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Long Jealousy Poems | Long Jealousy Poetry

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Long Poems
Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

A Poly-amorous Man

(One poet's vision of what being indwelled by Christ's heart might look like)        

What makes me feel loved isn't easy to say, 
And not because the heart of love is blind
I can see the ripples form in my own pond.
And feel the shock of each and every stone.

Perhaps a fear of words just gets in my way
(I lack the will to open up my mind?) , 
But I have the key, and for me, words are play, 
Unlocking the gate would surely be kind.

There are many fair maids of whom I'm quite fond, 
But choosing just one would double my moan
You see for me to win not one must be conned.
Not one feel my heart was only on loan.

There are women I know who'll not like my tone, 	
Though their feet are not bruised by silken frond
I've laid in their path: truly for them I've pined...
Whatever my loss, I'll not rue their day, 

Chorus: (Repeat until you tire of it)           
For I'm a poly-amorous man, I am, I AM!

Brian Johnston
January 11, 2014

Poet's Notes:
Please! For the record! Poly-amorous as I am using it here (remember the poem is mine and not what you the reader project onto it)   is not a synonym for 'Don Juan' or 'Casanova'  and certainly not a synonym for poly-sexual. I'll admit (in an attempt to be completely honest here) that sexual feelings might well be part of a poly-amorous relationship, however they certainly don't define it. I have to admit, like Jimmy Carter (the last honest president perhaps since Lincoln... Only partially serious here)   that 'I have lusted after women I was not married to in my heart.' Yes I am an adulterer just like you.  But to me, God's convicting me of this sin, was never meant to demean me, but to simply remind me that we have all sinned all sins. Salvation is God's blessing on a broken world, not wages for pay, or 'heaven' for overtime.

The first stanza is about  love having a new meaning for me at this stage of my life. I'm 71. There is no possibility of a family for me anymore, no future family to protect as there is when people are much younger. While I can enjoy the fact that a woman is attracted to me, I am no longer enamored by any woman's desire to have me all to herself, nor do I wish to tie down a woman in this way. I still think I believe in commitment, but desire a woman who, like me, believes she is strong enough, and capable of trusting me to the extent that she able to actually accept if not welcome anyone I love into our relationship. The darker undercurrent of this viewpoint is that someday, in the name of love, we may either or both be required to let the other move on, possibly to a new love (or not) , but always lovingly in support the other's personal growth and their soul's needs. She cannot and I cannot allow our personal feelings of self worth to rest solely on our staying together. This love that I am speaking of is beyond jealousy and may not even be possible, but it is what I aspire to.

The second stanza is about the fear we all confront when faced by the prospect of being loved by another. Unlocking our hearts is unfortunately the only way we can know the other's love is real. We must risk losing it all to have a chance of winning it.

The third stanza is about the two pillars that keep the building from collapsing on itself, Integrity (no one is conned)   and Surrender (your heart cannot just be loaned out for a limited time, it must be given) .

The fourth stanza is about understanding the fact that what ever the gift's we lay at the feet of another, they can still be rejected. The end purpose of loving another is actually just the gift of our love only, not what we naturally expect (at least hope)   to get back. Love and control are diametrical opposites. There are no elements that belong to both sets. (Isn't math fun?)    

As the poem has aged on me, I have recently noticed the last 4 words of the poem. Initially I was not sure why the first 'I am' is not capitalized but the second 'I AM' is capitalized. I guess I just saw it as a way of expressing exuberance. Now however, after adding the new subtitle, I think the poem is actually suggesting that the poly-amorous person male or female, is a person touched by divinity, especially blessed by God, a person willing to risk his own happiness and even his primary relationship perhaps, for the greater good of helping others understand that they are lovable (in every way) . So now to me the exuberance has taken on even greater meaning, extended to being joined with God is His mission to show us all that we are lovable.

Personally if someone were to love me to the exclusion of all others, I would be thinking about (in love)   committing them to a mental institution. If they were to insist that I love them that way I would be tempted to run as from the devil himself/herself.   : -)     It is the love my woman has to share with the world that will make me proud to be her mate, not just her physical beauty, the goals we share, or the love she gives to me alone. Ultimately what will bring me to my knees and make me ask her to marry me will be the fact that we both share the same purpose, a desire to first and always serve God.

Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

My Ring Trilogy - The Poems

You Know Who You Are! 

I know that you probably know who you are...
Abusers who prey on women (or men) .
Your aberrance mostly extends to the weak, 
Your generosity just serves other's pain
And, of course, their misery's your only gain.
Do not think that you'll find me turning my cheek	
For doing so would just encourage your sin.
I'd rather see you in a specimen jar, 
Or displayed on corkboard impaled with a pin, 
Some place where your psyche has no powr' to mar.

Some say that it's likely that you were abused, 
The sins of the parents passed on as it were, 
God forgive me, if you're not really liable, 
But your friendship's not the company I seek
God grant you don't find fellowship with the meek
And your progeny all be un-viable.
It's not that I curse you, but I would deter
Your excess on innocents already bruised, 	
My prayer's not for you but for those you injure, 
God forgives but your deeds cannot be excused.

To see people like you removed from the earth
Would most certainly fill up my cup of mirth! 

Brian Johnston
January 12,2014


The Wages of Sin

The bush in which you hide
Reveals your cowardice, 
The wall, behind which you speak, 
Testifies against you, 
The seed which you so blithely sow, 
Grows bitter fruit that does not nourish
Or weeds that suck soil dry
So that good seed barely feeds the birds, 
Does not take root, 
Imagination insufficient, 
To wet the soil.
Bad intentions blow
What good soil there is
Across the sea to waiting deserts
More deserving in Africa, 
The rocks left behind, 
Only bruise your feet.

Brian Johnston


The Troll

‘An interesting guy I think, '
People might say on meeting you for the first time, 
Oh yes, I've come to know you too well.
Thank God for the Internet, 
Although there are bodies in your wake, 
And stench follows you like a garbage scow
There is protection for many in distance from, 
In the miles of wire, the waves of wireless
Communication, and so like a deer
Caught in the headlight of your amazing ego, 
[Fashioned by the fires of Hell (like Gollum's ring)     
And as empty as the devil's soul], 
They stand frozen for a moment, 
Throwing it off finally, the vision of their own death
Shaking their heads in wonder, ‘What just happened? '

It's like the first lesson your mother tries to teach, 
‘Be careful who you choose as a friend, '
A cautionary tale for adults too.
‘Fire does burn' even when you reach adulthood, 
All that sparkles is not gold, my friend, 
And a ‘nom de plume' like Talvia Sprinkles, 
Just one more bush the troll hides in.
Sometimes that strange feeling that you have
Is actually another human? being? peeing on your soul
The golden shower they offer, however, 
Does not assuage your guilt (which is real, so what?)     
You've just been sold a bill of goods, 
Dr. Killdeers Magic Elixir, a not so benign fixer.

If you have been in this dark place of the soul
And saved by Satan not in fact being God, 
Then rejoice my friend in God's provision
In youth or childhood, you did something good? 
Do more, bear witness of your weakness to others, 
Not to mortify your own flesh (God knows you're sorry)     
But so that those with ears to hear (also God's gift)     
Perchance will themselves not feel so alone.
Remember that half-truths strung together like pearls
Are still sh**, if you'll pardon the expression.
‘If it sounds to good to be true it isn't, '
Remember only God knows your soul, 
Satan is just a very experienced guesser
And revels in our penchant to deny our own sin.
His wisdom does not serve the greater good.
Do not look for truth among the cold stones
Of the temple that once stood at Delphi either, 
Or trust any oracle that does not bend his knee
To the living God, the creator of us all.
It is your life, it is your responsibility, 
Don't parrot Cesar's surprised last words
As a ‘friend' slipped his knife into Cesar's heart, 
‘Et tu, Brute? ' You have been warned! 

Brian Johnston
September 26,2014

Poet's Notes are listed separately because of space limitations on Poetry Soup. Sorry for the inconvenience. I hope that you will take the time to read them.

Long poem by Maxine Jones | Details |

Blew it away like the sand

So I have some things, that I just have to say,
but please do not take me in the wrong way,
I have this tiny little problem, inside me you see,
and its called trying to live with ADHD.

These thing's that you say, they way you behave,
drive me insane, and inside me I crave,
to tell you your wrong, and look like a mug,
I cant stand the thought, of you being a thug.

If I see you pushing and constantly thrashing, 
my friends whom are weak, intending to bash em,
I will have to stand up, and defend with my heart,
Say it to me if you really wanna start!

Ill tell you the truth, don't you threat about that,
I'll never be scared of you, swinging that bat.
I've been through worse times, than you can inflict,
you can laugh and say that I am just a (b)witch.

I've taken many a beating, from one's harder than you,
you're a joke, you're clown, do the best you can do,
you will not like me, cause ill tell you the truth,
it ain't all about being a spoof.

You're a book that's been read, from cover to cover,
Predictable, laughable and not the best lover, 
you're as see through as cling film, but before its too late,
get a grip you sad person, before they will hate.

you can change the future, if only you'd try,
stop accusing and blaming, and questioning why?
look around you and see, you have a great life, 
but if you don't see before you, lose a possible wife.

So I'll tell it like it is, I wont mince my words
right there, right now, you got an incredible bird,
she loves you and would never hurt you, never make you cry,
but you spit and you hiss, and you don't even try.

You're straight out the book, the tactics you use
we know the next step, we know the short fuse,
The questions, the timing, the jealousy of friends,
its all a plan, for her social life to end.

There's really no need to hate and to follow, 
trust isn't really a bitter pill to swallow.
Life and love is really OK, 
don't be an idiot and throw it all away.

when you have a good woman be happy and proud,
get on that roof top and shout it out loud.
don't toss it aside, cause  your angry inside,
give love a chance, her on your arm bursting with pride.

I'll be honest, and truthful, and hope you will find,
the problem within, ill try to be kind,
but ADHD just makes me be true
I really mean no harm, just giving you a clue.

You can hate me, detest me, I really don't care, 
I know what your about, I'll stand and stare,
see if you have the balls,  to really be true, 
when you stand say 'hello, and how are you?' 

Been there, and done it, its really no big deal,
2 faced coward is what i do feel.
thing is it really, you don't need to be like that, 
but too proud to say, 'yeah OK I been a prat'

No need at all for the mess that is made, 
drag yourself out of that neanderthal cave.
there's more to life than fighting and hating,
you only get on shot, so love and stop wasting.

Let people in, let out your fears,
or cling on to em tight, for another 30 years,
hold on to trouble, grip tight onto hate,
lets these years pass you by, and then its too late.

look at yourself, are you really ok??
want another day marked off, with only hate to say?
we want to make you smile, and assure you its fine, 
hold glasses of wine up and clink with ' lets dine'

So I suppose the point, I am trying to say, 
with my ADHD, I'll just say it this way, 
My words come out 'hectic' and not make much sense,
but I'm trying to help you, I make no pretense.

If you think this is about you, or someone you know,
I hope that this poem will help someone to grow, 
Just ask and I'll tell you, I wont hide in the forest,
I don't have two faces, you know ill be honest!

So I bid you goodnight, and tell you I'm grateful, 
for Tony, my love, I can trust he'll be faithful,
He treats me with love and respect, don't harass me,
two way trust, with my man, means the world, I'll never judge he.

Shame on you wasters, throwing real love away,
it will spring up on you, you'll realize one day, 
you had it right there, in the palm of your hand,
but crushed it and blew it away like the sand.

Long poem by Karl Nkecha Safindah | Details |

The A to Z of Girls I've Met II

I had gotten to that stage,
Where true love was but a mirage.
When one is hurt too many times
By these daughters of Eve,
The heart must surely cease to give
Until such a time as right
To smile again and see the light.
Miranda, fairest of them all
Adored our trips to the mall.
I could tell from her charming eyes
That her love would be my demise,
So I fled with what coins I had left,
For her love was akin to theft.
That was when I met my Nora.
By all that’s sweet, she had an aura!
Pretty young thing, genteel with her voice,
Of many boys she was the choice.
Flawless, petite, her looks were fine.
I swore by love to make her mine.
Lovely were those nights we shared.
But like I’m sure you must have heard,
The flawless ones are just as marred within.
She had a love affair with gin.
Then came the age of Olivia,
The sight of whom did make me shiver.
Kind with words, light on her feet,
The kind of girl you’d love to meet.
Many were those that saw the sight
Of our love, both day and night.
Looks of envy, of jealousy
I mistook them all to be,
For they were looks of pity,
 As it turned out my Olivia
Was liberal with her Banana.
Pauline rescued me from distress,
Mended me like a seamstress.
I gave my heart, to her my all,
I felt so bad she fled with Paul.
 Was at the base, looking up,
When I saw a damsel stop.
Lovely, round, Quinta was her name.
Her looks were calm, her manners tame
I really wished she’d stay the same,
 But to when she left, from when she came,
Deception was her only game.
 My path to love had been so rough,
So hard, rugged, it made me tough.
It wasn’t long ‘fore I met Rose,
Pretty, sweeter by the dose.
To her I took an instant liking.
But once we went bike riding,
She met a long lost cousin,
T’wards whom she showed uncanny liking.
Well, that was fair, or so I thought,
Till the day in bed, them both I caught.
Like I said, I’d become tough
And her little act was not enough
To get this old stallion
Weep from pain and feel alone.
I marched right on.
The wind brought in Sylvia,
So pious, in love with prayer.
Nearly was I fooled
By her style, the way she schooled. 
Saintly demon she proved to be,
Sworn to stay the same eternally.
Thelma just didn’t get it right.
She lit a quarrel, then a fight.
Her seasoning too was prone to loiter.
It’s thanks to her I’m free from goiter!
Ursula, a foreign girl I met,
 Was close to base and thickly set.
Many were the times her mind was set
On losing all my savings in a bet.
She saw no bars,
She kept no laws.
The time we shared was but a loss.
Why all this fuss?
Why all this pain?
I held them all in such disdain,
And swore by life I would detain
My heart with bonds of chain
Till came that time when girls be sane.
At last it came, or so I thought,
As Vanessa, misfortune brought.
Her looks were fine,
Her smile was nice, 
But all she knew to make was rice.
Winifred too followed the cue,
And like you know I wish I knew,
She was a night rider,
A hidden foe, a crouching tiger.
Many were the nights
My phone will ring,
And I’d hear the same song sing: 
“Winnie got drunk and hit the gutter,
By all that’s holy, please come get her.”
Xena was one like none I’d met.
She broke a lie without a sweat.
I recall one time I heard
Her on the phone, caught every word.
“Who was that?” I had to ask.
It proved to be no sweating task!
“It was my dad”, I think she said,
 But she forgot her dad was dead!
I had to go, I could not stand
The way her stories sank in sand.
Yvonne, this girl I met in school,
Had eyes that made you drool.
I did her bid, I played her fool,
It’s sad to know I was her tool.
Zenobia, legs that wouldn’t stop,
Passed by and made my molars drop!
Scantily clad, she caught my eye,
That’s how it works, don’t ask me why!
I loved her gold and blue hair dye.
This was it, I’d found my love
Sent to me from up above.
But she was a business woman
Out to sell to the richest man.
“Does love exist?” I asked myself.
I should just shove it on a shelf.
Please don’t conclude, don’t get me wrong,
I love the ladies, mind not my song.
Just an art, nothing negative,
So please let’s not get sensitive.
This is fun, it’s all a joke. 
That was me just being a bloke!

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

She Was Alone

                               She Was Alone
My brother Joseph told me one day:
I ran to the beach in the need to be alone, 
Resting my head on the soft sand giving my 
Thoughts the permission to be free, even blind,
I can dream.

Sleep enhanced my vision from Its inner depth
Carried me away to explore the sense of harmony 
That overtook my emotions as i started hearing a
sound of music in the air. 

Suddenly, a beautiful woman In a theater stage 
Ready to perform her own lyre on a harp, 
Fascinated by her personality a serene look
At the same time peaceful a smile appeared 
Just for a while, amazingly she looked the type of 
musician that would leave her audience stunned
I called her my blind musician, as I am a blind musician.

I noticed her make up so ideal to match her 
Golden dress that was sleeveless to allow her magical 
Hands once they start to play would move with a 
Feeling of no strangulation or suffocation.

A V necked dress enough to show part of her bosom 
Then came the opened pleats from her waist down that 
Would help her musical instrument to feel totally at ease
Once she embraces it for the coming performance.

I could not remove my vision from that phenomena, 
Her clothes were a witness to her richness, sitting 
On an armless golden chair like a queen, motionless, 
Still facing a void as her role to perform was not yet 
To begin, nothing surrounding her looked alive not even 
A shadow only she and her harp, if I could only 
Touch her face to caress her beauty.

No sign for a start; yet watching her harp and emphasizing 
That within minutes the curtain will rise slowly for her to 
Come face to face with the audience where she would unravel
The mystery of her silence through her melodies lifting the  
Spirits of the spectators to a higher level of ecstasy, 
Admiration will spread everywhere.

All of a sudden the theater blacked out
The sound of chains lifting up the curtain 
Sounded Like a trains whistle arriving to its 

A golden light brought life to that woman who will 
Perform unconditionally what she knows best to do, 
Was playing with aggressiveness a variety of musical 
Tunes on her harp.

A note indicated a beginning; her first finger to caress 
A string one unique note with its echo silenced the crowd totally.
Then a clap was heard, she refused to waste time, as she was 
Yearning to get started avoiding any introduction, began 
Caressing all the strings creating jealousy even between each 
Finger of who would go first.

Gradually the music intensified so strongly I felt an individual 
Wipe away a tear; another was momentarily stunned, 
Someone else decided to share his emotions with a kiss to a
Loved one two lovers were holding hands to prove the 
Power of a touch.

Her arms free from prison were sliding up and down 
Moving on all the strings like a big wave landing
From the wild ocean to relief Its tension on the sand.
The end was exceptional, she retired waving a good bye,
Not knowing she had a husband waiting for her.

The earth moved under me I woke up already In love.
One year later we got married, It was love at first touch
Between Two Blind Individuals.


Long poem by Sam Raj | Details |

Agony And Ecstasy Of Doubt

Doubt is anonymous.
It's (more) synonymous,
to the fairer sex.
It's a, in built feature,
of possessiveness.
A default setting,
of mother nature.
Selfish at times,
devoid of broader vision.

Natural defense mechanism;
that activates when love
is not reciprocated.
Just a shadow of affection,
towards another.
Can cast aspirations,
of doubt in the mind.

Seizing, the moment;
of weakness.
Mr. Jealousy, smoothly;
Waltz into her heart.
For nature has cast;
him as a villain,
in life's play.

Bestowed, with the dubious,
gift of 'conviction'.
He plants the seed,
of doubt in her heart.
Tormenting her night and day.

She's just humane.
Blessed, as such,
to be the fairer sex.
Her heart just crumbles.
She starts hearing,
music in her ear.

The rythym of blues,
That's so hauntingly addictive.
Takes her to desolate places.
Insecurity takes her toll.
And plays mind games with her.
Mirages, take control,
of doubting mind.

She is losing her grip,
on the railing of her trust.
From where, she was hanging.
Having slipped, from the deck,
of the sinking ship, of hope.
As her grip loosens,
her mind abandons her.
Slowly; but surely,
she's slipping into the dark,
unfathomable abyss.

And as she slips into void.
She reminiscence.
Wonderful days of her life:

On a cruise ship,
she was sailing.
A voyage so alluring,
happiness and joy,
her constant company.
She blissfully,
slept the nights away.
Dreaming about,
the wonderful days ahead.
A life, filled with unending;
love, with her chosen one.

Her love was waiting,
for her with open arms:
on a sandy shore.
Cupid's arrows spring fourth,
and strike the target with precision.
Venus she quivers, with jealousy.
Erotica spreads her wings,
and soars into the winds.
And sprinkles
her stardust in the sky.

Her heart would tingle.
She'll feel weak in her limbs.
Her whole body will shudder.
A symphony in agony and ecstasy.
Garnished with a dash of love.
Drizzle of sex and little sprinkle of lust .
And little twist of sweetness from the lips.
Enchanting life with immortality.

That's bliss so sublime.
That Picasso's colours,
have lost their hues.
And Beethoven's,
music sounds off tune.

She feels the rapid beating,
of her gentle heart,.
the heaving of her soft breast.
And the pounding of his chest,
against her breast.

Her ecstasy reaches the crescendo,
And plummets back to the ground.
As the rippled, sensation generated;
in her loins, subside in concentric waves.
She completely encapsulated,
with unyielding love.
Where there is no time or space.
Emancipation from the Mortal kind.

Manna from the heaven above.
The gift ordained,
by the wonderful,
handiwork, of the Creator.
The, only physical thing that exists,
free of any encumbrance.
So spiritual, it cannot be experienced,
without passion.

They lie in each other arms,
Savouring extreme rapture,
Of the ecstasy.
Devoid of expectations,
of any kind.
Just a prologue,
to procreation,
epilogue to life.

Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

My Ring Trilogy - Poet's Notes

Poet’s Notes:
This is what I call a 'Poem en Duo,' a collection of related poems which when grouped together serve to illuminate elements that they have in common. They can be by the same author as in this case or by multiple authors.

The Troll now joins what I am calling ‘My Ring Trilogy’ and completes this cycle very well I think, though I had no idea I was writing a trilogy when I started it many months ago. ‘God is Great!’ Hope that you find it interesting too! All three poems while not written to attack Merov Tachgovirian specifically, do in my humble opinion describe him all most perfectly by accident as it were. Maybe because he uses my verse as a sick goal for his own life, lacking the imagination to come up with his own game plan for a truely evil life.

On there is a poorly implemented rating system that if allowed by each individual poet, allows visitors to the poet's site to rate each poem from 1 - 10. Used in its intended manner, this allows visitors to my site for example, to easily see which of my 200+ poems have been the most popular so far. This can be a nice tool for a visitor when he/she comes to my site for the first time. I use it myself quite frequently in this way, not really a gauge of true quality but at least a crude measure of popularity. What Merov and his like are doing are doing on PoemHunter is to, without regard for the poem at all, to give the poem MULTIPLE VOTES of 1.0 which can bring the 'average rating' of a poem that has been given 4 votes of 10.0 for example whose average rating should in fact be 10.0 down considerably. I had one poem like this that Merov gave 8 votes of 1.0 to (in a 24 hour period). So doing the math, 40 normal points + 8 Merov points equals 48 points in total. You divide that by th number of votes cast 12 votes and now the poems average rating is 4.0 and not a perfect 10.0 that it should be. Merov can do this because he joins a site with multiple false identities and then uses these membership votes as a base from which to launch attacks on others.

A note in passing to honor the 'Walking Dead' among us (Hi Merov):

Well apparently PH has banished you from it’s halls and once again because of your amazing ego (your greatest weakness and most devastating weapon), and, of course, the pornographic language you use to comment on other's poems. If you have not been attacked by people like him, count yourself lucky. If you do not care about the pain that he brings to others by this behavior, then count yourself his victim already. ‘Talvia Sprinkles’ and  ‘Jimmy Tuhans’ (nom de plumes he used recently on PH) may be history, but Merov certainly is not. There are an infinite number of internet ‘nom de plumes’ for him to hide behind, more sites will be attacked, more sites and feelings damaged by his misinformation and scurrilous comments. Do not dream that evil is not real. Good men may lay down their arms, even admit defeat, own that they were wrong. Evil never does. The suffering of others is its only goal.

Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

Like Morning Dew

Thinking of you
is mesmerizing and
true…just like
morning dew, it’s
fresh and I’m
actually feeling
brand new – that’s
something new
I run around in
circles…I’m spinning
around and round!
Going insane,
running in the rain
and not singing the
Out of the blue,
I’ve lost my other
shoe…sick with the
love flu, sweating
distress, joy and
rue – nothing new,
but it’s true
I run around my
house…I’m spinning
like a professional
ballerina during
free time with free
spirits swarming
around her with
creativity crafting
its spell on her,
showing it off with
grateful glee and
dancing with her
rhythmic heartbeats
– she can’t hardly
control her untamed
feet and falls on
the dance floor,
smiling and laughing
it off, feeling like
a crazy fool, but
feels accomplished,
neat and complete as
always – I’m having
a sublime time alone
– that’s very good,
personal news –
what’s it like to be
in someone else’s
Scarred from the
start, I realized
that you never had a
good heart and
instead, resentment
and jealousy ripped
you apart –
departure is what
sets us
apart…(breaking my
heart into two…shame
on you…shame on
Don’t place me in
your jars of
preserved pangs of
You tore me to
shreds as if I was
as worthless as
paper without any
writings on it – you
crumble me up and
threw me away with
no heart
You left me feeling
clueless, dreadful
and insecure
I caught a fever a
long time ago and
I’m getting over it
like a hangover
after a party full
of drunk people…full
of commotion and
bliss…wine and beer
in hand…merry
laughter, mixed
emotions and
disaster brew as one
Bittersweet solitude
hovers around my
head like an
halo…are you feeling
low? Is that why
you’re high all the
time? Be the
attention whore with
a rude, heartless
attitude…don’t be
merciless, you
fallen angel with a
crooked halo…why are
you so pitiless and
so hard-heartened?
You’re as corny as
Dr. Seuss’s
I feel the ice slide
against my warm
hands, but I melted
your hardness and
melted away your
spitefulness and
harsh hate…your
ruthless words… your
sheer, malicious
shoot me with your
gun…you and I should
welcome the sun,
peaking above the
mountains at the
break of dawn
Greet me with the
attitude of
gratitude! Why are
you acting
uncanny and rude?
Did you commit a
physical crime? I
bet you did a
personal crime,
leading to poverty,
not prosperity…
Perhaps, you are
guilty for an
emotional crime – I
can prove you guilty
in a flick of a
dime…you witch –
stop casting evil,
loathsome spells on
me or I’ll sew you
for a witchcraft
crime! Your time is
almost up – GET UP!
Get ready to hear my
irrational, and
random rhymes this

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

The Unpredictable

                                ~The Unpredictable~
The view enlivened her imagination by remembering how 
she escaped her long past history of abuse by being judged 
over the years she had nightmares as it was not her fault their
eyes were all over her. 
She had been down living at the bottom of the valley due to the 
aggressiveness of her surroundings their absence of sympathy 
and love dissipated she was being punished for many things she
haven't done, she was always to blame as she had nothing in 
common she came from a deep different background that 
provoked this jealousy.

Being judged will change her attitude voluntarily her
communicating will grow beyond she will not feel trapped 
and will not allow herself to suffer her velocity will willfully 
create wrath among those who had judged her. 
She was ready to show the whole world her shifting to shipshape  
will let them yowl and hear no echo.
She will make them feel that she is far to superior she will dismiss 
her liaison with this family she will afford to brag about her 
brain its beauty will feel attractive and authentic its serenity 
will serve to seek a security that will vanquish whoever poured 
their venom over her.
The inner woman she knew which had lived with a past
suddenly became a stranger she changed to become 
overwhelmed with happiness with a rich soul.

She has been single and skeptic her decision is made to 
overcome her shyness by sending a signal towards a 
special individual who might cast his spellbound over 
her to carry her as far away towards a spiritual sphere.
Her appetite will become apparent to arouse that 
aristocrat who will approve to admire her personality 
cruise towards a bright future her sensational life will 
begin abruptly ignoring the abuse and welcoming freedom 
that will prevail towards her adventurous encounter.
One of the biggest moments of her life is when she would find 
someone who still believes in love believes in the same goals 
and aspirations then her adoration towards him will exude 
beyond a birth in her she will amaze her new companion with 
her angelic appearance different allure, she hadn't finished the
sentence when she heard the door creak and closes, it was him 
her first love when she was younger in age, yesterday he found 
her and asked if she was free that happening for a reason of us 
meeting at the right time and the right place will get us 
together to create a beautiful home for the near future, 
that was his message.
They stayed in love since the creaking of that door

 Therese Bacha

Long poem by Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Details |

Rise And Fall

The sky was never the 
limit for those who sook 
to defy the norm. They 
soar to the highest 
heavens like eagles and 
become one with the 
storm. The staffless 
Moses of the black 
parliament never 
beheld gods in nude 
form. We never beheld 
change in the days of 
warriors that might 
make humanity  
transform. Spiritists and 
scientists war amongst 
themselves to try and 
bring about a god of the 
new age. We collided 
with the soul of an 
atheist and met a nude 
man in his rage. 
Parliament became a 
harlot of the nation and 
sold itself to foreigners 
for free. Poetry and 
song became the 
struggle as bullets 
ripped through the 
hearts of Apartheid 
slavery. Sons and 
daughters were 
imprisoned more than 
they were educated. 
Freedom ended when 
Mandela was set free 
than when he got 
incarcerated. Souls 
were purchased for the 
wealth of pimps in 
armored suits. Rapist 
pastors were 
government spies who 
daily anointed 
brainwashed recruits.  
We became the sheeple 
believing we were 
faithful followers of the 
wolf in cow skin. And 
everyday we witnessed 
the rise and fall of our 
blackness than the rise 
of Satan through sin. 
We. ran away from 
victory than chicken 
legs in a pot of gold. 
God wanted to talk to us 
yesterday and we all 
put him on hold. We 
rapidly sold to the idea 
of becoming fables and 
had our stories untold. 
God took our glory like 
a thief in the night of 
our falling and replaced 
it seven fold. Now gays 
legalize marriages and 
priests rape their 
daughters. We've 
allowed our hearts to 
feel more pain than 
lesbians slain in 
Zambian slaughters. 
The world bore arms 
and lost the war before 
they fought us. Our war 
with drugs was the vain 
battle of the new era. 
Black tore itself apart 
like bad partners, and 
thanked the man in the 
mirror. Caught up in 
these shackles trying to 
relieve myself of these 
battles with self. More 
multi-faceted in the soul 
than African culture and 
Indian wealth. Everyday 
in hospitals and prisons, 
my brothers and sisters 
fight for their health. 
The knowledge of 
power and wisdom 
never gave a black man 
his own strength. Never 
saw the change of 
history before it 
metamorphed before 
us. The generals of the 
satanic age had a 
monumental plan to 
slay  us. The Dutch gave 
way to parciality than 
racial agendas through 
color. The poor fight for 
their meals like dogs in 
a cage and die for their 
valor. Media 
misrepresent the 
disenfranchised and 
legalize their deaths. 
The unity of the 
unemployed poor was 
shaken by a Tsunami of 
jealousy. God give us 
this daily bread, 
because we stole it 
through burglary.

Long Poems