Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Long Farm Poems | Long Farm Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

A Better Kind of Poetry Contest on Poemhunter

CHALLENGE TITLE POETRY CONTEST FOR AUGUST ON POEMHUNTER.COM! 

'WHY DO TURTLES CROSS THE ROAD? '


OK FOLKS! Please choose your favorite poem from those entered here and remember too to give your reasons for your choice. How often is it that we get to hear why the judges (YOU) voted the way that you did. Really it is very important to give reasons. Believe me your reasons are a very important part of the show here. So tell us what you really think.

Poem's can be voted on from Sept.1 to Sept.12, 2014 at which time the winner will be formally announced. PoetrySoup members can vote too if they wish I would have liked to show you the other entries in the contest but since I only wrote two of the poems entered under PoetrySoups laws I cannot do so. Although hosting a contest in Poemhunter is much more difficult than on PoetrySoup,  there are innovations in my contest that I believe make it superior to contests on PoetrySoup. The biggest innovation is democratic voting. The second innovation, is that here is just one winner, and for your vote to count you must explain why you have voted as you have. This innovation can be very amusing. A final innovation is that the Contest Master can 'roast' the contestants. Go to Brian Johnston's site on PoemHunter.com and look for the poem...

[Challenge] Entrees for August! Vote Here!

Proposals of marriage, profanity and other inappropriate comments however will be deleted as soon as they appear. And like the US Supreme Court, I may not be able to define what is inappropriate here, but I know it when I see it.


! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 
! ! ! ! ! THE AUGUST POEMS ENTERED START HERE! ! ! ! !  
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 



Why Do Turtles Cross The Road? 
(A **Joint** Poem by Diane Hine and 'THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA')          

‘Okie' turtles cross the road 
because they've all read 
‘The Grapes of Wrath' 
AND NOW LIVE 24/7 
IN AN ALCOHOLIC STUPOR 
IN MIGRANT WORKER HOUSING 
TRYING TO IMAGINE 
WHAT THE WORLD WOULD BE LIKE 
IF GILBERT GRAPE WAS PRESIDENT. 

Badbottom Leatherback bikie 
turtles on Harley-Davidsons 
don't just cross the road, 
they own the road 
AND LIVE IN 'HOG' HEAVEN 
THE TRUE FAT CATS (IS THAT A SLUR?)          
OF THE MODERN WORLD. 

Kerouac turtles are the road itself 
SO LIKE SCHROEDINGER'S CAT 
THEY ARE ALWAYS IN BOTH STATES 
AT THE SAME TIME, IE., 
CROSSED AND UNCROSSED, 
IT'S ALL PROBABILITY PROBABLY! ? ! 
ANYWHO, IT'S HARD TO LIVE ANYWHERE 
WHEN THE WORD DESTINATION 
IS NOT IN YOUR VOCABULARY. 

and Chuck Norris turtles never 
have to cross the road because 
the road crosses itself 
EITHER IN TRIBUTE TO L. RON HUBBARD 
(WHO LIVES IN THE HUBBARD TELESCOPE)          
OR BECAUSE THEY HAVE WATCHED 
SO MANY INFOMERCIALS 
THAT CROSSED EYES CAN'T TELL 
ONE SIDE OF THE ROAD FROM THE OTHER 
CHUCK NORRIS TURTLES DON'T LIVE ANYWHERE 
THEY PERSONIFY, ‘I AM.'


Contest Master's Comment - The 'dark horse' of the pack, this poem is probably way to literate to garner many votes even if you have taken voice lessons from the Master of Music himself. Who is that masked man I wonder. Will he ever be unveiled? Surely there enough literary references in this poem to make most vapid English Major cross-eyed.  The only groups left out that I can see are 'Samurai Ninja Turtles' and 'New Age Belly-Button Turtles' who are too frightened of the real world to ever come out of their shells anyway. Did you ever see a turtle levitate?  I think you should add a couple of verses Diane & BO (I mean PO), after the contest is over, don't you? 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Why Do Turtles Cross The Road? 
By Brian Johnston

‘So why are the turtles crossing the road? 
My sister ask wonderingly
As each turtle would come into view.
No guarantee, but sometimes we'd see them
As we drove with Dad out of town
Checking out cows on a farm or two.

‘It's a great mystery to me, ' I said, 
‘As both sides seem really the same, 
And our vision's much better than theirs.'
‘The problem I see with crossing for turtles…
Is that they're low and also slow
So fast autos catch them unawares.'

A nice gesture, Dad would frequently stop, 
Let us scoop them up in a box
For the ‘turtle farm' at our home place.
The grip's important when picking them up
‘Cause turtles can scratch, bite, and pee, 
Oh what a joke, … ‘turtle won the race! '

But now why does a turtle cross a road? 
Perhaps he's trolling for people? 
Buggers don't care about other side, 
From industries' leaders they take their cue, 
Their mentors, short visioned and slow, 
Who risk their lives to get a free ride.


Contest Master's Comment - Truly the oldest poet in the group, I am hoping to win by means of the sympathy vote crowd. Just think of me as a friendly, old, senile, grandfatherly type. Remember the reasons so many of you voted for Ronald Reagan you tea-party, sociopathic, nabobs of negativism and vote for me too or I will raise your taxes too just like Ronnie did! That's a promise! 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

There are several more poems by other gifted poets on my site. Please come visit.

----------------------------------------

If you like what we have done here.....

>>PLEASE VOTE ON THIS 'POEM CONTEST' (FROM 1-10 <<

Maybe PoemHunter will make contests like this a website
feature in the future like some other websites already do? 

And a huge vote of appreciation to both contibutor and my 
collaborator Bri Edwards (the disgraced ex-poet and now 
reinstated postman!)          

>>>Please help us make this contest even more popular <<<
>>>by emailing your friends on PH and elsewhere even, <<< 
>>>to make the vote as democratic as possible! ! ! ! ! ! ! <<<

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Poem Entries Continue in Part 2


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

Growing Up, La - Part 2 - Rev 3

- - Chapter 2: Adult Responsibility (With Some Breaks) - -     

By ten years old, no weekends off, 
Or Saturday cartoons, 
Although I did have cash to spend, 
I felt my life in ruins.
I dusted cars in my dad's store, 
And cleaned its toilets too, 
I fixed truck tires as I got old, 
Not much I couldn't do.

A trip to two month summer camp, 	
I learned to shoot and sail, 
At twelve years old, a pioneer, 
Canoed explorer's trail.
Near tragedy on my return, 
My sister paralyzed, 
A late victim of polio, 
My conscience brutalized.
Felt guilty leaving her alone, 
While I frolicked and played, 
Brotherly love had been displaced, 
Her protection was waylaid.

The washers, dryers, I repaired, 
And freezers with no chill, 
Then televisions came along, 
Tube testing my new skill.
Assembling new farm implements, 
And posting parts on hand, 
My driver's license opened doors, 
‘Collected bills' firsthand.

On Sundays we would go to church, 
To hear the preacher tell, 
Because my dad was not with us, 
His soul would burn in Hell.
	
Dad's Channelled Poem-[]
[‘It's bad news when a preacher comes.
They all want stuff for free.
I have to feed my children too,
I've problems they don't see.']

Three years of summer music camps, 
In Junior High reborn, 
I played piano in dance bands, 
Took lessons on French Horn.
My French Horn teacher laughed out loud
When I walked through the door, 
‘Your lips too thick, please stick out tongue, '
Now rolling on the floor! 
‘To take your money is a crime, '
The German said to me, 
‘You've no high notes, ' ‘I know' I said, 
‘Mom loves French Horn you see.'

Most summers were our busy time, 
We all worked hard till dusk, 
My ‘tail rung through a ringer, ' (1)    la, * 
The time for ‘smart mouth' (2)    brusque.
But then the job that I loved best, 
Flat tractor tires in field, 
A chance to meet a farmer's girl, 
The country's charm revealed.

One summer worked a cattle herd, 
Two thousand cows were planned, 	
By cutting, wind-rowing (3)    the grass, 
Soon haystacks dotted land.
Dakota winters could be fierce, 
The temp forty below, 
The stacks were shelter from the wind, 
A shield from blinding snow.
We'd use a horse for round-up, la! * 
My God that was a thrill, 
Except for blisters on your ass, 
Or when you took a spill.
I had not ridden horses much, 
You're so far from the ground, 
The horse not knowing you from spit, (4)   
Disdain can be profound! '
There was no time for niceties, 
And work to do, ‘C'MON! '
If horse and you somehow part ways, 
No choice, you climb back on.

Our ranch was all on ‘Indian Res., ' (5)   
By river loop enclosed, 
In South Dakota's Lower Brule, (6)   
A twelve year lease proposed.
Land acres more that twenty thou.
Covered by native grass, 
A chance like this was very rare, 
My father could not pass.
The river's edge a solid fence, 
No barbed wire to maintain.
The nearest town two hours by road, 
Security mundane.
Our days were mostly work and sleep, 
With meals our only break, 
Except for weekend groc'ry trips, 
No chance for love's heartache.

Till I discovered farmer's girl, 
Who lived half way to town, 
Contrived a way to go to church, 
When Sunday's call came down.
The church's name not one I knew, 
The people all seemed nice, 
To escape Sunday's usual fare
Was worth most any price.
Harmonica, accordion,
Played music we could sing, 
The pastor beat foot-pedalled drum, 
We made the rafters ring! 
I told myself, ‘there's something strange, 
The music's gone too long, '
Emotion peaking and yet I
Somehow did not belong.
With music's end the sermon broke, 
The world's sure end was near, 
Time now to sanctify all sin, 
‘Repent now! God's word hear.'
For God's quite mad, this cannot stand, 
No doubt that it is prov'n
Those rockets from Canaveral 
Are shooting holes in Heav'n.
I was in shock, glued to my seat, 
The flock their garments rent, 
And I the last one in his seat, 
No sin did I lament! 
At last not knowing what to do, 
I left and went outside, 
And knew whatever happened now, 
I hadn't found my bride.

Brian Johnston
August 20, 2014

Poet’s Notes:
* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of 7 
surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became very 
close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was kind of 
cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some food, la.' 
They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation. 'You've got 
food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic affectation.

(1) 'tail rung through the ringer' - Early washing machines did not have a 'spin cycle.' So 
to get the excess water out of your clothing you would ring out the water from each item 
of clothing first before hanging it on a clothes line to dry completely in the sun. So the 
phrase 'tail rung through the ringer' means that you are all out of energy, and very tired. 
The energy has been squeezed out of you by your job like water rung out of newly 
washed clothing.

(2) 'smart mouth' Someone who likes to talk back to authorities, or who just complains all 
the time.

(3) 'wind-rowing' - To rake newly cut grass into long rows called 'wind-rows' that could be 
more easily picked up and bailed then by yet another machine.

(4) 'not knowing someone from spit' - To have no respect for the person at all.

(5) ‘Indian Res’ – Land that Indian’s were given official title to by the American 
government in an attempt to placate and domesticate them.

(6) ‘Lower Brule’ – A huge tract of Indian Land contained in a large meander of the 
Missouri River. Although the mouth of this loop is only one mile wide, to get from one side  
of the meander by river is over 28 miles. Lower Brule is owned by the Cherokee Indian 
Tribe.


Long poem by Victor Alexander | Details |

FRIENDS

THE FRIENDS

They were the best of friends to the best of friendship
They did everything together to the best of friendship
The three wise men that came together from different locations
One from the north, one from the west, the other from the east
These three friends has three different lands in different locations
Trees with different fruits filled their lands; it is a feast
The three friends visited each others farmland anytime they wish
Everything was perfect; there was never any cause to quarrel
The friendship was intact as palm fruit to the hand of a squirrel
So close they live close; always friends.

These friends have another friend that has a brother; both from the south
The three friends met this southern friend and his brother at different time and place
One friendship linked to another friendship and they all became friends
The friend from the south also has a farmland that the friends were free to visit
The five friends have many things in common that brings them regularly together
Everything bound by the seek for fun; anything that gives fun is welcomed
Even though these five friends are close, some are more close to another
The friend from the east is closer to the friend from the west
The friend from the north is closer to the friend from the south
The closer they lived close; still same friends.

There are two or more special trees in the different farmlands of the friends
Since these friends visits each others farm, they became automatic friends with the trees
These special trees are all matured with fruits; anyone can pluck and eat them
These friends have special trees they feed on their fruits from other people’s farmland
There was no rule not to feed on the fruits of the special trees in the friends different farmlands
Somehow it feels natural not to desire fruit from the special trees of the friends’ different farmlands
Nobody said but it seems natural that the fruits in the special trees the their friends farmland is sacred
Believing fruits in the special trees are sacred, there was a natural limit to interaction with the special tree
You can see and talk to the special trees but never to touch and pluck its fruits let alone eat it
Any outsider can pluck and eat the fruits of the special trees but out of bounds for friends.

It happened that the friend from the north has a liking for all special trees irrespective of where it is
It’s interesting to know that every special tree has a liking for the friend from the north irrespective of who he is
This friend from the north got close and closer to the special trees in his friends different farmlands
The friend from the north became more of a friend to the special trees more than his friends
Two special trees became more attached to the northern friend; they don’t mind giving out their fruits to him
The friend from the north asked his friends if it’s okay to pluck and eat the fruits of the special trees in their farms
The friends responded its okay so far they remain unaware when he starts plucking and eating from the special trees
For the northern friend, he has been issued a Go-ahead warrant to pluck and eat as much as he can
The friends were insincere with the approval given to the northern friend he cost them much
They really cared about the special tree so much they can’t let anyone eat it not even friends.

As days passed, the northern friend plucked and ate the fruits of the special tree in the western friend’s farmland
Time come time pass, he plucked and ate the fruits of the special tree in the eastern friend’s farmland
The two special trees grew very fond of the northern friend; they over-fed him more than he asked
The two special trees are ignorant that they are both eaten from; they hear the rumors and ignore it
The northern friend grew very fond of the special trees that he weeds their surroundings
The two special trees are struggling to make sure he ate from only one of them; he ate from both
The special tree from the west forced him to commitment with a promise to feed him all season
The special tree from the east is confused, just doesn’t know what to do as its owner is acting boss
The northern friend still feeds from other special trees; this northern friend has sworn to gluttony
With a smile and an innocent look; the weeds beg to feed him their grasses all through the season.

These friends shared many things in common but some things can never be shared
They can’t share the special trees they feed on and they can’t share the ones in their farmlands
The northern friend plucking and eating grew out hand; the western and eastern friend can no longer tolerate it
One common predator that preys on their farmland; ravaging, plucking and eating recklessly
They tried every strategy possible to stop the northern friend’s quest for ‘feed me more’
These efforts was a waste; when the friends don’t visit, the special trees visit, feeding enhanced
Since all solutions failed; the western and eastern friend proffered another solution
Draw line to the friendship; desist from visiting the northern friend’s farmland
No longer close friends, they exchange fake smiles and other pleasantries
End of friendship for the best yet the feeding continues for the worst.



							…Lordvip…





















Long poem by S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Details |

The story of history

The Story of History  

Beyond those beaten days’ depleted daylight
Beyond the bathos of a pandemic bondage
With  the resurrected  sashay’s charmed night
Down in the dumps   at the pretentious  proscenium
A  shy  orchestration sans bark and bite
Afloat in  the  air  of inarticulate mind games

Intuitive rains,  first ever, like the touch of Midas 
Informed  dense minds  and filled  their dented bowls
Birthing the quartet of Vedas and similar works
There was this epic, longest ever , they say
Bales and bales of tales in miscible moral wraps 
With a natal nugget, on  tall righteous props
The Mahabharata with the Gita, like Mata,  Pita

And its transcendental twin  revered more
For  a daily hosanna..the Ramayana with a deep lore
Banish-evil-battle-cries, confronting  blasted minds
Search lights, self’s  unfoldment  and its kind

Her  children  made but never did dig history
But loved digging up its bedraggled mystery
To find bone dry drains, history’s torn veins
Below multi layered mud and muddled bricks

Twisted  and labored logic on  tensile testaments
Sites that suffered blights thru unknowable nights
To find the four  battens , the debacle, to follow
Someone on the way labeled it  Harappa .

All the while Light ruled, but rigours too brewed
Calling often for a reordering of ways  so crude
Then there were slices of truce..
 The Buddha..Shankara..

Of  collapsed  black holes the horizon  was full
Faded for once their  gravitational  pulls 
Exploding back as eternal stars ..
Kalidasa, Aryabhata…

Alongside kings ruled and kingdoms rolled
‘ Ruler’-coaster-rides  on thrones and thorns followed
Till bandit chieftains erased the all important lines
To the dance of dust from an advancing west
 Battling  to drop anchors on motherly chest.

Bare-faced brigands. Among their odious offspring
Some stood out to shine with a stupendous ring
Either putting up   statecraft’s show pieces
Or  scripting  epitaphs in  eponymous edifices

Till dissipated and deterred they too heard
The trenchant  call of folks  come from far  to trade
That would spell , in time, your damnation
In manacles of measured manipulations.

Against  its prolonged , protracted reticulation
Rose legit  gripes from  gregarious  formations
That would coalesce under the one and only Gandhi
Into  their momentous waking into life and freedom

Split up, as it were, into  two bickering fragments
To play fitfully, for ever, their petulant fiddles
Averse to complement under demagogic detours
Falsely comfy under the convenience of  inheritance

                               -2-

Six decades of self rule on, your children feel conned
Not for failed hopes, but for the disharmony that haunts.

An  one- sport -nation fixated  with a fixing -fame-game
Movie-obsessed , and with  its TV 
Blank beyond trivia and brand names.


Money and food are no problem  for many
But, for too many, they are; vehicles are plenty
But roads aren’t ;  laws are varied and abundant
Some redundant , but every  pervert who counts
Interprets them different and funnily  implements.


Health care wears a five star halo sans humaneness.
It never frees a dying adult or kid from its kinky tubes
Nor permit  the company of kin to them  for one last time
Ignores the terminally and  unmovably sick stuck at home.

Agriculture does well, but farmers don’t ,.. and kill themselves
Petty  retailers  are swell making a killing, selling farm produce.

Stupidity grows muscles to muzzle humanity 
Hunks grow on  vitamins, video games and vanity
 Freed millions  press after pelf and power, plays hell
With the  weak and  the women , their perennial fair game

Profiteering,  covert, overt, and  across the board
The sick, the student, the seeker after any service  
Any  victim or one with a gripe being its victims
That’s by the very cream , no less, all the same
 Media scream with scam and spam all the time
Even the ones,( that’s about all), with their own aims
The combined  do’s of brash bravado and venality 
A  rash on governance   and a blot on name.
Effete ethics  and moribund morals, seniors mumble..

‘Equality before law’  means ’ Advantage to the outlaw’
Freedom for the grabs means  restraints to many
Succour  often hard-to -reach and  reaching-too-late
Louts and lousy offices dot street corners and roads

Governance press after  targets  too disparate 
To cohere or collaborate towards  a  wholesome goal,
Leaving holes for private or pet agendas to infiltrate.

Front-end-folks or  prickly pears?
Menace, malice, avarice,  lies, police…
Unrestrained delight in deliberate discourtesies.
Why -dad-anyway-Why- not- call-him-uncle-attitudes…

What does not tempt is in for contempt,
Being irreverent to the important, and indifferent
To the different,  is the norm and the trend.

Democracy could well slip into demonocracy  
Like when “Two wolves and a goat vote to decide dinner”**
In the absence of the Will to lift it to meritocracy?


PS:  This poem ( 100 lines, 777 words, as it turned about to be ) is about INDIA, my country.
*”Mata, Pita ‘  mean   Mother, Father
** Based on a quote seen somewhere.

S.Jagathsimhan Nair,  26 May 2013,

For Cyndi  MacMillan’s contest.


Long poem by Sara Kendrick | Details |

Death

Michael and Carolyn came home again
Their busy lives disrupted by death's end
Not knowing they'd encounter love unrestrained
By coming home for mom's funeral to attend
Life has some changes for which to contend
Michael and Carolyn were shocked to learn
Their mother wanted cremation as her end
No way was his mother going to be burned
That is not the way of the people here
The attorney handling her will added more
Your mother made her request crystal clear
Her ashes at Roseman's Bridge to be poured  
Michael could not believe what his ears heard
Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words

Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words
Daddy had bought two cemetery plots 
Mother to be buried facing eastwards
Richard planned ahead not instant on the spot
Michael so upset about how this was going
So attorney said let's open safe deposit box now
We'll discuss this when settled is the knowing
But a can of worms this box will open somehow
As the attorney opens the large box
Michael and Carolyn gather around
The lawyer pulls out a paper from tenderbox
He says bill of sales for equipment found
Carolyn picks up a manilla envelope
She looks at contents as through a microscope

She looks at contents as through a microscope
Pictures of her mother who somehow looks different
Then Michael's wife takes one to slowly scope
Sis calls Michael to come look at pictures that flaunt
Carolyn leaves the room after she pulls out more
She starts to read a paper with questioning eyes
A paper from the 1965 dated envelope tore
She comes back to the door calls Michael with quiet sighs
Michael comes back into the room followed 
by sis, he announces that they will look over papers
and get in touch, what's in the papers now shadowed
The letter contained words nothing to do with farm acres
The sting of shock of the letter within the papers
Michael and sis will learn whole story later

Michael and sis will learn whole story later
As they read the letter written by Kincaid
How his love for their mother is greater
Than an ordinary love, a love that didn't fade
Carolyn and Michael read Kincaid's  letter
Learned how Kincaid was cremated and ashes spread
At Roseman Bride, Michael said this man influence her
He was leading our mom and confusing her head
Michael asked is there anything else in the envelope
Carolyn takes it and turns upside down
A key falls out, Carolyn lights up with hope
At what the key might fit smiles out of frown
The discovery of their mom's short affair
The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares

The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares
Carolyn takes the key to a chest in mom's room
Opens, finds mom's letter that tells of love that was theirs
Until death a love that remained in full bloom
Their mother in a letter tries to explain
She wants her children to understand her
And what happened years ago, her reasons to remain
She had written three journals about the affair and lover
One journal for each glorious love filled day
She starts by telling them when it happened
The year Carolyn showed her prize steer away
at the Illinois State Fair, 1965, way back then
From letters to journals the affair's revealed
A side of their mom that couldn't be real

A side of their mom that couldn't be real
Mom wrote, Robert Kincaid came down the lane Monday late
He asked for directions to Roseman's Bridge with appeal
With Italian accented English directions tried to dictate
Failing to convey the directions off hand
She said, "I can take you or tell you the way"
He said, "I don't want to take you from work's demands"
She said, " Let me get my shoes, he watched as she walked away"
As they drove away to find Roseman Bridge neither knew
An affair began that stayed with them their lifetime
There was chitchat on the way as appeal began to brew
Appeal that led to a lovestory sublime
Later they a meal shared as night fell
Each was drawn into the other's swell

Each was drawn into the other's swell
Now Michael and Carolyn are learning of their mother's love
A mother that they thought they knew well
Thinking that they and dad were mom's only doves
Now brought home to attend to mom's dying wish
And settle legal affairs of the estate
Not deal with an affair needing under rug to swish
Grown children whom mom wanted to illuminate
Maybe Michael and Carolyn would understand
Her desire to be cremated and ashes strown
at Roseman Bridge to mingle with Robert's ashes their holy land
For in those four days their love was crowned
To a sad, so shocking, learning occasion then
Michael and Carolyn came home again

Finis' April 10, 2014
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillian
Contest:Mov(i)e Me With A Contemporary Crown Sonnet
First try at this form>>>


Long poem by Robert Nehls | Details |

LIFE'S STORIES

His eyes are dark, but, there's still a spark. 
There are canyons in his face.
His lungs are gone and it won't be long,
'Till his heart can't keep the pace.
He's lived three lives, had his share of wives.
The decades have been nine.
There's a soul to bare, with a joy to share.
And he always says, "I'm fine."

He's a wise old man and the whole damn clan,
Likes to hear him tell his tales.
He remembers when as a boy of ten,
He was raising up the sails,
Of his father's boat and he'll always gloat,
"It was hard work for a boy."
"Hell, it was hard for men, but I'd go again,
Just to feel that youthful joy."

With dreams to follow and pride to swallow,
He reached for life with lust.
Following his heart, met his first sweetheart,
On the street he calls, "False Trust."
After one short week, they were heard to speak,
"Until death do us part."
Then, the next two years, thunder, lightning, tears.
And she left with his torn heart.

Lost in grief a while, it was hard to smile.
And he wore his armor well.
Heartless, hurt and laden, but a fair young maiden
Put him under her sweet spell.
Speaking of her dreams, and the gold dust streams
Sparkled in her clear blue eyes.
Making his blood stir, and he followed her 
To the land of pastel skies.

Bitter cold up there, but he didn't care.
She could make the hard ice melt.
Then his heart returned, and a fire burned.
True love was what he felt.
She could feel it to and the fever grew,
Like the child in her womb.
But, a family was not meant to be.
And her corpse became it's tomb.

His whole world shattered and nothing mattered.
Streams and canyons echoed pain.
Cursing God and man for the evil plan,
That was driving him insane.
Wandering aimlessly in the open sea,
Of demented souls that quit.
Two long years go by, and he can't deny,
He remembers none of it.

Then at twenty five, well, he comes alive,
And decides to live once more.
Like a broken spell, he walks out of hell,
Passing through life's open door.
Everyone there knows where the story goes,
And the old man kind of grins.
With a little wink, he begins to think,
This is where my life begins.

There was gold out there and he didn't care,
What it took to make it his.
"I'll be rich one day," he was heard to say,
"And that's just the way it is."
Well, he mucked and slaved but he never caved,
So the gold gave up the fight.
There were nuggets found measured by the pound;
Bringing golden dreams in sight.

Just a vagabond who was rich beyond,
The means of any king.
He was young with health and he bathed in wealth,
As the girls began to cling.
Well, he played the field, but he wouldn't yield,
To the pressures of the heart.
There were memories, love was some disease,
That could tear a soul apart.

He was rich it's true, but he also knew,
That you can't buy happiness.
So, he headed down to his old home town,
To what? He could only guess.
It was strange to see the old filigree,
Pressed in frames upon the wall.
Faces lost somehow to the years that now,
Drift into his heart's recall.

Seven years had passed since his father last,
Took a breath upon this earth.
Mother held him tight and to his delight,
He began to feel his worth.
No conditions there, love was everywhere,
Riches far beyond the gold.
So, he bought some land, and he took the hand,
Of fate with a life to mold.

Was a big barn dance, when another chance,
At true love was brought his way.
With her skin so fair, and her golden hair,
He was drawn to Jenny Mae.
Dancing close all night and to his delight,
She allowed a little kiss. 
When he dreamed of her, the thought would occur.
There was too much there to miss.

He was ready then, his heart soared again,
And he longed to tie the knot.
Down upon his knee with a marriage plea,
A sweet wife was what he got.
Life brought so much joy when their baby boy,
Had been born out on the farm.
And eventually it was them plus three.
Fate had swung it's loving arm.

There were ups and downs, but the world goes round,
With reunions every year.
And he swells with pride as he holds his bride,
Sitting next to him it's clear,
That we may grow old, but there's always gold,
To share when love abounds.
Laughter all about, life that seems to shout,
Love's the greatest of all sounds.

Tell us more, they say, right up 'till today;
He's reminded where they were.
He includes them all in his tale as tall,
As an ancient Douglas fir.
Jenny holds his hand, ah, this life's so grand.
And the old man kind of grins.
With a little wink, he begins to think.
This is where my life begins.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Souls On Fire

We have been observing the expanse of the parched land for many years, a land that stood the test of time and captivated by myriad dreams unfolding through the footsteps of the ages thus penetrating our lives. We gazed at the vast mountains and high lands with its luscious vegetation stretching thousands of miles from across them, Autumn on one side, Summer on the other, and Spring reluctantly emerging from a gruesome Winter that paralyzed the inhabitance of nature, stripping it from its wholesome prominence while it convalesce from the battered and bruised earth. 

We languished at the sudden disappearance of the water valley and the vast landscape around it. As far as our mind could reach, and as far as our feet could travel we trod upon the visible land within our reach. Land that has never been inhabited stared at us; land that has never been farmed is waiting to be ploughed. I could hear my great, great, grandfather and my grandfather before him shouting at the boys to get out of bed, harnessed the horses and start plowing the land again. 

We reminisce over acres of lands that our ancestors have fought for, land that spilled blood and claim the lives of innocent souls and fearless warriors, land that expands from ten generation, stood before us bare and empty, weeping for the souls who have fought furiously to preserve them. 

This land that has fed us for more than a hundred years lay waste before our naked eyes, the land that God gave us to feed the next generation has been sold out to strangers. The land is infested with dilapidated old building and at the whistle of the wind they are destined to collapse. They spread out all around the city and is inhabited by ruthless strangers and priced high despite their aging structure.

We lament the days spent on this land but foresee hope for the future. We searched for the farms, but they have disappeared, we look for the streams but they have dried up. Our bodies are polluted with toxic substance from contaminated food washing up on our shores from the other side of the globe, food unfit for human consumption have replaced the natural food on our grandfather's farm.

Oh great God that watches from every corner of the earth, extend your mercies and cause the land to flourish once more. You have given us land so that we can eat; you have given us land so that we can have enough in time of drought. You hold the universe securely in the palm of your hand and expand it so that it can reach everyone. The land is precious in your hand, no one can bargain for it and no price can be paid for it. 

When everything is stripped away, and the money diminishes, when our strength fails the land is here to stay. This is the land that will feed the younger generation; this is the land that will produce our crops. Powerful God, proliferate the land once again, mend the broken edges, and rescue your children who have been doped with hatred, intoxicated with bitterness and sedated with evil desires. Empower them and eradicate the poisonous substance from their perishing souls.

We gazed at the vastness penetrating the earth, and see land waiting to be occupied exposed to brutality, exasperate with atrocities and evil works. Great big God, save your children from the open gutters and trenches that awaits them, save the mothers, their suckling and toddlers who have been ravished from their homes and recruited into ruthless activities to torment and demoralize innocent people’s minds. Save them from the snares that await them, the tribulations surrounding their homes and the pestilence that seeks after their souls. 

We traveled the entire land, and hear you calling out the young men to till the ground. We can hear you beckoning the young men to throw down their weapons, clean up the garbage and farm on their grandfather’s land. They can hear you but they are too fragile to comply; they have weakened themselves with substances that make them vulnerable and unreliable. Emerge you powerless youth, transpire from your defenseless state, purge your body with clean drinking water and start cultivating the land again.
 
What else do we have but the land that you have given us? No one can take it away from us because it belongs to you. Strengthen the young men to till the land again and plant on fruitful ground. Bless the earth, and endorse it with your favor, thank you for this journey you are a mighty savior.
                                                                              
                                                                       ©2014 Christine Phillips



Long poem by John Arribas | Details |

REVOLUTION

REVOLUTION
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS


A REVOLUTION IS MUCH DEEPER THAN WHAT THE EYE CAN SEE 
AN OPPORTUNITY TO RID THE LAND OF DESPOTISM AND TYRANNY
WHEN ANY CITIZEN CAN EXPOSE THE ENEMIES OF THE STATE
PRESENT AND JUDGE VALID EVIDENCE TO ARRIVE AT A JUST FATE
BUT THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN EXCEPT IN THE RAREST OF THE TIME
CAUSE MOBS WANT VENGEANCE EVEN IF THERE IS NO CRIME
VINDICTIVE MOBS WILL LET NO ONE STAND IN THEIR WAY
THEY CAN ONLY BE QUIETED BY MAKING THE DEFEATED PAY


ONCE THE OLD REGIME HAS BEEN OUSTED AND OVERTHROWN
THE GENERAL POPULACE WANTS RETRIBUTION TO CALL ITS OWN 
FRENZIED MOBS WANT ALLEGATIONS OF ANY ON WHICH TO REACT
EVERY ACCUSATION IS TAKEN AS AN INDISPUTABLE  FACT
THOSE THAT ARE ACCUSED OF PRIOR REGIME COLLABORATION
WILL BE TRIED AND CONVICTED WITHOUT HESITATION
THE PENALTIES WILL VARY ACCORDING TO THE TYPE OF PEOPLES CRIME
SOME WILL BE EXECUTED, OTHERS SENT TO PRISON FOR A VERY LONG TIME


THOSE WITH NEIGHBORS OR OTHERS WITH DIFFERING OPINES
WILL ANONYMOUSLY BE ACCUSED  OF  TREASONABLE  CRIMES
IF MAN HAS AN ATTRACTIVE WIFE , COVETED FOR PERSONAL ROLES
HE’D BE SINGLED OUT AS UNDERMINING THE REVOLUTIONS GOALS
CHILDREN WOULD BE ASKED TO REPORT ON THEIR PARENTS TALK
DO THEY PRAISE THE REVOLUTION OR DO THEY BALK
MEN DON’T GATHER IN THE STREET IN IDLE CONVERSATION ANY MORE
IN FEAR OF BEING ACCUSED OF PLOTTING A COUNTER REVOLUTIONARY WAR


INVESTIGATIONS OF WRONG DOING WILL INCREASE AS PLANNED
TIL EVERY ONE FEELS THREATENED THROUGH OUT THE LAND
FACTS AND ALLEGATIONS ARE ALL TREATED THE SAME
ANYONE ACCUSED IS CERTAIN TO SHOULDER THE BLAME
WHILE THE MOB APPLAUDS THE ACTION OF A KANGAROO COURT
NO ONE OBJECTS TO THE TACTICS TO WHICH THE INSURGENTS RESORT
THE RULING INSURGENTS TELL THE CITIZENS TO PREPARE FOR ACTION
AN IMPENDING ATTACK BY THE OUSTED IS A SIMPLE DISTRACTION


REVOLUTION (2)



THE VICTORIOUS PARTIES PURGE DISSENTERS FROM THEIR RANKS
THE TRUE PATRIOTS AND HEROES THAT REALLY MERIT  THANKS
THEY WILL BE ACCUSED OF PLOTTING TO SABOTAGE THE REVOLUTION
INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE WILL SURFACE TO PROVE THEIR COLLUSION
EVIDENCE AGAINST THEM MOUNTS PROVING A PLANNED CONSPIRACY
EVIDENCE IS AUTHENTICATED BUT ONLY THE ACCUSERS CAN TO SEE


THOSE TAINTED MEMBERS OF THE ORIGINAL REBELLIOUS GROUP
ARE SENTENCED TO LONG TERMS TAKING THEM OUT OF THE LOOP
MEMBERS POPULAR WITH THE MOBS WITH NO THREATS TO FACE
SUDDENLY AND MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEAR WITHOUT LEAVING A TRACE
STRUGGLE FOR POWER WILL CONTINUE WITHIN THE VICTORS TEAM
TIL THE MOST COLD-BLOODED ONE DOMINATES EVERY SCENE 


REIGNING POWER IS NOW IN HANDS OF AN EGOCENTRIC MAN
ALL OPPOSITION HAS BEEN SILENCED THROUGH OUT THE LAND
THOSE HOLDING ON TO OPPOSING VIEWS ARE HUNTED DOWN
BLOCK TEAMS ARE ESTABLISHED IN EVERY CITY AND TOWN
BLOCK DIRECTORS HAVE SPYING DUTIES THE MAIN IS TO REPORT
ANY SUSPICIOUS MOVEMENTS OR ACTIVITIES TO THE CITIZENS COURT
EMPLOYMENT IS TERMINATED AND THE ACCUSED SENT OFF TO A FARM
WHERE POLITICAL VIEWPOINTS ARE ALTERED TO RENDER NO HARM
FEAR OF DEATH AND IMPRISONMENT IS SO DEEPLY INSTILLED
MOST MINDS ARE CONQUERED ONLY THE STRONGEST HAVE WILL


THIS IS THE REWARD FOR SEEKING FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION 
A PSYCHOTIC IDEOLOGUE MADE THIS LAND HIS PERSONAL POSSESSION
WE SURRENDERED OUR WEAPONS BUT MOSTLY OUR IDEAS
WE’RE COMPLETELY DOMINATED AND RULED  BY INSIDIOUS FEARS
LOOKING BACK IT NOW SEEMS THE REGIME WE OVERTHREW
WASN’T AS BAD AS WE THOUGHT, WE WERE ALWAYS ABLE TO MAKE DO
REVOLUTIONARIES THAT FOMENT CHANGE USING THE GUN
WILL STILL BE ARMED WHEN THE FIGHTING IS DONE

magnus dolor



REVOLUTION(3)


STUDENTS OF HISTORY ARE SMUG AND QUICK TO UNDERSTAND
HOW THIS BEAUTIFUL ISLAND WAS COMMANDEERED BY ONE MAN
SO MANY WERE MESMERIZED BY HIS UNENDING GLIB TONGUE
LIKE DEMONS CALLED STALIN, HITLER AND MAO TSE TUNG
THERE ARE MANY MEN LIKE THESE IN EACH GENERATION
PREYING ON THOSE FEELING OR PROMOTING FRUSTRATION
THESE VILLAINS ARE LAUDED TIL THEIR MOTIVES COME CLEAR
THEIR MAIN WEAPONS ARE TERROR AND BONE CHILLING FEAR
THE MASSES WILL DEMAND A PLEBISCITE AND NEW CONSTITUTION
NOT GOING TO HAPPEN WITHOUT A NEW REVOLUTION


THE LOSS OF FREEDOM DOESN’T HAPPEN OVERNIGHT
IT DISAPPEARS AFTER EACH UNCONTESTED LITTLE BITE
THIS IS A WARNING TO ALL THAT ARE FREE
DON’T THINK LITTLE BITES CAN’T HAPPEN TO THEE 



ONE COULD EASILY CHANGE A FEW LINES AND ADD A FEW DETAILS
AND COME UP WITH RUSSIA, VENEZUELA ,CHINA ETC. A GLIB TONGUE
AND A TIRED PUBLIC ARE EASY PICKINGS FOR THE EGOMANIACS
IN THE WORLD. THIS IS ABOUT CUBA

 





 
 
 


Long poem by Richard Lamoureux | Details |

Road Trip

Time for a road trip, my  dad, mom and us three kids all packed into our old station wagon. I guess it wasn't so old but it sure seemed that way at the time. We had 458 miles to drive on our trip from Virginiatown Ontario to Kitchener Ontario. For those of you who are not familiar that is a province in Canada. We were off to visit my grandpa and grandma on my mothers side. This is the first trip that I can remember. Excitement coursed through my little body.

It's strange the things that stand out in my memory from 46 years ago. My mom and dad were much slimmer back then. Mom had wavey black shoulder length hair and wore those cat eye glasses from the fifties. I always thought she was so pretty in a plain and simple way. Dad wore dark jeans rolled up at the bottom and had a matching jean jacket. He always had a certain swag and wore his belt buckle to the right side of his waist. He saw himself as an innovator. I also remember the cap that he liked to wear, to me it looked like a captains cap with the nautical symbol on the front and gold rope just above the black visor.

The trip felt like it took forever, we did our best to amuse ourselves in the back seat. We played licence plate bingo and sang songs until the sound of our voices was too much for dad to take and he told us to be quiet. The radio rarely played more than static and Dad turned it off until we came to the next town.  I pressed my face up against the window and let it be cooled by the glass. I was prone to motion sickness and this made the trip feel excruciatingly long. We would stop occasionaly at a roadside park to use the rest facilities and have a snack. I was relieved to have these short breaks and quickly began to feel normal again.

As it became darker my parents layed out blankets and pillows in the back of the station wagon. The three of us kids were tucked in and we continued driving through the night. I fell asleep with the sound of the tires turning on the asphalt. We arrived in Kitchener in the early morning. Kitchener was quite a bit different than Virginiatown, our small town of 300 people. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the morning I was struck by how cool everything looked. I had been familiar to the rugged terrain of the north, mining towns with simple main streets and a restaurant, barbershop and perhaps a theatre.  In Kitchener everything looked so big, department stores, more than one theatre, numerous restaurants and several banks lined the main Street. The buildings also looked so much higher. The downtown seemed to stretch on forever. We drove to Victoria park and had a picnic breakfast. On the way to the park we passed stately homes on tree lined streets. There were beautiful leafy poplar and oak trees spreading their branches over the road. They provided an interesting contrast to the pine trees that dominated the northern landscape. Victoria park had beautiful expanses of grass and more leafy old trees with exquisite bark. I watched as squirrels  played running back and forth between the trees. The squirrels easily ran up the tree trunks into the branches; it was like a manic game of tag. I was also enthralled with the huge wooden gazebo, it was very ornate. The floor was raised and made out of wide planks, it had a white painted railing and was covered with a brown shake roof. I imagined what it would be like to make this magical place my home.

Once our parents freshened up it was time to go to our Grandparents farm. I quickly forgot about my magical home as we piled in the car. Their home was located just outside Kitchener near a small town called Roseville. After about 20 minutes we were driving in the country, expanses of open land filled with corn and wheat.there were very few trees except a few out in the fields. As we drove down the country road dust flew up behind the car obscuring the path from which we came. Finally the car slowed and we pulled up to a long rectangular gate. My mom got out of the car and opened it, my dad drove down a dip and through the gate,  granddpa and grandma must have heard the engine and they came out to greet us. Grandpa had a sparkle in his eye and I knew this was going to be special place.









Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

Redneck Santa

T'were the night after Christmas, 'n' the house was all dark
Not much money for 'lectric in the ol' trailer park
Ma waitin' tables at the club on the base
Jist me and my sisters alone in the place

A big ol' blue norther, t'were a hard winter storm
We's all snuggled up close, jist tryin' ta stay warm
The trailer's as cold as a well digger's ass
Cause they come out that mornin' and turnt off the gas

I shore kinda hated to git out of that bed
But ol' Mother Nature made me git up, instead
I'd gotta go out if I wanted a leak
'Cause the toilet had bin all plugged up fer a week

Outside it 'peered warmer, which was a suprise
As I peed on the tree, sumpin lit up the skies
Them lights shined down on the yard, and I froze
Shore prayed it warn't one of them weird UFO's

As I stood thar turnin' round and around
There was white stuff fallin' and coatin' the ground
I grabbed a big buncha it up in my mitts
I thunk it was snow, but turnt out it were grits

I heared a big motor runnin' up overhead
And down come a monster truck painted all red
It bounced on the front 'n' bounced on the back
Then the driver clumb down 'n' grabbed a tow sack

He was white-haired 'n' husky, with red overalls
With ZZ Top whiskers 'n' blood-shot eyeballs
A red John Deere work cap was perched on his nut
And a WalMart white T-shirt half-covered his gut

He look like he just come off'n the farm
'Cept fer them tattoos of elves on his arm
As I stood around there jist like a complete dick
He says, “Boy ain't you gonna say crap to St. Nick?”

“Yes siree Bob”, says I, “I got sumpin to say.
I'd shore like ta know where you was yesterday.
The toilet's stopped up and we's all out of heat.
Ain't got no money and they's nuthin' to eat.”

“I was fixin' ta make it on time”, he then said.
He look kinda sheepish, and hung down his head.
“But I stopped at a bar when I finished my rounds.
And run inna St. Paddy at the Hare 'n' the Hounds."

"Ya know that he's the very best pal of St. Nick.
But there's none who can put 'em away like that Mick.
And the next thing ya know, we's over at Chances
Where that Tooth Fairy is doin' ten-dollar lap dances.”

“The Tooth Fairy a stripper? That done give me the chills!”
“Yessir”, says he, “Where ya think she gits all them bills?”
“Jist a minute”, I goes. “Where's the reindeer and sleigh?”
He turnt even redder, and then looked away.

“Well, we had a poker game goin', I thunk I would win.
I was holdin' four aces and bet everthang in.”
There was a palpable silence, a terrible hush.
“Then that damn Easter Bunny laid down a straight flush.”

“Well, I cut cards with a redneck and won me that truck
But as for the reindeer, they was squat outta luck
They throwed a big barbeque, and cooked 'em up slow
But I must say them reindeer's good eatin', ya know?”

No Dasher, no Dancer, no Prancer and Vixen!
No Comet, no Cupid, no Donner and Blitzen!
For hung on that red-painted monster truck's nose
was eight pairs of antlers, lined up in two rows.

“Anyway, I brung vittles for you and the girls.”
And out of the sack pulled six freshly skint squirrels.
“I jist bagged 'em thar in yer neighbor's back yard
Fry 'em up well, boy, with plenty of lard.”

I goes, “Them squirrels is rilly fine eatin' fer shore,
But ta git past tomorrow, we's gonna need more.”
says he,“Well, I's a bit short on cash fer today.”
And he give me six lottery numbers to play.

Then up drives my ma with bad blood in her eye
Draws out her six-shooter, jist primed to let fly.
Then lowers her arm down and commences to bawl
says, “I love you, you bastard, you tol' me you'd call!”

He says, “Boy, looks like it's not healthy to linger
Sticks out his mitt 'n' commands “Just pull on my finger.
The truck is fer you, son. I bid ya goodnight.”
And on a column of wind, he plumb riz out of sight.

I feels fevered and flushed as I stands there in awe
And I reckons this redneck St. Nick was my paw.
A voice far-off hollers, “Merry Christmas, now, y'all!
Then adds, “Don't fret none baby, jist wait fer my call!”

December 19, 2013


Long Poems