Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances
A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke
Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun
Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land
Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell
“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger
So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing
Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces
Professor Hapgood’s studies on ancient maps were fixed
Einstein said his theories should be added to history’s mix
Perhaps it proved too big a leap for other minds to take
But his ancient culture findings, Hapgood would not forsake
6000 BC, before Egypt’s pyramids were built
Millennia before Pompeii’s lava had been spilled
Or small fishing boats hugged the Mediterranean Coast
And Columbus’s “daring” voyage was not even close
Ancient seafarers drew with astounding accuracy
Maps of the world they once knew, the fishermen’s legacy
Antarctica sans ice and closer to the equator
The Mid-Atlantic Ridge once an above-sea sky scraper
Siberia touching Alaska with no Bering Strait
(Palin could have seen Russia without snow from her back gate)
Cuba, England, Sweden, too, on these maps appear clearly
But Sweden’s fully glacial; England’s blanket an ice sheet
If we believe Hapgood, a civilization once thrived
Thousands of years before language; maps keep memories alive
Technology to chart the seas was lost in ancient times
With latitude and longitude measurements quite refined
Sea kings’ cities may have succumbed during the last Ice Age
Surviving nations lost their skill when history turned a page
Geography to be found again when the Earth had healed
“Discoverers” reinvented the forgotten ship’s wheel
Magellan, perhaps not the first to sail around the globe
Admiral Byrd not the first man to visit the South Pole
Spirits from a colony of seafarers can be found
From deep beneath Antarctic ice, they try to spread the word
But laugh they must as scientists forecast global warming
And man attempts to alter life and heed their dire warning
Shifting poles? Natural cycles! Men would be well advised
To study the maps Hapgood found and open their closed minds
To learn more about Professor Charles Hapgood’s map studies and the comments made by
Albert Einstein, you can visit http://www.crystalinks.com/crustal.html.
French trader Tavernier in a greed-inspired way
Glared at an idol of a temple in Mandalay
Prying a gem from its eye socket, a curse prevailed
Tavernier died bankrupt soon after making the sale
Louis XIV bought the stone, 1668
A gift to his mistress, Louis had it cut heart-shape
For dabbling in Black Magic, this madam was burned
A century passed with the curse’s power unlearned
The diamond was then bestowed on Marie Antoinette
For wearing it with boastful pride, Marie lost her head
She lost respect from the commoners of her nation
This gem has since been linked to the French Revolution
Cut far smaller, the gem resurfaced, 1830
When a London banker bought the rock of infamy
Henry Thomas Hope survived; the curse appeared to break
For 70 years the Hope Diamond’s wrath lay in state
A Hope heir’s marriage collapsed; his wife evoked the curse
As she foretold, subsequent owners’ fates would be worse
French broker Jacques Colot went mad, suicide his road
Sultan “Abdul the Damned,” insane after being deposed
Then to an American the Hope Diamond was sold
Washington Post owner Maclean watched horrors unfold
Other household members died, but it was Maclean’s son
Ten years old, struck by a car, his Dad’s mind came undone
Ultra-light ray tests caused the mystery diamond to glow
With safety in mind, Hope’s eerie stone found a new home
It remained locked on display in the Smithsonian
Could it be to blame for all that’s wrong in Washington?
Tragedy also tied to raiders of King Tut’s tomb
Perhaps lessons can be gleaned from those who met their doom
Robbing temples, burial sites, outcomes always bad
Greedy souls’ quests for wealth can leave them totally mad
So don’t expect me to purchase a diamond in the rough
Considering this gem’s history, a sandstone’s quite enough
It's twelve days before Christmas, Love, and I am sitting here,
the hearth fire is burning bright, but on my cheek they're tears.
I hold the conch shell to my ear and call for you my dear.
Out across the briny deep a tempest cries beware.
The entry hall is full of garland, pine, spruce and mistletoe
The mirrors are all draped with ribbons, the brass all aglow
I hold the conch shell to me ear and stare out at the snow
remembering our last parting, I begged you not to go.
"Captain" said I "can you not see you take my heart from me?"
In his hand I placed a lock of hair, and a mustard seed.
He handed me a pearly conch shell from the Isle of Capri,
and bid me listen for his love song from the Southern Sea.
For twelve days, I've climbed stairs to the widows walk on high,
I clasp the token to my chest and search the sea near-by
So sad, yet sweet the mermaids sang, they of sailor's gone by.
They sang in sympathy, a song of longing with breathy sighs.
The cliff fires burn so bright now, he's coming on the tide.
The church bells are ringing now, soon they'll at anchor lie.
Had he heard me, had he called, had it been a dream I scryed?
T'was Christmas Eve and in the snow, he's landing with the tide.
So thick with rain,the rancid air
into the jungle pours.
Young soldiers with their feet on fire
keep on despite the sores.
This war is one that no one wants
and no one understands.
Young men and women give their lives
in these far Asian lands.
Back home these kids are shown disdain;
they're spit upon and worse.
When they come home from Viet Nam
in airports they are cursed.
A blight upon our history
was this long standing war.
But we should show the vets respect
for suffering they bore.
written by Deb Wilson
January 12th, 2013
for contest "Historical Modified Quatrain"
THE RESTLESS SEA
As dawn swept 'way the morning stars
A gloomy Helen glared
Poor Paris stood in silence-- watched--
He’d kiss her if he dared.
The sea was raging round their heads
The men rowed without cease
The lovers headed to their doom--
A myth is birthed in Greece
Ten thousand ships launch in pursuit
Rough soldiers flex their knees--
Today hunt thieves tomorrow queens--
Men do what kings will please
The soldiers puked and gambled hard
Twas boredom that they feared
A seasick trip was just a jaunt--
The Trojan shore appeared
The glory grew beyond Troy’s walls
The truth no one can trust….
Dark tragedy writ in the books--
Tis flung among the dust.
Thar was nae richt ae laddie sair
wha heft a cave 'side Galloway,
wi' nae jaiken he griftit dare
as he was nae tae lippen tae.
Ill-naitur'd fishwife he haud in wi',
the twa 'greed tae gang the'gither.
She haud her tryst, an' haud her wheesht,
his ill-duin vext her wi' nae dither.
Wi' dirk in hand at howe o' nicht
in fu' ambush thay lay waitin',
skilt o' fecht an' breukin' neck
grantin' flesh for desecratin'.
Than brochten hame an' ne'er spill
tae weil wi' kale an' roastit wean,
for Clootie's gut, ae meal an' yill
'afore wan cotchit Sawney Bean.
King James the fourth heard o't a'
an' sent oot four hunner men
tae scour the Heid an' gaither a'
o' Sawney's unco clan.
Tae Tolbooth Gaol, than aff tae Leith
whar nae mercy wad be seen
wi' sic brutality tae bequeath
at the quarterin' o' Sawney Bean.
Rough translation, not nearly as poetic!:
There was a crazy, angry man
who inhabited a cave near Galloway
with no skilled trade he dared to grift
and he was not to be trusted.
An ill-natured fishwife he gained in favor
and the two agreed to marry.
She kept her word and held her tongue,
his ill-doing did not bother her.
With dirk in hand at midnight
in full ambush they lay waiting,
skilled at fighting and breaking necks,
granted them flesh for desecration.
They brought it home with nothing wasted,
to mix with kale and roasted child.
For the devils gut, a meal and ale,
before the capture of Sawney Bean.
King James the fourth heard of it all
and sent out four hundred men
to scour the Head and gather all
of Sawney's notorious clan
To Tolbooth Jail, then off to Leith
Where no mercy would be seen
with such brutality to bequeath
at the quartering of Sawney Bean
nae richt- mentally unbalanced (literally 'not right')
heft- to settle or establish a dwelling place
nae jaiken- without a skilled trade or craft
griftit-to use dishonest or illegal methods for personal gain
nae tae lippen tae- not trustworthy
haud in wi'- obtained favor from
gang the'gither- unite as in marriage (literally 'go together')
haud her tryst- kept her word
haud her wheesht- kept her silence
ill-duin- wrong, perverse or ill-behavior (literally 'ill-doing')
howe o' nicht- midnight
Clootie- the Devil
ae meal an' yill-a traditional dish, served with whisky or ale, consumed at celebrations
unco- strange, notorious, extraordinary
quarterin'- punishment by severing the hands and feet (and usually genitals) resulting in a fatal loss of blood.
It was just another morning
when it started out that day
with all our plans and schedules
we hurried on our way
Then time stood still before us
as in our disbelief
we watched in silent horror
wrapped in sorrow, filled with grief
The tragedy unfolded
as the minutes passed us by
the minutes turned to hours
and we kept on asking why
We prayed to God in Heaven
as we faced so many fears
and paralyzed within our shock
we cried a million tears
As the sky was falling down
with eyes too blurred to see
we cried for every precious life
and for humanity
I know the earth kept turning
as the hours slipped away
but while our world was shattering
time stood still that day
Dedicated to all those whose lives were touched by that tragic day - 9/11/01
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Together in mixed relation
From the Lowlands to the Highlands
Family names of a forgotten past
Deliver us to their present
For these surnames are here to last
Sunrises and sunsets have so greeted
Many a morn and an eve has been seen
To be born into such a nation
Through their eyes, you see just your dream
For to be born on the land of the heather
Through Glens of bracken and fern's
Birthed into one of their clans
Your first breath you have duly earned
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Welcome to Alba, the ultimate creation
The GDR put up a wall
in ‘61 because
they wanted West Berlin kept out.
A wall of shame it was!
In fact, the West more easily
could travel all about
while Eastern Germans were the ones
from freedom routes locked out.
The wall was guarded. Some were killed
while struggling to flee.
The Cold War only made folks yearn
more strongly to be free.
To Gorbachev, one president
implored: Tear down that wall!
It wasn’t too much longer that
it would begin to fall!
I felt the joy they felt abroad
when crumbling had begun.
November ninth, in ‘89
Berlin again was one!
For the Historical Modified Quatrain Contest of craig cornish
A handsome man, a valiant son,
John Kennedy was he.
A man who rose to President
with civil rights the key.
Who can forget the many days
like Camelot they seemed,
when all eyes were on Washington,
they passed just like a dream.
Ah, we remember Jacqueline
a Vassar deb was she,
who walked with grace on his right side
through fame and infamy.
One thousand days was all we had
of this great President
before a gunshot took his life
for all the world to see.
We mourn him still, we miss his smile
his knowledge and his grit
for he and Martin dreamed a dream,
we reaped the best of it.
My tale is from the time of Rome
Away across the sea
The tale of one called Jesus Christ
From distant Galilee
He placed Himself at God's command
Accepting all His will
Accomplishing the work of God
From Tyre to Olive's hill
He walked the streets and sailed the seas
He healed the blind and lame
Since Jesus came and changed the world
It's never been the same
He hung upon a cross of wood
To save from Adam's fate
He lived and worked among the poor
And died in low estate
He turned the world right upside-down
With nothing but His love
And now He watches us with care
From heaven's court above
-- Written 1/14/2013 --
The Highlands, our Kingdom, our many Lochs and Glens
Our beauty woos fair maidens to be at the side of Highland men
Their futures to be part of our history, Queens to our many Clans
As we stand and salute the Saltire, by the side of their Highlander man
Such a Princess exists, in a far away land from the Scot's
To our shores we'll grace her beauty, once seen, forget me not
Onclaud, by the name Nette, shall stand by her Alba man
Upon a Ben she'll stand so proud, admiring the lands of her married Clan
She'll walk through purple heathers, thickened by natures sun
Amidst ferns and ancient bracken's by burns so crisp in run
By her side he stands this man, kilted displaying his kin
Claymore at the ready to grace his enemies skin
His Queen, their Kingdom, their Castle, resting on the shores of the River Ness
Overlooking forests and greens, salmon runs in richness finesse
When the night befalls these lands, in the Kingdom of the Lochs and Glens
It's understandable as to why they be wooed, by these historic Highlander men
The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed
This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace
With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base
These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews
One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar
The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die
In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail
Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction
Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died
The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind
Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Lying still on the class room floor,
brown paper for a bottom sheet.
All the children were gathered round
and my outline was complete.
A cookie cutter girl was I
in bright black paten leather shoes;
with a gathered skirt, puffy blouse
of blue polka dotty hues.
Drawn silhouette, a paper doll,
not ashen as deaths cold harrow,
and I regret, my parents get
left Hiroshima's shadows.
Eight years gone the Rising Sun
was challenged in an earthy sky;
for bombs Little Boy and Fat Man fell
and two-hundred thousand people died
The Man of Steel, old Stalin
passed away in Russia this year;
the hot cold war was in full bloom
and our children hid in fear.
Beneath our desk tops we scrambled
as the shrill sirens shrieked away
the Committee of Five ruled Russia
and Khrushchev was on his way.
Dwight Ike was in the White House
as a veteran, he'd fought hard
the GI bill was now in affect
and bomb shelters filled our yards.
And little girls with ringlet curls
still made dollies on paper sheets;
while the doll shadows left by WWII
bombs blackened in Japan's streets.
*On August 6, 1945, the United States used a massive, atomic weapon against Hiroshima, Japan. This atomic bomb, the equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT, flattened the city, killing tens of thousands of civilians. While Japan was still trying to comprehend this devastation three days later, the United States struck again, this time, on Nagasaki. Nagasaki was bombed on August 9, 1945 only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima. And we worry that other countries may develope atomic bombs???
Crimson mist in the Dallas sky,
a frantic wife's mad dash.
The world watched us as we cried
for hope gone in a flash.
Brilliant poet with timeless verse
and enduring message of peace.
A murderous fan fulfilled his curse.
Does lunacy ever cease?
Perfect day in the city
until the towers fell.
Religious zealots who had no pity.
Their resting place is hell.
So look at history if you can
and learn from such hindsight.
As long as evil has a plan
we must not quit the fight.
The poor girl is lost
Thinking she is found
Grasping other peoples answers
Straight lines going round and round
Light at end of tunnels
Leads her back to black
She can't keep moving forward
Without truly looking back
With butterfly wings
She flys like a moth
Attracted to pretty fabric
Instead of gold she looks for cloth
The wind seems to take her
From here to over there
Instead of finding her focus
She is the queen of everywhere
A can can dancer
With her two left feet
Yet completly off the beat
No one can help her
Her ears fully blocked
Sometimes people have their patterns
Within those lines they are locked
Who is actually out there
That the multitudes believe
What religion is really there
That they all see
How many are actually out there
That makes them all believe
What religions are actually out there
That they all see and believe
How do they know they are there
What have they seen that they believe
All their religions they say that are out there
That have never ever been seen
So many scripts and fables
Passed down through the times
Passages from village elders
Etched and changed their minds
Do believers look back even further
To well over two thousand years
When the village elders decided
To suppress, enhance their fears
Do believers go back even further
When the land produced their gods
Volcanoes, lightning and thunder
Became their staff, their rod
As I return from beyond the dark
On travels that you can't comprehend
Others actually know where you came from
If told would send you round the bend
All that you believe in
Was passed down through the years
The elders of human history
Suppressed you, to contain your fears
He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.
Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears,
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!
I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!
I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father;
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?
He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!
Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep;
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!
Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "
Drive across the country
Let imagination flow
Tumbleweed and flat lands
Reveal a western show
Mile markers pave the way
Across this land sublime
Wind blows through the car
On my arm sunshine
Generations of people
Spirits across the land
Occupy a history
Of faces in the sand
Deep inside our spirit
Adheres to our respect
This peaceful land of bounty
No one shall reject
Fresh cut grass lingers
The present rescinding more
Where old shacks and farms
Grasp our inner core
Land abound with wisdom
Dust has settled down
Enjoy driving the distance
See another town
Ancient echoes from the past
Glimmer just beyond your grasp
When you know that you’re alone
Of a long forgotten song
From the corners of your eye
Hints of time passed by
Of things you did not see
Of the things that used to be
There's an antique red barn
Sits atop the hill
And a small little pond
Chock full of blue-gill
There's old rusty cars
Which haven't ran in years
And a hundred year old house
Once manufactured by Sears
It's loaded full of memories
It's filled with lots of charm
It's a place I know and Love
It's all there...On Grandma's Farm
Used to go there every Sunday
From as far back as I can remember
Sledding down the hill
In the snow come December
I Loved it out at Grandmas
Playing with toy tractors in the sand
Going to help split wood
Just to lend a helping hand
I Loved it winter, spring and summer
But my favorite time of all
Was when the leaves all turned
The wonderful colors of fall
I was carefree and happy
The world was free from harm
Way back when I was a kid
Out On My Grandma's Farm
© 2011 Kevin Stock
Oh thou of wretched heart and deed
Inferior our seeds?
When thus thou felt the need to rule
Annihilate deemed weeds
Thou casteth out your wicked net
Of guns and war bent twine
No bulwark for the Jews was found
Declaring heads decline
Compliant soldiers marched the streets
For ducats hedged your bet
With waving flags and Hail Hitler’s
Obliging hands were met
Whilst cyanide was gassings Jews
In bunkers hid you reigned your realm
Coward of plotted deeds
When one man tries to rid the world
Of an imagined foe
Mankind will raise its voice as one
He’ll reap what he did sow
Completed on 2/4/12
All rights reserved by Debra Squyres @ 2013
My fist attempt with a Quatrain…..this a modified quatrain as per specified by the rules of the members contest: Historical Modified Quatrain
1st and 3rd lines eight iambic syllables
2nd and 4th lines 6 iambic syllables
London’s Guildhall, John Lilburne is frogmarched in
A man Cromwell considered a friend,
To stand before him accused of high treason
His actions against parliament to defend
As radical leader of the ‘Levellers’
John opposed Parliament fervently,
With his clandestine printing network
Speaking out of its tyranny;
Power, John Lilburne argued
Belonged with the common man,
His pamphlet ‘Agreement of the People’
Defined how, in the ‘Levellers Plan’.
In ‘England’s New Chains Discovered’
He urged soldiers and citizens, ‘unite-
Reject the rule of the Grandees!’
He was arrested and charged with mutinous incite.
Cromwell brought him to the Guildhall
Amid the strictest security
Troubled his trial would cause civil unrest,
Such was John’s popularity
Although eventually acquitted and exiled
He lived the rest of his life a marked man,
And our constitution, today, owes its birth
To the ideals of his ‘Levellers Plan’.
Sherlock Holmes and Watson made
A duo fighting crime
The wise detective and his friend
The greatest in their time!
It all began with 'Gloria Scott'
When old man Trevor died
Sherlock then, to help his friend
His hobby theories tried
Whether Naval Treaties lost
Or strange Red-headed League
Holmes and trusty Watson solved
Conundrums and intrigue
Whether 'twas the Second Stain
Or swan at Abbey Grange
Those dearest fellows smoked their pipes
On matters grave and strange
If Watson never understood
'Till matters did conclude
It sometimes seems 'twas Holmes's fault
That things were misconstrued
Then there came the felons' dread
The sudden shout, "Halloa!"
And Watson, sometimes young Lestrade
Would run to see below
I think, perhaps, that Watson's mind
Was sharper yet than ours
For putting up with Holmes's quirks
Could be like counting stars
Pitter patter, drip, drop, it’s not an April shower
Drip, drop, drip, drop raining hour after long hour
Suddenly the sun streaks through, javelins of sunlight
Then back to pitter, patter, and rain throughout the night.
In and out of doorways, trying to stay dry
Thunder crashing the Queens dead, the country seems to sigh
Edward the happy monarch will rule with fun from now on
Rain, rain, it never stops crying for the Old Queen is gone.
The sun breaks through the London grey, it sparkles on a tree leaf
Drops still dripping slowly, displaying all their grief.
Happy times are coming, skipping down the London streets
Children playing hopscotch, while the bobbies are on the beat.
A blossom opens a leaf unfurls, breathes the rain drops in
The first sup of clean water in these london streets so grim.
Pitter, patter, feel the rain - dodging in and out of doorways
Trying to keep dry in the summer rain as one does always.
The ringing of the bells, Big Ben strikes the hour
A begging hand from a pile of rags huddled in the shower.
The old queen is dead and gone, but wanders through her city
Looking left and right, she shakes her head in certain pity
Through London town she wanders where dirt and grime abound
She’s searching for she does not know - until it she has found
The thunder crashes the rain pours then drips slowly to an end
The queen is dead long live the King she prays his ways he’ll mend.
Entry for Tracie's Anything goes competition This is a Poem I have just done for a Magazine about when Queen Victoria died.
Jessie James was a fine young lad,
When he joined the Confederate troops.
He learned his craft as a shootist and spy,
While traveling with this group.
His commander was one Capt. William Quantrill,
A man with a checkered past;
And under this man he learned hit and run,
Leave your enemies standing aghast.
After his death in 1865,
Quantrill's celebrity stayed,
And Jessie and Frank used what they had learned,
And found guerrilla warfare paid.
They formed with their friends a wild outlaw band,
And looted the banks and trains.
It seemed to work out just as they planned.
To them it seemed quite a good game.
The money came easy and life was good,
And Jessie took him a wife;
Deciding to settle down for a while,
And lead a respectable life;
But two men were killed in a robbery gone bad,
And the governor wanted his life;
And one of his friends thought he'd turn him in,
And get paid and save himself strife.
Dead or Alive made no difference to him,
The reward would still be the same,
But Jessie was fast and his aim was true,
So it seemed to Bob Ford it was plain,
Jessie would have to be caught unawares,
If he would celebrity claim,
The honor, prestige, reward and glory,
As the man who shot Jessie James.
April the third, eighteen eighty-two,
Robert crept up on his friend,
Shot him in the back as a coward will do,
And that's how his story ends;
But Robert lived on in shame and disgrace,
As a low down, back stabbing coward,
Who betrayed his friend for money and fame,
On the day that he shot Thomas Howard.
"AND JESUS SAID UNTO PETER,'PUT UP AGAIN YOUR SWORD INTO IT'S PLACE FOR ALL THEY WHO TAKE THE SWORD SHALL PERISH BY THE SWORD."
For Dana's History Contest
I've passed this way many a day
and wondered as I strayed;
Who had opened, what had filled
the gap within the crib's dark bay.
The opening small in the wall
at once so spare yet alluring
with tilted sides and gap toothed maw
which now held field mice burrowing.
The boards of red once formed a bed
for stored feed of golden maze,
these cedar shingles had sheltered
the abundance of by gone days.
The farm's gone now, no fields, no cow
long past its youth, its heyday
housing only bitter sweet and
memories of corn cobs and play.
Yet, here it stands, as I go by,
and so quietly it brings to me;
the lingering joy of laughter
the faint echoes of jubilee.
Pardon skepticism, but it’s true
There’s too much ado about Swine Flu
Thirty-one deaths by May of ‘09
In 25 nations worldwide
Avoid all public transportation
And forego annual vacations
Protect us from the dreaded Swine Flu
By closing our schools and churches too
The government was slow to react
When HIV first left its tracks
On drug users, gay communities
Thousands died in the 1980s
But when the “pure of soul” met demise
With blood transfusions linked to lost lives
AIDS won interest from politicians
Lightning struck, they sprang into action
Swine Flu can kill, but what’s the fuss?
Other illnesses claim more of us
Look back to the Fourteenth Century
For true epidemiology
Black Death caused widespread annihilation
Nearly half Europe’s population
The Smallpox deadly legacy
Egypt-born, 1350 BC
Fifteen million had this disease
As recent as the 1960s
Eradication finally defined
Return to Century Fourteen
To find the world’s first quarantines
Cholera ships confined to ports
But still this plague reached landlubbers’ doors
Regular flu in winter thrives
Each week taking 800 lives
Though common colds seldom spell doom
Thousands flock to emergency rooms
So answer this: Why all the hype
When Swine Flue takes a gentler bite
Newspaper headlines must be filled
Across their banners Swine Flue spills
Or could these reports be diversions
For something more foul in our nation
Are dogs now being wagged by their tails
As health hazards go, the Swine Flu pales
Hire Willie to write a theme song
But don’t expect us to sing along
Don’t blink, or Washington may think
They’ve succeeded in this hoodwink
Corridors, power, call it what you like
When shadows fall, on this hot June night
These walls, this place, I'm absorbed I wonder why
They, the inflicted, their embers, we now throw them to the sky
Sleeping giants of Auschwitz, in mass production die
Good boy psycho killers, into their new world they tread
To look for new horizons and leave behind their dread
Behind half moon meadow, now decaying in ancestral creep
Amidst discarded gates and ditches, this, the city sleeps
Their corridors of Epiphany, whilst Christianity weeps
<> Written using the track titles to the Touchstones album <>
The City Sleeps
Today I am about to embark on a journey
that I have waited for, for so long,
they say that this one is the safest ship
were nothing could ever go wrong.
As I stare down at the crowd, I think,
here I am, traveling on the R.M.S. Titanic,
this is the most exciting day of my life
and yet I feel a sense of anxiety and panic.
I calm myself by breathing in April's fresh air
and the sea's waves begin to roll and rock,
I close my eyes and feel the warm sunshine
as the ship finally departs from the dock.
Even though I'm not a first class passenger
I admire the grandeur of the White Star Line,
my few luxuries and the kindness shown to me
are enough to warm this heart of mine.
For Carolyn Devonshire's Past Lives Contest
I'm very interested in learning about the Titanic, but sometimes when I look at a
picture of the ship, I get this tremendous feeling of dread and fear. So much so,
that I cannot look at the photo any longer. I don't know where my fear of this
ship comes from. I have never been on a cruise or had any kind of traumatic
experience on a ship. Sometimes, I think that I may have been on the Titanic
in my past life. I don't know if I would have survived or not.
This house was part-founded by the nobles
Who counseled the monarchs of our land
Then strengthened by the Magna Carter
Signed by King Johns’ royal hand
At first its foundations were rocky
As house and monarchs just couldn’t agree
On decisions, and who had the final say
From time to time, it would end violently
As in the 17th century with civil unrest
Between the Kings’ Cavaliers and the roundheads
The house, led by Cromwell, won the war
King Charles alas, ended up dead
The clash between house and Kings ended
With the ‘Glorious Revolution’,
And the passing of ‘the Bill of Rights’
Giving rise to our Constitution
The house since then has seen changes
At the passing of each new decade,
With the Constitution amended
As each new bill has been made
Today the house has elected officials,
The peoples ‘voices’ to represent
Standing proud in the name of democracy
This old house that is our Parliament.
The narrow lane led to an awful place
With its own page in the annals of history,
Where once was committed a murder most foul
It’s perpetrator to date still a mystery
Thirteen, Millers Court in Spitalfields
Was the abode of one Mary Jane Kelly
Where one November morn, eighteen eighty eight
She was found, slit from throat to her belly.
A victim was she of a man they called ‘Jack’
A murderer of most savage renown
Who spread fear through the streets of Whitechapel,
And whose identity has never been found
Because ‘Jacks’ alter ego was never confirmed
Speculation and theories are rife
Was he a personage of royal blood?
Was he a surgeon, skilled with a knife?
Was ‘Jack’ an American actor?
Was he sane, was he mentally ill?
Were his only victims the ‘canonical’ five?
Just how many more did he kill?
Why did it all end and where did ‘Jack’ go
Is as mysterious as from whence he came,
But his legacy remains and for many a year
Life on London’s streets was never the same.
It's the essence of what we're made of.
It's right beneath us as we walk.
It's what the Creator used from up above---
to make "the walking colours that talk".
The essence of movement that kisses your face.
It can push the sea and move the trees.
Sweat on a hot day can be erased.
Breeze that's felt with grace and ease.
The burning flames put out heat.
The colours are brilliant and bright.
It's used outside when you need something to eat.
It also brings dark things to light.
It's the only thing that can quench your thirst.
It's the one thing that connects all life.
If you don't receive this you might just burst.
A lack of this clear liquid can even create strife.
We need all these elements to make the world go round.
They are the essence of creation and what makes the world sound.
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
History of the Star Spangle Banner
Maybe idea of Major George Armistead
The glory of Americans who scan her
Of Mary Pickersgill she was begat
The creation of the original flag
Be still a subject highly debated
Mary Pickersgill was not one to brag
Old Glory she made, beauty wind inflated
Armistead first requested it to be
A large garrison flag for reason
So the British have no trouble to see
Good to see our flag has flown in season
Fifteen colonies equal fifteen stars
Having eight red stripes and seven white stripes
Red and white stripes run in parallel bars
She flows in glory apart from other types
Rumor has it two glories were first made
For a small and a large Mary did charge
A document exists a bill was paid
Though small one be lost or is still at large
The varied small Star Spangled Banner
Never made it home to the Smithsonian
Would be nice to see displayed in some manner
In national museum the large is on loan!
For Contest Dazzle us with History
For Carolyn Devonshire and James Frazer
The History of the Real Star Spangled Banner
The creation of the original flag is still a debated subject.
However, the general story accepted by most historians is that Mary
Pickersgill was commissioned to make the flag by Major George Armistead
for $405.90. Following the victory at Fort McHenry, the flag was preserved
by Col. Armistead and it remained in the Armistead family. A smaller one
which was flown during the actual battle, and a larger one that was
flown as a replacement immediately after the British retreat.
This was a common wartime practice of the period.While no one
can say for sure what really happened, documents exist that show that
Mary Pickersgill was paid for two separate flags, a small one and
a larger one. If the smaller flag exists, its whereabouts are unknown.
In 1907, George Armistead’s grandson, Eben Appleton, expressed
interest in donating the flag to the state of Maryland or to the city of
Baltimore. After discussions with Maryland’s governor and the Mayor of
Baltimore, Appleton eventually placed the flag on loan to Smithsonian Institution
and it was displayed in the Hall of History at the National Museum of American
History. The loan was converted to a gift in 1912 and can still be
seen at the National Museum in Washington, D.C.
Please, sir, some meat and bread
I've not had a morsel for a week
It would stop this terrible hunger
My prospects now are terribly bleak
It's said the Earl is tender hearted
And oh so bloody awful rich
If I could have a taste of his
I'd call the thing a Sandwich
I hate to just come a beggin'
But I'm so hungry I am seeing red
Won't you ask the Earl again
Please, sir, some meat and bread.......
For Joe's Sandwich contest...lol
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
Once the pride of the family trust
The orchard is old and deserted now
In the fall I go to walk in its past
To its memory my heart does bow
Trees that once produced the fruit of life
Now in obscurity are dead or dying
Black branches brittle with old age
To produce beauty they are still trying
An apple, not grand as it once was
Struggles on a branch that still lives
I pick it and taste its sweetness
And treasure the succor it still gives
For Brian's FALL contest...
You ask me if I do believe in God
So I ask God if He believes in me;
I heard no word from God, not half a nod,
Which leaves a doubt about a deity.
at least for me
don't ya' see
Until His confirmation I exist
I'll give no confirmation God is there
And don't you even think you can insist
That God is here and there and everywhere.
if God is there
He doesn't care
I don't believe the moon is made of cheese
Nor do I think that Bigfoot roams around,
I cannot choose between mythologies
Where magic fantasies of gods abound.
the truth is bound
beneath the ground
Free thinking is my Irish history,
From Paul Revere to me right here, bizzare.
We hold on to our friggin' sanity
By drowning out the outside in a bar.
a beer and shot
but drunk I'm not - yet
The Irish are the minstrels of the road
And all my kin were gangster troubadores
All singing out about their heavy load
Till bars to drink became the bars on doors.
you think you could
be Robin hood?
We did extensive geneaology
But called it quits before the end,
We found a pound of wild pathology
But buried it before it could offend.
but drunk I'm not
I'm drunk a lot
it's all I got
Born to lead; born to inspire
Words he spoke proven true
Of steadfast mind he did aspire
Burdens cast held like glue
Humble of spirit; plead his cause
Violence and hate; he abhorred
Though scorned by men he bore his cross
Path of peace he adored
His heart whispered a time of “doom”
Guiltless blood was required
Dark days peaked, his hour to come soon
Stars revealed fate’s desire
Quiet moments of dismal sorrow
Dreams did convey courage
Death would bring better tomorrows
Judas’s choice fetched the rage
History keeps the dreadful date
When he died good had won
Evil stirred bowl of hate
But see what death begun
Note For Craig's "Historical Modified Quatrain" Contest
She walked and talked in a world called theirs
Worries she had with her earthly cares
Found near Hadar, this specimen of old
A lady from our past, lying stone cold
She walked her lands amidst horses so small
In the Awash Valley where trees were so tall
Naked to bare, all her kin were the same
In a land so different, to she not strange
What would she be seeing if we could see through her eyes
Would there be hate and hurt and a typical despise
Maternal and loving we can only assume
In the valley where she lived, we have the same front room
And just as we, she was born to die
Evolutionary in exist, below the same blue skies
She walked and talked in a world called theirs
Worries she had with her different cares
This lady I talk of, Lucy we have named
From our past she existed, with a different fame
She was the oldest of us ever found
Lying stone cold on earths ancient ground
Twas many long years past we know, that Robin ran through forests green
Robbing the rich to give to the poor, or that’s how it would seem
The Sheriff set out to trap the crook known as the Robin of the hood
But the Sheriff was a fool or Robin was just too good.
He laid a trap of many gold coins on the personage of a woman fair
Hoping Robin would steal them all and take them to his lair
But Robin spied the trap and knew the Sheriff was after him
He played him at his own game and approached the woman prim.
Fair maid may I lighten, your load of the golden coins that I see
They will help to feed the poor and one of whom is me.
The lady fair looked at Robin, she sighed at his handsome good looks
Pray take the gold dear Robin; it has not gone through the books
Sweet maid don’t worry the Sheriff’s men, I already see
Let me escort you back and of your load, you will soon be free
Oh Robin of the hood, my heart you have stolen may I say
Sweet maid hang on to it, you will need it another day
The Sheriff wants to catch us, and there begins our plights
His real aim you know is to discover where we buy our tights
We know the gold is just a trap, so desperate he is to know
Our tights he thinks we buy, but in fact Will Scarlet does sew
The Sheriff plays a bad man, but that is just his ploy
You will be safer with him, because he desires a boy
When I left the castle he said that I stole his favourite maid and gold
But it was really because I ran, and he found my bed was cold.
I remember it now
Not all, but enough
To understand how
I am afraid to accept love
Because some love hurts
Especially the kind you gave
The kind nobody deserves
The kind that plants the seed of hate
It matters little if you feel remorse
Your guilt could never ease my pain
The damage you did cannot be reversed
I still wear the residue of shame
And you will never have my forgiveness
My hatred will be your only companion
As you lie upon your deathbed
Feeling frightened and abandoned
You still won't even have my pity
Pathetic as you are
All you will ever be is what you did to me
As I will always bear these ugly scars
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~
I travelled into my thoughts
To somewhere I've never been
The horrors that awaited me
Took me to our human extreme
I cried when I looked through
The windows of our past
And marvelled at what she gave us
I was left in total aghast
In the year two thousand and six
Seven hundred and eighty four
That graced the lands we borrow
Were shown the extinction door
The Tasmanian Devil never nasty
To the Wolves that roamed Alba's land
The Dodo so strange a bird
Were in natures future plans
Twenty eleven now awaits us
Whilst us humans continually strive
Nine hundred and five is now the total
That will never be found alive
Us humans, before we go to sleep
Their falling of the edge of the world
But hey! we'll never change
We're ignorant, and incredibly absurd
I wished to improve on my character so,
I looked for a model to go by.
I studied the habits of men great and tall,
For one who seemed perfect in my eyes.
Men of fine profile and manly physique,
Were the first ones to cross my inspection,
First also dismissed for their physical charms,
Seemed all they had worth admiration;
And those who had money and power were wont,
To flaunt their importance and style,
An hour or two in this comp'ny could last,
A person a long, long while;
And so I explored yet another route,
The highway to high education,
Perhaps here I would find the virtuous man,
One worthy of my adulation.
I read through the tomes of scholars and scribes,
Philosophers, poets and statesmen,
And I never found a doctrine more sound,
Than the one left behind by Ben Franklin.
1706 - 1790
A statesman and scientist he was also quite a philosopher.
He was considered to be one of the most important figures of his day having been given
the dubious honor of being asked to sign the Declaration of Independence along with many other great men of that era; making him one of our Founding Fathers.
In doing so he showed great courage because all who signed had a price placed on their
heads by the Crown of England for treason.
He spent his life in search of knowledge continuously trying to improve himself.
He had the ability to see and recognize his own faults and tried to do something about them. That is something not many people can do. It's also the reason he had few if any real enemies.
A person could do a whole lot worse than to try to imitate his style.
I stood alone on the ship's deck all afternoon
just to watch the sun sinking low on the sea,
the Atlantic ocean is so calm this evening
but, that old feeling of dread still bothers me.
I slowly exhale to calm myself once again
and my breath comes out in a white mist,
the air is slowly turning cold and frigid now
as the night's darkness pulls me into it's own abyss.
There is nothing that I can see out there now
except clear-white burgs of ice in the distance,
another odd feeling hits me that I cannot deny
but, how could ice play a role in my existence?
The sun's rising on April 15th will warm me
and I will escape this feeling of an early fate,
my entire body shudders for the very last time
as the sounds of breaking ice and bending iron reverberate.
This poem was inspired by Paul Callus, who suggested that a sequel
to my poem, "Aboard The Titanic", might make for an interesting read.
In Texas, High School Football is king
Every Friday night there’s a game
A big event and the stands are full
The games aren’t played for fun, they’re for fame
In my second year of College life
My High School Football team went to State
I was compelled to go to Baytown
A Championship maybe their fate
So proud was I, my team on the field
In the high school color, power blue
The group of us sitting in the stands
Tyler High fans through and through
Then the Abilene team came on the field
I could feel a big lump in my throat
Man for man they all looked like giants
The front linemen were something of note
From the first snap, you knew things were bad
Abilene’s linemen were in control
The whole line of scrimmage moved with them
My team got trampled under their roll
Yes, Trampled would be the word of choice
And it continued throughout the game
Abilene won the Championship
Trampled Tyler left Baytown in shame
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
We had never met before
In-trepidation absorbed my emotions
Knowing today is the day
It's hitting me in slow motion
Our meet is drawing near
As I await this moment in time
My heart now beats a little faster
Losing it's normal rhyme
Around the corner I go
As I see her standing there
Beauty just as I imagined
This time it's polite to stare
Her figure delights me so
As it would to many a man
We meet, we touch
My eyes now in loving scan
I sit down elated with joy
Knowing I'll remember this day for ever
Finally meeting the Lockheed SR-71
Not of nature, but a Blackbird so clever
Shh! Scientists can't find us, only natives know
Sauropods survived when dinosaurs went extinct
Cameroon people have spotted us many times
Please help us hide! Our species' future's on the brink!
Email received, confirmed sightings in Cameroon
Scientists meet, to discuss an expedition
To discover such creatures are living today
We must investigate, fact or speculation
Damn! The word has gone out that we may be alive
Guess leaving footprints three-feet wide was not too wise
Researchers are arriving with sonar in boats
Thirty-foot forms in rivers are hard to disguise
We are now underway, West Africa we head
In search of this wonder will these Sauropods show
To capture them on film to learn how they survived
Will they reveal themselves, in their dense jungle flow
The Jurassic Period? They were way off base
They think that was the demise of most dinosaurs
Scientists haven't a clue, but 'tween me and you
My Loch Ness cousin's laughing; he's a plesiosaur
Africa reached, camp set up in the jungle
It's certainly different to Drumnadrochit
Footprints, something big up ahead is closing in
By Jove a Sauropod, i think we've found it
Oh, Dear! I just stepped out of the river to eat
I'm birthing a child and needed to munch some leaves
But I think we've been spotted; this was our last hope
My daughter's our species' last female, I believe
A glimpse through the trees sighting confirmed, Wow! check this
Mother and calf, with not a care in their jungle
How very fortunate we are to witness this scene
We have to leave them alone; this we can't bungle
We now send the co-author tag to John Loving and James Peranteau! Have at it, boys!!
To right a wrong of ages past
A nation writhe in pain
A cross is what it now would take
So much for all to gain
Some errors couldn’t be atone'
Abuse will reap its toll
“Abolish” we had strove to meet
A mark on voters’ roll
All business came to halt for days
A joyous spirit found
Some busses rolling into town
Big smiles were all round
In queues we stood in pouring rain
A hopeful crowd at best
Awaiting turns at poll to vote
Most eager like the rest
The historical vote of April 1994, when South Africa became a democratically elected government which changed the face of Africa.
“She’s pregnant. Oh my God!”
“I’m going to be a father!” He beams.
“What will we call him honey?” He says.
“What have I got myself into…her chest heaves.
Day after day as she grows, he works, this father to be.
“Honey, careful now!” He lends a hand as she sits down.
“Careful,” she sighs. “Shoulda thought of that…”
and her labor begins with a scream.
Hour after hour in pain …”My wife.”
Hour after hour he paces his life.
A squall from the far room and in rushes he.
“I’m a father!” He preens. “Honey? What will his name be?”
Up honey looks, no smile…so abashed
“Honey,” she says. “We have a fine lass…..”
Crestfallen he stammers. Eyes caste to the wall.
“It’s alright.” He says “We can have more………..”
Let loose the night
upon thy breast
Unleash the terrors
of the night
Thus sayeth ye
To heart's attest
Thou art sweet
evidence of light
I do beseech thee
Unveil thy love
to mine abodd
Twas not so long ago
ye knowen mine
Thy drollery of
By morrow I shall
sing like Dolly
Thy dup mine strings
oh Master no
Like dungeon sharp
tis only folly
Hest forth soul ties
from canton go
To watch the night
regress for day
Like hands upon the
Too swift mine hours
I jar and jar by
And nil can stop our
Thy canst un-clock
Too swift nine hours
And still so much is
left to say
I beg of thee to
Incline thine ear,
< earth ~ third planet from sun
liquid and iron ~ cores
continents ~ islands ~ pun
arctic icing ~ drips pores
wind ~ natures own fury
flow gasses ~ bulk movements
storm ~ hurricane ~ jury
place in pocketbook ~ dent
fire ~ oxidation
combustion ~ releasing
heat ~ light ~ good ~ tar nations
pollution ~ choking ~ thing
water ~ called H2O
oxygen ~ hydrogen
evaporation ~ goes
will exceed supply ~ when ?
earth ~ wind ~ fire ~ water
Nature's elements ~ sure
The Four Elements Contest
Running through flowers in the glen,
Curly hair and golden skin shining,
Beauty in the sun, fleeing maiden.
Gunshot sounds in the distance blasting.
A new dawn dying to begin.
Her mother lost behind her ... found.
Black ... bound and beaten by madmen.
But Bea ran faster than the hound.
War Between the States had begun.
Her hope soaring like an eagle,
Freedom glaring in the bright sun.
Brightened her way through hates' jungle.
I've knelt on mats of reeds to idols,
that we revered with pious trust.
They fell to near obscurity,
and now they mingle with the dust.
I've of chiseled and scraped from the tablets
my deep deliberate curving ruts,
to weather out times ruthless passage,
carving out my eternal cuts.
Indelible, and yet delicate
and considerably few,
consider all of what you see,
for they purely belong you.
Oh bloody and evil Catherine de Medici.
The queen has acted impetuously.
Thousands have died because of her demands.
Witness her red bloodstained hands.
A wedding is a time of joy and jubilation.
Instead, there is death and devastation.
She thought the Huguenots would seek retaliation.
It started with an attempted assassination.
An attempt was made on Admiral Gaspard de Coligny.
He led the Huguenot protestant party.
Catherine took some Machiavellian action.
She wanted to eradicate this rebellious faction.
There had been widespread death throughout the land before.
Peace brought an end to civil war.
Margaret de Valois had married Henry of Navarre.
Once again, hostility permeated the air.
Killing spread from Paris to the countryside.
In just a few months, thousands had died.
No bloodier episode had ever been seen.
The culpable party was the evil queen.
I thank Wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
The wild west created many cowboys with the will to win;
some were robbers and didn't care whom they hurt,
others true gentlemen who courted beautiful women
and fought for justice's sake making everyone shout.
Buffalo Bill must have been the most famous of all,
he delt with the Native Indians and was admired as well;
his horse was swift and his tracker's mind was always alert,
many trails he left behind and those stories evolved into legend.
Hollywood created its own cowboys: John Wayne and Clint Eastwood,
both were known for their sarcasm and good looks, but faithful they remained
to their steed with those images of fearless cowboys, but they couldn't be compared
to the Lonely Ranger for speed and shrewdness everywhere his keen eyes turned.
Now where do I begin
For the past is a great place to start
When clannish is what we became
Whilst adventure was growing in our hearts
Can you honestly imagine where we'd be
Inclosed in our internal peripheral
When one day it came to be
Someone peered over the wall
This step in our ancestral past
Gave way for the way we are now
Allowing interaction, two minds are better than one
Scratching our heads, and finding out how
The only way that this could happen
As we look around our daily lives
Is for us, having crossed borders
Letting imagination in us strive
It's 2012 and we take for granted
What our ancestors created from thought
We use and buy them without care
In reality, we're clannish, and bought
So close your eyes and imagine, something
Be it T.V. the Radio or the car
Lets applaud our Geographical borders, having crossed
We've only started, we have still to go far
I woke up this morning knowing I was in a dream
Near my Indian village beside the running stream
My people went about their day like days they did before
Not knowing what's to happen, that will fill my heart with sore
Although on our reservation, put there by the whites
Once again they use their power now witnessed in my sight
Lines of marauding blue charge down on the young and old
Another day in my short history as another massacre unfolds
I lie hidden in the reeds whilst there's carnage all around
Hearing through their screams, swords in slicing sound
Airborne crimson life now lands and stains our soil
How many of us will be left, another tribe left to toil
I woke up this morning knowing I was in a dream
Near my Indian village beside the running stream
I'm one of the few whose left, and I still carry the sores
Although I'm now in the future, I'll always remember what went before
There almost was an invasion
By the french but was foiled
A wench stopped the battalion
By getting them well oiled
Jemina N had the gumption
To take them to the inn
Rushed them to the publican
Whose beer was served within
She soon rallied up the women
Dressed in national dress
French thought it was a battalion
Surrended with no fuss
No thoughts on Bristol and London
No longer wanted to fight them
So was a foregone conclusion
No courage in boozed men.
To honour these brave welsh women
A tapestry was made
A pretty commemoration
To women of Fishguard
Thanks to the feisty West Walian Women led by Jemina Nicholas. In 1797 the French intension to invade Bristol and London, was foiled. Last attempt for anyone to invade Britain
Penned by Seren Roberts
9th January 2013
Be happy for you have not witnessed it
The time where Haiti shook and fell
On this paper I transmit
This event worthy to tell
It started like any other day
Everything was calm and nice
Maybe it was nature’s way to repay
Us for our vice
In a split second it begun
Everything was going up and down
No matter what, you couldn’t outrun
This destructive force shaking the town
After a while it ended
The place was filled with dead silence
I was with my siblings that I defended
Saving them from this death sentence
I saw a man running with blood
All over his face, and lost his arm
The rest of his body covered with mud
With an organ sticking out of his underarm
During this catastrophe
I lost a lot of friends, and family members
I would like to destroy that part of my history
But everywhere I go that feeling ember’s
I was unlucky to see the remains
Of what was left in this desert
I had to close my eyes for it pains
Me to see my people trapped under the dirt
Just the thought of writing about it
Makes a bed of tears in my eyes
On that day I was whit
My friend as he lays and dies
For what happened to Haiti
Pray it doesn’t happen to you
This pain will cause you to worry
When they say you’re safe is it true?
Nature consists of balances ever so delicate
Eco systems and life hanging on the edge
Man oversteps boundaries in his desire to develop it
Leaving death and destruction in the wake of his dredge.
From deep underneath waters supporting sea life
Oil is pumped to rigs riding on top of the waves
When used, the pollution enough causes much strife
When ruptured, disaster results requiring a save.
We watch from afar as waters turn black
Terns and fish washing up on the shore
A mistake from which we cannot turn back
Oil of destruction continues to pour.
We can curse executives of the big companies
We can find fault with the slow political aim
We can cry, “Where exactly were the contingencies?”
But by allowing it firstly we all are to blame.
The greatest tragedy in life is to experience the pain
But have the lessons learned from it lost
So from this event let’s hope man can gain
The wisdom to be more careful, no matter the cost.
CHOP THE HABIT
He led a huge anti-smoking campaign
Though he is more known for his terror reign
Amidst the chatter of the machine guns
Typewriters prepared ads for the print runs
He banned smoking in buses, trains and trams
Women that smoked were unfit to push prams
Still, at home he could not enforce the cuts
With ashtrays full of red cigarette butts
The times grew harder as the war waged on
For food people had nothing else to pawn
Grandma had a single gold earring left
Apart from that, some would resort to theft
He took his life at the end of the war
The whole world abhors him and is still sore
None used the airline ticket to Brazil
As she too had bitten the cyanide pill
Written by: Ronald Zammit
Contest: Chopped III
Ingredients required: A typewriter,An ashtray full of cigarette butts (some with lipstick on them), A single gold earring, An airline ticket (new or used)
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Note: This is true. Hitler ordered a mass non-smoking campaign during his reign of terror. It makes sense given that he was obsessed on creating a superior race. He was a smoker but had quit earlier. His partner Eva Braun did not quit. Cigarettes were rationed for the soldiers on the front. Of course once the war was over the American tobacco companies made a killing.
Making and use of the a-bomb
An event that spewed waste
A creation that leaves poison
Man knew not the foretaste
As always some good and some bad
Today we have good use
Nuclear medicine does good
Bad if a bomb turned loose
A man can not control himself
Nor the acts of others
Only if all men learn to love
To love man as brothers
The atomic bomb changed history
The course of the war turned
So now we live in a safe world
If only love men yearned
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Historical Modified Quatrain
Written this seventh day of January twenty thirteen
Written by: Sara Kendrick
“We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.”
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950) Nobel Prize
Blue blood gushes when heroes die
From gory wounds on battlefields
Not in castle intrigues when for a lie
Crowns use commoners as shields.
A royal house does not construct itself
After centuries have broken tradition
Or on formal rules on how to name itself
Nor on who should follow in succession.
A true prince re-possesses the land first
Takes for his witnesses native-born citizens
Bids them follow his will out of dire thirst
Not as the self-crowned leader of denizens.
To be born a Kshastriya is not a privilege,
The birthright is even an act of sacrilege
If he who dons the crown scorns the people;
A spurned poem in the culled florilege.
In the blown sliver of land at Great Bharat’s feet
No one knows what Tamil line came to greet
Found refuge and took throne to announce a reign
Nor helas to make much of a glorious feat.
Kings are not born to hoist the castial banner,
Rather had they earlier scaled the social ladder
Through heroic deeds by protecting the masses;
Chieftains peer-elected to top the social order.
(...continued in Part Two)
Where I grew up; Texas
Country music is king
Three songs for a quarter
And the Juke Box would sing
When it’s Saturday night
It’s Grand Old Opry time
Turn the radio on
Grab a chair and recline
Hank was the top singer
His songs came from the heart
So much great music lost
Because his life was short
No other then or since
Composed song after song
Could sing and record them
Each a hit before long
His music inspired
Learned a Uke; then Guitar
To play and sing like Hank
His music took me far
Now I have my own band
Bluegrass most of the time
Still play one of Hanks songs
They always sound so fine
I still love his music
Play and sing all his hits
Thank you Hank Williams
You’re as good as it gets
What Songwriter or writers Inspire you???? Poetry Contest
In sixteen ninety-two,
Salem bore a wicked sin;
It was there atop a rugged hill,
They hanged old Sarah Flynn
The Elders deemed her guilty,
Of witchcraft they accused;
Prepared to draw her final breath,
While others stood amused
Scoffing her accusers,
She shouted emphatically;
"Benjamin, Walter, and Jacob!"
"Death shall come to thee in three's!"
From the end of a rope she gasped,
The Elders looked on with a grin;
Benjamin, Walter, and Jacob,
Three brothers, all evil within
Innocent souls were tortured,
Of witchcraft they confessed;
The Elders often chanted,
"To heaven, we are blessed"
It was three years in passing,
Since the death of Sarah Flynn;
The Elder brothers perished,
Her curse upon these men
Benjamin fell from a rooftop,
Walter drowned in a shallow creek;
Jacob was dragged by a furious steed,
Three deaths within three weeks
Sarah Flynn was never a witch,
Nor others who died so tragically;
In the darkest hours of Salem,
Vengeance reigned in three's!
The torch stands proud, for all the world to share
A tall reminder to the hearts once seized
Where knees once bent from grief in common prayer
That evil fails to bring us to our knees
She shines in sun from sea to shining sea
How great the cost, of deeds and lives laid down
Yet, still the feathered flocks of peace flies free
A powered firm resolve that good has found
That freedom shared will stand against the strain
When dark falls, her light can see tomorrow
As freedom, faith and we will thrive again
Rising from the clouds, despair and sorrow
For Susan's Nailed or Failed Contest
I guess you could call me a silly guy
For humor is how I get through the day.
I love telling stories, writing poetry, and romance
Each in its own separate way.
I could be called a "Hopeless Romantic"
As I have always been sentimental inside.
I learned that feeling growing up
Watching my parents, and their worlds collide.
I knew my Dad better than anyone...I think
He and I worked together for some time you see.
And when he died at an early age
Everyone seemed to be in tears but me.
Of the six kids in our family growing up
I had a brother named Ron that I was closest to.
He had a sense of humor and devotion to his family
And he would always find strange things for us to do.
We loved driving around in his old MG
When it worked it could do no wrong.
He took me for rides I'll never forget
To teach me his favorite Irish drinking songs.
His death really put me on the writer's path
As I eulogized him with "Remembering Ron".
But afterward I could not stop the words from coming out
As if a spigot had deliberately been turned on.
So I have written poetry, stories, and a few songs too
I'd like to publish something some day.
Getting to read and write here on the Soup
Pehrhaps, I will finally find the way.
I believe in the goodness of man's inner soul
And that God intended for us to be happy here.
The love of Wife, Child, and Family
Just make me want to stand and cheer!
I'd like to see us not have wars
Or even have cross words with others we meet.
Sometimes I plead my case in the words that I write
And sometimes, the proverbial "Dead Horse" do I beat.
I look at history as a great learning tool
For I've studied Antropology in college you see.
And all the past comes into the present time
At least, it does for me.
So I will write works about historical things
As much as I write about family, love, emotions, and silliness too.
Just so others can get some insight into me
And perhaps their own lives as they should do.
I don't know who will read my work
Or if they benefit at all from the things I say.
I only know that this passion to write
Is one that is here to stay.
Some people think I'm kind of grumpy
I guess that is also true.
But the words I write fill that void inside me
This is but one more poem...for you.
crimson mist in the Dallas sky
a frantic wife's mad dash.
the world watched as we cried
hope gone in a flash.
brilliant poet with timeless verse
and enduring message of peace.
a murderous fan fulfilled his curse
does lunacy ever cease?
perfect day in the city
until the towers fell.
religious zealots who had no pity
their resting place is hell.
so look at history if you can
and learn from such hindsight.
as long as evil has a plan
we must not quit the fight.
So we're on the brink of a new weekend;
And I'm ready for the guests to arrive.
Come Friday everything will begin;
Let's go all the way live.
©2014 Honestly JT
If i was born a crayon
My colour would run its length
It would be of Saltire Blue
My countries colour gives me strength
We are the colour of the sky
It looks down on you and me
Its the colour of our flag
That flies the pride in me
If i was born a crayon
It would always be coloured blue
Just look to my veins
Blue runs through me true
O chiming bells of midnight,...
gladly announce Jesus' joyful birth;
see how the Heavens' stars shine...
to glorify the most glorious One!
Unpleasant is the cold December' air,
and a manger is the perfect shelter
away from the frost and the gelid wind;
see how He smiles as all the angels sing!
Come shepherds, bring along your sheep,
to warm up a King whose heart is so meek;
and as the Wise Men kneel down in divine adoration,
I watch the gifts in their hands with much trepidation!
O chiming bells of midnight...echo through my starry valley,
and cheer up this silent town that offers its true serenity;
and if snowflakes fall and make all the stars seem too far,
my lamp will brighten up the path and lead me to the Messiah!
Entered in Carolyn Devonnshire's contest, "Christmas in your town"
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
From an awesome fountain, teeming with life
Out of her depths arose a city of lights
Built upon the shoulders of native sons
A place of hope, liberty, and freedom invites
For centuries her gates have been open wide
Welcoming hoards of strangers from afar
Bringing multiple cultures, traditions, cuisines and skills
Now a “melting pot”, a bright, twinkling star
Her people once thought of as cold, and uncaring
On broad streets, and alleys, the death toll was high
Now a change of heart for the better is born in
The world's "Big Apple" reaching to the sky
with apologies to E. A. Poe...
At first the chamber's gentle rapping could not my slumber even stir,
but as it came to be a tapping sonorous visions were to be no more.
And as I stumbled in the darkness, I heard her voice distinctly cry
"O Ed your offer reconsidered will now with me an evening buy!"
Femininity with such harsh bravado, what lady offers such taboo affairs?
I've read of men, weak in the loin, who fall into such infectious snares.
Flesh's joys can wait, I've got to study, for school has such quick paces
and as a student of the arts, time's robbed me of all social graces
Alas, I dream of that day of bliss, but now Ed's the man and I'm the other.
I ask her name and Eleanor is given, by her, but certainly not her mother.
"He's not here, in fact, I don't know him." I utter with a boy's tone.
"Well I'm still here, and you're awake, and so am I and all alone."
My thoughts arranged like a card deck dropped, and left with such a feeble mind.
Should I ignore this dream, or is it real? Behind the door what will I find?
A gentleman would let her in, at least she'd have safe haven.
But to my shock with doors pullled wide, there's nothing but a raven...
Now I'm not mad, but this is odd, as a women spoke, not a bird at my feet,
so I sprint to my room, bury my head...but now it's clear...the wooden floor's
got a beat...
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
Sitting by a moss-covered tree illuminated by sunlight at three,
he plays the very song that his anscestors played yesterday;
remembering what the peaceful and wild land was and will be...
by accepting the fact that his tomorrow is decided by destiny.
He can spend an entire afternoon playing a hand-made flute color chestnut,
as every breeze-lulled maple tree seem to vanish in the increasing, grey fog;
and if his music with shrilling, melodic notes is a devise to find his stranded dog,
he will have the best friend to guide him safely home through beams of twilight.
Play, handsome warrior the melody you forefathers played on those efflorescent days
underneath the same oak tree to celebrate their free manhood;
and resembling them with long hair and piercing, dreaming eyes,
you don't expect that intruders from other lands would compromise your happiness.
Foxes, grizzly bears, coyotes and buffaloes hear your music and come around to peek:
they know that you wouldn't hurt them and they wonder who's the Great Spirit;
little they suspect that they will be hunted down by the new-comers from the East;
be their friend, warrior...promise them protection when they'll encounter the Beast.
All that you behold today, may be gone tomorrow making you weep,
grasslands and prairies will tun into towns and cities to make way for greed;
and blood will flow abundantly on meadows where only wildflowers grew...
devastation everywhere with mother's screams by red rivers not so blue.
You must have had dreams of what was coming with a spectacle so gruesome,
take heart...your tomorrow is decided by destiny, pray that you won't be harmed;
continue playing your flute by remembering everything that you deeply loved,
and if you'll die fighting heartless men, I'll remember that look so lonesome.
It is so difficult to write about one's beliefs,
On the Freedoms and Liberty we have.
Throughout our history events are replete,
Of the ones who have died, our Freedoms to save.
I go back in time when I look at our past,
And wonder if our children will see.
The pain and strife born in Freedom's birth,
And the lives that have been sacrificed for Liberty.
The Revolution started all the fuss,
When King George wanted his taxes.
It got us the Freedom we used for all,
And lives to this day when we talk of the "Evil of Axis".
We've had to fight as a people united,
By cause, or strife, or enemy attack.
From 1812 to Afghanistan,
For Freedom and Liberty to stay on track.
There have been too many wars,
And battles in name have never been few.
Like Chateau Thierry, Iwo Jima, and even Tet,
Where our countrymen have paid their dues.
We have had the plights of other concerns,
That many around the world don't construe,
As a helping hand to all of them,
Except when they need us to.
Some say "Why send an Aircraft Carrier to a blighted zone,
Where people need all kinds of medical support"?
They forget that one of those ship is a floating city in itself,
With aircraft, hospitals, doctors, and our country's flag it will sport.
Then there is the overwhelming clamor,
Of those who want to come here to live and stay.
They know so little of our history,
Only that Freedom and Liberty is our way.
They want that Freedom for themselves as well,
And a Liberty which will let them choose.
They see us as a beacon then,
When their own freedoms they all but lose.
Life, Liberty, The Pursuit of Happiness,
The words our Founding Fathers swore...
Are Actions we take for granted each day,
With the Freedoms which we adore.
What does Freedom and Liberty mean?
It's just as plain as plain can be.
Because I want the Liberty to live my life,
And have the Freedom to wear it on my sleeve.
Apollo! Lead us into the fiery center of the sun
As the full moon offers a beacon in the night
We march into the blaze and burn as one
Or surrounded by darkness, the moon removes plight
Apollo! Do not forsake us, we of faith, let light shine
Save us from the darkness that plagues the soul
Ever devouring the darkness takes us; your inferno burns sublime
O' come great light, lest we are left black as coal
Do we plead in vain, do you see our suffering?
Are we alone, bleeding husks, answering for original sin?
Please immerse us in flame, stop black eternal smothering
Please illuminate the path, light the way to pursue within
The pantheon echoes our greatest fears
The Gods reflect our endless doubt
Belief of the above foils the darkness that lurks near
Or so we believe, we believe we're better with than without
The sky above, the dreams within, complete our mortal frame
The fears we face, the hope we share, we're all to blame
Close your eyes and imagine you're there
You're naked and shaved as they stand and stare
Watching your loved ones herded away
As you await your fate, it's their lies that say
Earlier that day we disembarked from the train
We're in a place called Auschwitz in the pouring rain
An unfamiliar smell hangs in the air
This feeling I get, is of total despair
We enter a building where clothes and shoes lie in mounds
On the periphery of me I hear screaming sounds
Families, fathers mothers daughters and sons
In our Hebrew tongue, why are we the chosen ones
We exit this building and enter another
Where we are told to remain calm and await our shower
No water is felt as the quietness delivers
Motionless some lie, as I await my deathly shiver
from antiquity of the Peruvian Inca mountains
'til today's unsheathed bladed Java buttons clicking
the numbers add up to incessant discounting counting
to sacrifice our own graven image sown sickening
if she floats - she's a witch and frankly must die
if she sinks, well, obviously she's sufficiently pious
when down on the bottom, we can't hear her cries
of sacrifice, still, very little can get by us
filed and defiled is all the better all the while
as the former digits click off of our palms
fingers and toes, complete legs fall away, as do
whole heads mounting kill count without qualms
virgin girls, citizen children, soldiers of play
their sacrifice is for civilization after all
us, uh, i mean the gods, won't have it any other way
they must have their place on our wailing wall
the altar so sacred, so blood red royal
C-4 strapped around plain white-robed torso
from handlers who assure they have the will of God
sending heavenward, pink clouded supplication - more so
for the sacrifice of the body than of the soul
robed theocratic surgeons who cut off our noses
in a perceived attempt to maintain their control
of those around them that might be opposed to
notions that they need not explain themselves,
or that God demands carnage for reasons unknown,
that their actions should beget peace in our time
that they shan't pick up, to cast, the first stone
that we all could be better humans I suppose
if we sacrificed our pride, instead of our fear
if we worked hard not to be taken for a ride by
admitting things aren't what they might first appear
dunno, but if there is a god for us to pray to
then maybe we could pray to not be preyed upon
and sacrificed for that bloody old world view
time to cook up some whorled peas - and move on
© Goode Guy 2012-08-02
The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.
Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace.
And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure,
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.
Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.
I trek the corridor of an easy path
Not because I am lazy or leery.
Just because I want no lingering wrath,
I searched for meaning of life’s query.
Death has its end or a new beginning.
Life has so much joy for you to give.
Each New Year is another inning.
To be played with the spirit to live.
We spend so much time wondering.
What will be received at our end?
That time we end up blundering.
That so much more we could send.
I have settled that what I have learned.
Will be carried onward in some way,
Probably better than what I have yearned.
That each life of past, will continue an array.
I cannot with any doubt, feel there is a beyond.
The road less traveled is not easy or hard you see.
Just spreads out in different lanes that correspond.
To everyone’s path they must follow or foresee.
These trials I have passed on my thoroughfare.
My faults, tribulations, delights, my own making,
My spirit and soul has always been duly aware.
I regret much, but resist spending my end quaking.
Each sin that has passed through me I put to rest.
I struggle not to repeat any again, to my best.
I still ponder much and still continue my quest.
Though I shall not let my living be suppressed.
Sponsor Catie Lindsey
Contest Name The Road Less Traveled
Symbol of mass transportation,
crucial as a pair of wings;
I wonder where we'd be without it
in the broader scheme of things?
It's hard to say just how we'd cope,
or how we'd get around.
I must confess a nagging fear
we'd stay right on the ground,
go no further than Cro-Magnons
dragging women by the hair,
as they forage in the jungle
lugging trophies to their lair.
Our trips would be restricted
to the tribes across the marsh;
we'd just better hope they're friendly,
not belligerent or harsh.
The prospects weren't too sanguine
that we'd subjugate the land
until the wheel's invention
guaranteed our upper hand.
Another night of shelling another night in hell
To lie in stench filled trenches watching bodies swell
Seeing the grimace of death engraved on ones so young
From Utopia they were born, now I'm in among
I can't think how ludicrous it is to await the next
Seeing futures disappear, oh! how it leaves me vexed
Trenches, bolt holes and craters, filling with rotting flesh
Barbed wire like human snares, now a crimsoned mesh
My eyes in tears now close as I hear the dying cry
Whilst a solitary shot sounds out, invisible through the sky
This silent assassin awaits their unsuspecting foe
For through a lapse in theatre, another life will slow
The evening I dreaded is upon us, this is no fireworks display
It's another sign of man, and their self destruction play
Many hours ahead now await in this shell shattered surround
How many of us will still be standing, or swallowed by the ground
The above is all I can remember from those days from a war torn past
I'm so fortunate to recall so little, whilst many colleagues cast
I've lived a life of years, so many more than them
What or who decided to chose from these heroic fighting men
TRYING TO REVISE FOR ANCIENT HISTORY EXAM
What if Darius had beaten Alexander?
The outcome would have been a mystery
Such supposing makes me wonder
About the blank unwritten pages of history
Scan the book and each dog-eared leaf
Try to recall why some words are yellow
Search the notes in my untidy sheaf
I’m a casual-sower/chaotic-harvester fellow
I should have gone over the Romans again of course
And maybe studied the maps
Oh, what about those Greeks and their wooden horse?
Or the burning of Troy perhaps?
Seeds of war, four horsemen strewn -
Ramses and Moses full of anger and rage -
Tomorrow begin their battle at nine, but at noon
Defeat is written across my blank page.
The State in which I was born is “Home”
It’s huge and all over it I’ve roamed
Born in Big “D”, so that’s where it starts
Then moved up to the panhandle parts
Moved East to rose capital city
Love this town, it’s extremely pretty
I attended John Tyler High School
It’s my “Home Town” and I think it’s cool
Attended college in Aggieland
South in College Station, not too grand
Fort Bliss, way out West, for Army time
And then I left my “Home”, what a crime
A job with Boeing in Seattle
Into the traffic, what a battle
You can take the Boy out of “Texas”
You can’t take “Texas” out of the Boy
Submitted by Charles Sides
For the MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest
When Marbles Fall
Happy are the children on the wall of time
Playing marbles by the castle keep
Soldiers watch them secure that they won’t climb
But become bored and fall to sleep
The children are not children at all
But spies that cry for freedom
They slay the soldiers in a modest brawl
The king is next to fall to lose his kingdom
Fate takes the king with a confidant to towers top
Spies follow them to that end
It is there where all of this must stop
The king must die but first his friend
Marble in this upper room is splendid
King marvels for one last time his acquisitions
Too bad right here and now he must end it
To simply die without his royalties permission
Created 7/12/14 for- Not Just Any Old Quatrain contest
To be intrusive to another's mind to taste what the hells going on
To be different from other men as they sing a different song
For this, this blind man seeks to be the seeker to see and scan
To go inside the mind of another, another kind of man
History has shown and reminded of the monsters that have been
This trait of human man, as each generations scene
What makes us be so different, to hurt whom we care and love
Is it some form of weakness we allure, against family loving doves
As I enter their minds even deeper, the appalling rise to view
Standing proud in their deathly mask, their hurting of others true
Rapists, serial killers and dictators, or even the family man
What possesses their power to indulge, that this blind man can't even scan
My thoughts go out to you all, who have suffered at the hands of man
Evolution is not the answer, to really be who they can
This blind man he said to me, if I look into you what will I find
My reply to him was simple, I'm just a different kind
Look at your man
And look inside him deep
Has he lived for hundreds of years
And seen things, that would make you weep
Take a moment and pause
And think of the son of Kade
He came back to his past
And seen your tomorrow made
He has stood in moments of history
Sadly, he has seen what man has done
To see what we do to another
Believe me, man has never began
To walk past Calvary
And see mothers sons who died
Knowing they had a reason
These fallen ones who tried
Into history you slowly march
Involved in so much crime
There is somebody out there
Who will decide you've had your time
Believe the son of Kade
For he has seen your past in true
You can go to sleep and dream
Until its in front of you
Civilizations appeared and disappeared
Empires have risen and fallen
Their cultures and legends discovered
Left behind for future generations, a token.
To teach us what enriches and what destroys
That those who have gained power by force
Have fallen by the hands of discontent
Leaving behind a culture of fear, that need no encores.
Those who have gained power by wisdom
Have left behind treasures that remained
Revealed in their writings, part of their history
Still inspiring today for our own victories to gain.
What destroys, disappears into relativity
What builds, remains in the heart of humanity
Fear and anger meet relativity
Love and truth meet eternity.
Copyright © 03/28/10
A Prince may not bring dishonour to his kingdom
In times of strive for the sake of Christendom;
If he seeks spurious honours to feather his nest
And alienates a people who die for freedom.
A King is he who in high danger opts for sacrifice
Like Kattabomman seeking no excuse nor artifice
Met the East India Company’s Collector all alone
And fought his valiant way through gunfire malice.
The history of Tamil kingdoms in all ages gone by
Teaches us the same lesson made proverbial by
An Ettappan who in his insatiable envy of grandeur
Caused the ultimate Tamil Prince to hang high.
We live in a world where politicians are the real Princes
Who wear no crowns but their ministerial pince-nez;
Yet other captains struggle against such fait accompli
And in jungles forge a human bulwark of chances.
It’s not the cherry on the icing that makes a cake
If underneath the slender icing over a lake
Wild worms bore at the crust raised in protection,
Won’t people then take a Kshastriya for a fake.
If you want to be king then let your voice be true
Renounce all wish to be ordained a true blue;
Let the people choose what they want for a crown
If they need you, will they not call upon you.
Uneasy the head which wears the realm’s crown
While the people fret and fume and frown;
See how caretaker John usurps the Lion-Heart’s throne:
Uneasier the head become the butt of a clown.
Lay aside all thought of fame
In the quest for a feudal name;
He who assumes an ancient title
Must prove worthy of the same.
© T.Wignesan March 2006 – Paris, France (from the sequence/collection: Words for a Lost Sub-Continent )
Dwarfed figure delight
those who cross the causeway
to visit Credit Island
along the Mississippi’s wake.
The sun shines on manicured grass
where golfers display their strokes
and runners circle the island
repeating a treasured journey along an asphalt strip.
Taken from floods and neglect,
the island renews itself
and stands proud for another generation
who comes its way.
Long past pelt trader days
dwarfed figures take delight
in the play of city dwellers
and the timeless river swells.
From the heart of their country to a new world they did sail
Over an expanse of ocean through storms and gales
They settled in New Amsterdam, this Dutch colonial place
To create a new world in their progressional space
Many years later after conflicts took their toll
New York was born, under British control
The gate to this city is passed by a lady so proud
A gift from the French, freedoms torch raised to her clouds
The Big Apple, this city in the year 2001
Where infidels and cowards tried to bring this gem down
But deep from their depths from the loss of their Twin Towers
Feel its heart and strength, its unity powers
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.
December 21, 2012! ‘The day our world comes to an end’, is how the rumor flies
A deep-rooted doubt exists, as past predictions have all been so wrong.
Those last days of centuries past have come and gone, like whistles in the wind
While Father Time just keeps on ticking oblivious to the song!
I imagine how broad is his smile when rumors hit the media scene
Many worry, and plan for that “final” day, needless to say, hearts weep
Amongst scientists, and well known historians, this time, possibility may exist
But what can I do? I’m no Amazon, barefoot, at five-feet three
If by chance, it’s the end, could I possibly save myself? My “plate’s already full”!
All it’d take to end my world is a strong current and a, three-foot wave
Maybe an unexpected lighting bolt if caught up in a storm. For these, caution will suffice
Out of my control; will not waste time as my life I can not save
Harsh beauty spreading far and wide
Mother's creation by nature's own bride
Iron grain canvas under bright atmosphere
Where arid, baked land meets water cool and clear
Streaming cruel heat reigns over all
Beating down on a land held in subjugating thrall
Parched artistry spreads over miles of land
Rocks, hills and animals, and course shifting sands
Fevered earth burns on an unshod sole
Trees give sparse shade to those who stroll
Along a path, that's been walked by few,
Over millennia past; now awash with soul's residue
Land red with iron and actions abhorred
With laughter and bitterness, with hope deeply stored
A vast stunning world, a back drop so grand
A future and history that's held in the land
Slipping gently towards entropy,
Ownership with an apostrophe.
Braid the loose frays of sanity
Till something true finally answers me.
Troops are marching over many lands,
Tagged cornflower blue--a worldwide brand.
Don't speak out or you will be banned,
Towers implode just as they've planned.
Constantine merged Rome's faiths to one
Keeping time and step with Pagans.
Moloch laughs at our dull compassion
While Illuminati goals corrupt conception.
With a punitive eye beneath the skin
Mankind’s been declared the pathogen.
So an age of ignorance was ushered in
With aims to squelch the soul within.
Rotating parties deflect shared shame
Allowing complacency to be blamed.
Splintered populations can be tamed,
And bombs tend to leave bodies maimed.
Thieves steel gold and filch the free press,
Bobble heads working to keep up stress,
Businessmen sponsoring all this mess.
"We've got some pills if you feel depressed..."
We inherently trust their authority
As they outlaw nutrients due to toxicity.
In an effort to organize bioactivity
They count on our enduring apathy.
We protest lies, so they've built some pens.
Peace simply means they'll take our weapons.
"So go buy a widescreen for your den
To watch us start your wars again."
Even the name Bilderberg is a joke.
As they like it they’ve managed to fleece us broke,
Locking humanity into the yoke.
They sold the world lies before they ever spoke.
Crypto-eugenics is a fatal threat,
Academia functioning as a stooge pet.
Look into those eyes; they've got no regret
To kill us all off like they're clearing a debt.
Global control would only serve them well,
Micro chipped souls have no secrets to sell.
Salivate each time you hear their bell
Or they'll call themselves gods chasing you through hell.
Our oppressive puppet liars, they will not quit,
So don't waste breath saying, 'I'll submit.'
Words of our liberty are just and legit,
And truthful self-rule is a righteous fit.
When bureaucrats state dissent is treachery
In truth they've already sold their loyalty,
They still threaten our sovereignty.
Reclaim our human right to be free!
We left the dusty strands of Santander *
And struck west, seeking Peru, the far shining land,
Our carracks riding high in the water,
Hungry to ground our boats on its silver strand.
Pack mules groaned under their silver load,
Barges of silver threaded the palmed rivers, manned
By dusky Inca slaves on their road
Down to Peru’s glistening silver strand.
Dipping in the warm sea up to our rails,
The holds cracking open with chest and cask
Of gleaming Spanish reales, the creaking sails *
Pulling carracks full-laden for the task,
We slipped out of sight of New Spain
And its mines of silver, that silver land,
Glinting hills, glittering cities, far over the Main, *
And said adieu to its coasts and silver strands;
Struck out for Santander, and unfurled
Tall curtained palaces in Aragon and Castile - grand *
And reaching to the sky from the New World -
That far horizon with its silver strands.
*Santander is a big port in Spain
*Spanish money of the period was counted in REALES and was used everywhere as currency and as a reserve store of wealth, like the US dollar today. In the sixteenth century over 300 tons of silver each year were brought to Spain in fleets of ships from America.
*The Atlantic Ocean was commonly called the (Spanish) Main.
*Castile and Aragon were the two main kingdoms of Iberia
which united and became “Spain”.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .
Written for, and entered in, Susan Burch’s Contest “ Silver Strands”
Once more we have a blazoned trail to muse Chasing Greendragon's tea hidden in the sea As the one that drinks bitter he thinks better too In Columbia's taverns men do conspire to be free - Here verses were written and deciphered An age of brown paper print sliced the main sail Taking liberties before crossing the wide fords as Glass bottom tankards ring like church bells - - Reciting mail from stage to stage runs the news in ire of the kings sweet acts and torrid teas After seven years weakend but cloak and dagger true Blaming drunk french indians who poured it on the sea - Beginning the royal blues again the revolution turns A few good men came from these upon your standard But war like a fire has no repect of persons it just burns Unlike these local bars men's constitutions were driven hard
This symbol, the wreath, in cultures of our past
In our modern world, a Christmas ring that's here to last
Made of flowers, leaves, twigs and various fruits
Around the world their decorated, in individual suit
Strength and harsh winters, symbolised by the evergreens
Eternity in it's circumference, for many Christmas winter scenes
It's now so much in our culture, and forever it will last
To the Greeks and the Romans, I salute your cultural past
It can be gloomy as winter's dreariness...
when nothing else glistens but cold snow;
and it can be as mysterious as summers' nights...
when the crickets are heard from a dark lawn.
Come out and see the many images of the pale moon,
which changes its shape on certain months, or days of the year:
full moon, half moon and three quarter of a moon
still captivate us more than any other planet distant and clear.
Who hasn't heard legends about this mysterious planet not so cheery?
In Medieval Times, it seemed to have magical powers so solicitous;
and to whom it was so leery...if not to a saint exalting God only?
Poets of this age...wonder how it turns lovers passionate and amorous!
I have contemplated with admiration the many images of the pale moon
for almost a lifetime: from my hilarious childhood to my hermetic manhood,
and it hasn't broken its incantation, or changed a bit in color and even mood;
if I could reach it, I'd transform it into a garden of loveliness as anyone should.
On this day, we were attacked;
On this day, we were mobbed;
On this day, our freedom was tested;
On this day, we all sobbed.
On this day, we all stood still;
On this day, we all held each other;
On this day, our lives were changed;
On this day, we tried to save our brother.
On this day, we all said a prayer;
On this day, we all hoped for the best;
On this day, our faith was strengthened;
On this day, we laid the brave to rest.
On this day, we will pause for our nation;
On this day, we will never break;
On this day, our country is united;
On this day, we stand for freedom's sake.
Jackie Robinson and I go way way back
To the spring of nineteen forty-six
A Montreal ballpark on a April afternoon
The day the world was transfixed
The colour barrier that existed in baseball
Was about to come crashing down
After many decades of ugly discrimination
Jackie would become renowned
It would take a special kind of individual
To withstand all the slurs and abuse
Young Jackie knew what he'd have to endure
But it was not his nature to refuse
Having a strong and tenacious personality
Not known for giving up a fight
Jackie settled in for a long tough struggle
On which he had long set his sights
It's a time in history I'll always hold dear
That momentous day back then
Forever after ingrained in my psyche
I witnessed this champion of men!
© Jack Ellison 2013
My Dad and I were late arriving. When we
got there it was the bottom of the first.
As we emerged from the passage way to the
bleachers, the crowd was cheering wildly!
I looked to my right and believe it or not
Jackie Robinson was stealing home!!!
This image is ingrained in my memory!
I remember the day they were there
As I soared the thermals and looked down
So many facing a wing and a prayer
As I watched so many in death drown
The indigenous below my skies
Who looked up to me everyday
Warriors of so many tribes
Now look back up again as they become prey
Decades turned into many centuries
As gradually their will was worn down
The eagle so free always remembers
That so many villages became, spiritual ghost towns
Books are the cheapest way to go on vacation;
You meet a new friend every chapter.
On some pages you feel elation,
And at the same time you’re filled with laughter.
Some tales are filled with mystery,
Some are full of adventure,
Lots dive deep into history,
Some only the brave can venture.
Mystery books involve a crime
In which the hero must find some clues,
He must solve the riddle in time,
So that the criminal gets accused.
Adventure books start with a quest;
They can take you to a land far away.
I tend to like those books best
Where the knight always saves the day.
History books can be varied.
They can be about Medieval Times,
Or people who have been buried,
Maybe even kings in their primes.
Some books try to scare you,
They make you afraid to sleep,
They have sorcerers in robes of blue,
Who send out monsters to creep.
When you are sad and depressed,
You can quickly distract your mind.
Just find the book you like the best,
And your journey’s not far behind.
Itinerant mercenary shrouded with penitent robe
Shining beacon for terrorists around the globe
Hermetic curmudgeon; gun-toting xenophobe
Zealous provacateur who for ardent jihadists did probe
Material wealth a means; establishing a caliphate the end
Seeking Arab-royalty's, sovereign-sheikdoms to rend
Scourge of terror to blight all that western values defend
Sharia law to govern Middle East; Allah's dividend
Great Satan's engine to throttle
Region's fealty to bottle
Suicide pilots struck the monuments we coddle
Gratuitious shards and blood stains did the landscape mottle
President Bush promised swift revenge
Ordered Taliban to stop Osama's bloody binge
Mullah Omar reneged; Bushes' saber rattling had a malodorous tinge
U.S forces did the Taliban's quarters singe
Alquaida's overseas operations are diminished
But Alquaida's mission not finished
Alquaida cells in Iraq, Afghanistan bravely battle, mettle distinguished
Nevertheless, the infidel forces not extinguished
Gitmo detainees probed for information
Trite torture brought about stunning reformation
Stressed warrior's fealty to leader declined in isolated station
Under duration, divulged details about Bin Laden's method of operation
Osama's couriers cover blown
Seeds for fruitful harvest are sown
Courier's redoubt canvassed with satellite, drone
Intelligence on compound, residents CIA did hone
Calculated risk; Navy Seals in choppers did alight
Flying quietly with fiery portents into the calm night
Hoping the briny tentacles of terror to blight
Cresting over the shadowy compound; objective in sight
Down the dangling ladders vigilant Seals did repel
Into the throes of darkness descending into the mouth of hell
Perimeter defense, early warning signals were of no avail
Osama's stunned tenants could only stand fast or bail
Each obstacle, human shield the Seals did meticulously fell
Carefully following the trail to the Holy Grail
Entering Osama's room, rending the sacral veil
The caged warrior with precision did shell
Osama's dead body packed in a unmarked crate
Transported vicariously to lab, identity to equate
Identity confirmed; vigilant menace had met his fate
Un-consecrated remains tossed into sea; watery tomb his final estate
The Neapolitan tarantella
is a folk dance very graceful and lively,
it was inspired by someone having been
bitten by a poisonous Taruntula.
It's fast up-beat tempo
induces a frenzied dance in a solo,
or a couple...and as they dance they sweat out
the poison of the spider's bite.
Grandma used to sing this folklorist song,
and I danced with her while loud mandolins
and tambourines accompanied her cheerful singing...
there wasn't an awkward note in her voice.
The Neapolitan tarantella, with its frantic rhythms
and shrill harmonies infused passion in great composers,
and Mendelssohn wrote his symphony...
a song dance was composed by Rossini.
The Neapolitan tarantella grandiosely plays
and everyone stops and listens to its low and high-pitched melody,
and with little hesitation they start to dance...
beneath my veranda, these folks put on a look of festivity.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Standing upon it without thought passing each day,
Our terrain serves our continuity, preserving sway.
Preparing spectacular topography to which display.
Characteristics of different hue, glorious and gray,
Whispering air flows throughout the world in peace.
Silently it moves at times, often seeming to cease.
Constantly circulating in every aspect of its lease,
Violent it may become with a destructive release.
Spontaneous combustion, never proven to be,
Powers of the flame, necessity for you and me,
Discovery of fire was easy, produced heavenly.
Captivity, tricky of this beast, fire was born free.
So much abundantly occupying our spaces so near,
Producing different cultural life, to enjoy and fear.
Securing borders for explorers to travel our sphere.
Our closest boundary, but not, our final frontier,
One irrigates land, one separates flowingly diverse.
One feeds the source, only as fuel to burn, intersperse.
The dark and moonless night at sea
reflected well his mood,
from where he stood out by the rail
the ship seemed not to move.
He was gazing far away
into years gone by,
where there resided youthful joy
to recapture if he’d try.
He wore a paper around his neck
dangling on a string,
three letters there made an acronym
and such horror they did bring.
Put there by an officer
blue uniformed and stern,
because he had no documents
to his homeland…. he must return.
Turned away the very day
he landed on the island,
destitute and paperless
being denied asylum.
He watched the statue fade astern
after seeing her rise at dawn,
a goddess from the sea of hope
and all of his was gone.
The tag he wore about his neck
was his last and final doom,
WOP spelled “none for me.”
as he stood there in the gloom.
“With Out Papers” the letters meant
said the officer who put them on,
America’s milk and honey
was not for everyone.
Hustled back aboard the ship
without the means to pay,
no bunk no cabin or meals to eat
on deck all night and day.
His homeland would not welcome him
he was on the wrong side of their fight,
dispossessed and on the run
returning filled him with fright.
With only one place left to go
he was filled with true regret,
but the decision was an easy one
so over the side he leapt.
His body washed up on the shore
not uncommon for Ellis island,
there he was buried for eternity
finally finding his asylum.
Anasazi and Hohokam
- by Bob Atkinson
tell me now your ancient stories
so I can feel your power and glory
survive you did in this harsh land
becoming a mystery to this small man
where did you go? are you still here?
tell me of your wants and fears
buildings you made of stone
still stand above piles of bones
did you lay down your lives
to the last because of pride
fighting those opposed
to your ancient way of life
over this land of dusty valleys
swept clean of life as if by water
you carved out of rocky soil
life for your sons and daughters
of those who lived those years
we know nothing more
we see them scraped from the land
was it peaceful or violent horror?
you who no longer sing
those songs of glory days
left us remnants of your cities
to remind us of your closed page
confers to us our wonderment
never allowing our minds rest
where and why did you go?
reason won't be known, but guessed
you knew how to test the ground
dug canals, brought water to dry land
giving seed to harvest yearly
moisture to crops of greenery
you knew facts that life required
by those who live and thrive
in arid lands which never seem
to allow for relaxed lives
ones who have gone before
left us not stories and lore
they keep their lives from our eyes
made us wonder where and why
let us begin the quest
to document that sixth sense
that which makes us who we are
our emotions pickled in a jar
document your current stories
so future can feel your power and glory
how you survived in this harsh land
become no mystery to future man
The days of ancient Rome, there were battles
Staged for the spectators; fought to the death,
Gladiators entered an arena
Fight until they had taken their last breath
The Gladiators could choose their weapons
Like a shield and sword, flails, maces, or spears
They were criminals, slaves, and prisoners
Most of them wouldn’t live more than a year
Two or more would enter the arena
Fight until only one was left alive
A “thumbs down” and they unleash the lions
And a “thumbs up” he gets a chance to thrive
Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
It's at the top of the hill.
It's silver and shiny.
It's broad and it's tall.
It'll make you feel tiny.
It's above an old mine.
It's next to some rails.
It's a dot on the horizon.
It's not heads and not tails.
It's a circle with edges.
It's a coin large in size.
It's the money we made
for our Big Nickel Eyes.
A land lost to the floor of the sea,
In a single day and a single night.
The land of Atlantis ceased to be;
To an ancient culture, a fateful plight.
Now resting among the tall mountains.
Not to be seen by curious eyes.
Sailed over by unaware sea captains;
A legend of a civilization’s demise.
Ten thousand years or more have past,
Vast knowledge claimed by the ancient,
Our own knowledge has not surpassed,
They strove to be omniscient.
A world destroyed by arrogance,
So it is told through the ages.
Victims of God’s abhorrence ,
As written in Plato’s enduring pages.
How did it meet its end, that mighty land;
And come to rest in its deep ocean grave?
Is the same fate for this world at hand;
Lying in our need to deprave, or greedy crave
Looking to the heavens for the clues,
Prophesies from ages past flood the news.
Our home, the earth, that we abuse,
May be a gift that we will lose.
An ancient legend and the present time,
Does it matter if we believe the legend?
If the doomsday clock begins to chime,
Our fate is ours from beginning to end.
These days my heart pumps slowly
For fear of faling too fast
It clings to what it desires
And hopes the feeling will last
My spirit has taken a detrimental glide
And I'm free falling on faith alone
I am learning to trust God's will be done
And to live as he would condone
Days are rough and I can't help but think
Of you, your thoughts, your heart
I'm trying to be strong and with God I can
But I've missed you from the start
Little things we've done and the good times
Are all I seem to recall
I know had we done things accordingly
God would have ensured we'd never fall
You have a great heart and gentle spirit
Some recent things I don't understand
But I know it's not up to me to fear it
Because somehow, it's part of God's plan
Could we ignore those heroes and heroines,
who fought for freedom and gave us many choices?
Every country has them and their valor we should revere!
I'd like to be one of them...but I hesitate to dare!
More than five thousands of years people have lived on our planet,
and powerful civilizations rose to subdue the ones with a weaker sword...
even today when knowledge is supreme, the mighty ones continue to do so!
O inhuman and foolish race...have you lost all consciousness and grace?
How can the human heart be enslaved by mighteness,
if precious freedom is a right given by God without prejudice?
All, I repeat all peoples are entitled to liberty...O heroes and heroines rise!
I'm not inciting anyone to rebellion, but protest they should with their voice!
O inhuman and foolish race, how much longer can you brag and not be erased?
Rome crumbled with its marble idols...others followed and lost what they highly praised!
Now justice is veiled by a feigned appearance: haters of faith and lovers of money abound,
bringing more destruction and danger to anyone alive...will they return to God?
Of names given at birth, one blooms special.
Mary seems to me a popular name.
Common folks and royalty likewise called.
But no two named Mary are quite the same.
A young girl named Mary lived righteously.
By God she was favored, is history.
She willingly bore God's begotten son.
Obscure to man…virgin birth mystery.
Infant queen, Mary of Scotland, betrothed,
Had escaped Henry the Viii rough wooing.
Life's whirlwinds, deaths and romance havocked her life.
Politics sent beheading ensuing.
Mary Read of Devon County, England
Surrounded by death, raised as a boy.
Captured by pirates of the Caribbean Sea,
Became a pirate herself, lived wild joy.
Mother and Daughter, writers named Mary,
Mary Wollstonecraft, swayed by T. Paine, wrote
"A Vindication of the Rights of Woman," (1792)
The thoughts of a mother, by death made remote.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, sweet sixteen,
Strong spirited, influenced by her mom
Left home to be Percy's mistress…outcast.
Sorrows in life are Frankenstein's where-from.
Mary Anning, a woman paleontologist,
Prepared fossils from Jurassic era beds.
Well-known by geologists, financially poor,
Put new ideas in scientific thinkers heads.
Famous women named Mary nowadays abound.
From Mary Anne on Gilligan's Island
To Mary Poppins flying through the air.
Each Mary, in her own way has some life brightened.
All of the women I have presented herein.
Have one thing in common: strength and chagrin.
But, there is not one Mary I read about or met.
Whose loves like my grandmother's was fashioned.
She, was a woman of strength, strong will, and spunk.
But, tenderly, she comforted many a tear.
Teaching young children from her sewing machine,
She consistently worked to keep family near.
She offered fresh fruit from the family tree.
I know her sweetness from Heaven shines.
Without her love, I wonder where I would be.
When I hear the name Mary, love aligns.
© July 17, 2010
1. Mary Queen of Scots: http://www.rampantscotland.com/famous/blfammqos.htm
2. Famous Pirate: Mary Read: http://www.thewayofthepirates.com/famous-pirates/mary-read.php
3. Mary Wollstonecraft & Mary Shelley: http://classiclit.about.com/od/wollstonecraftmary/a/
4. Mary Anning: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Anning
Lilith, y ou could not quench your need,
Within the garden of the simple life.
You performed a forbidden deed,
Then no longer were you Adam’s wife.
You spoke the name of the Almighty God,
Then he gave you immortal power.
Away he sent you with a nod,
As the guardian of the underworld, you tower.
Are you to be feared by mankind?
Are you good or evil, witch or demon?
Do you have a selfish plan,
That brings about the tears of women?
We sing our children lullabies
To keep our them snug and safe.
It is told you will take them without a sigh,
From the entitled to the waif.
Is it not enough to satisfy yourself,
To keep those mythical creatures at bay,
Unicorn, troll, fairy and elf.
Then let the children stay.
He was crucified by the Romans with the sharpest nails
by the will of an angry mob;
did anyone hear Jesus's sob?
Pilate refused to find him guilty and washed his hands.
Betrayed by Peter, hated by rebellious Barabbas;
whipped at every fall, He patiently carried that cross to Calvary,
but a kind, humble woman felt much pity for Jesus
and with a clean cloth wiped off his blood as an act of mercy!
And dragging His heavy cross through the narrow
streets of chaotic and uncompassionate Jerusalem,
someone, who had heard him preach about God's Kingdom,
picked up his cross and relieved some of the pain and sorrow!
Many believed Him to be the Christ,
but the envious Pharisees did not,
and accusing him of blasphemy, they mocked him...
not noticing how the April sky was becoming dim!
He was laid in an empty, cold tomb amid palm trees and stones
and on the third day, as Jesus promised the twelve disciples;
He miraculously rose...ascending the heavenly throne,
where God the Father handed Him the glorious crown!
Potbelly was the pride of the wealthy,
the fatter they looked, the richer they were presumed;
now days the rich have found the source of energy...
by staying in shape and looking haggard.
Rampant obesity is a real problem for the common people,
and when it comes to eating habits, they're pound foolish:
obsessed with a fat cuisine: tasty, elaborate and incorrigible....
and without the aesthetic concern, they try every alluring dish.
In the palaces of the gentry many paintings displayed chubby
Kings and Queens flashing their stubborn, monarch attitude,
while the lower class was deprived of delicacies and envied their posture...
little they they know that the gentility's haute cuisine was extremely unhealthy.
Recently the U S Congress banned fast-food restaurants
from using high fat products like cheap cooking oils and lards,
to promote good health nationwide: hoping the public would be alerted and heed...
overweight people can't lead a healthy lifestyle, and we all see their suffering indeed.
Are you willing to make that overdue resolution and lose weight, not
for the society's sake, but for your own heartiness?,
Your well-being is very essential to your state of happiness...
why is a toned body more agile and vigorous than a flabby one?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Some have regarded you as a prognosticator.
Others have considered you a prevaricator.
How far into the future can one person see?
Could you really see what was coming in the sixteenth century?
With your poetic passages known as “quatrains”,
many believe you held the future’s reins.
Your words made your prophecies quite mystical.
However, the language you used was equivocal.
Despite your writings many consider so vague,
compatriots called you a healer who conquered the plague.
However, you could not save your family from death.
The disease took you wife and children’s last breath.
You lived during the renaissance age of men.
It is questionable whether you were a genius or charlatan.
There are many interpretations of what you had to say.
Some debate over the meanings of your quatrains remains today.
kill the Catholic, kill the Jew
kill them all, draw sword 'n' slay 'em
kill the Muslim, the Buddhist too
spill their blood, creating mayhem
kill the Taoist, kill the Zen
kill the agnostic, kill the skeptic
kill all religious, come back again
wash away everyone seen as septic
kill the women, kill all the men
that other tribe, who you eschew
everyone who might be your brethren
take weapon in hand and kill them too
kill that other race of beings
kill the innocent, kill too, the guilty
kill anyone with peaceful leanings
kill wholly with unspeakable cruelty
kill all hope of ever finding peace
kill yourself for your own release
kill believing you'll justify
all these hates that in you lie
© Goode Guy 2011-06-04
the only good ___ is a dead ___ ...know it's sarcasm, ok
It was there mysteriously hanging, as He
shaped it in a perfect form as other planets...
the Romans called it Luna, and what a revered goddess was she!
Superstious souls still fear it, I stare at it with reverence!
Even before we were created,
that moon, which illuminated our dark Earth,
was believed to have mystical powers...
causing high tides and frightening all voyagers.
Luna, as magnificent as you are on a clear night,
by morning your glory will completely vanish,
and you will return with the shadows and by that bright
glow, we shouldn't be afraid but make a vivid wish.
Even before we were created,
those moonbeams softly caressed the lonely oceans...
when no human beings were sighted;
and she, the goddess Luna, ruled over eerie darkness.
A time of splendour
With gallant Knights
Ladies so slender
The ladies all squeal
Exploding of hoofs
The clash of steel
Enter the Black Knight
To a round of jeers
The Red Knight enters
To resounding cheers
First pass no foul
They try it once more
The Knight in Red
Slumps to the floor
They carry him off
And tend to his wounds
A Blue Knight appears
The ladies all swoon
The maidens favourite
Known far and wide
Lord Richard of Leeds
His lance by his side
They ready for battle
Shields are in place
Masks of armour
Covering their face
Towards each other
They gallop full speed
Lances held high
The snorting of steeds
The Black Knight falls
The hero wins out
Blue Knight celebrates
Victory in the joust
Approaching the King
Horse and rider bow
The people go wild
Allegiance they vow
Hail to the King
What glory they bring
William, I in your scholars footsteps went
Across the seas of the white continent
To seek the demon that your bright soul bent
Away from self, harbor of home, government
Of mind. I saw the citadels, abroad
Their light, and the mesmerized world flowing
Like pilgrims starved, yet all searches outward
They clustered history, gently bowing.
What would a boy who danced the streets for dimes
Seek here? What would a child made penitent
To arbitrary laws claim from discontent
With native shore, in matter's logic climes?
Too hard the cathedral floor, I wouldn't kneel
Too cold the shrine here for a tropic faith
Dust clogged my eyes, I needed just to feel
Something that from your shoulders moved some weight.
This shrine lengthend your name with letters, and spelled
Your dreams downward, excavating past things
And the science of fire, you needed wings
To flee the cauldron of desire. I yelled
Against the emptiness, the barren white
I yelled in loneliness, too soon you left
My soul alone to voyage the cold night
Too soon my mother hums with the bereft
From Harvard to Delhi, and Cambridge back
How clean the wind sweeps the sand, Sweden too
Already has forgotten, fled like dew
Your presence now, and the desolate track
Feign innocense of the foul deed, my tears
Fall again, William, my brother, brave
I tried, but not climb wisdom's broken stairs
My love is haunted by your silent grave.
Some songs make their impressions
Lasting forever in our minds
They may fade or not mean as much
As our soul society blinds
They tell us what they want us to hear
Trying so hard to keep us blind
But through the Songs Janice used to sing
We were some how able to find
How would you love to be Bobby McGee?
Or the trucker far as goes
I’m sure they had a hell of a trip
Writing the song that all of us know
Addiction took her from us one day
In fact it has taken a few
So before you fly know that it’s no lie
Like Janice it will take you to
I think I got way off track here
but this for Brian's contest and
it is one of the impressions in
my mind that will forever stay.
I loved her music, God Bless
My heart is basalt and greenstone
becoming Catoctin to bones.
I'm the presidential retreat
at the top of the Blue Ridge chain.
I'm a drone financial fortress
waving ol' Glory stars and stripes.
I pledge allegiance to the Republic
under sound bunker walls three miles thick.
And if you love this darling world,
and have the fear of God within,
you too can be become Catoctin
on the carcass of Algonquians.
Getting off the bus along Hillside Avenue,
I heard a loud commotion coming from a speaker;
and getting closer, I saw the face of a sweaty preacher...
calling all souls to Jesus and make them new.
I looked and paused and saw this preacher with sweat on his face...
as he was telling the crowd a true story of The Godfather's son, who was
in the dark about his father's activities, and when he was finally told,
he didn't care if he died; and to the authorities he went to report his dad.
What a righteous young man he must have been, and how noble
it was to reveal that well-kept secret which would have cost his precious life,
giving up a chance at being powerful and not dedicating himself to a lifetime of crime;
I can visualize him bowing his head down, and pray to stop the vicious cycle.
I sat next to an elderly lady whose who's veiled head shone through a gentle light,
" Sing along with me, and your lost soul will be reedemed by the blood of Jesus!"
I shared her song book and began singing an evening prayer of repentance,
as the preacher cried out, " Raise your hand, and I will pray for you tonight!"
How many folks, like me, wanted to see that preacher proclaim the Lord's message;
and how lucky I was to have encountered a stranger who sounded like Jesus,
to add another sheep to his herd as he prayed for the sins of the repentant ones!
How glorious it was to hear him glorify Christ and His father with his voice of grace!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Look out your window
And what do you see
A land of beauty
And all in purpose is free
Conglomerates all over
They grind and they mine
Who tells them to take
What is yours so defined
Elections must change
For tomorrows today
As we are the people
And our thoughts you must say
Be in power
As we have granted you grace
But we are the power
To remove you of place
If you can't be upstanding
Especially, from where you came from
We will know you as weak
When you thought you were strong
For we are the people
Your bosses we are
If you do whats right
We will allow you to star?
Fernando Ramone was a Latin lover
Who dazzled the girls with his charm
He could often be seen strolling along
With a gorgeous girl on each arm
It didn't feel much different this night
Though the mood in the bar was uneasy
As he wandered in, all eyes were on him
He was sweating and feeling queasy
Tension was thick, could be cut with a knife
With conviction he strode to the bar
A shot rang out from the back of the room
Ramone dropped, his mouth oddly ajar
Patrons froze as he lay in a heap
Not a single sound could be heard
A man emerged from the back of the room
Strode forward without saying a word
Gasps were heard as he came into the light
Deputy Marshall John Parker by name
Tracking down Ramone for many years
A rampage of mayhem his fame
Ramone was wanted in twenty-three states
For a ten year murderous spree
Asked why he shot him without any warning
Parker mumbled the name Anabellee
Anabellee was one of his victims
And the daughter of Deputy John
Rage and revenge was all he could feel
Then the vengeance was suddenly gone
Deputy Parker is now serving time
For the murder of Fernando Ramone
Some say Parker should really be freed
But killing cannot be condoned
© Jack Ellison 2014
This political forum is but an avenue for debate
Leaving man and woman, speaking then of hate
Trying so to stay within the realm of running calm
The press exploits the two by setting off their bombs
As words that started factual, have turned to bitter cold
Man and woman pass the buck, a story that’s quite old
When issues so imperative are swept under the rug
One tries to squash the other, like stepping on a bug
It seems intentions, at one time, may have been of good
Tables turned, as candidates, now do the things they could
They try to get away with it as they say so much as well
Smearing the name of the other, while they then just propel
Their party hustles, bustles, to get the dirt they need
Then turn it out for pleasure to the media who feeds
Truth be known, no good will come from letting dirt then loose
As the candidates seem to further, put their heads into a noose
The 2nd line
Is the music hard to find?
The 2nd line
I’ve the rhythm on my mind!
You dance with umbrellas
And sometimes a fellow
You dance with umbrellas
Just like Cinderella
Some dance with towels
But please don’t make a foul
Some dance with towels
And yes we do howl
he stands amid the dusted rays
of beams from smudged, windowed days
casting light on the words below
pressed flat upon papered page
he's been here since before sun up
stained and smelling of turpentine
surveying the thoughts he's pressed
quickly he hangs the page to dry
then re-inks the typeset laid to table
and inserts another piece to press
pulling at the screw-pressed platen
repeating process his labors express
his desire to enlighten the world
not just his neighbors informed to tell
ideas and thoughts carried on back
ancestors haunched with ink and quill
before them criers cried the street
events be known upon lips aloud
spreading ideas throughout the land
difficult to speak beyond the crowd
and unbeknownst to him and kind
someday in future ideas are spread
with something called electricity
through wires and waves on into head
to reach to you my heartfelt soul
ideas with emotions and feelings said
until now, thoughts sweetest aspirations
words spread like jam on slice of bread
words, like feelings toil quietly
carry your touch and feeling along
to distant lands and distant times to
give life's meaning, therefore prolong
what the publisher and writer wish
to convey to all able to read or hear
that thought, like life, is precious
held close at hand, the mind made clear
© Goode Guy 2011-08-09
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
In a feverish war
Many are dying
To comprehend what for
The four brothers
Sign up to fight
As a mother will pray
Campaigns they fight
In these theatres of war
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
As she passes the rose
It's pink petals bloom
Her tomorrow's fear grows
Building your own spaceship
is a very complex project in order to explore our universe;
a degree in engineering is needed...
other than patience and willingness and lots of flight tests.
Many skilled engineers must assist you to help you succeed,
a payload for study with space travellers and astronauts;
and it needs the proper speed to go beyond the athmosphere...
to manuever it in outerspace without any mechanical problems.
Building your own spaceship takes months or even years,
it depends on shape and size to travel with the speed of light:
a prototype is required to figure out the traveling distance...
there can be no flaws in its performance, it must be perfect.
Once all tests are completed, it can be launched into space;
hoping it will return to Earth timely for a safe landing,
and how happy you'll be having designed a successful spaceship...
go back in time and observe Leonardo Da Vinci inventing!
Entered in Matt Caliri's contest How to build a spaceship
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Without the quest for redemption
The populace play idle games
Gigabits won’t grant exemption
When sovereignty goes up in flames
Genocidal business mission
Funding both sides of each conflict
Stoking the flames of ambition
Bankrupt countries fail by edict
New orders rooted in the past
Proffer real wealth for dead paper
They sow ignorance vile and vast
Freedom dissolving like vapor
Warranted balance sheets dictate
Suitable loss as they see fit
Diseased airwaves warn us to hate
While poisons infect the mess kit
Failing sweet liberty’s daughter
Uranium shells pierce and spall
Embedding explosive slaughter
Self-righteousness annexing all
Peace proves a word of corruption
Imposing control serves their end
Troops and camps to quell eruption
When cheated free souls won’t pretend
Babel rebuilt before our eyes
Covert designs from ancient times
I recognize the Fourth Reich’s rise
Never ignoring their war crimes
The history of man,
Like rocks turning to sand,
Slips through our fingers
As we grasp in desperation.
Mold new stones
To replace the ones
Crumbling as we slumber.
To stark black and white
As people dream of Truth
In “wrong” and “right.”
Blinded by the sleight of hand
That shows us
What we want to see
Rather than the shades of truth.
while sitting at a local literary Louvre
with artists and some other radicals
waiting for return of grammatical groove
that had left me on today's sabbatical
I stumbled for some heartfelt words
to share with you of artistic notions
of whether art is abstract or more absurd
can it cure our ills with colourful potions
and quietly the souls walked the walls
of painted lands and many female forms
to search their own inspiration's calls
outside their box of artistic norms
macroed with micro muted brush lines
of sultry legs and strong countenance
whatever treasure is sought we will find
with some ingrained artful provenance
like Samuel Morse as student of masters
copied Da Vinci from the Parisian museum
hued new light on Mona Lisa to recast her
and express his own artistic freedom
we give out hope of showing of ourselves
that bit of soul our heart holds close
down new pathways that we delve
our hands stretch toward divine, almost
© Goode Guy 2011-09-17
In Massachusetts, there is a family.
Perhaps you have heard of them, their name is Kennedy.
Father Joe and mother Rose raised children by the bunch.
They became rich, and never needed a free lunch.
However, they have gotten unlucky turns of the card.
Despite their money, their lives have been hard.
Joseph Junior became a casualty of the war.
Because of that, he is around no more.
Second son John gained great popularity.
He was elected the president of this country.
However, an event in Dallas left him undone.
Bullets to the head, and he was buried in Arlington.
Bobby was next in line to succeed.
An assassin in Los Angeles did a dirty deed.
While campaigning, Bobby walked around unprotected.
He joined his brother John before he could be elected.
Youngest brother Ted was not blessed with fame.
A drowning incident left him marked for life with shame.
As a politician, he had plenty to give.
His health condition curtailed his time to live.
Therefore, that is how I describe this Irish Family.
There have many descendents carrying the name of Kennedy.
Not much has happened to this clan as of late.
Many of us know they deserved a better fate.
People's eyes are not what they proclaim,
if only they reflected their truest selves by being fair....
they certainly would offer charming smiles when they wink,
and nobody would keep from them or resist them...
On the boulevards of the big cities,
they briskly glance to admit surprise...
perhaps not too friendly as the country ones,
but still fascination sparkles in them to stupefy us...
People's eyes tell of love's tragedies and tales of past glories,
Juliet's eyes madly in love with Romeo who saw beauty and poetry in them...
Shakespeare who wrote of the madness in Hamlet's eyes,
the Danish Prince, who swore revenge when his father's ghost appeared to him...
On the suburbs' streets different faces are seen,
not as sophisticated and cold as the metropolitan, scurrying ones...
warmer and less irritable, not chasing after missed busses and trains,
a big difference in the fast-paced rat's scene...
People's eyes staring from sullen and joyful faces, immortalized by the images
of the serene and angelic ones chosen by the painters of the Middle Ages;
saints and innocent souls calling upon God's forgiveness and clemency,
and the Renaissaince gave us endless works of art so admired in all of Italy...
Observe me and look into these bright and confident eyes,
what is the feeling you get from their friendliness...
sincerity, unpretentiousness and a loyalty too unquestionable?
Are there any other charms that make them so noticeable?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Before the wall fell
Under the lamppost
In silhouette tell
So still they stood
To a window they look
They put the fear of death
In scare ridden spook
These Ministry shadows
Who haunted neighbourhoods
Persecuting the weak
Because they know they could
After the wall fell
It became their demise
This Stasi, State Security
In all out despise
Many people died
Or simply disappeared
By these silhouettes under the lamppost
That a nation feared
After the wall fell
They were hunted and traced
This Stasi, State Security
Have finally been erased
"I am appalled," the administrator said
..."I am appalled by your recommendation."
yet utterly correct, it soon proved to be
for years anonymous, the implied accusation
Challenger "slipped the surly bonds of Earth"
and surely those scientific souls perished
to "Touch the face of God" was said henceforth
but always, in all ways, their memory cherished
Roger Boisjoly*, and a few who knew the truth
also, felt smacked-in-the-face by appalling
as guilt and horror were revealed through proof
let "only the facts speak" was the higher calling
when timetables are allowed to tip the scale
without regard to even more profound losses
we could learn to let probable facts prevail
and overrule overbearing bosses, whatever the cost is
foregoing of foretelling, is unfortunately compelling
© Goode Guy 2012-02-07
* pronounced: (Fr) Beaujolais
On the morning of Dec. 7th 1941,
429 Marines and Sailors lost their lives.
As a result of a surprise attack on battleship row,
The brave souls perished to an awful demise.
She was a part of the Pacific Fleet when 9 Japanese,
Type 91 aerial torpedoes pummeled her that day.
And then her port bilge struck the harbor bottom,
Commencing to overturn, she began to rest in the bay.
She was the oldest of all the battleships there,
And the first to go down and capsize.
The battleship’s crew went down with their ship,
As horrid black smoke filled the Pearl Harbor skies.
The USS Oklahoma was moored at Pearl Harbor,
And a memorial was built at Ford Island in 07.
The Servicemen gave their tomorrows for our today’s,
And Pearl Harbor is the tomb of USS Oklahoma BB-37.
She launched into sea in 1852,
And was build by Donald McKay.
She sailed from Honolulu, Hawaii
To New York in a whopping 82 days.
She set the fastest speed ever recorded,
On her second leg voyage for a sailing ship.
She logged in at 22 knots/25 mph,
Over a 24 hour, 400 mile trip.
She loved to sail the open ocean,
Sailing away with the breeze.
She was a Bostonian Clipper Ship,
Named the Sovereign of the seas.
Stripped of food
Ribs that protrude
Conveyor belt corpses
Rolling into ravines
Six million taken
Will no one intervene
The Holy Cross Church with its neo-Gothic facade was too beauteous and too rare,
so clustered among the aristocratic neat palaces,
choked by the shadows of less ancient buildings;
I often looked up to glance at its tall bell-tower with a chill in my curly hair!
When I was the altar boy, I had to climb a thousand steep steps
to pull the rough cord and make that brass bell merrily ring,
and it relentlessly tolled far into the fertile valley kissed by spring,
and its resonant strokes summoned all to Vespers at six!!
By all means I should have wisely chosen the priesthood...
wine and bread I placed on a silver plate to be offered
before the altar, where the invisible eye of God watched me;
I worshiped Him and He blessed me for my sincerity!
The Holy Cross Church still stands there and its steps invoke my footsteps,
the gentle footsteps of a fine boy who turned his faith into a fervent creed;
and even if sunshine never hit my cold face slanting upward like a shield...
through the glass-stained windows it dazzled to restore the presence of grace!
How I would like to hear that huge organ play the lovely," Ave Maria" by Mozart,
making the gathered faithful cry and moved by its inspiring sound I contemplated an art ,
which revered and honored God in His glory...so exuberantly expressed by Man's spirit!
No other place, more beautiful than this, can make me forget the awe and joy that I felt!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
For what do I carry you like a special mark
Like a brand I recognize, not you
I live in it like an old tree lives in its bark
Lashed and leashed to nothing new
Yet you are mine, my first piece of property
My bargain to belong to a history
I own what I paid nothing for, my first jewelry
A gift to your claim on me: ancestry?
In some far forgotten place of sacred meaning
It would have summed me for all
To understand my life, character's firm clothing
For some a honey throne, for others gall
Did anyone ask me, did I have a choice in this
Ascribed distinction of individuality?
Something unjust warps truth, while you insist
On hypocritical values of equality.
Take name and this history from me, and see
Joy eagles unfettered skies, for I
Am made to bear the master's vilest identity
Imposed on race with dark slavery
Gathered from our Africa home, stripped bare
Like the land, raped and mined of who
I am, without continuity, or exit from this fear
Searching for my past, my name leads to you.
And my older brothers, children of broken bonds
Meet as strangers in a callous street
Nameless, tongueless, uncultured hate stands
In broken memory at thy devil's feet.
It was a time of turbulence and of change
We saw the take-off to the moon
A president shot by man, deranged
The Beatles break-up was coming too soon
King had been to the mountain top
Inspiring the world for a needed turn
Vietnam policing just didn’t stop
With protests requesting the government learn
The days were young, change past due
The sixties arrived with a bang
With riots, protests, the British too
It was a time of which we sang
If Isaiah, Jeremiah, Moses and King David prayed to Jehovah,
why is it that His name is no longer invoked?
The Old Testament name has been erased
from everybody's mind...and we still sing," Hallelujah! "
God's name cannot be changed...it's a sacrilege, a violation of Jehovah's law!
How many times, in my anguish I have called on His holy name!
He wants us to use it and not be afraid of saying it aloud without shame;
so that the wicked, the wretched and the faithless will not curse it anymore!
Here on earth, many declare to believe in one God,
who through the Prophets gave us a Holy Book to live by;
instead they make their own interpretations and shamelessly lie...
no wonder they have lost every blessing and can't see beyond!
O Jehovah, eternal and just, I declare you my God as all Prophets did,
sacred is Your name, and I proclaim it without fear; and let every hypocrite
hear it in their cathedrals and synogoges! Oh, how they'll manifest their wrath,
because they are the modern, self-righteous Pharisees who will condemn me to death!
God's name cannot be changed, it was spoken by humble David,
the shepherd who faithfully served a God of honor and integrity;
God's name cannot be changed to suit human's foolishness and vanity...
a name so magnificently set in stone must be called upon and be praised!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Through these verses I divulge my poetical expressions
to ignore criticism and not hoot while extricating my ideals;
my work is marked by indisputable integrity,
more plausible than a woman's chastity!
Recognition and deserving honor are nice,
but they are the least rewards I seek,
best of the best...who ever was ?
Worst of the worst.. I cannot be!
I fall between these two, lest I fault
and fairly deserve the dungeon...
the crowds not applauding my effort,
not proclaiming me a champion!
My words are soave, sometimes as rigid as hooves of a horse...
reminding all that I am as human as anyone else who bleeds and rejoices,
but my creativity is not satiated by inferior knowledge or bizarre notions,
although my glory is never accompanied by real expectations!
Like Homer and Virgil the masters of ancient poetry,
I do praise their work, and recognize their genius shining in their word;
Troy fell and Rome rose to prominence by a bloody sword;
I don't fall by trickery, I stand on my fortress of liberty!
My obligation must be fulfilled by ardous work, I will not depart,
or merely linger on...until this mission is faithfully accomplished, and this voice,
before fading, invokes its last sunset to finally fall silent;
and if readers acclaim me, I have succeeded in my poetical expressions!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The hair now had bright colors
With music, came a rap craze
The style of dress was so different
Things changed in so many ways
Malls had become the hot spots
As video games made the scene
There was an actor in the White House
And a scandalous beauty queen
There were traders on the inside
With a boycotted Olympics year
The drinking age was changed about
While club drugs became the fear
On my trip across the land
I could only marvel at the gifts from God's hand,
He entrusted them to man
This once perfect virgin land.
What I saw made me cry
For Perfection was no longer nigh
The rolling hills of lush green land
Had now been turned into blow sand
And why did man abuse this gift
Because of greed, you get my drift
And just why did man have this need?
Because of Satan and his seed.
One day man will have to pay
As hunger takes the lives away
And God stands at the Gate
To welcome those who lost to fate.
Only when man returns to God
Will this begin to heal the sod
When Satan's day on earth is through
Will the world begin anew?
When will man begin to see
The world as it is today
Can naturally return
To what it was like yesterday
The ice age became a desert scene
and eventually again it did turn green
Man was not then in nature's plan
Only the Master's Hand
The Knowing who study history
And blame man for the O zone threat
Forget that eons ago
There were no men to cause this yet
This piece of land was connected to that
And only split off after a spat
Now I hear the world was never flooded
Only the place where Noah resided
Who can they blame then?
The Dinosaurs for smoking coal
Or the volcanos that blew their smoke
Or the camels and Rhinos in former ice fields?
No, this is no joke
The earth is the earth as in eons past
It decays and rebuilds
As set down by His Will.
Upon the hills, out past the lea
The sea spray lingers, mists the face
The green surrounds, a myriad
Ireland’s shores, a Celtic place
When in the day, the pride, they wore
As body armor for Gaelic force
Carries to this day, when green they wear.
The Celtic influence had set its course.
For they had come to make a mark
Settled there and changed the land
A fighting style, no clothes they wore
To make weak, opponents fighting hands
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
With the war still raging overseas
Woodward and Bernstein dug to write
President impeached for misdeeds
The seventies came and stayed the night
Bell bottoms flared on to the scene
Disco came, giving music to dance
The Son of Sam proved to be mean
During a blackout, life up to chance
TV was changing, more skin on the air
Kiss became a rage with the rock teens
Charlie had Angels, men all just stared
Life was changing in the seventies
Torrents of opinion replacing fact
Barons control all that scrolls on that crawl
Silicon graphics--deceitful contract
Prometheus stealing fire from all
Tools of alarm promote profit-sharing
Octopus minds plot for us to keep less
Credulous masses need a good scaring
Agendas provoked by careful duress
Flirtatious hosts with no care for this world
Reading the script that our owners have planned
Digital mugging while flags are unfurled
Send kids to die in some far-away land
Empire building requires complicity
They seek to captivate delicate minds
Trust funds abound to buy publicity
To grease-up the wheel till the war mill grinds
Editors selling their duty for spin
Get their grim orders from round table groups
Twin tower fright proves a useful linchpin
Raising the false-flag to sign up more troops
Follow the money, their plan becomes clear
Domination fuels their crusade for more
Pipelines of oil cutting through the frontier
Hide wealth behind the hoax of holy war
Resist the program that boxes us in
See the real world with a clear set of eyes
Trust the brave soul that resides in your skin
And watch the bright flame of liberty rise
Having suffered years of grueling tyranny,
Sand is still red which should be tawny.
Iraq has become a land of widows
Men are cruely killed there in rows.
Due to war when families are separated,
Children are those who are worst affected.
Phan Thi Kim Phuc is name of that woman,
Who became goodwill ambassador in 1997,
UNESCO gave her this honorable position
She was photographed in a piteous condition,
During the Vietnam War, in her childhood.
But every child victim's luck isn't so good.
War ends, in some years country recoups,
Civilians honor their patriotic brave troops.
Injured soldiers medicated at country's cost,
Children loose their shelters when they need the most.
Educatlion is far from such kid's dream
They have to leave their self-esteem
Fighting for food, having memories of terrors,
After a war, they are the worst warriors.
While the moon shines bright o’er the Sphinx
In a land of sand so far
A pharaoh holds his dying son
While praying to a star
He challenged the word presented him
His feelings never bent
Upon him then a curse was placed
As death to the son was sent
The first born child was marked with death
As a result of his father’s denial
Had the pharaoh heeded the word
No death would be on the Nile
But, alas, he hadn’t, many had died
As a result of his own ignorance
Lives could have been spared, had he listened
And bowed to His magnificence
Oh liberty, for liberty,
Our hands will strike with force
Oh freedom, for freedom
We’ll follow then our course
As men of honor, we’ll fight long
For our children’s sake we must
On freedom’s march we’ll sing our song
And too, in God we’ll trust
Oh men, oh women
We fight for honor and pride
Oh children, my children
We have faith on our side
Fear not today, for seek tomorrow
As to you, bequeathed this land
Remember now, your father’s fight
And how we make this stand
She counts the wind that blew her west
over an ocean as her first breath;
the brightest of whatever constellation
stood sentry overhead, her natal star.
She can’t spell her birthplace, a town
half a day’s walk from the once-capital
of a land forever changing boundaries
by the logic of politics and war.
She can’t tell the hour of her birth,
but only the moment of her mother’s death:
it smelled like all of her own people
dying, which is the stench of fear.
Orphan with only her lungs to beg
free air in a new place, she asks you
to cast her chart. No matter the past,
she says. Just tell my future. Here.
She was from one side of the ocean
Where the people were busy
Busy, was she
He was from the other side of the ocean
Where life was a bit slower
Slower, was he
It was in a metropolis they both had worked
Employed by the same company, same payer
He dreamed of climbing the ladder to success
She dreamed of the knights from her prayers
It was a corporate event, all were gussied up
Dancing, mayhem, the gossip, even the frill
He was bored with the same old same old
She was taken by someone in for the kill
He left the scene quickly headed for the door
She was cornered by one, for whom she had no eye
He headed for a bar across the street with friends
She was thankful a friend had pulled her bye bye
It was at the bar he noticed her presence
She, too, noticed him, giving him the eye
He said to the barkeep, “drinks, for all here”
She knew she had to meet him, lest she’d die
He, slowly, but assured, walked toward her
She pretended not to see and turned away
He said, “Hello, how are you this evening?”
That was all he ever had to say.
They talked for hours, shot the breeze
Had more drinks, then made some plans
He called a car for her, to get home safe
They kissed a little and held hands
It was a night he will remember
It was a night she’d never forget
They are grateful, now they’re married
That was the night that they had met