Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
Unquotable quotes: Paris, the last week of the August reprieve – XXXV
Part One I
Even the turtle doves secretly in love in the sticky linden wake
In the still chill of the lambent dawn recalling halcyon days
The broods they raised gone to roost beyond the wooded lake
In wild terrain where the socialist sickle cut no customary hay
Where they told and re-told without halter nor sapping fervour
Their simple untrammeled joys hopping about fluttering insects
Over over-grown wild scrub lawns fooling around a grass-hopper
Now old cockle-warming tales turn rumble-grumble no one forgets
The short aptly-rhymed refrain rolling rough on gravel stone
The close-cooing couples’ complaint toss through sleep frantic
The first leaves shed wilt down quilt shafts mementoes of bone
Brittle the worrisome air burnt oxygen neurotic cataclysmic
The Yin steal back in the witching hour of the frenzied night
Lèches-culs lèches-bottes and their official vaunting supporters
To hoist their flag still stewing in their murky muddy might
Roasted chestnut to their undies charred looks of brazen looters
Three months from June to hoist and foist their haunches
Now to stomp deep in the silt of their care-may-the-devil guilt
Rude thick the arteries pump up autoroutes to citadel ranches
To continue to suck the sap from a world other sweat built
The refuge of the kind who never seek to otherwise mind
If turtle doves too may make the most of what they built
Through the North and North-East passage of log-ice grind
Into the region of Southwest complaisance tomorrow may find
The first signs reek tell-tale
Buffer-to-buffer parking lots choc-a-bloc
Long insistent hornblowing concertos announce the Yin’s arrogant blazè uppitiness
Electric drillers sink deeper into the unconscious stirring unconscionable beasts still dormant
Care-may-the-devil youths ride sputtering broncos rearing their muzzles revving their lawn-mower engines signaling their presences to their belles
Even lordly crows scare desert languishing lawns pavements quadrangles
Chinese crackers drop on the old and weary out to retrieve their morning baguettes
Indoors slam the doors drop loads of toilet slam-a-dam-slam
Skateboards grind parquets
Dark stealthy hands whip carpets down terrace butter-cups
Bumpy pubertied girls bounce basket-balls on every stilted cobble stone
Harsh threats hurled by gardiennes on some lone defenceless decrepit ricochet between grainy gravely walls
The monotonous neurotic beat of the rapper blares out of some open car door
Stately high wooden horse-shoed chairs screech-scrape naked parquets
The children upstairs take turns with parents to tap-tap with iron tongs your scalp trepanised by stilettoes
Lèche-culs gather favourite crowds at your doorstep to wail their concocted woes
Mothers dragging loads of holiday-gossip on steel-grip chariots scream at children they enroll for the new-born kinder-garten year
Overhead cargo planes and pompier helicopters tie clouds in whirls of hurricanes
The Mairie sends forth its armada of grass-cutters branch-lobbers road-washers to churn the cité in a putrefying maelstrom of carbon-monoxide
Interminable garbage chariots bring lone scavengers looking for the mislaid meal their gastric growls louder than the grating wheels up and down the basement climb
Heavy metal garbage vans pound kitchen utensils discarded car parts used-up batteries spades paint tubs sloppy almeirahs in the still darkened dawn
Upstairs thick-skinned villains drop heavy spilling metal ball-bearings metal boxes their nasty bottoms on uncarpeted wooden resounding terrain
Bulky chunky women stomp on high-heeled blocks all their way out of the entrance foyer down stoney stair steps to catch the early Metro
No less than four-hundred sore throats yell into the intercom on their way in or out
Late night revellers arrive in hitch-hiked cars to continue the yelling over the night-club din at the entrance patio never failing to rap on the first door
Distraught women yell their chagrin into mobile cases out in the midnight moonshine
Tiny tods drag school books paraphernalia through tarmac landing craft rumble
The lèche-cul terrors draw tight round their scents conspirators from far Slavic lands
Who said the Mediterranean didn’t flow into the Black Sea
Even the thunder over the lake recedes into the rear of the ear
At the Carrefour cashiers’ the queues thicken and stink longer
(continued on next page: Part Two of XXXV)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Diane Lefebvre | Details |
It was an early fall day, some decades ago,
When three of my boys were still young.
Looking forward that year to the Rochester Fair,
An event that was always good fun.
A promise from me I would transport them forth
And attend this yearly event,
Where the food and the rides and the animal barns,
Made my limited cash seem well spent.
The hour we chose was end of the day,
When the last of the school bells had rung.
I would pick them up there and we'd head for the fair
Childish glee; I felt once again young!
Things seemed to go well, the crowds being light,
Working out as I'd carefully planned.
But, it didn't take long for requests to be made,
That would lead to the land of the dammed.
"The fun house please, Mom", begged two oldest of three,
Their plea was sincere and quite strong.
To deny them this honest and heartfelt request,
They assured me would simply be wrong.
I thought for awhile and then finally gave in:
Persuaded this once to agree.
Pulled a dollar forthwith from my battered old purse,
Handing over four times worth of fees.
The fun house proved a rather long trailer,
Adorned in graffiti and gold.
It called to those kids, I was herding about,
With great mysteries inside to behold.
Loud speakers obscured noisy crowd din,
Bidding all of those nearby to "Come in."
In the many long years I had been to this fair
Was the first I was tempted to go inside there.
For I valued my money, as my mother had taught,
While she'd warned me the fun house, simply was not:
Scary and spooky, and fun to go through
It should best be avoided (like back then) Asian Flu!
But ignoring old warnings, my party of four,
Trundled up a steep ramp through a rather slim door.
As the loud speakers blared for more folks to come in
We stepped into a blackness that made one's head spin.
The darkness inside overwhelmed me . . it's true,
As my kids disappeared all at once from my view.
And I felt for the walls, as the passage grew slight:
We were in a black maze meant to cause us a fright.
The flooring below, sloped both upward then down,
Leaving balance unsure, as feet groped for the ground.
And my first thought just then, "keep the youngest boy near;
While instructing the oldest, "Go ahead without fear!"
But he stoutly refused . . shoved ahead number two,
Who also demurred, as four fists quickly flew.
My voice grew quite loud, thereby ending the fight,
I'd have cuffed them both soundly, had they been in my sight.
With one hand I grabbed hold of my youngest of sons,
As the thought came to mind, "Where the hell is the fun"?
From my lips came first threats, mingled with a mild curse,
When the both of them whined . . let their brother go first.
We just stood there and squabbled in the depths of the black.
Could I see them they both would have gotten a smack,
And I threatened we'd leave through the door we'd come in
Back onto that midway, amidst the crowd din.
We'd go home, yes go home, our good time at its end.
I would end it before it could even begin!
But still they refused to step into the maze
As my patience got lost in a creeping red haze.
Then as one of those boys was about to agree,
The third one piped up; he just had to go pee.
I gave up on the day with some hidden regret,
Accepting the fact my threats had to be met.
We went out the same door to a huge crowd below
And they laughed and they clapped and I felt oh so low.
The loud speaker that coaxed us, "Come in and have fun",
Broadcast every last word, between myself and my sons.
And the ramp to the ground, we'd gone up to get in,
Seemed to go on forever, while descending just then.
So in keeping my promise, we all left the town fair;
Most embarrassed I'd felt, in my life, anywhere!
Many years have gone by and it’s just an old tale,
We all laugh when it's told; I no longer grow pale.
But because of that day and the memories to come;
I agree with my mother . . fun houses . . aren't fun!
© 2016 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Heather Angel | Details |
It's been nine months since I left you it wasn't easy at all you was such a big part of my life for on and off 14 years i trusted and believed in you that you would keep me safe happy and many other things! Thought you wouldn't ever hurt me lie,cheat,steal any of that! I told you my deepest darkest fears,secrets, asked you to never take advantage of me or my family/ friends. Knowing everything I had been through and all I felt that your the only thing I could turn to and have on my side. Never asked for much!! Myself being lost,lonely,scared,angry,confused all the above. You guided me in as if I was one of your own! Our relationship became stronger we was together at all times our bond was unbreakable the love was stronger than anything I ever had or felt! Every time I put you inside my veins I felt unbelievable amazing all my worries and problems disappeared the feeling of being loved unconditionally it was insane! We became as if we were soul mates like a married couple incredibly in love!! Until you got me right where you wanted me couldn't live without you or even be without you if I was I felt like I was dieing to where I begged for God to take my life because you betrayed me and lied,used, physically and mentally and emotionally abused, lost many friends and family due to you had me lieing cheating stealing and other things that I would have never done in my life. Attempting suicide a few times just so I could end the pain and suffering from being an herion addict needle junkie that I truly hated more than anything in this world. I was alone scared many things nobody to turn to it was either move out of that town or end up in jail/prison and I most definitely didn't want that. I left town without even looking back remind you I had myself totally convinced that I couldn't live without herion/the devil!! Nine months later I'm alive clean and sober getting my life back on track new beginning and away from that town a good 2-3hours away. Only been back there one time and was so nausea and sick to my stomach and nervous) scared because I know what goes on there any so much more. I was there long enough to get the paperwork I needed and that's it no looking back!! But here I am nine months later alive trying to get do whats Best for myself and others if they need my support I will be there to help and support in any way possible. I survived not knowing I could all you have to do is want it more than anything and hope and pray and God heavenly father will be there no matter what. I'm still a working progress but bettering myself and many others!! Have faith never give up.
Copyright © Heather Angel | Year Posted 2016
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.
Copyright © Valentine Mbagu | Year Posted 2013
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)
Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2014
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)
Copyright © Wayne Mattison | Year Posted 2010
Long poem by
matthew harris | Details |
when eve doth fall upon summers’ end,
a hint of splendor bequeathed arose
upon firmament as changed scenery
(this third equinox act since new year) bellows
basses loaded and blasted in sync with pyrotechnic pizzazz,
while orchestras suites scored for cellos
thus quiet riot of multitudinous notes swirl
from each bronzed leaf like fellows
dancing elliptically forsooth greeting mother earth
with char rills brawn son hellos.
how peachy keen and grand to be seated
at plum lined tree center stage
to behold the colorful capering downward spiraling threnody
quintessential silent rage
chapter three if nature alluded to
as a tome poem – and now the first page
known to humans since…way before indigenous tribes
occupied North America such as the Osage
and/or other natives, whose keen scents foretold
the onset from flora and fauna sings they did gauge.
now the regimentation of existence commandeered
by strict adherence affianced to the clock
lest an employee arrive one second late –
her/his pay will go hickory dock
which sequestration to the twenty first century life
analogous to men undergoing emasculation,
whereby he may as well be a eunuch
without thick horn, where business
deals concluded as overhead a flock
of seagulls migrate to southern climes,
which with global warming seems ad hoc
yet the multitudinous animals and plants
genetically under rubric of life lock
which mucking around viz industrialization
humankind doth make a mock
‘ere re: and drive many miniscule species
to take safety and shelter under a rock
totally oblivious, those bipedal hominids haphazardly
scurry to work in order to purchase schlock.
thus this pre dormant season,
where one must be vigilant and tread
like angels heeding curtain call
draw wing summer to a close
with damn the torpedoes salvo,
the cacophony kaleidoscope of color
per fifty plus shades of red
forecast thee onset of cooler temperatures
with falun gong foliage natural compost
shelter burrowing creatures, who stash goodies
at a later time to be fed
thus each of us need be vigilant
with no misstep to tread
upon feet lightly negotiating
whereat dwells busy itty-bitty bodies
well nigh invisible to the naked eye,
yet if ground swell of organisms
once would behold a microscopic whirled wide web!
Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2016
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 ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
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...!
Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2015