Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
allusion america
analogy angel
anger angst
animal anniversary
anti bullying anxiety
appreciation april
arabic art
assonance august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
cinderella city
class clothes
color community
computer conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad dance
dark daughter
day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
depression desire
destiny devotion
discrimination divorce
dog dream
drink earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire firework
first love fish
fishing flower
flying food
football for children
for her for him
for kids forgiveness
freedom friend
friendship fruit
fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good morning good night
goodbye gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
july june
kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
memorial day memory
men mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mothers day mountains
moving on murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
mythology name
native american natural disasters
nature new year
new york nice
niece night
nonsense nostalgia
november nursery rhyme
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people pets
philosophy places
poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
poverty power
prayer preschool
pride princess
prison psychological
purple quinceanera
race racism
rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember repetition
retirement rights
river romance
romantic rose
rude sad
sad love satire
scary school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silence silly
silver simile
simple sin
sister sky
slam slavery
sleep smart
smile snow
soccer social
society softball
soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sunset
sunshine sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute trust
truth uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
valentines day vanity
veterans day violence
visionary vogon
voice volleyball
voyage war
water weather
wedding wife
wind wine
winter wisdom
woman women
word play words
work world
write writing
yellow youth

Long Black african american Poems | Long Black african american Poetry

Long Black african american Poems. Below are the most popular long Black african american by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Black african american poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -












Copyright © Ken Jordan


Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -












Copyright © Ken Jordan


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Development Divas

Permacultural community development,
as if life matters,
present optimal Continuous Quality Improvement (CQI) standards
for self-other-Earth regenerative 
and sustainable living outcomes.
That 7 Generation certificate of accomplishment.

Development Divas enjoy prime relational dynamic focus
on recycling formations and reformations,
fractals and octaves,
full four-seasonal
"Time is a Recycling River" nutritional functions,
vocational "plant AND self-composting root system" financial guilds,
cooperatively beloved villages,
families with long evolutionary branches
AND Elder root systemic DNA structures and flex and flow-string patterns,
economies and ecologies,
eco-normics of ecology,
eco-logic of economics,
positive psychological relationships 
and communities and global networks of richly nutritious information,
polynomially balanced 4-equivalent crystal clear dimensions of spacetime,
mine,
yours,
ours,
Universal Commons Orthodox Co-Intelligence.

Polyculturalists into planting and designing 
and harvesting optimized beloved polycultural climaxing outcomes,
swim time's river through positive teleological currents of dialogue,
narrative,
syntax,
DNA codex,
story,
psycho-conscious logics rooted in comprehensive consciousness
of Self+Other history,
personal,
relational,
landscaped,
networked,
globally farmed,
universal,
herstoric enculturation of harmoniously balancing Right with Left,
(-)Yin(-)Yin as equivalent to (+)Yang
since "not not!" meant "Yes!"
and "black white" meant "both-and-matters"
and passive-aggressive meant dissonantly and bilaterally cathected,
bilateral time sprouting fractal spacetime of four equivalent dimensions
and systemic seasons and stages of development,
unitarian yin-with-yin equivalent bipolarity sprouting universalist dipolar thermodynamic with electromagnetic bowing balance 
with centrifugally emergent binomial force of gravity,
ecological balance of nutritional solar systemic radiantly waving values
absorbed by a greening photosynthetic coredemptive metamorphic Earth,
and disvalues of dissonant decay, climatic change, autistic dismay, fear of death replacing all of life's recycling systems.

A logical conclusion of suicidal planning,
irrationality,
feeling internally overpopulated,
is to both stop absorbing positive nutrients (divestment),
and to begin a practice of absorbing only toxins
and collateral damage (high-risk investment),
abuse acts faster than mere neglectful impoverishment,
marginalization,
suppression
oppression of identity,
the more aggressively and consistently aversive,
the faster our inevitable dead result.

So, the ecologic of diastatically positive and rational life
is to intentionally absorb only positive nutrients
and to minimize absorption of toxins
and collateral corporate insult,
injury,
abuse,
and neglect,
violence and dissonance,
addiction to victimization and possession.
Ego's self-mentoring lessons must seek stewardship
responsibility and accountability
investment and disinvestment for ecosystemic balance,
without the anthro-centric hubris of possession or dispossession. 
To own any of this stuff cannot meet optimizing CQI well-being standards,
will not meet death's rebirthing threshold for cycling forward downstream.

Win-Win cooperative
coregenerative optimization
is an ecologically economic diva herstory of re-genesis,
just as Lose-Lose competitive decomposition
is our Business-As-Usual history
of dominating Self, Other, Earth,
pretty much in that disenculturing
disintegrative order of ecosystemic flow.

Permacultural community development
as if we remembered
that white lives could not have mattered
if Elder black lives had not repurposed DNA's
range of freedom for Vitamin D prosperity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck


Long poem by dave archuletta | Details |

Part Two, I Am Not Racisim, She Is

         “And no, car-jackings – sir, do not count as kidnappings!” [Adding in a fast voice…]
         “Especially, after a nigga be looking in the rear view and seeing a fat little black kid already belted up in the back seat – and this kid is now starting to scream his lungs out!”
         “Hell, I always hear of these ‘Karjack Kids’ being dumped off – not at the first, but the second street corner just inside any big city hood. …this is a place where EVERYBODY steers clear of these little tyrants. …Now, why is this you say?”  
       “Well, I think that as innocent sidewalk pedestrian passerby, we’ve all been hardened by the following of incidence at one time or another.” 
          “And I’m not talkin bout a ‘Drive BY’! Because this ain’t one of those ‘cap yo’ ass for no reason why – bye, bye! It’s more of a ‘See ya’ later alligator - shove a kid from off the floor - and out the door and inta the street kinda fly by!’” [Crowd laughs]
        “…And we all know what happens next - right?”
 “Yeah, ca’mon’ I know ya’lI do…, hell, we’ve all lived it!”
         “This is because just like in any crowded Hood, we black people have never really come off strong in the Good Samaritan department. - Man we just – like - mind our own goddamn business! …And please Madonna - just leave us the f#&# alone!” [Crowd roars]
          “…You see, it will be people like her – these, even with good intentions of adopting, as to why you will soon hear of a black baby having been kidnapped for a ransom.” 
        “You see, it was never going to happen here in this country until these white kidnappers, - yes people, I said white kidnappers, - and they changed what we black folk had already long known,  …It was because in this country, until now anyway, we already knew there wasn’t a Black Market for a black man to sell black adopted babies…” [Crowd laughs]
        “A king’s ransom for a black kid…, hmmm?”
        “Man, that’s a whole lotta earmarked money; …and all of it reserved for a greedy Cracker Kidnapper with a human trafficking license!” [While disgustingly laughing himself] …Hell, and even if there ever were any black kidnappers, they still would’ve had to take care of any kid. This would include any found fat black kid kicked to a street curb after his daddy’s Ford Pinto got car jacked! And really, had that risk to a reward of possibly nothing - ever been so entertained by us?” 
        “Yes, I think so…, you know what I mean, like I said earlier, we’ve all been there man! Umm hmm…” [Rubs his ear as if it hurts....]
“…It probably went down something like this: Two black pedestrians be walking down the street, when one of them, a little boy, says, ‘Hey grandma look at that kid sitting over there, he’s all alone and looks hungry! We should…! Hey! don’t he look like my little broth…’ …Whereby now, grandma’s fingers, having already latched firmly onto this grandson by the ear – pulls him along while saying, ‘No, no, no child, there are plenty of social workers around willing to take that little fat black boy to lunch! Child, what are you thinking anyway? Your momma ain’t no Angelima Jolie - ya know… so let’s go watch from over there!’”
       “And as for Madonna, she came back straight from the source!”

Written by David Archuletta

Copyright © dave archuletta


Long poem by Scribbler Of Verses | Details |

For Pete Seeger Huddie Leadbelly Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie

For Pete Seeger, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter and Woody Guthrie


it was a long time ago
when you put your words into song

'this machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender' you scribbled on your old guitar

and you wielded that banjo & guitar as weapons, 

fiddling out a hail of truth

of solidarity

of angry, vehement calls for peace

you said of Leadbelly, that that Huddie Ledbetter was a helluva man

you sang and spoke through dust clouds and relief lines

you taught us all, to seek out hope wherever we can

and when they tried to call all of you goddamned reds

you sang on ever louder and louder, rattlin' their prejudices as they slept in their plush beds

you rode and you rambled and thumbed your way around

the land that is my land and your land too

for you believed all this earth was shared common ground

and when you sang of overcoming one day

the injustice and pain that you witnessed along the way

they further branded you a commie, a pinko or a nigger-lover or a jew-lover, or an enemy of the state

while your banjo and your guitars continued to surround their blind hate

'this machine kills fascists' you etched on that guitar as well

but they were all deaf, for they could not hear the tolling of the bell

'the bell of freedom

the hammer of justice

the song of love between your brothers and your sisters'

and they knew not that they were the ones who would sizzle in their own bigoted hell

and then came the marches and you were there too

with dr. king in Birmingham and Selma, and you faced their spit, their venomous rage, their clubs and sticks and knives, but you always knew

that your cause was just and that the truth must one day prevail

however long it may take, you never gave up, you sang and you marched and you strummed yourselves, victoriously, into their jail

and then they shot him, they shot Dr. King dead, as they burnt and lynched many more

yet you stood firm, you never wavered, your blood was red after all, and they could not tarnish the truth's core

and so it came to pass, that woody went on his way, to his pastures of plenty up in the sky

and Huddie too, said his last and final goodbye

and you were then one, and you may have felt alone and overwhelmed, by the battles and with all that was wrong

but then you saw that the people were with you 

as they had been, all along

and so you continued to fiddle with that old banjo

dragging it through Newport and Calcutta and Dar-es-Salaam

and through countless unknown halls in numberless unknown towns

across this earth, turning, slowly, putting smiles of togetherness, on faces that were once pock-marked with disillusioned frowns
so...
today as I jot down these poorly scribbled words for all of you
for Woody, Huddie, and Pete
I do so in gratitude, for after all the travails that you've been through
I know that you know that this world still has its fair share of hate, and of loss and of injustice and of gloom
but I also know that you know that though all the old flowers may have gone
there always will be, as there always must be,

a fresh flower somewhere, that will quietly bloom.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses


Long poem by Gary Fields | Details |

Will A Divided House Stand In any Land

@one must have lived
on both' sides of
justice to be fully
exposed...gf


There are so many
     languages'
There are oh! So
many plans'
But, in this day of
confusion..
Can it really
stand....
     ------
Their are those who
live in the shadow
There are those who
are on top!
Many have faith in
the interest of
justice
I say some-times' it
is merely just a
plot!
   ----- Now think
about that ----
           
----------
Do you live in a
state of justice
Or in a state of
police...
Where your strife is
minimal
And pales' beyond
belief
           ---------
Can you go out at
   ? ...night!
With-out subscribing
of your plight
Hence:  the fear of
going out at night
            -------
This reflects' the
type of judgement
That which you
subscribe
too....

A issue shrouded
in black and white
A deadly combination
of the many social
wrongs' or
rights'...
         Where the
truth comes' to the
light
       ----
As a human body lay
riddled in the heat
and stench
of the night....
          --------
If you are stopped
in a store to-day
Do you expect to
make it home?
        -Or-
Are you subjected
to the night?
Where justice is
swift a constant
norm!
     - Only...
To end up at the
business end of
justice...!

To the end of
justice....!
contrary to
your life.... 

 Only to be pondered
upon as a
creature in that
laboratory of
life...
Where you your-self
have just payed
The supreme price
from a flash of
justice
That threatens' to
end your life...
         .......... 
Where some-one else
in his unique 
......since of
justice amend to
take your life
(Some-call it a snap
decision only... it
is
        .......not
such a snap to take
another life) later
deemed 
to be call a mishap
in the name of
protecting life
I still say' maybe
we are
acting on a little
bad advice
         -----
justifiable murder
In the name of our
Constitution....  
Needless too say,
Is this the best
solution?

Who's constitution
dare I choose?

Your life
choked-off,
filled full of
holes'
With a truth slowly
delivered....
only God knows'
just exactly
What has just
transposed...
     .... And the
reason why so many
should die....
          ------
Who's brand of
justice would you
survive...  In that
vain' instance
Just to stay
alive....
      -Or-
 which do you
care.... to defend?

Would it be
attributed to the
feat of justice 
Or will it be just
us?

Or to the
determination of the
life of just another
Young innocent
man..... Or that
breath of justice
From which he did
truly depend...

To abide and to
trust in....

The accomplishment
of man... Awh! Yes,

The truth depends'
on the end of the
sword
That which is in
your hand..... With
the meter
of justice that we
are
willing to
defend....

That brand of
justice that which
you may call upon
for the sake of your
fellow man!



Poet/Author
Gary Fields
Censored in Contrast






Copyright © Gary Fields


Long poem by Anthony Ngabwe | Details |

10 Words to a Wonderful Woman

10 Words to a Wonderful Woman
P.U.R.P.O.S.E.F.U.L 

Prayerful and Purposeful
We have seen your purpose being rejuvenated through your prayers
It is without doubt that your presence heals the sick  
And dry bones are restored back to life-you are a gift to humanity
You carry the atmosphere joy, peace and love   

Uniting and Unshakeable 
The unit of your soul, spirit, body and mind is unshakeable 
We have seen, that wisely you belt your house on the rock
Not easily carried away by strange storms or uncultured norms
You unit with strangers and point them back to the rock of ages  

Risking and Reaching out 
Your always risk your life by reaching out to the need
You go into dark caves to shine as the light to the forgotten 
Unashamed to express your ideal and belief for the good of all
You reach out into strange waters-risking your very soul
Just to give meaning to the hopeless  

Powerful and Potential
Leader by birth that who you are-do not deny it, we have all seen it
Because you have brought us from comfort to discomfort 
Because you believed that power and potential comes out in discomfort
Potential is what is left after you have done all and you are still alive
We believe there is still more love, joy, peace and gifts in you-
Do not burry them – but give them to dying world

Optimistic and Opportunity 
You create opportunity to do good and you are optimistic about it
People doubted and said this has never been done before
Others even took your optimistic as opposition
But you only saw it as an opportunity to be the point of light

Sacrificing and Service 
Your are an example to many women, wives, mothers and sisters
We will display your services and sacrifices on the billboards of our houses
Even when they misunderstood you, you stood out to serve 
You are virtues woman, wife and mother  

Energizing and Evangelist
Not forgetting how hardworking you are-
No one comes into your home without testing the fruit of your labor
And them that come into presence are energized with laughter, love and light
Your attributes speaks volume of your faith and your creator 
  
Focused and Fearfully
Though at times you were hurting, from personal, family 
Or surrounding issues-yet you waved not, neither to the right or left
Yes we have witnessed you focusing on the cross 
Without fear of the storms of life-indeed you are great woman
You are fearfully and wonderfully made 



Undeniable and Undaunted 
Your gift, kindness, goodness and love is irresistible 
Who will deny of not experiencing your ministry
You have taught lives and your have touched lives 
There no enough words to describe your goodness

Loving and Living 
You have not taught love but you lived it
You have not taught giving but you lived it
You have not taught charity but you lived it
You have not taught dressing but you lived it
You only taught us who you are by Nature and Spirit  

Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe


Long poem by Just That Archaic Poet | Details |

Paper-Cup Porsche: True Tale from the Mental Ward

Of all the kooky Coo-Coo's in the nest, Charlene by far was my favorite. Poor Charlene had virtually lost her mind after the sudden tragic death of her son, and because of that, and in addition to her hilarious antics, we were all quite fond of Charlene.

She was an African-American woman, somewhere in her sixties I supposed. Hoary, snow white hair, diminutive in stature, not lean but not heavy, and entirely unpredictable. A fellow smoker, she would always accompany the rest of us out onto the patio where we all grumbled about our mental problems, b!tched about the staff and exchanged war stories. This was always my favorite time to share with Charlene because, without warning, she would often suddenly break out singing gospel songs as if we were in church and not the loony bin. Charlene would sing her heart out, and though not the best singer in the world, I found this erratic behavior endearing, because she would often not only carol "negro spirituals" but also many songs I knew by heart since I also grew up in church. And this was not just singing; it was like she was in actual church, arms waving and dancing around, as if the spirit of the Lord had abruptly invaded her animated body. Stomping, stamping, wailing, flailing: singing her little heart out for us. It was an awesome spectacle to watch, to say the least.

I clearly and vividly recall the day my parents and best friend came to visit me. As I was showing them around the place, which was actually very resort-like for a mental hospital, and introducing them to my new crazy friends, out from nowhere came Charlene with a paper cup in hand. She was "vroom-vrooming" all over the place like she was driving and steering a car. She even made screeching brake noises as she rounded corners, frightening the more sensitive patients in her wake. My parents and best friend, and those of us on "the mend", could not restrain our laughter. While Charlene "vroomed" past us, I yelled at her over the car noises and said, "Hey, Charlene; whatcha doin'?" and, without skipping a beat, she yelled back, "Can't you see? I'm driving my new Porsche!". Needless to say, we were all doubled over with laughter. 

In all my time spent in mental wards, this is by far my favorite and most cherished memory. It turned out that Charlene actually lived in the same town as me, and I would often see her in the grocery store where I worked (after I was "all better"). I always said Hi to her and called her by name, and she would just look at me in bafflement and hurry on with her buggy. One day she finally asked me how I knew her, and I whispered in her ear (as not to embarrass her), how we had met in the hospital, and she took me aside and whispered in a conspiratorial way, "Oh, honey; that was a baaaaaaad time!". I just gave her a friendly, reassuring pat on the back and smiled, to signify that for the time being, we both were better, and that's all that mattered. Al Fin.

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/monsieur_lvampyre_and_the_black_lady_460295' st_title='MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE AND THE BLACK LADY'>

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE AND THE BLACK LADY

   MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE and THE BLACK LADY
Just south of Paris, lives the soul of me,
at my chateau, where few will ever see,
I'm compensated for the way
death lingers on from day to day
and makes each night a night of tragedy.

   All dark as hell, from trees that block the light
   so as to make the day deep as the night
   I'm free to come, and free to go,
   without the sun that hurts me so
   and this, my home, is hidden from all sight.

Now I would never have you think my way
is shunning life, and hiding from the day,
and though I live a tragedy,
it's quite the way I'd have life be,
as all alone leads only to decay.

   One night I'd settled in for mystery,
   my candle lighting words my mind could see,
   and authored by a lightning mind,
   I knew his words were of my kind
   and as I turned my pages, what should be?

All feminine, the hesitating sound
of just a tapping, to the door it's found,
of fingers slim, but in distress,
she should be home, that was my guess,
but still I raised myself to stand my ground.

   Anticipating what--I didn't know--
   for what fair damsel knocked at my chateau?
   And so I grasped my deringer
   all cocked and ready, as it were,
   and set upon the path where I should go.

The tapping grew to be quite indescrete
and hurried, as if one about to meet
a harsh and catastrophic end
without the slightest hope or friend,
and so I pulled the door, but braced my feet.

   December winds came freezing to my skin
   and lightning lit the winter nights' begin,
   an omen I supposed to be
   a blessing of the night for me,
   and so I welcomed her, and asked her in.

She shed her wrap, one tatterred by the years
but fondly placed it to my hands, in tears,
and dark was she, as any night
her skin so black, a blessed sight
for beauty's in beholding what appears.

   There showed no blood, upon her neck for me,
  No, not a mark was there that I could see,
   and questions raced all through my head
   if hers was warm, and damp, and red?
   Or did her blood flow black--how could that be?

What brought her tears, once placed into the past,
I set upon to make here smile at last,
and asked her if she'd like to stay
at my chateau, near Poitiers,
and spend the night, for it was waining fast.

   Of all the beauty, ever to be here,
   in all  my life, not one could come so near
   as when her cloth fell to her feet
   in candlelight, love made complete
   by flesh and blood, as dark as they appear.

My mark was bit, and I could feel the flow
of blood that made my heart not want to know
an end to this, a special night
so red that flowed from just the bite,
but dark as sin--I begged she never go!

   So overcome with joy of all she was
   my pounding heart gave in to just because.
   I drank of her until she knew
   the bite for her great living through
    eternal dying, lacking what death does.
                            © ron wilson aka veebdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Echo Time

Time echoes and resonates without language,
invests in green triumphal backdrop,
below misty blue sky,
spotted
blossomed in yellows and spindling purples
blues and flaming orange,
fragile moments of fully fertile time,
flagrant erections of next generation's hope
for full color life 
perennially emerging time
through fields of green enraptured
brown soil and gray rocks
and weathered stretching darker bark
back further through time's ringing core.

This summer's newer time full color;
Elder time dressed in grays and browns
of dusk's deeper hue and cry.

Time's newer lexicon
laughs through children
camping near a still-slogging river,
flowing time toward surfing Sound
from mountains of older swaying,
silently caressing,
singing time of trees'
ripe summer leaves.

Newer times hum industry
in jetted skies
through rumbling valleys of human enterprise
swooshing lanes of hurry fueled time
rushed toward some end of prime,
planned, yet unprioritized.

Drumming heartbeat
surfing breath
occasional tummy rumbles,
older times of human space
thundering through subliminal octaves
of time's unrolling memory.

New time smells green fragrance,
older organics fuel richer pungent payment
down into Earth's old-timed infrastructure,
roots hunting her mysteriously flowing estuaries
floating broken platters of Earthtime's universe creation,
rumbling thunder
warning of ancient slow-timed lightening.

Capturing time's enrapturing voices 
and visions
peering through silent black faced race
through space.


Knotted notched logged time
captured in this sacred place
gracefully crumbling time's investment,
forgiven and redeemed in last fall's brown bed 
of leafy fading trace,
succumbing to terminating time's
less aggressive metamorphic place
from logs reversing back into time's landed space,
impervious to eyes noting her change of race
from convex branches to concave composts.

Time's darker elder face
haunts richer wisdom
but often fails to find just and righteous pace
for dominating white cultured mind 
to find
and recognize.
Elder darker's timing rhythm
speaks best through white hearts' new-time memory,
transparently dark embedded cultural time
emerged as new found discovery
recovery through youngish light
most resonantly resolved
through time's polyculturing brightest night.

Fear of dark raced time
begins with my own white placed skin
accepting time's inevitable dark embrace
within full-colored humanely timed race,
to see my wilting face
drawn back into time's dark souled core
dying into light's progenitor
once more
dark never-enough-right-time supremacy
through dark purgation's non-anthrocentric palatial door
toward dark time's eternal color rhapsodic place.

Time's song and dance
through nonexistential space,
my voice
our opera
time's co-passion story.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck


Long Poems