Long poem by
Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |
WE ARE BROTHERS
Don’t look at me as though I am an alien or stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy fly out of your eyes,
I am your neighbor!
Don’t call me foe, antagonist or rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves to have a fight,
I am your friend!
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand,
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, to live,
I am your BROTHER!
If destiny willed me to be born on this side of the
If my parents wished me these clothes to wear
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?
If fate desired me to speak this foreign tongue,
And the color of my skin to be different than yours,
Do we have to be competitors?
If necessity decided in this country, in the North,
or South, or East, or West to live,
Do we have to be opponents?
If I believe in Jesus, Jehovah, Krishna, Buddha,
Brahma or Allah,
If this is my philosophy, my tradition, my history
and my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
NO! A million times NO!
Please, look at me with new eyes and through away
your injurious prejudices,
What do you see but a person like you who wants,
Desires and hopes the same things in life:
Happiness, family, well-being, a home, some friends,
Look! I walk, I talk, I eat, I sleep, I dream, I laugh and
I cry, just like you,
I’m born, I grow up, I learn, I suffer, I bleed and
I die, just like you,
I’m a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter,
Just like you,
You see, we are alike, we are the same, we are
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, my ally,
I am telling you the truth:
We are victims of schemes well- planned in advance,
By deceitful, evil-hearted men who wished,
Your distraction and mine,
They: masters of savage forgery, dividers
Have tricked us throughout history with
And with treacherous stories, these intellectually impotent
Have instilled tons of poison in your heart and
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and
Managed to shape us to ruthless foes, to merciless enemies,
To cruel animals,
Please, listen to me! It is true! We are
Let us, therefore, with irresistible will cross all frontier
That the past has erected between us, thus making divisions
Let us, with supreme power, break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each- others arms,
Let us uproot, from our tormented hearts, thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago,
Let us seize ammunition from distractive hatred
And make war capitulate,
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness in the affectionate sea
Of universal brotherhood and finally,
Let us unite and march to higher claims, to incomparable glory,
Where peace can blossom today,
Thus, both of us my brother, AT LAST! Will go to sleep,
Fearless of each other tonight!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
08 June 2013
Long poem by
Gary Bateman | Details |
Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz
This is a rather grim epic poetic tale of Rosalia, a 16th century German witch who terrorized villages, destroyed the lives and corrupted the souls of many people throughout the countryside in the Harz Mountains in Germany.
Rosalia focused her evil and malicious activities at the outset in a land area directly below the Brocken summit in the Harz. Over the time and extent of her macabre reign as a Black Witch and a Master of the Black Arts, Rosalia began to expand her campaign of evil among other provincial areas of the Harz beyond the Brocken. Her periodic nightly raids on villages in the Harz are part of the continuing legends of witchcraft and sorcery that still pervade the local culture there to this very day.
Rosalia in modern day parlance was the “real deal” when it came to wreaking havoc and pandemonium among mankind. That is, she was truly a redoubtable force of evil and unmitigated malevolence, not to be toyed with nor underestimated by anyone seeking to confront her. Rosalia was bent on fulfilling Lucifer’s principal goals: destroying the peace and harmony of mankind; disrupting the holy balance of the relationship between Man and God; corrupting the eternal souls of men, women, and children; extinguishing the light in the world; and bringing mankind into darkness and despair.
Rosalia’s Entrée to the 16th Century
Rosalia was born and later raised as a child in a Witches’ coven.
Although Rosalia was born in the 16th century again in human form,
she was, in reality, a reincarnated evil soul many centuries old.
Her Hell-spawned soul was seared in Hell’s very own oven,
and like the Gorgon Medusa herself—she was a creature gone wild.
Rosalia indeed was also an intense and a very precocious child:
who was imbued with uncanny and unearthly powers,
who was “left-handed” and obviously “sinister,”
who possessed a keen and piercing intellect,
and had scaurous, strong ankles and a schnauzkrampf-like mouth,
and was fisslingual like the Devil—with a “forked tongue,”
who had a horrifying and monstrous Medusa-like appearance
at a glance—stark and menacing, frightening and rapacious,
with jet black stringy, snake-like hair and black teeth,
with dark probing eyes and exceptional sensory perception,
and a bulbous, bile-ridden black wart . . .
protruding on the lower left side of her nose close to the tip.
Rosalia and Black Magic were one in the same, and
her craggy appearance and coarse demeanor—black wart and all,
her deceptive powers, and her utter malevolence toward man—
all constituting a terrifying reflection of pure evil and foreboding,
and all the while illuminating mankind’s quizzical wonderment
at the power of die Hexerei.
Rosalia was aptly known and greatly feared as the “Queen of Walpurgis Nacht,” “The Devil’s Concubine,” and “The Queen of Darkness.”
Rosalia delighted in being “The Devil’s Concubine” by name,
for her liaisons with Lucifer made her omnipotent and devoutly unholy.
Her unbridled sense of power and invincibility was this Black Witch’s aim,
for this fed her conviction to do vicious and evil things—to be unholy.
Rosalia’s Power and Relationship to the Devil
It is said that Rosalia’s power of Witchcraft and the Black Arts
derived from her worship to and direct relationship with the Devil himself,
thus making her virtually omnipotent, all-powerful.
As the most favored disciple and mistress of the Dark One
Rosalia acutely honed her pagan skills in the Black Arts
to the highest rapture while using her Gorgon-grimaced face
to strike fear in all who resisted her using a withering and wicked
mesmerizing gaze with which she paralyzed her victims with unending
torment, agony, and fear.
On occasion she would extract the putrid bile liquid from her Black Wart
and used it to poison and corrupt the life essence of her victims—if they resisted.
The utter revulsion and palpable fear felt by Rosalia’s victims
was practically indescribable given its horrible nature.
Both her power and her conviction to do vicious evil things
appeared to be wrapped in a cloak of seeming invincibility.
Lucifer did exceedingly well in his choice of Rosalia as his most favored disciple and mistress—for she savored his ferocious favor and unleashed without a conscience a torrent of evil doings and unholy machinations on those unlucky enough to cross her path.
To know Rosalia was to realize a gorgonesque damnation forever
while she pursued the unholy glorification of her master—Lucifer.
In time Rosalia was granted the power over all hell-spawned demons forever to support and consummate her unholy activities in the name of Lucifer.
End of Part One
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)
Long poem by
Magnus Nwagu Amudi Esq | Details |
The year that is about to make its last appearance
before it dies and is buried to be only given a place
in the history of our existence has brought ?e joy,
l° shall therefore, out of obligation rather than
leisure acknowledge its fairness and generosity. It
began on a high as l° aimed to make it through the
Bar exams and to be successfully called to the
Nigerian Bar. This singular goal, controlled all
others and made them seem less important. In the
end, the story ended greatly, we all do love happy
endings, l° am a Barrister and Solicitor of the
Supreme Court of Nigeria. To God be the glory.
Yet, the most important aspect of the year wasn't
the fact that l° became a Barrister, rather, it is the
fact that through the demanding and rough
journey of reaching and achieving that goal, along
came people of great personality, people l° knew
had the character to spur you on and literally uplift
you both psychologically and in every other positive
way possible. For the first time in my life, l° was
opened to the richness of the earth's diversity, both
in religion as well as in culture. l° even spoke new
languages and danced to new tunes. l° was given a
new eyes, l° did see the world from another
perspective, it was thrilling and l° came to see the
blessing in the cultural and ethnic differences. But,
the crux of the essay being friendship.
The year 2012, gave ?e the most supportive,
reliable and cheerful individuals to work and also
relax with. These people not withstanding their
different social, religious and academic background
did with ease find a common ground and built a
strong fold for friendship. There were moments no
doubt during the year when it would have been
quite impossible to move ahead without the
support and undying motivation of these
individuals, as l° do stand at this bridge, about to
cross to the other end of the journey, l° would take
a few minutes to say a very hearty thank you to all
of you. From my parents, without whom there will
be no Barrister attached to my name, words fail
?e. l° do say a big thank you. To my siblings who
went out of their own financial obligations to
support ?e through the difficult but productive
year, l° am ever indebted to all of you jointly and
severally. For a friend like no other, master
Chinasa Orji, let your heart desires become reality
unto you bro and the same gratitude goes to the
entire Orji family. l° will now try as much as l° can,
to mention a few of those whose friendship,
alleviated the burden of the journey through 2012,
and l° say the list is not quite chronological, l° just
add to it as l° do remember, these persons include
but not restricted to:
1. Mazi Ezegamba Esq.
2. Mr. Frank Somto Esq. (Ajo anu)
3. Okpara Chinedu Esq.
4. Mallam Abubakar Lawal EsQ
5. Mr. Yage Bamiyi Esq.
6. Adesola Adelusi Esq. (Miss)
7. Amarachi Esq.
8. Tony Amaechi Ojukwu (Esq. )
9. Sir Nnanna JOJ Oketa (Esq).
10. Richard Bassey Iyaha (Esq.) - God bless you
11. Chinelo Ogbozor Esq.
12. Churchill Udedibor Esq.
13. Henry Onugwu Esq.
14. Forster Eneh Esq.
15. Kingsley Chime Esq.
16. Mr Magnus Akabueze
17. Emmanuela Oraegbu Esq.
18. Nonso Nzedebe Esq.
19. Orji Ukah Agwu Esq.
20. Chinedu Ezeokoronkwo Esq.
21. Emmanuel Okoroji Esq.
23. Onyinye Nnorom Esq.
24. John Daramola Esq.
25. Chisom Nnabuife Esq.
26. Ebikaboere Abiri Esq.
27. Tobi Esq. - Mi consigliere
28. Michael Dokpesi. Esq.
29. Mr Idowu
30. Mr. Majemite Emoubonovie Esq. - very
31. Mr. Samson Itodo Esq
32. Muna Nweke
33. Da silva Joy
34. Kingsley Uwakwe Esq.
36. Kaobi Esq.
37. Chinwe Ozobu Esq.
38. Ifesi Udeh Esq.
39. Ihezi Okeafor
40. Ezekiel Egbo
41. Chima obiEze Esq.
42. ID Kabasa - my esteemed barber
43. Mary Alice Simms
44. Victor Mok Esq.
45. Bukky Esq.
46. Josh Olomo Esq.
47. Edosa Esq.
48. Detola Esq.
49. Bassey Bassey Esq.
50. Sammy Udoh. Esq.
51. Sabastine Udoh Esq.
52. Iyke Ananuba Esq.
53. Kingston Esq.
55. Victor Idiong Esq.
56. Mariam Ekenimoh Esq.
These and many more people that l° can't put all
here for the lack of time and to make it less boring
to read really and honestly contributed to my
success in making this year count and l° pray that
the year we are about to witness and explore will
bring us more reasons to celebrate, love and
Do have a great NEW YEAR.
Long poem by
Leon Enriquez | Details |
China Tour Diary Moment #3
Paradise on earth: Himalayan range;
A phenomenon carved by elements;
Here magic gives birth to ways that seem strange;
A place where lessons of soul mark movement.
Our tour coach winds round the mountain terrain;
Drive on man-made roads and excitement here;
High above the ground, feel Spirit's refrain;
See wonder purge loads as soul knows fond cheer.
Feel the calm ambience on this grand vista;
Our tour group enroute with highway mileage;
Notice a radiance beyond agenda;
Shangri-la calls out in hidden lineage.
Four hours on-the-road with punctuated stops:
And then our eyes sight the Himalayas;
Cold air sifts heat load as bones feel cold mop;
There's a mystic light that comes in layers.
I feel the splendour of an unseen touch;
There is a measure of peace that surrounds;
I sense a grandeur, an aura as such;
There is calm treasure in Tibetian grounds.
Now I start to know why I've always felt
The allure that calls me to this strange place;
No logic can show the knowing that melts;
Understanding frees reason with sure grace.
Mister Mao's China annexed old Tibet;
The surge of new change has come to this land;
Modern agendas have altered mindsets;
Now ancient and strange meet a reformed blend.
Here, the ancient lores permeate the culture;
Ways of new and old mix and mingle free;
Yet yarns from before linger to nurture;
The life streams unfold in primal beauty.
There is a certain atmosphere serene;
An unspoken feel, an unseen presence;
How can I contain what words find extreme;
Beyond mere goodwill, a visage transient.
Perhaps my musings are self-engendered;
Still, I sense a touch beyond description;
I wrestle feelings to learn things tender;
A pulse and a nudge hints contemplation.
Herein I realise a man's life reveals
Moments and outcomes as change casts a light;
Heed glimpse beyond eyes that grace now fulfills;
A certain light sums splendour beyond sight.
Tibet weaves a charm with calm caresses;
The land breathes and tells in soul vibrations;
Grazing grounds and farms, and homestead houses;
On stillness I dwell in meditation.
We check a road map that cites agenda;
Stroll through ancient grounds to match new-found sights;
Climb a hundred steps to a pagoda;
We greet lost and found in the midday light.
Capture a brief stay with silent prayer;
Walk through temple hall as icons preside;
Allow heart to stray with true wayfarer;
Feel calmness mingle as silence provides.
The day follows swift in twists and turns here;
A sojourn that sends us deeper within;
Here we turn the cliff and help our hearts steer;
The bold homeward trend to moments unseen.
Mountains and valleys loom in pleasant sight;
A personal space between man and grace;
Joy fills the alleys with spring time delights;
Notice time and place reveal a sure pace.
The song of the wind can be heard howling;
No human voice can imitate this poise;
It comes yet unseen to groom brief stirrings;
Touch can thus rejoice with soul's preferred choice.
In the new dawning, we tour the vast park;
Take a coach upwards, climb the mountain road;
Then hike surroundings to sightsee our marks;
We circle towards where the end unloads.
Yet, brisk as we come, too soon we depart;
The sun plunges slow as coach speeds away;
Awareness now sums in soul, mind and heart;
No words can frame glow that settles our stay.
As our day retires, we find fruitful rest;
There is a feeling of a day well-spent;
Gratitude fuels fire as sleep cultures fest;
Sunset concealing as cold winds attend.
Tomorrow we take the road somewhere far;
This feeling of calm will bless our journey;
Movement surely makes spring time moments star;
Spirit's healing balm soothes pulse and sets free.
Beyond time and space, a continuum strange;
Know then that love dwells within and around;
Greet soul face-to-face in full depth and range;
Allow poise to tell fond joy that peace grounds.
28 May 2014
(Note: Written in China, Shangri-la, Tibet on Monday 26 May.)
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
Matt Ancient | Details |
(A SHORT COMMENTARY ON THE 21ST CENTURY CIVILIZATION)
This story goes on to throw light on the 21st century civilization. And in that political era, the religious and political atrocities, which ended up as the back bone of social injustice, inequalities, war crimes against humanity etc. As in the Arab world an Islamist extremist rose to devour blood, killing thousands in the mane of God and prophecy, so many innocent people which died, losing their homes, friends and families all is due to wrong leadership.The rich wasted their time and money to see people to die, rather than to provide better education, jobs, health facilities to improve the life's of people. The same influence held people against their will, especially women and children were forbidden from what they perceive to be their destiny. Since ones religion which is backed by political atrocities will not permit them to independent and live their life as they want it or live a free people. People were persuaded or manipulated to become serial killers and suicide bombers all in the name of religious and political atrocities, this done through the influence of the so called rich and vulnerable in society.Whiles politically Democracy was ignored by such leadership because they were selfish and arrogant. There was still stupid monarchs and dictators which no one dares to criticizes nor say anything about them. These so called leaders created enemies out of brothers and sisters, so that they fight among themselves. Instead of educating them and helping them to live a free and a happy world, in other words wrong leadership brought all these problems. On the other hand, in the western world of which the same religious and political atrocities also influenced war crimes, social injustice, inequalities, racism and so on. These so called leaders who pretended to be the protectors of the human world, were devouring blood and killing thousands, innocent people lost their families, homes and life's. False allegation were raised on opposition factions in the other part of world that they were manufacturing weapons of mass destruction which was not true. In view of this, these so called leaders, false fully and forcefully invaded cities and nations for their own selfish reasons and innocent people has to die all because of these atrocities. It was also difficult for the media to criticize the so called monarchs who were still in Europe, these so called western leaders formed collusion in other to topple up leadership in the Arab world, Latin America, Asia and in Africa, as a result so many people has to die for so many wrong reasons that no media wanted explanation from no body. As a result of this, there were terrorist who rose destroying properties, organizations etc. The implications of this was a serous economic crises, the rise of unemployment, sickness, diseases, disabilities and so on. Also economically, there was corruption, discrimination and partiality. Institutions which were established for the well being of the entire human world was monopolized, in other world it benefited other and other it did not. like the world had special nations he gives loans and help but others needed to borrow with higher interest rate which they could not afford.Moreover these comes with signing of false policies which may against ones culture or objectives. So the rich was getting richer and the poor, poorer. Crime rate, economic crises, illiteracy rate etc, so people will do all they can to survive. And at the end excellent excuses were given in other to justify these atrocities.
BY: Matt Ancient
Long poem by
lucky okoedion | Details |
They are not being marginalized again;
impostors disguising with bleached faces,
noses made up to fit up to other races,
hair fried and stretched in beautiful shame,
and tongues twisted and roasted in cultural chains -
Distinguished eye-sores of social disdain,
and heads bowed awkwardly in intellectual refrain.
Yes, we are the they;
the dislocated impostors,
the dying survivors,
the iron rusting at bay:
We are not being marginalized again,
else it would have now been the right time
to compose a cry
again, or a lamentation to be sung by a frightened race.
No, it’s not as you may think. No!
It’s not a harsh tone,
you should know.
For to change is like to crack a bone,
something like doing a deep probe.
And with apologies I could say again,
we are the dislocated impostors,
and it won’t be an insult or rail,
since I’m part of the they,
and I can’t insult myself, no gain.
And now is not the time of composing a cry or izobo
but the time of composing a koboko
to probe deep into our bones
and force the phobia of our culture-sense to die
to avail us of the dwarf-walking self and pride.
We need such, if you like, call it necessary insults
to repent and make necessary u-turns
and produce tides-turning results,
to escape the irreparable black-burns
of a trans-generational insult:
If you don’t produce results, you can’t refuse insults.
Yes, we are the dislocated impostors
disguising around with bleached faces,
hair fried and stretched in beautiful shame,
tongues twisted and roasted in cultural chains,
heads bowed awkwardly in intellectual refrain –
elites with bastard successors.
Bastardy provoking as it comes, let’s close our eyes
to swallow this only medicine-hope of the painful taste
of what we’ve made of ourselves –
a foul-odor name far from chaste,
well-earned reputation far from wise,
a history not worthy of bookshelves –
Rock-bottom cultural impostors.
and now we’ve abandoned ourselves
at the middle of nowhere,
freaks of foreign stuffs,
dislocated yet puffed up,
gasping for air,
like a fish cast out of water.
And every day we go to worship
at church or
or at juju shrine,
but to seek answers that won’t stress us,
that would massage us,
and lacerate us.
Not the answers that God would give,
that would exercise us.
But that which will make us feel comfortable
at the status-quot.
And as we strut back home
and see our family roofs leaking,
our family walls riddled,
our family fences cracked,
our family barns plundered
because we abandoned our cultural habitat,
and gasp helplessly in foreign habitat,
lost at the middle of nowhere,
then our neighbors point at the collapse,
but we shake our heads,
not because we know not what to do
but that we do not what we know
and know not what we are.
Hence we live in the baseless world called momentary,
enjoying away in the microcosm called survival,
far-removed from the promise called success,
like social bastards,
and political impostors.
And we were told
“look, your house is crumbling!”
“but we can still manage to eat, drink and feast.”
“besides, God says it’s well with us.”
izobo : a Nigerian word for sacrifices at roadsides, river sides e.t.c to appease the gods or to cast a spell.
koboko : a Nigerian word for a long whip made of leather/ the tail of an animal.
juju : a nigerian word for an idol.
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.