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Long Race Poems | Long Race Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

BiPartisan Dissonance

When oppositional cognitive dissonance deflects focus,
it tends to go back to when I deflected focus from her.
She sends me passive-aggressive messages,
bread crumbs leading back in time 
to where she began to feel alone,

If you don't want a sopping wet tile bathroom floor
because I have thrown all my naked Barbie and Ken parts,
especially their water-filled hollow insides,
and the five saturated pools of stained white washcloths
I took out of that drawer just like you said not to,
and the nice sudsy soft bar of soap,
then you might want to reconsider leaving the bathroom
during my bath.
You might want to think of telling a story
or imagining with my behavioral lectures
I so mercilessly inflict
on the shattered heads of my daughters,
I mean dolls.

Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance 
is what Republicans have about Democrats.

If you folks would be so kind as to return to cooperative civic and civil discussion,
about my intrinsic dignity, royalty perhaps,
sense of anthrocentric entitlement,
immaculate integrity as a permacultured Orthodox Tradition,
utterly necessary to optimize sustainable and resilient health
for All Americans,
(although perhaps not quite sufficient),
including those who happen to have become embarrassed
by their unhealthy wealth and extravagant disregard
for undercommodified values,
like caring and nurturing, loving and therapeutic
mentoring relationships and trees of life, and economic
and eco-logical environ-mental (0)-sum cooperative networks,
like the synergy of all natural systems,
most especially religious cultures
delivering a united and interdependent positive teleology
that we all created this rapacious, extractive mess together.

So, please stop leaving the bathroom of discourse,
regardless of how rhetorically insane and polemic,
every time we complain about your shitty attitudes
about wealthy compost and sustainable,
optimized economic growth.
Then you democratically complain,
by voting for the one you hate the least,
as we go right on doing
what we intended to do
while we were throwing water
on your slippery-floor economics
of radical,
reverse-hierarchical interdependence and mutual subsidiarity.
Much too "solidarity" for Republican taste as True,
much less Just to those who prefer their
economically entrenched competitive silos.

our Democratic family value parents 
hear their oppositionally disordered Republicans
as if they were bionically alien unitarian utilitarians,
like honey bees and ant hives,
devoid of deductive rational accessibility,
of even one of four dimensions of truth,
and  without capacity to empathize with their well-mentored praxis,
of continually forgetting you could not climb a higher priority
right now
than telling your oppositional daughter Dr. Seuss's The Lorax, 
interpreting each voice as your own Lorax Logos,
wondering why you continue competing
to reach a Win-Win Cooperative Game,
and political
and economic
and ecological
and cultural 
and biological karmic finish line,
alone in your Permaculture Designed polycultural PolyLife Tree Paradise.

When you think about it,
you can see that your competitive political
and economic assumption,
that Win-Win cooperation will not have our final say,
is not ecologically, scientifically,
or even permaculturally, metaphysically
sound, rational, integrated,
sustainably designed to benefit future generations,
much less synergetic or holonically comprehensive.

You can't win a P=NP,
4-fractal/spiral (0)-sum
cooperative economic logistical plan
until everyone else has the freedom
and integrity
and ecotherapeutic orthopraxis comprehension,
to win-win with you, coincidentally.

With this perhaps un-Christian, 
and vaguely irreligious perspective
that Democratic mutual-redeemer culture
is closer to (0) sum Core Value Balanced Heaven
rationality, and intuition,
than appears to be the case
for our benighted Republican
wealthy fat-cat anthro-supremacist residents of Earth,
we have turned rather too far
our spinning cultural revolution pendulum
away from the racist sin of monocultural monotheism,
poverty and the overpowering commodification of human lives,
and the commodification of other species,
and the commodification of Earth's fire, water,
soil and sky,
Her capacity to regenerate fertile seeds,
turning away from sin as sterile insanity,
disability and absence,
to now prophecy the sins of monopolistic wealth,
and power;
to notice challenging, dissonant tipping points
within monocultural,
bicamerally competing economic uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all consciousness
all nations,
reconnecting our more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of EcoTribe,
multisystemic and polycultural Climax Community,
coincidentally straining and stressing to comprehend
Polynomial SpaceTime = Not-Not Polynomial Open Systemic Binomial Prime Relationship Temporal "Now"
as Yang-convex/positive = Yin-concave/negative,
as +1.00% QBit = +/-(0)% Soul Core-emergent universal Vertex/Dark Recessional Vortex (Perelman, 1993)

So, yes, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic ecotherapy.
Horseshoes don't fit elephants.

Speaking of elephants in too-narrow-minded oppositional spaces, 
where was I?
Oh, yes, she’s in the bathtub again,
better watch that floor.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

For Spacious Time

I need some natural,
spacious kinda time.
Where is nature in this time,
my time,
our time?

Perhaps nature is to time
as solid forms are to functional creation,
as solidarity is to creativity,
as Yang is to Yin,
as Full-Blown Climaxing polycultural kinda natural jazzy space
enters permacultural swingin' revolutionary time,
bangin' and beatin' our hearts to ping.

Where was I, again?
Well, never mind,
you can't go home again
in this polycultural space within permaculturing time.

Shout out to your sisters and your brothers
celebrating their polycultural Universalist space
balancing their Right-brain Co-Synergetic
Unitarian lusty kinda co-operative rhyming time.

Dubois soul sings Beloved Community
rhymes with Positive Integrity,
opposed by that nasty one "mendacity,"
a negative double-binding not yet not true,
our passive-aggressive cultural dissonance,
lack of cooperative resonance,
coupled with abject insolence,
when faced with Beloved Integrity
growing transgressively regenerative
revolutions of space in well-timed 
full-racing DNA prime.



Dubois begat integrity
as Nazareth, that nada nest,
begat love,
as Bucky begat synergy,
as Atlee begat co-intelligence,
as Permaculturally natural eco-logical designs and long-term plants
begat RNA's ubiquitous wisdom.


If justice is what love looks like in public
and tenderness is what love looks like in private,
I'd say we're lookin better on the privates of our face
than on the public beaten side of our race
through space
to trace
this RNA place
where eco-justice was most originally defined.

How much more RNA do you really think there could be
in white skin than in black?
And would you not say that RNA is our most omnipotent,
most omnipresent,
most ubiquitous space and time 
of intelligently regenerative design?

Yeah, I'm wid you,
I ain't neve' heard a no more DNA in The Dominant Left-Brained Man!
I jus' a dumb cooperative minded gay guy
who thinks you're playin' me,
and my playin' days is over!

Dr. West reminds,
transgenerational catastrophe is to reissuing problems
as torrential flooding is to dust in my cognitive dissonance eyes.
A chronically possessive culture
breeds a catastrophically dispossessive economy.
A competitive economy 
breeds a rabid lack of eco-logic.
Cancer cells always consider themselves chronic;
never would think of ourselves as catastrophic,
because we're just so in love with that Positive Psychology
face in our cultural mirror.

The darker subconscious will have her intuitional revolution day
as she does every night we dream of polycultures
and nightmare with co-operative strength
against monocultural monotheistic monopolistic monochromatic 
monomial universalism.
That's our Black Hole womb from which our comprehensive consciousness evolved
enlightenment and light, 
and bright, 
and transparency,
as Father Time's Left Deductive 
gets it on with Mother Space's Right Inductive,

Discerning justice, integrity, synergy, loving spaces
for here-and-now time,
would best redeem this transparent moment
as co-investment for our co-operative future Time.
Balancing discernment is like learning to ride a bike,
once you get the knack of positive-deductive-left
greets negative co-inductive (double-bind knot,
or not) right,
with self-optimizing cooperative environmental momentum,
sufficient to sustain nature's well-tempered life,
the rest is just peddling,
day in and night out,
eventually decomposing dismount
into further co-prehensile consciousness of death reborn...

"naturally, organic, spacious kinda' time
rollin and weavin our narrative songs
sung in RNA's pre-digital key of UCAG...
swingin' as we"

why does breathing feel like floating and swimming inside?

and what was that thing called phantom limbs of consciousness?

Sing that song,
all day long!

Ooooh yeah!
Look at our cooperative nature
in this most polyculturing time.

I feel sublime.

Oh yeah,
thump to my thump,

Spacious skies.
Golden waves of yummy grain.
Ultra-violet mountain range of consciousness,
Earth's permaculturally fruitful plain.
Universe's co-operatively jazzy face.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Development Divas

Permacultural community development,
as if life matters,
present optimal Continuous Quality Improvement (CQI) standards
for self-other-Earth regenerative 
and sustainable living outcomes.
That 7 Generation certificate of accomplishment.

Development Divas enjoy prime relational dynamic focus
on recycling formations and reformations,
fractals and octaves,
full four-seasonal
"Time is a Recycling River" nutritional functions,
vocational "plant AND self-composting root system" financial guilds,
cooperatively beloved villages,
families with long evolutionary branches
AND Elder root systemic DNA structures and flex and flow-string patterns,
economies and ecologies,
eco-normics of ecology,
eco-logic of economics,
positive psychological relationships 
and communities and global networks of richly nutritious information,
polynomially balanced 4-equivalent crystal clear dimensions of spacetime,
Universal Commons Orthodox Co-Intelligence.

Polyculturalists into planting and designing 
and harvesting optimized beloved polycultural climaxing outcomes,
swim time's river through positive teleological currents of dialogue,
DNA codex,
psycho-conscious logics rooted in comprehensive consciousness
of Self+Other history,
globally farmed,
herstoric enculturation of harmoniously balancing Right with Left,
(-)Yin(-)Yin as equivalent to (+)Yang
since "not not!" meant "Yes!"
and "black white" meant "both-and-matters"
and passive-aggressive meant dissonantly and bilaterally cathected,
bilateral time sprouting fractal spacetime of four equivalent dimensions
and systemic seasons and stages of development,
unitarian yin-with-yin equivalent bipolarity sprouting universalist dipolar thermodynamic with electromagnetic bowing balance 
with centrifugally emergent binomial force of gravity,
ecological balance of nutritional solar systemic radiantly waving values
absorbed by a greening photosynthetic coredemptive metamorphic Earth,
and disvalues of dissonant decay, climatic change, autistic dismay, fear of death replacing all of life's recycling systems.

A logical conclusion of suicidal planning,
feeling internally overpopulated,
is to both stop absorbing positive nutrients (divestment),
and to begin a practice of absorbing only toxins
and collateral damage (high-risk investment),
abuse acts faster than mere neglectful impoverishment,
oppression of identity,
the more aggressively and consistently aversive,
the faster our inevitable dead result.

So, the ecologic of diastatically positive and rational life
is to intentionally absorb only positive nutrients
and to minimize absorption of toxins
and collateral corporate insult,
and neglect,
violence and dissonance,
addiction to victimization and possession.
Ego's self-mentoring lessons must seek stewardship
responsibility and accountability
investment and disinvestment for ecosystemic balance,
without the anthro-centric hubris of possession or dispossession. 
To own any of this stuff cannot meet optimizing CQI well-being standards,
will not meet death's rebirthing threshold for cycling forward downstream.

Win-Win cooperative
coregenerative optimization
is an ecologically economic diva herstory of re-genesis,
just as Lose-Lose competitive decomposition
is our Business-As-Usual history
of dominating Self, Other, Earth,
pretty much in that disenculturing
disintegrative order of ecosystemic flow.

Permacultural community development
as if we remembered
that white lives could not have mattered
if Elder black lives had not repurposed DNA's
range of freedom for Vitamin D prosperity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Racing Justice

"The way I see it,
we're all related."
said my EcoTherapist.

While DNA and RNA include infinite permutation possibilities,
their primal core functions suggest simple bipolar relationships
between who's in and who's out,
and who's on top so the remainder is on the bottom.

So these are prime-fractal entities and structures
temporal seasons and sequences.
Whether we're talking about 8Bit/Byte binomial octaves
of energy frequency
or binary information,
doesn't really matter;
we're all Zero-Soul eco-centered spacetime cube-rooted entities,
with expanding and contracting double-elliptical rhythmic patterns
of torus-breathing Yang/Yin bionic Universal Intelligence,
and negentropically appositional dimension 
and gravitational balance.

We're each and all here to stay, to evolve,
to further incarnate Earth,
each Other,
through discovering our hearts and minds,
loves and faith,
peace with justice,
ecological economic transactions and primal relationships,
our ecotherapeutic ecojustice,
our multisystemic orthopraxis.

Some of us look better from the outside than others.
Some of us act better from the inside than others.

We all hope to become and sustain both,
and to build relationships with others
equally accomplished in this race of time's evolution.

But, realistically,
I can only sustain my physical prime for a short while,
and even then, what appears more or less nutritious and physically therapeutic
to me, may not feel similarly about me,
on the outside.
It seems more sustainable,
and probably predicts much more relational peace with justice,
to work more on our interior landscapes.
Learning the flow of healthy and delicious,
loving and mindfully comprehensive
ecologically wise economic transactions, behaviors,
practice with fully ecocentric intent.

We all hope to attract similarly endowed internal beauty
within our own organs and limbs,
our own sensory perceptions and memory receptions,
among our family and friends;
thinking and trusting
with some level of hope in our combined power of justice,
love and freedom of self-optimizing expression,
we hope to compel our mutual prehensions and passions
within and among each Other,
to regenerate "us" toward a positively passionate future.

"So, this is your ReGenesis Project,
to become a better incarnated 
human natural 
bicamerally balanced IdEntity,
following our economic praxis,
mutually cooperative transactional trust and faith
that we each can and will fully engage and absorb this race
toward eternal universal intelligence,
comprehensively in-formed
(0)-centric Tao 
SpaceYang-cubed OVER TimeYin-prime bilinear."

I'm still processing,
trying to comprehend Mother Nature's
ecotherapeutic ecojustice.
It feels urgent to reach a rationally positive
binomially balancing conclusion;
which might look like P is to Yang,
as NP is to Yin,
and when you total up this biometric 
double-elliptical string 
ecojustice theory,
one arrives back at (0)-soul Vector OVER
Dark Hole Vortex.

That's the way we seem to see Universe
in which we are all polyculturally related.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Echo Time

Time echoes and resonates without language,
invests in green triumphal backdrop,
below misty blue sky,
blossomed in yellows and spindling purples
blues and flaming orange,
fragile moments of fully fertile time,
flagrant erections of next generation's hope
for full color life 
perennially emerging time
through fields of green enraptured
brown soil and gray rocks
and weathered stretching darker bark
back further through time's ringing core.

This summer's newer time full color;
Elder time dressed in grays and browns
of dusk's deeper hue and cry.

Time's newer lexicon
laughs through children
camping near a still-slogging river,
flowing time toward surfing Sound
from mountains of older swaying,
silently caressing,
singing time of trees'
ripe summer leaves.

Newer times hum industry
in jetted skies
through rumbling valleys of human enterprise
swooshing lanes of hurry fueled time
rushed toward some end of prime,
planned, yet unprioritized.

Drumming heartbeat
surfing breath
occasional tummy rumbles,
older times of human space
thundering through subliminal octaves
of time's unrolling memory.

New time smells green fragrance,
older organics fuel richer pungent payment
down into Earth's old-timed infrastructure,
roots hunting her mysteriously flowing estuaries
floating broken platters of Earthtime's universe creation,
rumbling thunder
warning of ancient slow-timed lightening.

Capturing time's enrapturing voices 
and visions
peering through silent black faced race
through space.

Knotted notched logged time
captured in this sacred place
gracefully crumbling time's investment,
forgiven and redeemed in last fall's brown bed 
of leafy fading trace,
succumbing to terminating time's
less aggressive metamorphic place
from logs reversing back into time's landed space,
impervious to eyes noting her change of race
from convex branches to concave composts.

Time's darker elder face
haunts richer wisdom
but often fails to find just and righteous pace
for dominating white cultured mind 
to find
and recognize.
Elder darker's timing rhythm
speaks best through white hearts' new-time memory,
transparently dark embedded cultural time
emerged as new found discovery
recovery through youngish light
most resonantly resolved
through time's polyculturing brightest night.

Fear of dark raced time
begins with my own white placed skin
accepting time's inevitable dark embrace
within full-colored humanely timed race,
to see my wilting face
drawn back into time's dark souled core
dying into light's progenitor
once more
dark never-enough-right-time supremacy
through dark purgation's non-anthrocentric palatial door
toward dark time's eternal color rhapsodic place.

Time's song and dance
through nonexistential space,
my voice
our opera
time's co-passion story.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |


A hundred days of tomb-like silence; a hundred days of blind eyes and deaf ears; a hundred days of wooden hearts and cruel minds. This was long ago, but still its stigma is there. Years may pass but MY LIFE will never be the same again.

I was barely a woman then, carefree and with smiles touching my lips. I was enjoying the view of the sun shining over the tranquil green  hills  of Rwanda. But, in a blink of an eye, the beautiful calm scenery I enjoyed was tinged by some shouts I heard from a river nearby. Curious, I went to see. Meters away, I saw a happy huge man wielding a machete butchering another man on the ground. Before he could see me, I turned round and ran.

Ran as fast as I could!When I reached our home, immediately, I was told by my father to keep on running. To run to a Hutu Minister miles away from our home. To run and be safe. To run and beg for my life's safety. Paper white and shuddering I ran and ran until I arrived at the Minister’s house. Scared but kind enough, the minister kept me together with seven other girls. 

We were placed then in a remote bathroom in the house. 

A bathroom three feet by four feet in size.  A bathroom where the other girls and I hid. A bathroom where in the next days, we alternately sat, stood and stretched. A bathroom that served as our refuge in times when the killers {Hutus} stormed inside the house. A bathroom where we ate beans and insects just to stay alive.

On the radio, we, Tutsis, heard our names  being announced as needed to be killed, too. There was a window where we could peek  and see people running and running. Clubs and spears a terrifying rain brutally killing men and women alike. Screams and cries a regular ringing requiem outside. Intense. Intense. Intense were the surroundings, I remember. In the bathroom, we maintained silence as if no one there. For at any time, we could be caught… Raped… Killed. And we knew back then that, the green hilly Rwanda was turned into a garden of bloody wails and tortured tales.

Then one day some troops came, stopping the genocide and finally we planned our liberation day! 

It was through courage. Cunning. Prayers that we are alive. Rwanda, may seem peaceful now, but for us victims and survivors, our life will never be the same again. I can't seek revenge for our loss: families, property and the trauma I experienced for it would only prolong my Calvary. I would rather forgive and hope that such genocide will never happen again.

© O. E. Guillermo

Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan Contest Name	
Placed 1st... :)

Oct. 11, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Long poem by Mari Roberts | Details |

This Poem Wants 2 B A Revolutionary

This poem wants to make a change . . .

To be a strong yet silent raised fist in Mexico, 1968.

To stand at a window w/a shotgun writing the words
“By any means necessary”

To sit in at a lunch counter in Birmingham, Alabama
Until it is read

To start a breakfast program in Compton, California
In order to feed hungry minds

To stand up for its rights in Akron, Ohio and shout,
“Aint I a poem?”

To integrate an all white book store under protection of the National Guard
And when George Wallace says to it,
“You will not enter unless it’s over my cold, dead, body. . .”
This poem will gladly take him up on his offer

But now this poem feels that perhaps it is too militant,
Maybe it and Spike should just “Do the Right Thing” . . .

Take the hand of other poems deep in the South Georgia woods and lead them to freedom
Under cover of night-light

Take its brothers and sisters out of the man’s world and
Into Aaron’s “Boondocks”

Play its own music, live in Jamaica and
Grow Nappy Locs

Start a union with A. Phillip down at the docks

Be read by Martin while being pelted with rocks

Find out what would happen
“If Beale Street Could Talk”. . .

This poem will get accused of “Ego Trippin” but 
will not take it personally, declaring,
“And Still I Rise” 

It will invite other poems to a free concert headlined by
Marvin, Stevie, Chuck D, and Black Thought

It will do what it should, not what others think it ought

This poem will be munificent . . .
Will give because so much has been given to it

Will do because so much has been done for it

Will be able to sit down because so many others have
Stood up

But this poem can not sit still for long
Because this poem has been disenfranchised . . .

This poem was told there is no longer a need
For affirmative action
only to have it replaced with definitive inaction

This poem cast a vote in Florida, 
only to be told that it did not count

This poem observed its commander in thief, fly over rising waters in the Lower Ninth Ward 
just to keep his feet from getting wet

This poem watched its country expand our “melting pot” to include all types of ingredients, 
Then scrape the black off the bottom of the pan . . . 

and send it back to Haiti on a raft

This poem has been pulled over for being DWI
(drafted with intelligence)

This poem was profiled at Hartsfield Airport,
And made to take off it’s . . . blues.

This poem never planted any genus of Bush, 
It’s not concerned with whom you marry,
Nor does it desire to trade the blood of young soldiers for oil, but look what it got

No wonder,
This poem wants 2 b a revolutionary . . .

Copyright © Mari Roberts

Long poem by Trenton Moore | Details |

Found-The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

From open material from Twain in a poem style found.

Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself.  
He was saying how the first thing he would do 
when he got to a free State he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough 
he would buy his wife,
which was owned on a farm close to where Miss Watson lived; 
and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, 
they'd get an Ab'litionist to go and steal them. 

It most froze me to hear such talk.  
He wouldn't ever dared to talk such talk in his life before.  
Just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about free.  It was according to the old saying, 
"Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell."  
Thinks I, this is what comes of my not thinking. 
 Here was this nigger, 
which I had as good as helped to run away, 
coming right out flat-footed
 and saying he would steal his children—
children that belonged to a man I didn't even know;
 a man that hadn't ever done me no harm. 

I was sorry to hear Jim say that,
 it was such a lowering of him.  
My conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says to it, "Let up on me—it ain't too late yet—
I'll paddle ashore at the first light and tell." 
 I felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off.  
All my troubles was gone.  
I went to looking out sharp for a light, and sort of singing to myself.  By and by one showed.  Jim sings out: 

"We's safe, Huck, we's safe!  Jump up and crack yo' heels!  Dat's de good ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!" 

I says: 

"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim.  It mightn't be, you know." 

He jumped and got the canoe ready,
 and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on, 
and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says: 

"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy,
 en I'll say, it's all on accounts o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn' ben for Huck;
 Huck done it.  Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; you's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had;
 en you's de only fren' ole Jim's got now." 

I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him;
 but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me.  
I went along slow then, 
and I warn't right down certain whether I was glad I started or whether I warn't.  When I was fifty yards off, Jim says: 

"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; 
de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his promise to ole Jim." 

Copyright © Trenton Moore

Long poem by brian stewart | Details |


It seems the path Iam on  is changing everyday
the road uncertain just an endless shapeless gray
some would say it would all be clearer if I took up there religion
even with the doubt Iam not scared enough for that decision

I see the faith you placed in one of the many saviors
I lame excuse for the centuries of mad behavior
Iam sure your prophets where the very best of man
but your church and bibles where never in the plan

so every race has a version of there own
stories stolen from the gods of the past spoken out like it was always known
not one of these faiths is open and understanding
they keep others down and your soul churches are demanding

then you history holds no science no enlightenment
dogmatic foolishness written before free government
and every soul that is afraid to die or to ashamed to live
if you stop thinking then heaven is what they give

even now the human mind is found wanting
but reality is intelligence is hard work and life is daunting
if only the concept of good will and love
we understood without some sign from above

if you need the ancient fiction to ease your pain
I respect you and to all other men you should do the same
your saviors were righteous there’s know doubt
in there time they worship but no church was there twist whets its about

there have been many Christ’s since the beginning of man 
the Mayans and Muslim have had tales since they ruled by the roman
dry king ghandi and many more sacrifice there life so others could be free
in my mind that’s what Jesus is what he is supposed to be

even know there some man of great worth he has no money no powerful church
he’s  giving of himself and and loving the lost I dare you to search 
and see the truth were in this together and this is paradise
we are the only keepers of our fate we must realize

I can no longer people pay to pray and talk down to others who dont believe what you say
but Christ himself did not hang with the saved he knew the hopeless so he could see them ok
but times have changed were not ruled by religious empires mad with slavery
we fought for those rights not with one mans good with collective human bravery

a new age is upon us and the true test is coming not one of prophecy
the makers of worlds the stars the cycle of suns chaos of the galaxy
I hope soon we see are only time is now there is no second chance
are race needs to come together  and make a united stance
if faith keeps us apart do we even have the heart

Copyright © brian stewart

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Peaceful Losers

Patching up enslaving hatred is sure to leave some hated aftermath.
How can this be regarded as tolerable,
these interior human natured self-hatred transgenerational aftershocks?
Therefore Wisdom holds the Yang as Loser paradoxical space,
And does not dispossess guilt toward any Winners.
Virtue, like indentured servitude, is for coredemptive patching up;
Violence of enslaving hatred is for assigning Loser guilt.
But, the way of wisdom is partial toward inclusive Winners;
Siding only with coredemptive dispossessive losers
of enslavement, possession, cancerous wealth of entitled self-hatred
and fear of death as loss.

Knock Knock.

Who's there?


Oh, well, first, ummm...Slave whom?
And, second, are you sure you intend to knock
on my front door?

First, Slave Hater.
Second, does that sufficiently answer your question?

No, not really, Slave Hater could be most anyone I've ever met;
this really doesn't help me figure out who you are
knocking on my door
in this eternal moment.

So why don't you open your door
to answer your own fearful questions
about my Hater identity?

Because anyone I would welcome into my life
would never knock first.

What does that say about your identity?
Who are you,
a 24-7 pit stop
only open for those who have a key to you?

That doesn't sound quite right,
but perhaps not wrong either.

Well then it sounds like we are a good fit.
I'm Slave Hater,
both not quite right or wrong
for your passive-aggressive locked door
Win-Lose logistical strategy.

Wait a minute,
I didn't say I'm passive aggressive,
and everybody I know locks their door
to win some safety from losers.

But you do say you are passive-aggressive
in your habitual practice of reminding those around you
of what you did not say or do.
You have less empathy for enslaved losers
than fear of becoming one yourself.
Don't worry so much about it,
all us losers already know you're a loser too
and we will feel comforted by learning
that you finally recognize you are one of us self-haters.
It's OK,
You hope that hanging onto that one last key
in your pocket
means you're not a total loser.
It does.
No one intends to dispute that,
at least no one you are ever likely to meet
to know and learn to love,
as long as you totally invest in that last sole-Winner key.

Patching up a great hatred
is sure to leave some hatred outside
and behind,
downstream for future struggling memories
and generations.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long Poems