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Long Autumn Poems | Long Autumn Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Ruben O. | Details |

Drink Responsible - Slogans -

.
                         Can you hear me now? Good!                                 
                       I can't seem to forget you                                         
                    I love what you do for me                                          
                 It must be love                                                             
              between love and madness lies obsession                       
           Like always. Like never before                                        

At the sign of the                                         cat 
have a break, have a                              Kit-Kat                    
Tastes so good cats ask for it by name 
                                                      Schhhh ... You-know-who       

I'd rather die of thirst than drink from the cup of mediocrity
                                                                  Perfect to you
                                                                       Purely you 
There's a smile in every Bar                                                                                   
               Obey your thirst                                                                        
               This Bud's for you                                                
One a day helps you work, rest, and play                     
               More fun than rum                                             
               Drink responsible                                   
Heineken open your                                            world                                                
Because  that's
                                              i                      n
                                 k                                              d
                          e                                                             o
                        h                                                                 f
                        t                                                                m
                                                                                      o
                                                                                m
                                                                         y
                                                                  o
                                                             u
                                                          a
                                                          r
                                                          e
                                  
 ... nobody can say no to the honey nut O              
a bowl a day keeps the bullies away         

                           
                   Our plans are based on yours                      
                   You have my word on it                    
Be the first to know                       
Who we are                                 
                The "no problem" people  
                                                   Only smarties have the answer           
                                                   Making it all make sense 
                       
Drink responsible                    
                       Because that's the kind of mom you are                
Sometimes you've got to break the rules       
                       Blow your own bubble                           
You're invited                                       
                       Catch our smile?
Everything we do is driven by you                                     
Driven by what's inside                                            
                       We'll take more care of you                                 
                       You asked for it.                You got it                            
We know what it means to serve                 
On your side                                              
Allied on your side     
      
You're in good hands  
We make it happen     
We'll be there                           
Get the feeling                       
Im lovin' it                                   
You are the controller                       
Only on Playstation                    
                                 You are now free to move                
                            Unleash the beast       
                       Is it in you?       
                  Do you dare?   



About this poem:
To "write" this poem, I used slogans, short and often memorable phrases
used in advertising campaigns. Below you can find the name of the product 
(or the company) in order of appearance.

-Verizon Wireless; Wind Song; Toyota; Honda; Calvin Klein; Saturn
-Mercury; Kit Kat; Meow Mix; Schweppes
-Stella Artois; Wella; Dell; Hershey's; Sprite; Budweiser; Mars; Malibu;
 Captain Morgan; Heineken; Rice Krispies; Cheerios; Applejacks Cereal
-Assurant; Isuzu; CNN; Guardian Life Ins; Auto-owners Ins;
 Smarties; Microsoft
-Captain Morgan; Rice Krispies; Buger King; Bubble Yum; Red Hills Inn; 
 Pacific Southwest Airlines;  Ford; Subaru; British Airways; Toyota; USSA;
 Nationwide Mutual Ins; Allied Ins
-Allstate; IBM; Chevrolet; Toyota; Mc Donalds; Microsoft Kinect; PS3;
 Southwest Airlines; Monster Energy; Gatorade; Curious.



Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Legend of the Red October Run

Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners 

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

Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic” 
Than the Red October Run.

The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.

There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.

By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.

“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.

The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.

Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.

Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.

No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers?  The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.

The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense 
   and find a way to win? 

Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?

Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.

It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be 
   ticket buyers.
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?

The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.

Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.

Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.

Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.

Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered.  Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
    had been renewed,

There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.

For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.

But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.

At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”.  Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.

The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.

Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.

Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.

Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.

To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.

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



Long poem by Elaine George | Details |

Tea and Poetry in the Ides of March - PART THREE

Again the alarm is set.

Strawberries, date squares…Yum, Yum.   

The alarm rings again. The tea party is over.

 She returns to her perch where her wings are immediately clipped by the Bald Eagle who informs her that a bird doesn’t chirp when her poem is being critiqued, that a bird just listens. 

“I didn’t know this was a critiquing session,” she chirps.
I thought it was an afternoon of poetry reading. 

“Bring two poems”, is all that the Raven requested.
 
God! What does she know about critiquing? Everything she knows about poetry, she has learned from a website. She still hasn’t really grasped the meaning of Iambic Tetrameter. 

The scar beneath her ring, feels as if it might explode as what remains of her Revlon mask begins to melt under the heat of her humiliation.

God! Please don’t let them see I am a fraud, she prays, as she desperately tries in vain to regain their acceptance, as if there was any in the first place; her being such a sparrow.

The Bald Eagle twitters a poem about her battle with cancer, which brings her to tears. Again, she dares to dream she can be one of this flock as she too is a cancer survivor. It is decided the Bald Eagle’s poem needs punctuation.

Again, still daring to dream of acceptance, she chirps that most of her poetry is also written with very little or no punctuation.

“Well,” the Raven caws, “your poem in comparison is child’s play,” and with those words, breaks the strings of her ‘Violin’. 

***

As the afternoon wears on, the Crow caws for her to be quiet as she can’t hear. Visions of Vultures begin to fly in her head.

Later the old Crow caws that the bird she is addressing as a Blue Bird is not a Bluebird and that the only Bluebird is the Raven’s wife and that the bird she is addressing is a Turkey.

Even, while responding to something the Turkey has chirped to her, the Turkey gobbles for her to be quiet because the Crow is cawing.  

The scar beneath her ring now feels like it is splitting apart. Again, all she can see is red. The Vultures are circling now.
 
Her second poem, ’The Rise and fall of An Empire, is received with little pecking, other than ‘Well it’s poetic.’ 

The Raven caws, “If he were to be cruel, he would say it contains a cliché,” (a cardinal sin in poetry) as he caws an excerpt from her poem (as the sea grasses sing).  
 
The Turkey, demurely and with a gobble of sarcasm, inquires if everything she writes is in rhyme, as she casts a disdainful glance at her book of poetry.

At 4 p.m., when the final alarm has gone off, the Turkey announces that the next meeting will be at her Nest. 

 The Raven caws, “The sparrow doesn’t know where you live.”

 The Turkey then asks her for her email address, but doesn’t write it down and gobbles she will email her, her address before the next meeting. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” cackles the Sparrow’s little voice inside.

The Turkey then drops a book on the coffee table. 

Still foolishly seeking acceptance, the Sparrow chirps, “Is that your book of poetry?” 

 “No, it is ‘Descant’, and I have a poem published in this edition,” she gobbles.

“Yes!” the Crane pipes up. “It’s the only book that REALLY matters, the BOOK that all birds want to be published in,” ruffling her feathers with her innuendo. What? The pitiful Sparrow doesn’t even know what Descant is, she with her self-published book of poetry.

 Then the flock gathers together, chirping amongst themselves, and begin to fly away without a single chirp to her, like “Nice to have met you.” “Hope you will come to our next meeting.”

No!  They simply leave her there with her wings clipped and her veil removed, having been incinerated by their hot air. 

They leave her there with her Revlon mask melting like candle wax, sliding down her face, all their black barbs having finally penetrated her thin skin, exposing her for who she really is.

Not an intellect, not a fraud, just a Sparrow, now in the autumn of her life; a Sparrow who at the age of 16 dared to dream beautiful dreams while living in a nightmare. 

A Sparrow, who had many years ago seen an old broken violin in a junk shop and was so moved by its haunting beauty she was inspired to write a poem.

A Sparrow, who as a chick, with her brother, on a summer day, built an Empire made of sand, in a land where sea grasses sang—A Sparrow who knew why violins and willows weep.

A Sparrow who knew she would never be one of them. 

Yet she was grateful!

Grateful she had survived the Ides of March, and on this day was left wondering how something so ugly could have grown from something as beautiful as poetry. 
~~~


Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

MOCKINGBIRD - crown of sonnets

#1 "It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird. When playing games with rocks or guns, defray, them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!" "Whispered words of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day" Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds, exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare, spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees, lining streets, during mad-dog summers. Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring up dust, where resistance incites, although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved. Scout, Jem, ...best bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns #2 Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns yet challenged, the precocious child making assumptions. Folks would confound her! Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring, people napping, long afternoons. Wilted yawns of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed, with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed. Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs and secret hate. Some hid by day, and spending their nights in masquerade, while crosses burned. We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams in 1930. Civil rights were just a dream #3 In 1930, civil rights were just a dream, and motherless children were coming of age. Bare feet were swift. Bandaged knees and hands unclean, would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade. A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house, watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed. The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout! Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash. Putting yourself into another man's shoes, is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem. They've faced their fear, and will make a friend. "Boo", the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems. Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch. A measure of integrity, inch by inch. #4 A measure of integrity, inch by inch, advocate for those who won't stand a chance. Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch in a depression full blown. Money is scant. Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck. What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong. Someone must stand at the end of the day, where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger. Regardless of skin, be it black, be it white Unfit, by standards of talcum shaved chins, if injustice is war, he'll give his lot. The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle #5 When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle, false accusations can simmer, slowly inciting bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries of hate. Screaming "rape" into the night. Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality, amphibian worms, as if from a trough, gorging on mania. They covet brutality. Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing. Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control. Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding the truth. Some would sell their mother's soul. They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin. Where white man's word, over a black, always wins. #6 Where a white man's word, over black, always wins, was a rule of the thumb, during those years... The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned, taken away and waits to die, and endure With Indian summer, waxing and waning, Atticus chooses the simplest words. His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding, in trying to explain, that most men are good. He tells them, gently, how someone so crude, even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil perhaps in his life, was misunderstood. The hellish of summers begins to unravel. But another ill wind, would brew up a storm, to bring more than a flurry, into their home. #7 To bring more than a flurry into their home, burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow. Carved pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail, a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions Then, someone appears! Halts this devil,...,Ewell is not immortal! .....as we come to conclusion. A guardian presence, waiting to rally has kept a vigil, guarding children who run, swiftly through thickets. Lonely Boo Radley, appeared like an angel, a bird seeking the sun So pure of heart, and a thing so rare It is a sin to kill a mockingbird
2/17/14


Long poem by Broken Wings | Details |

La Collection

~^~ Dawn Walking in the dawn, in the forest loud with sound; Hear the birds sing in the trees! Listen to the wind, see the stream flowing free; Touch a leaf so green, dew wet! Do you hear it now, the sound of nature, the song; A song so sweet, magical Choka x3 Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Leaves Colourful leaves in piles, luminous colours for miles and miles. Burgundy, orange hovering, the trees slowly relinquishing, surrendering. A cool breeze makes them dance, some quiet and calm, some leap and prance. The Autumn sky so changing, clouds moving, billowing, shifting, expanding. And in one blustering wind, piles empty where once colourful leaves had been. Sun touches the leaves of a tree, Like a stained glass window scene, to see. Rhyme Written October 15, 2008 ~~ gliding deep clear sparkling snow diamond like snowflakes falling horse swiftly gliding Haiku Written October 28, 2008 ~~ my little garden plant unfurl your leaf send your root deep deep deep tis spring tis spring now Haiku Written April 23, 2009 ~~ Cluttered Dresser Ornate mirror Butterfly hair clip Deep purple antique necklace Doll, of my childhood Pearls, old and yellowed with time Pink glass vase with wilted roses Family pictures Mom's favourite earrings Hairbrush Scented candle, burning List Written November 5, 2008 ~~ On Bent Knees Prayer books waiting at the door, polished pews and stone cold floors. Specks of dust glitter in the light, half forgotten dreams still burn bright. Stained glass windows cast a glow, on bent knees this day my prayers flow. Couplet Written February 2, 2009 ~~ The Book Exploring the city on a rainy afternoon, I happened upon, Ye Olde Book Store; Opening the door, chimes sang out, The store dusty, small and amazing. To the ceiling books and rows of books, The shop keeper, an elderly man, nods; I walk quietly, I feel that I am in church, Alone, I am in this place of books. So many to touch, but one beckons me, Taking it in my hands, I brush off the dust; Opening the book, it seems to me so interesting, I purchase it of course for a small price. Finding a café close by, I settle in to read, The words on the cover seem to be engraved; A collection of poetry by the great poets of all time, Page after page, tattered, yellowed with age. Verse Written April 23, 2009 ~~ The Wind Standing on a sea cliff with salt on my lips, Holding out my hands to the heavens above; Moving past me, a roaring wind, blows my raven hair, Breathing in the sweetness, it whispers my name, Tangled with the crashing waves, the birds soaring, the clouds rolling. Verse Written March 13, 2009 ~~ O, The Glistening Tears You come in the light of day, Through the ornate cemetery gates you come; Down the lonely long road, Past the headstones, row on row on row. O, the glistening tears. With a broken weeping heat, You come, for us your family buried here; What a cruel destiny and cruel fate, Such love that even death cannot destroy. O, the glistening tears. And when the seasons change, And fall winds blow over us resting here; And when winter frost is in the air, And we lay beneath the pure white snow, O, the glistening tears. And when spring comes and flowers grow, You come in the light of day, you come, you come; For us your family buried here, Souls connected by bonds that even death cannot end. Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~~ The Memory Of You Mom, today I saw a girl with her Mom They were so happy laughing and talking Together, mother and daughter, friends I wondered if the girl realized My heart was filled with envy and pain I have so many things to tell you Happy things, sad things, just things Things only a mother would understand Tears came to my eyes as I watched God must have needed a special angel To separate the puzzle that was you and me The pieces that fit so well together Mom, our love is an endless river It will go on and on and on and never end God took you from me, it was your destiny I know nothing could keep you here Our parting words, I love you so much Your answer and I love you my daughter God took you in the dawn but he left me a gift A precious gift, the memory of you Verse Written February 8, 2009 ~^~


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Souls On Fire

We have been observing the expanse of the parched land for many years, a land that stood the test of time and captivated by myriad dreams unfolding through the footsteps of the ages thus penetrating our lives. We gazed at the vast mountains and high lands with its luscious vegetation stretching thousands of miles from across them, Autumn on one side, Summer on the other, and Spring reluctantly emerging from a gruesome Winter that paralyzed the inhabitance of nature, stripping it from its wholesome prominence while it convalesce from the battered and bruised earth. 

We languished at the sudden disappearance of the water valley and the vast landscape around it. As far as our mind could reach, and as far as our feet could travel we trod upon the visible land within our reach. Land that has never been inhabited stared at us; land that has never been farmed is waiting to be ploughed. I could hear my great, great, grandfather and my grandfather before him shouting at the boys to get out of bed, harnessed the horses and start plowing the land again. 

We reminisce over acres of lands that our ancestors have fought for, land that spilled blood and claim the lives of innocent souls and fearless warriors, land that expands from ten generation, stood before us bare and empty, weeping for the souls who have fought furiously to preserve them. 

This land that has fed us for more than a hundred years lay waste before our naked eyes, the land that God gave us to feed the next generation has been sold out to strangers. The land is infested with dilapidated old building and at the whistle of the wind they are destined to collapse. They spread out all around the city and is inhabited by ruthless strangers and priced high despite their aging structure.

We lament the days spent on this land but foresee hope for the future. We searched for the farms, but they have disappeared, we look for the streams but they have dried up. Our bodies are polluted with toxic substance from contaminated food washing up on our shores from the other side of the globe, food unfit for human consumption have replaced the natural food on our grandfather's farm.

Oh great God that watches from every corner of the earth, extend your mercies and cause the land to flourish once more. You have given us land so that we can eat; you have given us land so that we can have enough in time of drought. You hold the universe securely in the palm of your hand and expand it so that it can reach everyone. The land is precious in your hand, no one can bargain for it and no price can be paid for it. 

When everything is stripped away, and the money diminishes, when our strength fails the land is here to stay. This is the land that will feed the younger generation; this is the land that will produce our crops. Powerful God, proliferate the land once again, mend the broken edges, and rescue your children who have been doped with hatred, intoxicated with bitterness and sedated with evil desires. Empower them and eradicate the poisonous substance from their perishing souls.

We gazed at the vastness penetrating the earth, and see land waiting to be occupied exposed to brutality, exasperate with atrocities and evil works. Great big God, save your children from the open gutters and trenches that awaits them, save the mothers, their suckling and toddlers who have been ravished from their homes and recruited into ruthless activities to torment and demoralize innocent people’s minds. Save them from the snares that await them, the tribulations surrounding their homes and the pestilence that seeks after their souls. 

We traveled the entire land, and hear you calling out the young men to till the ground. We can hear you beckoning the young men to throw down their weapons, clean up the garbage and farm on their grandfather’s land. They can hear you but they are too fragile to comply; they have weakened themselves with substances that make them vulnerable and unreliable. Emerge you powerless youth, transpire from your defenseless state, purge your body with clean drinking water and start cultivating the land again.
 
What else do we have but the land that you have given us? No one can take it away from us because it belongs to you. Strengthen the young men to till the land again and plant on fruitful ground. Bless the earth, and endorse it with your favor, thank you for this journey you are a mighty savior.
                                                                              
                                                                       ©2014 Christine Phillips



Long poem by Carrie Richards | Details |

Crackled

_ _ _ _While walking one day in crisp autumn air, 
On the edge of the sidewalk,  I saw it so clearly_ _ _ _

                                                  a worn leather wallet....
                                              (at least, I had thought it)
                            But with C L O S E R   inspection, it took no detection, 
                        .....to see my mistake, in a quick double take  
                                                                       

It was a lone, shabby leaf,............ which I gladly retrieved
It made my heart grieve................to know that time turns the leaves
verdant green, into brown.............which we can't turn around....

Time lost in a flash...................is it too much to ask, that the seasons slow down,
or the reasons are sound?              
                                                                                                                  
There was amber beneath............................... this worn crackling leaf
with some gold clinging too, ............................as if giving us clues
that our fleeting days dwindle,..........................like the flame of a candle
                                                    @
                                            g @
                                         n      @
                                       i    @
                                    s
                                  i     @@        
I saw smoke, nearby, r     
from leaves left for burning,.. and no one was stirring, which seems quite surprising
                                                         @
             o     u                             @@                                        *   *     
This    m          n d  left to smolder,      on a day growing colder* *

In the palm of my hand, it    f" l "u "t" t" e "r "e" d   to please me,
                             then it   s" h" u "t" t"e" r "e "d  in breezes, with tangible FEAR!

Above in the trees, birds were singing in chorus...
While the branches were swinging.....in sync with the verses

         "Blossom to blossom.. Green leaves are sprouting",
         "Leaves turn to rust....Then to ash in one flash"    
         "Ashes to ashes...'Till dust turns to dust"...     
      .  .  .
My poor fragile keepsake, "q"u"a"k"e"d"  in the wake of s-h-a-t-t-e-r-i-n-g sadness :)

      
f 
  a
    l
         l
           i
          n
           g
 
          into a million 
    
                         p    i     e          
                                 c             
                                        e    
                                            s   
                                               and  t-h-r-o-u-g-h  my fingers,

                                                                                        into      
                                                                                                e 
                                                                                                t               
                                                                                                e
                                                                                                r
                                                                                                n
                                                                                                i
                                                                                                t
                                                                                                y

                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
                                                                                                .
__________________________________


Long poem by Patrick Wells | Details |

For

Nigga my fade be the meanest this nigga been hot since a foetus                                                  I’m leaving a distance between us, free us from hash tags and demons                                           we live by snapbacks and beaters                                                                                                                                        free us from hash tags and demons  
For all my sisters who experienced Heartbreak, pain, that sent them to psychiatrists and Jesus, that sent them to psychiatrists and Jesus                                                                                                                           
For my homosexual Brothers and sisters who seek God in dark corners cause they were told there was no place for them in the kingdom of heaven you were told there was no place for you in the kingdom  of heaven                                                                                                             
For, those who live on misery and miracles brothers and sisters for the Christian the Buddhist, the Muslim the spiritual.                                                                                                                                                                             For, the Kaifer, the Koon the Consequence, the Aborigine, the Albino, the Abstract
These are the Words that are yours                                                                                                                                 I said these are the words that are yours                                                                         
For all the people that smile deep down in the frown of poverty and spit sovereignty at statistics in the form of choice and in the form of voice                                                                                          I am yours
For the babies in Syria that what their childhood and their mama’s back For all those people trapped In Nairobi In Westgate 
For we no longer racially profile, For even White Women Can be terrorists 
For all the women whose confidence lies in ***** and scrotum had their Self Esteems Drowned In semen , I promise Its swam its way out into the world again and its looking for                                                                          you it’s looking For you                                                                                                   
For you, all the brown in autumn all the wit in rain, all the wag in swag all the mystery in brail all the pages on papers and the damage prevails, 
For, the Hooker,the Hawker, the Whore 
For, the Nurse
For, the Song 
For, the child

For, the passionate
For, the passive
For, 1994 
For,Biko
For, Lenin 
For, Marley
For, Socrates
For, Sex
For, Drugs
For, Death
For, Banter
For, Beast 
For, Cross
For, Blood
For, Mary
For, Change 
For, Reasons for Four Seasons
For, Kilo, mili and grand
For living and not 
For, ever
For, time
For, Dust
For, Echoes
For a million timeless thoughts trapped in a timeless capsule
For, the strange fruit Hanging the strange fruit hanging 
For the day that I became a troubled man 
For yeah I like boys dad, I like boys dad 
For, The blood in my uterus 
For, The authority in my voice the authority in my voice, the beauty in my palms 
For the days that I will weep and the days I will not, 
For, Love that hides and taunts for  love that hides and taunts 
Nigga my fade be the meanest this nigga been hot since a foetus                                                  I’m leaving a distance between us, free us from hash tags and demons                                           we live by snapbacks and beaters                                                                                                                                        free us from hash tags and demons  


Long poem by Pendleton Arkwright | Details |

The Carriage Ride

Scotch mist falls gently at my back,
Leaves of Autumn 'neath my feet,
Shades of grey clash in heaven,
Shrill wind through grand oak trees.

Thoughts adrift of yesteryear,
True love lost and left to die,
Our time on earth shall be no more,
Verily, all hath been a lie.

Granite stone I've left behind,
Tribute to a life so sweet,
My presence comforts those below,
They recognize we soon shall meet.

Rain doth cloak the falling tears,
Still the dead be not deceived,
My soul despairs, embraces fear,
At the forfeit of my creed.

Silent footfalls, cobblestones,
Ravens glare doth chill my spine,
Creeping mists begin to swell,
Twisting amongst the timberline.

Twilight falls on hallowed ground,
The veiled moon denies its light,
A tender wind brings forth a sound,
Lo, a carriage passes by.

Upon the pathway it doth halt,
Hooded driver, silent, still,
Flowing cloak of painted darkness,
Herald of my fading will.

Curious, I'm denied regard,
Beckoned, though, by the shady hansom,
Wherein lies my final comfort,
A fitting end to life's sad anthem.

Nary an address as I climb in,
A pass into the final journey,
The silence is a loyal friend,
Few exist these days, I'm learning.

A single flame, a light so faint,
I scarce can see before mine eyes,
Across from me a presence shifts,
But doth not voice, to my surprise.

"Deepest thanks to you, dear Sir",
An insincere formality,
" I fear I may have caught my death,
If shorn your generosity ".

Once more I'm met with silence,
But for the hum of gentle rain,
The dimness makes me restless,
And so I'm led to speak again.

"Pray tell Sir, if you will,
Where you're bound for in this chill?
Have you dealings with the dead?
Perchance you're passing through instead?"

Flickering flame begins to fade,
A twinge of fear, I hold my breath,
Discerning not a swift dismay,
I fear the light restrains my death.

Ah, but then a smile passes o'er my lips,
Whilst I evoke the village lore,
Of men who turn their hearts from God,
Who once held hope, yet hope no more.

Whispers of a spectral carriage,
Hewn from the Void, incarnate darkness,
Revealed alone to the stonyhearted,
A simple choice, an elegant temptress.

Yet suddenly, my mind doth know,
Tis the vessel of Perdition,
I've entered unto my reward,
What once I held as superstition.

My pulse doth hasten, my smile fades,
How could this have come to be?
Regret we are eternal friends,
Where once you were mine enemy.

And lo, before the wax light fails,
My fellow rider finally moves,
And whilst I gaze upon his face,
My shattered mind nothing shall soothe.

And yet a whisper gives me pause,
"Thy fate doth not lie with the lost,
Turn then from thy wicked ways,
O heir of the Ancient of Days."

Heavenly light from yonder window,
Beacon of my final hope,
I'm beckoned now to rend my heart,
To nurture faith, that it may grow.

"Good angel of God, mine guardian dear,
Why dost thou save me from this fear?
I dare not bathe in the Holy Fountain,
For mine faith shan't move the least of mountains"

"Fear not child, thou art fragile still,
Almighty God strengthen thy will.
Arise, repent, do not delay,
Live and serve the Lord this day."

My soul is warmed by the angelic libretto,
My hardened heart begins to melt,
Tears of penance, prayers of sorrow,
A further chance shall not be dealt.

"Lord above, hear me below,
Why you taketh, I can't know,
My love is gone, my heart is broken,
Receive it Lord and break it open,
Take away my hateful deeds,
Wash me of iniquity."

The hansom lurches, starts to speed,
With the fury of the steed,
It knows my heart hath turned to God,
No longer do I feel down trod.

The door is open,
Now I see.

The rider reaches out for me.

A leap of faith,
Now I am free.


Long poem by Andrew Crisci | Details |

THE PLAGUES OF OUR DAY

The blind man waited, 
at the intersection, for someone
to help him cross the busy boulevard...
and he was accustomed to live in twilight,
fumbling for a hand on his right;
and he finally found mine!


Judge humanly...not pettily,
you could be in that situation 
and feel abandoned and helpless,
unless somebody extends compassion
and lends that hand in time of need;
only human love can render a good deed!


The orphan girl recognizes a greed so mundane,
her body has grown, so has her world's view;
that person who abandoned her at the orphanage
when icy rain pelted against the foggy windows,
was her own mother that refused to knock on the front door!
She still feels unwanted, unloved and rejected by who,
for some shameful reason, dropped her off and was gone
into the dreary autumn's night to forget her despair!


Judge the pain...not the circumstance
that impels a misguided heart to err;
beneath an appearance of denial,
there's a certain humanity we can't conceive,
and what prompts us to act in unreasonable and strange ways,
is still not quite understood by all;
all we can perceive is the guilt we can't bear,
and the resentful restlessness which shortens this very existence!


The elderly woman, sitting in an old wheel-chair,
waits at the traffic light as the whisking wind
brushes her frizzy and gray hair;
the sunken-cheeked lady is the regular beggar,
whose life has never been mellow,
but full of tragedy and sorrow!
Her frail voice is not insincere, but thankful and kind... 
when I hand her a dollar out of my car's window!


Judge fairly... that could be you standing there,
or someone you love;  fate can be changed if we dare...
we assert truths without clarity and condemn unjustly!
Let's take the mendicant's place, at the same corner, and beg all day;
wouldn't we be humiliated, be scorned or even be ignored
by the glances of passerby that regard us not as their friend?


The run-away teenager with lots of make-up,
looks like a madam out of a brothel,
who tries to hide her identical age by smiling at strangers...
and her trade is that of an inexperienced gal,
unprotected and exposed to many dangers;
and it might cost her life...that's already a living hell!     


Judge not too harshly...when facts aren't known,
and the only assumption rests with our pity;
along the side of the street there are many eyes that weep,
eager to return home, to a home that was so warm and cozy!
And the lucky ones will make until dawn,
others will not open their eyes, but eternally sleep!



THE PLAGUES OF OUR DAY 


The blind man with a steel cane  stooped and waited
for someone to help him across the busy boulevard;
he felt warm sunlight, and wished his sight back without living in darkness,    
then he saw a glimpse of that light when he was touched by my kindness.   
The orphan girl wants to escape, but she is afraid to venture in the outside world
still feeling unwanted, unloved and shivering unable to shield herself from the cold.   
On many rainy nights, she sits by her barred window recalling her frail mom fleeing 
into the Autumn dreary night, and inside she longs for caresses to begin the  healing.
Another teenager, hustles in the dangerous streets of night...she barely 
can walk on high heels, but she endures pain for gain;
her home was blessed with good parents, but she rebelled and ran away... 
she has no choice but sell her body...what will she attain?  
Lend a hand to anyone in time of need,
only human love renders a good deed;
How can we help abandoned babies and run-away
and get rid of all the plagues of our day that infest society?


Long Poems