Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
You can feel it spinning
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.
By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.
Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexico's greatest and most beloved leader.
Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
kept out of the playground, government buildings, children's games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
seasons, weather, earth.
While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
Food is life and a good study,
The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
who serves the people. Peace out.
Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments.
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Earth's diverse Trees of Tribes
mentor ecotherapy with me,
echoing sighing resonant waves of wisdom
surfing through lunar waxing-waning forests
of humanly divine burning nuclear bushes.
boundary wu-wei issues
waving functions and frequencies,
tipping wild-flowering forms with full-color frequencies,
soaring summer's Yangish fired threat of melting ashes,
without winter's quenching white snow and ice-packed
hypothermic branches of purgation
composting Autumn's ReGenesis windfall harvest
from Spring's succulent soil
decomposing well-being eco-therapeutic nutrients.
Growing new council ribbon-rings in this EarthTribe Tree,
new leaves of wild grass-fed hope,
new polyculturing metamorphing
Beloved Climax Community Development Organic Compost,
newly incarnating through multisystemic ReGenesis Projects,
responsively coincidental tree hierarchies
reversed appositionally and synergetically
in bipolar-balancing root systemic
nutrition-compost networks of bionic information,
positive with negative images, analogy, ecological systems,
resolving reverse-e-v-i-L dissonant non-relational place,
non-polynomial race toward entropy.
New rings emerge newly resonant flows and flues,
flutes and fruits,
new frowns but also newly ripening fruit
for Eden's permaculturing harvest,
then seeding yet another ring.
Ecological Yin-virtue rings incarnating,
inviting and absorbing,
economically slow-growth sustainable Yang-value branches.
SuperEco's lunar cycling virtues,
photosynthetically in-forming eco-norms,
optimizing solar-fusing systemic values.
How could Earth's Trees and Tribes not care enough
my world's story,
my Self-Other Trees of Life Story?
Why do I struggle to care enough
to new you in to my full-moon dreams
of flight and permaculturing fantasy,
analogies of new through old negative-positive relational design,
unbranching paradigms and generations
racing straight through core rooted
universal space and time?
I love our wild yeast willingness to evolve
active resonance and peaceful swaying branches,
songs and dances,
but can't say the same for overly domesticated
left-brain dominant willfullness
to exchange our SuperEco belonging
for side-by-side struggling
and discontenting ego-fulfillment longing,
failing to see and hear and feel karma's becoming
with incarnate natural, organic, simple,
actively peaceful and contenting-informing
Primal Being together here with now
feeds my soul to yours,
and ours to mine to ours refined,
wild Being escaping Left-brained dominance
with stir-flying race toward more balanced integrity,
natural nutrients and cycles and systems
and non-violent language,
and comprehensive growth of compendious EcoValue transactions,
mentoring our stories and praxis and intent with mutual care,
polycultural Wisdom Council
of natural permaculturing content,
optimetric (0)-rooting Fullerian prime function.
We try and test and stretch,
tip and trim our tabs
to see and hear and feel beyond the end
of our egocentric noses and dicks,
hearts and minds,
especially with those with whom we live,
those who show me day to day
ebbs and flows of feelings
faith and despair,
patients and patience,
timely cosmic-humor balancing awareness.
Why do we each and all together share this life expanding stretch?
If we can grow our SuperEco
compassionately mindful love
within ourselves and among our familial friendly selves,
for our highly amusing ego-tipping and flowing
swimming flights toward active peace mentoring without,
then among our friends,
then our vocational relationships to Earth
and all EarthTribe Species,
then our Omega Points coincidentally and synergetically
to Here and Now full living
as Yang with Yin's optimal Left-Right balance
Left's convex productive leaves and branches,
seeding Right's concavely enculturing
(0)-core root natural SuperEco-MetaSystemic
ReGenerating Projecting Incarnation,
ReGenerously Projective EcoJustice
foresting trees of reconnecting
learning our diversely cooperative
Win-Win Universal Game Theorem.
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Why are TransIt-Geners so shy?
Or, are we hiding herhim?
We're not sure, confident,
some of both, ambivalent
but bi-androgynous "Him,"
Yang leaning Yin,
fears no one else will notice
that surf rolls in before reversing out.
If not Bicameral She Womb,
then no incoming children of God,
one way, one gender, one race,
with the other.
TransIts know bi-naturally cooperative laws
of primal order,
prehensile full bodied and souled grasp
of organic life's humorous ambiguity
of Yang with Yin within,
as to come,
as to belong,
as to become EarthTribe together.
It's so restraining to not love
bare expose cooperatively unbalancing HermAfro-ergodic It.
S/he is soooooo much fun!
laughs with everyone,
always both Self and Other
com-prehensively ubiquitous mirth and EchoJoy,
optimal enough to return
breathe out Earth's abundant favor.
TransIt's polypathic polyculturing
binomial bionically binary buddha brain
saturates flowering rain,
positive with negative nutrient flow patterns,
dissects words to help
disharmonic unbalanced double-bound,
overwound loops of lazy logos.
Through permaculturing tipping-trimming needles
decompositional exegesis of meaningfully rich language,
TransIt loves to ultimately find
unerringly eisegetical and exigeneral,
generically radical revolutionary Commons,
post-millennial Fullerian Taoism.
TransIts choose holding hands Red Rover
SockHer left-brained domination;
TransIt plays teacher with His baby sisters,
but also learner,
rather than driving too-techish trucks and trains,
not organic enough for our TransBionic steady diet;
TransIts think compulsively about this problem of evil
as primal resolution for Live Composting Fertilizer's
full-sponsored PolyReality Show.
While watching Leave It to Beaver,
where Father Knows Best,
TransIt wonders why Mrs. Beaver always got the wisest lines
but never the headline.
TransIt feels older and wiser then "Him"
but they are born twins
Yang over Yin
or so BionicIt seems to transmorphosize
as TransIt mysteriously explores incarnational cycles
as nature's four prime Seasons,
unveiling double-funneled raincloud whirlwinds
winding wending wu-wei Way,
revolving tips of tree hierarchies
balancing polynomial (0) Core
binomial primal Universe,
etching dipolar whorlwinds in our Memory Sea
of shared RNA-structuring identity.
TransIts abhor stability,
love spinning our revolutions of joy,
adore regenerating poly-solidarity.
TransMillennial Tao is a hollowful Zero-Core Vortex vessel,
and TransIts functions are infinitely inexhaustible!
like the Black Hole Fountain Head of all things.
TransIts sharp boundary edges resonantly resolving rounding off
Its prime torus tangles crossed untied,
TransIt light tempered balancing enlightenment,
its turmoil equivalently sub-merging and resyn-ergodizing,e
Yet absent darkness, like deep ecological water,
It seems to remain,
sustain econormic Commons.
I do not know whose Sun TransIt is,
if not an image of what existed before and within
Black Hole's regenerating Progenerator
mutually gravitational fusion
as Beloved Diastasis.
TransIts most therapeutic response to arrogance,
fear and anger,
both with Beloved Self and TransIt Other,
rather than justice evolving as One
without the Other.
Our most therapeutic reconnections
to what is lost,
are tears of anger and grief and relief and joy.
communication within self-con-sciencing community,
carries and buries TransIts most appropriate therapy
of seasonal development
from argue through blissful enlightenment.
like their bodies,
heal in our own ecological reincarnational spacetime
of opportunity and risk
for integrating our Self+Other
only AND every co-incidentally balanced,
this HereNow Moment's integrative,
of consonant harmonics;
of polyculturing TransIt ReGenerational diversity.
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details |
THE DEATH OF TUTANKHAMEN
The king is dead--and layed within his place,
and night has fallen as it did before,
within his tomb he hides his golden face
and waits to live and breath and love once more;
a grain of sand will last as long has he--
young man--did they not tell you in your youth
That time will fade away, and secretly,
while you await, to feel and know the truth?
And Tutankhamen, time will not reveal
the secrets of the past, they fade away--
and all the things you long to know and feel
are gone before they see the light of day.
How old are you, young man, four thousand years--
or just as old as all our hopes and fears?
You're just as old, I guess, as any dream
and just as far away as space permits,
improvident sometimes, and yet we seem
agglomerated to a life that fits--
We come and go--in circumspectful daze--
disgruntled in our youth, and growing old,
and never seem to see the proper ways
and disinclined to hear the things we're told--
exhonerating all that we have known,
who take until there's nothing left to give,
for life is just a path that we have flown,
from other dreams, where other dreamers live.
This mass we call "myself" will soon return
to heaven space, or maybe it will burn.
The power in us all is dominant--
just as the time of Tutankhamens womb,
from birth we go through life--intransigent
and hope the best will be beyond the tomb.
We hope that space is part of better things
just as belief--in Akhen Atens day,
we feel the same as did Egyptian kings
who looked at life as where they'd choose to stay;
exacerbated, as we live and grow,
to better space, than what we have and feel,
and though it's part of life we do not know--
it's just as dear--and just as harsh and real.
How old are we? Not one could estimate,
and if they did, they'd tilt the hands of fate.
The pylon gates that lead to peace of mind
are open to the ones who search at night,
but truth in life is sometimes hard to find
and pyramids block out the glow of light--
while deep below--mastabas hold the past
and keep it safe--from any mortal eyes--
with stores of grain--while sun gods gold and cast,
stare into space--where only darkness lies--
and Tutankhamens silence is a thing
to last five thousand years of growing old,
at best--his wish was but to be the king
within a life that's cast and locked in gold--
and Akhen Aten knows he is okay
that's why he will not lead his soul astray
but Akhen Aten hides his face at night--
and southern breezes cool the scorching air,
and any sound is whispered soft and light--
because there's no one list'ning anywhere;
nomadic tribes have perched upon his rock,
and never knew that Tutankhamen hears--
each sound of life--each key that could unlock
his mortal soul--if they would use their ears,
if they would see--the sun god is a friend,
and leads to light, where Tutankhamen sleeps,
how many minds would see his mortal end--
is not his death--though in our mind it creeps--
and takes away the youth of ev'ry man
and sends it to the time where time began;
How old are you--young man--why do you stare?
The world awaits for you to raise your soul--
though fettered to the wind--and ev'rywhere,
in time a dream will make you free and whole--
to walk again--the Valley of the Kings
and ride upon the waters of the Nile--
where spirits bathe, and Nephritite sings,
the secrets of the past--for yet a while,
the world is obdurate of any scheme,
that brings new life--once death has made its' call
though greater men than you--have known this dream,
not one still hides behind his secret wall--
and no remains--stay hidden to the past--
if golden chains are known to hold them fast.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Long poem by
Funom Makama | Details |
Finding a new hiding place
the grass cutters cherish
not taking advantage is deemed extremely foolish.
Taking note of the lady who seems Scottish
and protected by her beauty and charisma
is a situation meant for me to act upon
With my courage, her intimidation must vanish.
I sit on the available chair and reciprocate her welcoming smile.
"Your fixed focus on the meal
and comfortable sitting position
means you are all alone"......... I said
"So?"...................... She said.
Despite being famished
I needed some inspiration and creativity
to keep this hard to find wealth
rooted to my territory.
"But your moving feet and gentle
mastication shows you need company"...... I said
"Well! You may be right"........She said.
My gaze never left her blue eyes
as this ravishing being threatens
to tarnish my reputation.
"What brings a working class
attractive, young damsel
to a place like this?"........ I said
"to eat"................. She said.
Nature came to my rescue
as what arrived was my dish
garnished with vegetables and fish.
or is it just humility?"............ I said
As the Cheetah waits patiently
to pounce on its prey
so I am. Waiting for the right time to tick.
"Your short phrase answers
remind me of a princess from India"............... I said.
"Thanks, but who was she to you?".............. She said.
Now in a welcomed territory
with the precious gift of liberty and freedom.
the bee is about to dance with the rest
in their honey comb.
"My first Love but no more"....... I said
"What happened?......She said
It seems the path chosen is right
what is left is for us to walk through it.
Nothing else, just walk, walk and walk.
"She developed the arrogance of a Briton".....I said
"Just that! She's worth a second chance
if she's as tough as the Jew"..... She said.
Can the dog ever be the king of the jungle?
can the bamboo boast of deeper roots to the Oak?
That's me! Sitting on all of Nature's components right now.
"Oh my dear! That spoils it all".....I said
"Really? Tell me more"..... She said.
As my Tongue wags my brain remained blank
with its sensors dissipated.
"Are you saying she should be quick to
anger ?.... I said
"You mean the Jews are quick to anger?...... She said
The more the talk the more her welcome.
A pleasure to behold and an experience to die for.
"Yes and also very cunny"..... I said
"How's that?"......She said.
My mouth speaks of another
to an Angel who seems so human
while the mind is already in full possession
of this being so unfamiliar but dear.
"I was once given change
with two $4 bills inclusive
in a Jewish shop"...... I said
Then the Jews are indeed silly
and crafty"...... She said
Feeling already in the promise land,
I drink its milk without asking
and lick its honey without minding
"the deed always speak for the doer".... I said
"But it's still an assumption and not all may be same"..... She said.
A little current then passes through my head stimulating
the need to seal this opportunity.
"Forget about those devils!
What if I say we hang out tonight?"..... I said
"No, actually!".....She said.
Impressed by her feminine flame
which is not uncommon to gorgeouses of her class
I pulled the gear once more awaiting the motion to begin.
"After such an interesting chat you say no? Are you
seeing someone?"....I said
"No! But I am a Jew and one of those
devils"...... She said.
Starring in frustration and self-hate,
I stay inanimate, lifeless and dumb,
while she laughs graciously
which increases the already existent injuries,
cutting me piece by piece in the inside.
Nothing I said
Nothing she said.
Long poem by
Ian Howard | Details |
I Felt the Earth
There in the valley reaching for the sun
Our younger days were such fun
Though the struggle to be
Was so much for me?
The valley walls were so tall
That I would fear they would fall
Then bury me, it was so little that I did see
As the sun did run its course
The silence still echoes in my mind
Where I had trod in younger times
The valleys hole deep under ground
Would give and take of those around
It to me didn’t seem so clear
As I was to young, and didn’t see
Why they would do this for such as me
Then laugh as their days sped by
Sinking shafts of killing coal
They would just each morning go
To where I would ask in questions few
As it was hard to speak to you
Who slaved all of your day’s
For such paltry sums
Quality of life and then some
They would take all these things away
You did this For Me
Even now in these modern days
They do the same a different ways
As we would still not know
That under ground you would toil so
Then later as time, did pass me to be
A thinking man for all to see
I would wonder at it all
That why you should have been there at all
From healthy folk to coughing wrecks
It took its toll of fine young men
This land that we loved so, and then again
We loved it for it was home
Fear not to turn up at the old people’s graves
There to talk of those long gone days
That left the greedy ones flying so high
Though to little me and mine, we cry to be
We had so little that had to go so far
Ask your mother around to tea
Talk over fences and laugh with me
At the way of folks that err
The life though hard was still there to see
Now came the new age just for you and me
Things were changed where I had grown
I could not leave you there alone
To strive to be good was all we could do
At what things you now saw and knew
In church yards this valley through
I will still visit there to talk to you
There to relate of the now times
To tell of tales that you once knew
I hope it sees your eternity through
Deep under ground there stirs not a thing
I see You Now
Nothing now the mines have gone
Just old memories now held in song
Blackened faces coughing, choking shrouds
Clouds of long past days held your ways
For other folk you toiled away
The sun that stretched the valley so
Is brighter now than you did know
The changing of the valleys ways
Brought on in so many places
Cannot replace your blackened faces
That even now had so many graces
Hear now, to the green grass you gave to me
Gone are spoons to say I love you so
Take me back I you implore
To walk once again the valley floor
Mind that hole my little dear
It’s where the miners use to play
The fear they had, has gone away
My child look to the hills you will see
Lumps and bumps graves of yesterday
Which on green grass spills
Over to cover mine droppings
That took its toll, they said it couldn’t be
Do not look you mustn’t see
The changes of one type of poverty
To this one place we hold so dear
Gone are the mines but what’s this I hear
There are new things to take their places
Today I Cry
No longer blackened, we’ve changed places
Little boxes with electronic faces
That sings your praise and makes you feel
Yet where’s the money to pay the bills
No matter that we are coming to
The centuries end for you and me
It’s the same now as it will always be
My grown up child don’t look at me
When I say, I would rather be
Back there in days gone by, believe me
Then if you catch me sometimes its fine
Where you may see me cry for that time
It’s not for the passing of my friends
That all these warm tears descend
Rolling then falling without end
It’s for the future that we are told
That will be better now that you are old
Not so grown child of mine
The poverty has just been refined
There on the soil that I left behind
Was as, and is always now
Where the earth feels the same
Long poem by
John Arribas | Details |
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
NOW THAT I’M APPROACHING THE FINAL INNING
I NEED TO RE ASSESS THE IDEAS I HAD AT THE BEGINNING
I THOUGHT THAT IF YOU WERE ALTRUISTIC AND RIGHT
THAT ALONE WAS THE STRENGTH NEEDED TO FIGHT
TO HELP THOSE LESS FORTUNATE TRULY IN NEED
BUT FEW WILL HELP, UNLESS YOU SATISFY THEIR GREED
LYING AND CHEATING SHOULD BE AN OLYMPIC SPORT
FAVORS ARE GRANTED, THEN COMES THE EXTORT
EVERYONE LIES OR EXAGGERATES ON AN APPLICATION
TAKE AN OATH IN COURT, LIE, FEAR NO CONDEMNATION
MOST PILFERAGE IN STORES OCCUR BY THOSE WITH KEYS
USUALLY DONE BY, THE MOST TRUSTED EMPLOYEES
CHEATING USUALLY STARTS IN THE LOWER GRADES
EXPANDS ASTRONOMICALLY WITH ELECTRONIC AIDS
BECOMES QUITE EVIDENT WHEN YOU’RE ALL ALONE
UNABLE TO COMPLETE A QUESTIONNAIRE ON YOUR OWN
OVERSTATE YOUR INCOME WHEN YOU APPLY FOR A LOAN
BANKER KNOWS IT, OKS IT, MORE MONEY HE TAKES HOME
MANUFACTURERS SELL PRODUCTS WITH GUARANTEES
WITH SO MANY CAVEATS THERE’S LITTLE COMFORT TO SEE
RETURN IT IN THE ORIGINAL BOX AND CONDITION
IF ANY THINGS MISSING WE WONT HONOR YOUR PETITION
THEY KNOW STATISTICALLY WHAT PERCENTAGE WILL COMPLY
ALL THE REST ARE SUBJECT THE MANUFACTURERS GOODBYE
HOME NURSING SERVICES ARE SELDOM COMPLETE
POORLY TRAINED PERSONNEL OR STRAIGHT OFF THE STREET
TAKING A FEW ITEMS FROM WHERE YOU WORK
MANY CONSIDER IT AN OCCUPATIONAL PERK
EVERYONE CHEATS IT’S A PART OF OUR DNA
WE DO IT REPEATEDLY EACH AND EVERY DAY
THE BIGGEST OFFENDERS CAN BE FOUND WHERE YOU LIVE
GOVERNMENTS SQUANDER THE TAXES THAT EACH US GIVE
JUICY CONTRACTS ARE METED OUT TO PARTY CRONIES
EXTRAS TO CONTRACTS THAT ARE USUALLY PHONEY
NO BID DEALS TO FRIENDS DUE TO EXIGENT CONDITIONS
THEN ADD MORE DUE TO NEEDLESS REVISIONS
THEY BUILD BRIDGES TO NOWHERE A TOTAL SHAM
A BIG PARTY DONOR WANTS TO DEVELOP HIS LAND
A NEW STADIUM IS DEMANDED BY A PROFESSIONAL TEAM
TAX MONEY IS USED BUT THE PUBLIC’S GAIN YET TO BE SEEN
ITS EASY TO GET PUBLIC OFFICIALS TO VOTE ON A PROPOSAL
JUST PUT PLENTY OF CAMPAIGN MONEY AT THEIR DISPOSAL
DONORS ARE CAUTIOUS, CLEVER THEY HEDGE THEIR BETS
GIVE TO ALL THE CANDIDATES AVOIDING ANY REGRETS
ITS NOT UNUSUAL FOR A BUSINESS TO DONATE A LARGE SUM
WHILE ALL THE EMPLOYEES SUPPORT THE OPPOSITE ONE
ITS NOT UNUSUAL FOR THE EMPLOYER TO GIVE RESTITUTION
AN AMOUNT EQUAL TO THE POLITICAL CONTRIBUTION
AND THEN THERE ARE THE UNASHAMED POLITICIANS
WHO WILL PROMISE WHATEVER TO FULFILL THEIR AMBITIONS
LEGISLATION IS PASSED AND THEY REVEL IN PRAISE
EXEMPTING THEMSELVES AND GETTING A RAISE
THEY FOLLOW THE POLLS SO THEY CAN STEER
THEIR PROMISES AIMED AT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR
CORRUPTION GOES DEEPER THAN JUST HELPING YOURSELF
JUSTIFYING LYING AND CHEATING TO LACK OF WEALTH
WE STEAL FROM OUR WORK WE LIE TO OUR BOSS
IT DOESN’T HURT HIM HE CAN TAKE A INFLATED LOSS
STORM DAMAGED MY HOUSE BELOW THE DEDUCTIBLE
I’LL BREAK A FEW THINGS AND MAKE IT LOOK PLAUSIBLE
CORRUPTION IS MOST HEINOUS RISING TO THE TOP OF THE LIST
WHEN SAFETY CONCERNS ARE IGNORED PUTTING LIVES AT RISK
MEN WORKING IN HAZZARDS CONDITIONS LIKE SAY A MINE
NEED ATTENTION PAID TO SAFETY BEFORE THE BOTTOM LINE
PROPER MAINTENANCE IS IMPERATIVE NO MATTER THE COST
WHEN THERE’S A CHANCE THAT LIVES MAY BE LOST
CORRUPTION HAS ANOTHER NAME ITS CALLED GREED
DUMP THE SCRUPLES GO GET WHAT YOU NEED
THE BIGGER THE PAYOFF THE BIGGER THE CRIME
PUT A SMALL DENT IN CORRUPTION WE HAVE TIME
WHEN A CHILD TRIES TO EXCUSE HIS ACTIONS WITH A LIE
Long poem by
Arline Jeanette Wagner | Details |
So, sorry for you claiming this sad, sad world;
In your desperate means to cling to a disintegrating dream of mankind;
Your rose colored goggles fogging with deception and hate;
I apologize to every spirit and soul caught in the murky web of lies,
This spinning ball of corrupted good intentions gone bad,
Yes, our earth, our home and gift,
This dreaded habitat of tainted visions for peace or for incitement of war.
I cry for you, my tears are overwhelming.
My heavy coat of gloom is so heavy and thick.
Slowly I feel my mind go as the thick and over whelming desperation weighs on my collapsing soul;
Crushing Pandora’s hope, snuffing out a light once bright, fired heart’s will.
Will of wonder, want, need, desolate attempts of which to take away the ragged and rusty nails that pierced the shells of constitutions and democracy.
Calloused feet and wounded beliefs.
Yes, I cry for you.
It’s hard to not wear the guilt for you all,
To feel the pain endured
To observe the murders, rapists, and such.
Forgive me for being so weak.
Eyes wide shut,
Unable to cast a glance away.
Forced to see all tiresome and dreary people end each others existence based merely on that of seconds lasted animosity, feelings, emotions.
Minutes after the haughty sauce of misconceptions,
has boiled countries alive; one foul mouth, one wrong step, one deranged political suggestion that leaves third world countries ready to devour each other.
Wishes, dreams, hopes of hopeless attempts,
Harbored by an ant compared to the greater of all,
With desires to end it all.
Where is Zeus?
Or, is it our divine and sole God and Son?
Where are the superior species with promise to return with the antidote to our chaos and suicidal destructive ways?
Where is our Superman?
No pure hearted man will step up and solve it all.
No more tears today, the well of sorrow has dried.
The will to go on in the watch of all the death when there are so many ways to resurrect in watch of illness and disease when the man with the badge holds so many cures.
Yes, Pandora was opened and Hope has watched and Hope has stayed a distance.
Hope has tried to hope, yet, in vain.
Hope has run out of determination;
Given up on all things.
No more audience for you on earth.
Now we fall to stone,
With good will and hope clenched in cold hands.
We all fall down; crumble to pieces.
My mind is dead, the soul has ceased to exist.
My eyes are closed.
I see no more.
My tongue dried to clay crumbles.
I speak no more.
So sorry I am for you all claiming this sad, sad, world.
For all those suffering,
We once fried rivers of empathy;
Screamed in anguish for sicknesses stiffened fingers grasping for a cure.
Death means to collapse the rock upon which you all dwell.
Writhed and rathed in turmoil we did.
Taking mankind’s pain, sickness, and death to our hearts.
In the end we stay.
Hope ends, as the earth crumbles the motherly need to comfort even as humanities end lays hope to rest. Like the light of a dwarf star slowly snuffed out over millennia’s end.
So, so sorry for you claiming this sad, sad world in your desperate means to cling to a disintegrating dream of a utopian mankind.
Long poem by
Kelly Crenshaw | Details |
I'm 51 today.
51 tomorrow, yay
Was 51 yesterday.
52 is months away,
And yes I'm thankful.
Although it's not my real birthday,
It kinda is in a certain way.
I'm still alive another day.
I had the notion to celebrate.
And be thankful.
Though it's not a holiday.
Thanksgiving has come and gone away,
I'm just alive today.
For that I'm thankful.
Honestly, I am not just trying to make these lines rhyme,
Or reflect upon the deep sublime.
I'm just grateful today to be alive.
I mean really thankful.
I'm not trying to wow you with philosophy,
Or impress you with theology.
It matters not at all to me.
I just feel thankful.
So tonight I take a walk outside,
I look up into the endless sky and then I breathe.
I breathe in deep,
And I say thank you.
And maybe not just to Who you think,
Man let's throw in the kitchen sink,
And include all who've touched my life, to whom I'm thankful.
Some of you I'm glad you're gone,
Frankly you stayed a bit too long
And some you the grave stole far too soon,
And yet I'm still thankful.
Today the living and the dead
You've both been right up inside my head,
And synergized this verbal thread.
For that I'm thankful.
I close my eyes and think of Tim, named David right there toward the end.
I always smile when I think of him,
And now I listen
I heard a siren going by,
I wonder who and wonder why,
Was it a wreck, did someone die?
Yet still I listen.
Neighbors dogs are going wild.
Was that the laughter of a child.
Seems like I can hear for miles.
Still I listen.
I hear the hi-way roar of cars.
Tho I have never heard the stars
Is there really life on Mars?
Shhh brain please shut up and listen!
The soft night whispers in my ears.
Pressing through my random fears,
I stand amazed at what I hear.
And now I wonder.
I open up my eyes and see as I feel this winter breeze
The silhouette of leafless trees.
I stand in wonder
Then I wonder about the first man to ever be,
Or the first time he looked up to see
The Milky Way the galaxies.
Did he wonder?
I wonder what he did
How he loved how he lived.
If he ever lost a friend?
Man oh man I wonder.
Was he the first to dig a grave?
How it sounded if he prayed?
How he fought?
How he played?
If that man could see us all today,
What would he say I wonder?
In ways was he a lot like me?
Did he sometimes fear what he could not see?
Did he create unseen walls
I stand and wonder.
Did he ever hurt the ones he loved?
Did life convince him not to trust?
My great grandfather lived
My DNA is shared with him.
I wonder how we are the same,
And I don't even know his name.
Still I wonder.
Will my great grand kids know my name?
Will it even matter who's to say?
Will they look up in wonder?
Will they listen?
Will they be thankful?
Not much I can leave to them
That would matter too much in the end.
I suppose the primal hope in man
Is the hope I hope lives on in them
I hope they wonder. About the universe.
I hope they listen. To life's unspoken verse.
I hope they're thankful. Even in midst of deepest hurts.
I hope they're thankful.
I hope they listen.
I hope they wonder.
And no matter what life hands them,
I hope they hope.
Long poem by
Alex Duffy | Details |
If Eminem or Jay-Z wrote this you’d say it was the rhyme of the year
How could any one think they could take me out of my comfort zone?
When they see the peace I find in my fears
Look at everything I’ve had to stomach alone
I refuse to be censored
I’ll never apologise for anything I say
All your lies will be forgotten, my truth will be remembered
I can take all the negativity you bring my way
What’s going to happen tomorrow, you will never know
While you’re holding on to the fact one day they’ll understand how you feel
Life is cruel and can take anyone from you and force you to let them go
That’s when it becomes almost impossible to heal
While their heart stopped beating
You will die inside daily
Looking at their pictures, going over missed chances, grieving
All the crying making your eyes achy
I wonder if my ex’s count knowing me a s a blessing or curse
If I died today how would they react?
None of us came in love expecting to hurt
Would you remember the good times and try forgetting the worst
Will you cry and miss the way I used to wake in your bed
Will you go to my funeral just to make sure I’m dead?
Will you not give it a second thought?
Am I not worthy of a space in your head?
Would you recall the nights you seduced me?
They say life’s a movie
But you can’t fast forward past the parts you don’t like
No one to pass a torch to you in the dark of the night
So play your part and know your role
You can’t pause your life with a remote control
You can’t skip or edit
Choose your words carefully, you can’t take it back once you’ve said it
You don’t get another take you can’t rewrite the script
The guy doesn’t always get the girl
Happy endings rarely occur
The only way life’s like a movie, is you can choose your own cast that’s it
It’s up to you, to decide who should and shouldn’t be in your life
People will cheat you, hurt you, and stab you in the back
People will play you, and I don’t mean an actor putting on an act
They turn out to be the person you couldn’t see with your eyes
You’ll get taken advantage of if you’re kind and generous
A lot of people in life you’ll find are venomous
Smile to your face then put a knife in your back
Snakes cause they hide in the grass
Teenage girls idolising Kim kardashian and Helen Flanagan
So they strip down, think they only have their body to offer so start exploiting sex
Some people can’t see how this is damaging
But I’m swapping numbers with girls and then avoiding texts
Even some guy would think it’s so great
But I can’t take advantage of her vulnerability so we won’t date
Let another guy buy her drinks
Wait my pens running out, excuse me while I change ink
She wants a boob job, but I think she already looks perfect
She’s naturally beautiful but wants to go for the fake look
Posting half-naked pictures on facebook
Saying “he no longer fancies me, he’s not worth it”
Why do people change when they don’t need to?
If you’re not the same person I met then I will leave you
Sometimes I get lost, but life finds a way to remind me I’m here
I rhyme with no fear that’s why I’ll write the rhyme of the year