Long poem by
Mario DE PAZ | Details |
(Continuing the trip through Hell of Dante with poet Virgilio)
Pah-peh Sah-tan, Pah-peh Sah-tan al-ept!”,
Started Pluto with his hoarse voice toss
And that gentle wise, who any knowledge kept,
Told to encourage me: “don’t have a loss
By your fright: since any power has he,
Shall not forbid us this rock down to cross”.
Then he turned to that face swollen to see,
And told him: “You have to shut up, wolf damn!
To consume your rage in yourself agree.
A good why there is to go in this dram:
It is willed up there, where Michael just
Could the wild pride with revenge lam”
Like the ship canvas by blowing wind thrust
Fall totally wrapped, when breaks down the mast
So fell to ground the cruel monster bust.
So we got down in the fourth circle vast,
Of the mournful bank then achieving more
Where every sin of universe is massed.
Ow divine justice! Where find anymore
New travails and pains as the ones I saw?
And why our fault reduces us so sore?
Like a wave does over Cariddi raw
Crashing on that which meets while rebounding,
So here people fights for a tragic flaw.
Here people was more than else abounding,
On one part and the other, with high screams,
With hard back force just heavy weights rounding.
Jostled each other; and after in such reams
Each one turned around, then rounding back,
Screaming: “Why do you hold? And “Why joke themes?”.
So they were turning in the circle black
From every side to the opposing side,
Shouting in turn with their ribaldry thwack;
Then each one turned again, when to end lied,
Through his half circle to the opposing end.
And I, with my heart in pain almost tied,
Told: “My master, now you some word expend
About these guys, and if clergy where all
These with tonsure who stay at our left trend”.
And he to me: “All had of blindness fall
In their minds during their previous life,
That money spent or save with restraint small.
Too much their voice barks with clear strife,
When they reach the two parts of circle round
Where are unpaired when odd faults are rife.
These were clerics, who are not crowned
With top hairs, popes and cardinals as well,
Whose greedy stinginess had to abound”
And I: “Master, among these who here fell
I should be able to recognize some guys
Who for certain failed in these sins for hell”.
And he to me: “In vain this hope can rise:
Their shameful life that made them to be dirt
Renders beyond recognition their guise.
Eternally these two will fight and hurt:
These ones will rise again from their tomb
With closed fist, the others with hairs curt.
Bad giving and bad holding gave them doom
To lose the heavens, forcing them to fight:
Without any regard, for other words no room.
Now you can see, my dear, how much is tight
The use of goods which with Fortune come,
To which the human beings commit quite;
Since of existing gold and too the sum
With ancient one, of all these weary souls
What tempers their hunger could not become”.
“My master”, then I told, “tell me the roles
Of this Fortune which you evoked to me,
What is it, which so the world’s goods controls?”.
And he: “Ow humans fool to high degree,
So much ignorance is offending you!
Now with my sentence you must just agree.
The one whose knowledge transcends any view,
Created heavens and a guide them gave
In order to any place the shine ensue,
An even dealing out of light to save.
Similarly with the human shines he made
Titling general minister, guide brave
Who could exchange goods of any vain grade
From people to people and among breeds,
The adverse will of humans to dissuade;
Thus one people grows faint and other leads,
Fortune judgment to follow they are bound,
Which is as occult as a snake in weeds.
Your knowing can make to her no rebound
She provides, judges, and pursues as well
Hers reign as do other gods being crowned.
Hers changes are then frequent and impel:
She must for necessity have great speed;
Is frequent who succeeded to excel.
She is the crucified often indeed
Even by the ones who should her commend,
Her giving blame with fault and bad read;
But she is blissful and does not intend:
With other prime creations has delight
Turns hers sphere and is joyful with no end.
Now almost we descend to major blight;
Any star then already falls which rose
When I first moved, and delay isn’t right”.
We cut the circle at the else bank close
Over a seething water source to spill
Into a ditch deriving from its flows.
Water was darker than its dirt to fill;
And we, following the course of waves dark,
Went below through a different way still.
In the so called Stix quagmire as a mark
Goes then this wicked stream, when it went down
To the grey beaches evil to remark.
And I, while closely was looking around,
Saw muddy people down in that morass,
Were naked all of them, with an aspect frown.
These one to other hit with hands in mass,
But with head and with breast and with feet too,
With teeth cutting each other in contrasts.
The good master told: “My dear son now you
See just the souls of those by anger won;
And I would also like that you sure knew
That underwater sighing still goes on,
Which then makes this water boiling on top,
As your eye can tell you wherever spun.
Steeped down in slime they tell: “Our faulty drop
Had place in sweet air where is happy sun,
We brought with us a very slothful flop:
We are now with gloom in the black sludge spun”.
This anthem they are gurgling in the throat,
Since any full word from them can’t outrun”.
So then we turned around the dirty moat
A long way, between the pond and dried bank,
Looking guys in mud cramming and no float.
We reached then a tower back foot from flank
Long poem by
Richard Lamoureux | Details |
You might wonder what happens during the course of the day with a profiler. I'm known as the watcher. Little insignificant things can make the difference in cracking a case. A subtle glance, a dilated pupil the tightening of a jaw. Let me take you back to yesterday so you will understand.
"Rick I need you to come in here." "Alright captain, what do you have for me?" "We have an Arson on our hands, Rodrigues is interviewing the family now." "What do we know about them captain?" "Husband and wife are separated, the daughter was living with the mom in the family home. Nothing left of the home, burnt to the ground." "Do we know where the fire started?" "Yes it looks like it started in the girls bedroom. Enough talking Rick lets pay attention to what's going on."
Captain Branson is an impatient man, he thinks this watcher stuff is a pile of bullshit. He's all about old fashioned police work. Still here I am detective first class with a pile of successes under my belt. So the upper brass have thrust me upon him. He tolerates me, in private he tells his buddy's I'm a lucky sh*t and one day my luck is going to run out.
I looked through the one way glass into the interrogation room. The dad was sitting furthest away. He is dressed impeccably dark blue suit, white shirt and a red tie with matching handkerchief. He also sports a hundred dollar haircut and speaks with controlled precision. While he speaks he looks at Rodriguez with a certain disdain. His arms are folded and he keep looking down at his watch.
The daughter is a contrast in opposites, unkept purple hair and wearing a black loose fitting dress. There are scratches on her arm that she is picking at. Several piercings adorn her lips nose and eyebrows. On her shoulder there is a broken heart tattoo that says Daddy's Girl.
The wife is a thirty something beauty with long blond hair. She is casual yet elegant, a natural look that has taken hours to achieve. She is on the opposite side of the table from her husband and somehow it does not seem far enough. As her husband speaks her left eye has a subtle twitch.
Rodriguez fidgets with the earbud as he asks the dad if he wants something to drink. The dad snaps back " let's just get this over with I have to get back to work." Rodriguez just smiles and asks the wife and daughter if he can get anything for them. The daughter continues to pick at her arm. The wife politely says "no thank you." "Well then we can get started." Rodriguez gets up opens the door and a large matronly officer enters. Rodriguez asks the daughter and mom to accompany her. The daugter rises and walks with a slow detached gait, her mom follows with a practiced elegance.
Rodriguez looks at the man and says, "let's start with what we know, we know the fire wasn't accidental. There was an accelerant used in your daugters room." The dad looked Rodriguez in the eye and said "so why are you talking to me? I don't even live there anymore." Rodriguez asks the dad where he was between nine and eleven that morning. The man quickly responds that he was working at the office with his assistant. Rodriguez asks if anyone else may have seen him that morning. He says not that he's aware of. Talking through the earbud I ask Rodriguez to end his questioning for now.
Captain Branson says, "we checked the Navigation on his BMW, it shows his vehicle didn't leave the parking lot till three this afternoon. Personally my money is on the crazy daughter, I checked and she started a fire a few years ago behind their neighbors shed." "Ok captain we'll start with her next. I'll be back in a minute I need a cup of coffee." I leave the room just as the dad leaves the interrogation room. Rodriguez motions for him to sit down. As he sits he crosses his legs and I notice he is wearing a new pair of shoes and there is a small white stain on his cuff. Once again I notice him looking at his watch. I walk by him to the coffee machine without him even giving me a glance.
Back in the interrogation room Rodriguez is sitting with the girl, she has yet to make eye contact with him. I tell Rodriguez to start the interview. He does the usual attempt at rapport building but it garnishes no warm and fuzzies. Enough of that he asks her where she was this morning. She says she was out behind the bleachers at school. He asks if anyone can verify her being there. She says no, she was by her self. He asks about the fire behind the neighbors shed. She says "it looks like you have already made up your mind. Why don't you just lock me up?" This is the first time she looks him in the eye. Rodriguez says he just wants to get to the truth. "The truth? No one cares about the truth, why would I burn down my own room?" She looks defiant and hurt, the look of someone who has been accused of many things. I tell Rodrigues enough for now. The captain says "what? Is that it?" "Relax Captain she's not your girl. Rodriguez bring the wife in."
The wife looks a lot more relaxed without the husband in the room. She sits back easily in the chair with her legs crossed gracefully at the ankles. She pulls out a lighter and cigarette and asks if it is okay if she smokes. Rodriguez apologizes and says there is no smoking on the premises. She says "that's okay I'm trying to quit." She tells him she started again after the separation. Rodriguez asks her who she thinks started the fire. She says she has no idea but she can't imagine who would want to burn down their home. She loses her composure for a moment and starts to cry. She looks up at him with her big blue eyes filled with tears. Rodriguez passes her a tissue and asks if she is okay to continue. She says sure she just needs a moment to compose herself. He asks her to tell him about her husband.
Long poem by
Desheya Swaby | Details |
The large, bright Winter moon shone it's heavenly light over and out amongst the snow-covered city. The city was large, the city was noisy. It was midnight and the bustling still urged on. People ached for a screaming, gangs clutched for their money, the elderly walked the icy sidewalks alone and or in couples; such a beautiful sight it was. At the very top of the Empire State building, a young-looking woman with ivory, glowing skin slumped her spine up against one of the boxed structures set over, preferably the corners. Her eyes glimmered with a soft red shine in them, her gaze was holding and even dangerous but yet a calmness instilled in her body, instilled in her soul. She was confused, she was.. What was the emotion long forgotten? She pushed her head up against the upper part of the ventilator before closing her eyes lazily, then did she turn her head, watching the moon pester her with it's large size. She rolled her head a moment. "Why do these feelings still exist? Why does unhappiness set the mood? The consecrated belief of this form was for the lovely destiny of being what I am now.." Her long, wavy hair danced with the cold breeze that swept in her direction. She found herself entranced in the lustrous sphere, floating there in the confines of the atramentous skies, dotted with sparkling partners.
As she sighed, her breath came in a swirl of thick fog. She felt no cold, she felt no warmth. She just felt sick.
Suddenly, as if everything stopped in the undeniable present of the moment, the sound of civilization cut off completely. Not a honk was heard, not a gunshot was sounded, not even the wind that whispered to her so dreamily could tell her secrets now. There was a presence. A strong presence, and a voice; a deep, rough voice;
"Child, have you not learned? Have you no shame? Have you no comprehension to the reasons of your being?"
It was a male's voice and it was most familiar out of a lot of voices, she heard it so much that sometimes, she thought herself to lose even her own infernal sanity. If she lost that, all hope was lost for her soul to linger somewhere as it did now. The woman turned around, folding her arms over her breasts as she did so, her eyes set upon a large silhouette that hid within the shadow of one of the large ventilators behind her. The male stepped out from the shadow, staring over her with spine-shattering, shimmering crimson irises. He stood six foot nothing and had long white hair just as she possessed. His jaws were squared out and his chest was large. "I have but more shame than you may know, but, in general, do you know too much.." She frowned. The man smirked only slightly to where it wouldn't even be considered a half smile or any in relation. "You're unhappy. You're dissatisfied. When clearly, you are to be neither. You have been a Devil of Dis for some time now and I think, perhaps, it's time for you to control it."
It was only their voices and behind their voices and words were soft echos. As every city commotion went on down below, as the lights flashed and cars crashed, nothing seemed like reality to her anymore, not even in her moments of thoughts. She was always being watched, no matter what. She couldn't feel shame. She never had that chance. She never had that chance to suffer the right way and die the right way as well. A faded memory of her Mother transitioned into her thoughts. She turned around, her back facing him now. She kept her arms crossed. She said nothing.
He walked up behind her before placing a single, large, talon-tipped hand upon her right shoulder, gripping firmly. His palm was warm. She didn't look up. "You fight with yourself.. Often and you know it all too well, girl." She could feel the gaze of his aura-seething eyes pierce into the back of her head. She parted her pale lips to speak; "I've got to find myself, I suppose. But, underestimate me not. It's harder than I've realized." Her back pushed up against his muscle-bound chest absentmindedly as she leaned into the fiery warmth of his massive form. The pit of her stomach felt as though it would close in on itself at any moment just not too long ago and now, it felt the growing ball of fire that set ablaze to her chest and overwhelming her beating heart. Hot breath caressed her slim jawline as she soon snapped from her flow of thoughts. She closed her eyes, nudging her body into his suddenly when she found herself facing him unexpectedly. Did she move here on her own?.. She let her head rest against his chest, his large hands running over her curved sides and behind, brushing his fingertips along her lower back with almost fervent passion before she tilted her head up, meeting up with his sharp structured face and the demand in his eyes, feeling the same breath brush over her face. The female fiend leaned up, placing her hands upon his broad shoulders and just as she tilted her head, brushing her lips over his own once. He disappeared.
In the same moment, her body posed in the same form just as if he was still there before she stepped back, her large, black wings folding up against her form. His voice rang through the air or her own air even before it entered into her subconscious, acting as such; "Act on your own, for I will be watching you..." And as his words faded into the soft echoes of tomorrow, the shuttering noises of New York followed in from soft to normal volume once again. She stared into the velvet skies, spying a single star that remained larger than the rest of it's comrades. She sighed softly, contemplating this.
Long poem by
Suzette Richards | Details |
It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.
screeching seagulls dive
at sushi scraps on a plate -
the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier).
I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
between moon flowers -
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time.
The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat
shut out the bitter world -
a heart pounds
*The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia.
"bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers...
"flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku.
Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia
Long poem by
S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Details |
The Story of History
Beyond those beaten days’ depleted daylight
Beyond the bathos of a pandemic bondage
With the resurrected sashay’s charmed night
Down in the dumps at the pretentious proscenium
A shy orchestration sans bark and bite
Afloat in the air of inarticulate mind games
Intuitive rains, first ever, like the touch of Midas
Informed dense minds and filled their dented bowls
Birthing the quartet of Vedas and similar works
There was this epic, longest ever , they say
Bales and bales of tales in miscible moral wraps
With a natal nugget, on tall righteous props
The Mahabharata with the Gita, like Mata, Pita
And its transcendental twin revered more
For a daily hosanna..the Ramayana with a deep lore
Banish-evil-battle-cries, confronting blasted minds
Search lights, self’s unfoldment and its kind
Her children made but never did dig history
But loved digging up its bedraggled mystery
To find bone dry drains, history’s torn veins
Below multi layered mud and muddled bricks
Twisted and labored logic on tensile testaments
Sites that suffered blights thru unknowable nights
To find the four battens , the debacle, to follow
Someone on the way labeled it Harappa .
All the while Light ruled, but rigours too brewed
Calling often for a reordering of ways so crude
Then there were slices of truce..
Of collapsed black holes the horizon was full
Faded for once their gravitational pulls
Exploding back as eternal stars ..
Alongside kings ruled and kingdoms rolled
‘ Ruler’-coaster-rides on thrones and thorns followed
Till bandit chieftains erased the all important lines
To the dance of dust from an advancing west
Battling to drop anchors on motherly chest.
Bare-faced brigands. Among their odious offspring
Some stood out to shine with a stupendous ring
Either putting up statecraft’s show pieces
Or scripting epitaphs in eponymous edifices
Till dissipated and deterred they too heard
The trenchant call of folks come from far to trade
That would spell , in time, your damnation
In manacles of measured manipulations.
Against its prolonged , protracted reticulation
Rose legit gripes from gregarious formations
That would coalesce under the one and only Gandhi
Into their momentous waking into life and freedom
Split up, as it were, into two bickering fragments
To play fitfully, for ever, their petulant fiddles
Averse to complement under demagogic detours
Falsely comfy under the convenience of inheritance
Six decades of self rule on, your children feel conned
Not for failed hopes, but for the disharmony that haunts.
An one- sport -nation fixated with a fixing -fame-game
Movie-obsessed , and with its TV
Blank beyond trivia and brand names.
Money and food are no problem for many
But, for too many, they are; vehicles are plenty
But roads aren’t ; laws are varied and abundant
Some redundant , but every pervert who counts
Interprets them different and funnily implements.
Health care wears a five star halo sans humaneness.
It never frees a dying adult or kid from its kinky tubes
Nor permit the company of kin to them for one last time
Ignores the terminally and unmovably sick stuck at home.
Agriculture does well, but farmers don’t ,.. and kill themselves
Petty retailers are swell making a killing, selling farm produce.
Stupidity grows muscles to muzzle humanity
Hunks grow on vitamins, video games and vanity
Freed millions press after pelf and power, plays hell
With the weak and the women , their perennial fair game
Profiteering, covert, overt, and across the board
The sick, the student, the seeker after any service
Any victim or one with a gripe being its victims
That’s by the very cream , no less, all the same
Media scream with scam and spam all the time
Even the ones,( that’s about all), with their own aims
The combined do’s of brash bravado and venality
A rash on governance and a blot on name.
Effete ethics and moribund morals, seniors mumble..
‘Equality before law’ means ’ Advantage to the outlaw’
Freedom for the grabs means restraints to many
Succour often hard-to -reach and reaching-too-late
Louts and lousy offices dot street corners and roads
Governance press after targets too disparate
To cohere or collaborate towards a wholesome goal,
Leaving holes for private or pet agendas to infiltrate.
Front-end-folks or prickly pears?
Menace, malice, avarice, lies, police…
Unrestrained delight in deliberate discourtesies.
Why -dad-anyway-Why- not- call-him-uncle-attitudes…
What does not tempt is in for contempt,
Being irreverent to the important, and indifferent
To the different, is the norm and the trend.
Democracy could well slip into demonocracy
Like when “Two wolves and a goat vote to decide dinner”**
In the absence of the Will to lift it to meritocracy?
PS: This poem ( 100 lines, 777 words, as it turned about to be ) is about INDIA, my country.
*”Mata, Pita ‘ mean Mother, Father
** Based on a quote seen somewhere.
S.Jagathsimhan Nair, 26 May 2013,
For Cyndi MacMillan’s contest.
Long poem by
Nii-Ayi Solomon | Details |
It was in the early days of our lives
She was so beautiful
My eyes could not stop admiring
My heart kept racing
Every time it sensed
her good-looking approaching
But we were too young
To give full meaning
To the love language
Time kept flying
We lost contact
But the memory of our past
We lugged with us
Fate found us
And brought us together
We have now grown
So big and sweet
We both glitter
At each other’s presence
We were ready to do a recap
of where we left off
We laughed and joked about our past
We talked about our hey days at the National Theatre
We remembered the beautiful past that reflects our true self
We both haven’t changed after all
At that moment my heart spoke
The love language again
I knew I was in love with her
It wasn’t today
It started from when we were kids
Man must gather confidence
And speak out his feelings
Thoughts of what she would say;
Don’t laugh at me,
We all do it sometimes
We were sweet friends
But now, I want to take
The friendship a step further
My heart in full swing
Of abnormal beating,
It beat faster
It spoke two different languages
Say it; and keep it
Don’t know which of these to believe
I was shy
I was afraid
I was confused
I was happy
I was sad
I felt insane
There she was,
Standing in front me
In their house
Beaming with smiles
Nii, she said tenderly,
‘I thought you said you had something to tell me,
Come on, I can’t wait any longer
My ears are itching’
My heart just jumped out
And now I want to escape from her presence
I wish I could vanish into thin air
Stop laughing at me
I’m not mouth lazy
I was just afraid of the outcome
What if she said NO?
What if I lose her as a friend?
What if she vanishes into thin air?
And the what if’s continued …
Once in a man’s life time
He must draw together courage
To speak out his feelings
After all, I would not have violated any law
For telling a sweet scented woman
Gorgeous, attractive and stunning
About what I feel for her
So my nerves were clamed
This was how I started…
Esther, I mean, Naa Adjeley
The confusion has started
Errrmmm, you see,
Still didn’t know what to say
Hmmm, hope you are doing great?
‘I guess your brother, Thomas,
Is doing fine?’
She stared at me intently
The smiles on her face kept
My hopes alive
And my heart awake
I knew she was expecting
Something more than making those comical remarks
It’s was now time to speak
Naa Adjeley, I travelled from Cape Coast
To Accra to come see you
To tell you I miss you
Please let it out
The small voice inside me whispered
I left campus to Accra just to let you know that
I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU
She laughed aloud and said
‘’are you serious!’’
‘Oh! Yes I am’
I said confidently,
Her face suddenly darkened
The smiles misplaced
I wanted to fade away from her presence
After all I’ve let my feelings out
That was what mattered to me
But I did not have that special magic
How long have you felt this way towards me?
The next question to answer
‘When we were kids,
But it was revamped quite recently’
I could see the confusion on her face
She needed some more time
To think things through
I was excited let it out
But she was confused
I went back to school,
We enjoyed chit chatting on the phone
But the answer to my request was still hanging
She mentioned in one of our conversations
She might be travelling
But didn’t say when
She was a nursing student
I was a tourism student
The beauty of having a friend
You know and love
kept my mind awake in school
School was on recess
I arrived in Accra
Left my things unpacked
Borrowed money from my old girl
Picked a cab to Banana Inn
To see the woman
That has taken my heart hostage
I kept bagging at their gate
Agoo! agoo! agooo!
Waiting in anticipation to see
Her fine looking face
And present her with my first gift
Her brother, Thomas opened up
‘Hey! Where have you been?
It’s been a while’
Was the first question
The only interest I had was to see her face
I wanted to see the woman
That makes my heart beat
She was all I cared about
Where is Naa Adjeley?
I enquired from Thomas
I saw the shock on his face
My breathe was not catching up
with me properly
I knew something was wrong
‘Where is she’,
I asked again
‘Didn’t she tell you
She was travelling?’
My face dropped dead at once
I felt a sharp heart ache
I almost fainted
She left for the U.K
Without even saying bye bye
Was that why, she didn’t give any reply
to my proposal?
Why did she keep my heart awake?
I left her house, depressed
Her gift was a bonus for the cab driver
My face drenched in pool of tears
I know it hurts
But I felt more relieved
My feelings had been made lucid to her
I now walk with my chest out
Ready to move on
Ready to open myself up to happiness
I still remember
My first love story
The one I have kept furtive
Over the years
My old time love.
Long poem by
Dorine R Spruill | Details |
Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on. So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother. The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again.
Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother. She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat. I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone.
I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do.
After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at
the red or the green
nothing then is certain
not even death but the life one endures
quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons
particles like men and beings in general
bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup
great teachers or rather teachers with great followings
those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking for them
especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy
would want us believe
there’s just This One
and all comes and goes to That Only ONE
If only it were just as simple as that
Then what is it that This One wants
Or is It caught up in its own caveat
And must of needs come apart
on the seed that It alone plants
and do what we may
nothing goes wrong
whatever the explanation
everybody is right
right from the start
Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand
Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold
and out again
for the Brahma Day
and after aeons the Brahma Night
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity
neither space nor time
squeezed in and out
Birth as in Death
An eventual point of total extinction
if ever there was one
Yet always the two extremes
and the ever-changing in-betweens
Matter versus Anti-Matter
Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin
Though matter itself is neither
Is nor Is-Not-ness
And the 96% Dark Matter
And the infinite number of parallel universes
Does it really matter
‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !
You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’
Vanish into what
or just non-dark matter
Still the duality of matter
Still the ever-changing conundrum
Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs
‘Sex is emotion in motion.’
into thin air
and roots one here
tied to the lunar year
why should it matter
if we cannot know the reason why
ego id libido
drive faith fame femme father future
if super/alter ego connects the ego
to the collective unconscious
why drown the self in the Great Self
by wilful act
when the Ultimate One
is the sum of all the little ones
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones
each of whom must move to eat drink sleep
copulate make money grow roots in a society
get and fight to keep a job
make love marry raise children
struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children
one’s house if one can get one
one’s career one’s future
and helter-skelter race to cheat death
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew
What does it matter if it keeps changing in view
Of the desperate haste with which everything
We see smell hear feel intute sense
Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich
And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way
Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda
Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters
Through some trillion cataclysmic light years
What’s the impulse to keep moving
Is the yogi’s stilled-centre
The death of all action
Which cannot call for a reaction
Or is the art of keeping still
Merely the art of making belief
‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting
until your performed role becomes your normal character.
Then you are safe inside your character armour.’
As soon as you have thought It out
It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out
and you know just why
don’t you now
References to the quotations
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.
Attributed to Mae West.
Eric N. W. Mottram, « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.
I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.
Long poem by
Dylan Irvin | Details |
The things outside of my window dry out my eyes. The egg that I saturated has mold on it. The moon decays when I speak. The stars are all just God’s germs. Lately Holly has been combing her hair with a wrench and brushing her teeth with razor blades. I don’t remember the last time I was sober. Does it matter anyway? My nightmares are born in water and I can’t afford a boat. Money is just something you use to wipe up your brains’ blood with. My neighbor says the ocean is where civilization will be reborn.
Does happiness come with a warranty? It’s been so long since I’ve gone to the store, so I wouldn’t know. My neighbor is paranoid. He carries his rifle wherever he goes. What happens to feelings after you can’t feel anymore? Holly says that the shower nozzle feels better than I do. Last night I found an artificial word under my bed. I see faces in the winter. They all look at me like I’m spring.
Some moth keeps fluttering by my window, it can’t get out. The moon calls for its soul. It has to stare at its dream through inescapable glass. Just like the reflection does in the mirror. Do colors look the same to other people? What if blue for you was red for them? Then they would literally have a red sky, and they would still be calling it blue. Holly says my brain is as good as that moth. Which, I wouldn’t doubt, except I write poetry and he commits suicide by lamp
Some guy asked me if I had someone by the name of Frank sleeping in my apartment anywhere. What a freak. My neighbor says I should stock up on canned foods. He is a freak too. I think my pencil has been drinking. Satisfaction, for me, is like frozen alcohol. Holly showers too much. She is a freak. I want to drive to New York. Who am I kidding; I’m too sober to drive.
This hotel is making me go sane! Every time I lay down I hear the snore of the one’s who have slept here before me. My neighbor tells me that we are all going to be cannibals. Holly’s brain was spilling blood, so I cleaned it with quarters. This place smells like… well I can’t make out the smell exactly. Shut up Holly.
This part is not in the instructions?
…Uh…I don’t know...go away…stop reading this… You’re still here huh? I’ve drank too much solvent tonight. The casing will never get cleaned now. You probably don’t know what that is. I feel lkie cuittng fof my fingre adn puttung ut in Hlly’s wine. I’m real gone.
Part # 4
This wine tastes like the blotches on the moon. Holly says I’m the worst person that she has ever felt. Her compliments are intriguing. That moth is still desperately trying to get out of the window. I’m just going to turn on the lamp. Anti-tobacco commercials make me want to smoke a cigarette. Last night my neighbor shot his T.V. and the recoil made him fall on his head. Apparently he died or something. That’s a shame, that was a damn good television.
Part # 8
Are you even real? Are any of us even real? What is real? I see the ghost of Rimbaud sitting on the chair mocking me. Is he real? People would call me crazy, but it’s those same people who say that one guy died for us and then was resurrected from the dead by someone who supposedly created the universe. If that’s real, then where did the creator come from? I pour out all the rivers of the world onto the concrete sky. Holly says my eccentricity makes me abnormal. Is she even normal? Are any of us even normal? What is normal?
Part # 9
Normal is someone who conforms to the shackles of society. Holly says that I need to **** her more. But that’s not the hard part; the hard part is pretending that I enjoy it. At what cost does a man finally enable himself to be free? How many bottles of hard liquor does it take? How many different drugs? How many different women? How many different faces does he need to wear? I guess the better question is; how many mistakes does a man need to make before he benefits from them?
Part # 10
I am real gone. I am the static in your television. I am a creak in your house. I am a mastodon. I am extinct. I am a ghost. My mind is six feet under but my feet are still walking. I am the core of the apple. I am not the pit of a peach. I am poetry not for the masses. I am the book never to be read. I am the moth at your window. I am a mechanism. You are a mechanism. Holly is a mechanism. We are all mechanisms working together to form a machine. A selfish, ungrateful and greedy machine that will destroy the planet Earth in which we are only guests. We take advantage of this place but it does not take advantage of us. I am a phantom and these are mechanisms that keep me transparent.
Long poem by
Carrie Richards | Details |
"It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird.
When playing games with rocks or guns, defray,
them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!" "Whispered words
of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day"
Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds,
exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare,
spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees,
lining streets, during mad-dog summers.
Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right
in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring
up dust, where resistance incites,
although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved.
Scout, Jem, ...best bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky
Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns
Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns
yet challenged, the precocious child
making assumptions. Folks would confound her!
Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling
Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring,
people napping, long afternoons. Wilted yawns
of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed,
with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed.
Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs
and secret hate. Some hid by day, and spending
their nights in masquerade, while crosses burned.
We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend
Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams
in 1930. Civil rights were just a dream
In 1930, civil rights were just a dream,
and motherless children were coming of age.
Bare feet were swift. Bandaged knees and hands unclean,
would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade.
A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house,
watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed.
The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout!
Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash.
Putting yourself into another man's shoes,
is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem.
They've faced their fear, and will make a friend. "Boo",
the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems.
Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch.
A measure of integrity, inch by inch.
A measure of integrity, inch by inch,
advocate for those who won't stand a chance.
Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch
in a depression full blown. Money is scant.
Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck.
What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong.
Someone must stand at the end of the day,
where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger.
Regardless of skin, be it black, be it white
Unfit, by standards of talcum shaved chins,
if injustice is war, he'll give his lot.
The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end
Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies
when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle
When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle,
false accusations can simmer, slowly inciting
bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries
of hate. Screaming "rape" into the night.
Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff
with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality,
amphibian worms, as if from a trough,
gorging on mania. They covet brutality.
Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing.
Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control.
Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding
the truth. Some would sell their mother's soul.
They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin.
Where white man's word, over a black, always wins.
Where a white man's word, over black, always wins,
was a rule of the thumb, during those years...
The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned,
taken away and waits to die, and endure
With Indian summer, waxing and waning,
Atticus chooses the simplest words.
His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding,
in trying to explain, that most men are good.
He tells them, gently, how someone so crude,
even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil
perhaps in his life, was misunderstood.
The hellish of summers begins to unravel.
But another ill wind, would brew up a storm,
to bring more than a flurry, into their home.
To bring more than a flurry into their home,
burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow.
Carved pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms
in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows
As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail,
a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions
Then, someone appears! Halts this devil,...,Ewell
is not immortal! .....as we come to conclusion.
A guardian presence, waiting to rally
has kept a vigil, guarding children who run,
swiftly through thickets. Lonely Boo Radley,
appeared like an angel, a bird seeking the sun
So pure of heart, and a thing so rare
It is a sin to kill a mockingbird