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Long July Poems | Long July Poetry

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

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Long Poems
Long poem by Kim van Breda | Details |

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME

AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS 
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
 AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER 
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER

FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
 AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
 HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT

SOON IT WAS TIME FOR  PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE

OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS 
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
.
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER 
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN 
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS 
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS

IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
 ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL

AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
 FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP

THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND 
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE 
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF 
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH

THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE 
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.

THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN   W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR 
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS 
.
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
 STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT


YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM

SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR  LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART 
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY 
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL

TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-

(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)


Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Moving on Part Two Part Three

Moving on ???

I have come to wonder – as time passes – why ?,
the lady brings tears to my heart – makes me cry.
This lady who took in hand, in holy of holies, in mouth,
resurrecting a dyeing old soul, then went south.

This lady who, with a little time, could raise,
the dead, and in that time, did vigorously praise
as she took a weeping willow, turned it into a mighty oak.
That was then, now, never comes back, not a word has she spoke.

I think of times, when beaver lips, kissing, did stroke
a fading son into becoming a mighty oak, at midnights son rise.
I do feel – maybe too much sometimes – that I have lost the prize.
Oh !, why ?, does she choose to ignore, to  leave behind

this old man’s limp, impotent, troubled mind,
a mind that feels, that senses, that is trying to find
out why it is that he seems so unimportant,
why ?, it is that this is all he can rant.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 26th 2003

Part Two

I wonder ?, - with your distance –
if we, at these moments,
are not closer than time will tell.
I wonder ?, - if you, as do I –
feel the losses in never knowing
a mornings glory, of never hearing,
knowing, telling a positive story.
I wonder ?, if our time has reached
out and touched an end.
I wonder ?, if you no longer look for,
need, no longer want me as a friend.

The naked winds of actions, reactions flow past these eyes.
They do not deceive, hide their meanings, nor do they tell lies.
What lies lie behind the eyes of the beholder, is in the telling,
is in their perception of the world, it is what their mind is spelling

out for them, and does not have a thing to do with cold
receptions, distances, avoidances or harsh words told
as moist air drifts across the bridge and it begins to rain
and with one’s nose, know what brings on the pain.
 
B. J. “ A ” 2
July 28th 2003

Part Three

A war of the roses, by any other name, was no sweeter !, 
as pre and post-midnight hours dragged on in battles waged, 
from both sides, where I experienced a clever, cunning, crafty, 
master manipulator, a shrewd, screwed, master of mass destruction 
that used words as weapons, breaking, crushing the head of the enemy.  

I have to wonder if I am the enemy proper ?, or that of a cracked mirror ?,
reflecting the many facets of your life’s experiences ?, and because of this roll 
– a docile, inanimate entity – it is easy to throw sticks and stones, darts, knifes 
and other keen, explosive, destructive projectiles that seem to flow with such ease.
Could this all be ?, because I have no value, no meaning, no relevance, no importance.

Are these the reasons for the twisted perversions of reality, of my phrasings ?, 
of my statements ?, my beliefs ?, my thoughts, thoughts that have come back at me 
in a barrage of hostility, at such a driving force, it could knock ones world of its axis’s.
I wonder ?, just how much of this comes from a lifelong habit, of defending against ghosts.
I wonder ?, just how much of this is your reality and how much of this is imaginary / fantasy.

I wonder ?, just how much of this might be – attempted one up man ship. 
I wonder ?, just how much of this might be – pure, unadulterated, game playing.
I wonder ?, just how much of this scenario might be an offensive / defensive mechanism.
I wonder ?, just how much of this might be the walls, the moats, the chasms that might hide 
whatever the reasons for you choosing / taking an opposing position – for taking the opposite side.

The choices made are the choices I have to live with – acceptable or not.
There is no possibility for me to be in control ?, especially if I am being controlled.
Being in control seems to be the essence, the heart, soul, spirit, the name of your game.
Being right, seems to be an aspect of your game, no matter if the evidence proves otherwise.
You are not the only one. I see many of these troubling traits in other areas of life on this plane.

I see it in other people, friends, relatives, acquaintances and professionals.
So too, with me, and so I must not place to much stock in how I seem affected 
by these behavioral traits, I have observe in human nature / nurture, for I am a big boy
and walk this earth, this plane, with both eyes wide open, even if they have been blackened
many times, swollen shut, along with my bruised soul, battered spirit and beaten, grounded ego.

But then, what ?, is a good friend if he cannot stand some abuse
still hang in there and remain a good friend that can be counted on.
Thoughts – few of the many – left in the wake of another battle, waged, 
in the war of the roses, that will never be able to release their sweet fragrance, 
with total abandon, freedom or true understanding and acceptance of what they are.

Without prejudice – Without judgement

B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th 2003 


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

Digital Creationism

Digital Creationism
(Man 0, God 1)         

Part 1: Binary God
For men it seems God is a binary function
And like ones and zeros 'HE IS ON or 'he's off.'
Is it luck that He is a guest at your table? 
'His existence is truly a bad joke, ' you scoff! 

A God that's real, beyond control yes, but not prayer, 
And if He does exist, my friend, all bets are in.
When God backs up YOUR thoughts, well all's peachy dandy.
But to NOT know His law never excuses your sin! 

The Bible's God created all in just one week, 
But who are we really to say we KNOW His ways, 
Why bind Him to the parables He told a child -
We are older now and weaned off Mom's milk (for days?)  

But these days are not years and man still lacks wisdom
Though primal earth's been here for four billion years
Man's acquaintance with earth is really quite recent -
Seems Goliath and dinosaurs were never peers.

The crux of the matter is clear, for all to see…
Science is part of God's plan, it's not up for vote.
Though as men stuck in pride, we see through glass darkly -
Creationist know-alls simply missed Noah's boat.


Part 2: Binary Faith
Our faith just has two states and there's no in-between.
I find I can lose mine in my struggle with rhyme.
Yes, its binary nature quite easy to see.
And my dark plunge to zero can turn on a dime.

My faith's weight it seems is much smaller than mustard, 
For no mountain have I ever moved in my life, 
Through two marriages tried so hard to stay the course, 
My faith never was able to secure my wife.

I am not always sure of the state that I'm in, 
Sometimes faith's drum rattles soft, a cat's silky purr
Sometimes crescendoing sound, like rain on a roof
Is so forceful that its beat is lost in a blur.

If faith is the sound, then is silence its absence? 
Is upbeat or downbeat most likely to serve us? 
Arrogance linked to noise, but service to silence, 
In faith there's no calling to ever be nervous.

Whatever the rhythm of faith - God can hear it, 
No concern if arrhythmic or slow on attack
Whether staccato, or with beat syncopated, 
Christ's death on the cross smooths over all that we lack.


Part 3: Binary Love
Now what about Love, can Love really be turned on? 
Well one thing I'm sure of, I have seen it turned off.
‘Love' juiced on fashion and lust - sparks out the wazoo, 
But can quickly be shed like a cloak you just doff.

And can one be one if one should love another? 
Does loving another mean that ‘oneness' is lost? 
Is this more than zero (the math escalating!)          -
But returning to zero sure seems quite a cost.

Could our problem be solved, with some new dimensions, 
By Base 3, Base 4, …, or Hexadecimal math? 
In today's zealot's world does real Love have a chance? 
Science also a victim of Tea Party's wrath? 

The Supreme Court spoke and defined ‘porno' for us, 
Their infamous, ‘We know it when we see it' rule, 
Proved to the whole world our highest court is a joke, 
Helped ‘idiocy' define Conservative cool.

With the rest of mankind, ‘Supremes' stupid and blind, 
Provincial logic self-justification, 
Like lemmings that rush toward one more deadly cliff edge, 
They importune us with perverse education.

 
Part 4: Binary You
Aware of YOUR off switch? Some might say sleep, some death, 
And some thinking of dreams might even doubt it exists.
Will robots ever dream, men better than they are? 
A robot does turn off, but with power persists.

Are they better than we are? Can ‘Matter' beat ‘Mind? '
If we side with mankind, is it true we are fair? 
With spare parts, revisions, robots have no problem, 
While dreams of obsolescence, cause us to despair.

In my California (and in other states too!)         
There are posh seminars that claim YOU'RE robotic.
And charge lots of money to convince you it's fact.
(The seminar's price does help one feel less psychotic.)         

There are many who fault those of narrow purpose.
Maybe dreams are a problem? How can dreams be real? 
But surely it's better in fact to stay grounded, 
If you live in your dreams, can you trust what you feel? 

Binary you, probably is too simplistic, 
Still I'm guessing that some of it explains our art, 
That it's my art too nails the need for this poem, 
Because in this world's evil we all play a part.

 
Part 5: Epilogue
I say let's give up dreams of binary safety, 
Let's admit life's complex and somehow carry on.
Perhaps trusting God that there is a hereafter, 
And embrace tears and joy, day and night, mind and brawn.

Brian Johnston
July 14,2014


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

God's Kind Of Poetry

The finite contemplating the infinite
The stardust male and female still flush with light
From exploding stars, seeding new possibilities, our true progenitors.
So that even God Himself must take note of our passing (in its season),
Such elemental purity of spirit, such shining stock do we hail from.

Thinkers cannot grasp the number of galaxies the universe holds
Let alone name them or divine their future, human brains too slow,
More galaxies than all the grains of sand from every beach on the planet.
Where once this metaphor was applied loosely to stars alone,
Now galaxies are what might be counted, counting stars unimaginable.

Oh we are clever and have our tricks to make us look wise,
Like when we prove that one kind of infinity is bigger than another,
But all infinities are truly beyond our ken, mere children who count
‘One, two, three, many,’ and think we have accomplished something.

In our childish wonder we are only newly aware of galactic reach,
Theoretically sure now that our universe does have a furthest edge,
But totally unaware of its dimensions or of its actual shape.
New maps of different galaxy locations in space surprise us too
As the distribution of galaxies follows an unimagined ribbon like pattern.
Galaxies are NOT evenly distributed throughout the mapped universe
But shoot off in flares like star shells on the 4th of July!

We are dreamers who woke one day to discover that once fixed stars
Are now time machines to those with eyes to see, revealing our past,
And to those with ears to hear comes the certain knowledge of the Big Bang.

Now, vision enhanced by scientific revelation, we can share with God,
‘Seek and you shall find,’ being the foundational faith of Science,
The wonders of this creation, several billion years past, naked before us,
As if we were there, reveling in its wonders (though now a cosmic rerun),
Sharing a nice glass of Merlot with God in front of His Big Screen,
(The miracle of buttered popcorn always tender, hot, and fresh! Yum!),
Looking back to times when even laws of physics had not matured yet,
Laws, which, perhaps, like human beings, still evolve, biding their time.

But tantalizingly fresh is the QUESTION of other universes
Which now skips across the surface of human thought horizon like a stone
Every bounce suggesting another universe’s possibility, 
And every impact seemingly perfectly elastic, with no loss of energy,
Leaving another new universe in its wake,
Rippling outward like concentric waves from a whale’s breach,
On a salt sea/air interface that reflects our astonishment like a mirror!

God’s kind of Poetry, a window into infinity, 
A scaled down version of Divinity, almost human in fact,
The footprints of God’s Son along a sea curving with the earth’s surface,
Distant realities always just out of sight, but there still.
Calling us into service, calling us too to be Fishers of human souls,
To love to heights and depths beyond our understanding,
And in so doing, to in fact become God’s Children,
Trusting Love, knowing Love, feeling Love, giving Love…
Millions of Prophets, Buddhas, Saints, Poets, all siblings of the Christ,
A living poem, universally true, surfeit of God’s imagination,
Novice initiates of a Grace that fills every nook and cranny,
Penetrates all flesh, all bone, and saturates soul like a sponge.

Brian Johnston
September 19, 2014

Poet's Note: 
Although this poem was originally intended to be entered into my 'God's Kind Of Poetry' contests both on PoemHunter.com and PoetrySoup.com (yes I am running a similar contest on both sites), its length takes it out of the running as does Diane Hine's remarkable poem (also on PoemHunter.com) by the same name. I proudly proclaim the value of her poem, however, as a remarkable example of where a Poet's imagination can take them and strongly recommend it to readers on PoetrySoup as well. And of course it makes no sense for me to judge my own poem here on PoetrySoup.

I also invite members of PoetrySoup.com to compare the differences between the two contests. Although my contest on Poemhunter.com is the first one I have heard of and I got the idea for it from PoetrySoups.coms Member Contests, I think it is quite a remarkable improvement to the contests on PoetrySoup because members, not contest sponsors determine the winners and because voters are asked to justify their votes. These justifications are also published (along with every poem entered) and can be very amusing as well.


Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -













Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details |

Watts Is Burning

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Watts Is Burning
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014


Run children run!
Run sister run!
Run brother run!

Run for your guns

We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Run through
the
poisoned 
 black smoke,

that
permeates
through
Watts -

Run pass
the
looting,

Run down
the
land mine
streets,

Run pass
the house
that's 
no longer
your home -

Run for your guns
Fight for your life -

The Army 
is here,

and

they aim
to kill -

Run run run -

fire is raging......

down every
street
in
our community -

Watts 
is
burning,

And

The powers
that be,

show no
interest
in

putting out
the
flames -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Civil War is here -

Hell fire has erupted -

Set ablaze
by 
our city's,

racial
government
of 
bigots,

that are
intolerant
to
black people.

Police
 brutality,
is at 
an
all-time
high -

and
the rotten
stench 
of
racism 
has ran
it's
course -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down -
Not this time -

Watts
Rebellion
is
here!

Today
we write
history -

today we die.

We want 
the
world
to see,

that 
we are
standing up
for our
rights,

 against
 a corrupt 
city
government -

We 
have endured 
enough 
adversity,

Our
turning point
is now -

Our revolution 
is now -

We are fighting 
for
our Civil Rights,

Equal Rights
Equal Pay,

A Right To
Vote -

Better Living
Conditions,

And
Fare Housing,

We are fighting
for
our lives -

Run children run -
Run sister run -
Run brother run -

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time -

Watts,
is
burning.

Racial
Discrimination,

has
 cloaked
our city.......

choked
It,

and

strangled
it.

Dark plumes
of
smoke,

from gunfire
explosives,
and
hazardous 
gases,

sends
a
disturbing 
wave
of
Shock
over the
T.V.
screen,

to
Millions
of
people
watching
around 
the
World -

The
LAPD
and
the National 
guard -

Have 
surrounded
us -

We want
 back down -

Blood is
shedding,

white blood -
black blood -

on our
streets -

The city's
racial 
bureaucratic
machine,

have
moved in
to
barricade
 us,

to our
neighborhood's,

leaving 
one way in,
one way out -

Leaving
us
no choice

accept
to
fight -

And
Watts,
continue to
burn -

We continue 
to
burn,

with anger
and
frustration.

The Chief
of
Police,

have
turned 
his
head,

to
our situation,

as fire
rages
all around.

The injured
and
dead

are pilling 
up -

Emergency
vehicles
have been

ordered 
to
stay away,

the
situation
is
too volatile -

Everything 
is
out 
of
control .......

We 
Are Out
Of
Control.

Watts
is
burning -

Run children run
Run sister run 
Run brother run

Run for your guns
We ain't backing down
Not this time

HELL
is
unleashed

In
South
L.A.

on
a people,

born in this
country.

We
are 
fed up,

we
have had
enough 

of
the
piss poor
treatment,

from
white
slum lords,

and

red tape
from 
racial city
authorities,

insisting 
that

poverty
stricken

Compton,
and
Watts,

is 
the only
affordable 
area's,

where 
we
could live -

City official's
and
state government,

has
rejected any 
and
all
legal demands
by
black leaders,

fighting
to 
better

our 
living
conditions.

By
taking
this stand,

arrogant,
racist whites,

Struck
a
match
to

Watts,
riot -

burn baby burn

let Watts,
burn
to
ashes -

Black Ashes,

cremated
by
bigots 

in
uniforms,

masquerading 
as
human beings -

Watts,
is 
burning

and 

will
continue
to
burn.

Burn baby burn!

Let it burn
to 
Black Ashes

HELL FIRE!
will burn,

until
liberty
is 
won -

Run children run
Run sister run
Run brother run

Stand up black people,
We ain't backing down

Not this time -













Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Solitaire Solitude

Solitaire / Solitude

Solitude will be my recognition, my fame !
Solitude is my time to claim !
Solitary is my adopted name !
Solitaire is the name of my game,
to play away these hours of mine
until there is nothing left of my time
on this plane or of this rhyme.

B. J. “A ” 2
October 19th 2001

July thirty first 
Two thousand and one 

An end has come, to times filled with the recordings of sounds 
from a glorious, ancient past.
Time has come to empty the mind of what hounds,
time to indulge in a lengthy  fast.
Time before now

There is beauty, where there is light, 
but, it has become obvious !, that night 
is not a place of beauty, peace or rest 
for a man, who, out of his life, has made a mess 
of troubles, troubled thoughts and deep reflections.

And like me , they get lost in the quagmire, 
and at the cost of my soul on fire, 
burning with flames of pain, in depressions 
grip, without the ability to solve, that which is, 
trouble, which my lot in life is.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Another Time before now
My heart cries out, with each lonely tear drop 
I realizing that, of my life, I have made a flop 
and in the process, lost little pieces of mu soul, 
forever washed away, evaporating into thin air.
What a heart wrenching thing for one to know,  
to believe about his life, to believe it is not fair,
that all they were – those tiny pieces that formally
fit together and made up the whole – a family 
that was my soul, never again for me to know, 
for tear drops nourish not, nor will they make grow. 
Only lubricate the path, the way of letting go.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Still another time 
There is this killing chill, filling the air
that leaves me in a deep state of despair 
as my young, fair haired Daughter, 
seems to have forgotten all I had taught her 
as she makes a prisoner of my heart and soul, 
with her vengeance, caging my spirit in a gaol
of her spite, as the might of her hatred encases, 
dictates the course of my life, as it races 
towards thoughts of her young son, 
my beautiful, second Grandson, 
who, like her, is lost to my touch, my embraces 
due to the bars she has erected, the distance she places. 
Me, my life, they have become the walls she builds 
that grow ever thicker, wider, more distant, higher, 
an impenetrable wall of searing, blinding fire. 

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And still another

I do not know where it is ?, that I might be
if it were not for my dark haired, lovely, Melanie.
I do not know what it is, that my mind would see ?,
in this life if it was not for my youngest,
thoughtful Daughter, who deserved the best, 
deserves much, much better from me.
For now, it seems, she just wants to be free !

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

And yet another

The sleepless dreaming of humankind, 
is to leave the waking nightmare behind,
reach deep down inside, to touch and find,
all the stuff of its soul. Its heart, its mind
so that in the end mankind will stand high and shine.

B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001

Gail

My girl child,  a beautiful woman so far away
fills my eyes, fills my thoughts every day.

Her life I left behind, let slip away so long ago.
How she feels ?, who she is ?, so little do I know.

My love for her I try, I hope I do show ?
Does she see?, can she feel it grow and grow ?, 

as the years left behind, lost, stow
away, enlighten me one day to all I have missed.

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 

As the son stands

Casting shadows upon this land,
I know not where I stand,
where I might fit in, or who I am.

There is no one to lend a hand
as the cold winds wipe me from the sand.
Not a trace !, find not, I can ?

Do I fly with the sun ?,
from the shadows do I run ?,
or is it ?, with them I walk

passing over others, never to talk.
Or do I stand ?, with the land
as the sun passes over head 

The shadows, a blanket for my bed.
Laying there, sleeping is my soul 
and in that state of reverie, never to know ?

B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001 


Long poem by Louis Borgo | Details |

Girl Next Door

Question Have you ever seen a woman you like blush, now that is attractive I never reallie understand woman in till I got out of school It was this one girl that for some reason like natural selection I would just stare at And she would just fall to sleep during class intend of thinking of class I wonder what is she dreaming About I said to myself officially she does not know notice me in the very last day of class and schedule Class she blurt out Louis are coming back and I’m think to myself I’m a senior officially Not but did again she was just a junior how was she to know if she did not ask? All I know I treated the girls I know with respected and gave them candy I do have older sisters you Now and All I know guys hate me and the girls was just mean girls glad school was out Well to my delight and shock and relieve high school being over and life goes on and A few years later I rent an apartment and year or two years later and odds of all odds she move in my Neighborhood and next door (snake eyes) I don’t mean to role play but Think Like A Man If only if it had sequel it was like She was the “Single Mom” and I was “The Momma’s Boy” but to straighten out the facts About a momma’s boy well in my case I know how to Cook, clean, wash, dry, fold and hang clothes all I would need to know is Would you like cream or sugar with your breakfast because I came here sever And yeah I get it and no it is no such thing as a perfect man if it was how would We show growth to age of age of maturity my good mate But to clarify a detouring I could not imagine she was more shy then me First look and words that come to mind is still gorgeous- And one day I was walking back from the mail post and just when she was coming Out I bump into her and ask her how was her day and the impression of words to found Words of her to say was sensation and a vibe when down my spine when she said good and You that’s that’s good real good I’m still question today did she stutter when she said that must been The heat- Then next week her car broke down on her and I said to myself it’s The battery, engine, or the sensor sense it hot outside Then I seen her son couldn’t be no more than the first grade went to the back of the car And try to push the car it was the most hilarious thing I ever seen But it does build character and he does have his basketball I’m sure he will do just fine By the following week she had another car I notice I never seen a father around and I also Notice she work so hard but how would I ever get odds of asking how was your day ever again And I did not want to be one of those guys here now and gone tomorrow I remember when I was her son age that was the last thing I won’t it so I left it alone knowing I would be leaving to finish my degree in a prestigious university (with god blessing) I stay up to break of Dawn With school work and trying being an entrepreneur and looking outside And she would have back light on For whatever reason thinking doesn’t she have to go to work tomorrow But the question I ask in few months if I would have knew the girl next door but I said to myself I only what the best for you and for some reason When I think of woman I think of Lyrics It’s the weekend of the fourth of July and if it has been like any Other year since I started college than the one place I go on Sunday with my Father I’m sure she know where I will be just my way of trying to say hi but this is a New millennium of woman I don’t think the day I bump into her was an innocent and I don’t Think that she kept the back light on for nothing but I bet she know that “love so many people used name in vain for better or worst I still would put you first”, If only if I had knew The Girl Next Door- 7-5-14


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

Whistling In The Dark

(A Rave By A Poet)      

Remember when you were a child? 
Adults seemed then to be in control, 
Almost like Gods, with special powers
That almost always knew
When you'd been up to mischief.
‘Playing with matches again Brian? '
What a childish view of things! Right? 
And my punishment, how perfect that was! 
‘After you've finished lighting two boxes
Of wooden matches, one at a time, 
You can go to bed, without your supper! '
Probably the best punishment I ever got.
I really couldn't believe my luck
But I was more careful after that! 

Of course mom's punishment didn't stop me.
Do you remember match guns, 
Made from 2 wooden clothespins? 
Oh, my God, what fun those were! 
A little carving with a kitchen knife
Reversing the spring on the outside, 
And some electrical tape was all it took.
Really made me appreciate man's genius! 
Hiding behind parked cars (a block from home)        
And shooting flaming missiles in the dark
At unsuspecting passing cars
And then running like Hell
On a preplanned escape route
When the innocent victim screeched to a stop
Jumped out of his car to yell at long gone villains.
Honestly, the 4th of July couldn't beat this! 

Carrying out the garbage every night
Now that was a chore made in Hell, 
Though better than the night pots
Our forebears had to deal with.
Wow, thank God for outhouses
But especially modern sewage systems! 
At my house the trek to the garbage can
Was a long hike, especially for a kid.
We burned trash in those days, 
There was no garbage pick up, 
And the can was hidden in an alley way, 
You had to go through a gate to get to it.
A big elm tree (that I loved in the daylight)        
Blocked even starlight and made the yard dark.
I always was scared so I'd whistle to and back
Praying that if a monster got me Mom would know, 
My whistle wouldn't stop without reason, 
That there was a chance at least of rescue, 
I think I was too scared though to test it out, 
I needed to believe that Mom would hear.

How insensitive the child is to adult problems.
But really how's a child to know
The tyranny of feeding a family, 
Of trying to secure an unknown future, 
Without a crystal ball, only prayer really! 
(Though with luck, maybe some common sense.)        
Parents, really are children grown large, 
Carrying their demons in a sack on their backs, 
Taking them out on occasion to play with, 
Hoping against hope that that's all there is, 
That some special Hell doesn't await them! 
Meteor showers that exterminate all life, 
Dust bowls, global warming, ice ages, 
A new Yellowstone blast that buries our cropland, 
A Canary Island tsunami that wipes out the East Coast
(A 2,000 foot wall of water now 50 years overdue) , 
Magnetic storms that destroy all electronic progress
That we've made in just the last fifty years? 
The universe may seem big
But there's really no place to hide.

The public school system, what a joke! 
More like twelve years of day care.
A football coach teaching physics, 
Latin the only language choice? 
(Sure opened up the world for me!)        
The most important job of our lives
Getting married? Sex? Raising a family? 
Well our parents were screwed too, 
‘Pass it on, no pass backs, joke's on you kid! '
You want to fix the problems of the world? 
Make politicians work for no salary or benefits
Let them shower us with their love of country, 
Eat cafeteria food every day (no wine) , 
Random armed guards monitor their calls.
Let's make teaching the highest paid profession
With teacher's tenure voted on each year
(Each kid two votes, parents one vote for both parents, 
Put power where it belongs baby.)        
Well this may not in fact be a poem, 
But it has sure been cathartic.
Hope my venting at least struck some chords
And was not a complete waste of your time.
May God save us every one!

Brian Johnston
April 18,2014


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 2

That's my dad for you... getting his hands deep into the knitty-gritty, when most others would just back off a safe distance away saying, "No thanks! Maybe when Armageddon comes a'knocking we can talk religion, but right now I'm in the middle of favorite show so.... bye!". I have much respect for him in that sense... a hard working man as well as a man who never stops thinking... even when on the coattails of turning 60. Still in the fields of repairing roofs, fixing leaky pipes, (even building tree-houses for the overly eccentric clients that don't even have kids that would enjoy it). My siblings and I would unanimously agree that he's been in construction since the dawn of time. And in some ways that statement isn't so far off from the truth - depending of course on who's "time" you are referring too. In my heart and soul he will always be high in my book of Highly Admired People. But of course there will always be those personality traits I wish were apart of him. I can say this, in complete honesty, that I don't believe he ever once remembered my birthday. I don't hold it against him by any means. Truth be told he doesn't remember ANY holidays whatsoever (Fourth of July, Christmas, not even his own birthday, bless his soul). He's just not wired that way. To him a holiday is nothing more than a glorified day where telemarketers and business men take full advantage of. "Feel like your mother doesn't appreciate you enough? Well here's something that will change her mind, this coming mother's day. A brand new 24 carat diamond encrusted necklace that's guaranteed to dazzle those eyes. You can beam with pride when you hand it to her... I went to Jared, yes, indeed!". But in some ways I mourn his inability to become engrossed in a monotonous no-nothing conversation. We can't discuss movies, musicians or any upcoming local events. Sometimes I feel as though if the topic isn't of dire importance, he won't give it a second look. Sports won't hold his attention... doesn't everybody know the Superbowl is just a distraction from all the wars going on around us? Doesn't at times, we resemble Hitler hiding his bunker, drinking wine and eating gourmet delicacies of pate and caviar, while the rest of the world is battling it out? Perhaps he's a victim of too much truth and it consumes him... perhaps I just have a truth deficiency and just smile away, in ignorance, at some comedian on the TV, "I have no idea why I'm laughing, but I guess I'll sit awhile, and wait for this steeple of ours to come crashing down upon us." This proves just how much I take after my dad... might as well have a Walmart worthy button pinned to my shirt at all times, "HI! MY NAME IS TIM AND I'M A HOPELESS MELODRAMATIC... FREE SAMPLE?". Truth be told, I guess we both have elements of wisdom and elements of pessimism deeply ingrained into our thick skulls. It's one of the most difficult things in the world to explain the complexities (or in some cases, lack there of) of Garold Hicks. When my friends inquired, I'd cut it short saying, "Well he's different... not all that social I suppose." But I feel that is a great injustice to his personality, to sum it all up in pocket-sized sentence that takes barely more than a short exhale of breath, to let out. It's hard to end this ode of him, and still leave the reader with a clear sense of purpose, or any real sense of conclusion. I guess it's only fitting to end this piece, once and for all, with yet another my dad's witty zingers,

"I used to think I was in indecisive...

... but now I'm not so sure."



NOTE: I wanted to write a piece about my dad for ages, but couldn't find the words. He really is a strange person (and I don't mean to be insulting for I'm very much like him).


Long Poems