again
put down


Details | Dizain | |

SANITARIUM'S SPRITE

                            


                                                             “A sex symbol is a heavy load to carry 
                                                              when one is tired, hurt and bewildered.”
						          ~ Clara Bow ~

Clara Bow was one fine-looking “colleen”, Though her judgment of men was “dubious”, “Quintessential” star, silent movie queen, Her life made some overtly envious, Smokey eyes, behavior promiscuous, Caused whispers with each new “affaire du couer”, Her fresh meat of the week, le goût du jour *, Lovers so many, lovers so “randy”, “Blokes” boasting of bedroom tours were just knaves who kept affection handy. Her Parties became quite legendary, She “titillated” with jokes rather dirty, Flaunted in front of her adversaries, Curved ‘round men, delivered lines flirty, Ended her reign before she hit thirty. Battling booze and numbers on the scale, Rattling her cage, a wild spirit so frail, A heart and mind that could not "acquiesce", Sanitarium’s sprite, a wraith so pale soon learned that black and white are colorless. Oh, how sad and tragic was her childhood, Hungry and unclothed, a tot destitute, And daddy did things that no daddy should, Mommy was a lady of ill repute who heard inner voices she could not mute. This unloved flapper loved to get “fuzzled” Often spoke out, until she was muzzled, Searching “hither and yon” for all she’d missed, A little girl remained lost and puzzled, First robbed by madness then by madness kissed.
For Debbie Guzzi's Language contest. 10 of her cool words used. * le goût du jour means “taste of the day” ** coeur has one syllable. About this poem Clara Bow’s beginnings are beyond horrific. Her mother was a prostitute and schizophrenic and the future starlet grew up in complete poverty. Her mother attempted to kill Clara by slitting her throat, and she was sexually abused by her father. A notorious partier who would tell all the juicy details of her liaisons with directors and famous leading men (including Gary Cooper), she ended up spending a great deal of time in institutions. Her story is a sad one, and testifies to how damaging child abuse can be. She was loved by directors for her ability to cry real tears on demand. She said all she had to do was think about being a girl again and tears would flow..


Details | Narrative | |

Flying Fortress Mi Amigo Rememberance

Mi Amigo It happened in the year nineteen forty-four Ten young lives from that day were with us no more They were flying a B17 bomber plane A ten man crew “Mi Amigo” was her name Returning from a raid over Denmark Badly damaged and struggling back to her mark Her radio dead and engine misfiring The skin in tatters from all the shell firing A nurse plane was left to guide her way home But they lost sight in the clouds and presumed she was gone But the pilot valiantly tried to find the English coast He needed to reach Charleston but managed Sheffield, their last post It was just before five on that February day Children in the Endcliffe Park with a football to play Mi Amigo couldn’t wait she had to come down She spiraled and tried to land in the Park ground The pilot he saw the children playing there He lifted the nose and tried to climb in the air There is a Memorial Stone in the park these days They planted ten oak trees for the boys they couldn’t save The boys were all American aged twenty-one to twenty-four February Twenty Second, they were lost far from their own shore The Pilot determined he missed the children and hit in the trees Heroes to the parents of the children playing in that February freeze My mother watched the plane as it struggled overhead The engine sound and smoke from it filled them with dread They had souvenirs made from the Perspex nose of the plane But they are now lost like the lives of the boys that were claimed
It was the anniversary in Feb of 10 American boys that died in a Park where I played as a child. My mother would normally have been playing there with the others but she watched it from her sick bed at home as the plane passed yards from their roof. Although she was an eyewitness this information is from A book By D Harvey called Mi Amigo Sheffield's Flying Fortress


Details | Free verse | |

The soldier, the war, and I

The soldier, the war, and I


Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..

Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill

Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!

And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have, 
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet, 
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.


Details | I do not know? | |

Upon this Christmas Day

He sleeps there in a stable
The babe born to the world
Both mother, father watch with care

Though swaddled in a cloth
He is born, yet, to be king
With but just rags for Him to wear

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day

For within the early morning
Angels brought the sky a voice
Calling forth those who wish to hear

Along then, came all others
Knowing truth within their hearts
That all now have nothing to fear

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day

Go forth and tell all others
Who had no chance to hear
The news of hope and of the joy

Let them know the Gift of God
That comes to save us all
His son sent as this little boy

This special morning
The sun now shines bright
From stars there in the Heavens
To the rise of morning light
The world now is much brighter
As angels, too, now play
There’s hope and happiness to share
Upon this Christmas Day


Details | Bio | |

A One Woman Campaign


This is a one Woman Campaign
           To promulgate life
To proclaim  His Name
     To create a human Life
Newly formed in Heaven
     On this New Earth
      ------
And She shall do one thing
      To give a new birth
       For the King
And to me that is such an
        Tremendous' thing
      ------
And their is one thing
That I would like to say
Honor thy Mother
           -And-
And that rings' true
To this very day
      ------
Fore it it weren't for Mother's
Then their will be no Mother's
               To speak of..
And but, by the Grace of God
         A Mother is a Mother
Seem that one was born
    Just only yesterday





    Note: Respect Thy Mother and Thy Father...gf

                GF


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Black In Time

Let`s go black in time
Come with me black to history
Black to the mother land
Where we rightfully belong
Black in time before the Europeans
Tried to whitewash our
Skins and minds
Black to the kingdom and ancestry
Black, way black before slavery

Black am I 
Not just the color of my skin
The pupil of my eyes or the hair on my head
But black at heart, black in my thinking
And black in my thoughts

Black in time
Black my story, every sentence, every line
Black every rhythm and every rhyme
Black the days on their slave ships
Heading across the ocean lines
Black the shackles and the chains
Black the whips that cut our veins
Black the blood that stained the lands
Black the heart of every whiteman
Black the husbands and the wives
Black the circumstances which changed 
our lives
Black the mother and the father
Black the separation from each other

Black, black, black, black
Black the struggles and the fights
Black the system which took away 
our rights
Black the midnights we tried to make 
our run
Black the rope on the tree that hung the ones
Who wished to be free

Black, black, black, black
Let`s go black and turn the world around
Let`s take black our civilization
Every continent and every nation
Let`s take black the white man`s dominion
Let`s take black our rightful rulership
No more subjection under
The whiteman`s dictatorship
Let`s black out the pages 
of the white man`s days
And attribute the praises 
to the black liberal race

Black my eyes and the things they see
Black the visions of those who preceded me
Black Marcus, Selassie and Mandela
Black Obama and the Christ
Black the life I live because of their sacrifice


Details | Free verse | |

A battered old saucepan

It may seem strange to write about a battered old saucepan
but this was no ordinary one 
it sprung a leak the other day
sadly without thinking
I threw it away
and now it's gone.

It had been in my family
before I was born
and it was used every day
it broke my heart after
to throw it away.

For all the delicious soups goulash and past
it had contained
the mouth watering delectable smells
from the kitchen
the shouts from my parents

''Come on now set the table dinners made''.

All the red hot broths and porridge we'd scoff
before school on a winters day
all the laughs tears and conversations around
the dinner table before it was was washed
and put away.

It was more than a simple saucepan
because it held a lot of family memories
now my parents sadly passed away
it was one of the last things to remind me
of how things used to be
and mow I have to buy a new one
and accept it's demise
like my family
it's gone forever.

Peter Dome.copyright.2012.


Details | I do not know? | |

American Heart

America resides within the heart of all Who believe in freedom, choice, voice and opportunity Deny, not, the display of pride within yourself Or else you’d deny pride in this land of the free America, more than land, it’s home to you and me Some dare tread, take arms against and try to squash All that America ever stood for, which is evident to all They fear the freedom, strength and all that’s offered As they know, against us, they would never stand tall And for all their attempts, America makes them fall This 9-11, let us not focus on terrorist actions But, on those Americans lost, that still live in our hearts Remember and honor them by living the American dream Exhibiting the ideals and always doing our part Showing all, America has muscle but lives through its heart


Details | Rhyme | |

HOW WONDERFUL INNOCENCE WAS

Passersby stared at me and complimented mom
for her gorgeous child 
who smiled very tenderly,
and being moved by how 
I sang my nursery rhyme,
they applauded saying, " Oh, it's so pretty! "    


A few days ago, being bored I searched
for a rare coin collection sold
to me by the Bradford exchange,
but surprisingly I found a forgotten picture between
the pages of a book written by James McQueen,   
and in that picture there was me at a tender age.


The more I looked at it, the more that shy and fair child resembled me,   
and being amazed by my discovery,
I started living the thrill of childhood days:
remembering spring afternoons and how wonderful innocence was!


Written by Andrew Crisci
for Deb Wilson's contest, " Maybe I'm Amazed! "
2/ 19/2013


Details | Blank verse | |

broremann the angler

Broremann the Angler

On the pier where fishing vessels were tied up my brother 
sat fishing all the while seagulls kept swooping and shrieking, 
he blissfully ignored them. He had no hook at the end of his 
line and when asked why he said, I don´t like to hurt the fish. 
 But crafty little Broremann was not as innocent as you may 
think, he didn´t like fish, all those horrible tiny bones, 
his mother had sent him down to the pier to try catch some 
fish for lunch. He liked sausages with mashed potatoes and 
stewed peas, now he could go home tell his mother fish didn´t
bite today, but made sure to put the hook on the line so his 
mother could see he was really trying. An old fisherman gave
him two sardines wrapped in a newspaper, but wouldn´t you 
know it the pair of sardines somehow slipped out of the paper
and made their way back to the sea. 


Details | I do not know? | |

Happy Mother's Not

Thank you mother,
you birthed me,
you nursed me,
you fed and clothed me.

You loved me,
when seems, the word had loathed me.
I'd not want that love in vain.

However this is not your day.

Thank you mother, 
for your support,
and your optimistic sheen,
it's inspiring
and always has shaped the person whom I am.

But this is not your day.

It belongs to the greeting card companies.

Who've robbed another holiday.

Robbed it of all meaning, 
all substance and heart.
Robbed it of it's very soul.

Deformed it,
corrupted it,
chewed it up and spat it,
till it's obscure meanings long forgot;
faded into history, a mother's not.


------------------------------------------------------------------

Dedicated to my mother, whom I love. 
Also dedicated to Julia Ward Howe who invented a holiday meant to end war and poverty.  And to 
celebrate all families.  Who died before her dream could ever be realized.

And...to Anne Jarvis who forced through the holiday, hoping to continue Howe's work and end war 
and poverty and create a better world for all,  only to see that dream shattered as Greeting Card 
companies and greedy conglomerates perverted it's ideals to nothing more then lip service 
dedicated to selling cards and candy.

To celebrate some mother's publicly, while other's have their health care raised and their social 
security stolen.  While single mothers have to risk their health and their lives to barely feed their 
children.  

This holiday is an abomination.  It doesn't celebrate motherhood, it degrades it. Women don't need 
to be celebrated nearly as much as they need a good world in which they can better raise their 
children.  A world in which they can feed their children. This holiday is a Mother's Not and so is this 
world.


Details | Ballad | |

La Sibylle Blanche du Rhin

La Sibylle Blanche du Rhin La Msytique est la Specatatrice du Divine Elle Parle au mot que je ne comprends pas "Soilel vous deffinissez est mien Pourtant vous, vous laisser il saigner Comme un nouveau vin Triste - ons ne Saurant Jamais Triste - ons ne Verront Jamias" Parle a moi, si prestine La Mystique La Sibylle Blanche du Rhin La Specatatrice du Divine Ton Voix sefane dans Le Chanson entrain de Mourir


Details | Haiku | |

Monument

Forgotten but here
Remembered yet never there
Why do you exist?


Details | Free verse | |

Warmth Of The Open Fire

In front of  newly glowing fire__the warmth
Fills the area in very front
Family draws close_warm against cold

Time today flew as trees were cut (down)
Cut just to the perfect length to burn
On the open fire  of night's desire

These hours of story telling__laughter
Make up for labor of timber felling
Time spent at the well drawing water

Here now time for discussions
Story-telling, laughter, memories
The fire softly lighting Mother's eyes


Details | Classicism | |

Esther Louise Arbuthnot

    ESTHER LOUISE ARBUTHNOT'S PHOTOGRAPH - Taken about 1876 or so
       Great great great (?) Grandmother
(My own mother was named after her)
While the rain is falling gently on the roof it makes the sound
of a time that's long forgotten though it seems to hang around
I can hear you breathing lightly from an Celtic dream I've known
it has come to Pennsylvania where you've found me here alone
       and I can feel you when you cry.
       So far from home, you wonder why,
       and it makes me want to die.

All the way from County Down there was a dream you had to find
you were long ago and far away, but always on my mind,
in your photograph your eyes are reaching out perhaps for me,
I can feel you when I see you but I never really see,
       what makes you think you have to cry?
       You must have known I'd wonder why,
       Yet it makes me want to die.

Can you hear the raindrops falling? County Down's so far away,
or perhaps it's just forgotten, like a dreary Celtic day,
I can feel it when you're smiling, in the Heaven of your eyes,
love is gone before you know it, and it's then I realize,
       it's made you think you have to cry.
       And through it all, not wonder why,
      I will never let you die.
 © Ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Basically the events of the poem are history, although
Esther Louise Arbuthnot was not actually born in
Scotland. I just took a little poet's privilege and the poem
in its entirity came from observing the beauty of her 
photograph.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Free verse | |

Lilith

Goddess of storm and dissidence, Lilith
begot by spurious legend and foolish myth
in the dark recesses of pastoral histories
where ancient mysteries
were defiled.

Illegitimate child.

Apollo's seed, by Roman Empire
inquisitional rules inquire, to her whereabouts
seeping fetid doubts, in the bones of the survivors.
Submission required by slave drivers,

And the Elite,
now on Wall Street.
Twenty five generations later,
they still hate her...

Yet,
I see her in me, shadows of malcontent,
when passed by for promotion
and toxic lotion is sold to keep us young.
I hear her forked tongue,
when my voice is ignored again,
when single mothers barely maintain
poverty existence led
as punishment for being
un-wed.

Burkas hide the bruises
and we’ve run out of excuses
why so many women are poor.
Our beloved men are sent to war
for corporate profits made
and taxes paid in blood and tears.

Yes I have fears.

I fear her rolling up through me, if they only knew me
and what I hold back, they would attack,
and mark me feminist bytch,
witch
and un-Christian.

Listen...
I hear her whisper from sister to brother
from father to mother, lover to lover...
I feel her emerging with Pele’s fire,
Aphrodite’s desire and Venus’s lust.
We must,
hear her.

She is part of us, the Mother’s curse,
foist in the never ending thirst for power
and dominance over all.
Eden’s free fall, orchestrated, ill-fated,
out-dated and reciprocated,
by us, still now, somehow.

The sacred dance beckons us in the second rush
of knowing... rivers flowing, ever to sea.
What will be, will be...
lost in the slipstream currents of the paradigm whore
who dares seek safe passage
to our shore.


Details | Quatrain | |

Fear Would Come At Lights Out

Remembering once again childhood days
When mother would on warm days let fire die
Maybe she would stop me from my fun play
We would go for that afternoon walk__sigh

Down long road to the branch across the way
With our small pails probably once held lard
Back then everything was fried in that day
We would look for vein of whitewash real hard

After gathering the whitewash head home
Where mother would clean around fireplace hearth
She would remove ashes; set the soft tone
For our home, on her hands_ knees clean no mirth

She would then whitewash the hearth inside rim
Glistening clean white, adding wood stoke fire
It  would crackle send tiny sparks to  swim
Briefly in air like stars of  night  aspire

Gathering around the fire family time
News, stories, tall tales; safe and warm no doubt
Gradually  fire would die into bed climb
Fear would come for daddy would say lights out


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ghost of Bayou Cannot

Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.

Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch


Details | Rispetto | |

My Icy Grave

My name is Paul, a boy of sixteen years when the Titanic became my icy grave. To the ocean floor, I drowned with dreams and fears, like my dad, a fisherman, lost in the waves. When we boarded the ship, my mother heard cries. A premonition dismissed with hopes and sighs. In a half-empty lifeboat, denied a seat, my destiny to die but not in defeat. Mother begged for my life then returned to die with me. Half empty lifeboats floated as the band played a hymm. Angels descended on mother and son in the cold sea and carried us to my father in Heaven's bosom. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, April 10, 2012 for My Heart Will Go On and On contest ( Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver) Fourth Place *A Rispetto and a Quatrain


Details | Couplet | |

The Nightmares

Nightmares that come are so bad I'm  afraid to sleep
Exhaustion enters making sleep needs reach their peak

A little light sleep to settle down falling falling deeply sound
The horror no no go away nightmares please dissipate

Same dreams every night since my darling baby cried
She nursed, very well fed in the morning she died

Nightmares night afer night awaking my baby I dread
Being rocked, rocked, rocked, looking down my baby's dead



(My adoptive mother lost a child, a little girl at age nine months old.  Back then people used 
home remedies very seldom saw a doctor.  The child had been sick with a cold, mother fed 
her and the next morning she was dead.  The  doctor who examined  the corpse said that 
she had had pneumonia and choked to dead on the mucous.)


Details | Sonnet | |

Echoing abuse

His words concealed a life so full of lies
His hand was soft which held her gentle palm
She raised her head and looked into his eyes
Without a twitch he played her heart with calm

He knew the signs the ways to find his prey
He’d showed his smile and hid his means to harm
It was for him a laugh a game to play
Where he portrayed a mask with grace and charm 

From young till now with ease she chose wrong men 
And then she’d fight to keep her man in vain 
She craved their rage became the nagging hen
It seemed as if she aimed to live with pain

Dad hid mum and he found a mum to hit
Mum loved dad and she was treated like sh*t


Details | Senryu | |

Lost Forever

Casey Anthony--
found not guilty, yet her child
is lost forever


Details | I do not know? | |

For Mother Teresa

For Mother Teresa

to see...

the clarity of beauty between the murky folds of life

to see...

the simple truths of living
between the horror and the endless strike

to see...

the innocent smiles of the children at play
while the elder preach hate and division and continue to slay

to see...

the endless yearning for that simpler better place
away from the hollow emptiness of this ostentatious space

to see...

the open vistas of this pale blue dot
the soft reds and fruity greens as this home is all we have got

to see...

the tears of the dispossessed who have been cruelly cast aside
and while we look the other way from their tears we may never hide

to see...

the endless hunger and despair and killing and greed
in the name of God or of ideology or of some or the other creed

to see...

and to see it all

and still stand tall

to hold on to the humanity

that resides deep within us all

may be our only saving grace

and though all of this sounds quaint and saccharine sweet

I need to remember all that I've said

the next time I look into a teary-eyed desolate face

to see...

that being human is simple if we only look beyond ourselves and see

that we are all one, him and her and them and us and you and me...



Details | Rhyme | |

Taffeta, Silk,and Lace

As she walked down the stairs i could feel on the back of my neck goosebumps and 
hairs

I was playing in a derelict house hiding from my friends behind some dusty old chairs

But something wasnt right she looked sad lonley and out of place

Looking back now i didnt feel scared she looked radient dressed in taffeta silk and 
lace

I was Eleven at the time and thinking back to it now

I just knew she was a ghost but wasnt frightened dont ask me how

She didnt see me and she sort of glided not walked towards an open door

Curiosity got the better of me so i followed her wanting to see more

As i edged nearer the doorway i expected her not to be there

But she was and i heard her singing the sweetest song i swear

I was so taken by her radience serenity and calm

Then i realised shes a ghost they scare you but i didnt feel in any harm

She just sort of floated there seeing something i couldnt see

Then....the moment was gone as i heard my friends shouting for me

Ive never forgot that day its stayed with me forever

And as i grew up i researched the history of the house and was rewarded for my 
endeavour

There used to live in that house a kindly lady she was a mother and a wife

But tragedy struck her family she lost her children so griefstricken

she took her own life

But legend as it she used to sing the sweetest lullabies to her children every night

To sooth them into sleep and chase away there fright

I often ask myself did she see me that long ago day

If ever im weighed down by troubles that just wont seem to go away

If im restless of sleep and the evening winds running fair

I swear i can hear the sweetest lullabies carried on the air

It eases me in to sleep then i dream of the sereness of her face

Gliding down that staircase resplendent in her taffeta,silk and lace


Details | Free verse | |

can old men hold their heads and cry

she might have been beautiful
I'll never know
she might have been the best mother ever
Again, I'll probably never know
no bruises, no witnesses
did she lurch out in screams 
as you handed her the grief of your business
how slanted you stood 
tell me was it brief or was she another victim
sunday, bloody sunday
how unworthy you are to see monday

if life were a sitcom
i'd been abortioned
smiles, tears, divorce
a portion of a potion
if i make it to next year
i'll be twenty-five 
and well alive
I wish i could say the same for you
Do you remember the twenty-first day
of that ninth month
she held on to this pain for you

i was born for this 
bred from a diseased quilt
a testament of mans filth
a glass of wine
a past confined
perhaps we were nickel and dime'd to death
sometimes life resembles a fine line of stress
like a satin pillow 
with burgundy stains
I worried you sane

"was it not lovely when i wrote away your misery
through my eyes i'll show you the world
it was a beautiful place"

i have no intentions to care what you think
or how you blink when your nightmares sink you
days have forwarded past you
i can only hope to out last you
i'd rather wear a mask then resemble a fraction of you
there was a time life was as simple as green pastures
slaves would cling to masters
women would sing of asterisks 
of all the perfect worlds is this the one you designed
i'm feeling quite refined 
over the years we've worshiped war
so many have died
you see the tears of porcelain stars
yet you learn nothing
nothing means anything
until you lose something

"If you lost your life for every mistake you made
you wouldn't make mistakes."

the black hitler's journal, entry II



Details | Free verse | |

WE, THE DEAD




My memory rippled, shifted shamefully, like the waves below the gangplank.
Mother clung, but her hand was shaking so badly that for a crippling moment 
I feared she would knock me into rank depths that seemed to mouth my name.

The well, that well, and its hold have returned and I am once again down, down,
under dark waters which pull all the will from me, a sinful thought for a girl
of thirteen, but the mad, mad, sadness laps at my thoughts, endlessly eroding

at courage and the belief that we will ever reach other shores and start life anew. 
Unsinkable they say, mocking God and hell, daring to claim, this Titan is tame.
Liars all, painting inky seas blue and tagging our holding barge the ship of dreams.

Third class, we are kept like kippers, tightly packed, and I long for Peterborough,
Where skies do not tilt and I can escape to the fields and their wildflower seams,
Oh, I hear the mourning of propellers, turning, turning like Mother’s pale torment.

She will not sleep, her terror is patronized by my older siblings, but I see, too,
her premonitions and far, far, below, I hear the icy echo of drowning calling,
My old friend who once let me go, but soon, soon will use that familiar undertow.

Finally, comes the grinding grinding to a stop and from our bunks we are falling,
And sweet Will sucks his thumb without being told no, no, no, little Connie’s bawling,
But its father who shocks me the most, for he is oddly quiet and his eyes are hazed.

We get to the deck, but there is no lifeboat for eleven, so I gazed upwards instead, 
Count the distant and indifferent stars, remember how I’d almost seen Heaven,
Listen to the band playing, playing and mother praying, praying for we, the dead.






About this poem

I am writing a fictionalized account of Miss Dorothy “Dolly” Florence Sage, 13, Titanic passenger. However these are the facts: Dolly fell down a well as a little girl, nearly drowned, and as a result her mother was terrified of water. Annie Sage, 44, did not want to cross the Atlantic, but supported her husband, John, also 44, and his dream to begin a new life in America. They had nine children. No one in the family survived. The youngest was only four. Stella, the oldest girl, managed to get to a lifeboat, but refused to get on without her family. The picture is not that of Dolly, but of a girl from that era.


Details | Senryu | |

That September Day in 2001

Two thousand seven Hundred and fifty victims Murdered, Rest in Peace My entry into Nathan's 9-11 contest http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/america.php


Details | Blank verse | |

God's Opinion

A baby is born Under a Jewish star His mother weeps All around her is marching That torturous sound haunting her day and night Here in a basement they hide Hiding for days, for weeks, for months Her faith is failing the propaganda is overwhelming But she waits in that basement Hiding in that dark nothingness She hears glass breaking All around her are screams That torturous sound haunting her day and night She wakes one day from the sound of boots Walking down the stairs A man in black unstraps his helmet Showing his clean cut hair As he discards his cigarette He pulls out his Luger She weeps The man in black puts away his pistol Leaving behind two dead bodies And some who are starving, sick, and weak Huddled in quarters worse then barns Look up to the heavens And wonder why the world should go on And a baby is born


Details | Bio | |

Gifted And Blessed My Song

A child was born gifted and blessed
Not understood by parents, siblings, and all the rest
Personality traits introverted, shy 
Leaning toward melancoly don't ask why

Drawn to music, art, crafts and poetry
Who loves to hear and tell a good story
Feeling insecure, unloved, and misunderstood
Fearing the worst, bottled desires to fit in if she could

Wanting a chance to just use her gifts
And help others not feel misfit
Lives her life in her hometown
Where this woman will never wear a crown


Details | I do not know? | |

Just The Way It Is

I tried to wake you up today
Like I always do
All I did was try to care for you
Like little girls should.

Mummy, mummy
Please don't die
I need you to be here
By my side
Brothers always crying
Because he doesn't understand
That mummy only leaves us
Because living makes her sad

The whole street 
Thinks your crazy
As you try to hide
The scars that made you
Your whole damn life

Why cant you just forget
Why cant you leave
The past alone

The doctors didn't care
The police were never there
As the screams of a little girl
Spilled out
Into an air of madness

Watch me bleed
I learned this from you

You were my devil
Stealing my innocence
Stuttering words I'll never forget
"Your Nothing"

Your eyes cut deep
As the knifes are aimed at me
Your love was a weapon
Puncturing my heart
You broke me
I'm a wreck.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Day America Stood Still

It just took one day
To grab our attention
There’s not much to say
But lots of reflection.

The airplanes they flew
Wreaking havoc on all
No one had a clue
That the towers would fall.

Such cowards with hate
They claimed so many lives
On that terrible date
Left husbands without wives.

So many were lost
Our sisters and brothers
Their lives were the cost
Plus fathers and mothers.

Many stood with awe
They were asking why
For what they just saw
Coming out of the sky.

Such terror and fear
And so quickly they hit
The end may be here
Should I run, stand or sit?

The heroes did save
As many as they could
For their lives they gave
Not knowing that they would.

People hung their flags
Keeping their families near
Many body bags
This horror wasn’t clear.

Honoring that morn
Our eyes begin to fill
The world was torn
America stood still.


Details | Rhyme | |

What If Christmas Disappeared


What if Christmas never happened? What if Christmas never came? Things around here would be different! It wouldn’t be the same! What if the baby Jesus was never born in a manger? Mankind would be in serious trouble. We’d all be in danger! If the baby Jesus wasn’t born. There would be no nativity. We wouldn’t be able to display this during our “festivity.” It’s almost like this now! It’s an “ever increasing business.” It seems like nearly everyone wants “Christ out of Christmas!” Why does it seem like Christmas is losing it’s true meaning? The very words; “Merry Christmas,” seem to be quickly disappearing! Many say; “Happy Holiday.” They worry they may “offend.” Having a “holiday” without Christ…. Once again! We need to put Jesus Christ back into our CHRISTmas season! He is what Christmas is about! HE is the very reason! May we all take some time to rejoice in our savior’s birth. May there be shouts of JOY! From the corners of the earth! Let’s not take Christ out of our joyous celebration! We need him so much right now! All over this great nation! May we bring to him a heart of love for everything he’s done. As we bring honor to Christ. God’s precious son! May we continually offer to him a heart filled with praise! Not only at Christmas time… But all of our days! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Free verse | |

Love vanished

Seven years have passed
since first I married him
Whence he succombed his bride
Yet when I told him of babe we’d due
it felt our love just withered up and died

For the man he changed,
no, the child we had not planned
Pushed me around until to others ashamed I lied
I’d fallen, or bumped myself again,
backed him up, supported him, everything denied.

When babe was born,
I thought we’d learn to love
Try to make things work together with pride
But now cut off from all my friends in time,
it’s nursing I only now that I must bide.

Although I raise our child
I am so sad, my life has stopped,
when they play up I fret that you will chide
and fear that you’ll know not of when to stop
Frightened, huddled close we rock, we hide.

Once grown up, at school a freedom found,
whilst you’re at work – your daily grind.
Lucky new friend we find to guide
us back to safety relieved, released.
Apart, I know head high that I had tried.


Details | I do not know? | |

Me

Been through a lot these seventeen years of living,
Growing up with abuse in my home,
Wanting to leave and flee,
But afraid I was going to leave and be on my own,
Wishing someone would rescue me and my family from the hurt,
The hurt we faced many times seeing the one you love the most being abused,
Abused many days and many nights,
Wondering why,
The answer was because he was the only one in charge,
Almost Seven and these things were still happening,
Wow wonder why they happened to my life,
Don't know why God let me see the hurt,
Did he know I would face the hurt forever?
My family finally had a chance to get away from the hurt and the abuse,
We found a house and much more,
We were a happy family,
A family that will one day be the best of the best,
Thank you jesus for letting us go through the hurt to get a better life that we deserve!


Details | Rhyme | |

We Salute Our Veterans

We Salute Our Veterans…

We salute every soldier who’s
 served this great nation.
And offer a heart of thanks
 and appreciation!

We salute each member 
of our armed forces.
And are thankful for their
 efforts and resources!

We salute the many who 
protect our borders too.
We’d be in trouble…  
If not for people like YOU!

We salute every son and 
daughter lost in a war.
YOU are what serving this
 country is meant for!

We salute the officers who’ve 
guided our women and men.
Our prayers are with you!  
And our love from within!

We salute our veterans!  
Wherever they may be!
Those who served on
 land, air and sea!

Offering prayer to the
 Lord is our belief…
That he will guide our
 Commander-in-Chief!

As we observe Veteran’s Day this year…
Let’s offer our soldiers
 love, hope and cheer…

May God bless them in
 all they endeavor
And his peace be with them
 today and forever!!

By Jim Pemberton


Details | I do not know? | |

Blacks

It’s like we’re doing them people a favor
Showing them, that we own up to what they say;
Stereo types isn’t the way,
But we as blacks are proving them right..
They believe that we’ll kill eachother before the 
Last night,
& all our women
 gone fall a victim to the streets,
Weak minded;
Not even having our children anything to eat..
The only good thing we got going for ourself
Is education,
& that aint gone support the whole nation..

Come on nie,
We gotta take stand!
Teach our children how to believe in
Themselves,
Show our mothers that they
Can make it without a man!
Prove to our fathers,
That they’ll regret they 
Neglected us!
Tell our brothers the
“Freak” that noise,
& Stop that fuss!
Its like we all against 
Eachother, 
But it shouldn’t be this way,
We gotta get it together some day;
Them people know what they doing…
Pretending to solve these crimes,
But knowing their using the same line,
Only place they wanna see us is the cemetery,
Hmm..
Or maybe jail?
But if we don’t make there,
Best to believe:
They hoping we on the
High way to hell,
But we gotta prove em’ 
Wrong,
Its been too long,
Take a stand,
Cause black women don’t need any man,
Children needa believe in themselves,
Fathers should regret the neglect,
& our brothers need to stop the fuss,
I’m trying not to cuss,
But all this frustration just built up
Inside,
Its  kinda hard to hide!
Think about it:
Rosa
Parks,
Martin
Luther King,
Malcom X..
& More, fault
For our freedom;
Now we got it, 
& we abusing it,
Kinda like our fathers try our mothers,
But that’s a whole other subject,
We gotta get it together
& that’s a bet(:

Inspired by 2Pac Words of Wisdom(:


Details | Fibonacci | |

Whistle While You Work

when
when
I first 
stared at this
woman rocking
I wanted to start whistling






James Abbot McNeill Whistler
Whistler's Mother  { 1871 }  Wikipedia



Also Brians Strand's Entry 
Sequence Fibonacci Imagist Contest


Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
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
unyielding


Details | Quatrain | |

Pre-Mortality Angst

We’ve been together since creation.
You’d be my mother, I’d be your son.
We watched each passing generation,
Hoping mankind would continue on.

Our assigned ancestors lived and died,
While perpetuating onward our lineage,
In spite of disease, famines, genocides--
Or wars for lands, religions, or just pillage.

Civilizations rose and fell, rise and fall;
Empires, city-states, kingdoms, and nations.
Our ancestors were amidst them all
Back to our earliest generations.

You and I were held back to a modern age.
Happily mankind managed to carry on
Long enough for us to take the stage.
But there’s a new terror for us: abortion.

Your parents happily wanted you to be,
So I wished you godspeed at the portal.
Saying “see you later” you promised me
That I’d have a chance to live as a mortal.

Now I’m left with my potential descendents,
Hoping that you will soon keep your word,
Because now on you we are all dependent
To perpetuate our family ever onward.


Details | Rhyme | |

Ireland's Journalist Jewel

The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
 
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
 
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
 
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
 
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
 
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
 
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
 
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
 
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
 
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
 
 
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the 
                      criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
 


Details | Blank verse | |

Family Values

Family Values?
My great grandmother was your family values.
She scrubbed your floor and burped your baby, while my great grandfather 
looked for work as a dishwasher.
When have you ever valued my family?
I work, my will work.
You give her six weeks maternity.
I have no pension, sometimes the tension the builds and I scream at my 
daughter.
One time she had lost her keys and sat outside until I got home.
Where had she been to get those bruises?
When have you ever valued my family?
Yes, you like me to work.
But your dogs chase my daughter when she walks on your yard.
Your eyes wave sticks at my face when I drive by your home.
Family Values?
Where is your God?
Mine is nearby.
I pray one day that your lies choke on his truth.
Until then, I seethe in the heart of my suit 5 days a week, waiting for your death or 
awakening.


Details | Ottava rima | |

WAR SEEN THROUGH A YOUNGSTER'S EYES

Born in that historical and eventful year
when changes were sweeping this country,
peace songs were heard in the scary, tumultuous air...
not realizing the dear cost for the quest of liberty
when soldiers would have gone to a foreign land so far,
to defend what others thought was sheer folly!
And their blood was shed in jungles and on dusty roads,
never feeling selfish pride by carrying the heaviest loads.


And from those sad and tragic memories,
my lyrics were written and sung to myself
with the hope of revealing them with teary eyes...
remembering what took for them to face pain without relief
and whenever letters were delayed in the mail mothers
began to fear the worst, if not a horrible death...
many went to churches and synagogues to ask God for mercy,
and yes He heard their pleas, but war had no clemency.


Many of those soldiers were given Purple Hearts
for their remarkable courage to have confronted danger without surrendering to the enemy,
others were forgotten in wheelchairs without legs and arms,
and they wept with no one offering comfort, warmth and sympathy...
but on those heart so proud of their Motherland they wore American flags,
unable to forget their commitment when they were asked to fight for their beloved country.
O brave soldiers, if no medals or honors were given you...let me reward you for your fright:
by erasing all the atrocity of bloody scenes that still are troubling your longest, coldest night. 
    


Details | Couplet | |

UNIQUE UTKAL

The history of Utkal is enchanting...
That made Asoka peace~loving;
That took Kharvela to the peak of fame...
& disseminated to every corner Mahanadi's name...
& then the pages of history says...
The role of the fighters of those bygone days...
Who confronted against the bullying British...
& unshackled the land from things amiss...!
The honeyed words that flew from the pen...
Of the blessed forefathers with creative Ken...
The beauty is such that the heart is mesmerized...
& ecstatic with awe n pride...
Long live the land of beauty endless...
Love live the stories of unmatched prowess !
Long live the saga of unforgettable things...
Under Lord Jagannath's divine blessings !


Details | Ballad | |

O JOYFULL BELLS RING IN GLORY!

Many wonderful voices are heard...
the brighest star is seen;
o joyful bells ring in glory!
In the blue Heavens....see
the angels proclaim God's Word;
this night is cold for those 
sheperds watching their restless sheep
on the Bethlehem's hills.


A shining angel startles them,
as he tells them...the Child
prophesied long ago, 
has born! And that star will lead 
them to the manger, where He
sleeps so calm and mellow;  
doesn't Mary know that Her baby
will soon save Humankind?


O joyful bells ring in glory!
Let every angel praise
the glorious birth of a Prince,
who'll be the Sheperd of many...
whose hearts have longed for real joy!
O sweet child sent from God,
you've come to redeem the sinful world!
O joyful bells ring in glory!


Details | Rhyme | |

9/11, 2001 " Page 2 of 2 "

Intelligence first, Retribution next
Clinical response the worlds text
Which free country is next in line
To be hit by this cowardly crime.
 
New York Cities patriots, suffer further pain
As Fire Officers and Police are slain
They indeed are part of this attack
So many of them never came back
Honourable dads, cousins and wife's
Mourn their lost ones, who lost their lives.
 
The World will remember
This September deathly sound
When iconic giants crashed to the ground
Hero's in the air, and on Manhattan Earth
Proved to us all, whats humans are worth.

In respect to the decent people who perished on that September day.


Details | Rhyme | |

History

The front page of the newspaper read “Black Ten Year Old Boy Murdered in 
Mississippi Last Night”
A product of a rally that resulted in a racially motivated fight
This reminded me of the years of captivity in which my ancestors faced
Right at that moment, my heart held a feeling that could not be replaced
I went to my grandmother asking why have this took place
She sighed and said to my face
Today is tomorrow, tomorrow is today
Think about what you are thinking and mean what you say
We will always live in the past and nothing else
Because history always, always repeats itself

As I watched TV, there was a news report of a tragic accident
The results of a terrible shootout flashed through the television set in print
A 13-year-old boy murdered 12 of his school peers
The result of constant teasing and growing depression throughout the years
This reminded me of the unforgettable event at a familiar place
Resulting in some dead and many left with problems to face
I went to my grandmother asking why have this took place
She sighed and she said to my face
Today is tomorrow, tomorrow is today
Think about what you are thinking and mean what you say
We will always live in the past and nothing else
Because history always, always repeats itself

As I listen to the radio I hear about conflicts with different rappers; it is sickening
They have no clue of what damage they are causing with all of the foolish bickering
This reminded me of Tupac and Biggie, the famous music war of the season
Now two of the best rappers that lived lost their lives without one good reason
You can still find people mourning over their deaths and see the sadness in their 
face
Two great men are now buried lying still in their place
I went to my grandmother asking why have this took place
She sighed and she said to my face
Today is tomorrow, tomorrow is today
Think about what you are thinking and mean what you say
We will always live in the past and nothing else
Because history always, always repeats itself 


Details | Ottava rima | |

THE EXCRUCIATING CRUCIFIXION

He was the Lamb that had to be slaughtered 
during the Passover and without Calvary, there wouldn't have been any salvation;
nothing would have forgiven our unpardonable sin!
Christ, as Isaiah prophesied, came when Jerusalem
was in dire need of a king who promised freedom!
The Romans were the conquerors with that mighty sword,
but only the defiant Barabbas waged war against Caesar with many a rebellion! 



Many say that we shouldn't venerate the cross which Jesus died upon,
but without the presence of that cross, we couldn't have been saved;
Jesus' blood gushed from it, to stain the rocks below, and wash all inequities away...
and the weeping and wailing of His mother Mary deepened when Christ expired,
as the earthquake jolted Jerusalem's streets and Temple,
to even make the envious and skeptical Priests tremble,
the radiant sun became invisible as darkness covered all;
and was it a coincidence or the undeniable fact that God Himself showed us His mercy?



We haven't carried the heavy wooden cross through Jerusalem and being whipped,
and laughed at; and we haven't seen those women cry for the Christ whom they heard speak;
and we haven't felt the agony of the most atrocious hour that He endured for us all! 
An impostor wouldn't have suffered and died to become the Redeemer they awaited,
a liar wouldn't have glorified His Father and preached a Gospel that offered much hope;
History was changed at Golgotha, and human kindness nurturing divine love triumphed!
Lord Jesus, many heard you speak on the Mountain and beheld what we could not! 
Lord Jesus, Andrew and John stood by you and comforted Your Mother with their tears!     
 


As you promised the good thief...Lord, remember us, too when we testify in Your favor
or die for Your sake! Paradise awaits us, and all who believe in goodness, not evil;
the excruciating crucifixion was predestined, not being staged by Man who hated love,
it had to happen in order for Humanity to reconcile with their forsaken God of Israel!
We can never be worthy for Your sacrifice, unless we become the messengers of true faith...
to uphold truth and dignify love as you often did in words and deeds!
If we forget Your passion, nothing can magnify the purpose of Your death;
and without a shepherd, this flock will aimlessly roam among rocks and weeds!   

 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Limerick | |

Wise Mom

Mom had saying; I found out was true
She had many; but this one will do.
Locks keep out the honest.
Thieves will reach the harvest.
Thou shall not steal, some never got clue.


Details | I do not know? | |

A Reb's Letter To His Mother

On a lonely rainy day
in June of 1862 a Reb
soldier was barley walking
down the road after
a great battle, when he
came upon a fellow soldier who
was lying in the mud.

He stooped down to listen
to the soldier's final words,

"Mr. he said, I know that
before this hour is over,
I will no longer be here,
so could you please take
this letter or see to it,
that my mama gets it""

      The young man then
passed on.

    The Reb soldier
picked up the letter
and began to read it,

The letter dated June 5, 1862, went as follows,

      Dear Mama

  We are going into battle in a little while and I thought I needed to
write you.  I must tell you mother dear, that I truly belive, I won't be coming out
of this one today.  I will fall in battle and I will die this very day.

I know I told you in my last letter that I would be home for Christimas, but I may
not be able to.  I know that you have worried about me terribly
much mama, but you knew that I wanted to be here more than anything, I believed
in the South's cause and I told you, not to worry, but that yes something could happen.

Mama you taught me to be honest, to read my Bible and to pray everyday, most of all for me
 to obey those that had authority over me, you taught me well, because
I have done all of those things.

    I love you dear mother and I just want to tell you I love you more than any son ever
could love a mother.

Don't be sad, I have
to go now, were getting ready to leave, hope to write you again, if
not I'll see you when you get to heaven,
I will be there to greet you.

                  Love, Your loving son, George,

So the Reb soldier put the letter in his coat and went on his way,
knowing that this letter would be delivered.


Details | Narrative | |

Ekphrasis-DESCENT FROM THE CROSS

Jesus' dead body is taken down from the cross slowly,
Nicodemus' hands support it while His mother Mary,
not contorted by grief, is consoled by a glorious vision,
which will be revealed in the majestic morning of resurrection;
Mary Magdalene, not a virgin or chaste woman...once a part of the sinful world,
shares in that undying hope when Christ will be awaken by the trumpets sound.


Carved in precious marble by Michelangelo's masterful hands and ingenuity,
this awesome depiction is more intense than his own undisputed religiosity,
Christ still bleeds for Mankind's salvation, but death will not prevail;  three long
days He will lay down in the darkest and coldest tomb, and towards dawn
He will be resurrected by the voice of the Father whom He invoked before He died...
yes, sorrow is deeply expressed by these three figures, but their tears will be exiled!  
  

And Michelangelo abandoned the unfinished sculpture due to a marble's imperfection,
not realizing that he had captured the excruciating expression of the sacrificial Lamb,
and before these wailing faces, he must have knelt and fervently prayed,
humbly staring at Christ's lifeless head drooping and believing in Man's redemption;
and Nicodemus' face has indeed Michelangelo's resemblance, exuding much revelation... 
come closer, unbeliever and stare at this magnificent sculpture with profound admiration. 


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

Her

Cashmere Bouquet Shower to Shower Powder The scent of my mother Gave her power for the hours Smelling sweetly all day Attitude of the same Helped her to work with calm Those 18 hours through


Details | Rhyme | |

9/11, 2001 " Page 1 of 2 "

9/11, 2001
Tuesday morning when it all began
Four Jet Airliners 
Hi-jacked at will
To fly their mission
To kill, blood spill
 
Target chosen
New York City
No questions asked
No pity
 
Internal flight
Laid-en with fuel
Turned off course
To the Hi-jackers rule
Islamist, al-Qaeda is the name they claim
What honest faith
Would want this fame
To take these lives on this September day
It's not what religion should portray
 
Nineteen jackers, whats on their minds
To do their deed on their own mankind
No scriptures, books of the olden day
Would let any brother, be slain this way
What battle would be, without seeing your killers eyes
This nineteen, the world despise
 
Our modern world on camera caught
Jet Airliners flying the next so fraught
North Tower hit by flight 11
Then the South by flight 175
All aboard the planes, would not survive
Many compatriots would also die.
To this day i wonder why?
 
CNN and TV crew's 
Capture, man's cruelty to man
It makes you spew
The cowards that commandeered these planes
Are not religious, plainly insane
 
To be on the ground and look above
Two Manhattan giants
New Yorkers grew to love
Taken down by evil beings
They can't believe what they are seeing

Two explosions in just under an hour
Office life is about to shower
Paper and life fall to the ground
Silenced grief makes no sound
To New York City, that never sleeps
In a state of mourning that will presently weep
 
We hear on the news, Washington's been hit
The Pentagon, yea that's it
One of the four, also has it's say
On this dark September day

In Pennsylvania
The fourth still in flight
Passengers on board
Try with all their might
Overcome the scum 
Who hi-jacked their plane
The next hour would never be the same
 
Somerset County is where she fell
These brave civilians,
As calls will tell
To try and claim the plane that's theirs
So suppress those infidel curs>


Details | Name | |

A Criminal Element

My heart was completely hearted,
My Past was a quicksand, my ancestors,
Died without a drawing to follow up,
Younger generation has no guide lines.

When a person found a search light, 
And noted a formula of luxuries,
He wrote it for his younger generation.
Without roots a tree can’t survive.

A nation that has no roots as Dalits,
Are struggling to find out the roots,
Religion, a long rooted path for living.
People want to survive by conversion.

If someone has nothing to learn from past,
Present can’t build a concreted basement,
A life will waste the natural resources and 
Future will produce a criminal element.


Details | Narrative | |

The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lll)

Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries 
too
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re 
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and 
Harry
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and 
Mildred
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say 
Mom
 I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What?  Just let her be 
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re 
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know 
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that 
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the 
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking 
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic 
boom of thunder


Details | Lyric | |

RETREAT

Mother! Only a few, few days remain.
Worry not, I will return, return again
Like birds that in their nests do enter
Tearing the torturous traps of hunter.

I know each night you make extra meal
And wait in slight hope that I will, will
Come to eat supper being too, too tired.
But I am here so far, far away, starved.

Mother! I, I too linger for your affection
On the riverbed where lies my skeleton.
My two bony hands still, still, still seek
Your sacred feet that appears now bleak.

I will not go away from you again, again.
When you would sit solitary in the Eden,
Don’t think I have given you a new bluff.
Turning, you’ll find my face with laugh.


(In memory of freedom fighters in 1971 war. Many of them never returned home)


Details | Monorhyme | |

REBELLION AND LOYALTY

In the restless fifties, teens had to face many realities:
join the draft and go to war or rebel and bear absurdities,
the neutral ones stayed in college and avoided penalties;
oh for God's sake, why should any youngster fight enemies?
Hippies rebelled against the government and shouted obscenities;
they wanted to smoke pot, make love and have lots of babies.
When Motherland calls her soldiers, there are no certainties...
either you fight to survive, or you surely die without strategies.
All mothers cried as they departed to meet their destinies;
did anyone hear them whispering those rules to assure safeties? 
The young soldiers did, not discarding hopes and possibilities.
The Vietnam War was a long one, stretching into the seventies;
many didn't return, some did to enjoy serenities and liberties...
and proud they were to have served well, shunning insecurities.


Details | Free verse | |

WAR

Atrocity all over,
Belligerent in parts,
Catastrophe in houses,
Denial in all the minds.
Effectiveness of weapons,
Ferocity in souls,
Geographical locations
Itineraries hold.
Justifiable crimes and
Knives cutting hearts away.
Lonely are the ones that leave;
Mothers often weep and pray.
Nobody cares at all,
Only power they must seek.
Poor are the ones
Quite eager to stay safely meek.
Random killings all the time,
Some for money 
Too many for none.
Under the sword of Aries the fight
Varies the price it carries.
We all suffer, war’s no gift
Xenophobia can excuse,
You can’t think the whole abuse
Zen-like-wisdom does inflict.


Details | Narrative | |

SCARCE HARVEST

War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 


The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?


Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?


Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
 

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Rhyme | |

A Toast To Mom

oh the weather outside is frightful
and having snowball fights were so delightful

getting hit in the butt and head
then laughing cause you start seeing red

hooking on car bumpers for a little ride
wearing tennis shoes we did slip and slide

mama yelling to get off or you'll be dead
we never listened to what she had said

socks for gloves to keep little hands warm
even amidst a blizzards storm

soaked from head to foot
looking like santa's outfit full of soot

but what I remember about fun the most
was waiting for mama's hot coco and apple butter toast


on that speical Christmas morning day
before the Lord had came and taken her away


   {R.I.P. Mama}


Happy Holidays All
Love Kathy And Jenny

Also Entry For 
Deborah Guzzi's
Holiday Songs In Poem Form
Gl All


Details | Rhyme | |

Fragments of Design

Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces,
Makes each one of us who we are, and do become,
Each passing moment joins us and then releases.
Each passing human secures a piece and then some.

We are and will be the essence of everyone we meet.
I remember the smell, his words, my grandfather left for me.
I recall the wisdom my grandmother shared non-discreet.
Scents of her baking and cooking Sunday dinner for three,

These and so many more are embedded for natural recall.
Never searched for in your mind, etchings of time gone by,
Fragments of normal design, remembered forever after all.
They may deliver happiness, or create mourning or a sigh.

For every person you meet you take a part of their spirit.
Fragments of their emotions stick with you for at least a while.
Along with they acquire fragments from your little tidbit.
These fragments that we apportion make life so versatile.


written by
Cecil Hickman

Date written: 06-22-2011

written for
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~  
Contest Name All The Little Pieces 


Details | Narrative | |

Freedom before my lost brother

Freedom before my lost brother

They march before the rising sun with guns at six
We stand before sun down with signs of freedom

Who really marches to the same drum? 
When my hand have been blown off for beat
The beat, the beat, the beat

As he races from the explosion of freedom in his chest
For freedom
To escape this tide of hate
That swept us slaves of red, white and blue

And he is nothing like before when hate took him away
He is a man at six and we are still children as adult
War took my hands and feet I am no solider
I fight for freedom not money
You fight so this tide will not cross-oceans and sands

We fight here for food and light
And light, to breathe, to die for family
Across the ocean hand my son an ak-47
And he will march and kneel before God for forgiveness

Hand my brother a ruger and he will stand in the shadows for American greed
Greed in the land of freedom and hope, black in the shadows
And mother can mend wounds here across the oceans she can only dial 
Extensions..... 
Of relief
Mother over there must know how to be doctor and surgeon, and warrior for the 
Next 
Generation to survive, to live

We cannot procreate; we are the ends of mankind
With bombs in the hands of babies
To extend our left hand of hate across the ocean, across towers of hope

We must all be the same here a million mile from each other
My skin dictates that I hate, be hated, I rape, be raped
I bleed red, white and blue
Watching in shock, disbelief as red, white and blue goes up in flames in the 
Ashes of the wind just like you

Freedom can never come to me here before her with that torch 
My mother across  the ocean must be sending me a package of death to kill my 
four father
Your four father because my complexion means that no one can see me
 I am a lost brother, forgotten sister 
 Hated child with no hands, no hands in freedom

March me before television cameras, signs of peace, and words of love
I am still a lost brother............ before truth
But you knoe me so well..
From the the same box that caused my cousins in your land to be hung
Money means nothing here, Money means every thing beside her with the torch
Pass it to me so I may freedom---the truth


Details | I do not know? | |

Don't forget the sausages

Pop down to the shops Son
I need some bits and bobs
Just a few potatoes
And a dozen crusty cobs
While you’re there, you might as well
Get carrots and some greens
Some frozen peas, some sugar
And a tin of Heinz baked beans
Some tea, I think we need some
Minced beef for shepherds pie
A pound of cheese, the Leicester
We’ll give that one a try
We haven’t any biscuits
You know the ones I like
Only get two packets, mind
Be careful on your bike
When you get back I’ll do some
Bread and dripping for your tea
A slice of bread and scrape for you
And sausages for me

© John W Fenn  03-07-2009


Details | Lyric | |

Old Wise-Tales

Somedays I think back to my 
Grandmother, my mother,
My daddy and all the things 
I so many times heard them say.

I can recall them as tho I heard them
Again on yestersday.
They were always telling us children
Things to do to help us become
Matured adults.

They tried to keep us healthier
So we would live as long as we should
I remember so often
My grandmother saying
Keep heat in your body
And don't get chilled.
Put something around your neck
And something on your head.

I remember daddy warming our shoes
In frount of the big gas heater
As we got ready for school.

He knew our feet would get cold on the bus
For there wasn't heat to accommodate us back then
And the warmth would remain in our shoes
As least part of the way to the school.
 
Mother would always correct us
For she was that kind
Daddy would tell her 
Keep those girls in line.

We had meals together
That was the house rule
You ate at the table
Like your were suppose to do.

You didn't back talk
And carry a rude nature
Or you had a sore spot
Right where mother placed it.

Oh if only I could go back then
And just enjoy the whole thing 
All over again.

Tho tempting it would be
I wouldn't want to stay there 
For I have to tell these wise-tales
To my son's children.
They will have to know them
So they can tell them 
To their children's children.


Details | Free verse | |

These Hands

Anxiously pressed,

and waiting by the phone,

It's 11:05 pm,

and the dark tunnel which leads from the kitchen to the library,

is brightened by a tiny desk lamp.



Work and worry form every line,

tall, tough weather keep them dry,

these hands once directed the fall fashion lines,

from the highest towers in New York City,

but now,

they are at the mercy of one teenage daughter.



"Weren't you ever as young or as carefree as me?" I ask emerging from the hall.

Turning-arms free with relief she screams,

"Why don't you ever answer your cell phone!"


Details | Didactic | |

Called to be a Vessel

the gospel of Luke is the most detailed accounting of Jesus Christ
It reveals His conception, His early childhood and His missionary life
In the gospel of Luke he tells about God's 2 part master plan
to deliver a Messiah into Israel's hands 

the first part of the plan was to send an anointed blessing
to Zachariah and Elizabeth for all their years of childless stressing
a son was finally born to them whose mission would be one of preparation
John the Baptist who would pave the way for the One coming to deliver salvation

the second part of the plan was the supernatural conception of God's chosen one
a virgin girl with a true faith to be the vessel for His earthly son
Mary was her name and in her the Lord God had found favor
the 2nd cousin to John the Baptist and now to become the mother of our Savior

Mary went to her cousin Elizabeth and told her of the Angel's words
at first she was anxious and troubled and then she thought it was absurd
then Elizabeth said, look at me, I carry a miracle in my aged womb
and if the Angel of God said that to you in your mind now make the room
we are connected by blood and it makes perfect sense and sound reasoning
that God would give us both a miracle 
in order to do what for Him is most pleasing
and at that meeting the child in Elizabeth's womb 
received the Holy Spirit and jumped for joy
the confirmation that Mary was the vessel chosen 
to bring forth God's little boy
called to be a vessel Mary was the chosen one
called to be a vessel to give life to God's only Son

as God has a purpose and a mission for each of us
and all He asks is that in His word we learn to trust
for when God gives you a word the situation is already in place
and when God gives you a word just accept His infinite wisdom and grace
it might not make much sense to you but that's all right
just do whatever God desires of you and be acceptable in His sight

called to a vessel for in you God has found favor
called to be a vessel because of your obedient behavior
called to be a vessel by accepting God's purposeful hands
when you're called to be a vessel to carry out the Lord's master plans
 




Details | Free verse | |

Our Union

Our Union
	
My eyelashes bat 
After meeting your gaze
From across a 
Crowded subway haze.
 
My pupils dilate when they
Look back at you over dinner
Where we drank wine and ate.
 
My feet dance with glee as we
Fall hopelessly in love 
In the midst of summer heat.
 
My heart splits apart 
To become your wife
And your forever sweetheart.
 
My legs spread 
Open to bare new life
And see your cheeks rosen.
 
My arms push 
You away at night,
I'm too tired for a sex life.
 
My fists rage and tears pour,
When I discover your arms
Embracing another lover
After coffee one early morn.
 
My ears listen to 
Your words of regret and
Pleads for a second chance
For things to be like
When we first met.
 	
My fingers dial 
Seeking third party counsel
To repair our shattered union.
 
My brain waves 
Shift to understand your
Thoughts and your feelings, 
While I bitterly convey my own.
 
My hand re-opens 
To forgive your sins
And make amends.
 
My lips part to 
Receive your kiss in the
Night in a sea of 
Skin in our warm bed.
 
My heart flutters, 
We’ve truly become one,
Years after we bore our son.


Details | ABC | |

my first pet

I    got  a  first  pet   it    was  different  from  everybody's  first  pet  i  had  a  half  
cat  half  dog.i  named it  cado.but i  thought he  was  cool.everyone  kept  making  
fun  of  him.but  i  loved  him  dearly.


Details | Rhyme | |

No Color or Relgion, Ever Stopped a Bullet from a Gun

I heard on the news
Another two are lost
That makes 206
Is there, a whatever the cost
 
We are there to assist
A country so reft
Inner fighting
To help the rest of the left
 
Guerrilla warfare
Tactically strong
Thousands of miles
Where we don't belong
 
The people we vote in
Would they go in their place
To show their people
Dying is no disgrace
 
I will never allow
My children to fight
A war so improper
A conflict not right
 
To show our presence
As we parade their land
A remote explosion
Blown up on demand
 
How can we serve
A regime so unfair
They can starve their women
Because he can't have her there
 
To fight for their freedom
As they fight themselves
The decision should be made
To save ourselves
 
The Russians failed
So now we try
Coalition troops
In daily die
 
The modern wars
Will always be run
No color or religion
Ever stopped a bullet from a gun



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war.php


Details | Free verse | |

Alanis morisette

I know you got my letter 
from years ago
the one about all my problems 
and the crush i had on you
about my dresser and my mispelled name
and what slide meant to me and why

I should be accountable
but im not sure what im supposed to do
ive heard you
and understand your sick of your voice and why
ive even tried joining your fan club
but i think that fell through

I told u about my friend sherri shepherd and her family
and how they blindly ylead eachother 
but im not allowed to be her friend

Im not sure what id do if i was in your shoes
recieving a letter from a child fan
telling a stranger their suicidal tendencies
and molestations and abuse at home
and their witchcraft circle and strange experiences that involved
making love to a famous artist before their career had changed

Alanis
its like unexplainable to me
what you are
a reminder of a mother figure i never knew
a saving grace when the angels seemed soo far away
and i understand all of ur lyrics from im not ur mother 
i diont carry you in my womb for nine months
to not the doctor
and now i wonder if im like an adopted 27 year old 
life lesson 
object to crave 
side project 
toy
you never wanted but got handed
and passed with flying colors

even though a few of your lyrics are two edged swords
im not sure what i wrote and sent off to you
but by the time you read it and wrote that song a lot had changed

i spoke of love like yours
and the help i needed and how i was fascinated with you
things i needed help with no one else could
i dont remember what i wrote
i think i wrote marilyn manson one too

Thank you
we bruised eachother
and i know you did a lot more for me
an object to crave?
its there u know...and it might not be me
but if u want one and u cant find one
i can help u look, or show u places to start

life is strange
i cant fathom the loops we sent eachother through
and who knows what anymore
but thank you soo much



Details | Rhyme | |

Rwanda Wrongs

In 1957, there existed a plan
To rid Rwanda of the Tutsi clan
Power they had, too much for one side
The foundation for, future Genocide
 
1960, the monarchy was gone
Will both sides sing the same song
Sadly not as the persecutions start
Ripping this African country apart
 
1973, under a new regime
Juvénal Habyarimana promised restrain
Progress and reconciliation proposed to be
For this country to unite, finally
 
1994, Habyarimana gunned down
His assassination, country drowns
This killing of him, the carnage starts
Population half, ripped apart
 
The killings horrific, no one spared
Machete slain, heads caved
Hacking, be-headings as families fall
As CNN tune in, the world appalled
 
The continuance, of the slaughtered tribes
Men, women and children you can't describe
Women raped, and the unborn slain
This horrific act of human pain
 
Most of the fallen, in their own villages dead
By another clan, they thought were friends
Indescribable to the world as our televisions show
The massacre of innocents, as we watch blow by blow
 
Where does it all end, can we try the same songs
How many more of these Rwanda wrongs
It appears to be a human trait
To kill each other for the sake of it


Details | Fibonacci | |

The Babies Don't Cry

Cry
Once
Then none
Flint River
Thrown from bridge two small
Babies sister brother drowned
Every time go by I hear the children cry call me
Mother experienced temporary insanity threw them from bridge to swift water


Details | Monorhyme | |

Away In The Manger

out in the pasture sits a church
homemade by brothers hands and filled with dirt

given to Mother so it stops her hurt
decorated each Christmas for what's its worth

as Mother lays down the cotton skirt
out comes the angels the manger and baby Jesus without a shirt

next comes her towering soldiers buried into the dirt
holding their swords that really can hurt

strewn lights gazes upon the pasture's dirt
frozen in time like a star that shivers and quirks

Mama's eyes glistens like fireworks bursts
for all her effort and time even when she hurts

as mother kneels in front of her church
she praises baby Jesus for all he's worth

comes in from the cold and winters bursts
gathers the children as they all look at her work

and tells us the story of a Christmas birth
as we sip on hot chocolate and felt the hurt

of how Jesus died for our sins on this earth
as we wiped our tears with our night shirts

I was glad to run out and relight the candles burst
and give baby Jesus one more kiss and fix his grass skirt




Tribute To Nativity Scenes


Merry Xmas All      
Love Kathy And Jenny


Details | Blank verse | |

hard times just like now

Hard times just like now? 
The looting in streets of Britain made me think back to my own childhood. 
Winter 1948, mother had two newspaper rounds one in the morning one in 
the afternoon. The pay was low; good thing she could take home unsold 
papers which, was good for the fire. My older brother used to go out at night 
with sink buckets, down to the coal depot stealing. After he had been caught 
twice he was sent to a youth correction centre.  Winter of 1948 was a hard, 
but we had old furniture mother had inherited from her father. It burnt well. 
Spring, we only had an old sofa left, which I slept on, and two rickety chairs.
 We’re lucky mother got a job cleaning the offices of a banana company that 
imported bananas and cured them in the backrooms. Fruits that were black 
we got and it was a life saver. Mother now had three jobs. It wasn’t enough. 
she had to ask the social services and got coupons for jumpers and clogs.  
All this took a heavy toll on mother’s health’s she got tuberculoses and sent 
to a sanatorium. The family was split up. Except for my brother stealing coal 
we never thought of looting shops, perhaps we should have, I liked a pair of 
black leather clogs I saw displayed in a shop window a spring day in 1948.


Details | Rhyme | |

Mrs Catherine Antrim

I for one can't help but wonder
how the Kid's life would have turned out, 
had he not lost his mother.
The one true individual in his life 
whom he loved devotedly like no other
and so too was her love for him, 
the devoted unconditional love of a loving mother.
Catherine was a strong, independent, gregarious lass
whom everyone seemed to like and enjoy very dearly.
She earned a living selling baked goods 
to customers she had amassed
and by doing much of the neighborhood's dirty laundry.
She also dabbled in real estate, 
purchasing what little property she could afford,
and to earn extra income 
she'd often open the door to her home and welcome
all those willing to pay room and board.
Many a tenderfoot would show up at her door 
and Mrs Catherine Antrim (the Kid's mother) 
would nurse them, feed them 
and provide them a nights board.
It's very obvious that Billy's fine qualities 
were passed down to him from his mother.
Had she lived an average lifetime, 
In my mind there is no doubt,
Billy, the Kid today may have been 
a most different legend 
that may have come about.
He most likely would have been
a very outstanding model citizen,
as well as a great humanitarian.
Today he may have been 
an even greater prouder legend
had his mother's life not been 
so abruptly brought to an end.
*
Dedicated to all The Great Mothers
who have Greatly Influenced Their Children.
Happy Mothers Day.


Details | Quatrain | |

Why the Rose Bled

Parents so proud
Four sons they raised
From the Highlands of Scotland
In the pre-war days
 
On their crofts they worked
Morning till night
Unknown to them then
Off a future fight
 
The Germans have invaded
A country so free
Poland was taken
The world shaken visually
 
Britain declares war
As our men enlist
To rid the enemy
As the fighting shifts
 
Europe's engulfed 
In a feverish war
Many are dying
To comprehend what for
 
The four brothers
Sign up to fight
As a mother will pray
Every night

Campaigns they fight
In these theatres of war
Witnessing horrors
Never seen before
 
In their garden at home
On the family crofts
A bed of roses
With petals so soft
 
Then one day 
With a passing glance
A pink rose dripping red
In deathly stance
 
Their mother turns
To the gate she looks
Telegram in hand
From the postman she took
 
With trembling hands
She opens with care
Upon reading the message
In tear laden stare
 
Their eldest son
In Africa was lost
As many many others
Deaths global cost
 
Every day
As she passes the rose
It's pink petals bloom
Her tomorrow's fear grows



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war4.php


Details | Verse | |

Biography (Them)

When you are young your life is not about you
You it owe to them for love, for sacrifice and rent
Youth is the margin of our parents ever do
The young know their life only by old consent
              My father was doctor with animals in his care
              The blackest and the first of them in that space
              My mother was the Jill of every trade, a rare
              Exhibit of beauty in a working class of grace

He out of the dry parish, made ladder with brains
And climb to wring the clouds of dreams. He 
Matured from church school teacher, got the reins
Fathoming figures, Maroon boy in ascendancy:
              Policeman, black sergeant, parting the waves
              Clerk of the Court while colonials made war
              Thespian for Vere John, the black hole craves
              Everything it cannot be like a wounded star.

He did well when the war was done though. Some
Whites came back alive, and their substitute yield
So they coud find their sinecure. He got a ransom
From gruelling things too, a cut above the common field
              His lettered mind scholarship him there
              And this society that prevented cruelty to beast
              Gave that astute mind its golden stair.
              From slum investments father rose to feast.

He loved rebellion, it was his poetry, yet not he
But mother was the rebel, leaving father's house
Breaking bonds with tradition and its morality
To bring my sister weddingless, to choose her spouse
             And refuse them regardless. Family's wealth
             She forsook, and took the rudder of her life
             Compassless to sea. All winds and surge she felt
             Survival was the only fun in her fracture strife.

It walloped her, the storm of winds and fire
Three children and no way back through flames
Churning like a sword, waist deep wading mire
Her soul unshaken its sovereign pride proclaims
            My own daily lessons  that core my manhood 
            Father's love of learning, mother's pride
            And I drifting in that Ark since the old flood
            Left me in a barren place where wants divide


Details | Ballad | |

' Warriors ... The Battle Cry Song ... '

There Are Sounds of Ancient Thunders
There Are Sounds of Ancient Drummers
        Calling … Brave Warriors
         Gladiators and Warriors

And They’re Marching To The Cadence of Their Hearts’ Pounding
Marching, To The Cadence of The World’s Rage Resounding
They’re Going By The Beat of Their Heart’s Pumping
By The Steady Flow of Blood and Bloodlust, Tells Me Somethin’

               … Warriors …
         Courageous Warriors …

Chorus:

But, We’ve Seen These Men, Playing With Their Children
We’ve Seen These Sons and Their Laughter, I’m Hearing
We’ve Seen These Men, Loving Their Babies
And Tenderly Holding and Kissing Their Ladies

               … Warriors …
         Courageous Warriors …

2nd Chorus:

Oh Lord, Please Stop These Warriors’ Battle Cry
And The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Mothers and Wives
The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Little Ones’ Eyes
The Battle Cry, Coming From Warriors … When They Die

               … Warriors …
         Courageous Warriors …

Sticks and Stones, Swords, Arrows and Bombs
Lances, Knives, Hand to Hand Combat, Napalm
God Almighty, Oh, Thy Kingdom Come
Please Rescue Us, From The Kingdom of The Gun …

And Prophecy Is Marching – Listen, All Who Arms Bear
Warriors, Must Beat War Weapons Into Plowshares            ( Isa. 2: 4 )
And When War, Is No More, Then We Will Hear
All Warriors’ Battle Cry, Will Be An Amen Cheer !

              … Gentle Warriors …
            Peace-Loving, Warriors …

2nd Chorus:

Oh Lord, Please Stop These Warriors’ Battle Cry
And The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Mothers and Wives
The Battle Cry, Coming From Their Little Ones’ Eyes
The Battle Cry, Coming From A Warrior’s … Last ‘ Why ? ’

                … Warriors …
           Courageous Warriors …

How Can Flesh and Blood, Mortal-Men, Be So Fearless, I Wonder
Are They Strengthened By Duty, Love and Honor
Facing Danger, Death and Being Torn Asunder
Sacrificing All, As A Fallen Soldier …

                 … Warrior …
           Courageous Warrior …


Details | Lyric | |

O Calliope

Will you help me find the words Oh Calliope I need a muse, something to inspire Oh Calliope Find the words to enchant Oh Calliope Everything I give Everything I write Everything I want Everything I need Everything I try You will inspire So come to me Enchanting me Oh Calliope You're all really need Oh Calliope The words I write Tainted by your touch Oh Calliope You are not to know What will become of thee Oh Calliope You are my heart You are my soul You’re all I used to be So whisper to me Oh Calliope Everything I give Everything I write Everything I want Everything I need Everything I try You will inspire, So come to me Enchanting me Oh Calliope I could always need you Something I can always use so go on enchant me oh Calliope Everything I give Everything I write Everything I want Everything I need Everything I try You will inspire So come to me enchanting me oh Calliope


Details | Pastoral | |

IAM

                   
I am the beginning, I am the end,
I am the universe and all that is in,
I am visible but cannot be seen,
I am the mountains, I am the sea, 

I am the dust from an ancient land,
IAM The Creator, I am a man, 
I am the one from long ago,
Who said to the Pharaoh, Let My People Go, 

I am the father, I am the son,
I am the substance of which there is none,
I am the angel with wide spread wings,
IAM the Christ, King of all Kings, 

I am a country far across the sea,
I am a people who has longed to be free,
I am the captor, I am the slave,
I am condemned, I am saved, 

I am the whip from which backs were scarred,
I am the skin that was burned and charred,
I am the woman who was born to be,
A savior to a people who still are not free, 

I am a nation torn with great strife,
I am the maker and taker of life,
I am the one with a stovepipe hat,
Who has carried a huge burden upon his back, 

I am a people who flew with the wind,
Soared over mountains, We were very proud men,
Soon we were scattered, Now we are few,
We were the first to be robbed and misused, 

I am the one who was sent from above,
To preach to the world of something called love,
I am the mountain top to which few have seen,
I am the one who full fills all your dreams, 

I am the staff that parted the sea,
I have died so that I may be free,
I am a slave, I am a queen,
I am a vision, I am a dream, 

I am the future, I am the past,
I am the first, I am the last,
I am the lion, I am the lamb,
I am, IAM!


Details | Senryu | |

We Will Remember Them

Dying for Freedom
American and British soldiers
Will be remembered

 

" Dedicated to the losses our countries are taking to fight for our freedom "
                                 Haiku or Senryu matters not


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war3.php


Details | I do not know? | |

THIRD WORLD TERRORIST

I Was Born In India.
I Was Born A Girl.
I Was Born With Polio.
I Was  Never Knowing My Biological Mother.
I Was  Never Knowing My Biological Father.
I Am Not A “Third World Terrorist.”				
		
I Was Flown Into the United States.		
I Was Adopted By An American Woman.
I Was Educated By The American Society.
I Was Well Acclimated By The American People.
I Became Documented By The American Government.
I Am Not A “Third World Terrorist.”				
		
I Hate Snakes, Similar To Many Americans.
I Loathe Insects, Parallel To Numerous Americans.
I Revolt Needles, Akin To Countless Americans.
I Disgust Heights, Related To Various Americans.
I Have Many More Phobias Like Most Americans.
I Am Not A “Third World Terrorist.”				
		
I Tolerate The American Justice System.
I Question American Politics.
I Rarely Smoke.
I Seldom Drink.
I Vote Continuously.
I Am Not A “Third World Terrorist.”				
		
I Fear ALL Murderers.
I Dread ALL Rapists.
I Interrogate ALL Impostors.
I Cross Examine ALL “Smoke and Mirrors”.
I Intensely Dislike ALL Felons.
I Am Not A “Third World Terrorist.”		


Details | Free verse | |

My Ancestors

My grandmother's grandmother was probably a slave
I can't say for sure
because the chains that, most likely, bound her ankles
were firm enough
to dismantle my hereditary intellect of her
But I'm sure that she was beautiful
Because her chains
are now broken from me
and the links that lay between us
brought together the miles of unearthed nurturing
that has carved my integrity
in stone
Her great, great grandmother's mother
was probably African Royalty
Because the pride of self assuring penniless nobility
that bleeds through my veins
that keeps the pettiness of degradation and defeat at bay
had crossed the sands 
and treaded the oceans
to penetrate my determination to succeed 
and blesses my triumphs of self discovery
My blindness to my ancestry
fuels the light of my destiny


Details | Light Poetry | |

grandmother

Grandmother

Remember my grand mother
Use to sit in the gallery
And what ever she wanted 
Use to call my brothers or me

She was born deformed
But she never let it get her way
She would be walking with her stick
Going to make her garden everyday

She had the biggest garden
In the whole of ste Madeleine
With tomato, corn, peas, peppers,
Its how many of her days was spend

She would always be doing something
She just could not sit down 
If she’s not with the chickens
 She’s sewing and singing old Hindi songs

Many times we sit around her 
She would tell us many stories
Of fairy tales and legends
Full of so many mysteries

And when there is a wedding
They would come for her on Saturday nights
She would sing with the drums and danthal
She was always the star in the spot lights

With small branches and nylon rope
She would make a Christmas tree
And when she was finish with it
Was the best you could ever see?

She liked to buy the blow up animals
And for Christmas put all in the gallery
Our gallery use to be so decorated
Can still see it in my mind so clearly


 I wish I had talk to her more
There was so much I would have like to know
About her mother and father, brothers and sisters
But you only think about after the time past and go
Remember she use to say
Her big brother use carry her when she small
And while the others children use to be playing
He would not leave her alone at all

And how her mother was very beautiful
And her father use to protect her like gold
So many great history and memories
Is now silence never to be told?

If you have a grandmother 
Just look how she’s finding things to do
To bring joy and happiness everyday
To show the love she has for you

When we are young we just don’t see it
Of all the history unfolding before our eyes
And we never really realize it
Until many years after our grandparents dies
 
A young girl will go thru the stages of life
Then become a woman with a family to
Then one day hear the words grandma
And when you look, they will be talking to you

Go to your grandmother reach out a hand
Tell her how she is precious and dear
Tell her you love her so she will understand
Because one day you could, wake and she will not be there


Details | Rhyme | |

"MRS. JOYCE CROSS IS VERY WELL KNOWN!!!'

Mrs.Joyce Cross is very well known
In Jesus she's really grown.
She's known by many,and loved by all
When ever she's needed just give her a call.
She's a dear,and precious friend
Her love is no pretend.
She's  a wonderful mother that always care
And the love she gives no other can compare.
Her passion is the kids program,and celebrations
Forever giving a hand,and dedications.
She truly loves being at HMOC
And there's no other place that she rather be.


Details | Free verse | |

"AJOROSUN"

Only at the top of “Mapo” Hill
Lies the old but tattered roofs 
Of the ancient city of Ibadan
"Ajorosun" the second largest in Africa

Archaic modern city with which we measure
The political tempo and potentio-meter
Of the most populous black nation in the world

The city of those who only chew “Oro” 
And converse with the mat for the dinner
The city of those who ride  and rid people
Their properties with horses and impunity

Those who refuse to know “Laipo”
Stand not to know the city called Ibadan
The city of the real warriors and conquerors 




Alayande Stephen. T
2nd of Novembere ,2005
12.09pm


Inside a Lagos bus on my way to Ibadan 
From Lagos.The inspiration came when 
The vehicle (Sango-Molete) got to Bere,
Behold I saw Ibadan and the tattered roofs.

NB-"Ajorosun" is a Yoruba word from an Ethnic group in Nigeria.It is used as 
praise poetry for the Ibadan people of Nigeria.







Details | Rhyme | |

My Mother the Car

From your senses, have you taken leave? What you have told us is hard to believe. We were all sorry when your mother passed away. You met her again when you went car shopping today? She came back as a 1928 Porter. You drove her home to show your wife, son, and daughter. Are you sure it was not your imagination? There are some people who believe in reincarnation. It seems strange to come back to earth as a car. Of all the things in the world, that sounds quite bizarre. Well, that is a weird scene, David Crabtree. You are being pursued by Captain Manzini. He chases after you during day and night. He wants the car, and never gets your name right. I know you are happy that your mother is alive. However, the public did not seem to care in 1965.


Details | ABC | |

Misbegotten Mistress

Alluring
bulbous
curves
Deciduous
eyes
feudal
green
Harvesting
insatiable
juniper
king
Languid
morning
nymph
Opulent
pedestrian
queen
Regal
seeds
toiling
under
vanquished
winter
Xanadu’s
youthful
zeal


Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Rhyme | |

Unsung Heroes

How many unknown heroes are sleeping now 
Silently resting in this field once ploughed 
Tiny white markers on each tended grave 
Thankful flowers from those they saved 

In this field lie a million stories
Tales of pain, loss and unknown glory 
Brothers, sons and fathers each dear to someone 
Shrouded now in darkness, taken away by war's gun

Close your eyes and imagine how it was that last day 
As bullets flew and cannons roared, with lives they'd pay
They stayed and did not choose to run 
Those heroes now so very long unsung 

Tales of bravery left unsaid 
Just names on a paper, saying they were dead 
"Killed in Action" 
"Lost at Sea"
Words more than that, would never be

I wander slowly between each silent row
Sensing the pain and deep sorrow 
For one of those unknown heroes was my Grandad
Along with ten of the best friends he ever had

All died together, each trying to save the other one
None of them survived to greet the rising sun 
My Grandmother received a letter, a medal and a flag 
Along with personal effects tucked neatly in his old kit bag

Copies of letters he lovingly wrote
Such sadness brought a lump to your throat 
Tears flowed like rivers that never ran dry 
Pain would always be seen deep within her eye 

I remember that awful day so very well 
That's why his story I am trying to tell
Of his unselfish bravery left unsung 
I have the need to shout out and tell everyone 

I know that many have someone they lost this way 
In a war fought for democracy and freedom to stay
Remember their bravery and their great sacrifice 
To ensure what we have, they paid the ultimate price

Turning to look back at each of the graves 
I whisper my thank you for all that they saved
Sleep silent angels, you passed every test 
You were simply the very, best of the best!  


Details | Rhyme | |

Blood on Emeralds

The blood of Emeralds
In Northern Ireland's streets
Where sides detest
Victims they seek
 
Religious divide
Neighbours slain
For the life of me
What to gain
 
These troubled times
Historic sores
Deep rooted pasts
Now to the fore
 
IRA
UDA
Many guns came out to play
Both sides fell, as they murderously slay
During the week, even Sundays
 
The Belfast agreement of 1998
This Land of Emeralds, in peaceful state
Neighbours safe to talk again
Never allow the blood, on the Emeralds stain

" Dedicated to all Ireland - The Emerald Isle "


Details | I do not know? | |

$9.95

$9.95 is the price she paid to Forget All Her Daily Worries.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Forget All Her Daily Stressors.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Dull Away Her Chronic Pains.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Fools Others that 
She was Fine Everyday.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Forget Her Constant Isolation.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Forget 
Her First True Love.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Distance Herself from 
Memories of A Deceased Father.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Distance Herself from 
Memories of A Deceased Mother.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Distance Herself from A Living Brother.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Leaver Her Birth Place.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Succumb to the Needs of A Demanding Supervisor.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Forget Her Current Unemployment Status.

$9.95 is the price she Paid to Deal with Her Youngest Daughter's Impulsiveness.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Let Go of Her Youngest Daughter.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Make A Servant of Her Eldest Daughter.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Cope with Her Eldest Daughter's 
Wedding Nuptials.

$9.95 is the price she paid When Her Daughters Had Betrayed Her.

$9.95 is the price she paid For Her Fifth Sized Apricot Brandy Bottle.

$9.95 is the price she paid While Crying in Her Final Hours.

$9.95 is the price she paid to Her Final Hour.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Big Blue Trunk

Big blue trunk,
It's always there.
We don't notice;
We don't care.

This afternoon,
I feel a tingle,
But in the trunk
We dare not mingle.
With a brother 
By my side,
We open it and
Look inside.

We find things from
Another world,
Things that were once
A little girl's.

Toys in the trunk
Are smelling old:
Yell'wing posters
Tightly rolled;
Candy wrappers
Make a chain;
Children's books,
Lessons to gain;
Painting of a
Scarecrow field;
Packages that
Still are sealed;
Pretty dolls (but
Broken faces);
Memories that
Time erases;
Stuffed animals (once
Held so tight):
Many a kitten,
Fur so white.

Simple things
That used to be
Waited in this
Trunk for me.
In this room that
Is my brother's
We found the trunk
I know is Mother's.


Details | Quatrain | |

CHANGING TIMES IN AMERICA

Women are quickly adjusting to modern times
by being more liberal and independent of men;
gone is the housewife, mother and wife,
who stayed home and took care of her children...



On the other hand, men seem to have lost their power
as breadwinners by becoming less caring and loving husbands;
families rarely gather at dinner to discuss matters, 
and this daily celebration pleased their Creator...



Martin Luther was assassinated and John F. Kennedy followed him,
so did his brother Robert and America watched and mourned;
these were, indeed, difficult times that changed the image of a nation,
and the innocent blood spilled by hatred spread more indignation...



Unexpectedly, something marvelous happened which brought awareness;
and soon after the American astronauts landed on the barren and grey moon,
everyone wanted to declare their rights as abiding and loyal citizens
of a country that suppressed freedom and created unneccessary choas and gloom...

   

This teen was powerless and horrified witnessed these events that changed America,
peace, justice and fairness were far cries from reality, more needed to be done; and mama
didn't want to lose me when the Vietnam War started and hippies refused to pick up arms;
and their peaceful songs are a  reminder of a youth spared by God for His great purpose...
 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Rhyme | |

LOVE YOURSELF

Love Yourself today / Anyway
Look in the mirror what do
you see? There's so much
beauty reflecting back at
you.

Love Yourself today / Anyway
your bright crystal clear eyes
are like mines.Your dark
chocolate skin comes from
my side of the family.

Love Yourself today / Anyway
your black weavy kinky hair is
from your father's side.Your
character is a combination of
us both. Your full lips comes
from your maternal grandmother.

Love Yourself today /Anyway...
No matter what some may say.
Your hour glass body was a 
present from my genes.
Love Yourself  today / Anyway..



Details | I do not know? | |

Her

she makes my life hell
with the yelling and the screaming
why do you have to be so mean 
well it doesn't matter cause payback sucks
and it's knocking at your door!


Details | I do not know? | |

Dear mother

I loved everything about you even your sins  
when you gave up and told yourself "I lose" I reminded you to win 
The saddest thing I've ever known was the day you toldme on the phone belief no more you 
had in me and she could come and i couldn't and thats final you see
I no longer understand what you are or what your trying to do I guess doing to me what 
your own mother did to you


Details | Name | |

One day will come

I know, this is insulted task,
You are very important to me.
I know, this is insulted task,
You are fully enlightened to me.
I have no objection
You are quiet handsome and smart
I have no objection
Your are honest working hard a part
But I can’t allow you
You are still a servant.
But I can’t allow you
You are lower caste detergent.
I can invite you
If you have a different religion,
I can invite you
If you have a different language vision,
It is a matter of my purity
It is a tradition of my culture and faith
It is a matter of Hindu sanctity
It is a pride of my family myth.
You can’t understand
As you are exploited over the centuries.
You can’t blame them
If nobody accepted you a human the centuries
If you are Muslim
Still facing a caste barrier
If you are Sikh
Still facing a caste barrier
If you are Christian,
Still facing a caste barrier
If you are Buddhist
Still facing a caste barrier
You need to know
Hindu fantasies have strong ties
You need to know
Why all others have mourn flies
They also believe that
Caste is a God gift
They also believe that
Dalits have downtrodden rift
Is world ready to accept you?
Explain me, what have they done for you?
Nobody is ready to help you
If you are Dalit, they have done none for you,
They love you, 
Only the cause of their Religion.
They love you, 
Only the cause of their vision.
Religious philosophy is equal,
Divide mankind and ruled over them 
Religious philosophy is equal,
Kill the welfare of mankind to convert them.
One day will come,
When you will be a religious man,
One day will come, 
When a Dalit shouln’t be a Dalit fan.


Details | Free verse | |

Momma

I know all the stories that she'd told she been livin in lies she knows shes doin 
wrong.All i know is she need to do right. I can't keep oncryin momma s do it just 
please no more fights. I tell myself that she will do better, momma we are a 
family ain't we supposed to bo together. What happened to our happy fun. Every 
since that doy violence but more guns. You used to give me hugs what 
happened to all the kisses, all the good times yes we allmisses.We can forget 
abut it momma thanks to you. You can't play me nomore i'm not a little fool. I try 
so hard but why can't you stop. One day i just wish you will and IT gonna drop.


Details | Couplet | |

Because of You

Because of you my life was given to me,
Becuase of you my life is what it was made to be.
Because of you I felt abandoned and thrown away,
Because of you I never thought we would stay.
Because of you I can't trust anyone but me,
Because of you many horrible sights I was forced to see.
Because of you I was abused in more ways then one,
Because of you my childhood was filled with horror instead of fun.
Because of you I learned that drugs were the thing to try,
Because of you look at me I can't stop and you keep asking me why?
Because of you I learned how not to be a dad,
Because of you I'll give my kids everything i never had.
Because of you i hate me,
Becuase of you I can't break free.
Because of you I learned how to be tough and never get hurt,
Because of you no one can ever make me feel like dirt.


Details | Name | |

Temperature

Possible or impossible, work force is rolling dust.
Expected or unexpected, a task is streaming fast.

Who can finish a job, we need to finish a pending week?
Till last minute, we need to walk, to gain everything last.

Everyday, every morning, every week and every month,
Year after a year, centuries has development most.

A seed is growing new, a giant tree is moving away,
A filling vacancy is paying risk and running a cost.

When a body temperature loses, body feels weakness,
When temperature is high, body has temperature lost.

Everything has temperature; it has a good turning,
If temperature has balance, human and nature has trust.


Details | Ballad | |

EVERY HEART BELONGS TO A COUNTRY...

Every heart belongs a Country...
big or small,  with or without prosperity;
a beloved and cherished Country
has its precious name
on each heart loving freedom!

It may have a beautiful ocean or sea,
breathtaking mountains so misty,
or a desert that can never flourish;
it may have raging rivers,
wild forests with sparkling waterfalls...
wealthy or unwealthy it is still a bliss!

Every heart belongs to a Country,
my Country is no different from others...
with a sky ever blue, like the calm sea
hiding islands with a striking beauty;
I walked its flowery and rocky paths,
plunged my looks to the clear deep
to discover what others seek...
nothing She withheld from me!

A foreigner among native inhabitants,
abiding and hard-working,  
thriving in this prosperous Country...
where all are given an opportunity;
and if  everyone starts out
with the simplest dream,
it can bring them financial security...
anything is at their command through incentive!

Every heart belongs to a Country,
it may be mine, yours or theirs;
it may be depraved of liberty or free,
have green forests, open meadows
or barren soil without streams...
but the people's creed 
is sacred and holy!
Loalty and bravery always endure
in every heart that belongs to that Country...
that can inflame their ardor!



Details | I do not know? | |

I am Poem

I am a slave child.

I hear my mother sobbing loudly.

I see my friends and their families kicking and screaming as they are being hit over and
over again.

I feel terror for myself and my mother.

I send that my brother is already dead.

I touch my mother's arm, shaking her, trying to wake her up.

I see blood running out beneath her, she had been shot.

I taste the dirt and the blood as i am thrown onto the ground and beaten.

I come angry, rise up, and try to grab his gun, I scream "you killed my mother, you killed
my brother, you killed everyone!" But I am struck down,

I hear a gun cock close to my body.

I feel myself fading away as I see the blood flowing out, my blood.

I am a slave child, and I can now join my mother and brother in heaven.