Long poem by
Denise Hopkins | Details |
written 14th July 2013
My sorrow, is overwhelming my 'entire' soul
for in my jaded life, my dear "Nath" would be the last breath taken away
Why does God, continue taking those that play the most 'critical' roll
my life is 'never' going to endure, any hint of ease.. no way
Heart heavy, loss and pain all consuming me 'again'
God, I plea with you leave me those that I 'love' these day's
It's become 'that' part of the year, my Nathan was taken due to 'my' curse
tears flood my entire being, why do you always insist I live entirely 'alone'
Sorrow just in this year now at 'half point' has finally taken the 'full' toll
I no longer see, any thing as my destiny that I shall 'exude'
When, will it 'ever' be my turn, I wait..to become the next called to heaven
"am" I not worthy, of your abundant grace?
You, seem to take 'everyone' I 'entrust' to a faraway land
Nathan Reide' these are my tears containing, the 'most sorrow' I've ever let fall
But, every memory of you and me, stop all of the pain
just, another pain and despair to add to my life's endurance 'till'
I long, for peace, joy and 'any' kind of life would do me,
at this point of my life, I can not take anymore, seriously, lighten up on me!
I fear in new friends, how long..before you conclude they too will end
You bless me with a loving husband, mother, father, niece
When.. do you think you might, 'let' me see them... this is my plea
returning me back into church, I am in need off being blessed
How 'come' you did take that away from me?
faith, in me stayed 'strong' you alone know the extent
I need to move 'now' I have stayed still, and achieved what I think I was to
poet, I assume that was 'my reason' why you kept here
With that now in full swing
can you now spread my wings
You are 'overpowering' my soul, and I now do as I am told
patience, never was my best strength, have I 'not' proved to you
I'm completely at your mercy, you are the entity that drives the heart of me
with all that, I need a break between all these sorrowful times, 'may I now move'
This is the deepest of despair, I have ever endured, please see me through
I am more than 'positive' I WILL NOT make it through, another emotional trial
Not to be left here, still bleeding the way I still am...
darkness has taking more of my light I'm loosing all sight, of who is me...
My heart full of anguish and grief, depression takes her advantage, of the ease
I have nothing worth finding joy or enlightenment anyway, she will have me...
I don't have any strength to even consider the thought of even trying this time
in defending myself against her this time
She only win's by default...
Long poem by
MoonBee Canady | Details |
" A Drum Major - Martin Luther King, Jr. ... "
( Rom. 13: 7 / Joel 2: 28 )
A Man Stood Up For Courage
In A Time, Others Condoned Evil
A Man Stood Up For Honor
In A Nation's Long-Hidden Upheaval
At A White House, On A Hill
With A Country's Conscience On An Easel
A Man, Brushed On All Colors
As He Painted For His People
A Man Stood Up In Conviction
In Times of Great Confusion
A Man Stood Up For Peace
In Pursuit of Principles & Solutions
On A Mighty Mission, He Marched
To A Dream That Would Not Cease
As A Drum-Major For Justice
As A Drum-Major For Peace
" ... I Have A Dream ..."
Said, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Yes, A Dream of Togetherness ...
Was Had By America's Martin Luther
" ... I Have A Dream ... "
Said, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
As He Marched To Wake The World
As A Drum-Major and Mover ...
As An Imperfect, Yet A Patient Man
In An Imperfect, But Full of Potential World
Still ... He Had A Perfect Dream To Share
With All Beloved Little Boys and Girls
As A Drum-Major In A Brotherhood-Band
Who Opposed The Dischords of Prejudice
As A Drum-Major Stepping To Lift The Land
and Expose The Cruel Notes of Cowardice
" ... I Have A Dream ... "
Spoke, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
and He'd Hoped To Help Heal A People
As He Glory - Hallelujah'd ! ...
GOD's Word Says: "Young Men Will Have Visions
And Old Men Will Dream Dreams" ...
So, We Still Seek Places and Directions
Until We Reach The Final Prophecies
(Joel 2: 28 - 31, 32)
But Reaching Mankind's Unity ...
Requires Acknowleged Equality
and Possessions of Prosperity
For All Individuals of Humanity
And When Those Hopes & Dreams Are Actuality
And Not Just A Dream - But Reality
For In Truth and Love and Liberty
-- Only GOD -- Can Ensure Such Validity ...
Still ... The Goal & Legacy and The March
of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Yes, Dr. King's Dream Did Not Die ...
In The Hands of A Murderous Shooter
But The Dream Keeps Recurring
Relayed On The Human Race's Baton
And Handed To His People & Others
Where That Dream Is Alive & Passed On ...
Written & Copyrighted ©: 2/28/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
(For The Last Day of Black History Month
Designated In February, Every Year In the U.S.A.)
In Memory of:
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Born: January 15, 1929
Died: April 4, 1968
(Dr. King, had said in one of his speeches, that when he died, and they have his eulogy,
his wish was to be remembered: As a Drum-Major for Peace & as a Drum-Major for Justice.)
Long poem by
Poet Destroyer A | Details |
~The Untold Fatal Attraction Poem~
Mid-morning she sees the sun ahead
Her death flowed in a messaged bottle
Gazing into her brown eyes upon all open sores,
Her conscience dark and gray a never-ending war!
A giant cyclone of a thousand thoughts swirled around this little girl.
Inflicting away the pain, through the comfort of others pen
The way she twisted and twisted life’s perception was out of her control
Inside she knew the glass slipper was never hers to show off
She is baring nothing but a tainted pen, walking throughout eternity’s sand
A prosecutor of misdeeds, accomplishing what, without knowing the way
Departing from her fractured self, she begins to slip into a righteous form,
Twirling her twilight's pen like a baton, spinning it to one final stand
She awakens in a dream, where her sadness does not allow the light to reform
Her body is weak and pale against the birth of her undying sun
Staring down into the deepness of every-bodies abyss
Inside all souls is where she felt lighter, than the retarded sun gives
A crimson sky follows her just to reveal her diminished soul,
A life of shunning out the city glow will always dwell deep inside her
Sleeping under society as one, insulting the taste of innocent blood
Forgetting the vengeance, in a dimension where the pen is mightier than the sword
How did she let it come to this?
In one feeling she fell in love with the spirit of the living rhyme
Watching from a cave, with a diabolical look
Refusing to grasp the self - nature and kill off the destroyer's will
A price beyond this enigmatic world, craving to be just like them
Condemning her meaning to a blasphemy of white butterflies
Destroying her poetic meaning that was destined to dance a tangle of endless rage
In love with the essence of her deceased will
She clings on to the dimness and brilliance at the same time
All corpses lost beyond the girl in question,
Sympathetic in a bizarre language, she mutters out sweetness
Her heart mended, recognizing all the adoration and poetic addiction
Exchanging the real terror, fixated by the life force of her poetic destruction
Giving birth to a new revelation
Now she will never deceive her love for the making of true art,
Not wanting to belong in this wretched world with her destroying criteria,
Her soul sails looking for a new era where love will no longer generate
As she loathes the love and decides not to destroy this generation with hate
At last, longing this one day with the angel of death
With a closing teardrop, one last thought
My death will not be the end; only the ascension~
Long poem by
Robert William Gruhn | Details |
Dedicated to my dearly loved and departed cousin Johnnie
who passed away peacefully in his sleep. I love you Johnnie.
I hope that now you will watch over all of us here on Earth as you stand now
with God in Heaven, His hand on your shoulder, healed now forever as He embraces you.
I hope that someday I will be able to "walk" with you both in paradise. You were one of the
most beautiful human beings I have ever known. This world has lost one of its mortal angels.
Boy of Gentleness....Man of Courage:
Just two ways I'll always remember you,
Bravest soldier who never set foot on a battlefield,
Fighting an invisible enemy still not yet conquered,
For 46 years battling that black knight called Muscular Dystrophy,
No more worthy opponent has that enemy ever met than you,
Displaying courage far beyond many human's comprehension,
Suffering unspeakable wounds from within that racked and withered your body,
Still, you smiled bravely through it all,
From crutches as a child to wheelchair as teen,
With each and every setback you never surrendered,
Loving life and understanding its true value more than most,
You watched without bitterness as other children ran and played,
Always ready to share your toys generously with a smile on your face,
That giving part of you never changed,
Even into the years of your adult life,
My cousin and wonderful friend you are my hero,
You mastered bravery beyond the call of living,
And let's not forget your greatest ally of all,
Your best buddy throughout all the years of your life,
Your beloved mother Mary,
She was right beside you through every battle,
While you both fought against the cruelest of enemies,
One that bore no remorse or pity for its defenseless victims,
Aunt Mary is a saint in my mind and another hero,
The word devotion could have been invented describing her,
Johnnie, I'm sure you are smiling and nodding from Heaven in agreement,
She is the personification of what a loving mother truly is,
Always telling everyone that her greatest wish was to live just one more day than you,
She kept that promise never to leave you behind on Earth without her,
Johnnie, I started out writing this to be a poem in my usual style to honor you,
Well, it turned out a little differently so I hope you don't mind,
This is just what came out of my mind for now,
Heck, it won't be that long before we see each other again.
I will always miss you while still on Earth, I LOVE YOU!!!!
Long poem by
Kizito Sidegu | Details |
the episode took place near the sewer
the boy lay lifeless on the stiff ground
his heart beat loudly in terror
his white clothes now red in color
a rowdy mob circled him
like vultures awaiting their pray to die
his horrified eyes gave their last look
but no one dared to save his life
yet we call our selves humans
missiles of rocks were fired towards him
red splashes filled the air
it was a horror movie in reality
a skinny woman wailed in pain
as she shielded the boy in great sobs
yet no one listened or moved a finger
in mid air she was thrown away
landing in the junky sewer
people watched as if it were a circus
yet they call themselves humans
the grim rippers gambled his verdict
the judge gave his eternal verdict,
cremation he thought was the best
mzee Bakar condemned them to hell
yet they laughed and said they'll meet him their
the mood was silent,dogs barked,mothers wailed
another incidence in the misty shanty
the boy was tied like a gift bag
yet they call themselves men
time passed and people were thirsty
thirsty for blood they named him a gangster
they baptized him with diesel and chained him with a tire
the matchbox was ready in wait
women covered their eyes
men held their breath
suddenly gunshots filled the air
people took to their heels
as o land rover grand to a halt
people in blue uniforms dashed out in haste
that's the humane spirit
gently they carried the boy to the vehicle
in high speed they left the place
in the midst of curses and jeers from the angry mob
on reaching the hospital the news was obvious
internal bleeding and broken limbs
made the poor boy visit Hades
so young yet so easily
a life had been lost on peoples hand
yet we call our selves humans
unable to pay the mortuary dues
another cross-less grave awaits the boys body
deep 6 feet under his soul shall rest
his family shall weep forever
having lost the only son
unemployment being the course
many boys will die
crime rates will be at their peak
yet no one tries to stop the situation
and we call ourselves humans
timo was his name
the only son of mama Amina
he died three years go
500shillings was enough
to give him a death warrant
and a free ticket to hell
he wasn't the first victim
many died before him
at the mercy of their fellow mankind
yet we call ourselves humans
the chief finished his eulogy amidst tears
the whole of ghetto inhabitants cursed their act
anger had been the course
yet the government was to blame
for the high rates of unemployment
Timo died a hero,a hero!
Long poem by
Angela Lisle | Details |
David was a young man, David had courage
But David’s courage worried him somewhat!
Citizenship policy needed a Don
Leading by example was attractive, but forlorn
And Locke’s dominative turn had shattered the Kings’ celestial deity
Leaving very little in the way of piety or decorum!
What was needed was an enigma, not a dogma
But Enigma was purported to wear the mantle of Babylon
So David decided to free Enigma of Pandora’s box
By shaving Pandora of her Babylonian locks
And open the dreaded Pandora’s box
What would he find left inside
He wasn’t the first to try; then hind!
At the midnight hour when all were asleep
David decided to have a peep
The lock was broken? The contents robbed?
David was amiss as to what was flogged
You see Enigma as oracle was a feared bespoke
And so the robbers had changed her into a joke
But deep in one corner bechance left unfound
Pearls of wisdom still waiting to be formed
Pearls, neglected, disregarded - classed unfounded!
Her battles were fought, presumed lost? - were contorted
The silver thread ran like lightening…
Shocking, thunderous, shattering, frightening
The vacuous content of Enigma’s box…
Multiplied by the Pandora legacy - the robbers’ lot!
The robbers’ dons amalgam displayed
Standing in rows,
Row upon row, upon row, upon row, multiplied, ten fold, nightmare!
All on show
Was this judgement day? - Armageddon?
Pity poor Enigma David thought, her box unfurled?
Was it a barrier? Empty? A burdensome world?
The lamb sacrificed - sorrowful?
Waiting for Godo?
Waiting for ascension?
Waiting for a decision?
Which way will the dialectic turn?
David will you make the decision?
Are you to judge the final hour? Do you have the power?
Will you have the courage? Can you see the end?
Is it the real one?
Or, will you be added to the battles fought, presumed lost, contorted?
Will Mystery remain or misery?
Will this be Enigma’s epitaph, her eulogy?
Will fate act upon this day, and decide for us which way, which way?
Which way will the dialectic - will - turn?
Should we live in hope or act?
Which act will it be? Pearls of wisdom, will there be?
In the end only if it’s the right action will it count!
Abandonment, anxiety, and despair, do you care? Does it matter?
If Pandora’s box be open, must have it
The peppered moth you fear not - the Enigma
First women - woe, misery - Madonna - you must trust
For without her you’d be cursed
Long poem by
john beharry | Details |
Dressed in my shaggy brown coat
I stand nearly six feet
at my shoulders
and weigh almost a ton
My brethren and I
once roamed the prairies
in herds of millions
grazing on its grass
which fed and nourished us
for tens of thousands of years
Running at speeds of
over thirty five miles per hour
across the prairies
in herds that stretched
as far as the eye could see
our hooves created
a thunderous sound
that shook the earth
causing it to tremble
like an earthquake
When packs of wolves attacked us
we surrounded our calves
kept our heads down
flashed our horns
and charged them
to fight them off
At times though
we were not able
to save our young
our old and ill brethren
when they were separated
from the protection
of the herd
The redskins were
the only human beings
we knew at that time
Though they hunted us
with bows and arrows
to feed themselves
and to satisfy their desire
for shelter and other needs
they did not waste
any part of our bodies
They respected us
and we respected them
We lived in harmony
for thousands of years
It was the advent
of the whiteskins
that initiated our decimation
They brought in large
that could keep up with
and even outrun us
The redskins realized this
tamed those creatures
sat on their backs
and hunted us
using their bows and arrows
like they did before
They killed more of us
but again they took only
as much as they needed
and did not waste
any part of our bodies
so we continued to
co-exist in harmony
It was that long mysterious stick
that the whiteskins brought in
that triggered our demise
From a great distance
it made a loud noise
and something hit us
that we could not see
but it inflicted severe
pain and agony
Some of us fell to the ground
and died quickly
while others struggled
but were injured so badly
that they died soon after
We were helpless against
this long mysterious stick
We were slaughtered
in our millions
They left our dead bodies
to rot and decay
where we fell
Sometimes they took away our coats
Other times they cut out
our tongues only
and left the rest
of our dead bodies
to putrefy and decay
on the prairie grasslands
that we had trod on proudly
for thousands of years
This is my epitaph
for I just saw the glint
of the sunlight
on the long mysterious stick
heard its thunder
and felt something
go deep into my insides
as I fall to the ground
I am on way to meet
my proud ancestors
who once roamed
these lands in freedom as
Lords Of The Prairies
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
Here I am, rarely proud, but this Canadian stands glorious and free,
Hell, yeah, I know that I can say too much and in more than my poetry,
But I refuse to lay low, bite my lip or act with even a smidge of duplicity,
And I don’t believe that sharing my thoughts in public is in anyway dirty,
How is airing out sadness and regret and confusion doing ones laundry,
And I am sick to death of that overused and brainless analogy.
Frankly, folks, I try to walk the beautiful path of growth and honesty,
Knowing there is a fine line between candor and cruelty.
Art is more than just life; it pulses in marrow and revels in curiosity,
It wraps lines around narrow margins despite a lingering insecurity,
At best, it joyously leaps onto the canvas or page without a single hesitancy,
At worst, it is a mere copy of some dead genius, a shrine or a eulogy.
Writing shouldn’t feel like a police state, but like a borderless country,
Where you can fly under leafy oceans and swim through coral trees,
And if you don’t have a clue of what I’m talking about, well, then that IS a pity,
Cause there’s more to verse than a metronome and some ancient form’s history,
And behind the scenes bullying can send a soft heart straight to an infirmary,
Though I can echo bad attitude, why bother? It just takes too much energy.
I know when it’s time to hang my head and give a genuine apology,
But how I am I supposed to feel sorry for standing firm in my artistic doxology?
There is nothing rude about intelligent conversation and agreeing to disagree,
We are peers here and mutual respect should mean sharing views openly,
And I don’t play those parlour games of take it outside, that’s seems bourgeoisie,
This ain’t no fist-a-cuff or barroom brawl, it’s only an all night long poetry party.
But I DO realize that the poets who have been kind, I have treated shabbily,
Your deserve more of my attention, earnest comments, my friendship and loyalty,
But I spend my meager free time writing instead of treasuring your golden bootee,
And for THAT and ONLY THAT, I drop to my knees and beg you to forgive me.
Beloved writers, sisters, brothers, those here and our cherished absentees,
Each of you dazzles me in some way with your verses, whether real or fantasy,
Now you know where I stand and that I believe grace CAN be found within liberty,
And I hope we all see that door, loosen the locks and toss away all the needless keys!
Long poem by
DENNIS DE ROSE | Details |
How hard could it be to take my first step?
“Come to mommy, you can do it.”
“Oh you're home. Hon, look at him go.”
As I take another step, he picks me up.
He hugs me tight but gently and kisses me on the cheek.
I feel so safe, loved and happy. Perhaps that's how it was.
(I really don't remember back that far.)
How hard could it be, my first day at school.
My mom meets me at the front door of the building,
hugs me and says, “How was your first day? Did you have fun today?”
He comes home after a hard day at work and mom says,
“Hi Hon, it was Den’s first day of school.”
He picks me up in his strong arms and says,
“I knew you could do it.” A hug and a kiss on the cheek.
How hard could it be to learn how to drive a car or a truck?
“Den, come with me. Let's take a short ride down the road.”
We both climb up into Dad's blue 1955 Chevy pickup.
He stops on the back road, gets out, comes around and says, “Scoot over. It's
I start the engine, push in the clutch, shift and we start out slowly.
I'm nervous, I speed up, clutch in, shift again.
Oh crap, I shifted into reverse, truck stopped abruptly and backfired.
Dad looks at me, “But you did it.“ He hugs me, a kiss on the cheek.
How hard could it be to go away to college?
I'm so glad she has a phone so I can call my mom and dad.
“Hi Den, how are things going? You've got a B average.
That's great. I knew you could do it. I love you, see you soon.”
“You met a girl? What's her name? Wow, see you soon. I love you”
“You want to marry her? Big step; in Holland? Okay, we love you.”
How hard could it be to have a family?
“Oh, it's a girl. Mireille, that's a nice name.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.
“Another girl, Michelle, that's a nice name too.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.
“You finally had a boy, Michael, good choice.” Hug and a kiss.
Birthdays, holidays, weekends, visits back and forth, phone calls.
He loves them all, unconditionally. Hugs and kisses all around.
How hard could it be as life goes on?
He watches them grow up, get married and have children.
He loves them all, unconditionally, hugs and kisses all around.
We take short trips and mom and Dad go with us now and then.
We go camping and mom and Dad visit us now and then.
Every time you left, hugs and kisses all around. Always, “See you soon.”
Long poem by
Leon Stacey | Details |
O Rich man in purple and fine linen draped
With your lavish home beautifully landscaped
Extravagant, faring suptuously everyday
Please cast your eyes upon us beggars we pray
And on Lazarus whom we have brung to you from the slums
For he only desires of your table the fallen crumbs
We have laid him here at the entrance of your estate
For pity yet between us and you is the this shackled gate
Now open up your heart from behind those closed doors
For even the dogs have come out to lick Lazarus' sores
But the man who could meet the need and supply the lack
Never met him or took heed though he was always brought back
And finally it came to pass that the beggar man died
So the angels of Heaven carried him to Abraham's side
Then the rich man died and was buried by gentlemen and ladies
But being in torments he lifted up his eyes in Hades
And seeing Abraham faraway with Lazarus by his side
He addressed him as father for mercy aloud he cried
In agony for Lazarus to be sent to him in hell fire
After dipping his finger in water to cool his tongue, quench desire
Son, remember how you received good things in your lifetime
Living for worldly luxury all throughout your prime
While Lazarus received evil things with no one to mourn or sing
Or give Him a heartfelt eulogy after death gave its sting
But now he has the comfort for which he was always yearning
And you are sentenced to pain and sorrow in eternal burning
His hope's realized, you're denied for all your days you will rue
Besides all this a deep and wide gulf is fixed between us and you
So that those who want to pass through from here to you cannot
Neither can any crossover from there to this beautiful spot
Of paradise as the Garden of God a bosom for His saints
Who trusted in Him and now have no lack or complaints
Nor will your prayers be heard though your beggings become fervent
That Lazarus should resurrect (yet Lazarus is not your servant)
To go witness to your five brothers and warn them to repent
So that they will not also come into this place to suffer torment
For they have Moses and the prophets them they should hear
And change their minds to worship God with reverent fear
For if they do not listen to Moses and what the prophets have said
Neither will they be persuaded though someone rises from the dead.