Long poem by
Trisha Sugarek | Details |
The Ash Can ©
I got the call on Sunday night. I was traveling on business. When I looked at the caller ID
I wondered why my husband’s boss would be calling me. I was unprepared for what
he told me and my legs turned to water when he said that my husband was dead.
‘A heart attack? An accident?’ I asked. ‘No’, he said, ‘John committed suicide.
They found him in your garage this morning.’ I heard someone screaming and
wished that they would stop so I could hear the rest. His voice was very far away
and the woman just kept screaming. ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ I need to hear. I clapped my
hand over my mouth when I suddenly realized it was me who was screaming.
I don’t remember hanging up or getting on the plane. (beat) Yes, John and I were having
problems and we had been separated for about three months but nothing was official.
After thirty years of marriage I never believed that we couldn’t weather this and share
the rest of our lives together. This was just a phase he was going through…some sort
of mid-life crisis. This had to be some horrible mistake, a case of mistaken identity.
My John would never do this, leave me like this. (beat)
I stumbled into our home around nine the next morning. The house looked like a woman
hadn’t lived there for months. Dirty dishes in the sink, groceries half put away, empty
beer cans and a full ashtray by John’s chair. Seeking comfort I walked over to his chair.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror over the
fireplace. Some wild looking woman with mascara smudges under her eyes and smeared
lipstick looked out at me. I walked closer to inspect this stranger in my house.
She looked old and used up. Who was she? What had life dealt her to look so worn out?
Oh, God, it was me. Staring out with those eyes bleeding hot, raw pain. (beat) I curled
up in John’s chair and closed my eyes. Was this all I had left of my husband? This slightly shabby piece of furniture that still smelled of him? How could I tell our children? Could I bear to go into the garage? What would I find?
I knew that they had taken his body away but what had they left there for me to see?
Maybe something there would prove that this was truly a mistake. I rose to my feet and
walked into the kitchen and through the laundry room to the garage door. (beat)
I slowly opened it and was knocked back by the remaining stink of gas fumes.
John’s car sat in its parking spot, the garden hose hanging from the back window like
some obscene snake. I gagged and pressed the button to open the garage door.
The passenger side window was open so I could look inside without having to touch the car. And what I saw on the seat told it all. There was John’s cell phone, an empty bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Excedrin. (beat) And something else…a second cell phone…what in the world? I was only allowed five seconds of blissful denial before it all came crashing down on me. The second phone…the secret phone that men who cheat keep to talk to their lovers. All those protestations he offered during the time that we were apart. ‘No, there was no one else’, ‘I just need to find myself’, ‘I don’t want a divorce’, ‘I just need some time’. ‘I love you; I’m just not in love with you.’ Lies, all lies! How could I have been so stupid? Then I notice a crumpled manila envelope on the floor of the car. Anger driven, I opened the door and picked up the envelope and the two cell phones and went back into the house. Sitting in John’s chair once again, I smoothed out the envelope and read what was written there.
‘Ricky, tell Sherry I love her. Tell Sherry I can’t live without her. Tell Sherry not to cry
for me. Sherry, I’ll love you forever. I’m sorry.....John-Boy.’ Who the hell was Sherry?
Did my husband of three decades kill himself over some tramp? Some other woman
whom he barely knew? I picked up the second cell phone and scanned the history of calls.
Where was area code 864? As I set the phone down my eye caught the partial title of
a book lying on the rug under the table. Picking it up, I read: ‘How To Keep A Long
Distance Relationship Exciting and New.’ I opened it to the first few pages and found an
inscription, ‘To my tiny dancer, until we meet again. Love forever, your John-Boy.’
My God, John, how could you? How could you do this to us? I yelled as I threw the
book across the room; will this hellish nightmare never end? (beat) I picked up the
cell phone and scrolled down the history; Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman, Sherry Hoffman. No other woman, huh, John? South Carolina…hence the long distance relationship…you’re such a fool, I told myself. There was voice mail saved and I listened to the most current ones. Those messages told a story of a married woman who had a son and a new grandchild.
Another sad, pedestrian story of a restless woman trapped in a loveless marriage but
unwilling to leave. The daughter-in-law apparently would not let Sherry see the child.
It seemed that John, in a misplaced attempt to help, called Sherry’s son to insist that
he let Sherry see her grand-baby.
Only to succeed in blowing up that family. The final message was not so sweet and
sexy from his lover. Sherry had dumped my husband. (beat) I didn’t know whether
to laugh or cry. I seemed to be trapped in a crazed, unbelievable soap opera. But what
is it that they say about truth being stranger than fiction? I sighed. John had always
wanted to rescue anyone in trouble…even when they didn’t ask for help. He had crossed
the line calling that woman’s son. Oh, John, what were you thinking?, I asked the empty
room. Didn’t you know? You were her dirty little secret.... (more)
(from my book, Monologues 4 Women)
Long poem by
SillyBilly theKidster | Details |
Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away.
I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot.
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got.
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two,
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you.
I've got 16 silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun.
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run.
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door?
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet dirty whore.
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet."
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut.
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?"
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily,
"or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure
for killing an unarmed man in cold blood
who was chained helplessly to the floor.
It's time for the other prisoners to be escorted across the street to be fed.
The Kid's not going anywhere. He's chained to the floor by his bed.
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn.
Go and have yourself a beer and I'll stay here
and guard the Kid until you return."
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack.
Before he left he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back."
No one can say for sure if the above dialog ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure,
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace.
They were arch enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War.
Ollinger was in the posse that killed John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor.
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy.
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key.
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor.
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door.
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him.
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a humorous grin.
While in the outhouse Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuff.
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, "You've been in there long enough."
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door.
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure."
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell.
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell.
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned.
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun.
"Please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run.
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done.
He shot and killed Bell, then went and got Ollinger's shotgun.
The Kid never found pleasure in killing,
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception.
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below.
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs.
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs.
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed,
"The Kid's killed Bell!"
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun
and whispered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart.
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face.
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place.
Billy smashed his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed.
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a b*tch!"
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape.
"I don't want to hurt anyone,
but I'll kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape."
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free.
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately.
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said almost tearfully,
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it."
As Billy mounted the horse the chains of his leg irons startled the beast.
The horse reared up and threw Billy down onto the street.
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground.
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, but none made a move or a sound.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing.
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County
that they heard the Kid singing.
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past,
but this was his greatest escape ever. It would also be his last.
"I had no intention of killing either one of them. My plan was to tie and gag Bell and then get out of there before Ollinger got back, but then things went terribly wrong.....I certainly didn't want to kill Bell, but I had to in order to save my own life....I never felt happier than when I gave it to old Bob. I said, "Look up here old boy and see what you're getting". I then blasted him in the face and breast. He use to ride me to the point where I just couldn't take it anymore."
- Billy the Kid
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - -
My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)
As such he seldom raised his head,
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years,
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .
A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)
Destroying our downtown,
It, cut a swath near one mile wide,
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red,
Dad put me in the car,
But roads were blocked in just three blocks,
The world become bizarre!
Barbed wire that penetrated trees,
Homes cracked like eggs insides,
Our home had grass blades drove like nails,
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history,
My dad was gone for days,
Storm victims sleeping on our floor,
The whole town in a daze.
Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town,
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)
Attended too the poorest school,
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card,
No pretense there to see,
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm,
(Or to her tongue of fire) ,
For with Dad's stature in the town,
Few dared to risk her ire!
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools,
Complained it wasn't fair,
Till they encountered Sis and I,
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy,
And ‘ART' (6) the air she breathed,
Though slight she strongly stood her ground,
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference,
Just sometimes things were tough,
Our clothing did set us apart,
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there,
The same clothes thru the week,
Impoverished not just in clothes,
But that which all men seek.
I had a bike to ride around,
Of course it was a Schwinn,
And almost always home for lunch,
For Mom thought we were thin,
With two desserts at every meal,
(And Mom was quite a cook.)
But if you didn't clean your plate,
From Dad you got a look,
The waste of food a mortal sin,
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)
Made every meal traumatic fare,
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me,
Depression's (8) oldest child,
I mourn the innocence he lost,
That made his wrath seem mild.
Our parent's roles were well defined,
My dad brought home the bread,
My mom the joy of hearth and home,
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments,
But whippings weren't enough,
We even weren't allowed to cry,
To show we had the stuff!
Small wonder romance frightened me,
(So sure I'd be like him) ,
To challenge violence I feared,
Chose music over gym.
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great
Depression and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950) in the Mid-West, divided into
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete
* 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) ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years old when ‘The Great
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2) Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3) ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado,
he doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the
local banks to do so.
(4) 'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only'
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5) 'living too high on the hog' - an idiom referring to people who have to have the
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they
can't really afford them.
(6) ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life!
(7) ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8) 'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though
I guess!) Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale.
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .
Long poem by
ravin Gupta | Details |
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
Long poem by
S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Details |
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..
Of collapsed black holes the horizon was full
Faded for once their gravitational pulls
Exploding back as eternal stars ..
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
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
Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |
WE ARE BROTHERS
Don’t look at me as though I am an alien or stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy fly out of your eyes,
I am your neighbor!
Don’t call me foe, antagonist or rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves to have a fight,
I am your friend!
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand,
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, to live,
I am your BROTHER!
If destiny willed me to be born on this side of the
If my parents wished me these clothes to wear
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?
If fate desired me to speak this foreign tongue,
And the color of my skin to be different than yours,
Do we have to be competitors?
If necessity decided in this country, in the North,
or South, or East, or West to live,
Do we have to be opponents?
If I believe in Jesus, Jehovah, Krishna, Buddha,
Brahma or Allah,
If this is my philosophy, my tradition, my history
and my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
NO! A million times NO!
Please, look at me with new eyes and through away
your injurious prejudices,
What do you see but a person like you who wants,
Desires and hopes the same things in life:
Happiness, family, well-being, a home, some friends,
Look! I walk, I talk, I eat, I sleep, I dream, I laugh and
I cry, just like you,
I’m born, I grow up, I learn, I suffer, I bleed and
I die, just like you,
I’m a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter,
Just like you,
You see, we are alike, we are the same, we are
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, my ally,
I am telling you the truth:
We are victims of schemes well- planned in advance,
By deceitful, evil-hearted men who wished,
Your distraction and mine,
They: masters of savage forgery, dividers
Have tricked us throughout history with
And with treacherous stories, these intellectually impotent
Have instilled tons of poison in your heart and
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and
Managed to shape us to ruthless foes, to merciless enemies,
To cruel animals,
Please, listen to me! It is true! We are
Let us, therefore, with irresistible will cross all frontier
That the past has erected between us, thus making divisions
Let us, with supreme power, break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each- others arms,
Let us uproot, from our tormented hearts, thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago,
Let us seize ammunition from distractive hatred
And make war capitulate,
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness in the affectionate sea
Of universal brotherhood and finally,
Let us unite and march to higher claims, to incomparable glory,
Where peace can blossom today,
Thus, both of us my brother, AT LAST! Will go to sleep,
Fearless of each other tonight!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
08 June 2013
Long poem by
Les Pruitt | Details |
Copyright © 2008 #03
4/12/2008 // (Edited: 1/22/2013/lp
(a historical glimpse of humanity's rise)
*This poetic epic begins with the
greatest sin against humanity
*This poem is dedicated to all
serving and protecting the
¨Basic Rights of Mankind¨
Once, mankind was forgiven from sin
but continue to embrace it like a trend
After the Flood many nations strolled
some didn´t want true history told
All mankind has got to realize
humanity had been vandalized
A few condemmed HIM to a Cross
and mankind became a hope lost
His testimony was like no other
a promise bonding men as brothers
So, was it hate, shame or pride?
The Shroud of Turin now abide
Something embedded itself into minds
their egos separated mankind thru time
From images of Christ to the Sphinx
mankind altered their faces with ink
Societies increased across the land
but some became marauding bands
Enslaved many to learn their ways
called indentured servants nowadays
Learning finally opened many minds
forbidden to most throughout time
Conquering became a lust
many thought they must
Barbarians embraced warfare
believing in war over prayer
Some journeyed to build
but most decided to steal
Robbing nations precious gold
slaughtering the young, and old
another story that was not told
Saw oppressing others was nice
ensnared some as their sacrifice
Oppression increased in the land
because of the barbarian's plan
Their business began to boom
and corruption shot to the moon
America, land of morality and hope
still someone was signing for dope
Capital´ism made a few very rich
sin and immorality, Islam tried to fix
paganism and Communism a glitch
a conflict to shove Christianity in a ditch
Old governments embraced the Klan
still got history's blood on their hand.
Kept society busy with Santa Claus
knowing its origin is spiritually false
They knew global warming was real
maybe too late, this just sent a chill
Interested learning secrets of the brain
Drug gangs driving societies insane
Kids with little future left in sight
hopes dwindled like the Knight
Then, later came Robin Hood
with good news from the wood
Someone revived human rights
still, some decided not to fight
No need for humantarian crises
diabolical plans rolling the dices
These sinful plans between hands
slaughtering the lambs of the land
We need to fix this mess
before we come to rest
Most of world history twisted
some are now rying to fix it
For some Nations, it was too late
capital'ism quickly sealed their fate
Africa was a continent very rich
...now realizing it is in a ditch
never should´ve trusted Mitch
I even heard the Rossette Stone
was hidden in someone´s home
The secrets of Giza
painted in Mona Liza
Even the Eyptian Sphinx
tried to give mankind a wink
now hides her missing links
And, the pyramids contained a sacred Key
stolen by those not wanting us to be free
Someone hide Pandora´s Box
with final desination Fort Knox
Even, saw the Bible's Holy Grail
shipped by Fed-Ex Express Mall
Most gold, and precious artifacts
was found stolen, and hijacked
It´s hard for most to understand
they kept us busy with their plan
So, in this life we must cast our vote
moving forward with faith and hope
Those affected have become a scorn
got them hungry from dusk to dawn
World economies causing a recess
ego and pride got us in a big mess
The Middle East became a feast.
I wonder who planned that piece?
They say Mohammed started this fuss.
through history who dare finger Guss?
These differences in world religions
still affecting mankind's decisions
Humanity began in Africa and Irak
but millions destituted in a shack
The Americas to China has similiar pain
but yrants' view them as a social stain
And, there was oil for food
but someone became rude
So, once again East meets West
fighting over another treasure chest
Expenses reaching trillions
recovery costing billions
death in the millions
The greatest gift is charity
why concentrate on disparity?
We need to fix this mess
or earth soon to rest
Mismanagement of world funds
resources available by the tons
The poor and depair need more
still someone's locking the door
Feeling no guilt with pride
and the fortunes they hide
Corruption and terrorism sown
by a few of government´s own
Someone´s selfish plans ahead
have now made us very afraid...
maybe baked or nuked instead
Distitute's nourishment is baked dirt
nothing else or their stomachs hurt
Most of the time with nothing to eat
weeping for a peaceful night sleep
The 3 pathways to Heaven are narrow
selfish can learn from the sparrow.
When the next ATOM splits and divide
some gonna try to run and hide
knowing they deceived many and lied
So, don´t worry about a thing tonight
soon GOD will make things alright
Then, all children will be able to play
The Prince of Peace will come to stay
So, remember before it´s over
they too needed a shoulder
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at
the red or the green
nothing then is certain
not even death but the life one endures
quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons
particles like men and beings in general
bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup
great teachers or rather teachers with great followings
those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking for them
especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy
would want us believe
there’s just This One
and all comes and goes to That Only ONE
If only it were just as simple as that
Then what is it that This One wants
Or is It caught up in its own caveat
And must of needs come apart
on the seed that It alone plants
and do what we may
nothing goes wrong
whatever the explanation
everybody is right
right from the start
Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand
Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold
and out again
for the Brahma Day
and after aeons the Brahma Night
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity
neither space nor time
squeezed in and out
Birth as in Death
An eventual point of total extinction
if ever there was one
Yet always the two extremes
and the ever-changing in-betweens
Matter versus Anti-Matter
Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin
Though matter itself is neither
Is nor Is-Not-ness
And the 96% Dark Matter
And the infinite number of parallel universes
Does it really matter
‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !
You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’
Vanish into what
or just non-dark matter
Still the duality of matter
Still the ever-changing conundrum
Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs
‘Sex is emotion in motion.’
into thin air
and roots one here
tied to the lunar year
why should it matter
if we cannot know the reason why
ego id libido
drive faith fame femme father future
if super/alter ego connects the ego
to the collective unconscious
why drown the self in the Great Self
by wilful act
when the Ultimate One
is the sum of all the little ones
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones
each of whom must move to eat drink sleep
copulate make money grow roots in a society
get and fight to keep a job
make love marry raise children
struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children
one’s house if one can get one
one’s career one’s future
and helter-skelter race to cheat death
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew
What does it matter if it keeps changing in view
Of the desperate haste with which everything
We see smell hear feel intute sense
Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich
And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way
Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda
Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters
Through some trillion cataclysmic light years
What’s the impulse to keep moving
Is the yogi’s stilled-centre
The death of all action
Which cannot call for a reaction
Or is the art of keeping still
Merely the art of making belief
‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting
until your performed role becomes your normal character.
Then you are safe inside your character armour.’
As soon as you have thought It out
It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out
and you know just why
don’t you now
References to the quotations
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.
Attributed to Mae West.
Eric N. W. Mottram, « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.
I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.
Long poem by
Matt Ancient | Details |
Each and every day, mankind search to find out that which exist and that which is to happen., thus the destiny of mankind. it is reality as a human beings to know and understand the beginning of the universe and what really happened.with this we as humans can predict or forecast the future and the destiny of mankind. so many scientific solutions and religious ideas have erupt for the past 2000 years and beyond to seek and understand life and how it began.
for man cannot live without tracing or finding out his origin and his mission on earth, his visions and destiny. even though there have been many scientific studies which may be true or lie about the universe and how it began. life and the history of mankind. so have there been so many religious illusions. for there is no concrete evidence to prove the mysteries of the universe and the cliches surrounding life and humanity.
To science the planet evolved from volcano and turned into lands for human habitat. and man was an Ape who evolved to be humans. but even though Apes have heads, nose, mouth, ears and creep on two toes and have the like of humans, they can never evolved to be humans no matter how far time travels, because biologically this cannot be true, because the human genes is far different from that of an Ape and other living creatures on earth, all living things produce their own kind and no matter the climatic condition or how far time travels Apes can never evolve to human form or have it behavior , feelings or sensitivity. neither can an Ape can reproduce human beings as it offspring. nor acquire any knowledge, skill or intelligence to be humans. However man should not be ignorant about how scientific studies have brought the human world and how helpful it has been to help in clearing of the cliches and illusions caused by other ideologist.it has been a blessing rather curse, it has provided the basics of the study of our cosmic system. but it has still not provide us with answers about the questions we ask.
And to religion god used six days to create the universe and used the seventh day to create man with clay,which is Adam and removed his ribs to create Eve which is the first woman and by them all the entire human race were born.Even though there are several questions to ask, but we humans have lived with this for several year.
this brings us to wither Adam and Eve are the first man and woman on earth and the cliches or the story about them being the parent of the human race or entire genealogy of the human race.
and how come a world of several race of man produced by just two people. in the world today there are about six(6) different races in the world. so how true is it as religion claims to know the beginning of man and his destiny on earth.
let us not forget that god has given man the power to understand and makes decisions on his own, to find out the truth and that which exist.
now if Adam and Eve were the first man and woman on earth, were they Black or whites, brown, yellow or red or were they Africans, Arabians,Europeans, Indian,Chinese or Red Indians decent.and how can these two people give birth to all these different races.and If they were Africans, how come two African can produce an Indian race or the Arabian race. Neither can an European and African reproduce a Chinese or a Red Indian. Neither can a Chinese and European reproduce an African, a Chinese or Red Indian, no matter the climatic condition or no matter how far time travels. Biologically the idea of Adam and Eve being the first man and woman created by god is wrong and has no fact to prove.
Genetics has proven that even though two races can mate and reproduce but they will reproduce a similar kind or it behaviors. Neither can magic, miracles or by any other religious means can this be true.
The aim of this research is to provide evidence and fact, which will be the basis in research, in other discover who truly mankind is, his destiny on earth. how did the universe began. that by this the future generation will know and understand what exist and the true world that nature has given mankind. in other to find a better destiny for mankind. This is beyond religion, race, nationality and age or other wise in search of freedom and happiness, a true world for all mankind from generation to generation.
The question is being asked and man need answers. Are we to live with this or to believe in this and for how long are we to live with this mystery. For we must decide for ourselves, the well being of humanity lies on our shoulder, which direction or way are we to go. We need to educate ourselves, research to discover and uncover life and nature.
For Adam and Eve might exist but they are not the genealogy of the entire human race but that of Abraham and the Israelite and not the human race.
Long poem by
matthew harris | Details |
uncomfortableness, and hesitation arose that you might reassess a possibility for friendship or.... whatever with me.
A disappointment set in place in the event that based on some facet of my being (inexplicable flaws within this corporeal human male), forecast that an about face (booked on charges inherent in this googly eyed, earth-linked, kool hotmail of a yahoo) would be un liked!
Juno what i mean?
In retrospect, no matter that this average boyish chap desires enjoyment, he admits that ordinary punctuating various stages of development difficulty coping found him msn (miss sin, missin, missing, et cetera) on ordinary interpersonal experiences!
No matter yours truly usually finds me each morning, noon or night conjuring up maximizing temporary residence on this planet earth versus bemoaning those futile and essentially counterproductive mind games sans could a, might a, should a, would a...
today = the moment to cherish, enjoy, help others, ponder the remaining years
since fruitless to expend tears
for suppressed emotional, financial, grammatical, hormonal, physical, and spiritual angst
that roiled mine inner sanctum - mainly from decades in the past
which unseen scars with humor this fellow (who by the way likes you) wears!
Notice the sly inclusion of my comment per -- affinity, desirability, rhapsody for you
although just but a mere inkling prevails about an ye taelje john thru
a rather contrived manner - albeit an online adult oriented website - amongst a slew
which yields to this bipedal hominid a scant few
initial responses - as if a ghost app paired in the recipient email - going boo
which unwittingly seems to turn the ivy blue!
So...no matter a constancy of follow-up electronic communiques occurs from ye
bringing tears of joy, that nobody can see
while simultaneously delivering digital glee
a reality check restrains proclivity and predilection to let thoughts run wild and free!
Immense and immeasurable mounts in moi little rock
inducing an electric arc for myself to kin neck embedded in all this schlock
for a sixth sense arises that this holme body strongly suspects yar self
to generate sunny watts as an s spy she lee Sherlock
but, reticence to gush with ebullience reins in a cascade
of utter delight washing o'er this less than satisfactory mwm
who as a boy and youth happened to b a frayed
of his own shadow - while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams
listening to the sounds of silence on a green-day.
Thus => the following from one
Cerebral being ™ in the am and pm
This ordinary human
Finds himself a mystery
Within the terrestrial
Firmament and frequently
Feels in a feverish pitch
At his existence
That seers the temple
Mounted upon this slender
Frame - wrought by the
Combination of genetics
In tandem with exercise
Which latter helps to
Sublimate the coiled
Tension wound tightly
Like an indestructible spring
Without a healthy medium at large
To channel emotions fraught within
Me might find demise
That would rent asunder literate fellow
And thus annihilate without a trace
One true valued father of two us special
Lovely lasses as just another statistic among
As the world turns (indiscriminately oblivious of the harrowing days per one simian), an agreeable, amiable, edible, immeasurable, likeable, pleasurable, sensible woman (such as yourself - predicated on a gut level intuition) goads more seriousness to share
Plaintive unheard heart strings o mine that wail
Displeased with this marriage fraught with travail
As if in a maelstrom whip-lashed vessel without a sail
Yet - averse to lambaste or rail
Against abby (whereby we pass like two ships in the night) who married this male
When each of us happened to seem more similar
And thought each ourselves to fail
At any endeavor, though now confidence
Buoys my heart while she doth ail
And exemplifies attitudes, beliefs, efforts,
Idiosyncrasies, pathos that life does rot
Ill suited to Matthew Scott,
Whose bon vivant manifesting faith in him
Perhaps from herself deferring many domestic
And child rearing tasks not
Of course being boasting - even when scissoring the umbilical cord
As a now beaming papa, whose daughters
Blithely ignore "mother" a lot
Thus necessitating this quest
For a counterpart to offer succor
To eden (age 16) and shana (14 on february 4th, 2013)
Yet accepts that i must dispel any dreamy fantasy even this ours - a mere jot
At this juncture knowing full well how unwise to set myself up for disappointment
By thinking and rushing like a fool,
Where angels fear to tread
Though "chutzpah" i got!
U r slowly filling my mindscape with joy
Thank you so much - for accepting without complaint how atypically words this writer wannabe
Named Matthew Scott Harris dozen ploy.