Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
Star dust, the stuff of a fool’s dreams.
Oh !!!, to travel upon star dust streams
- that glorious, never ending journey -
into the realms, the space of many.
This old spirit, seems, not to fit into any
mold nor on any rung of the social latter,
that, I think, should not, ever matter.
And so I have to wonder ?,
as upon this planet, I wander.
Is there any place for me ?,
where I might fit in – one day to see ?
In my youth, some perceived me to be
Sall Minnio, even the King,
- Elvis Presley, - this idea girls would bring
with them, in their pursuit of me.
As an adult, I came to be seen
– an Italian, a Greek, a Mexican –
a First Nations is what I’ve been
as folks do the best they can.
As people guessed at my race,
looking and looking into my face,
the essence, the spirit, the soul of this man.
Yet nowhere do I fit - I belong to no place.
Nowhere do I find a fitting space
for this German, French, British, Native,
gene pool, my heritage doth give.
Plus the few – long forgotten – more
that came through the genetic door
– open for viewing the heart of this old soul –
where there is reflection and getting to know.
There have been some who would pass
this face of many – this face of looking glass
refraction – to see truth – a Redman’s blood in the veins
of this First Nation soul – the spirit which remains
for this old soul, the essence of my spirit,
even in times when many would not tolerate it.
And so, it is not a wonder
why this soul seems to flounder,
cannot find anything sounder,
between the jagged, ragged edges
of created, keen, sharp - wedges
between who and what I am, and
where it is I could possibly stand.
There is not – it seems to me – a place
where I fit in, can stand, turn and face,
see a possible niche – a place to belong,
before, my life is almost gone,
as I look back upon all the roads,
- the stories, the tales, the heavy loads –
I have travelled, yet know not what will be told
of what rung, on the social ladder I hold,
what plateau to find shelter in ?,
what plane to fly above, be comfortable in ?,
what place to rest my spirit, my soul within ?,
what space can I find to forget all the sin ?
I have walked with the sane and insane.
I have talked with the educated and uneducated.
I have been in the company of intelligence and unintelligent.
I have laid with the secure and the insecure.
I have laid with passion’s fire and frigid’s cold.
I have known the moral and the immoral.
I have known those of faith and the faithless
I have known the killed and the killer
I have known those who have taken their own lives
I have known the givers and the takers
I have known the movers and the shakers
I have known the honest and the dishonest
I have known the psychic and the blind.
I have known the truth sayers and the bullshitters,
The fast lane, the slow lane, the middle lane I’ve moved in.
The sober, the drunkard – I’ve been and been with.
The strong, the weak – I’ve been and been with.
The used, the abused – I’ve been and been with.
The users and the abusers -- I’ve known and know me.
The wealthy, the poor – I’ve known and know me.
Financial wealth and Spirituality -- I’ve known and know me.
The saver of a life -- I’ve known and was me.
The living and the dead -- I’ve known and know me.
Having a brush with artists has been my fate.
Having acted up with entertainers has been my fate.
Having had words with writers has been my fate.
Having become a rhymer, like my forth cousin, has been my fate.
I have played with players – strummed a note or two.
I have laid with singers-- sung a note or two.
I have laid with dancers – danced a step or two.
I have struck an arc alongside a welder – a time or two.
I have sprayed painted cars alongside a painter – a time or two.
Hammering out metal with body men – I have done.
Twisting wrenches with mechanics – I have done.
Busining along side business men – I have done.
Being a lover, I always thought, was my forte.
Being a husband, I thought I knew how to play.
Being a father, I thought I knew I would stay.
Being a friend, I thought was always my way.
To be a son – a child’s dream.
To be a brother – not to be it seems
as all the above drifts downstream,
leaving one to wonder, what life really means ?
Life’s journey can be a wondrous mystery !,
when one leafs through the pages of his history.
One’s life can also be a disastrous story ?,
one of little hope, dim light and no glory.
So what is left for this old fool ?,
but to carry on breaking the old rule,
rules that make it possible to call oneself a poet,
something I never call myself, a poet, and I know it !
I do the best I can
That is who I am !
Being a carny – traveling with The World’s Finest show.
For a couple of seasons – that is all I did know.
Being a dishwasher, a server, a busboy, a waiter, a manager
of a restaurant, many dimensions of life. I was egger
to come into contact with, to try and understand.
As fate would have it, understanding never came to this hand.
Today, a bum – forty eight years ago – father said
“ the best dressed bum in town ” would be my stead.
What goes around – at some point in time – comes around.
There is some truth to this, that I have certainly found.
Even though I have touched the edges of many a life.
Many places, pieces of each and everyone, not one has been
a place for me, a place I felt I belonged, the places I’ve seen
do not leave pillows for my spirit, beds to rest my soul, rife
with uncertainty, is my state, almost every day
I can find no place, no space for me to play.
Looking into this distorted collage
I wonder if it is but a mirage ?
My flaws lie in the heart of my feeling !, it is my sin !,
this belief that there is no place, no space where I fit in.
B. J. “A” 2
May 1st 2004
Long poem by
Vic Pister | Details |
When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Long poem by
Neldy Jolo | Details |
Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches
Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved
Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities?
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.
Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.
How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo
Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro
May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din
As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away'
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?”
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino”
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism
Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks
I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta
Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika
‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it
Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago
The name of people is Tausug.
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam
Is already a nation and state
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja
Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law
I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.
I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.
This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!
Long poem by
Mario DE PAZ | Details |
Of new pains new verses must be composed
To give matter for the canto twenty
Of the canticle first, treating sunk posed.
I just was inclined with desires many
To thoroughly look at the open deep,
Which was moisten of mournful cry plenty;
And I saw people in round valley creep
Coming to us, mute and weeping, with pace
Which do the litanies in world with weep.
As lower went directed then my face,
It appeared admirably subject to twist
Each one between his chin and the chest base,
Because their face was opposite to midst,
And then they were thus compelled to walk back,
Since the observing forward they had missed.
Maybe due to paralysis attack
Somebody was twisted completely all;
But I never saw him, total his lack.
If God lets you, reader, in mind install
What you have just read, now imagine then
If in wetting my face could not befall,
The closest to us image looking when
I saw thus distorted, that crying eyes
Wetted his buttocks falling down again.
Sure I cried, leaning on a jut with sighs,
Of the hardest reef, so that now my guide
Told me: “Are you of other silly guys?
Here the pity lives when it's well died;
Who is even more wicked than the one
Who to God justice is with pain complied?
Straighten your head, straighten, and see beside
The one whose eyes on Thebans’ ground posed were;
So that all were shouting to him: Where hide,
Anfiarao? Why war don't you concur?
And did not stop to leave to valley down
Til Minos who can everyone deter.
Observe now the ones who acted facedown;
Because wanted only forward to look,
Now only look and walk at back around.
You see Tiresias, who new face took
When from male to female became just,
The form of all his body thus to crook;
And before, then, to beat again he must
The two wrapped up snakes, with the magic rod,
So his male feathers he could adjust.
Aronta is that who womb tails in way odd,
Who there in the Luni’s mountains, where dig
Men from Carrara who live there and plod,
Had in the white marbles a cave big
As his daily dwelling, the stars from where
And the sea also he could see and twig.
And that woman who covers hers breasts bare,
Which you don’t see, with loosened tresses yet,
And has a skin full of fur everywhere,
Was Manto, who searching many lands met;
Then she rested there where I then was born;
So a bit I like that my words you get.
After hers father his life had lost worn
And after slave became the Bacchus’ town,
She went long time around the world forlorn.
Italy nice has a lake with renown,
At the foot of Alps which the Germans stop
Over Tyrol, Benaco is its noun.
Thousand sources and more, I think, from top
Twixt Garda, Camonica and Pennino wet it
With water which stands there after its drop.
Halfway a place trentin pastors admit
And from Brescia and from Verona too
Who could hail, if their way with place should fit.
Sitting is Peschiera, nice mean strong true
With the Brescian and Bergamask to deal,
Where the bank around is steeper and skew.
There the need of water falling is real
All that exceeds Benaco’s full indeed,
Becoming river down valley with reel.
After water starts running to proceed,
No more Benaco, but Mincio is its name
Til Governol, where Po river can feed.
Not long way has run, when it meets an aim
In which it flattens and becomes a slew;
Which in summer is bad deserving blame.
Just there passing the raw virgin knew
An ample ground, in the midst of mire,
Uncultivated and no dwellers through.
She there, all human beings to retire,
Stopped with hers servants practicing hers art
And lived, and left hers vain corps to expire.
Men who in near places were split apart
Joined that site, because it was clearly strong
Thanks to mire which encircled any part.
They built the city over those bones wrong;
And in hers honor who first chose the site
Mantua was called with no chance along.
Already dwellers be numerous might,
Before the foolish Casalodi’s craze
By Pinamonte was deceived onsite.
For this I instruct you, if in some ways
You hear misplaced the true source of my land,
The truth could win any fib which betrays”.
And I: “Master, your thoughts are indeed grand
And are so sure to capture my faith then,
Such as the others would be extinct brand.
But tell me, of those forward walking men,
If you can see any who deserves note;
Since only to this I use mind and pen”.
He then told me: “That one who now from throat
Poses his own beard on the shoulders dark,
Lived – when Greece of males was empty moat,
Such as remained for babycots almost stark-
As augur, and with Calcant then hint gave
In Aulis to cut the first rope as remark.
Eurypilus his name, which I engrave
In parts of my poems here or there:
Which you well know and then in mind all save.
The other one with flanks skinny and bare,
Was Michael Scotto, who really had
Of the sorcery frauds knowledge and care.
See Guido Bonatti, Asdente bad,
Who now to his leather and to his thread
He would like to attend, but late is sad.
See there the dreary ones who were misled
From needle, pin and spool to be divine;
They did then enchantments with herbs instead.
But come yet now, because reaches confine
Of both hemispheres and touches wave
Down Seville Caino and forms of spine;
And yet yesterday night full moon behaved;
You should remember it then now so well
Because in the dark wood your way it saved”
So he, while going on, kept on to tell.
Long poem by
Mario DE PAZ | Details |
Quelle vicende vissi fino in fondo.
Quando mi riappropriai della mia vita
Se questo è un uomo chiesi a tutto il mondo.”
Those events I lived through and through.
When I again impropriated of my life
If this is a man I asked all the world.
La sua voce non era ancor svanita
Quando i miei occhi lucidi di pianto
Non vider la sua immagine, sparita.
His voice had not yet vanished
When my eyes shining with tears
Did not see his image, disappeared.
Ed ecco fra le nebbie appar d’incanto
Un uomo che un bastone in mano serra
Il corpo avvolto nel suo bianco manto.
And now within the fogs appears by magic
A man holding a stick in his hand
His body wrapped in a white mantle.
“Mi chiamo Charles. Nacqui in Inghilterra
Studiai a lungo piante ed animali
Nei luoghi più sperduti della Terra.
”My name is Charles. Born in England
Long I studied plants and animals
In the most remote places of the earth.
Così scoprii che i vivi sono tali
Seguendo una complessa evoluzione
Che seleziona gli organi ottimali.”
So I discovered that living beings are such
Following a complex evolution
Which selects the organs at their best.
A lui risposi: “Ho la sensazione
Che troppo in breve tempo sia accaduto
Per aver sì perfetta selezione.”
I answered him: ” I have the impression
That in a too short time, all this has happened
To obtain a selection that’s so perfect”
“Nel breve tempo mio non ho potuto
Capire a fondo quello che implicava
Non abbastanza avendo riflettuto.
”In my not long time I was not able
To deeply gather what was implied
Not enough having on the thing reflected.
Ma la cosa importante mi sembrava
Che fosse il caso a governar gli eventi
Contro l’idea di un fine che creava.”
But it looked to me at most important
That had fortuity to drive the events
Against conception of a creating end.”
Mentre seguivo lui con occhi attenti
Vidi venir stendendo la sua mano
Un abissino che mi disse: “Senti.
While I was following him with watchful eyes
I saw to come holding out his hand
An Abyssinian telling me: “Listen.
Sono Bikila Abebe l’africano
Vinsi correndo a Roma a piedi nudi
Inseguito dagli altri a lungo invano.
I am Bikila Abebe the african
I won in Rome running barefoot
Chased from others long in vain.
Tornato in patria vissi tempi crudi
Incolpevole tratto alla prigione,
E venni offeso con percosse rudi.”
Back homeland I had hard times
Innocent stretched into prison,
And I was offended with beatings rough.”
Non feci in tempo a coglier l’occasione
Di parlare con lui scomparso tosto
Nelle nebbie del sogno in confusione.
I had no time to seize the opportunity
To talk with him, disappeared straightway.
Poi poco a poco un viso prende posto
Nella mente emergendo come scoria
Dal ferro fuso ed a lui mi accosto.
Then little by little a face takes place
In my mind emerging as were slag
From molten iron and I approach him.
“Mi chiamo Lenin: ebbi breve storia
Dopo che feci la rivoluzione
Di cui nel tempo resterà memoria.
”My name is Lenin: I had short story
After performing the revolution
Whose memory will last long time.
Dopo di me un uomo col baffone
Impose la sua legge sanguinaria
Colpendo a morte ogni opposizione.
Right after me a man with big mustache
Imposed hardly his bloody law
Hitting to death any opposition.
Si dimostrò così velleitaria
L’idea di un mondo giusto e d’uguaglianza
Fondato sulla forza proletaria.
Unrealistic then was demonstrated
The conception of a world right and egalitarian
Based on the proletarian force.
Egli alla guida si pose con iattanza
D’un governo feroce e repressivo
Basato sulle armi e l’arroganza.”
He with arrogance took the head
Of a government fierce and repressive
Based on weapons and haughtiness.”
Mi apparve poi come se fosse vivo
Un indio dall’aspetto assai dolente
Le cui vicende di sapere ambivo.
Appeared then as if he was alive
An indium man looking very sad
Whose events I wanted to know.
“Taino fui e vissi in occidente
Finché non venne un uomo da lontano
Che ricercava il nuovo continente.
“Taino I was and I lived in west
Until a man came from far away
Looking for a novel continent”
Con amicizia lo accogliemmo invano
Malanni ed alcol ebber sopravvento
Uccidendoci in massa per sua mano.”
Friendly we welcomed him in vain
Ailments and alcohol took over
Killing us in mass through his hand.”
Mentre parlava venne un forte vento
Che mi portò lontano turbinando.
E tosto a meditar mi misi intento.
Whil he was talking a strong wind came
Which swirling brought me far away
And soon I started to ponder
Sugli incontri del sogno ripensando
Che l’umana virtù vien spesso offesa
Da chi solo potere va cercando.
Thinking again about the meetings in the dream
That human virtue is offended often
By people only searching for power.
Ma che sempre la fiamma resta accesa
Di chi la vita dona agli ideali
Credendo che in tal modo sia ben spesa.
But that always the flame is turned on
Of people who gives life to ideals
Believing that so it is well spent.
Vincendo forze avverse e tutti i mali
Che affliggon l’egoismo della gente
Volando in alto del genio sulle ali.
Winning adverse forces and all evils
Afflicting selfishness of people
Soaring on the genius’ wings.
Long poem by
Eileen Manassian | Details |
Where gladiators fought for life,
we meet to fight for love
The constellations in the Roman night sky,
celestial spectators, bathe the Colosseum
in the white blood of light
The night is throbbing with the heat of our battle,
our cries, more passionate than any that have gone before
A short while earlier
A well paid bribe found us in the remains of the Ludus Magnus,
the remains of the old Gladiator School in Rome
where lies buried
a hidden entrance to an underground tunnel
You pull me with you into dark underground world of legend
By light of a flickering torch,
we travel into the entrails of the behemoth,
coming in time upon the holding rooms
My breath catches
I hear the sounds of man and beast
carrying through the thin layers of time:
Slaves, criminals, debtors, all awaiting their fate…
Animals pawing, grunting, starved for food
Dying to kill to stave the gnawing pain
Waiting to be lifted up into the arena
Waiting to fight
Waiting to live or die
We break into the hypogeum
The crispness of the night air stings us
The vastness of it all paralyzes all thought
Rome comes ALIVE
The resurrection of history enflames us,
and as we mount those final stairs up to the arena,
I feel your excitement blazing through me
Your grasp is almost painful in jubilee
“We are here…HERE!” Your voice is laced with the sacred.
Between those famed arches…XIX and XX
You and I all and 50,000 ghost spectators
Here at the East Entrance
The Gate of Life Looms above us
True gladiators passed through these very gates
Here the applause coursed through their veins
And thundered to the captives below…
Here I stand
Quivering with the knowledge of all this night means to me
That thunder reverberates through MY body
I can hardly breathe
Your eyes are looking up at tiered levels
while mine look ahead
There is the walkway connecting the east to west
At the far side is the Libitinarian, the Gate of Death,
through which dead gladiators were dragged,
their bodies dumped in the Spoliarium
to be stripped of clothes and armor
Life and death
Here, they converged
Here, they fought
On this night
I will strip myself of my clothing and armor
I will let down my defenses
and give in to your onslaught of passion
Here… I will die to all but your eyes
I walk, quietly, with purpose
Here….in this place...
my virgin blood will be spilt
Halfway between life and death, I stop
I turn towards you
My voice reaches you on the night wind
“Come to me!”
I see you move towards me
My mighty gladiator
You who have fought my demons
You who have slain my nightmares
You who have held in check
A savage desire for possession
As you stand before me
I wonder if you know
Tonight is the night
You will plunder and ravage
to your heart's delight
your just reward
You find a place to keep the torch upright
You see the blanket I’ve spread on the ground
I answer the question in your eyes
With the curve of my lips
I steady my hands as they work to undress me
I feel my body burn in the warmth of your presence
Your eyes undress me faster than my hands can,
and yet... you are....immovable
You stand transfixed
You wait until my only covering
Is my flowing hair
"Make love to me
Here, now...be my gladiator
Come...claim your prize."
I reach out my hand to you
and in a moment
before my next intake of breath
you've come to life and crush me in your arms
Your mouth claims mine
like never before
your tongue explores
it takes what it will
You pull me in to you
Your hand in my hair,
my breath is raptured by your sheer strength
Your mouth travels along my neck
Hungry….like a famished animal finally set free to feast
You devour as you reach my cleavage
I lean back to let you savor my breasts
For the first time
You’re down on your knees
your tongue encircling my navel
going round and round and dipping inside
This prophetic dance of what is to come
washes over me
as you lower me to the ground
In a moment, I’m looking at the stars
The two brightest ones being your eyes
You are above me
You are everywhere
Kissing tasting touching feeling pleasing
Finding my voice, I pant...
I’m gasping with the effort
of all I need to say...
of the weight of feelings...
raging within me
"Don't...hold back anymore
Your hands reach for mine and pin them down
My breasts heave, my body rocks
as I feel you plunging into the moistness
that your very presence always creates in me
But never...to this luxuriant degree
Pain mixes with pleasure again and again
As I hear your grunt and groan
Your ecstasy comes in manish moan
And I close my eyes to the Roman night sky
To the world
I am reborn in you
I hear your victory cry
And feel your jubilant release inside
They fought for life
We fought for love
My fingers run through your hair
Your head is pillowed on my breast
My heart beat a reminder
Of what you have won
A gladiator’s reward...
in the arms
of the woman
For Justin Bordner’s Contest
Make Love to Me in that Ancient Place
November 16, 2014
Long poem by
Ian Howard | Details |
A Bluto is not that Disney dog
It was when a mewling
that I would scream
Should they wet my body
And then apply cream
Ablutophobia – fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning
Achluo the demon that lurks
In darkened corners
The long toothed life suckers realm
I am scared as the sun dims
It seems to bare my soul
Achluophobia – fear of darkness
Acro what did they do
They called me acrobat
This will not do
I get giddy standing on a matchbox
Please get a net to see me through
Acrophobia – fear of heights
Agora just shut that door
I am staying here forever more
Bring me food put it on the floor
The letter box is just for you
Don’t, Don’t, try to get through
Agoraphobia, Fear of open spaces or of being in public places. Fear of leaving a safe place
Agrap stole my feelings
He caught me unaware
I am now afraid of sex
don’t ask me anymore
It frightens me that’s for sure
Agraphobia – fear of sexual abuse
Agrizoo an angry gorilla I knew
Wild as hell was kept in a cell
As all his kind, even a timid Hind
They scare the crap out of me
Please let them run free
Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals
A gyro is just what I need
I will fit it to my trusty stead
He will fly straight across that band
A tarmac nasty throughout the land
I cannot face the walk you see
Agyrophobia –fear of crossing the road
Aichmohe got in a hell of a fight
They killed him with a pointed knife
It will come for me just you see
I cannot even mend his cloth
Won’t touch a needle at any cost
Aichmophobia – fear of sharp or pointed objects (such as a needle or knife)
Ailuro he lived next door
The bastard sits on the fence
To me he snarls not a purr
A Persian he is supposed to be
Frightens the *****out of me
Ailurophobia – fear of cats
Algo, Away, I am pain free
This morphine is the best
First day of pain free rest
Been told that it will return
Got some gas, peace I yearn
Algophobia - fear of pain
Andro I’d rather be (android)
I am metal and plastic you see
Electric person not man or woman
That would be so sad
If just a man I would go mad
Androphobia – fear of men
Antho the pologist got the plan
He put concrete throughout the land.
Not one shrub or flower seen
Not one blade of grass green
A flower would make me scream
Anthophobia – fear of flowers
Anthropo was a lonely man
Wouldn’t mix with others so
He lived in a cave, well just a hole
You would see his eyes peeping out
A shaking frame if people were about
Anthropophobia – fear of people or the company of people, a form of social phobia.
Aqua marine or even the wet stuff
Is enough to drive me mad
I stay in when there is rain
Just wait for the sun to shine again
A damp tissue that’s quite enough
Aquaphobia – fear of water. Distinct from Hydrophobia, a scientific property that makes chemicals averse to interaction with water, as well as an archaic name for rabies
Arach no, and know the score
Those creepy creatures on the wall
Send shivers up and down my spine
Six legs and venom to drive you mad
I am running already it is sad.
Arachnophobia – fear of spiders
Astra my name you would think of the stars
My gaze goes up but not that far
To the first cloud there in the sky
If it’s the shape of an anvil I will fly
Fear grips me and I don’t know why
Astraphobia – fear of thunder and lightning
Atychi that was about the size of me
The others would just make fun
I was no good to anyone
A failure of the first degree
Nothing my goal, was all I could see
Atychiphobia – fear of failure
Auto matic I will seek people out
To touch to play as long as they are near
Don’t leave me in this place alone
A singularity is my biggest fear
I will hold anyone you see I care
Autophobia – fear of being alone or isolated
Automat o no it’s not true how could you
An advert that’s telling just lies
Don’t all the others realize
What you say is not true, put it right
It will drive me crazy I’ll keep out of sight
Automatonophobia – fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being
Aviat o if you think I am going in that
No I am not a scared ***** cat
If we were meant to go fly
Wings we would have from him on high
Fold your machine and put it just so.
Aviophobia, Aviatophobia – fear of flying
Chaeto he was a Greek of old
Bald as a badger so the story is told
But why you say is there no cure
For him to grow some lovely hair
For him it would give such a scare
Chaetophobia – fear of hair
Chemo therapy keep away from me
Chemicals scare me I know they are free
But to have them coursing through my veins
No matter how good they are, and that jar
The fear of everything for what they are
Chemophobia – fear of chemicals
Chirop to or not too so I am told
They stick in your hair best to be bald
Now I find that my nails are made of hair
Chirop is what I fear not chiropodist is that clear!!
Just shave my head and cut my nails dear
Chiroptophobia – fear of bats
Chromo shines bright in my eyes
The fear of all colours I realise
Now I am safe from a troubled day
Into my dark room, I have found my way
Knock when that sun has met its demise
Chromophobia - fear of bright colors
Long poem by
nick goth | Details |
Clock Watching Agency Idiots
Numerous times I have joined a work placement agency to do a mind numbing brain dead moron work, been on the poverty line. Hard up, broke. Take your documents in, sign on the dotted line and you belong to us right now. Send me to a crap place with crap people for crap money for a crap agency. Staff UK sent me to Constellation Luggage in a run down Victorian cotton mill, £3.60 per hour. Sorting out suitcases busting your balls emptying cargo containers, stacked floor to ceiling, from Red China. Up to three separate places on as many days when I worked a week. If the idiots have not paid me the week later, where was I at? At Fashion Logistics sorting out clothes; you can’t even take a crap without the idiots interrogating you. Don’t like it there? Walk home down the motorway from Castleton to Oldham, be picked up by the Old Bill. Taxi!
To Rescource agency, to be placed at Bernstein plc, Middleton. Now shut. A real flat pack craphole! C’mon you idiots! First the bits flat into the boxes, have to beat the record! Xxx many thousands, beat the other line! You lad, who me? Yes, you! You haven't put the piece in flat, we had to stop the line. Frig you, I don’t give a frick, I’m only here coz they won’t give me my dole. I left another crap job - Park Cakes mental asylum. I eye up all the birds all day and listen to the radio, c’mon 4pm! Agency idiots at Rescource agency even charge me £3 a day for the privilege of going to their crap job. The boss is okay, short skirt and bare legs, I’d dance close to her. Late night drinks in Manchester for this Yorkshire bint. I waited one and half hours once to be picked up, at 5.30pm - guess who drove thru the gates to the small pond/nature reserve in her Pug206? Kerry to meet her fuck, didn’t give a hell about me. Then my lift came, idiot, no doubt as your lover ravished you, Bernstein plc style.
After that crap I went on the dole for nearly a year, 2001. My, it was a sweet time paid for doing frick all but my book “Juniper’s Daughter”. I did other agency work, same old shit but cash went up slightly. Real crapholes like Shiloh by Primetime Placement agency, Primetime hicks. The gelled up prick in a shirt who drove a new Golf said to me: “We have a cushy (crap) job, we can’t seem to fill it. Not sure why?”(You should try this, you idiot). I lasted two weeks, I wonder why? Packing nappies for Welsh pensioners! Guess what? I packed all the wrong ones on purpose, how funny is that? I worked with a professional Bangladeshi gang member who was going straight, after killing a man in a car crash, a psycotic metal head and a burned out 30-year-old ex-rocker. My boss was a cow, he told me off for swearing on my first morning, the idiot. Guess what I did? Went on the dole again and stayed there three long poverty stricken lazy years doing my poems in my mouldy council flat.
Did a bit more agency work with Esprit agency at DTS—that was okay. I loved working with the girls, some hot ones there! I used to dream about them when I got home.
Other agency work I did was crap in more ways than one, moving crap for Epping council at Cory Enviromental with New Wave agency, Aug and Sep06. Finished that, onto the dole again, not in smelly Oldham but in posh Essex! How I’ve moved up in the world. Was on it six months. What will I do next? More crap agency work? I’m registered with Blue Arrow, Triangle, Adecco and one I forget. Not got a single day’s work, what does that say? All crap! Run by southerners.
I won’t mention my temp to perm crap jobs that weren’t agency but here’s a taster – Littlewoods, Glyn Webb, Dunelm and Adomast come on down! I nearly forget, one agency put me down as a fork lift truck driver at a craphole hire and fire ’em place called Metool. Yet I was told I would be a van driver’s mate and then a lorry driver, not flt. What the frick’s going on? I walked out halfway thru my 3rd day. The dole is calling…all crap!
As the years pass, so do the shit agencies in-between free government cash. After I moved back north I was on the dole for three and a half years. I finally got a job back in the biggest craphole in Oldham - Park Cake Bakery! Run by two agencies, both crap: Gi Group and Alpha. Had an interview with Alpha. Idiot who ran it liked a certain team; I don't. No job. Then Gi Group and I was putting cherries on cakes again. For 11 months I did it before I did my grand walk out and left the dump.
After that I did some agency courses. Castleview were pleasant Gerordie lasses. Did the course. The promised job interview never turned up. A letdown. Twit! Number 2 agency course was ok. I had the interview but never got the job. Why? Screwing the system. Before I emigrated, I registered with Blue Arrow and did five weeks at Littlewoods, Shaw. Four weeks training to get up to speed, a weeks work including New Year's Day and then laid off! Nobbers! No more agency idiots messing me about doing muppet work.
I've emigrated out of craphole!
Long poem by
Steven Medellin | Details |
The Whiskey Bottle Wish
One late summer night outside a saloon in the mid-west, an intoxicated Dusty Rogers, stumbles out of the Bar nearly taking one of the revolving doors with him. As he flutters on out, he catches his fall on the walkway hand railing in front of him. Focusing his sight with a loose grip holding the railing, the other hand has tighter grip on a bottle of Whiskey. Hesitantly letting go of the rail he musters up enough hand eye coordination to fix his hat and pull up his pants. As the drunken man walks down the strip of a quiet town... A quiet town after all the rooms in the bathos are vacant, when all the liquor has run dry from every bottle, far after all the lead and gun powder filled the air ... It's then a quiet town. An hour walking and countless chugs of sweet, sweet whiskey; the drunken Rogers, has been taking over with the urge to piss. He sees a hallucination of a building up ahead about ten feet away. He pulls up, face nearly inches from what he thinks to be the wall of the building, but is in fact a towering cliff side standing over fifty feet staring down on him. He starts to piss on the cliff side soaking his pants and boots. He places the bottle down with his left hand as his right hand is stretched out flat on the wall holding himself up. He's leaning forward so much it appears as if he were holding up the mountain. He begins to mumble.
“You drunk. You will always be a drunk... That's all they ever spoked about me. But, why? How did this... How did any of this happen?” His right hand slips and his face crashes into the jagged cliff side in front of him. He groans in agonizing pain while he is lies in his urine. Bludgeon face he shouts up at the stars.
“Damn you! You tooken everything from me. You left me all alone! Why didn't you take me too! Am I not good enough for death...? I do anything to feel the blaze envelop me. Like they so did... “Wiping his tears he whispers. “You should have tooked me with them. I should have burned on that train with my family... That was my destiny instead I bare the mark of Cain." looking up at the sky as if expecting an answer. “Just sit up their laughing as you strip everything from my hands and fill this void with this damned bottle."
As he continues to wipe the tears off his face, he gets to his feet zipping up his pants and is about start to walk along the mountain side. In his peripheral he's sees the shimmer behind him. Turning around he Picks up the bottle of whiskey and stops to eye ball the remaining two or three gulps. Looking at the bottle and he starts to rub the side as if where a lamp. “I wish to see my family" holding back the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "You took everything from me so in return, I'll take all of you!"
He takes a swig and starts walking along side of the cliff shouting obscenities. In his anguish he stumbles and trips upon a metal beam railing falling flat on his face. Instead of picking himself up, he reaches for the whiskey and goes to take an even bigger hit from the bottle. Franticly shaking the bottle to get out every drop out he chucks the empty bottle in the air. The bottle never breaking hits the ground skipping and flipping along the gravel. Below his feet wooden planks placed about a foot apart from one another lay in a row. Running up the side, adjacent to the planks, runs a solid steel beam. The drunk has no idea he has stumbled onto train tracks leading into a tunnel right through the mountain. He thinks he is walking down a hand railed stairwell leading to a basement. He walks on the tracks towards a tunnel, he loses his balance and reaches for non-existing handrails but the rails are too low to grab so he trips over a plank of wood and falls on his face once more.
“What...What kind of crap is this?" he cries as he lays out on the floor half conscious. Suddenly he starts to laugh the intensity grew as he was trying to get to his feet. He only manages to sit up facing the blackened tunnel ceiling as if it was a starless night sky. “What are you waiting for? Stop toying with me. If you want then come take me. I'm here..." a loud whistling sound comes charging through the tunnel growing louder each passing second. With a shaky voice and a sense of uncertainty he asks.
“Trumpets? Is that roar trumpets I hear? Is that you?" as the ground starts to tremble the sound grows immensely; numbing all senses. Then, a bright light comes ripping through the darkness like a bullet through midair. The light striking his glossy eyes blinds him. The ground rumbles violently as the whistling sound becomes deafening. He chuckles and spreads his arms wide open and says “You finally answered my prayers." he closes his eyes, and black was the last thing he saw.
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
Words come to me like spring.
They set free, they shed the shroud,
open with all their glory, beauty and sing.
They stand tall, they ring out loud,
from a life that blossoms with life’s renewal,
with its continuation and the energy it will fuel,
taking all living things, from their creation
to exotic places, the place of their final destination
and that of their destiny.
And destiny for you and me.
Words are my stairway towards the breasts
of heaven, its waiting arms and its protective nests,
where there is nothing that harms
- as one snuggles in its enfolding arms -
one on his journey down long winding roads
he has to travel with such heavy loads.
Words are the steps I have climbed, they take me
on adventures – and many, they have been – to see
me through the doors, ( doors of perception ) of my mind,
those places, where it is, I spend most of my time.
These pathways I have chosen to embark upon,
seem to linger on, and on, and on
through to the subconscious that doth confirm,
to consciousness, the light and I do learn
from the words, the life, the thought
flowing like meandering streams, into raging rivers,
rivers into seas, into oceans and ought
to take flight, light up the livers
of life on their voyage towards heaven above
where all might be pure love
for a soul and for that soul to know
what is unknowable to conscious man, what doesn’t show,
of what is not known to life, in its everyday living.
Words, for me, are knowledge, are for wisdom, for giving
to all of whom want to know for all those who want to grow.
B. J. “A” 2
March 21st 2002
Melanie, Dear Melanie !!!
My heart, Melanie, is aching.
My heart, Melanie, is braking
from the attitudes that never seems to cease.
They just seem – to me that is – to ever increase,
taking you ever deeper and deeper into ?, and further away
from who you are – what I feel and what I pray,
is not where you are at and what you are heading for.
It seems that there are few days left ?, before you are out the door.
B. J. “A” 2
March 21st 2002
My hours tremble, they shake in their passing.
The minutes I live, are pressing, they are oppressing,
for the thunder that rages, that is your presence,
I have no safe haven, no shelter, I have no defence.
To become completely silent ?, never to sing out,
to ring the bell that tolls of your life, turned about
expressed with anger, in the hostile words you shout
at me, words that let me see into, know something is amiss
in our little world, that once tasted the sweetness of bliss,
but now, has been destroyed, taken away !,
by what ?, by whom ?, who has lead you astray.
B. J. “A” 2
March 21st 2002
I have felt, for some time, and do feel the light
within you flicker, yet does not quite burn bright
for long, but one day, may just take flight
on your butter fly wings, not dried or out of sight
and carry you passed all in life – BAD – you tried, in darkest of night..
B. J. “A” 2
March 21st 2002
I have reached out !, I have tried to touch you Melanie !,
but have found, not but vapour, mist in my hands,
passing air, on the run, to an uncharted, unknown sea,
to far off, barren, dusty, desert lands.
I offer you, - my Daughter, my Child, - my time, my ear.
I would like to know, to understand, to listen, I want to hear,
but silence is all that comes to me, upon the turbulent wind,
on the run, in the air, stilled by this horrendous sin.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st 2002
Melanie, !!!, your fall, I find hard to conceive.
It is a picture, a movie that I do not want to believe,
yet it is all around me, but if I would perceive.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st 2002
A black hole
My life is caught up in this vortex called living.
This whirl pool, called life, sucks me in,
spins me round and around, giving
nothing, just drawing me ever downward, in,
into this it’s empty black hole, pierced by it’s swards,
laying my heart wide open, bleeding on my thoughts, my words.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st 2002
My eyes flow, they swell with red
rivers, in vain as painful waves
of tears, tears full of fears fill my head
as the pain, from within, fills the caves,
the hollows, the shelters in my mind, never put to bed
B. J. “A ” 2
March 21st 2002
Much to much time !!!
It seemed that I had too much time on my hands to reflect,
Too much time on my hands to project
to much time on my hands to infect
my days, my nights with what I did suspect,
and now the years have slipped by like lightening,
and all that once was frightening
has, with the passing of time, become clear
as time has shown, elevating all that I did fear.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 12th 2013