Long poem by
Valentine Mbagu | Details |
The month of perfection has come for the sons and daughters of zion to possess their possession,
with the understanding that September is a month like no other month to remember in the history of histories for those who believe in the word of the lord.
The month of fulfilment has come for the children and people of God to possess and inherit the land whereon their feet have trodden upon,
with the knowledge that September is a month like no other month to remember in the season of seasons for God's promises to be fulfilled in the lives of those that wait upon him.
The month of harvest has come for the righteous and faithful people of God to reap and enjoy the fruit of their labour,
with the awareness that September is a month like no other month to remember in the memory of memories for those who believe that the land is bountifully ripe for harvest and truely plentious for conquest.
The month of liberation has come for the captives in captivity to become captains of the captors in the land of captivity,
knowing that the Captain of captians have ascended on high and led captivity captive.
The month of visitation has come for the windows and doors of heaven to open unto them that are expectant of Divine favour, blessings and visitation,
knowing that the presence and power of God is presently present to present to those who are presently present, presents that are presents from above.
The month of dominion has come for the diligent and dedicated David's and Deborah's of this generation to dominate and have dominion over the nobles among the people and forces of the earth,
knowing that God have given us power and authority over the earth to dominate and have dominion over the high and the mighty.
The month of establishment has come for the prudent and pure ones in heart to see God undertaking and establishing his promises in their lives,
with the understanding that God is not unfaithful to forget all our labour and works of righteousness and service to his kingdom.
The month of manifestation has come for the sons and daughters of zion to be Divinely empowered for the manifestation of God's glory on earth,
with the knowledge that the earth and all that dwell in it is the lord's and the fullness thereof.
The month of rememberance has come for the book of rememberance to be opened for the obedient and commited ones to be celebrated by heaven,
with the awareness that God have separated the month of September to remember those that serve and call upon him with a pure heart.
This is September to Remember.
Long poem by
Fritz Purdum | Details |
Born in Autumn, a buffer season
Not Summer with days of sun
Fields of green with life abounding
And sparkling clear springs.
Not Winter with her majestic wonderland
Of brisk cold winds which kiss the skin
Of gentle snowflakes that fall to earth
Of a blanket of snow that sheets the earth
A covering that allows all to sleep for its rebirth.
Not Spring the beginning of life anew
When snowy fields give way to green grass kissed by Morning's dew
Of promises of love, the inner mating call
Spring a season of life, the most beautiful of all.
Born in Autumn
Things die, They give way
To winds that blow decaying leaves
From once beautiful green trees
Autumn poor Autumn how it yearns to live
A season of brilliant colors
Colors that are false for they hide
The fact what Autumn colors dies.
A season where not sure
Too cold to go bare arm
Too warm to wear a coat
So sweaters were made
Not too cold, not too hot are these days.
Spring a season of love
Summer a season of fun
Winter a season of rest
But Autumn a season of labor
You must reap the harvest
You must prepare for Winter.
I fell in love with a girl of Spring
A joyful, lovely, spirited thing
Her eyes were wild
Upon her face there was a suspicious smile
She was every thing a man could want
Carefree, laughter, emotions of Joy
O' my heart did she toy
Bountiful, free yes was she
This little girl of Spring.
I am a child of September
Born in the month that begat Autumn
Withdrawn, quiet, working hard
I have a strong desire to change the world
Just as Autumn does
It breaks down Summer, forces him to yield
To give birth to Winter
That is what Autumn does
And for all it's glory-for all it's change
Winter blankets him with her snow
So the change of Autumn goes unknown
So is the life of me
Only changing the scenery temporarily.
The other seasons understand
They have their place in time
They yield their beauty grand
But Autumn yearns for it all
He wants to fight
He waves his colors boastfully
He shines with colors bright
And Winter, she only laughs
And blankets him with her snow.
I fight for beliefs I hold dear
But yet I yield them to Time.
For Time rules all the seasons supreme
Time is the Father of all things
Time tells us we must only love
Those in which seasons we can share
Autumn could have Winter which he proceeds
But Summer has Spring which he succeeds
Autumn to Winter, Summer to Spring
That is how Time made it.
(continued September's Child Part two)
Long poem by
Wayne Mattison | Details |
September 11, 2001
Our Day That Will in Infamy, our entire nation was crying on that dreadful day-
Nine one one, nine one one!! We should have seen them terrorist---those evil men---
in those planes coming-after all--911 means emergency!!
After all-- those radical hateful men --high- jacked those planes
were trained in OUR HOMELAND. The nation watched on that horrible day, as 19 unknown
men, with 4 of our own planes--crashed THEM into--OUR HEARTLAND!
Our Day That Will in Infamy, as those two buildings burnt, the nation watched.
As the Firefighters,Policemen --stormed--two buildings-- and to Death.
They tell us --the American people, only 346 Hero’s died --that dreadful day-
how would they know? Too busy-- mobilizing--for the day.
Then,--there were Medical Personnel, Rescue Workers; who went to
their death as well.
Our Day That Will in Infamy – Husbands who wanted to come home-- that day, brothers-
only boys --Sons and Daughters who wanted to come home--on that horrible
day-- Fathers and Dads--THEY ALL died--that disgusting day.
3000 died-- that Infamous day--so the Media, Government want us to-- deliberate.
Our Day That Will in Infamy- nine one one, nine one one,-- our DAY OF INFAMY.
Not long after-- this day in history---our nation went on campaign.
After all--911-- means emergency! Campaign against-- Hussein’s Government.
Our Day That Will in Infamy–- 911,911-- It means emergency!
We should have seen them coming---on that day--filled with emergency.
We should have seen them arrive with our technology--in the firmament.
A leading Country in “LEO” technology- used for military personification-- including Earth
observation.. We should have seen them coming- on that shocking, shocking day--with LEO
Our Day That Will in Infamy –nine one one, nine one one- our entire nation-
was crying on that dreadful day!! Our entire nation was crying on-- that abominable day—I
WILL NEVER FORGET, I WILL NEVER FORGET. Our entire nation was crying on that repugnant
day—WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER- WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER,--THAT COLD SEPTEMBER
DAY!! THAT COLD SEPTEMBER DAY – that will always be 911--Our Day That Will LIVE in
Kevin R. Ryan
Site Manager of the Environmental Health Laboratories
South Bend, Indiana
(Company site - www.ehl.cc)
A division of Underwriters Laboratories, Inc.
(Company site - www.ul.com)
Long poem by
Shanity Rain | Details |
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Long poem by
Andrew Crisci | Details |
Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy!
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?
They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere!
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman.
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see!
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!
Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again!
Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Long poem by
KENG CHUAN SENG | Details |
Hey,come 3rd quarter of each calender year, it is that time of the year again,
This phenomenon is headlined in local dailies each day, again and again...
An enviromental situation, all kinds of experts in general do agree...
A regular man-made consequence from widespread clearing and burning of trees..
All over the country, as in the whole Asian region, the sun is but a blur pall of crimson...
Evidence of the filtering effects of the haze particles in atmospheric conditions..
This pall of haze or jerebu is now a password upon which to start a conversation...
Something akin to the British How's The Weather way of striking up a conversation..
Make a comment about this hazy situation and you can be sure of an observation...
That something urgent needs to be quickly done to elevate this distressing condition...
Everyman in the street is aware of this thick smoky mist that envelope the environment...
People are advised to use face masks to reduce the intake of unhealthy irritants...
Even as the sale of face masks are flying off the shelves, what a situation...
People with breathing problems like asthma are to stay indoors, lessen outdoor exertions..
Scheduled flights has to be cancelled unless flying visibility index is acceptable...
Schools are ordered to close when the official haze index breach certain levels...
Cloud seeding efforts are in force to seed rainfall which will clear considerably the opaque sky..
Just so that such unhealthy and unfavourable conditions will not cloud future skies...
Government efforts are intensified to once again negotiate for cross border cooperation...
Time and again, all these actions are routine responses to mitigate the people's indignation...
For year to year, we the public , suffer all kinds of inconveniences and challenges..
When each calender year enters the 3rd quarter, we suffer again this haze in stages..
Hopes are high, maybe this year things will be different, things will be better...
Down come the promised rain and the situation clears, until the next year...
When once again we all go through the whole rigmorale of negotiations and deliberations...
Safety measures and advice for the masses, cloud seeding efforts and of course, fervent prayers...
Welcome to the haze situation here in Asia...!
KENG CHUAN SENG
Long poem by
Johnathan Thompson | Details |
When I go home damn
Its really quiet
Never thought I'd find this amount of white noise
In the pitch black face silence
As I flip scenarios of something like self inflicted violence
making, my room, look....just a lil more stylish
I'll douse the walls with my wrist's imitation of your red fingernail polish
The riot in my mind may have leaked out
Some sound and the floorboards of this house still creek but a paddle im
In my surroundings
Thought my flow would let me float on but ya boy ain't so buoyant tho
Fall in to the blue sky's reflection as I plummet into my foe
I'm a machine, can't have water get too close
Not afraid of water, because I can't swim
Scared of depth and darkness, and oceans will force me to give in
I don't wanna share my lungs
Lemme breathe for me
Fraid uh water because I've coasted the trans-parent sea
It's weird when you can say "my parents see right through me"
But I lost every battle
Reached for anything
All I got was a broken handle on everything
Sex life flowing down south with her g string and sex appeal
I need to
but cannot feel
As I challenge my demons to a battle
Im kind of like the scent leading the pack to the cattle
Never really see me coming
But I'll lead you to something that'll have ya bowels runnin
Digestive tract star
Ingest every bar
And when you're done im the shit
Even if you ain't really like it
I mean if you want,
Glance at my ego leave a scar
Or get impressed call me a star
My stride the only thing between me and going far
Serpentine with your actions but I call you baby
Now I see why you stay so shady
because to me it seems like you've got nothing but an innocent rattle
Blinded, because I let my lap become your saddle
Your reflection yelling at me im surprised you couldn't tell
Treating me like I was the first Angel sent to hell
If Jesus was a lamb I can be your scapegoat at the very least
Sacrilegious sacrifices, looked past the fact I'm actually a feral beast
Shook, like a Harlem shake rattlesnake attention deficit rook
Playin the say it wit ya chess game and I wrote all the books
King disguised as a pawn
I'll put myself on
Competition going down
Hit that nae napalm expellin from my mouth
Long poem by
Thomas Reyes | Details |
I walk into the convenience store and hear "the end of days" proclaimed by the checkout boy. "Did you see the soldiers and the Army trucks pass by today?" "No" I replied. He further stated "I did. They're here because of China or to prevent secession, or perhaps because it is the end of days". "Oh, very well. Where do you keep the chardonnay?" I exclaimed. I had to cry out. Because this opiate withdrawal doesn't allow me to just be. Not after a hundred pills consumed in less than a week. Alcohol makes it worse, but just not to feel this, and to feel better but worse later is the same type of madness that brought me to this place. And I have been here before. So he directed me to the wine selections and pointed out what was dry and what was sweet. I decided on a Moscato and something red. "Now I just hope that this fucking credit card works" I thought. While the machine did it's thing, and he continued on blathering, I had to intervene and say "has not every generation thought that their sky was falling? So this is ours kid". And after ten dollars and eighty-two cents was charged, I signed off on the receipt, and then I was off to consume. Thoughts lingered of a September doom. And I have been here before too. And now I sit here, drinking this Moscato, already halfway through the bottle, and as these neurotransmitters synapse and fire off in unpleasant ways, I think to myself "I hope that kid is right, and this is after all the end of days." But I know that the end of something only brings about the beginning of something new. I designed it that way, as did you. You must have forgotten kid that new space and time will come again soon. In the fresh formation of a cosmos, or within the twirling dust of a newfangled galaxy, or perhaps that which has already begun among the parallel realities, and dimensions we have yet to wrap our minds around simply because we cannot afford to, and we choose to remain here in a virtual reality fit only for television. Entertainment so that we may entertain ourselves with nothingness that we proclaim is worthy to be, and be we try, until the end of days. I have been here before too. Nothing more to say, nothing more to do, but toast "to the gods, and a prayer to the humans that merely be, instead of the gods that they were meant to be." We have all been here before.
Long poem by
Thomas Reyes | Details |
I walk into the convenience store and hear "the end of days" proclaimed by the checkout boy. "Did you see the soldiers and the Army trucks pass by today?" "No" I replied. He further stated "I did. They're here because of China or to prevent secession, or perhaps because it is the end of days". "Oh, very well. Where do you keep the chardonnay?" I exclaimed. I had to cry out. Because this opiate withdrawal doesn't allow me to just be. Not after a hundred pills consumed in less than a week. Alcohol makes it worse, but just not to feel this, and to feel better but worse later is the same type of madness that brought me to this place. And I have been here before. So he directed me to the wine selections and pointed out what was dry and what was sweet. I decided on a Moscato and something red. "Now I just hope that this fucking credit card works" I thought. While the machine did it's thing, and he continued on blathering, I had to intervene and say "has not every generation thought that their sky was falling? So this is ours kid". And after ten dollars and eighty-two cents was charged, I signed off on the receipt, and then I was off to consume. Thoughts lingered of a September doom. And I have been here before too. And now I sit here, drinking this Moscato, already halfway through the bottle, and as these neurotransmitters synapse and fire off in unpleasant ways, I think to myself "I hope that kid is right, and this is after all the end of days." But I know that the end of something only brings about the beginning of something new. I designed it that way, as did you. You must have forgotten kid that new space and time will come again soon. In the fresh formation of a cosmos, or within the twirling dust of a newfangled galaxy, or perhaps that which has already begun among the parallel realities, and dimensions we have yet to wrap our minds around simply because we cannot afford to, and we choose to remain here in a virtual reality fit only for television. Entertainment so that we may entertain ourselves with nothingness that we proclaim is worthy to be, and be we try, until the end of days. I have been here before too. Nothing more to say, nothing more to do, but toast "to the gods, and a prayer to the humans that merely be, instead of the gods that they were meant to be. "
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
The Clanking Chain of Wild Geese
I was watching the September sky every day,
With a hope to once again get a glance,
Of the clanking chains of those lovely wild geese,
That suddenly appears with their music melodies,
But quietly they disappear every year,
Like a Rainbow that comes and gets lost gradually.
No one knows when like a rainbow,
The wild geese would appear suddenly,
While changing their forms like clouds in the sky,
Mesmerizing our eyes for few seconds or more, and then,
Disappearing in the sky, like the dim vanishing evening.
The wild geese often appear in the sky,
Forming a shape like the garland of God,
And quickly changing shapes, like our emotions,
While moving in the sky like an arrow,
They sing the joyous songs of today, not tomorrow.
Forgetting the past and the future like an arrow,
Which keeps running, until it reaches its marrow,
The destination to pierce a heart,
They create either a joy or sorrow,
While singing a song of today, not tomorrow.
Oh, September sky I watch,wonder with ,
And hope to see them once again,
My childhood friends wild Geese,
Coming from north and vanishing in south,
Like my thoughts which arise and fall.
But this year, I did not see the winged necklaces of God,
Neither could I see a rainbow being formed,
Nor even hear their chorus like songs,
No clanking of wings, No music of their joys,
No rise and fall of images like thoughts,
No sounds and music touching my heart.
One day, I was stunned to hear,
The species of goose are in great danger,
Man has stolen many of even God’s necklaces,
The rainbow of birds and the grandeur of sky,
A great heritage of Nature is vanishing before our eyes.
Oh, my sweet friend,
Will I ever be able to see and hear you again?
When you would clank your wings, in the windless sky,
Creating a dance and music, on such lofty heights,
Where no musician can ever fly,
With a hope till I am here on this earth my friend,
I would keep waiting and watching
For you O wild Geese in the September sky.
Kanpur India. 1st Oct. 2010
Dedicated to my loving wife Dr. Shashi Kapoor, as a birthday gift for her
Birthday on 2nd Oct. who loves animals and birds more than any thing
Ravindra K Kapoor