Long Grief Poems. These are the most popular long Grief by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grief poems by poem length and keyword.
See also: Famous Long Poems
Mary was a virgin girl:
With big dreams and aspirations!
An angel came to visit her:
With honor and salutations!
Troubled by his sayings:
She did not know what to think!
The angel said to Mary:
My dear, no need to shrink!
Mary you are favored,
Blessed among all women!
Ye shall bring forth a child:
A Son whom God is given!
You shall call his name JESUS!
To his kingdom there’s no end!
He will reign forever:
And from heaven he will descend!
Mary said to the angel,
How shall this come to be?
I have not known a man,
And with that he did agree!
With God’s nothing impossible,
So Mary did reply:
Behold I am God’s servant,
And his will I won’t deny!
To be so compliant;
Is just amazing in itself!
The disgrace of an unwed mother:
Could knock Mary off the shelf!
Her fiancé’ may leave her;
And her family may disown!
But Mary did not worry:
About who may cast a stone!
Seeing that she was chosen:
One might think her life was smooth.
But oh’ the lovely Mary:
Needed God to gently soothe!
From the birth of our Lord Jesus:
To the time he was crucified:
Her journey was very bumpy:
And many tears she softly cried!
Starting with a quest:
From Nazareth to Bethlehem!
A summons to pay taxes,
They set out, both of them! (Joseph and Mary)
Now Mary was great with child,
And her time would soon arrive.
With no place to deliver,
They would both have to contrive!
In a barn full of animals,
Hay, dung and fears!
Mary will now give birth,
In blood, sweat and tears!
Meanwhile, in a pasture,
Where some shepherds work a field!
Angel’s came a calling,
And our Savior is revealed!
Glory to God in the highest:
Angel’s sang, when baby breathed:
On earth, is peace, goodwill towards men!
The shepherds now perceived!
The angel’s ascend to heaven,
Yonder the shepherds go:
In her heart Mary pondered:
Of the things which God did show!
Just try to imagine:
Laying your baby in a trough?
And then fearing for his life,
While the king prowls and scoffs!
Well that is just what Mary did:
In that time and place:
When they had to run:
For baby Jesus, King Herod chased!
A king to rule over him:
He would not accept!
He killed every baby child:
As their mother’s wept!
I just cannot fathom:
What Mary must have felt.
Joy for her baby:
Yet, with grief she must have dealt!
Traveling home from Jerusalem:
After feast and celebration!
Mary lost her precious boy:
She could not find his location!
When he was discovered,
Frantic she did ask:
Son why did you leave us?
In sorrow we did bask
Every mother has known:
The fear of losing a child!
Mary was no different:
For three days her fear compiled!
I am sure there was weeping:
Praying with despair!
While Joseph tried to calm her:
With love and tender care!
She couldn’t apprehend:
What his life would turn out to be.
But, Mary as his mother:
Felt free to go and see!
She followed with his brothers:
And listen to him speak!
He spoke about family:
His family, he did critique!
Sisters and brothers:
And mothers we also see!
Are not bound together:
By a family tree!
From our Father in heaven;
Families are made!
Now, did Mary understand?
The price she had paid!
Mary’s little boy,
Was no longer her own!
He belongs to the people:
And as kin he is known!
Gripping at her heart strings:
Affliction had to arise:
As a mother of a son,
That might feel like my demise!
News of his capture:
Must have brought a scare!
How did Mary deal?
Did she run straight there?
When Jesus was beaten:
Did she watch all alone?
How did she refrain?
As he was whipped to the bone!
A crown of thorns:
They pressed upon his head!
He was dripping in blood:
His flesh was bright red!
Nails were deeply driven:
Through his hands and feet!
Crying out he said:
My God, why so discrete?
She stood by the cross:
And watch her baby die!
She pondered in her heart:
For the reason why!
Is it worth it?
Did Mary dare to ask?
For the love of God:
She must complete her task!
Yet, it pleased the Father:
For him to suffer!
To give his life:
To shed his blood:
Would only prove our WONDER!
JESUS gave it all:
Our sins to cover!
As my heart is wrenching:
I can’t help but wonder!
Did Mary even hear?
Those sounds of thunder!
The earth was shaking:
The rocks did rent!
The veil was torn:
And Mercy was sent!
With a broken heart:
Tear filled eyes!
Could Mary see?
Where his love lies!
Her baby boy:
Who brought some travail!
In the end:
Did definitely prevail!
Mary was chosen:
And highly favored!
And for our God,
She willingly labored!
She had troubles:
Plus sorrow and grief:
Yet, she pondered God’s word:
This fought off the thief!
The wonder of this woman:
Is most definitely overt!
And your wonder is also:
So please let me assert!
Three short days later!
And so did your favor!
God loves his creation:
A plan he has made!
He is not partial:
Nor, will he invade!
He leaves it to us:
To trust in his name:
So just like Mary:
Let his will take aim!
Now, ponder his word:
For it is real clear!
In Jesus we’re blessed:
Favored and dear!
We also have purpose:
Just like the Virgin Mary!
It is to share Jesus:
WONDERFUL WOMEN; don’t tarry!
No one can go to the Father:
Except through the Son!
And God uses his children:
To get the job done:
So if you refuse,
To share his love!
The world won’t know:
This Rock from above!
He is personal:
Yet, he is for all!
Proclaim his love:
It’s your curtain call!
Go into all the world:
And share his good news!
Mary’s child has risen:
It’s your turn to choose!
MY PRINCESS OF IMAGINATION
You are an empress of Heaven who descended on earth
A dear angel of God has taken birth
Your presence brings an awesome fragrance of joy
You are more beautiful than the Helen Of Troy
You resemble a symbol of peace, calmness, wonder and cheer
Like numerous scented flowers engulfed the entire atmosphere
Your presence enthralls the atmosphere with such an ardent passion
Flowers bloom, birds sing, oceans roar, Heaven rejoices in a supernatural fashion
Being a stranger but yet so familiar is an experience of mystery
I wanna be with your present, wanna be with the dreams of your future but never become your past history
I know nothing of you... but your life is a holy book written so well
Synonymous in nature to a religious novel
Every word of which would be so pious and divine
Their utterance will strengthen my soul and make it purely refined
And every word of which I wish you would share with me
And I would keep on listening with extreme curiosity
Hope this book of your life is so lengthy never ending and complicated
That while explaining me with clarity, your entire life is dedicated
Going through your inspiring life will make my mind so captivated
That in things of the world my attention will be never diverted
I would sync deep into your thoughts dreams and emotions
Explore your life like navigating through the depth of mighty oceans
The facts of your life will be as delightful as your nature
Synonymous in experience with a lifetime adventure
to be remembered forever
I wish I was a memorable entity always alive in the vicinity of your thought
Some one who gifted u a special feeling which is beyond the scope of being bought
Spiritual connection with you is magical pleasure. My soul rejuvenates a lot
Your life is extraordinary, it is an eternal bliss
Similar to such a wonderful voyage, the bitter past I shall never reminisce
Your soul resembles heaven's beauty filled with an angel's grace
I wish to find rest and comfort in such a sacred place
Worldly creatures are mesmerized by your supreme fragrance of serenity
The peace u provide, the calmness u bring resembles an heavenly entity
Synonymous to a medical replenishment of decaying souls to repair all their defects
Such that all disturbance, grief and sorrow are conquered and lose their effects
By the holiness of your spirit every evil existence shall perish
This divine revolution will leave behind only sweet remains to cherish
You bring forth the delight of eternity, a heavenly aura and shine
Which enlightens, encourages depressed souls, their lives renewed and new hopes defined
The everlasting impact of your presence inspires me to build an immortal attachment
And reside under your shadow which symbolizes an abode of holy settlement
I observe a pattern of silence in your behavior
I am unsure if this is part of your natural gesture
What is the reason for this sense of melancholy strain?
May be there is some trauma which brings you pain
Some moments of life you spend in mere solitude
What made u acquire such a lonely attitude?
I pray in your life there must not be any sorrow
Even if there is, I would willfully like to borrow
Any cloud of darkness over your life is beyond my tolerance
No power can besiege your holy throne of reverence
Alas and at last, there is something to say
I am striving with a pathetic feeling of dismay
Why I am so helpless that can not talk to you
Why are you a stranger? Am I some one so new?
Albeit a stranger, why I feel myself so close to you
Its my dream to talk to you for indefinite moments
To disturb this peaceful conversation, i would'nt prefer ugly opponents
The passion of my imagination is beautiful far beyond the facts of reality
Where in I understand your holy life book in the sacred place with sanctity
I believe you live on earth but exist in the wonders of heaven
Alas your presence in my life may be something I am against hope hopen
Wish for an opportunity to express myself to you
Seems an awkward desire as u consider me so new
In the vision of my imagination, I will always find you near
Your divine presence eliminates any syndrome of fear
And I promise to cherish your presence in my memories till my days are over
I recognize your adorable nature rather than your beautiful look
I already defined you Synonymous to a precious holy book
Wish these feelings on your mind will have a profound impact
Finding acceptance in your life is still an unknown fact
Unknown is whether I bear that supreme fortune to experience your acceptance
Or Else you would consider me unimportant and indulge me in repentance
Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors
To honour my thoughts, please do me some small favours
Give me a true promise that you will forget me never
Request you to cherish these thoughts in your memory with pleasure
And edify yourself as heavenly princess as you are an eternal treasure
Close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me
for, as close as this, you may never get to God.
What immortals have you hoped to see? What espirit
de corp have you longed for? Who will guide your earthly plod?
Kiss me for I have kissed the lips of Lestat,
nipped and pricked, punctured and sucked to husks,
occasionally with regret, but more often lust's ascot
what once was I, reveling in your taste, your musk.
As Louis, I beguile with tawdry tales surreal
visages of plantation nights, horror of the color green,
Letiche roaming creatures who our trails conceal,
the true demons whose glamour goes unseen.
Yes, I prayed for death, wrapped in the pain of lost kin
but, by God I never wished, I never wished for Him.
But, by God, I never wished, I never wished for Him.
Eternity alone is such a hollow thing, unripe,
never, ever, feeling full, a marrow-less bone, scrim-
shaw's sorry surface, a sperm-less whale to pipe.
Such as this was He, when him came to me that mid-
night, pleading, bleeding, ever feeding morbid life.
A cameo on cowry shell, with skin which bid
the touch of cheek on cheek to assuage my grief
to fill the brother-less gap the lack of wife.
This is how he lured me to the kill, the blood spilled
how fire and innocence flamed when he arrived.
Do not hate me for the fate his kiss instilled
Surely, a family is the normal thing to long for
alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp.
Alive or dead to long for an espirit de corp
crestfallen at the lack of hearth and home, pride
we hidden monsters kill what we adore, and more ...
leaving us in marble crypts with no warmth inside.
Then He saw her, the child beside the corpse of mother
half dead, the pox upon her face, amidst the tears
certainly to save her was His goal, what other?
But now I think her savior - a most foul affair.
Claudia, the child eternal, bidding, unformed blight,
monster among monsters, her wee wicked formed unbudded
curdled, curling ever inward, a trickster charming night
stalker, dragging porcelain dollies by her side.
Daughter mine? Temptress, maker-killer, unformed bride
have you killed your father, dumped him in a swampy hide?
Have you killed your father, dumped Him in a swampy hide?
Years you've planned and plotted, Lestat to defy and I
absorbed in misspent fantasy with you; my fate allied.
Damned one, poisoner, death angel, do you deny
the desecration of the His unmoving vessel,
fed to the fishes, the bottom feeders, oh but He made do ...
absorbed recaste, laid in wait each hungry cell.
We fled the patricide, you and I sought others of
our kind. What gruesome, ill bred misfits the world held
and so hardening the unbeating heart ... beloved
to mankind we returned as if compelled.
To the core of life and lore to Paree, to the bloody stage
the Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage.
The Theatre des Vampires is home. Mockery's the rage.
Do you see them now? Four hundred years and Armand
has not changed. See them lure the human meat upstage
with laughter. Reality's the rage and oh the blood coined.
"How gauche!" our petite Claudia sighs, the excess in
gore and waste. But, the coven has my Armand's grace.
For Claudia, Madeleine the doll maker dies, reborn
to mother the horrific woman 'neath this childish face.
A family formed again when Lestat steps in alive and
the coven lets the sun take Claudia and Madeleine.
I entombed, walled in, buried alive, if not for my Armand.
Their ashes, oh my dears, in death entwined.
I burned the lot of them within their caskets, burnt alive;
the curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I.
The curtain fell yet there was still Armand and I.
I could nor forget, would not forget, the fate of Claudia
of which he was no small part, it was a small lust easily untied.
Home was all I wanted, the damp, the swamp, the bougainvillea
sickened of my Old World haunts, all I wanted was home.
Never, never would I make another, a comfort I decline.
Let the modern age wonder where it is I roam;
penance unearned and ungiven in the shadows I hide.
I can not live, I can not breathe, death's my only company
my wife, my child, my brother, so many others. The living dead
is what we're called, Vampire, do you pity me?
Lestat "Do you see me? Your sight I dread!"
West coast, golden gates Baghdad by the bay
in the bars I linger where men are men, aren't they?
In the bars, I linger, where men are men, aren't they?
I find you here, or you find me? I bare my soul to
you of lessons learned, of men, of plays, ah cabarets.
"What do you do, what do you say, you writer you ...
two footed harridan of clay? You long for the eternal kiss
as if the bliss of life was so very little to pay.
Fool that you are ... not in life or death would you be grist
a waste you are, a mortal led so far astray.
No passion's left, no fond memories ... but her golden hair.
Perhaps, I'll take a taste of you, foolish fop, and sigh;
no immortal will I make. On the floor, I will leave you there
refuse beside the pages, the sordid tales as my reply.
As my lips close on your throat, heaven's absentee,
close your ears, close your eyes and pray to me.
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
I've been hearing news about the tragic shooting in Newtown, Connecticut
which happened almost a year ago, so I decided to post my poem again as a tribute.
The tragedy was fresh and heavy on my mind when I wrote this...
The wind howls outside my balcony door
My feet are cold from walking across the floor
As I step outside to look at the snow
I know for sure I won’t be sleeping anymore
It’s 5 am … only five hours of sleep
The house is so quiet, kids aren’t making a peep
I head to the kitchen, down darkened stairs
Coffee doesn’t take very long to prepare
Back in my bed where it’s cozy and nice
I pull the covers up, my body cold as ice
My legs are warming with my notebook on my lap
I’m thankful for the company of an early morning chat
The lights begin to flicker, my internet is gone
No one to chat with, I find myself alone
I light the few candles I have sitting about
Just in time for the power and lights to go out
Buried under covers, too bad I’m alone
The coffee tastes good, it’s still kind of warm
I close my tired eyes to take time to pray
And think about what’s ahead for the day
My mind won’t cooperate, thoughts starts to wander
So many things that I start to ponder
Like funerals for those little ones, starting today*
In a town in Connecticut, so far away
yet so close to home, in a manner of speaking
I think of my children in their rooms still sleeping
My tears feel hot coming down my cold cheeks
As I think of the events of this sorrowful week
And of all the evil which has been unfurled
And tomorrow, supposedly the end of the world*
Well, maybe the end would be just as well
We’re already living in a sort of hell
No! I can’t think like that…I have to stop
I just wish I could have a direct talk with God
And find out what it is that He wants me to think
Find out why such bad things are happening
Why did those children have to die?
How will those parents say goodbye?
My heart aches so much as I look at the ceiling
I can’t imagine what those parents are feeling!
God, give me some answers! Show me the way!
What is the point of getting up today?
What is it I’m feeling…? Is it grief, or fear?
I hope in time things might become clear
Sitting in the dark as the temperature falls
The candles flicker gently, making shadows on the wall
Those candles smell good, they smell of peace
I close my eyes to try to get some sleep
Quietly there comes a stirring from within me
I could imagine God's words, through a gentle epiphany
The children are ok… they’re in a better place
Their parents have pain that I’ll help them to face
This brings me such sorrow, I am hurting too
But I’ll use this for good, I can promise you
Things happen in this life that can’t be understood
Let your heart ache for the evil, but search for the good
Remember all those things that make life worth living
Like family and friends… like serving others, and giving…
Do what you can to make the world a little better
Just spread the love… and try to remember
This world is not the end, and it isn’t your home
And neither is your body… That’s just skin and bones
There are beautiful things in store for you
I know you can’t imagine, but believe that it’s true
And tell other people, so they will have hope
It’s the only thing on earth that will help them to cope
I look out the window at the snow flying by
The sun is coming up, but gray fills the sky
I may not have the answers to all I want know
I just have to believe that God is in control
A peace comes over me like a little gift
I feel that a burden has been lifted
I still feel sad, but hopeful, in a way…
At least I think I'm ready to face another day
*Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
On December 14, 2012, 20-year-old Adam Lanza fatally shot twenty children and six adult staff members in a mass murder at Sandy Hook Elementary School in the village of Sandy Hook in Newtown, Connecticut. Before driving to the school, Lanza shot and killed his mother Nancy at their Newtown home. As first responders arrived, he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head.
It was the second deadliest mass shooting by a single person in American history, after the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre, and the second deadliest mass murder at a U.S. elementary school, after the 1927 Bath School bombings in Michigan.
The shootings prompted renewed debate about gun control in the United States, and a proposal for new legislation banning the sale and manufacture of certain types of semi-automatic firearms and magazines with more than ten rounds of ammunition.
* Some people believed the world would end on 12/21/12 all because the Mayan Long Count calendar was thought to be reaching the end of its cycle.
There did they go into the cyberspace
where none but the great of heart
have ever gone before
and they did find great pleasure unto the night
for it was a time of love and understanding
and she did say it is good.
And when they did awake unto the dawn
then he did see a mass onto his shoulder
that had not ever been there before
and he was sore afraid.
Then he did say unto his mate, whose name is Mae,
what is it that has aflicted me in the night
and bonded itself onto the very body of me?
And she did reply unto her husband,
I know not.
And so they did consider the mass
and it was firm and round as a gooses egg,
yet it was of the mass that was thrice the size.
So she did lay her hands onto the mass
and did say,
is it now with pain, for I have given it a great charge?
But he did reply, nae, I feel it not.
And so they did go with the coming day,
even as the sun was high, unto his physician,
who counseled with some of his own, as to the matter.
And they did touch, and poke, and wonder
at the mass, and then they did say
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
But one of physicians did ask
of what great need do you have of this arm,
and the man did reply, it is not the one
with which I write my name.
And the husband, whose name is Fred, did inquire
as to how this mass ever came to be
and so has attached itself onto me?
And there it sits, as if bad things to come.
Then his physicians did reply and say
nae, it is naught to worry about
but we can remove it if you have the desire.
And the wife did say unto the physicians,
who were with great skill in the matter,
this he does have,
so the husband did say, it is so my desire,
I have great needs that it be gone.
But the physicians did reply
it shall be taken away in twelve days,
for that is the only time
that is not already spoken for.
And so they did agree.
Now when the night came and he did lay again with his wife,
there came a great trembling from deep within
his body, and he did shake to his very toes.
And she did say, husband, why is it that you shake?
And what is it that maketh your body wet all over,
as if a rain has fallen on the very place you lay?
And he did reply, I know not.
But he was with great fear and did wonder
as to what the mass could be.
And his wife did then say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
But he did think on the matter and then did say,
this must surely be as unto a sign from the maker
that my time is at hand.
Surely my life has been filled with goodness
but has brought me unto this very day.
And she did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
And as the day grew near,
but was even the second day unto the removal,
the husband did worry and say some more,
my life is at an end
for the very inside of me does now quake
and my hands tremble at the sight of the mass.
Yea, mine eyes cannot bear to gaze upon it
and it has become an abomination unto my sight.
But his wife did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
Then there came onto the tube, as if an omen
and a sign unto its own,
that a man had a mass and surely it had taken him away,
as if a robber had come in the night.
And he did grieve, for the day was almost at hand,
but did go unto his physicians and did say,
see how my body is wet and trembles at its' sight?
How is it that this thing has come unto me?
And what are the tingles unto my skin
is it what cometh from a lipoma?
But the physicians did shake their heads
and then they did say
you have the stress.
And so he did wonder at what they did tell him,
and when he looked, the mass was still there.
But the physicians did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
And one of the physicians said
if it is not a lipoma, the betting is off.
And then the man did return to his home
but trembled in the night.
Now when the morning did come
and the woman reached for her husband,
she found his space to be empty
and wet where he had layed.
and she did say, husband,
where is it you have gone?
But she heard not a reply.
And so she did go into the bottom of the house
where she did see him hanging from a beam
and then she did cry.
And so the constable did come, along with the scribes,
but the wife was with great grief
and did say o! that my life has such dismay
because of the lump that has taken him away.
What manner of thing has fallen to me?
And the scribe, who was to tell of the matter,
asked of her, what is it that has made you grieve?
And then the constable did say
is it the mass, that has made your husband
to end his life?
And she did say, it was a lipoma,
and it was nothing more.
....© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Fourth canto (first part)
The deep slumber was broken in my head
By a strong thunder, so that I woke up
As person forced to arouse from bed;
My rested eye I moved around then deep,
Erect uprisen, and also stared straight
In order of the place a knowledge to buildup.
It’s true that I was just in the side trait
Of the deep valley in the sore abyss
Where infinite troubles one has to wait.
Obscure and foggy was certainly this
So much that, having my face deeply stuck,
Anything there my sight was bound to miss.
“Now into the world blind straight down we chuck”,
Started to tell the poet completely pale.
“I will be first, and you second to duck”.
And I, seeing his hue and its entail,
Told him: ”How can I come if you just fear
Being the one who supports when I quail?”.
And he to me: “Of people the distress
Lying down here, imprints then on my face
The same compassion you feel due to stress.
Now go, since we have a long way to trace”.
So he moved and so pushed me to step in
The first circle which starts the chasm to lace.
Here, to extent of what you could listen,
Never was heard so much crying which ails
And made the eternal air quake and spin;
This happened without any torment bales,
Which had the crowds, many and large indeed,
Of infants, of women and of males.
The good master to me: “Do not you need
To know which souls are these that you see?
You must be aware, before you proceed,
They did not sin; if have worth as a fee
Is in vain, baptism they did not receive,
Which is the door to faith that you agree;
And if they lived before the Christ achieve,
They did not properly adored to God:
And to these I myself pertain and cleave.
Due to this lack, and not for being sod,
We are lost, and offended in a way
That to a life with no hope we must nod”.
Great grief then kept me when I heard his say,
Because people of value very high
Who I met in limbo compelled to stay.
“Tell me, my master, you that underlie”,
I started willing briefly to be sure
On that faith with no error to rely:
“Nobody came out of here, being pure
Or with intercession, blessed became?
And he understanding my say obscure,
Answered: “Short after in this state I came,
When I saw arriving a man with sway,
Crowned with signs of victory and great fame.
The soul of the first father took away,
His son Abel and Noah could bring,
And Mose’s loyal who gave the laws array;
Abraham’s patriarch and David’s king,
Israel with his father and his breed
And with Rachel, which took under his wing,
Many others, to be blessed agreed.
And I want to let you know that, before,
No human soul’s salvation had succeed”.
While he was speaking we were walking more ,
But the wilderness we were going through,
The wilderness, I mean, of souls hard core.
Not very long the way we had to do
Before night, when I saw a fire bright
Which dark hemisphere was able to hue.
We were still far more than a little bite
But not much so I could partly discern
The honorable people lying in that site.
“You that raise science and art with concern,
Who are these having honor just so great
That a different mode deserve in turn?”
And he to me: “The honored fame and trait
Which sounds up there where really you live
Mercy in heavens grows who pass them straight”.
Meanwhile a voice I heard to me arrive:
“Do honor to the poet which is at top;
His soul comes back, next had to derive”.
When that voice was calm and allayed to stop,
I saw four big shades toward us to come:
They did not show delight or of mood drop.
The good master then started telling some:
“Look well at the one holding that big sword,
Who is by of three as a king become:
That is Homer who all other poets scored;
Horace the satirist is the other;
Ovid the third, Lucan last of the board.
Since all of them now welcomes me further
According to the voice before I heard,
They honor me, and then are good farther.
So I saw the well worthy school conferred
Of that lord in the most distinguished song
Which over others flies as eagle bird.
After they friendly reasoned enough long,
They turned their heads to me sending a nod,
And then my master smiled for that along;
And they gave me honor even more broad,
Since they made me member of their array,
So I was sixth in all that wisdom laud.
So then we moved toward the light our way,
Speaking of things at best silent to keep,
Like it was speaking where I had to stay.
(continued next, not enough space)
(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")
It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...
from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.
Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.
Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.
Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."
Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.
The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot
of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.
Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.
Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.
It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew
covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door, my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.
No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been
I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow
It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.
A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.
That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.
I never go near the iNet, never search out or bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.
LIFE IN ETERNITY*
The cheerful trumpet of miraculous life, imperatively sounded in
My mother’s life-giving womb,
Heralding with its melodic tune another animation: MINE!
And as my innocent infantile heart was provoked by
The challenging divine call,
Started beating tenderly in the rhythm of never-dying cosmos
Thus making me ALIVE!
The promising sound was still ringing in my delicate ears, singing the
Marvelously hopeful song of life,
When a sound of a Second trumpet, similar to the first, filled with
Its melancholic tune my tiny world, announcing the
Coming of calamitous death thus condemning me to DIE!
LIFE and DEATH beside me they stood facing each-other,
Tenderly holding my hands and claiming me as their child,
Life was the first to whisper into my ears promises so many:
She talked to me about joy, happiness, love and procreation,
About thousands of other things that she would like to offer,
Only a favor she asked in return- to be hers and only hers
When death heard what life said, didn’t make any sound
Only sardonically smiled at her first and then to me
“The cup of joy you can never drink before you empty that
And no matter what life tells you, in the end you will be
My very own.”
That’s the way my trip in this ephemeral world began
With vigorous life leading and tracing the promising way
While death kept following her, just a few steps behind,
Patiently waiting to catch up with her pace
As years were passing fast one after the other
Death was approaching her rapidly each and every day
So the fight they had begun so many years ago
Relentless war now becomes with life still the winner
Yet the ill-fated day of my death came to my great surprise
As life’s iron grasp of my hand, had lost its strength and vigor
And that of death’s had gained much power and might,
In vain I cried for life’s help for she had lost the battle
So, the eager hands of death I felt around my skeleton waist
Violently squeezing me with all their force and main,
Ready to extinguish they are my very last spark of life
And as the shrilling wind of death, is howling throughout my body
I fall motionless, breathless, DEAD and over the ground remain
Yet, I am still here, just hovering all over my inanimate body,
Surprised! Confused! Bewildered, nevertheless EXISTING!
With no hands, no arms, no legs, no head or any other organ,
Just pure thought, pure consciousness, pure light, in other words
Now, to those of you who many tears of sorrow shed
For my sake
One thing I have to ask: Rejoice for I am truly alive
Dead was I certainly, when among you existed
Therefore, your grief for me should turn to great joy
If you do not want me to pity you and delay my flight
Death, you are my savior, my friend my ally
Thank you for delivering me from agony and pain
From space, time, ignorance, ignominy, injustice
And most of all, I thank Thee for the eternal life
Impatient my soul now becomes, yearns to fly away
Far from human misery and every other worry
The only thought that exists deep down in my soul
Is to trace back its steps to its celestial home
Now, I fly uninterruptedly, I am on my way
As the shining bright stars illumine my road
The road of accomplishment, attainment and glory
Ah, there at last I see the ever dazzling light
The gates of eternity to open for me wide
And God Himself to look at me with His ever blazing eyes
Calling to hurry forward and with Him unite
Instantly I disappear in a universe of sacred light
Joyful, happy, jubilant, ecstatic, ever-blissful
And become one with the ONE, immortal everlasting
Radiating with holiness, enraptured with grace
A ray of divinity encompassing the COSMOS
Oh, how grateful I am to you DEATH my LIBERATOR!
16 DECEMBER 2013
*Wrote this poem for the passing on of a thirteen-year-old girl!
**Because of its length I was unable to post this poem in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: Choreography of Life
and as Death My Liberator. Here is the entire poem as it was originally written with minor
***Myself, have thrice crossed swords with death and have felt his breath on my neck!
With God's grace though I am still here!
As October 1 approaches, HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY……………………
I have enormous tracts of land and vast volumes of water, but cannot feed myself.
So I spend $1 billion to import rice and another $2 billion on milk.
I produce rice, but don’t eat it. I have millions of cows but no milk.
I am 53, please celebrate me.
I drive the best cars in the world but have no roads,
so I crush my best brains in the caverns,
craters and crevasses they crash into daily.
I am in unending mourning, please celebrate me.
My school has no teacher and my classroom has no roof.
I take lectures through windows and live with 15 others in one room.
All my professors have gone abroad, and the rest are awaiting visas.
I am a university graduate, but I am illiterate. I want a future, please celebrate me.
Preventable diseases send me to hospitals without doctors, medicines or power.
All the nurses have gone abroad and the rest are waiting to go also.
I have the highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world;
and future generations are dying before me. I am hopeless, hapless and helpless,
please celebrate me.
For democracy’s sake I stood all day on Election Day.
But before I could ink my thumb, results had been broadcast.
When I dared to speak out, silence was enthroned by bullets.
My leaders are my oppressors, and my policemen are my terrors.
I am ruled by men in mufti, but I am not a democracy.
I have no verve, no vote, no voice, please celebrate me.
My youth have no past, present nor future.
So my sons in the North have become street urchins;
and his brothers in the South have become kidnappers.
My nephews die of thirst in the Sahara and his cousins drown in the Mediterranean.
My daughters walk the streets of Lagos , Abuja and Port Harcourt;
while her sisters parade the streets of Rome and Amsterdam .
I am grief-stricken, please celebrate me.
Pen-wielding bandits have raided everything in my vaults.
They walk the land with haughty strides and fly the skies with private planes
They have looted the future of generations unborn;
and have money they cannot spend in several lifetimes,
but their brothers die of starvation. I want a kit of kindness, please celebrate me.
I can produce anything, but import everything.
So my toothpick is made in China; my toothpaste is made in South Africa;
my salt is made in Ghana; my butter is made in Ireland;
my milk is made in Holland; my shoe is made in Italy;
my vegetable oil is made in Malaysia*** my biscuit is made in Indonesia;
my chocolate is made in Turkey and my table water made in France.
My taste is far-flung and foreign, please celebrate me.
My land is dead because all the trees have been cut down;
flooding kills thousands yearly because the drainages are clogged;
my fishes are dead because the oil companies dump waste in my rivers;
my communities are vanishing into the huge yawns of gully erosion, and nothing is being done.
My very existence is uncertain and I am in the deepest depths of despondence, please celebrate me.
I have genuine leather but choose to eat it.
So I spend billions of dollars to import fake leather.
I have four refineries, but prefer to import fuel,
so I waste more billions to import petrol. I have no security in my country,
but send troops to keep peace in another man’s land.
I have hundreds of dams, but no water.
So I drink ‘pure’ water that roils my innards.
I need a vision, please celebrate me.
I have a million candidates craving to enter universities,
but my dungeons can only accommodate a tenth.
I have no power, but choose to flare gas,
so my people have learnt to see in the dark and stare at the glare of Unclad flares.
I am shrouded by darkness, please celebrate me.
For my golden jubilee,
I shall spend 16 billion naira to bash around the bonfires of the banal.
So what if the majority gaze at my possessed, frenzied dance;
drenched in silent tears, as probity is enslaved in democracy’s empty cellars?
I am profligacy personified, please celebrate me.
Why can I not simply reflect and ponder?
Does my complexion cloud the colour of my character?
Does my location limit the lengths my liberty?
Does the spirit of my conviction shackle my soul
Does my mien maim the mine of my mind?
And is failure worth celebrating?
I AM NIGERIAN, PLEASE CELEBRATE ME.