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Long Race Poems | Long Race Poetry

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

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

My Daughter The Need A walk from the dark side, into the darkness

My Daughter

My beautiful Daughter, walks life’s paths alone,
She does so, by design – not of hers – on her own.
She travels heavily !, from place to empty space,
from space to vacant place – in what kind of race?
A race towards where ?, towards what I do not know,
for, to me – an  age and place beyond – she does not show
where it is, - where she wants her future  to go
if ?, going anywhere – accomplishing - is a guiding
force in her life, seeking out, chasing after lightening.

There are times, when I hear, in my words
the sounds of need, – empty in their experience –
looking for some of what has been offered.
What has been offered, I see, it is not meant for me.

The Need

I keep being dragged back into this nightmare,
a nightmare ?, so I am lead to believe, could it be ?
Within the stories, the tone, I hear, I perceive it to be
but have to wonder ?, is it ?, really but a dream
that can find no reality on this plane , never comes true,
therefore it truly is !, becomes the nightmare.
In the words that tell, I see, I hear, I feel
the sword that plunges deep, with which to defend,
to destroy the foe – the lover – a man not to know
yet not forgotten, not left alone, not let go of.
He - the nightmare – is always there, he doesn’t care,
he is a rotting residue in, a part of life’s moments.
He is your nightmare, in your dreams, in every waking hour!
These sad eyes see, these sensitive ears, in pain, hear the pain,
this old heart feels, but this useless blade, – a knife that hides
within my, closed mouth – seems not able to cut away at the ties
that bind you to life’s strife – to the nightmare.
Could it be unfulfilled desires ?, unrealized dreams ?

What has taken forty nine life times to create,
might be attributed to nature, nurturing or fate,
but may not be digested, accepted, understood or dissipated.
Regardless of the words, the meaning, what else can be stated ?
I know that in forty nine hour days, my thoughts my feeling
will never find a way to reach out and touch a solid ceiling
and so, in my many words, in my actions, I pray
that it all can be set aside, and all can be put away.

A walk from the dark side, into the darkness.

Little, to nothing could this impotent old man / dad offer
his Child, his oldest Daughter, in so much need.
Nothing could he bestow upon his Child, or his lover,
with her insecurities, doubts, his insatiable greed,
and so, escape not, she walks along with his need
as it has been something he has decreed.
Oh !, how remiss to leave them on their own, to agree
to their coarse, a course that could take them on
to complete the journey they started, then gone.

Time, enough !, distance is past 
Time to stop !, turn around at last
and face what the outcome will be.
Open eyes, a new beginning to see.
May I leave sun set’s path, face the sun rise
coming through that black velvet screen before me
with it’s spattered, day-glow dots, all aglow
opening inner sanctum doors, allowing me to know.

Thoughts for me, alternative for them flash before my mind.
What will they do ?, am I being so unkind ?
Will one, the other or both be bussed back to Ontario ?
As I walk back to the room, I ponder the scenario ? 
Will we ( all three ) carry on with our little adventure
into the canyons and gorges, the city of all nights lights
– the city where angels never sleeps – I cannot be sure ?,
sure if they will end their – for my attention – fights.
Will we see the city ?, where one man built his fantasy,
walk among dreams brought to life, a fun reality 
of cartoon characters, animated for the child in us
or in the end, to Ontario on a Greyhound bus ?
Will we see stars ?, stars on a walk, in the city of angels
At this juncture, what will be the story one tells ?
Will the Golden Gate carry us ?, will we ride the hills ?,
on their steel rails, tell tales of all our thrills ? 
Will we end these moments in gods country ?, 
the city of the British, the salmon run, a hollow tree,
mountains, bays, bears, a Princess, poetess gone to ash,
her rhyme, this forth cousin of mine, they did stash,
hidden from obvious view, in the woods of Stanley park,
where few knew, and for a hundred years, lay in the dark.
Many know not where Native, folk lore doth reside ?
In her books, hand in hand and side by side,
along with as many nationalities as there are nations.
In this place, women brought to life her creations.

Before I leave this bleak walk, in the arms of this black night,
My thoughts are, hope that all will come out all right,
when one of those day glow dots, in that black velvet sky,
all a glow, took off, streaked south, caught my eye
as it crossed the heavens, fast as the speed of light,
in the pattern of a Zed, then disappeared from sight.

( Strange !!!, this speck of star light, it’s unusual flight
as it star-ts out from nothing, speeds south on a 
horizontal plane, pauses a split second, reverses direction,
drops down vertically, on an angle northward, towards a point
where it started out, again paused for a split second, then, 
on a horizontal plan, zipped south before disappearing into star,
in the starry back drop from whence it took life, for a moment. )

This story, – twenty five years old – in rhyme, comes to life,
for a brief moment, from a memories hoard, rife
with so many stories hidden from sight 
coming from rhyme - into light.

B. J.“A ” 2
May 30th 2002


Long poem by Just That Archaic Poet | Details |

Bionic Betty: Another True Tale from the Mental Ward

Betty was bonafide crazy. She had shot her husband after a night of drunken quarreling, and was in the state mental hospital instead of being in the slammer. She'd shot the louse in the stomach and he had lived, fortunately for her. I never tired of hearing about Betty's attempted escape and eluding of the police in the aftermath. Over the river and through the woods she ran, but not to grandmother's house, sadly; she didn't know where she was going; all she knew was that she HAD to get the hell outta there.

Down a steep embankment she had tumbled, right next to the highway. As she attempted to orient herself, a car slowed down, it's lights blinding her as she tried to pick off the brush, debris and twigs that clung like glue to her hair and muddy nightgown. The car stopped, two cops sprang forth and yelled, "FREEZE!". The jig being up, Betty did as instructed, was cuffed and read her Miranda rights. She never bothered to elaborate how she wound up in the loony bin instead of staying in the pokey, but I can only imagine it was due to her obvious derangement.

Betty was a hoot; funny as could be and an excellent card player. She had long, shaggy salt and pepper frizzy tresses that looked more like a Halloween wig than an actual coiffure. She was well into her fifties but seemed much older with her deep smoker's wrinkles and heavy, sunken eyes, like a soul that's known too much wear, tear, pain and heartache and aged prematurely. On more than one occasion I questioned her actual insanity, but on one night, when the moon was full and all the crazies were, admittedly, much more maniacal than normal, my doubts about Betty's "playing possum" dissolved. It's true, you know, what they say about a full moon and the impact it has over the mind; I've witnessed it first-hand too many times in different psych wards to discount it as "old-wives" folklore. Nurses never fail to mention when there is a full moon; they know it to be true as well.

I don't know what set her off. I was enjoying a game of rummy with Angela, a paranoid schizophrenic with a penchant for identifying supposed conspiracies within the hospital, when I heard Betty screaming furiously and cussing up a hurricane. Well, something didn't suit her, obviously, and she was having none of it. This is when I began to wonder if Betty was not part "Bionic Woman". Next thing I knew, she wailed like a banshee, took off sprinting down the hall at incredible, breakneck speed that defied her rather plump figure and stubby legs, and drop-kicked the heavy, locked steel door that barred the exit of ward "Grag". Nurses hit the panic button and made urgent phone calls which signaled the goons and heavy muscle to race toward our ward to subdue the unsubduable. Soon as Angela heard the nurses all in a frenzy, she yelled, "CONSPIRACY LEVEL UP! TOP FLOOR!" ("Top Floor" being the ward that housed the most violent or dangerous loons.) Paranoid schizophrenics are such a suspicious bunch!

As Betty raced by, Angela immediately stood up, cheering her along, chanting "GRAG STYLE, BABY; YEAH!". In total astonishment I watched this Wonder Woman drop-kick this barricade (which was most definitely designed to keep us confined) in total kung-fu, samurai, ninja style with such force that it burst wide open! Talk about jaw-dropped incredulous! By the time Betty the She-Hulk nearly drop-kicked her way to freedom, the goons (as the big orderlies were dubbed) descended upon her, but she fought with such ferocity that for just an instant I thought she might break free, given that she had picked up a nearby chair and was using it to fend them off with the skill of a lion-tamer (or so I mused). But poor Betty was helplessly and hopelessly outnumbered and the whole incident must have happened in the span of maybe two minutes, but time has a funny way of slowing down and stretching in instances such as these, when the eyes and mind are trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. She was tackled on all sides, but not before one of the stooges took a whack upside his empty head. Nurses rushed forth, syringes in hand, and gave Betty the usual knock-out serum of hefty doses of Haldol and Benadryl (don't ask me how I know this!). Then, as was the procedure in all such cases, Betty was strapped down on a gurney and wheeled away to the "Quiet Room" where she was to be closely monitored by some muscle.

As one of the orderlies passed, carting the drowsy Betty past us, Angela barked one of her customary insults of, "YOU SMELL LIKE ASS AND NACHOS!" which never failed to tickle me to no end. The excitement over, Angela and I went back to our game of rummy and she accused me of cheating when I won, flipped over the table, and stormed off (but she always did this whenever she lost.) Ah, Angela; what I'd give to play rummy with you again! 

A few days later, after a two week stint, I was finally released and never saw or heard from Betty (or Angela) again. Whenever I see someone fly into a rage, I am often happily reminded of Betty, Super-Woman of ward "Grag". Why was I there? I'll never tell!


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

Is there an Exclusive All-in-One Principle

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

 
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at

                  the red or the green

           
                                 nothing then is certain

not even death but the life one endures

             
 quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons

particles like men and beings in general

                                             bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup

         great teachers or rather teachers with great followings

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

         especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy

                 would want us believe

                                             there’s just This One

  and all comes and goes to That Only ONE

        
If only it were just as simple as that

Then what is it that This One wants

Or is It caught up in its own caveat

And must of needs come apart

        on the seed that It alone plants

 
                           and do what we may

   nothing goes wrong

            whatever the explanation

everybody is right

right from the start

 

         Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand

         Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold

and out again

         for the Brahma Day

and after aeons the Brahma Night

 
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity

         neither space nor time

            squeezed in and out

Birth as in Death

An eventual point of total extinction

        if ever there was one

 
Yet always the two extremes

      and the ever-changing in-betweens

Matter versus Anti-Matter

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

Though matter itself is neither

Is nor Is-Not-ness

         And the 96% Dark Matter

          And the infinite number of parallel universes

Does it really matter

                                        when

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

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

 
Vanish into what

                                    Dark matter

or just non-dark matter

 
Still the duality of matter

Still the ever-changing conundrum

 
              Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs

        self-destructs
 

         ‘Sex is emotion in motion.’

 
Emotion erupts

           into thin air

      into where

Dark air

 
Motion disrupts

         and roots one here

      tied to the lunar year

 
       why should it matter

if we cannot know the reason why

ego id libido

drive faith fame femme father future

 
if super/alter ego connects the ego

       to the collective unconscious 

     
       why drown the self in the Great Self

by wilful act

       when the Ultimate One

is the sum of all the little ones

 
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones

each of whom must move to eat drink sleep

copulate make money grow roots in a society

get and fight to keep a job

make love marry raise children

struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children        

one’s house  if one can get one

one’s career one’s future

and helter-skelter race to cheat death

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

What does it matter if it keeps changing in view

Of the desperate haste with which everything

We see smell hear feel intute sense

Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich

And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way

Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda        

Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters 

Through some trillion cataclysmic light years

 
What’s the impulse to keep moving

Is the yogi’s stilled-centre

The death of all action

Which cannot call for a reaction

Or is the art of keeping still

Merely the art of making belief

 

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

until your performed role becomes your normal character.

Then you are safe inside your character armour.’

 

As soon as you have thought It out

It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out

                 and you know just why

                                                               don’t you now

 

References to the quotations

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

Ibid.

Attributed to Mae West.

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

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

 

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


Long poem by Matt Ancient | Details |

Religion or Nature

Each and every day, mankind search to find out that which exist and that which is to happen., thus the destiny of mankind. it is reality as a human beings to know and understand the beginning of the universe and what really happened.with this we as humans can predict or forecast the future and the destiny of mankind. so many scientific solutions and religious ideas have erupt for the past 2000 years and beyond to seek and understand life and how it began.
for man cannot live without tracing or finding out his origin and his mission on earth, his visions and destiny. even though there have been many scientific studies which may be true or lie about the universe and how it began. life and the history of mankind. so have there been so many religious illusions. for there is no concrete evidence to prove the mysteries of the universe and the cliches surrounding life and humanity.

To science the planet evolved from volcano and turned into lands for human habitat. and man was an Ape who evolved to be humans. but even though Apes have heads, nose, mouth, ears and creep on two toes and have the like of humans, they can never evolved to be humans no matter how far time travels, because biologically this cannot be true, because the human genes is far different from that of an Ape and other living creatures on earth, all living things produce their own kind and no matter the climatic condition or how far time travels Apes can never evolve to human form or have it behavior , feelings or sensitivity. neither can an Ape can reproduce human beings as it offspring. nor acquire any knowledge, skill or intelligence to be humans. However man should not be ignorant about how scientific studies have brought the human world and how helpful it has been to help in clearing of the cliches and illusions caused by other ideologist.it has been a blessing rather curse, it has provided the basics of the study of our cosmic system. but it has still not provide us with answers about the questions we ask.
 
 And to religion god used six days to create the universe and used the seventh day to create man with clay,which is Adam and removed his ribs to create Eve which is the first woman and by them all the entire human race were born.Even though there are several questions to ask, but we humans have lived with this for several year.
this brings us to wither Adam and Eve are the first man and woman on earth and the cliches or the story about them being the parent of the human race or entire genealogy of the human race.
and how come a world of several race of man produced by just two people. in the world today there are about six(6) different races in the world. so how true is it as religion claims to know the beginning of man and his destiny on earth.
let us not forget that god has given man the power to understand and makes decisions on his own, to find out the truth and that which exist.

The Question?
now if Adam and Eve were the first man and woman on earth, were they Black or whites, brown, yellow or red or were they Africans, Arabians,Europeans, Indian,Chinese or Red Indians decent.and how can these two people give birth to all these different races.and If they were Africans, how come two African can produce an Indian race or the Arabian race. Neither can an European and African reproduce a Chinese or a Red Indian. Neither can a Chinese and European reproduce an African, a Chinese or Red Indian, no matter the climatic condition or no matter how far time travels. Biologically the idea of Adam and Eve being the first man and woman created by god is wrong and has no fact to prove.
Genetics has proven that even though two races can mate and reproduce but they will reproduce a similar kind or it behaviors. Neither can magic, miracles or by any other religious means can this be true.

The aim of this research is to provide evidence and fact, which will be the basis in research, in other discover who truly mankind is, his destiny on earth. how did the universe began. that by this the future generation will know and understand what exist and the true world that nature has given mankind. in other to find a better destiny for mankind. This is beyond religion, race, nationality and age or other wise in search of freedom and happiness, a true world for all mankind from generation to generation.
The question is being asked and man need answers. Are we to live with this or to believe in this and for how long are we to live with this mystery. For we must decide for ourselves, the well being of humanity lies on our shoulder, which direction or way are we to go. We need to educate ourselves, research to discover and uncover life and nature. 
For Adam and Eve might exist but they are not the genealogy of the entire human race but that of Abraham and the Israelite and not the human race.


Long poem by Elton Camp | Details |

A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen

A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen
 
By Elton Camp
 
 
	“We keep thet big flock o’ chickens fer eggs and meat,” Milas explained to his niece Elvira visiting from the city.  “We git tired of so much pork an’ we don’t have t’ feed them much.  They partly make their own livin’ from eatin’ bugs an’ whut they kin scratch out o’ th’ ground.”  
 
	“Kin I feed th’ chick’ns now, Paw?” Albert asked.  
 
	The mildly retarded teenager rushed to the corncrib and collected several cobs with dried grains attached. He liked the feel and smell of the corn as he rubbed it from the cob with the palm of his hand. Soon, he had a fistful of the seeds. They felt hard and clean.  
 
	“Here, chicky, chicky,” he coaxed. Albert used a pitch higher than his normal voice.
 
	The chickens crowded in front of him in anticipation of a nutritious meal. “Watch whut happens when I throw th’ corn on th’ ground,” he told his younger brother who stood beside him.  “I like t’ throw hit all amongst ’em ’n’ watch ’em fight over hit.  They’s greedy thangs ’n’ can’t seem t’ git enough.”  
 
	“Them two ez fightin,’” remarked Albert’s little brother.  
 
	“Naw, they jest both wanted th’ same grain.  Thet big ole hen ez th’ boss over th’ pullet.  She pecks hit away ever time.  Hear com’s th’ rooster.  What whut happens when he shows up. There ain’t never but one rooster cause they’d fight ’til one wuz dead.  Besides, Paw won’t allow but one since he don’t lay no eggs.”    
 
	Shaking his large, red comb, and sporting sharp spurs on his legs, the rooster strutted around in the yard, scratched and pecked at the ground as did the hens, but accomplished the task with great dignity, as if he merely condescended to eat.  At his approach, the hens moved aside so he could claim his rightful share of the corn, but they continued to peck hungrily at what they could reach until it was gone.  
 
	Elvira walked over as the feeding was almost completed.  To Albert’s intense discomfort, the rooster suddenly raced toward a white hen.  She squawked and ran away, but he easily overtook her, jumped on her back, seized her smaller comb, lowered his body onto hers, and shook for a few seconds as he fulfilled his conjugal duty.  
 
	“Albert, what in the world are they doing?” Elvira innocently asked.  “I never saw chickens do that before.”
 
	Her cousin vaguely knew it was something like the bull mounting the cow, but didn’t want to explain that to his cousin or any girl for that matter.  Such delicate matters were never discussed.  
 
	“I don’t know.  Maybe he jest wanted a ride,” he replied as his face turned crimson and he walked quickly away.  
 
The now-fertilized hen indignantly shook her ruffled feathers into place, flapped her wings a couple of times and returned to feeding.  The rooster crowed loudly in seeming celebration of his conquest.  
 
	Rarely, a hen would attempt to crow. As Dr. Samuel Johnson remarked about a dog walking on its hind legs and a woman preaching, “It was not done well, but one was surprised to see it done at all.”  
 
	“Y’u shore shouldn’t have did thet,” remonstrated Milas’ wife as she threw a rock at the offender.  “There’ll be no mor’ aigs from y’u.”
 
	A crowing hen alarmed country people as few things could.  It seemed contrary to the natural scheme of things and couldn’t be tolerated.  
 
	When he learned about the crowing hen, Milas frowned, shook his head, and vowed, “I ain’t puttin’ up wif’ nothin’ like thet ’round heer.”
 
	“Git th’ axe ’n’ go out thar an’ kill thet brown an’ white hen,” he instructed one of his sons.  
 
	“Y’u might as well hesh thet squawking,” the teenager said to the hen as she struggled to escape his grasp.  Yore gonna make some mighty fine chicken ’n’ dumplings.”  
 
	Scientists later discovered that a hen has a bit of rudimentary testis. Under certain conditions the tissue begins to grow. The resulting hormone outflow begins to persuade her that “she” is a “he.”  In those days nobody would’ve cared, even if such an explanation had existed. They knew just what to do if a hen dared crow.  
 
	“Ah whistlin’ girl ’n’ ah crowin’ hen always com’ t’ some bad end,” repeated anyone who thought of the well-known rhyme when either occasion arose. It was literally true in the case of the hen. The girl, with nothing to fear, grinned in disbelief at the old country saying, but usually stopped whistling just the same.  It was better to be “safe than sorry.”
 
	Uneducated and superstitious people had little tolerance for anything that failed to meet their expectations, particularly as to appropriate gender behavior.  That included even a hapless hen with an identify crisis.  Some things change very little.  


Long poem by Jecon B. Nadela | Details |

Enjerciendo Prudencia

Dedicated to: Myself and the kindred spirits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

The Truth is Still the Truth

I'm searching far and wide for the facts, getting my hands dirty in the process
When we conquer nations, I say bloodshed and they say progress
I have no desire to be burned at the stake
Simply practicing freedom of speech for Pete's sake
I know it's gonna hurt like none else when I reveal these secrets
But in this case ignorance ain't bliss, so I'm keeping true with no regrets
I've learned way too much and dug too deep to pretend I didn't see what I saw
I get disgusted when they tell me to keep quiet
cause I might just break some obscure law
They call me disrespectful and unpatriotic when I display any kind of negativity
But aren't they equally so when they throw me in a cell when I simply don't agree?
Cause at the end of the day, when all is said and done, the truth is still the truth
And I know when I say that I run the risk of hanging from a noose
But if you don't speak up, for fear of ridicule, either way you're gonna lose
It doesn't really matter if I offend the way you think
All I wanna do is offer you my hand, I don't want you to sink
in the sea of lies, those people behind the scenes are so proud of
The time for silence is finally over, the world has had quite enough
We aren't sheep in line waiting for the slaughter
We are brothers, sisters, sons and daughters!
And don't get me wrong I support the troops, just not the war
Does anyone honestly know what we're fighting for?
Stop hacking at the branches of evil, and grab at the roots
When the truth lies ahead, it's worth getting mud on your boots
I wanna let you know that your heart might shatter when I say this
I know you might be calling me crazy or disturbed, but I accept that risk
I'd like to honor the victims of 9/11 - but the investigation was a sick joke
If you're eating while reading this, for the love of God, don't choke
I need you to spread the word and really ask the hard questions
Any race and any nation is capable of performing crimes too foul to mention
Even our own (though reputedly god-blessed) is no exception
The building fell six seconds flat, from an illogical jet fuel blast
The fact it wasn't hot enough for fuel to explode, no one bothered to explain that
The kamikaze Arabs that flew the plane, a few are still alive, living in their home country
Just give 'em a ring and and say how's it going, oh and by the way,
"How did you defy your own mortality?"
Did you know a cool 60 mil was spent on digging into Clinton's love life?
Yet only a fraction of that was spent trying to figure out
who ordered the extermination of over a thousand lives...
Seems to me some poor sap is getting paid big bucks to drink the Kool Aid
Seems to me someone's laughing their head off while the rest of are getting played
Don't take my word it, I'm just one person after all, start your own research
All I'm asking is for you to think for yourself, and don't get too cozy on your perch
Pay close attention when they advance two steps only to jump back one
And when you notice you gotta catch them in the act, not after its already done
This isn't political opinion; the loss of human life is just something I don't condone
Life is just way too precious to be debating the humaneness of drones
Yeah, I support our brave troops, so for once do what's right and send 'em back home!



NOTE: I didn't write this for creative purposes, for this is no laughing matter, but a serious issue. What happened on the day of 9/11 was one of the most appalling crimes in recent history - please, don't listen to the basic news stations and take it for absolute truth. There are over a hundred contradictions in the "official story" they give out. What I mentioned in this rap is just bread crumbs compared to the whole story. The majority of people won't even consider the slightest possibility that 9/11 was an inside job (even when countless facts and holes in their story, lead one to believe that's exactly what it was). It is an absolute disgrace to the victims of 9/11, to leave the investigation in such obscurity and unanswered questions. This is not politics here... these are human beings we are talking about. I beg of you to not just take my word for it, but start your own research. There are several very thorough documentaries on the subject, that were put together by small groups of people eager to find the truth. Loose Change is a good one.


Long poem by craig cornish | Details |

Jane Eyre Crown

I shall not live as in a room of red. 
I was not born to be what others presume
And stay within that state until I am dead;
Punished within my own hellish doom,
Scratching at the walls that others build
And those which I construct to block them out
Until my world becomes so cold and chilled
Or in the darkness I dare not move about.
Who is not God that looks upon my form
And sees a child that never will a Lady be;
Will never visit peace where truth is sworn,
Forever cursed to live among the Reeds.
None are truly orphaned in God’s eyes
Those who “use” God will fashion their demise.

Those who “use” God will fashion their demise.
Like Headmaster Brocklehurst  uses piety for gain
And rules like many of his kind with tyranny and lies.
These lessons learned within my soul forever will remain.
But a gift of destiny would shine a loving light;
A friend who will forever remain in my heart –
Dear Helen, who could find faith and hope in bleakest night
And spread her love and smile even on departing.
Here, in the midst of this tribulation
I found kindred spirits I have never known.
Helen and Ms Temple, who both taught me patience
And I left Lowood into a lady grown.
My image peers back from the dusty pane –
Are you ready for what lies next dear Jane?

Are you ready for what lies next dear Jane?
How much more could my brand be tempered;
How close to the fire before molten puddles remain;
How much of this life will I cherish when remembered;
Or will these years pile upon me until I beg to leave?
No matter, I will never bend to self pity
Nor gazing at my visage grieve
Or think my lot in life was petty.
This time at Thornfield, no matter what it brings,
Whether I am queen or governess –
The only wound to soul that truly stings
Are those that tween my self-worth slip.
Demeaning barbs like Lady Blanche has thrown
Are those like all the rest I’ve known.

Are those like all the rest I’ve known,
So hateful, why must they demean,
While Master Rochester – in his eyes I’ve seen a glow,
Also, deep within, are secrets still unseen.
Shadows that drift like a storm may never go,
Like a raging fire never to be quelled
And forbidden truths much too hot to hold,
Disguised now as a Gypsy he’ll foretell.
Could he truly find love in me and not Blanche,
And if so, should I flee my own yearnings
Within which my spirit sings and dances,
But then, through all the rest of life, what have I learned?
Yet, this is caring and belonging I have never seen,
Still, I cannot forget where I have been.

Still, I cannot forget where I have been.
Will I stay someway in servitude?
No matter what I wear – what will others see,
But if I run will regret forever be my mood?
No, I must marry this man I love – Adele – this place.
Where he is, is my only true home,
But to the hidden truths I awake,
This secret kept, I will not condone.
This terrible burden now upon us,
A mad woman locked like the madness of this all;
This life of mine again unjust –
Too much pain for one life to allot!
For my own sanity I must say goodbye.
Please dear God, be with me, at my side.

Please dear God, be with me, at my side.
This place, this situation, I must flee
If only to be me for more than pride,
But for my painful heart to believe.
At Marsh End I am at last equal.
Love and friendship have a guiltless exchange.
Here, I am no longer fearful,
Still, I think of Thornfield where a part of me remains.
I now know that others love me for who I am
And my value in this world is real.
I’ve even been proposed to by another man,
So more hidden doubts can be unveiled.
The inheritance I received may be a sign
These trials I have endured are left behind.

These trials I have endured are left behind
But not the value of lessons learned.
The journey henceforth is truly mine
To share with whom my passion yearns.
From far away I feel Edward near
And go to find the castle in ruins
What have I done – for my love I fear;
My head races with so many emotions.
This heart, this love, was pent up in anger,
In a world which I … did not trust.
Within myself, and in your arms, there is no danger –
No walls to block your loving touch.
I am free from what I dreaded
I shall not live as in a room of red.


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

Kate and Isobel

*There are only two damsels in this tale; all variations were simply for ease of writing.

Once Kate and Isabella went
To see the pretty fields of Gwent
And traipse through forest shade
They packed a picnic lunch for two
And skipped away in dresses blue
To find a charming glade

First tea and cakes, then off to play
They laughed and wandered all the day
'Till day was waxing faint
Then homeward faced, linked arm in arm
With never fear to cause alarm
Nor caution bring restraint

Alas! Alas! there lay a hole
With plot to swallow heart and soul
One golden-headed girl
That wretched hole may death berate
And end of being imprecate
That vile, vicious churl!

"Oh, help me, Kate!" cried Isobel
But fingers slipped and in she fell
'Mid shock and disbelief
Then Isabella, far below
Called, "Quickly, Katie! quickly go
For aid and sure relief."

Then Katie knelt beside the brim
Once sparkling eyes with tears aswim
And said, "I'll here remain."
But Isobel at once demurred
"Oh, Kate, some help must be secured
I cannot move for pain."

So off she went and searched around
But not one soul could there be found
Nor ever likely step't
She stopped awhile to sit and rest
Her folded hands to bosom pressed
And there she softly wept

A mounted knight then riding by
Beheld her tears and heard her sigh
And off his palfrey lit
Said he, "Fair damsel, golden-haired
Such doleful frame must be repaired
So speak thou whilst I sit."

"Alas, good Knight!" quoth woeful Kate
It may, I fear, be just too late
To save my friend to day
With haste, good knight, come, follow me
And see if succour yet may be
Oh, help me, knight, I pray."

The knight bestrode his lofty seat
Then set her aftward nice and neat
And off they set at trot
The knight she held with firmest hold
'Till at the pit both dark and cold
They Isabella sought

While night sped on at rapid pace
The knight set out to win the race
And save the damsel whole
A rope he from his saddle fetched
And tree to Isabella stretched
Then clambered in the hole

Right down the rope he quickly swung
And to her side he deftly sprung
He raised her from the dust
He tied a rope from waist to waist
And she her arms about him placed
In sweet, confiding trust

A span or two to hand he climbed
With Isabella right behind
'Till safety was secured
Then Kate and Isobel embraced
Said Kate, "What awful things you faced
And terrors you endured!"

Well, this was Isobel's reply
"Oh, Kate, I should not tell a lie
In word or even deed
Except to brave that curséd fall
It really was not bad at all
I knew you would succeed."

Then to the knight she turned and saith
"I thank thee, Knight, by all my faith
For saving me this night
Thus here I give my ring to wear
And trust that ye might ever fare
As well in ev'ry fight."

Then quoth the knight, "Thy ring I take
With faith that it myself will make
A nobler, better man
To fight for justice, truth, and peace
In hope that vice and evil cease
In ev'ry way I can.

"But let us neither tarry long
For hark! the cricket's evening song
Pervades the damp'ning air
So let me take thee, damsel, home
'Twould never do to leave thee roam
On halting legs to there."

Thus Isobel his palfrey rode
While Kate and he beside her strode
Right to their township sweet
"'Tis Belle and Kate!" the watchman called
And quickly down the drawbridge hauled
That they their kin might meet

The threesome turned from roads away
To streets of black and muted grey
'Till safely home at last
"Oh, praise the Lord," quoth Isobel
That though some trouble us befell
Those troubles now are past!"

"'Tis not so true," quoth Knight with grin
There yet remains to get thee in
And halting legs at that."
Then from the palfrey off she slipped
The knight her falling figure gripped
And bore her o'er the mat

His burden carried up the stairs
'Mid father's, mother's wond'ring stares
And gently placed in bed
Her father asked her why he came
She said that she was nearly lame
And dizzied in the head

At that he wished the knight to stay
But through the dark he rode away
His lamp the crescent moon
And though he had some deed to do
Those pretty maidens somehow knew
The knight would see them soon



Long poem by Katie Pukash | Details |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.


Long Poems