Long poem by
Neldy Jolo | Details |
Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches
Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved
Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities?
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.
Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.
How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo
Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro
May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din
As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away'
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?”
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino”
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism
Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks
I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta
Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika
‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it
Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago
The name of people is Tausug.
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam
Is already a nation and state
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja
Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law
I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.
I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.
This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!
Long poem by
Yorn Called | Details |
In the dark of night a wind took hold,
With powers charged to shake the sky,
By moody swings of gods up high,
Their breath alone enraged and bold.
In the dark of night history spoke,
Of a world alive with fury’s voice,
When life was full of fate and choice,
And death the augur in the smoke.
In the dark of night a man did dream,
Whose tale these words we now account,
Be brave my friend this chariot mount,
By nothing less shalt this vision redeem.
Struggling through the combative gales,
A sleepless figure tossed and rolled,
With wondering sight a story was told,
Of mysteries shrouded in ancient tales.
Upon this figure two more did glare,
Faces are but vessels for orbs to divine,
Not sufficient to be one through design,
Two alive but so unlike to us stare.
These twins that see by darkness alone,
Feel the truth in the shine of art,
Ending where the few dare start,
These bright globes make gold of stone.
With raging winds our story begins,
The battle set both within and out,
The world’s pictures thoughts about,
Action the habits, blindness the sins.
With Boreas alight wandering above,
A divine force teased with subtle math,
To follow the Phoenix on its path,
Or kneel in tears with a praying dove.
The tempest in all its mighty flight,
Decreed with a fist the obvious!
So proud, so proud, yet so oblivious,
The storm forgets his humble birthright.
The wild winds be but a paper tiger,
The hands that give it mighty thrust,
Wields no whip to allure its trust,
Holding a low cup, a cat just finds her.
Such be the crispy breeze in deed,
To roar, puff, blow things down,
Seeking doors to equilibrium’s town,
When heat in fact needs cold to feed.
Wind seeks the muse of inspiration,
A lull, then a rush to arms to end,
Her charms the air does commend,
She whispers with bated respiration.
Such my friend is the temperate truth,
The tempest being no storm cries,
For its maker with love sees its lies,
The swordsman’s tail swings uncouth.
With no further aside we now return
To one whose sleep our vision seeks,
Into this mind the devil now peeks,
Intellect put off so symbols could turn.
Seeking passage to dreamlands alter,
Further and further the eyes withdrew,
A fatherly vessel, twos sons the crew,
A ship who by one one would fault her.
The tides of reflection ebbed no more,
For the two in one the world was gone,
Sands of sleep their eyes set upon,
Dreams for obeying in days to store.
‘Saw the one, the troubled of the two,
Again vain Boreas with eyes asquint,
Forged to see not flowers but mere mint,
An ignoble man, through and through.’
‘His drifting eyes of warrior bent bow,
Blind to the combat of peaceful keys,
Gazed upon Orithyia ready to seize,
The light by which he would never know.’
‘In one fell swoop he swept upon her,
An immortal force not fit to engage,
Death by shock, a rose in a cage,
A sword can never a heart procure.’
Tailors we know make not the man,
Nor, to wit, does he who blow impress,
The finest garments fit best to undress,
The suitor, naked, conception’s plan.
The warrior’s blood once led the world,
What man wanted man merely took,
By far better ways the world was shook,
Now only fools let their swords unfurl.
Still within us sleeping reptiles wink,
Side by side the peace laying dove,
Whose golden egg sits on a glove,
Disarming the insults men might think.
Yet by tinted thoughts some still fall,
There walk among us wanting men,
Who touch stones instead of women,
Blind fools like statues they do install.
To such a fellow we now must return,
By unlucky choice he cast his dice,
Gambling rage would make life nice,
His heart of fire for ice would burn.
The I then of the one who took control,
With eye inclined to dote ambition,
In Boreas he saw worthy commission,
Jewels taken justly by godly parole.
‘Reading now the face of himself,
Pleased to see opportunity’s chance,
His office in life he wished to enhance,
His brother’s book push’d off the shelf.’
“This world is made for the taking,
By will alone my will will be done,
A wild beast untamed I roam alone,
But not for long my flight in staking.”
‘Fighting the angel by his side,
He saw in Boreas a better figure,
With sharp mirror set to disfigure,
The Abel eye, his far better guide’
‘Eager as a dog ready to surprise,
Our hero set off to execute his plan,
With canine teeth and on four he ran,
To she who soon would be his prize’
To think a surprise can live in a dog,
Is like seeing a rat for a filet mignon,
So deluded a man can appear to one,
Whose rose is above all mist and fog.
‘With tongue wild about he grabbed,
The hand intended for him that night,
So sure his lust would disarm a fight,
So shocked to see her smile stabbed’
“Unsightly hair-chested beast you are,
Withdraw from here in haste and fast,
Better to drown alone in seas outcast,
Then with you fly off with fettered tar.”
“Listen little man, listen with your ears,
Give not violets your muscular arms,
Whispered fumes make better charms,
Graceful words for love sheds tears.”
“Fear most of all power’s delusion,
For the deluded become denuded,
Gaining nothing, nothing included,
Power wins only a life in seclusion.”
“Go to thy chamber, scream and yell,
Amend, however, by all smart means,
Your spiteful mean loveless routines,
Thou art but a mute, a soundless bell”
‘With reproof in hand he up and went,
To vent the gales in charge of him,
The dogfight over with outlook dim,
He saw his brother of different bent.’
‘Reaching for the floor the fallen book,
Whose pages spoke a turtle’s tongue,
The unread by thorny bees are stung,
So wiser he for counsel stole a look.’
Long poem by
Briana Lynn Minard-Adler | Details |
Bradlee Joe is mine, he's always been mine,
The younger brother of David Authur Rasmussen Jr.,
Those gorgeous brown eyes staring at me, natural hair color,
That's brown; just like his brothers, but he dyed it blonde.<3
That gorgeous angel face, I think of him everyday all day, think of,
Those memories, that smile, that laugh, that voice, those strong arms,
The strong arms that hold me, just like his brother used to.
The sweet things he says to me, those precious eyes look into,
Into mine, the way he runs his fingers through my hair, the way he tickles me,
The way we play wrestle, the way we talk, the way we look at each other.
Eyes full of wonder, wonder how long we'll stay together, then he says,
He says "Baby we'll stay forever", and I believe every word he says,
My God if he only knew, knew how he makes my heart pound, the way,
The way it's just so easy to talk to him, man I can tell him anything, and I know,
I know that he'll keep it a secret, that's why I trust him with everything,
Everything inside of me. Everytime he asks me if I wanna start,
Start over with him, I always say yes, because I love him!!
No matter how much he hurts, I'll always love him, I do, because,
Because I know it's real, I love him with everything inside of me,
I want to wake up next to him everymorning and fall asleep,
Fall asleep in his arms everynight, say "I do" to him, have his,
Have his children, be in love forever, my God I've never felt this way before.
I fell for him the first moment I saw his gorgeous smile light,
Up that dark lunch room, the way you hugged me tight, exchanged,
Exchanged numbers with each other, and the way we talked on the phone for hours on end,
Oh how I wished for you to be mine, How I still wish to change,
Change my name to Briana Lynn Rasmussen.
Babe I can't inagine a world where you don't exsist, babe without you,
Without you I'd honestly die.
The son of David Authur Rasmussen Sr. and Sandi Rasmussen,
The brother of David Authur Rasmussen Jr, and Cheyeene Rasmussen,
The cousin of Kenneth Michael Hampton, better known as Mikey :) You have
Have a older bro, a younger sister & brother, and you have you,
Father's eyes, your brother's strength, your mother's beauty, and your crazy,
Crazy sense of humor.
With you I can't stop smiling, laughing and giggling.
Babe I am finally home, it's been a long time, and I am glad you kept the bed warm for me,
My home is with you, it's the only place where I belong, and babe I am so glad to be home.
I love your curly hair, I love the way you hold me, the way you kiss me, the way yoy,
You love me.
I love everything you do, and everything about you,
Babe I really do hope that day comes where we say "I do."
Hell I'd do it right now if I could, if you wanted me the same.
I want to be the mother of your children, I want to be the on;y woman you come home to,
Come home to after work, the one you give sweet kisses to, and the one you tell,
Tell me about your day, the one who wants to fall asleep in your arms, and
Wake up in your arms with my head on your chest, see your sweet smile everyday,
Hear the words "Good Morning Baby, how'd you sleep?"
I'd reply sleepily "Great, how bout you Angel?" I love everything about you, everything
Everything you say, babe I love the fire in your eyes, the way you are protective over me,
The way you fight for me.
Babe I just wanna be your forever, and when we die baby,
I want to be laidto rest next to you, or with you in the same casket, because,
Because I'm only me when I'm with you, you are the only one who keeps me warm, The only one
Only one who makes me feel like I am home, like I'm finally alive,
Like I'm finally me, babe you are my better half and really honestly,
I've been so lost without you, and I am so glad to be back home.
Long poem by
Teenage Frustrations | Details |
I hate the birth mark under my right eye
I hate my extremely static hair
I hate my big bottom lip
I hate my spotty nose
I hate that I have really *****y times
I hate that people only remember me for my really *****y times
I hate that the real *****es hate me
I hate being cautious so they don’t ***** about me
I hate that I cry over everything
I hate that people know I cry over everything
I hate that I hide from them anyway
I hate that they actually don’t care
I hate the fact that my brother is leaving home next year
I hate the fact that I cried when he told me that
I hate the fact that I hid my tears from him
I hate the fact that he’s all I really have left
I hate my father for making me feel like he doesn’t care about me
I hate my mother for making me feel like she picked him over me
I hate that my brother had to look after me when they couldn’t be bothered
I hate that, in my eyes, they don’t deserve to be called mum and dad
I hate that when I was younger I had to run away from my father
I hate that my mother and brother left me by myself that day
I hate that they left me closer to my father
I hate that they went somewhere I would have felt safer
I hate that I feel like my friends are slowly fading away from me
I hate that I feel like I’m a third wheel
I hate that I feel like my friend’s don’t trust me
I hate that I feel like I can’t trust my friends
I hate the feeling of loneliness
I hate that I read books to escape to a world better than mine
I hate that I write to create a better life than my own
I hate that people want to invade that one heaven I invented
I hate that people ask me why I made Katy Clover Taylor
I hate that I had to make a role model for myself
I hate that she is the person I desperately want to be
I hate that she is the one thing I will never live up to
I hate that I feel like my grades would grasp my families attention
I hate that feeling of disappointment when I get a bad grade
I hate feeling like I have to live up to an expectation to hold their attention
I hate that I am relied on because of my grades
I hate that I am an older mind trapped in a younger body
I hate that I am limited in what I can do because of my age
I hate not being trusted upon
I hate people treating me as a kid
I hate not telling people how I feel
I hate hiding behind an invisible barrier
I hate not being able to share how I feel with people
I hate being scared that they won’t care.
I hate people judging me
I hate judging people
I hate that feeling of giving up
I hate the feeling of losing when I didn’t give up
I hate the choices I have made
I hate that nobody thinks I can live up to my dream
I hate people thinking they are so much better than me
I hate the fact that they are right
I hate that I will never make a good girlfriend
I hate the fact I know nobody would fall for me
I hate knowing that no one would help me pick up my life
I hate that it has fallen apart
I hate hurting the people I love
I hate them not loving me anymore
I hate knowing that what I would do would hurt people
I hate the fact I do it anyway
I hate knowing that I do all of this
I hate knowing I hate all of this
I hate trying to change it
I hate that I am not able to change it
I hate that I try not to give up hope
I hate knowing all hope is lost
I hate that I still try and cling to it anyway
I hate knowing I failed at that too
But most of all
I hate not being able to express this until now
I hate that this still won’t change a thing
I hate thinking that it still might
I hate knowing that no one cares
Long poem by
Jennifer Cahill | Details |
Shane walked to the back of the bar and found the door opened to an alley littered with the garbage of the bar and the restaurant beside it, the one whose neon sign has two lights blown out.
“Sally, we should leave through this door if the man I told you about comes in.”
“Why?” He seemed agitated, and unused to disagreement.
“The alley has no exit, except for a locked chained linked fence, and besides, we have nothing to be afraid of.” She says, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.
The bar was crowded, and despite smokers hanging outside, the air seemed thick, or viscous, with something that felt like dewdrops suspended: they almost could not breathe. Yet they felt warm within the crowd, and the frigid air outside was an incentive to stay put, at least for awhile.
Sally and Shane ordered two beers, and nursed them for twenty minutes before they started to discuss the real reason they were meeting tonight, on such a cold night in a seedy part of town.
“The money is with my cousin, actually distant cousin; he will bring it to my apartment tomorrow night, just as the sun sets.” Shane wiped the moisture that had left a mark on the counter. Sally swallowed the last drops of her beer. She ordered another; Shane was still taking shallow sips of his.
“Okay, then. Put the money in a laundry sack surrounded by linen and bring it to the laundry mat across the street from my apartment. I will meet you there at nine. It will still be quiet at that hour. We won’t be seen.”
I will pay the woman who has helped others with this money, and the problems we have been having will go away. She never speaks of such matters to others, and her word is good.” Sally was finished with her second beer, and tying her scarf tightly around her pale neck and tucking the woolen red and blue scarf into her brown jacket. She took a deep breath and declared the matter settled. She did not see the man with the knit black cap, pulled so low over his face one could not see his eyes, a scarf wrapped around his mouth, come in and approach the bar.
“One vodka and tonic, please”.
Shane immediately recognized the voice and became afraid. He whispered to Sally about this man, and she frowned deeply, only to smile abruptly when she saw Shane’s fear.
“The woman who we are paying knows of him. He cannot harm us.”
Shane walked quickly to the exit, Sally behind him, noticing the streetlights outside flickering as he stepped outside, and, pulling his dark coat tightly around him, bid goodnight and walked quickly down the street, his footsteps echoing like the voices of long lost friends. Sally waited for her ride, and as the car pulled up, Shane turned and saw the driver was his wife and the passenger his brother. Shocked, he almost ran to the car, now leaving the curbside, and called out “Sharon! Bill!”
A blackness enveloped his senses after unbearable pain and he was unaware of falling.
The next morning, at a corner newsstand near where Shane used to commute by train to work, the newspapers sold had as a bottom headline, in small bold printing, the news of the murder of a man: the commuters ruffled through the articles, and then set the papers aside after reading of such events in a small brightly lit city.
Long poem by
elizabeth landon-lane | Details |
My baby brother had the face of an angel;
One proud young lion all supple grace and golden hair
Shamelessly evocative against the backdrop of life.
My baby brother...untutored gigelo from birth.
His eyes: sapphire blue and beautiful
And he could shame a whore back into innocence
If he chose that part.
One lazy smile like a laser beam through the heart..
One inexpensive smile to melt raw anger to a shrug,
Or a sigh...in return for our rage,
However well and truly earned.
Enticed us all to willing hugs for any sin,
And so, as always, forgiveness came
Because there were so many hate filled things uncounted.
He seemed intent on the tally of invisible wounds...
Useless transgressions turned expensive through the years.
They festered behind those beautiful eyes
And a cracked glass pipe;
Using that deadly grin to blind those who loved him still...
But still....we saw the danger, denied a name in deference
To us all - who could not - would not act.
And he wasted all that love he so loudly demanded;
Shrill and greedy, emotional vampire...my baby brother.
Pouring love into him like molten gold
Hot and bright and blinding
Into an empty vessel that never seemed to fill.
My pure bred lion turned alley cat;
Turned indolent, arrogant, dangerous and dirty.
This magnificent human turned crazy,
Investing his money - and ours - into the art of throwing his life away
With vengeance and malice aforethought.
My baby brother:
Proud owner of his own self destruct button
And a .38 revolver,
Well hidden, until recently...
Until junkie fantasies gobbled up the truth
And the veneer of his sanity.
Oh Mark, where have you gone..?
Sweetheart, where are you now...?
What White Mountain have you climbed this time
Dealing yourself madness and death in a locked room...
And blaming everybody but yourself
Witih a torch made of nightmares and hate...
Hot enough to crack the glass.
Crying for a Father - long dead - to come and "save" you..
Come and get you....
Crying for a man you would not love in life.
Punish him still, lost and ugly child.
Hideous child grown and almost lost forever...
Perhaps he remains just one more demon
In some toxic level memory
Shoving hard for elbow room
Among all the other monsters shrieking in your head.
Oh Mark, where are you now..?
Baby brothers don't grow on trees, you know.
What will we do if you are really lost
And long gone beyond the medicines of love and speech..
And human tears...all wasted.
My baby brother, no baby any more;
Psychotic fallen angel
Who never grew to manhood by any man's side...
Who will not climb out of the stygean darkness by himself,
Even though we all share your guilt if not the crimes.
My baby brother:
Obscene imitation of some one especially loved;
Living proof of a bad attitude gone beserk.
Your life in the real world begins
When you lose your name at the tip of your tongue;
The moment we finally call you junkie loser...
Junkie liar...junkie weapon...out loud,
And you agree.
One split second after you know it is true...
The day - that moment - when you reach out and say,..."Help me...
Oh my beautiful Mark,
Where are you now...
Long poem by
Jesu Johnson | Details |
The World can be
Bruising, to the flesh,
Battering, to the soul,
Beating, upon the mind ,
trying the whole body,
a dowsing of it's trials,
as I live,
trying, at times,
to replace what's rightfully mine.
But it's time,
that me and the world,
get a whole new,
When the world tries to sow it's seeds of:
Fear,Worry, Doubt, Hate, Shame,
All of those terrible things.
Devastation, and such.
I hear you, my brothers, my sisters, say to the world:
Then the world can't SHOW or TELL me NOTHING about
being pushed backwards,
but not staying down.
PROUD, & PROFOUND.
I CALL YOU, &.......
NO matter the subject, the matter, the topic at hand,
Me and the rest of the world are about to get a better understanding .
Then the world can't SHOW or TELL me NOTHING
I CALL YOU, & I GOT THIS, No matter what the world's throwin' or showin'
but that's another matter,
a different Poem .
Long poem by
Monterey Sirak | Details |
I found you crying in the closet when you were only five
A walk-through closet that opened onto both our bedrooms
You had a bad dream didn’t know where to turn
Mom and Dad weren’t home left us with Uncle Joe
but he always went to bed right after supper
And he wasn’t our uncle just a lonely old man
who stayed on when we rented his house
You were my little brother so I took you to my bed
Later you told me I petted you like a little lost puppy
The next morning I helped you make your bed
Our first chore of the day making beds
smoothing and tucking covers
erasing signs of disturbed nights
Making neat what was chaos
We didn’t realize we were making beds in a burning house
Inside our home reality was knocked askew
to match our town struck by the tornado a week ago
I held tightly to your hand as we boarded the bus
Mom was running away from Dad taking us with her
No great adventure awaited us only fear of an unknown future
At ten all I knew to do was bury my face in your cowlick and cry
You ran away from home I found you sitting at the corner
with tears rolling down dirty freckled cheeks
stumped because you were not allowed to cross the street
Your pillowcase full of clothes a sad lump on the pavement
I took your hand and led you home
I taught you to make your own bed
with perfectly tucked corners and fresh clean sheets
But our house was still burning
Soon only the two of us would be left
Our sister headed to Heaven wrapped in her chenille bedspread
Mom trailed behind hanging onto a loose tail of the sheet
flapping forlornly in a cool autumn breeze
I took your hand sat with you on the window seat
We watched parades of people passing through our house
who never noticed us And we waited
We waited years for Mom to return although she slept in her bed
each night and made it first thing in the morning
Our house was still burning
You grew up to set your own houses on fire
It was what you knew making beds in burning houses
Each time I found you took you by the hand
led you to a peaceful place where we could sit quietly
and watch the world go by for a time
Words unnecessary between us
They had been since before you could talk
when Mom placed your chubby newborn self
in my four-year-old arms and said Here’s your baby brother
You watch out for him He needs you
Your fires have all gone out now
No burning embers left to catch on the bed covers
You make your bed with ease precision
and a renewed sense of purpose
I watch happily from a distance of only miles
And know you can feel me still holding your hand
For Kevin, the most exasperating, loyal, and lovable little brother anyone could have.
Long poem by
J. W. M. Earnings | Details |
At 8:30 AM,
"Get up, LAURA! Charlie! Wake up...Robert...Wake up."
No reply...no reply...just ignore my wake up calls...yell at me all you want
You make me cry...cry...just shatter me like glass...you place me in the trash, but I still feel this discontent
Deep inside of me...
There's a sea of remorse swirling around me...
At 12:15 AM,
No reply...no reply...
"What are you doing?"
I just want to cry...a river...why?
She still ignores me...now I'm feeling the anxiety...
She still jokes around with me, but I feel so angry...and so empty...
She's texting her friends again...I must talk to her sometime
She still doesn't answer my calls...she doesn't care to wipe off my grime
Sponging inside of me...
I guess I'm left with my chores for today
My heart is swelling up in dismay...and my sky turns to gray
And I pray...for relief and I just want to say...
I love my sisters and brothers, but they truly don't care for me...or at least that's what I think till this very day
This lonesome feeling sufficates me...
Go ahead and ignore me, sister
You just added another blister
In my mouth, my hopelessness avalanches all over the ground
You make me frustrated...and now my head spins round and round
And I feel bound...
By stress and torment!
Go ahead and neglect my voice
My heart is seeping out misery...pumping with fret...
while you text your friends and rejoice
In my head, my painstaking regrets torture me profoundly
You don't care to listen - live your life without me
My soul is left in the cold...
Oh! Go ahead! Let me mold...mold...
I worry about you, sister...
But you left me to dry like glue...you made me suffer
don't beg to differ...
Go ahead! Blow fire in my direction...
I warn you...you don't want to see an eruption
I don't want to be ensnared by my corruption...
Please God...pick me off from the ground...
and show me some direction
Or I'll be broken down like the titanic...
And You don't wanna see me panic...
At 1:00 AM,
I decide to pray to God for protection...
I pray...I pray...
I wait for His reply..........................
He helped me fight
my depression wars
He unchained me from the cage...
and taught me how to fly
He cherished me...
He understood me
and He still does till this day...
He healed my sores...
And He doesn't ignore my calls!
He makes me feel content
even in the midst of hardships -
I pray...I wait...I cry...
For His comfort daily...
to nourish me
when I feel ignored
Or when I'm stabbed in loathe...
I pray that Your peace be restored
In our family once more.
To fix the broken glass...to fix the emotions breaking us all
For the chaos to cease
To make the whole world rejoice...to encourage us to stand tall
Will love make us whole again?
Long poem by
J Eliza JAMES | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/natures_single_dads___the_australian_emu_372914' st_title='Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu'>
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
that each has a
With his reputation,
there is no
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
He matches her mood.
His movements are
as they twist and
twirl in their
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
With steps that are
light he glides to
he meets her, bows
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
It matters not
whether we all stay
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
This egg will be
food for his hungry
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
He’ll sit day and
night until the
He knows, that time
to be continued...