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Sun History Poems | Sun Poems About History

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

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Details | Acrostic | |

Malta


Mediterranean island, where one finds so much to do
Abundant days of sunshine and the sea is limpid blue
Lavender, thyme and laurel; history spreads in rich galore
The temples, feasts, devotion bring religion to the fore.
Acclaimed for fruit and honey and the fish that’s brought to shore.

This is a friendly nation; you’ll be welcomed by a toast
To the best of health intended to last long while she’s your host.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: A poem you have not entered in a contest #5
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed: 6th


Details | Rhyme | |

I Have Seen a New Dawn

I awoke this morning, before Dawns early light; the Sunshine still slept.
I took my coffee cup, out on the porch, and  for “Lenore” I  Finally wept.
The pain, the agony, years of grief: rolled down my cheeks: My Soul’s Relief.
A single ray of sunshine over the majestic purple mountains peak, peeks.
Out of this single ray of light, my Heartbeat; my Soul “ LENORE “ speaks.

“ My Dearest and Only Beloved ; I’m  sorry I left, upon our Everlasting Day.
I’ll sing to you My final Poem, before OUR Heavenly Father; bids Me to stay
I remember every Rhyme, YOU wrote For ME : Lets memorize each TIME.
GOD grants US togetherness : “ LENORE, Lets make this HOUR, OURS.
LENORE and I shared Memories, OUR POETRY : many of OUR HOURS

As I came back, from this Adventure, the morning Sun was smiling at ME.
Atop the Mighty Purple Mountain he had climbed ; I was not There to SEE.
With eyes now wider opened, I watch the warmth of the SUN racing at ME.
I feel the wind the warmth flies in on, Flowing through my Grey White Beard
I Smell the flowers growing; I see the mighty OAK Limbs wave; WEIRD.

I must Retrain my senses; To see, hear, feel : TO WRITE!! My FRIENDS
Relearn the Basic laws of Truth  and LIFE and LOVE and FEELING. 
Must Retrain my hands to write of The Beauty of Mother Earth! My FAMILY
I have to Study very Hard, my Contemporaries , to quicken the HEALING.
Then I can Write, to the ones I love; They teach me Everything  THE  POETS


Details | Free verse | |

His First Love

I remember the heavy round wooden tables
Built low to the ground,
Just right for kindergartners.
He would always sit close. 

I didn't notice. 

Out-of-doors on the playground was a giant oak.
He made me an acorn pipe, then taught me how.
I made lots of acorn pipes, giving them all away;
Even his. 

He stood quiet with little fists pushed deep in his pockets.
But I didn't notice. 

The sun was golden
Shining through high windows
Down on the low round table,
Particles of dust dancing merrily on the beams. 

He handed me a present,
And as the royal blue paper with tiny pin stripes 
Crossed the sun's rays
The stripes lit up like diamonds. 

Gently opening the paper,
Careful not to lose the sparkles,
I could feel the whole class watch.
I was embarrassed. 

Inside was a book about a velveteen kitten.
She was black and feminine.
She wore a pink bow,
And she was fuzzy to the touch. 

I treasured that book.
As time went by I rubbed the kitty's fur
Until she was loved slick and smooth. 

I don't remember saying thank you.
I'm sure I did.
Surely the teacher would have reminded me;
There in front of the whole class. 

Over four decades ago - yet - 
The memory of that special gift is as clear and bright
As was the sun beam that day.
And I would like you to know Jimmy Wilson; 

That I noticed. 


Note: An old kindergarten memory to share with you. Written about 22 years ago.


Details | Rhyme | |

RACHAB OF JERICHO

Deliberately inching its way toward break of day,
The morning sun begins to emblazon the barley field.
Relaxing and watching the orb find its way,
The lady of the house waits for night to yield.
Like every morning, she is seated there,
Enjoying the dew scented breeze on her veranda.
Feeling its coolness on her scalp while combing her hair,
And the warmth of the rising sun becoming grander.
Her mind wanders back to the city of her birth,
Just over the rise, beyond the barley field’s treasure,
Lies the city with the most famous name on earth,
Where, in her youth, she was a lady of pleasure.

To Rachab went all of Jericho’s possession,
By decree of God, for which Achan was stoned.
For this soldier could not control his obsession,
Though aware the city’s riches were God’s own.
With God’s grace, Rachab’s wisdom grew,
And she made the city’s outskirts her spread.
Her land into a field of grain did accrue,
A breadbasket from which hordes were fed.
Her hires were the finest laborers in the land
And were busy harvesting barley all spring.
She paid the very best wage to every man,
Cause her crop was the best early rains could bring.

The fields and glades, that gave her pasture form,
Seemed sensuous in every contour and rise.
At daybreak, contrasting tones were the norm,
Painted artfully by the brightening skies.
Mounds appeared convexly round breasts,
Lovingly sculpted over a span of human girth,
Whose beauty was able to put the heart to a test,
As the machinery of memory rotates the earth.
Babbling brooks flowed from shady nooks,
Giving refreshment to denizens of land and sky,
Producing a scene of green worthy of  picture books,
That not one skilled artist would dare deny. 

Gingerly she rose the doorway torch to quench,
Watching the shrinking darkness become shadows.
Rachab calmly returns to her veranda bench,
To observe butterflies dance above the meadows.
In her dreams, she envisions a more golden age,
When royalty would be attributed to her seed.
A zephyr flows over her mind turning the page,
But she still aspires the prospect of the throne to accede.
What a lovely story to behold just beginning to dawn,
Rising out yonder, just beyond the horizon of time.
How we yearn to see that age return, now long forgone,
So our hearts may once again be joyous and sublime.  



Details | Pantoum | |

Bronze, Silver and Gold

 
Bronze, silver and gold Caught in the sun so light The momentous reveal of every fight Wishes we are never told Caught in the sun so light Bronze faces contrite Wishes we are never told Faces much too bold Bronze faces contrite Compared to crinkled green notes Wishes we are never told Survival’s fight Compared to crinkled green notes The momentous reveal of every fight Survival’s fight Bronze, silver and gold


Details | Narrative | |

The Last Eclipse

Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site.  I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning.  One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post.  I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!".  He and another agreed.  After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up.  Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit.  When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness.  Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse.  However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.


Details | Quatrain | |

Pitter Patter

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.

©~GG~ 2012 
Entry for Tracie's Anything goes competition This is a Poem I have just done for a Magazine about when Queen Victoria died. 


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

A Survivor's Story

I wake up to a deserted town
"Where are the people?"
I ask myself aloud.
"Gone." answers a voice.
But no one's here...
but me.

Broken glass litters the street, 
a Kristallnacht in the making.
Houses, half gone and half standing,
specked the dirt road.

I lay, pinned to the ground by a monstrous wall...
I don't know if I'll be able to move...
but I must try. 

"Hello! Anyone there?"
No reply.... just what I thought.
As distress fills my heart,
I use that anger and helpless feeling to my advantage
and somehow
I managed to lift the heavy burden off my chest.
But this was a small victory in what seemed to be WW II.

ALAS! I remember.
This is WW II....
and the US had just dropped something...
something unusual on my town...
I'm surprised I'm still alive.

The explosion was enough to kill all of my native land, 
Japan.
But it only stopped 2 miles from the heart of my country,
Tokyo.
But no time for reminiscing. 
I must find a way out of this...
hell.

A sharp pain in my chest heaves me to the ground,
I've seen this ground so many times, face to face.
Something starts to lunge itself out of my mouth.
When I look down, I notice
that it is my own blood.

I knew I must find a hospital, quick, 
but which way was which?
Was East West? Was West South? 
Was North behind me? Was South ahead?

I sulked in defeat as I trudged along a snake-like road...
a road to nowhere. 

I grew weary, hungry, tired
but I knew I must walk on.
Every few minutes, I'll drop to my knees
and cough up my life support, 
but I couldn't let that stop me.

The sun went down,
but I didn't.
The moon rose,
I kept walking.
The sun started his day-shift, 
but I was at work all night,
counting steps and listening my heart beat.

Finally, I lost the will to live,
I wanted to die, 
I waited to die...
But death didn't come.

I spit up blood every few seconds now.
Life leaving me with every breath.
I close my eyes, and draw in my last breath.

Muffled sounds reach my ears.....
I try to look but my vision's blurred.
Everything blacks out.

"I will not be defeated" 

My vision is back.... I see people...
Everything blacks out.

"I will not be defeated"

I see their faces now, splattered with dirt and dust
Everything blacks out.

"I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!!!!!"

I CAN SEE!

"Are you with us?!"
A desperate cry reaches my ears.
And I reply, 
"Yes. Yes I am."


Details | I do not know? | |

Upon this Christmas Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Rispetto | |

The Sun Doth Ever Rise

The world has not ended though the penitents wait
at Chichen Itza, and Tikal sentient's pace. 
Yet, one more prediction one more failed debate 
perhaps, a new age will come filled with true grace. 
Life is a process, a circular affair
from the time of Roman's predictions have flared   
Pope's, pagans and shamans, none have been proved right 
Let us all move forward in joy not in fright.

The world has not ended by meteorites fall
though oceans have risen and volcanoes flow.
The ground itself quakes but to no avail
 life's bounty on Earth brings an endless tableau.
No planetary alignment ended our days.
No global plague has changed our miscreant malaise.
Truly this watery refuge gifts surprise
as with each nights end the sun doth ever rise.


Details | I do not know? | |

Red Sun

…it’s beauty penetrating my skull...
        Waiting for the coast to clear
              Jingling the cathedral bell
                 With redemption for my soul
                           Of a cause to rise



…Clarions withhold their shovels…
          Fanning the thorns of the dust
               To construct our long lost place of aboard
                     To sour to savor the ruin of its leather
                            And its honey jar



…Oh far till I can’t squint no more…
       Till I can’t drift to the Nile time
           Till I can’t foretell the desires
               Till I can’t forecast the fortune
                  Till I can’t get enslaved in its warmth
                    A  Ray of a rainbow night
                      Oh how all things fade.


Details | Free verse | |

Ol' Sea Snake's Carriage Ride

Ol' Sea Snake's Carriage Ride

Cobblestones wobble and rock the carriage, 
as I circle these streets with Blue Bits and 
Derby Boy on this vibrant morning.
 
With the sun on my back and  a salty gale brushing 
by, my spirits soar as I imagine what the day will bring.
 
People come from all over to tour this city, 
and soak up it's history and scenic views.
 
Why not climb aboard my carriage and take 
a brisk ride with me on this beautiful day?
 
As we trot through the historic district, I'll 
tell you some of our most scandalous folklores
and show you their shocking locations, 
like Copper Moon Ridge, where pirates once 
dressed as dames to steal their first good swig 
of America's finest moonshine.
It's still pretty darn good!
 
You'll see the towering cliff views of our granite 
lighthouse, whose menacing design has weathered 
decades of the ocean's pounding tides. 
 
We'll squeeze in time to feed the beached seals basking 
in the sun or catch a rare glimpse of  the orca whales 
playing in our bay.
 
 
If romance is your desire, I'll tool you around  in the moonlight,
to our brightest vistas that magnify the star's diamond twinkles.
 ...Perfect for capturing your lover's passion-heart.
I'll even take a long stroll, just to assure you of your privacy. 
 ...Gentleman's honor, I won't take a peek!
 
If it's fish and chips you seek, we'll head over to 
Smacky-Bud's Mackerel Shack for the tastiest fish around.
But I'll be up front with you, don't feed any to Derby n' Bits 
or it'll be a long ride back.
 
So jump aboard and take a ride with this Ol' Sea Snake,
while there's still time.
I'm not getting any younger!
 
You day-trippers spend too much of your weekly grind 
in your lackluster cars.
 
Come, sit back and unwind for a short time.
I'll sweep you back to the golden age of enchantment, 
when hearts would mysteriously merge on a slow-trotting 
carriage ride.  Memories like these could last you a lifetime!


Details | Free verse | |

Much Like the Sun.

 You look up to the sky.
 It is a normal summer day like any other.
 Sparse clouds line the sky and the sun beats down on you.
 Except this is no ordinary summer day.
 This is the day you ship out.
 You have said your good byes and cried with your lovers.
 The weight of your country rests upon your shoulders.
 It beats down on you much like the sun. 
 It burns you if you are not properly prepared,
 much like the sun.
 Much like the sun you are depended on by all that you known.
 Depended on by your country.
 Much like the sun,
 you fade away into the night appearing in a different country


Details | Sijo | |

Setting Sun

Red-clay warrior wipes blood from his tomahawk, counting scalps. Numbers form an equation; one scalp for every ten brothers lost. As glory-sunset fades, he buries tomahawk under stones.


Details | Pantoum | |

The Prophet's Dream

I walk on out in the evening,
When the stars all tell their stories.
This mystic land speaks of meaning,
As I ponder, their wonder speaks their glories.

When the stars all tell their stories,
My eyes open to a hidden world.
As I ponder, their wonder speaks their glories,
Of their magic and their history unfurled.

My eyes open to a hidden world,
When the planets once ruled the day.
When their magic and their history unfurled,
The secrets of history were on display.

When the planets once ruled the day,
I saw Saturn and Venus dancing with Mars.
The secrets of history were on display,
And the sun and moon controlled the stars.

I saw Saturn and Venus dancing with Mars,
But these were really the spirits of old.
Now the sun and moon controlled the stars,
When I looked deeper their stories were told.

These were really the spirits of old,
That gave birth to sons of gods.
When I looked deeper their stories were told,
That make us look like a bunch of sods.

They gave birth to sons of gods,
That reoccur in our dreams today.
They make us look like a bunch of sods,
To dream of truth is to find the way.

This place reoccurs in our dreams today,
This mystic land speaks of meaning.
To dream of truth is to find the way,
Then you’ll walk on out in the evening.


Details | Free verse | |

history

we are history
your shadow 
covers me
the sky above 
a blaze that only true love could see..
i wish i could say no regrets
and no emotional debts
..
and as we kiss goodbye
the sun sets
so we are history
the shadows cover me
a blaze only tue love could see
he wlks away
the sun goes down
he takes the day
but im almost grown 
and its ok
in this shade
i try my best to dry my eyes


Details | Rhyme | |

Hypocrite.

There's a constant pull on me, whites call it gravity,
There's a constant pull you see it's not actually what you'll see,
It's pressing on my soul, beyond and lower in my cavity.
But my heart beats the same pace at yours , I will never be..

Able to understand the difference between you and I,
We have the same skeletal structure As Adam and Eve,
But the sun beats so heavily.. Deadly in disguise.
When will the sun vanish, he made it so he can take it is what I believe.

You see I breathe with the same lungs as yours,
Maybe a different color in shade,
The difference is the sun is hell against my pores.
Nigger engraved in my ancestors , or the shunned for learning to behave.

America is a rave, dramatic, flashy, but like the sun it kills whatever's close,
I will be a voice for any person who believes,
Lost souls killed for slander or the color of race I am your host.
You see you call me a nigger, but the whites we're dealt the same sleeve.
I guess It takes one to know one.
Hypocrite. 






I know this might get me in trouble. Im sorry.


Details | Free verse | |

an awakening call

This poem is dedicated to 
A young lady, 23 years old raped by gang in Delhi in India and died on the 13th day of her victimization. She sacrificed her life for change.

over the centuries degrading and humiliation is women's fate.
methodology of mentality brutalized to hide evidence at any rate.
time was running same, sun rises in the west and sets in the east,
torturing mankind, killing innocents, and raping poor as serving beast.

what was a day? 
A rising sun fired anger, clouds thrown thorns, air pinched nails in hearts,
why is pain victimized me; ghosts are playing blindness and deafness of darts?
what rules; prominent justified a stylish woman inspired sex,to rape her wildly,
To open a show publicly, not to touch her;seeking justification of duties cowardly.

who can live in history?
but people still live as a woman statue is as a symbol of worship as God.
spirituality sounds inhuman methods to destroy intestine to rape with an iron rod.
no dog has bark or a beetle twinkled when a bleeded statue of God has thrown,
but a stone heart bouncing box pushed her on bed of a white crown.

who will mind her?
air stops to blow, death flooded strength and butterflies cried against shadows to glow,
but green-hoppers pulled up the barriers to secure white collar cows they run slow.
everyone listened roar of a lion; complains who disturbed his sleep,
moon is still there, stars disappeared why roaming in a field a sheep.

what do i need to do?
Birds are treeting in the jungle; fire is silent to burn a petal,
if wolves attacked on a lamb then why do they whisper against a beetle?
no need to change a statue of traditions that are serving justice from roots,
Discipline is not obeying an order no need to grow new shoots.

what is possible to do?
let them to cry for few days the tiredness will hide them under stones,
no need to change system for justice that will survive for Indian cripple bones.
lord Rama examined her wife and asked to justify her purity on a burning pile,
a woman has provocational nature we condemn her living a naked style.

what do we need to learn?
prevail a woman has cultural values; a man is worshiping God not for tradition's crash,
women is as shoe for a man; her wisdom is in ankles religion lightening golden flash.
but a victimized girl cried,' don't waste my sacrifice' save innocents to change a cruel dash.
never forgive them, punished them they are criminal and running a system for harsh.


Details | Dodoitsu | |

Red Sun

A Honolulu morning It’s a December Sunday. Nobody expected this. Death rains from the skies. For Russell’s “Red Sun” contest June 19, 2013


Details | Light Poetry | |

THE SUN

 The Sun
The King of the Sky
Rises,over the mounts of Fuji,
Sets in the Sea in Hawaii

Shakespeare!
The Sun of the English Sky

In this only planet with chocolates,
For decades of long
For generations after generations,
Born,how many?
Poets how many?

Shakespeare!
No shakes,unmatched

HAMLET!
The finest work
Shakes the depth of the hearts

Shakespeare!
The Sun of the English world
That, never sets!



Details | Couplet | |

Fog Reviving

Awaking to painful swollen hands, feet, and legs
Thoughts fill head of what to prepare for breakfast_some eggs?

Go to prepare me some coffee to sit on porch
Just few minutes to linger in God's love before sun scorch

Wonderful foggy morn glad I am not driving
Thick fog could cut with knife for me fog reviving

A golden sun sends beams radiating through fog
Doves coo for a long while other birds chip_no crickets_frogs

Slowly reality sets in my morn begins
Some breakfast has to be prepared life's tasks start once again

Thank you for a time on the porch of peace quiet
To jot down few thoughts before the days noise unquiet  

Something called poulter's measure
12/14 syllables per line in rhyming couplets
Inspired by Francine's contest not an entry


Details | Narrative | |

Freedom before my lost brother

Freedom before my lost brother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Blank verse | |

Between the Moon and the Sun (Excavations)

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

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

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

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


 




Details | Narrative | |

The Setting Of The Sun: Part Two

Tommy Atkins was a good boy
grew to be a good man, good soldier,
packed up his troubles in an old kit bag and smiled
as his entrails blew out with aplomb;
he died as the black rain struck his slowly glazing eyes
good son, good husband, good father
left only good for fertilizing the Somme.
Damned carnage-strewn carnival
of barbed wire bisected mustard gas days;
how “great” was the great war,
how “great” was the harm
when old strategists cast generations of youth
into the stalemate jaws of trench warfare death
and all those young hopefuls who bought the dream
unwittingly bought the farm.
Two decades down the smouldering road,
up rolls Euro Death Circus
rolling out Four Horsemen and a Fascist regime insane;
now technology enhanced the butchery
with planes and tanks, boats and submarines
and all the young hopefuls bought the farm again.
Proudly she revels in her past glory,
wallowing and exalting, sucking rotten cold comfort
from the memorial corpse of a golden fleece;
learning nothing;
we’ll meet again, no doubt,
over the white cliffs of Dover
beneath Spitfire engine trails, perhaps;
for she may have won the war,
yet she has surely lost the peace.
A land once fit for heroes, warrior kings and demigods,
now freezes crippled and immobile
when the race into the future has begun;
in a pox of politically correct Fascism on one hand
and the real thing on the other,
where is the hand of reason to stop the fall of night,
stop the setting of the sun...?


Details | Free verse | |

Rising Sun

We are left in the field, forced to labor the land.
Not one tool in hand shall feel wrath.
Yet the vines should fear presence.
We were lead to this point where darkness found.
The morning dew looked as if caught by surprise.
The steps leading to the potato patch, did not even lead to that.

We try to grasp an understanding, although I will not stand under anything given.
For bushels of fruit laced with serpents, seems like deja vu;
Blankets with chicken pox.
We was left in the field forced to labor the land.
Maybe cause my skin is dark instead of light skin.

We ponder in sleep what this supposes to mean.
We strive to move forward, although they push us back.
The willing will rise but what if they meet opposition.
Will they shrink under the skin, or stand boldly in the wind.

I read in between the lines, only noticing                                                                      
The only thing that is left is the lines without the n.
I am trapped in the belly of the beast,                                                                      
Called land of the free but we're taxed for everything.
How to escape this matrix, is the only way out is death.

For I will fight into my dying day, then I will go to hell and fight some more.
People never thought of us, as being black the giver of life.
They only stuck on the light I spread, so they can mix words up and serve it
To you backwards my friend.

Remember when you pray at night, we are waiting for you in the morning.
We stare through your windowpane.
We try to alleviate the pain; of the rain.
For us was in the beginning, along with the Asiatic black man.
As you see when you look at us, you staring at the melanin you see.
Just remember one thing without we, the earth would be bare.

This is the reason why birds salute, an educated black man,                                
For We are the twins of the Rising Sun.


Details | Narrative | |

The Setting Of The Sun: Part Three

Behold a land of monarchic decadence as celebrity status
of family values eroded in a smorgasbord
of half truths and bare-faced lies;
what life-model this,
one of toe-sucking chequebook journalism,
degradation and scandal, contempt for the public.
TV vendettas and cellulite thighs.
She no longer carries the big stick
with which to shake the world’s foundations
and bring the dogs to heel on bended knees;
now the blue-blood veins have been hacked and severed,
blood jets black and turns to dust,
led by Uncle Sam with ring through the nose
a merry John Bull with spongiform brain disease.
In a dying gasp of colonialist logic,
and meathead fascist chapters
the coda of the empire thug gives free way
to remedial apologism in overkill
that suicide bombers may rule this day.
Come one come all, loot, execute and pillage,
we’ll protect your rights to murder and plunder
and pay you welfare cheques whilst you do;
it’s politically correct that you do what you will
no discrimination in this here global village.
She is all but a fossilized relic with a makeover mask
extremist surrender when all is said and done,
and our children inherit a legacy of illusion,
of redundant beliefs, nothing left at all
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun...
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun.


Details | Narrative | |

The Setting Of The Sun: Part One

She no longer rules the waves,
no longer is heard the chink of ice
in gin glass beneath darkening Indian skies;
what jewels glisten in the corroding crown,
how happy now this happy breed who bows
collective heads and cries?
History’s pain trawled across the planet face,
when slaughter ruled and oppression demarcated
the only foreign policy;
exploitation and enslavement of the weak,
colonialism and the salvage rights
the tools of peace and democracy.
Empires of muscle, iron and discipline,
forged on the blood, bone and murder of millions,
so proud, so pleased as punch;
a bullish bite spreading wildfire rabies,
mad dogs and Englishmen
permanently out to lunch.
Empires of dreams, of glittering prizes,
home of the brave where freedom’s flame
burned naked and bright;
a cultural plague preaching death, destruction,
fed on subservient carcasses
in sinister shadows of night.
And now in dying feel-good days,
clinging to glorious dreams of the past,
of powder, bayonet, cannon and gun;
achievements in the global butcher’s yard
may be all that remains in bearing witness
to the setting of the sun...





Details | Blank verse | |

Between the Moon and the Sun (Culture)

My children, this is the pot with all my belongings
The way I got it from your ancestors hands
Its all in there
I have changed the shape of things 
To fit our house of time
But the weight of it,
The mass of its meaning,
The content of our memory
Remains the same
A fire on the iron's grain

I am cognitive 
That there are other pots
Whose contents I do not understand
Because they severed from the line of man
That deluge
That spans the Ark to Babel
Did so much
Juxtaposing memory with history
Language is a small bead now
Though still it may
Choke a cow.

We alone have survived
The harrowing journey
From the eastern garden
Do not drink the lotus juice again
They have constructed dreams from my past
I have constructed hope from their present
My children, do not relent
For whatever comes now
We have cognition
Of what we can do
Use both hands to hold the pot
Man is more precious
Than history forgot.









  











Details | Ballad | |

BOOMERANG

Brittannia ruled the waves,they said
My old school atlas,dotted red;
Cricket its multi-national game
Pageantry & fair-play its claim to fame;
Governed by the privileged few
English,said & written its glue.
AN EMPIRE ON WHICH THE SUN NEVER SETS !

Now six decades further on
Its colonial power foever gone;
A damp offshore Atlantic island
Sinking slowly,in PC quick-sand;
Multi-cultures of its past,now abound
Each language of its Empire,here is found.
AN ISLE ON WHICH THE SUN LESS OFTEN GETS !


Details | Blank verse | |

Between the Moon and th Sun (Memories)

When my fingers kneel in the dust
Patterning a priesthood of memory
I create again
I remember
I make pots
In the image of our emptiness
How do you call sorrow beauty?
I find the aesthetic a superficial 
Exclamation of ignorance
About the moth
Beating its fragile wings vainly
After the web of seduction:
Mirages of light

The pot yawns for oil again
There is no light when the sun goes down
But leaves carry fire in their veins
Leaves make wine
Out of the solace of the moon
I make pots
Yawning for the blanket of stars
Something to fill the soul
With more substance than memory
Something to brail the trail
To the spiral center of the primal me

This pot is a canvas of imageries
Art and artist polarized by time
And nothing left to tell the meaning of tides
When the loins grow hot for love
And boils, and boils, and boils
And then evaporates into prayers.
Love brails the language of clay
For the wonder of truth
O the pots are sanctuaries of emptiness
We bring them on the head
To the cliff of Orion
To troubled thoughts for rain.