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Long Men Poems | Long Men Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

Is there an Exclusive All-in-One Principle

        
  ‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of  different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘

 
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at

                  the red or the green

           
                                 nothing then is certain

not even death but the life one endures

             
 quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons

particles like men and beings in general

                                             bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup

         great teachers or rather teachers with great followings

     those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking  for them

         especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy

                 would want us believe

                                             there’s just This One

  and all comes and goes to That Only ONE

        
If only it were just as simple as that

Then what is it that This One wants

Or is It caught up in its own caveat

And must of needs come apart

        on the seed that It alone plants

 
                           and do what we may

   nothing goes wrong

            whatever the explanation

everybody is right

right from the start

 

         Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand

         Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold

and out again

         for the Brahma Day

and after aeons the Brahma Night

 
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity

         neither space nor time

            squeezed in and out

Birth as in Death

An eventual point of total extinction

        if ever there was one

 
Yet always the two extremes

      and the ever-changing in-betweens

Matter versus Anti-Matter

Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin

Though matter itself is neither

Is nor Is-Not-ness

         And the 96% Dark Matter

          And the infinite number of parallel universes

Does it really matter

                                        when

 
         ‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !

            You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’                   

 
Vanish into what

                                    Dark matter

or just non-dark matter

 
Still the duality of matter

Still the ever-changing conundrum

 
              Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs

        self-destructs
 

         ‘Sex is emotion in motion.’

 
Emotion erupts

           into thin air

      into where

Dark air

 
Motion disrupts

         and roots one here

      tied to the lunar year

 
       why should it matter

if we cannot know the reason why

ego id libido

drive faith fame femme father future

 
if super/alter ego connects the ego

       to the collective unconscious 

     
       why drown the self in the Great Self

by wilful act

       when the Ultimate One

is the sum of all the little ones

 
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones

each of whom must move to eat drink sleep

copulate make money grow roots in a society

get and fight to keep a job

make love marry raise children

struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children        

one’s house  if one can get one

one’s career one’s future

and helter-skelter race to cheat death

 
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew

What does it matter if it keeps changing in view

Of the desperate haste with which everything

We see smell hear feel intute sense

Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich

And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way

Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda        

Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters 

Through some trillion cataclysmic light years

 
What’s the impulse to keep moving

Is the yogi’s stilled-centre

The death of all action

Which cannot call for a reaction

Or is the art of keeping still

Merely the art of making belief

 

          ‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting

until your performed role becomes your normal character.

Then you are safe inside your character armour.’

 

As soon as you have thought It out

It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out

                 and you know just why

                                                               don’t you now

 

References to the quotations

Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.

Ibid.

Attributed to Mae West.

Eric N. W. Mottram,  « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.

I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?

 

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.


Long poem by Terry O'Leary | Details |

Another Cruel Link in their Chain

         Another Cruel Link in their Chain 

	1.   Beginnings 

Her babe was her joy, such a beautiful boy ,
	and he suckled her breast till the end...
The Massa sought cash, bestowed mammy a lash,
	sold her babe to a gentrified friend
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

With mammy not there, Sammy dared not to dare
	but to bide near the edge of the night
But nevertheless one must always outguess
	or absorb burning stings of the bite
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Though learning the rules in the shadows of fools
	as he grew to a leery lean lad
He often defied but he never once cried
	although whipped at the post whene’er bad
It flits like a flash,  a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain


	2.   Youth

The cotton gin broke and nobody spoke,
	so the Massa said “BENNY’S TO BLAME”
But Sammy said ‘No...  Massa, jus caint be so,
	no ’tain’t Benny, ’tain’t Benny’s sore name’
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

“LOOK, SEE IN HIS EYES HOW THAT  N*G***  BOY LIES” –
	- replied Sam ‘no I’s tellin da truth’
But daring to speak earned him scars for his cheek
	and so blemished the bloom of his youth
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

“THE COTTON GIN’S BROKE, AND THAT JUST AIN’T NO JOKE”
	and he called upon Benny to pay
“WELL, BEN’LL NOW SWIM FROM THE END OF A LIMB”
	just as Sam feared the Massa would say
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Dark faces soon blanched; Benny bended a branch
	near the base of a broken oak tree 
His body hung bare as it swung in the air
	and the buzzards and crows shrieked with glee
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain


	3.   Flight

Sam’s feet were unclad, as befitting a lad
	as alone as a stone in his path
So oft on the run neath the sly sliding sun
	being followed and feeling god’s wrath
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Surrounded and caught brought his efforts to naught,
	child in chains at the end of his trek
Winds wept as he went, with his spirit unbent,
	a cold collar of steel ’round his neck
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain


	4.   Life

Sam grew to a man, branded ‘boy’ by the klan,
	as they spat on the trail that he tread
If he raises his gaze or he wanders or strays
	the pack promise to sever his head
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Once Sam found a wife who they ripped from his life,
	yes along with the babe at her breast
(Was it simply their greed or by heaven decreed? ...)
	well, with hindsight you might guess the rest
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain



	5.   Endings

From phantoms of fright neath the frail foggy night
	Sammy soared as he fled to escape
He no longer crawled (heeding freedom that called)
	through the darkness, a black hole agape
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Unleashed! Frenzied dogs hounding Sam through the bogs,
	(baying beasts neath the bloody red moon)
White fangs intermeshed as they mangled his flesh,
	freedom flayed through the pale afternoon
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain

Sam’s body was torn leaving little to mourn
	but there’s really no need to despair
And there’s no need to cry for his spirit can’t die,
	being borne by bound men everywhere
It flits like a flash, a lithe leathery lash,
	yet another cruel link in their chain




EPITAPH SAM Revolted and clashed ’gainst the cruel leather lash and broke free from the choke of the chain
EPILOGUE Those parts of the past that we gaze at aghast reveal harrowing questions quite plain - Why people so free, just like you, just like me, were so happy inflicting such pain? Why we bask in the throes of humanity’s woes while we wait while the tyrannies reign? And I’m wondering too (’cause I don’t have a clue) ... might we each be a link in their chain?


Long poem by Adefemi Adejuwon | Details |

The Poet

It is a fever.

  
The poet

They found the poet outside the park

His steps spoke many words of wine

His upper half seemed half asleep

And his feet walked a crooked line

His arms were spread as if to fly

His lips apart as though to speak

The telltale flush of liquid joy

Told tales of  rum from cheek to cheek

The night herself caroused with him

Drunk on sadness, drunk on care

And drink they drank, the weary lovers

Setting wine against despair

The bonds of reason, broken down

His mind amok, and absent sense

The world in woe, the world in glory

Lay before his presidence

 

And it was then they walked to him

Rudely rousing man from dream

Casting eye on village bard

Taking man as man would seem

"Sing for us again, o bard

Cast your words at senses keen"

This was why they broke his peace

Winters twice his summers seen

"Sing for us again o bard

Spin sweet words from bitter truth

Stir the embers of your heart

Dig through elder years to youth. And

Let the fountain spring with might!!

Showering us with wisdom earned

Showing us the link in hand

Of teachers harsh and lessons learned

Free yourself from wine's embrace!

We would hear a tale or two"

Turns to them, a wizened face

"Ask not man, but what is due."

Graying eyes regard the gathered

Moving on, from face to face

"The world whirls in the hands of time

And yet all things remain in place"

"As yet all men remain the same

The board reset a dozen times

Pi-eces unaltered, so is game

Though rearranged, the given lines

You come to me as bank to debtor

You plague me with unbridled want

Says at last, man to tormentor

'Cease at once your unjust haunt""

It is a fever

"It is not a gift so given

It is not a boon bestowed

Nor is sight beheld as blessing

When the eyes have overflowed

With the sorrows of existence

Pain cavorts with all men born

Know the price of your persistence

Hear the words of man forlorn

What is loss compared to weakness?

What is pain compared to need?

When the soul suffers from sickness

To give blood to those who bleed

O for those suffering in secret

O for hidden scars concealed

Know a secret's mark of secrets

Is in wounds that never healed

The world at large, and I remain

Numb in spirit, numb of mind

My inner coldness feed by pain

Reaped from years left far behind

 

It is a fever that I have

It is an illness I possess

It is a symptom that you worship

It is a sign that you profess

To love, to need, to love to hear

While I remain diseased of soul

You chant and clap then disappear

Then falls to me, each telling's toll

 

It is a sadness that I feel

It is madness that I suffer

When the muses offer gifts

Turn your backs and run for cover

Talent has a price, and paid

This price I have, each passing day

Rise to cup and rise to can

Drink my fill then come what may

All my masters come before me

Warned me of the poet's curse

Know you all of Byron's story

Know you all that Poe's was worse

Happiness is bound to beauty

Joy to all that beauty, see

But for those that birth said beauty

All is pain and tragedy

Listen to my fading voice, now

Listen to my silent plea

Know the doom of every poet

And ask of this, no more from me

I will fellowship with Bacchus

Gimlets of the finest sort

Rise to can and drunken glory

Fall to pleasure and cavort

Now my night bids me return

Wine is all that shields from sorrow

Sets me free from all concern

Trouble enough, will be tomorrow"

His soul unburdened, back unbent

All is caught in a lengthy pause

He turns to go, the air is rent

With sounds of cheer, and of applause

Now lowering balding head to ground

"Man may speak but none may hear

Sing for us again o Bard,

Has now become a thing to fear"


Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |

OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL

OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL I know today, at this time You... my son(man), may not wholly know me. but, may I ask you... Have you taken one time to close your eyes in silence, feel me in your midst... and somehow reflect why despite say: your abounding richness still, you feel lost or empty? your waterfall trials still, you find yourself standing? your ten thousand sins still, you are given another day to live? My eyes, My hands, My feet. My heart, My breathe, My mind, All of them are filled with unselfish love for You. Before... I created the world complete and beautiful for you that all you need and all you want is there within your grasp. Within your reach. No hunger. No thirst. No killing. No stealing. No pain. No disease. Nothing evil is there nor anything to cause a tear from your eyes. I created you my son as like me unto my image and likeness you are mold yet above all these, how was I to know... that with some lies of a devil you will desire to be greater than I am. but I have forgiven You and given You always chances to change, to be better and once again look unto me as Your God alone. Yet, You seem to be blind, deaf or seem to be high-pride Hence, I have come to the point of sending you, my Only Begotten Son Him, who I answered and empowered through His uttered prayers. Him, whom I asked to fully demonstrate how it is to be human and more to be God at the same time. Him, who didn't consider status, gender, race or age. Selflessly, He embraced all but overall still He wasn't accepted . Him, who begged with blood of tears that I will take away the cup from Him but later, surrendered and humbly said: MY WILL BE DONE. so even His follower who was bribed-- became a traitor. And so, He was condemned and put to death. Again, my son, I ask you to ponder on this Do you need me to every now and then be infront of you? (when I am always here knocking at Your heart's door) Will by seeing me in flesh and hearing my voice convince you? (aren't my Creations: the sun, flowers, the waters, the air tell you am around?) that I am Your God, who will never leave you nor forsake you. (aren't my spirit, your friends, family, supporter, or even a kind stranger tell you am present?) Don't you recognize every single day that I am performing miracles for you? (but sad. Sad. Sad that you don't notice them) Have I not given you a heart and a mind to know and decide? To name a few.. I am a builder. I am a teacher. I am a healer: the greatest physician. I am a fisherman. The great carpenter. The great farmer. The great gardener. Oh yes! yesterday, today and even tomorrow you will hear or you will see so much about me from anyone but have I not told you always to seek me by your heart and that apart from me you can not do more and that you need faith, hope and love to see me... As strong as the wind, as quiet as the forest As fearless as the fire, as immovable as the mountains from east to west, from north to south to the flying spell of the night, to the erupting swell of the sun even borders and beyond... I am the way, the truth and the life I am the alpha and omega I am the one and only God I am who was, who is and yet to come I am the God who knows all... I so love you my son that above all this, I gave you free will, I am leaving you the choice... to open your door for me or not. Will you let me enter, my son? _________________________________________________ 10:03 pm, March 24, 2015


Long poem by Adefemi Adejuwon | Details |

Shangri-la

So I wrote again. This took longer than it should have. Only fair to warn you, this is a long one.

SHANGRI-LA

Prologue

The village gates stood, like old men stand

Worn with age and bent by time

Rust had claimed each iron face

As had wrinkles done with mine

The iron giants stood apart

Shaking  as the north wind blew

Creaking as their maker passed

I felt certain that they knew

 

I am leaving Wuling now

Gripped she by the throes of death

Touched she by the hands of time

Breathed she the last of her breath

Nature would not save Wuling

Famine leeched away her life

Pes-tilence claiming  her people

Among them, my sons and wife

 

Pain speaks every language known

So I found when it found me

And while not all men know its tongue

I've come to speak it fluently

Hard times then were made much worse

My mind, seeking to reflect

Made my memories seem as curse

I, not master of pain yet

 

I was young, when youth prevailed

What held youth but sweeter days

And a certain frame of mind

That was bent on foolish ways?

We were fools ere wisdom came

We were glad to dream of heaven

Religion held our vices tame

Schooling us on sins of seven

We were glad and light of mind

Pleased with all our blind eyes saw

Joy, the birthright of mankind

Would dwell with us forevermore

 

We were young when youth prevailed

Nimble minds, and bodies strong

But the reign of youth was short

And we found that we were wrong

They came upon us sudddenly

The weeks of cold, the months of drought

A strange disease swallowing my people

Spitting shrunken corpses out

We had hoped but hoped in vain

I had prayed, it came to nought

I, once smith of a large village

Leaving it through gates I wrought

 

Shangri-la

Heaven having failed in hope

Hope itself found wanting

Having lost all I can lose

I am left with nothing...

I will go to find respite

Where the dreams of men collect

Where the signs of hard years fade

And the weary can forget

 

I will go to Shangri-la

Ease to soul and peace to mind

Strength to all those weak in body

All that man can hope to find

I am going to Shangri-la

South of God and north of men

West of every broken dream

East of those who hoped in them

 

Shangri-la, covered in snow

Dwelling there, the ageless Yeti

Older than the sons of men

Wiser than the stars are many

I am going to Shangri-la

Earth's last sign of heaven touch

Hidden from the eye of man

Kept outside of evil's watch

I am going to Shangri-la

Nature's lastborn wrapped in ice

Whitened by freedom from taint

Holy mountain paradise

I am going to Shangri-la

Far beyond the reach of time

Far above the grasp of fate

Webs spun of it's own design

 

Utopia will bring relief

Severing chains of desolation

Re-acquiantance with belief

By the aid of restoration

Let the past relent in chase

That the haunt of loss may cease

Gone sons, to a better place

Found wife, an eternal peace

 

Refuge be found in holy haven

Pain be lost on mystic land

Moved by change on tidal waters

As in castles made with sand

Shangri-la, a last resort

Sought by many, found by few

Hidden in the Himalayas

Shielded from external view

Shangri-la, paradise lost

Closed to all enslaved to vice

Seen by he whose need is most

Never found by one man twice

 

Shangri-la, the name brings warmth

Weathered face wrinkling to smile

I set on the road to rest

Which I know is marked with trial

Leaving all I know behind

That my pieces be made whole

I am going to Shangri-la

Peace to mind and ease to soul...


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos will cramp your balls, 
You’ll get migraine headaches.”


Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

Gone are the Gardens

After many years a man returned home to put to rest some very dark demons,
He left as a boy with hatred in his heart and an anger to match that hatred,
A wretched upbringing the spite from his family who hated him was so harsh,
What could a young boy have done to cause this bitterness the answer nothing.

One day very early the door closed behind him the young lad had made a decision,
He decided to leave that awful place and to make his way into the big wide world,
With experiences of his existence he understood nothing could be as bad as now,
With that thought he would not miss nor be missed, off went a lonely little boy.

Making his way it was hard but and he knew that there could be no turning back,
His father a vicious drunk would come home and blame him for his wretched poverty, 
His mother hated the boy she blamed him because he was the cause of this anguish,
His brother wanted him gone as he got scared he would receive the same treatment. 
 
As a man his mind now strong living so long with a monkey on his back he returns,
Walking the streets in town the place has changed a grey place of grim despair,
People he knows walk the same streets they have lines etched deep in their faces,
Etched lines are a calender of life's events of misery hard work and hard times.

Their clothes are clean but shabby why dress up when there is nobody to impress,
Shoulders rounded and heads down their lives are wasted they are nothing people,
Hard men from his youth are beaten and pathetic living on stories of yesterday, 
Years of drunken weekends and family abuse have clouded and poisoned simple minds  

How many years have these so called men drunkenly beat wives and their children,
Count the bruises made by the connubial fist through many many years of misery,
Remember the drops of blood that have flowed since the words 'I do' were said,
How many tears have been collected as trophies since a wedding day so long ago.

When these people were young and full of hope their life was rosy and scented,
There were stores of honey in their minds and a thousand acres of wild flowers,
As lovers they walked hand in hand along paths bright with a finesse of nature,
Look at them now how things have changed their garden is overgrown with weeds.

Once in a fountain of youth happy children chased after each other playing games,
The dancing spray fell on their flushed cheeks as it gushed in the warm sunshine,
It cast its silvery beads all around but now nobody listens to its rippling tunes,
And people have fallen away and crumbled beneath the tooth and finger of neglect.

Now all the flowers are drooping and faded no footprints walk the old path of youth,
They live in a freezing emotional wilderness growing tired of each other love gone,
Their houses are now gloomy and very unhappy it is hard to pretend this is not so,
No signs of any happiness no 'smile and be merry' as they have now stopped trying.

I am glad I returned to my roots where happiness was just a dream hate was reality,
Now I can close the heavy book I am satisfied that my leaving was the right decision,
The people I saw were ruined wasted people whose lives went where the rut took them,
I left and went back to my own life and like a ghost I faded from my own past forever.


Long poem by David Robakidze | Details |

GADOURI

(Gado is the old name for Caucasus)
Translated by Viktoria Makatsaria

A black door opened,
A black man came out
In a black car.
A black fume appeared over it.
The man said:
‘Fume, where are you going?’
‘To the town of a skull,
To the low and high plants,
To the lung of a human’s child,
To the nerves and thoughts.’
The man took out a key,
Hit the black fume,
The fume tore off,
The black door closed,
The man went on foot.

A red door opened,
A red man came out
In a red car.
A red fume appeared over it.
The man said:
‘Fume, where are you going?’
‘To the town of a skull,
To the low and high plants,
To the lung of a human’s child,
To the nerves and thoughts.’
The man took out a key,
Hit the red fume,
The fume tore off,
The red door closed
The man went on foot.

A yellow door opened,
A yellow man came out
In a yellow car.
A red fume appeared over it.
The man said:
‘Fume, where are you going?’
‘To the town of a skull,
To the low and high plants,
To the lung of a human’s child,
To the nerves and thoughts.’
The man took out a key,
Hit the yellow fume,
The fume tore off,
The yellow door closed.
The man went on foot.

A white door opened,
A white man came out
In a white car.
A red fume appeared over it.
The man said:
‘Fume, where are you going?’
‘To the town of a skull,
To the low and high plants,
To the lung of a human’s child,
To the nerves and thoughts.’
The man took out a key,
Hit the white fume,
The fume tore off,
The white door closed,
The man went on foot.

A transparent door opened,
A transparent man came out
In a transparent car.
A transparent fume appeared over it.
The man said:
‘Fume, where are you going?’
‘To the town of a skull,
To the low and high plants,
To the lung of a human’s child,
To the nerves and thoughts.’
The man took out a key,
Hit the transparent fume,
The fume tore off,
The transparent door closed,
The man went on foot.

A bread door opened,
A bread man came out
With  a basket of bread.
A bread track appeared over it.
The man said: ‘Stay at home!’
The track said: ‘Go!’
They went and met another man;
He came from the wine door
With a jug full of wisdom.
They sat down under the tree:
Changed with one another,
Went away,
Their wives and children are waiting at home.

Other men saw them
And said  they would come to this tree again,
Maybe they will also take us.
The tree heard and said:
‘Come, stand near to me.’
They went and stood near it.
The transparent climbed up,
The rest stayed below
Gather round, bound the tree.
The tree said: ‘Release me!’
The transparent answered:
‘Don’t release, stay there!’
The tree opened its leaves,
Looked up with the leaves in the sky,
The sky looked down with the stars,
The men got frightened and said:
 Let us break up, everybody,
We go home.

The transparent  dragon
Swallowed the transparent man’s entrails.
The white dragon
Had the white man for breakfast.
The yellow dragon
Had the yellow man for dinner.
The red dragon 
Had the red man for lunch.
The black dragon
Had the black man for supper.
They stayed there where they were. 
Avoid us there fate,
The temple saves this tree for us.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Midnight Massacre

Darkness swells the from depth of the sea,
waves crashes against waves,
the mad sea roars and vomits vengeance, 
it belches and yawns at the sound of her name.

They have been drifting for many days,
entranced with panic, fear and delusion,
 gripping tightly to the edge of their boat,
drifting deeper into her venomous  throat.

I can hear echoes and screams,
I can sense desperation from the extreme,
Oozing bumps on the surface of my skins,
I just don’t know where to begin.

The horrors of the sea hisses and lashes,
It flings and tosses their boat in a ball.
chopping and folding up blood red water,
preparing for the horrific slaughter.

She emerges from the depth of the sea,
hoping for a grand jubilee,
flattering  her six meter coat,
straining under five thousand pounds,
she swims violently towards their boat.

She grinds everything in her path,
and tries to tear their boat apart,
raw meat grinds with flesh,
flesh pounding with flesh,
flesh devouring flesh.

Six women and four men ,
bring the jubilee to an end,
armed with guns, rockets, and knives,
they were determined to survive,

They drifted closer to the shore,
but she bust the door of their little boat
they ripped the side of her six meter coat,
but she managed to stay afloat.

They aim directly at her throat 
it misses, and burns the side of her coat.
She growls and barks, rises and spins,
and prances at their boats with a sudden fling.

Barrage of bullets puncture her gut,
she howls and groans but didn’t give up,
she overturns  their  speeding boat,
and catches them under her strouth.

She rips apart their arms and legs,
and have supper with their bleeding heads, 
she grinds them in her toothless jaws,
no one could escape her formidable  claws.

She dances and hisses, 
Splashes and dashes,
Smashing the boat with her sinister tail,
and quenches her thirst with their blood stained veil.

Loretta escaped that grisly moment,
and grips tightly to the overturned boat,
with the knife aiming directly at her throat.
death faces death, fear faces fear,
the midnight massacre begins.

Slashing and piercing,
stabbing and gorging,
Loretta’s fear dissolves in thin air.
her bullet rigged body and rocket torn Jaws,
caused  Loretta to gazed in awe,
one single knife, and one single throw,
Loretta empties her swollen gut with a single blow.

They came out one by one,
married men and single women, 
severed arms and broken legs,
and corpses of missing children.

Pretty women and wealthy men,
leak out of her bleeding gut,
maggot oozing out of their flesh. 
What really happens before their death?

Skeleton fingers wrapped around barbie dolls,
some still holding their little beach balls,
carrying their little  buckets and spade,
they must have being playing before they strayed.

Man against beast, beast against man
the midnight massacre was where it all began.


                                                                                       ©2013 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Nnachetam Stanislaus | Details |

mosquito and man

MOSQUITO AND MAN
Oh no! Why do men hate me so much? From incarnation even as I try to make my legs and hands and buttocks as small as anything! So they can’t say am competing with their colossal legs and hands and their protruding buttocks!
They say; we knew it! Right from the first sight, he was bent on evil with the ulterior motive that, whenever he perches on the sweet succulent, fresh, flesh - of ours, it won’t be noticed. Because he believes men are fools after all, big brains are not found in big bodies.
Men are evil.  As I try to befriend, the more they inflict pains on me. Ok! I feel rejected and dejected by men, I considered it and thought it wise to detach myself from men by living in nearby bushes and rejected dumped waste and refuse.
They say; ah! Mosquito, you always make use of that little sense of yours. It is all pretence; you love men so much that you can’t live without them! Ok, if you say you want detachment, why must it be near men’s homes, or their dumped refuse and liquid waste? Why not very far at the desert so men won’t complain again. You love men! It is even clear as you lay your eggs where you feel you hate.
Men are ignorant. Ungrateful idiots! Their brains are stuffed with manure. Ok! If I hate men, why should I use the talent God gave me to make them comfortable? I use the best musical instrument; harp, flute with my wonderful composing way of singing, just to make them happy yet they detest me. Ok! How many men are musicians? How many even use the talent God gave them? Since God made me a musician from incarnation I will continue to use the talent, no matter how men feel.
Mosquito, Jackson of the age. You sing and even dance for men’s comfort! But the question is, if you love men as such, Why must the benevolent be a sort of boring? Why must it be at odd hours in the night made for resting? Even as we say stop! You still continue your singing. We don’t need it please! Your singing is a discomfort for men.
Ok! What of the affection I show to prove my love? I kiss your flesh and blood, just like any other man does by kissing the tongue and saliva of a female partner for love! Do you appreciate it at all? All I get from you are rancor and malice. Our judgment will be in heaven certainly.
The problem with you (mosquito) is that you don’t accept fault, very controversial and a very big threat to man. That is what you are! Accept your nature. You say you show affection, ok! Have heard of a man who kisses and inflicts pain on the partner? Perhaps by eating up the tongue or ejecting poisonous liquid in the partner’s mouth? But when you kiss, you disfigure our flesh and inject malaria into our bodies. Is that what you call love? We don’t want such affection, just know that; once you come around, we are at alert and always ready to strike! Let the worst happen in your so called heaven.


Long Poems