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Long Poems
Long poem by Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |



“I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before and
 I hope to return a thousand times after.”  GOETHE 


Once upon a time, 
The Lord of spiritual consciousness was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne 
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, no oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was happy with His existence  


Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred from its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and all the other elements 
That constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time


When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets


Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,


In this way, to manifestation’s cosmic sphere, the souls were beamed
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes  
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life 
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!


Each soul an ambassador was and is of God’s will and grace
A ray of divinity, a guardian of the Holy Law 
Each with a specific mission: to learn or rather to remember
How to find the way of return throughout space and time
And with the divine, again, to be seen in perfect equilibrium


The day I was born, as every man alive,
I found my immortal self bound to the wheel of time 
That around eternity’s circumference took me, in very heavy chains
Asking to follow obediently the unswerving path of fate:
This endless trip of return where the only constant thing is change


Since then I have died once and many times after
But death's dark palaces to hold me were unable
As my soul’s perpetual desire to follow my destiny
Brought me back to this ephemeral world of fleeting dreams
With a new body, new hopes, new goals but always with the 
Same desire


Thus I journeyed back and forth the plains of oblivion
Choosing the best conditions I could, according to my karma
Trying to find endlessly the golden middle way 
That unmistakably between the extremes is only to be found
But since from the river of forgetfulness each time I was drinking 
I was obliged, unfortunately, to start over again


So, I was born once a king and another was I born a beggar
And in turns I was born a coward, a hero, a holy man, a vicious man,
A  Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, an idolater a strong man and a woman
And healthy and sick I was born and intelligent and witless
And was I born to love so much the things I once detested
And to hate passionately the things I once held dear


And I was born once to laugh and another just to cry
And I drunk successively from joy’s cup and that of sorrow’s
And was born to make friends out of my enemies 
And enemies out of my brothers
And was born to realize the impossible dreams and fail the very easy  
And I was born to slay and to be slain alternatively for thousands of years


Thus I lived continuously the extremes of both good and evil
Striving to find endlessly the balance in my soul
Through the wisdom that was endowed upon me by the Great Spirit
That like a beacon, luminous, to guide me waits
To my supreme destiny that GOD for me has traced


So, as was passing from life unto death, from darkness unto light
With a speed determined by me, I don’t put on GOD the blame,
All my lessons have I learned through trial and error
Up to the very last reincarnation, in body’s mortal temple


Now free, AT LAST, from all earthly desires and every karmic blame
Radiating with holiness and glowing with grace 
My immortal soul, HER divine wings unfolds and soars upwards the heavens
White light blazing in perfect equilibrium 
And pure now to her glorious creator returns and with 

©Demetrios Trifiatis
  11 DECEMBER 2013

“A little while and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind and another woman shall bear me”

* This poem because of its length I was unable to post it in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: “CREATION” and as “REINCARNATION.” Here is the entire poem as it was originally written.
Now, my friends know that apart from my epigrams I write... long poems as well!    

Long poem by Michael Ainsley | Details |

My Mind A Ship In Darkness

My mind a ship in darkness                                                                                                             How shall you carry me                                                                                                                   My heart cut off from loving                                                                                                                         Is longing to be free                                                                                                                                    To sail out in the morning                                                                                                                                             Upon the early tide                                                                                                                              And live with in the elements                                                                                                             Where truth and strength abide                                                                                                       My thoughts are done with islands                                                                                                  Where the golden memories play                                                                                                  For that vision seen was but a dream                                                                                                          Like fog that burns away                                                                                                                         And if the rocks should catch me up                                                                                                  How shall I greet the day                                                                                                                                            So many thoughts are anchored there                                                                                         From ships that passed this way                                                                                                             So many swells have come and gone                                                                                               And beaten on the shore                                                                                                                  You'd think the isle would brake away                                                                                               Be gone and be no more                                                                                                                But still the ancient cliffs are hung                                                                                               Like shadows in the sky                                                                                                             And still the Sirens songs are sung                                                                                              A lovers lullaby                                                                                                                               My soul my only compass now                                                                                                     What lessons shall you teach                                                                                                       As passion sets my course for me                                                                                                                                                Once more into the breach                                                                                                                               Yet calmly to and steady on                                                                                                         Though gale and storm draw near                                                                                                  My soul is this immortal thing                                                                                                           That strides beyond my fear                                                                                                            And gives my life an openness                                                                                                                        That does not measure cost                                                                                                                  For much I learned of beauty                                                                                                                         By what I loved and lost

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

Summer Memories Summer Realities Thoughts about Part 1

Summer Memories
Summer Realities

This, the first day of summer, two thousand and two, finds me,
slipping back into what once was my desire, my need, my reality.
This step back into, and into times passed, has allowed me to touch,
to feel, to re-experience – for a moment, to a degree – my all time,
favorite sport – sunbathing. A sport I once played in all my glory
– my birthday suit – with such joy and total freedom,
beneath blue skies, high above the mighty meandering Grand
or alongside it’s river banks, silent winds, a breeze, rustling the leaves
of many shading trees, of many a cornstalk, a million blades of grass
beneath the heavens, beneath my feet, beneath my naked body,
golden brown laying in the noiseless sound of Mother Nature,
all Her, creatures, large and small, invisible, one and all,
except to the mind’s eye and ear, as the pleasures of hypnotizing music,
the sweet taste of mother grass, the glowing nectar of sparkling grape
that could take one on a journey, away from or into, dependent upon
the destination, the ticket you purchased would carry you.
For me, the journeys were upon the black leather of my red motor cycle,
upon the black leather of my black Bird of Thunder, her wings spread,
her top down, that great, platinum, glowing orb, hanging on high,
above this little  planet, wearing it’s great, bright blue shroud,
opened to expose the light shining down upon her nakedness,
showering down upon me, in mine, on our journeys through time,
through space, with his – Heloise’s – healing rays as I drive, as I ride
over, upon those black ribbons that wrap themselves around
Mother Earth and the back roads of southern Ontario, in the
Counties of Brant, of Wentworth, of Norfolk and others as well.
This is a sport I played – as I laid – from north to south,
from coast to coast, even, out into the ocean deep,
– on an island of coarse – on mountain tops, on sand dunes.
This sport I played, on the shores of all five Great Lakes,
on the beaches of Florida, of Mexico, of California,
of British Columbia, the last place, the last time I sported
my birthday suit in public before hanging it up
behind closed doors for more years than I care to remember.

Today, along with a few more that followed, during two weeks,
I took the opportunity, – covered of coarse, in my red and black loin cloth -
to lie beneath that burning orb in the deep blue sky and tried to recapture
the essence of those feelings, those desires of long ago and far away
- of what was and I still would like to be -, that will always remain
a part of my psyche, even though all the changes – no more noiseless sounds,
for they have been drowned out, polluted by screaming tires as they tear up
those black ribbons of death, as those combustion engines ( the driving force )
cry out in pain from friction as they pass by my horizontal frame looking for,
but hearing not, all that once was hearable, all that was beautiful in nature’s noise
–  that have left me longing for that time, left me as empty as a dried up lake.
A lone bird cry’s out it’s muffled song, a note or two where once was a chorus,
a full-fledged opera now reduced to a mumbling, meaningless sound,
a sound drowned out by the sounds of  traffic, traffic from our attempt
to escape our closed in, modern life style of constant motion.

Those sweet smells, clean and clear are lost by the cremation of decaying,
remains of once living organisms that inhabited this planet.
They are now – in death – permeating, with pollutants, the nostrils, the lungs,
the air Mother Earth and all upon her back, inhale.

The peace, once known, - in rivers flow, upon its banks, in Mother Natures flow,
on my motor cycle, in my black Bird – for this old man has almost evaporated.
The grass, the wine, the music, the camaraderie, the clean air, those silent sounds
have almost become extinct, fading into memories hoard, to be stored, forever more.
All that seems to be left - from the origins of these thoughts – is that silver orb,
still radiating down upon, but with more intensity and less glory and peace.
Only the music carries on as before, seems to remains the same,
at least to these ears, this heart, the old soul of this lone traveller.
Maybe the music has change ?, maybe for the better ?, maybe not ?
Could it be just perception ?, or has all lost its glory ?, its fire ?,
its passion ?, its glow ?, all I thought I did know in an earlier age.
Is it all in the mind of this old man ?, who still remembers that age,
the music, music still providing a refuge, companionship
and comfort during the hours, in the passing of time .

Long poem by David William Breidenthal | Details |

The Uninviting Feeling

I'm not at all innocent...when you make 
me hurt inside
I'm getting over you...but I'm not giving up 
completely, though you are not present in 
my life
It rips my high hopes into shreds of 
I will never be the one who has a tainted 
soul, devouring lies
My heart is full of lament - you beg to 
I wouldn't have the guts to bid you a 
Don't take from me my happiness, you 
invaded my personal bubble
I'd rather be with someone else who has 
love abiding in their heart
I don't understand love at such a young 
age...besides, I'm not ready for such a big 
Anyone could say that they adore me, but I 
won't treasure it
I know that you'll ignore my calls of relief,
I'm screaming out loud, so listen right this 
You're digging too deep; my smile 
embraces a frown 
My dreams are failing me now,
What am I supposed to do? 
What do you think you are? The queen of 
the Earth? 
I pray for true love to lead me to a 
pleasant place...
I didn't expect being in a situation like 
This is not how I planned things out
This uninviting feeling took me by surprise
Time is running out, I got to keep on track
I'm weak and fragile...
Do not hunt me down again, predator - 
you are so vile...
I saw you flee outside - you were as high 
as a kite
It made me lose all confidence
All of this commotion doesn't make sense
Your eyes, your deceiving lies -
they spew out fire
Your lips, your chapped lips - 
they project a liar
Unconditional hatred sets me on fire
I can tell that I'm not stronger than I 
But you gottah know that I'm not alone 
'cause He looks after me
Did you forget the evenings that you and I 
cherished so much with each other? 
Do you even care if I end up drowning in 
All I have to do is rely on the Lord
because without him, I'm nothing
It's painful to see you harming yourself 
It's hard to accept the past and the truth 
behind it
I'm penniless because of you and your 
lack of affection
Our time was up, I can't help but cry aloud
I need you to look at me;
I know that I'm not that good looking 
Hold on to faith and hope...
We depart from our peaceful states
I gave in to your pity, now I'm thinking and 
acting like a fool
It figures that you're gone and I'm left 
alone -
Shards of me crash unto the floor
I know that you'll not support in this time 
of tribulation
I'm whispering to you, so listen right very 
You're pushing my limits; my smile 
embraces a frown 
My nightmares are ganging up on me now,
What am I supposed to prepare for? 
What do you want from me? You won't 
earn back my trust...
I pray for true love to lead me to a sacred 
I didn't expect being in a dangerous 
This is not how I imagined things to 
This uninviting feeling took me by surprise
Peace is running out, I got to fight for it 
more and more
I'm weak and fragile...growing sore
Do not hunt me down again, big bad wolf - 
you are so hardcore
I saw you sprint outside - you were as 
aggressive as a hawk
It made me lose all strength 
All of this commotion increased by the 
Your eyes, your deceiving eyes -
they spew out fire
Your lips, your chapped lips - 
they unveil a liar
Unfeeling passion sets me aflame
I can tell that I'm not stronger than I 
But you gottah know that I'm not alone 
'cause He looks after me
How come I'm scared out of the blue?
Will there be an end to violence? 
Why do I feel cold when you pass by me, 
yet you still as warm as a blanket?
I don't want to make things look too 
difficult to solve
I convinced myself that I don't have the 
hearts for you...but denying it will not get 
me somewhere safe
I can't face the fact that our love is 
Turn the other way, I'm so ashamed
I'm longing for change...I'm trying to not 
come across as insane
I took another mysterious lane, 
But it's no big deal...
My wounds deep inside will heal
You'll notice that you have nothing to gain
Your eyes, your deceiving eyes -
they spew out fire
Your lips, your chapped lips - 
they sound like a liar
Today seems hard to rebuild hope
This fearfulness overwhelmed me
You ditched me and I preyed upon 
You deleted my progress...
Right now, it felt like I've fell right into a 
hideous mess
My life was so meaningless all along...
I beg for significance to enlighten my self-
destructive spirit 
Before I collide into the abyss

Long poem by Jecon B. Nadela | Details |

Enjerciendo Prudencia

Dedicated to: Myself and the kindred spirits

Rise up today so gracefully and comely. Let not the present by the past be spoiled. You are entitled to what is best in the new day; do not let it wasted to loneliness and disgust. Leave the horror of your nightmares as there are good dreams to be fulfilled. You have survived and that is all that matters as you face new challenges and strife.

Life is a race but take things slowly; Pitfalls are the product of being reckless and rush. Set your goal and cast away your worries. Doubts may lead to despair and weariness forestalls a start.

Be realistic! Fantasies may provide refuge to the soul but practical decisions are conceived of tenacity and profound consciousness. Think twice as much and be subtle in accepting things. The art of acceptance is nourishment to the heart and, overtime, a calm spirit has been proven sound and wise.

Undertake your actions with a thorough passion. Perform your job without seeking attention nor trying to establish impression as you can only do so much, but strive to serve justice to the wage that you received by bringing each task well into completion. Be concerned for others but not over-acting; your honest intention may be perceived distasteful and annoying.

Putting aside your weakness, in some ways you can be a role-model. Let it be that others may learn something productive, however forbearing. You cannot always expect everyone to follow as each has its own sense of individuality and pride. Ridicule not the simple and the belittled for they too shall reap the fruits of their endeavors. Nobody can monopolize knowledge and brilliant ideas; as you see, marvelous inventions and breakthroughs are often the work of the obscure and the underrated.

Very patiently, exercise prudence and be firm in whatever you believe is reasonable. Do whatever is fitting in spite of the opposition. Many are the detractors but greater is the value of the kindred spirits.

Persevere and stay focused. Nevertheless, balance your time as not to suffer the matters of the heart. Seize the moment for life has never been without stress. Rigors and adversities have no match to a willful spirit but time and again the body must recess to rejuvenate. Nourish yourself with positive insights. It is essential in coping up with life’s concerns, albeit you may opt for aide betimes. Speak of your circumstance without articulation for he who is eager to help can simply read between the lines.

Somewhere in life’s journey there may be down phase to go through. Chums may turn backbiters or deserters and that old pals may come only to brag about their achievements rather than consoling. Of such, you may either become envious or disdained. But lo and behold! You are not a failure just because others have succeeded, and surely they have not succeeded just because you failed. Realize that everyone has his defining moment and yours is yet to come.

Therefore, be passive of the prejudice and scorning. You already have enough disappointments to get over with that it is unwise to allow such nonsense to further ruin your disposition. Nonetheless, congratulate yourself that you are not like them had it been the other way around.

Yeah! It is worthwhile to live above sufficient as long as it is through legitimate means, otherwise, the opulence will only fuel the destruction of the soul. Do not be so enticed with the material possessions in this world. What is the essence of containing everything in hand while the heart is so void? If you should spend for frivolities, take heed first the beseeching of the least of your brothers. Fortune holders are but temporary stewards and greediness is a waste of luck.

Give accordingly without expecting reciprocation. Compassion is not any act of giving but something that the heavenly angels can so relate thereby translating a prettier meaning to your existence. Indeed, the eternity that lies beyond the visible is a lot more to be hoped for than that of the fleeting life that we’re in.

Finally, refrain from judging at someone else’s yearning, but do your utmost to defy your own wayward longings. Remember, there is none more appropriate than being subservient to the will of God. In the end, the wealthy and the needy; the Master and his servant; the sinner and the saints; the wild and the tame shall face judgment just the same.

With a grateful countenance, stay humble. You are destined to be a happy soul.

Long poem by betty njie | Details |

In my head

This is not a perfect story, its a feeling that i just want to share with you. I need HELP

The love i show to everyone in my surrounding, its just rediculous the way have trained myself to become or should i just say its my character thats how i am. I hate it when i cry for nothing, its just that i cant get it, do i have to be perfect to earn something in life. Am a good dancer, a good writer as well as a good person, but what have i earned in these living nothing absolutly nothig. Have plied myself to be thee who loves all and never attempt to hate any even thoes who have shown me hatred. Deep in me i feel the agony something somewhere in my daily living is not satisfied have allow my instincts to believe that its just the human strategy we are never satisfied and can never truly and pratically be satisfied, but in my case its a bit different. I miss love, looking at the whole situation properly i cant tell who loves me and who really hates me devastating anomly. The history of my life carries untold stories within its path, i dont even know who truly i am. One thing that am very sure of is that i am always there for thoes whom i feel am bound to be there for although i could be somewhere else. In tears i sometimes sit to ask why, why do i have to be these way. Am so mean to myself as the ones am so hardly trying to be a help of, at a moment i hate myself so much that i dont want to exsist anymore, i wish to be another somebody of somewhere. Just because i couldnt once make it right to the ones i feel bound to help. I am a lost soul screaming loud for attention at some point i can explode if i could, there is such much going on in my head i have issues that i want to talk about things that i just cant keep to myself. Thanks to writing i can state it down. This is a rapid that have ever since search to write about about but i  just could figure it out. I really cant tell weather my own mother loves to talk less of my dad or my boyfriend. My motto, never have up the fight for love, deep inside me am gone, empty and lost, but in my heart i know i can make things happen and watch myself work wonders i believe that. It might be hard to understand if you cant feel what am feeling in me but am completely lost. Do i even have talents? i dont know i have no idea, what i think is am just that loser that dont want to accept her destiny. There is nothing i repeat nothing in this world that cant be solved, my soul is longing for satisfaction love and nothing but the truth. The big thank you i always carry around in me goes to thee the almighty thee who created man from a thick clot of blood and gave hime life despite all what he know that would happen, who has given me the chance to live a life. Suddenly am starting to see life with a different eye than i normally used to as i am writing this,have just figured out life is me, i am my life its only me that can make myself feel just the right way i deserve to feel. Have made so many wrong dicisions, gone through so many hard ways that i could have actually safe myself from. Have given away my last penny to make another fellow feel happy and like me for thoes moments, have thrown my pride away to make a boy fall for my adventurious way, have hurt someones feeling to make another one like me, have done so many harm to myself and others. I just dont know where to head to sometimes i just feel like i should just kill myself and free my thoughts but then I always have this tiny voice in my head that always reminds me of Gods love and it works everytime, thats just what keeps me moving anytime i want to turn back. Have written a manuscript that carries living in it but its still in my laptop. At a certain point i thought putting down 28 pills in my tiny body could save by story, totally wrong thought am stronger than that.   SAVE MY STORY.

A Dream
What happens when you feel so lost, so devastated knowing that no one seems to be understanding your situation. When the whole world turns their backs on you, you feel empty, its a terrible feeling.

A Wish
Wanting to become a somebody to make a certain person in your life happy, a wish that appears not to becoming true, wanting to publish your first book at the age of 20 but you almost 20 and nothing.

Long poem by Meredith Manley | Details |

Frozen Soul Within Her Heart

    Frozen Soul Within Her Heart-  
	  She's Terrified to Feel  

Her shadowed past still haunts her-
each night as every light-
fades back into the darkness,
as ghostly beings rise.
She gave her heart to someone,
and promised ne'er to change,
the feelings that belonged to him,
and ne'er her heart to age.
Yet in her own desires,
and every wond'ring dream-
the aspirations that she felt,
would only cause him pain.
He swore he'd never leave her,
and that he'd love her true-
that every day he'd wait for her,
and no one else would do.
Within a year that promise he'd broke,
as he- lost in his passion-
danced and wooed another girl,
and soon was holy wedded.
As any foolish girl would do-
she continued to hold on to-
the memories and the broken dreams,
and the promise of “I do.” 
Looking back she now can see,
that neither of them were,
perfect for the other-
but the feelings still remain.
And truly in all thankfulness,
she escaped a nightmare vow-
But still it often feels,
as if his own opinion,
left her feeling as if-
no one really wants her.
And in reacting to the pain-
the broken hearts and dreams,
the bitter end of being wanted-
and loved for who she is,
she seems to be the girl that leaves,
that can't remain in place-
because if chance should open her heart-
she's terrified of what that might mean.
If she remains in a single place,
and watches his children be born,
or slowly recognize the fact,
that another is creating a heart-storm,
she's terrified that she'll learn to feel-
and have to once again,
give way to emotions bigger-
that she won't be able to reign in.
she's scared that if she'd stayed
she'd forget to learn to fly-
that she may lose the desire-
to escape the poisoned night.
That if she'd stay the constant sight-
of friends so close to her,
will eventually get lost among the thoughts,
of wanting something more to be.
Already she's been used and tossed,
a toy thrown in the wind,
a passing thought of shape and form,
to ne'er be thought of again.
Yet, even beyond that there are a few-
who seem to follow her every move,
who seem to wish that she was theirs',
and that “their” story would be the Truth.
she's scared that if she'll stay,
these emotions will actually get in her way-
and those people who she calls-
her friends and respects,
will become so much more
than any of that.
As crazy or weird-
as any of that may be,
she's scared that she'll mess up-
the friends she has around her.
That she will become this stalking girl,
the ex's worst nightmare in real life unfurled.
Time is said to heal the wounds,
how much time- no one really knows.  
Her darkest deepest secrets, 
her hidden- longing fears-
are silent as the grave,
yet always whispering in her ear.
She doesn't want to be a toy,
a object for the rest of her life,
an image that guys can idolize,
at a “never commit to” pace. 
She's scared that she'll end up,
lonely and lost and old,
the old spinster, old maid, old friend,
that watches her siblings kids.
As friend after friend,
or acquaintances too,
readily pair up and leave,
She's left to watch their progress,
and wonder when it will be 'me'.
She's so deeply deeply lonely,
the pain inside her chest,
is palpable and tangible,
although she keeps it hid.
And all of these emotions,
are locked up inside of her,
no one knows that she's so lost,
or confused as some don't believe her to be.
She's terribly lost, confused, and small,
and is it so wrong to want it all?
To be loved and touched and thought about,
above all others and cared for throughout?
Maybe someday, when she's 74-
sitting in a rocker outside of her door,
her 'lonely' path won't seem as bad,
as it does this night- as she sits on her bed,
and wonders and waits and wishes away,
but all of this pain- seems is her permanent mate. 
And so she's left to simply breathe-
and fight and claw each day-
to find the strength to continue-
as she desperately cries and prays.
And beneath all of the surface, 
below the sunny sky-
frozen soul within her heart,
she's terrified to feel.

~Meredith A. Manley

Long poem by Faleeha Hassan | Details |

Black Iraqi Woman

Black Iraqi Woman
Written by Faleeha Hassan
Translated from the Arabic by William Hutchins
Shortly before my father died, he whispered to me longingly: “Daughter, treasure this, because it authenticates your heritage to our kinsfolk!” When I accepted this object, I discovered it was a stone with inscriptions I did not understand and delicate, mysterious lines.  He continued, “It is a keepsake from our great-great grandfather and can ultimately be traced back to Bilal, the Holy Prophet’s first muezzin, and his father, who was the king of Ethiopia.” I accepted this small heirloom, which I carried everywhere with me in my handbag. The person who shared my life under the title of “husband,” however, threw it down the drain at our house, thinking–as he told me–that it was a fetish. From then till now I have endured successive exiles. So I wrote this poem to explain the secret of my skin color–given that I am a native of al-Najaf, Iraq–spiritually, mournfully, and poetically!
My father said: “You were born quite unexpectedly,
Remote from Aksum, like a beauty spot for al-Najaf-’the Virgin’s Cheek.’
Your one obsession has been writing, but
The sea will run dry before you arrive at the meaning of meaning.”
He affirmed: “During a pressing famine,
I devoted myself to watching over every breath you took.
I would thrust my hand through the film of hope
To caress your spirit with bread.
You would burp, and
I would delightedly endure my hunger and fall asleep.
I could only find the strength to fib to your face and say I was happy.
I would feel devastated when you fidgeted,
Because you would always head toward me,
And I felt helpless.”
Aksum! They say you’re far away!
“No, it’s closer to you than your exile.”
“And now?”
“Don’t talk about ‘now’ while we’re living it.”
“The future depresses me. How can I proceed?”
How can the ear be deaf to the wailing from the streets?
Aksum, you have colored my skin. Al-Najaf has freshened my spirit.
She knows and does the opposite.
She knows that I inter only dirt above me, and
That I deny everything except spelling out words:
M: Mother, who went walking down the alley of no return.
F: Father, who hastened after her.
B: Brother, who never earned that title.
S: Sister who buttoned her breast to a loving tear, no matter how fake.
………………….There’s no one I care about!
The trees tremble some times, and we don’t ask why.
My life surrounds me the way prison walls surround suspects;
I am the victim of a building erected by a frightened man.
With its talons time scratches its tales on me,
And I transform them into a silent song
Or, occasionally, a psalm of sobs.
Father, do you believe that–the roots have been torn asunder?
Fantasies began to carry me from al-Najaf to Afyon
And from Afyon to nonexistence,
Yellow teeth stretching all the way.
“History’s not anything you’ve made,”
One American neighbor tells another.
He’s surprised to see me.
“Who are you?” he asks when he doesn’t believe his eyes.
Would he understand the truth of my origin if I told him I was born in al-Najaf
Or that Aksum has veiled my face?
I have walked and walked and walked.
I’m exhausted, Father.
Is your child mine?
Show yourself and return me to the purity of your loins.
Allow me to occupy the seventh vertebra of fantasy!
Don’t eject me into a time I don’t fit.
I need you.
I ask you:
Has my Lord forbidden me to be happy?
Am I forbidden to preserve
What I have left
And sit some warm evening
Averting my ear from a voice that doesn’t interest me?
Answer me, Father!
Or change the face of our garden
So it changes….to what they believe!

Long poem by Audonus Taylor | Details |

Real Words

My false reality is a normal man,
owned by financial security, slave to
the essentials and more, much 
My desired existence is that of an 
a wordsmith, a bard, a writer with 
beyond measure and degrading 
Lately, the two overlap and become 
for sake of survival...

Concrete floors, blistered feet, and a 
that I have given up on the dream,
the one goal that keeps me above 
Though my effort surpasses most 
general laborers, I feel the normalcy 
taking hold of and overshadowing 
the life I need,
the existence that calls to me like a 
lover on
the nights when settling seems too 

And I break my back and bruise my 
so life does not implode before me.
Still, I feel the disgust in my core, in 
my being, and all the signs point to 
acceptance of truth.
The rejection letters, the sugar-
coated no, and
the silence that lingers past waking 
into the foundation of my 
How do I compete with failure?
A question that kills the confidence 
over years of painting my soul on 
blank paper.

Should I be meant to be "average",
Should I be destined to be a lost 
talent that
never found the title I so desperately 
Why do these words come to me so 
Why do I bleed ink and bandage the 
in hours of devoted creativity that 
from nowhere less than a place that 
soothes like home to a veteran 
Do I lack conviction or skill?

All the questions are there with no 
real answer to soothe my ache to 
touch the impossible.
My life is in the hands of other's who 
me as a waste of time for a 
No insight into my work past a few 
No knowledge of my struggle past a 
And the silence, the god damned 
is a toddler seeing death for the first 
A constant and typical experience 
that breaks
me down to a weeping infant prone 
to fear.
Fear that is born of a man reaching 
for purpose but grasping only the 
cold emptiness
of air stained by nothingness, the 
worst kind.

The damage, is not for the fragile of 
mind or heart, and it lasts until it has 
reason not to.
It's the kind of damage that rips 
asunder the
very spirit of a man to the point of 
mental illness and a longing to lose 
the yearning.
It hurts...
Yet the pain acts as motivation to do 
to "be" more...with no direction 
a first step to any path or road right 
for me.
And the urge to give up multiplies to 
undeniable and unbearable 
Like a victim to an attacker,
Just a means to survive and 
of the shame of being broken in 
every way.

Yet through it all, I work...
Then I do what comes naturally...
I cling to the hope that I am what I 
I clench the idea that my words 
And I survive on selling my time, my 
for eating and living long enough to 
my voice, the one that will hold their 
and capture their eyes in the gaze of 
My reality sits on my chest and rides 
slowly sinking shoulders...
It's the nightmare made too vividly
but seems essential to this false 

And though this is the only life I can 
touch now...
It is the words that still remain as 
real to me
as the first moment I discovered 
And for this reason, I swallow my 
and continue to try past the hidden 
tears of disappointment.
The tears that I fear may someday 
confuse my eyes about where I am 
and where I want to be.

Long poem by Carlos DeBattista | Details |

Cry Wolf

Cry Wolf

I peered into your sky painted eyes
without fully understanding what I might find,
but finding that which I might never fully understand.
And now,
My heart is adrift,
like flotsam ,hopelessly adrift.
And the wind that blows is cold,
and the wind that blows is heartless.
And it is governed by circumstance and prejudice,
and fear and scorn and anger and regret and guilt.
And yet more fear, more scorn, more and more of all
that we are not.
But alas, as sheep we must follow that dark shepherd,
though in truth he be but the piper and we be but mice.
We can see the sun setting beyond the jagged headland.
We can smell the sharp scent of the seas.
We can feel its’ cold, cutting spray on our faces.
We can feel the ghastly chill crawling up towards us.
All these things we know, yet still we follow
like sheep and mice.

But Oh, were I but a Wolf.
Then gladly would I hold you as my Moon!
More beautiful than the stars.
Brighter than the sun when the sky is day, 
but only to me that gladly shuns the sun.
Oh to be as the wolf, you my Moon,
Smiling, taunting, mocking me,
Unreachable, untouchable, unapproachable,
But There! There and always there for me to sing to
To rage to, to cry, to howl,  to weep to and to sing to, there, there,
There; mine though not mine but there for me.
But in truth I am as the Wolf,
And my world is now a heartless Tundra.
I that must thread over ices chill,
through vast open meadows that end only in sky, 
ending where they first began, leading me nowhere.
Threading over vast empty spaces yet going nowhere,
For I am a searching soul,

I am a Wolf,
Searching for a moon that no longer shines,
But rather stands painted in a sky tainted by the sallow
Glow of her own dim indifference.
Like the liar’s moon she sits 
guarded behind the ethereal shawl 
Of her self spawned convictions.
Safe, safe in the false notion of  numbness.
Safe in a sanctuary of  rosebud expectancy.
Awaiting only the rising of the Sun,
Hoping that with  the Sun, she may relieve herself of the sky,
So that the searching Beast might search for her no more,
yet not realizing that only by searching,
might  He find himself,
And only by gracing the darkness of his heavens,
may She, the Moon know the true joy of  full purpose.
For it is purpose which nourishes the human soul.
It is the mead of the spirit, like soil to the seed,
sunlight and rain to the sapling oak
that must needs grow to the heavens.
For what is love other then a fullness of purpose?
The will to surrender all for but a smile,
A willingness to waste away knowing
That the reward shall be but a sparkle
In a beloved eye.

I am a Wolf.
You are my Moon, and forever shall it be so.
But I will not lay claim to love,
for that I have done before though rashly.
Foolishly and perhaps too eagerly,
When as yet too young, too little knowing of
That which too little understanding,
I was too little in giving, giving too little,
If little more then none at all.
Bur this I can say, and shall say, as must say
with full conviction. With an open mind,
A clear heart and a soul all for you to,
hold, to heal and if you will to scorn!

I am a Wolf,
And you hold within yourself
The fullness of my purpose.
In you I am completely complete,
So completely dazzled by you as to 
Stand in complete wonder of you,
A smile on my face, a tear in my heart,
A river in my soul, though around me be only
the cold, barren mountains. 
Above me,
Only the starless sky,
Within me,
But a longing for the Moon.


Long Poems