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Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

The Cascade Adventures - Part 1

It's been four years since I've seen so much as an insignificant mountain creek. Been overburdened with comfort, now frantic with nature withdrawals, having to settle for photos found on Google Images: emerald pine trees, blue jays on limbs, moonlight cutting through forests, lakes the color of Windex-ed glass. It's much like drinking water that's been doused with Crystal Light... you may feel yourself becoming hydrated, when it reality it's only satiating your thirst temporarily. So you can imagine my joy when my best friend called me up to break the news.

"Monica, Brandon, Joel and I are gonna go backpacking. Care to join?"

the finality
of a cell hitting the floor -
shoe tying

Like a bunch of sardines packed in a can on wheels, we headed out to beautiful Cascade: the place where the Idahoan mountains aren't just paintings from afar, but close enough to taste. We weave our way through the spider-like dirt trails, as we each take turns changing songs on Joel's iPod. It's my go and I'm searching through the John Denver list, mourning the fact that there's over a hundred songs by him, and not one of them is Colorado Rocky Mountain High (the one song I could say fit my feelings to a tee). The menagerie of everyone's taste in music made for an interesting trip no doubt - even if Jonathan picked the worst possible jams simply for annoyances sake.

My first peculiar observation:

Humans have been making calendars for thousands of years (the first being more akin to cave drawings and stone tablets than paper). But as long as all that has been going on, the mountains don't care that August is expected to be sultry as November is expected to be chilly. Cause June took her first baby steps with a stubborn December mindset - a meandering way to say it was cold enough to freeze your nads off. The mounds of five feet snow made it all the more comical the fact I was wearing plaid shorts. Mother Nature wasn't going to be kind, I could tell.

like turtles
struggling to stand -
our packs full of crockery

It was breezy at first. We would practically glide down the mountain side, using our backpacks as a counter balance. The snowy counterpart to kangaroos, we were. The glistening flakes were thick enough to snowboard down - granted I never touched a snowboard, let alone ridden one. But after seeing this it gives me ideas...

Monica smiled for the camera, as I fumbled for my iPhone, a smile that didn't even require the forcible Say Cheese! nonsense. It wasn't waiting for the camera flash, but the other way around. Now you might be calling that rather pathetic, but I brought my iPhone along simply for the function of capturing memories. Angry Birds just don't compare to the real ones, sweet with lilting songs.

My second peculiar observation:

Google Images is an absolute horrid plagiarist; some beauty just can't be encapsulated despite all our advances in high-def technology.

The downward slope finally leveled out a bit, if only for a few minutes. Truth be told the path never stopped declining - some routes were simply more apparent than others. Our group of five walked single file through the trees, all basing our faith that Joel (a person who has been to the site once when the trail WASN'T covered in snow) would lead us in the right direction. And here's another interesting fact; this was no official trail, but a hike through the purest of adventures, unpredictable and unreliable.

crushing pine needles
with un-gloved fingers -
roaring rivers beneath the snow

The first time my whole leg collapsed into the fragile surface of the snow made me realize just how far above the dirt I was walking. I'd ask Brandon for assistance with a beet red blush on my cheeks - I blamed it on my fair skin falling victim to the sunny day. From then out I tiptoed with exaggerated caution, my heavy pack helping me just as much as it was hindering me. For even a foot drop had to be taken with a grain of salt. Everyone had to adjust to the added weight (except for Monica, with her light load of a sleeping bag, nothing else). I'd very ungracefully glide through twigs and pesky low branches, oblivious of my bare legs. In all honesty the cold didn't get to me, just the scratches of neighboring trees is where my concerns lied. At anytime I could have stopped the whole gang, beaming, "Wait a spell and let me put on some pants for crying out loud". Course that never happened, my clothes were in the bottom of my pack, and I was no where near desperate enough for monkeying around with that sorry mess.

slick slates
slanting down the cliff edge -
helping hands

Joel, with his redneck stubble, beams up at me, "Every hiking trip needs a little bit of adventure, don't rush it by any means!". That's the last thing on my mind - the first is whether or not that rock I'm about to put my weight on is as stable as she looks. It's a very roundabout route, and as questionable as it is, it's safer by a long shot than the first path we took - call it a 103 degree wall.



NOTE: Still working on writing out the rest of my trip to Cascade. It was my first backpacking trip and even though we only stayed one night, the trip is full of wonderful memories.


Long poem by PENINNAH NGANGA | Details |

THIS WOMAN HIS WIFE 3

five decades of experience and vast global knowledge
he met and lay with all kind of ladies.
Intellectuals
Blondie
Women that sparks extreme desire
Some whose names he couldn't pronounce
Even those with no clue as to why God make a girl...

Never did he image
a simple 25 year old beauty
will be the bait to make him surrender.

His friends and families bet
it will last for as long
as she could satisfy his groin.
Its been fourteen years of bliss in this marriage
two handsome boys and a dog
still
he finds her irresistible.

This woman his wife
she makes him nervous
second-guess himself
hell!
she makes him question his manhood.

He is well known and influential
a man of means
proud and egotistic
but the moment she came into his life
the balance of power shifted.
She's in total control.

Stubborn as a mule!
He often find himself inflamed.
Arrrrgggggg!!!!
She makes him so angry with her arguments.
"Why must she always contend?"
So opinionated
such a strong personality!
"Where in heaven did you come from woman?"
is a frequent line that sends her laughing
knowing she has won again.

He recalls their first year of courtship
they would disagree so much
politics,economics
technology
their social lives...
At times they went for days
weeks
without a word.
He dated several women in-between
eventually he gave up.
"There will be women more beautiful than her,
learned and more elite."
But he realized
none
will ever possess more grace
inner beauty and brains
than his simple town girl from Kenya.

Today they celebrate their anniversary in the Bahamas
he laughs at the number of time she fall
learning to surf.
He would try to talk her out if it
but
he knows too well she's never been one to quit.
Her determination amaze him.
Once she stayed in the water too long
he went frantic thinking he had lost her
to the vast Ocean.

The thought of losing her scares him
more than the thought of losing
his huge empire
or even his own life.

He flinch as he recalls a painful encounter on his 42nd birthday
that would have seen him lose her.
He hurt her so bad
she wasn't sure she will ever recover.
It was tragic and excruciating to both of them.
But after a month of total anguish and despair
she forgave him.
She fought for them!
"With all she got and still she wanted me!"

It was the first time anyone had purely loved him.
Accepted him with all mistakes and wrong choices.
"It was literary being born again.
more than a second chance.
Its like all along i had been blind
or locked up
and had been granted freedom."

"With all my records and achievements
it was the first time i felt good enough.
I found my purpose!"

She is the only trophy worth mentioning.

This woman his wife
so rich of thrill and delight.
unpredictable and full of adventure.
No wonder his now 27 old daughter adore her so.
She is the life of the party
a puzzle he no longer care to figure out.
You cannot interact with her and remain sane.
She will teach you ways to appreciate life
make each day count.

Often he claims
he wouldn't be here had she left.
Though she's the baby
he gets all the nurture.
"She protects me not just from the world
but from me too."
She has been his guide and guard
with her he can never go wrong.
"She is the lamp sent from above to light my path."
No longer looks over his shoulder
he know she will never hurt nor betray him.

Once after dinner he broke hysterically
"Her cooking is aphrodisiac
Her love making insatiable
Her sense of style unimaginable"
Haha!he exclaimed!
"Her strength immense
her joy is endless
her faith steadfast."

She is the pillar that holds them together.

As a black man once proudly sang
this woman his wife
"She gives me good loving!"
........    ....... ......
(TO BE CONTINUED)


Long poem by Dylan Manassian | Details |

the battles the world has seen

the bombs 
the guns 
the blood shed
no humanity done
all is lost
under the strick and pain
of all the bombs 
every day 
WW1 WW2 
the Cold War 
nothing is new
death for nothing
revolution you say 
killing hundred of lives
all for ones pay
for one to step down
or die in vein
why should we kill hundreds
for just ones gain
WW2 
histories view
just blood in the book
too much for me
how about you?
more lives lost there then any time in history
D Day was the grave
for many people who fought away
we didint learn
we continue this mistake
we kill for our country
and then we go pray
thinking God will bless me
with bullets and steel
while God told me to love all
not put shells in you
not all injuries are deep 
some are mental week
PTSD and many things
my presentation is explaining
how the war isn't for those who died
and how it affect the kids and other wise
families are devastated
kids with no dads
imagine a life 
were you go home
only find the mom
and sometimes go to your dads tomb stone
all for the sack of the country
who is well of living on its supplies  and many thing 
or imagine going home
here your mom cry
wondering why 
until you read the letter
that your dad died
or gone missing under the wind
were your supposed to know the troops
but some just vanish again
thousand were never found
in the past few years
ofcorse they are dead
but some keep praying still
look at the war and look at the fight 
not every is killed on sight
some come back home
trying to live there lifes
but then the drugs kick in
and many other lies
the lies they said out there
" dont worry you will be fine"
the man who said that died a few seconds later
sniper shot him in the eye
you think war is a joke
or something to laugh about
imagine this
think aloud
if you come home
your dads on morphine 
trying to hide from the noise
you think it is nothing
but to him it reminds him of his past
the battles he faces 
the friends he made
and the one vanished with out a trace 
or the once who died in his face
the once he had to carry away
the funeral he had to pray 
and the people who tried helping him escape 
the war is more then a game
it more of a death sentences
once you go
it is hard to get back
really hard 
more then you think
with PTSD and bipolar disease 
and many other injuries
once you go to war
you wont be the same
you will see things
that are inhuman
bodies all over
blood is spilled
and the many people missing
the ones even you knew 
you dont understand me 
let me explain
the people who are fighting out there
wont come back the same
they will be changed
mental and physically
they will see true people
who will go insane
the people at war see many things
some not even for my age
code orange, Stalingrad , D Day
Cold War , war in the north and other out of my reach
what they did was horrible 
what both sides did to their men
 the russians killed their own troops
if they are trying to run back
germans slaughter the jews
the americans just nuked 
japanies and their kamikazes 
now lets come today 
to now a day war
the technology is so unreal
it isnt worth righting for 
what they did now a days was worse then before
code orange is one good example
there are many more 
the death of many for the few
it isn't only the soldiers it is the kids to
the families being hit
the parents that die
and the kids have to run for their lives 
PTSD is one symptom that never dies
it stays in the hearts and in the mind
it hurt the people
when the war isnt even alive
it kills them slowly
mentality is going
PTSD has a history
let me explain it to thee
 it is when your traumatized
cause by war, airplane crash rape and bombing in the state
they fear the sounds of loud 
they sometimes fear the sight of death
they fear the sound of pain
and they fear guns and other stuff
it started back in the day 


Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

A Doggy Afternoon

Narrator:  I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
 lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special 
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always 
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that 
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the 
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to 
the back yard!

Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”) 
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . . 

Ollyver:  I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man 
by fence. . .  I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . .  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .

Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!

Ollyver:  always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . . 
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who 
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . . 

Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to 
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice 
cream on the bed. 

Ollyver:  I go in. . . see  yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want 

Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big 
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum. 

Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . .  Yum-yum  
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh

Narrator:  Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.

Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love

Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door 
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.

Ollyver:  yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady 
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . .. 

Narrator:  The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family 
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously 
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she 
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.”  Ollyver 
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.

Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee


**For the contest of  Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed  him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!


Long poem by PENINNAH NGANGA | Details |

GOODBYE MY LOVE

Dear Erick,
i remember like its yesterday when we first met.
Second Sunday of the cold July
few days to my parents anniversary.
you said,"Hi am Erick and I would love to know you!"
We exchanged numbers
we shared photos of places we been to
day till the wee hours of the morning
we would talk tirelessly.
The world,politics,technology,time,spaces
there is no stone we didn't turn.
We did not always share same view
but always we agreed to disagree.
Haha!
You kept saying, "I have found my match!"
We clicked so well!
The connection was undeniable.

Then that weekend you left for fishing in Ireland
we hardly talked
i was so miserable.
I remember thinking,"am falling in love with this man!"
That Sunday when you got a connection in London
the first words you said when were
"I have a feeling there is a big fight awaiting."
Haha!
Though that was our first fight
it was the day we found our center.

It has been so amazing ever since.

We have had our heavenly moment
Skype can tell you that.
We have had our share of pain too
Whatsapp can testify.
Our major break up on your birthday last year
The down time we both went through
beginning of this year...
But somehow
somehow still
our friendship and our love remains a constant force.

Atleast not until lately when all the crude fighting began.

You say i blame you all the time
that am playing hard ball
trying to push you away
that i do not trust you.

But you been the one changing the game.
I understand your life is speeding up
but you forget the results of that on us.
Beyond chasing contracts and making millions
you forgot there is a bride back home
in need of your quality time.

You said you had thought of it hard enough
and it is better that we break up.
I deserve better you said
we are not happy anymore.

Obviously you have a point.
We are not happy as we need to.
I think i idolize you too much that i forget you human
in need of my affection as much as i need yours.
But you also forgot your duty
to silence my insecurities with reassurance and tenderness
like you used to.

Four days and five nights still i wait
a word
a text
a sign
a clue
that you have not given up on us.
But the silence remains.

En zo mijn lifde  (and so my love
ik hou van je     (i do love you
ik can romans schrijven over ons (i can write novels about us
ik zal waarschijnlijk een Mills&Boon versie van ons schrijven (I will probably write a Mills&Boon version of us
Maar                   (But
als dit is waar onze altijd eindigt (if this is where our forever ends
dan will ik dat je weet    (then i want you to know
HET IS EEN MOOI LEVEN AAN UR ZIJDE GEWEEST.(IT HAS BEEN A BEAUTIFUL LIFETIME BY YOUR SIDE)

However
should you decide to change your mind
you can come back anytime
but like yourself
i too will need a few days to figure out things.
Because
when we vowed for better or worse
you should have known that this is one of such ugly times.
You should have never left.

Goodbye my love.
Or is it?






Long poem by Jenesha Wheeler | Details |

Me and My Jesus

“Me and My Jesus”

In my prayer room my worship Zone. Mind off technology, career, and people just preparing myself to focus on Jesus. Just my bible so I can pour my whole self in.

In my prayer room me and my Jesus. No distraction do not disturb let the spirit move in this room meditating on the love of God that special celestial love of God. No description can descript the Almighty power from the skies. Eyes of Fire his presence along can get you high. The intimate Relationship with him will leave you speechless lost for words. Because the truth is there’s no verbs To descript when he give you a taste of heaven on earth.  All fear in me when he dig deeper in me because after all am I worthy. To pull out  what you don’t want in me to release the anointing upon me. Never have to worry about being forsaken the spirit inside has been awaken.  All powerful and great the blood he sled was not a mistake. So take your place and embrace the Love he want to pour upon you too. It was meant for all not just a few.  Accept him, invite him in so he can wipe every sin. Only him you can depend. He knows your every cry, He know the every need, he want to be your best friend. Because when God is for you who can come against.

In my prayer room me and my Jesus. Now my heart is going out to you. Because I wish I can enforce how with Jesus you can make it through. Me and my Jesus me and my Jesus Me and my Jesus.  You confessing that you 38 hot somebody got you 38 hot while I’m confessing Psalms 38:2 for his name sake he will not rebuke you in is anger nor chastise you. Let Jesus be your banner over inappropriate manners. Repeating the scripture to bless throughout mess. Reading to find the message. To know the MESS got an AGE which means there is a deadline to this stage of life I’m in. It won’t last yes it will pass. Those who are for you will stick closer than a brother. Don’t worry when others don’t understand. The mouth of your enemies will forever talk just make sure on your part with Jesus you will always walk. Know that you live on earth but where you from is the kingdom the language you speak is in tongue, the word only is what flow out even when it seems your life is going a different route. More Jesus More Jesus the Holy Ghost is so great. Many are save but sanctify in his love to relate.  Don’t let your spirit leave me Lord don’t let me go. More word More word I want to know. 

In my prayer room me and my Jesus, me and my Jesus, me and my Jesus,
In my prayer room me and my Jesus, me and my Jesus, me and my Jesus,
My cup run over every word comes from the word but sometimes when it hit the world the devil Try to reverse it. Curse it but as long as you got a mouth forever bless it. I will never run out Jesus is my supplier. My cup run over he won’t let me run out 
Don’t put a label on me call it grace when you see me. In my prayer room me and my Jesus me and my Jesus. Me and my Jesus


Long poem by Poetryof Providence | Details |

Increments

A thousand myriad voices           scattered on the wind
decry the human suffering questions will it end
tents in desert dustbowls        waiting upon the rain
lives molded in emptiness     how long can they sustain
 
Pandemic the diseases          a viral biology
man himself constructed          in tubes technology
outpouring chemicals     no plant life can escape
pillaging our resources         our planets incumbent rape
 
The corporations interest    aim profits in their greed
a force it must maintain             your pocket book exceed
desires  that are mercenary    have plans to you expunge
trash outstrips the landfills     the poor in countries plunge
 
The maintenance of property     with empty homes in rot
homeless children hungry   sleep in a parking lot
media insinuates                     you need be owning more
earning of the dollar          the dream you're living for
 
I have seen starvation          exists a different kind
a famine of affection     to others needs be blind
hedonistic pleasures          force decisions to ignore
repercussions down the road     contaminates hardcore
 
The disappearing species          on land and in the sea
ones  we've not discovered   may know them never be
chem. caused deformities               in humans also plants
cancer causing agents    saturating our advance
 
Facilities  explosions            toxic substances are spread
how much can nature take                 before our planets dead
we all have mankind's mind     we know where this will end
to destruct this machine                on man we can't depend
 
Aspartame and PCB's     nitrites not a few
pollution of the food supply        detriments not new
the really scary thing           as this accumulates
greater will its impact be       if prevention waits
 
As mans wars continue        a plan for our demise
we barely see the surface        that our governments disguise
there's a conspiracy      our morality to drown
if you hold to virtue                  their aim to take you down
 
In streaming videos          what's immoral implant
willingly absorb them            its profession is extant
the onslaught overwhelming          the pressure to conform
if you don't run with them        you aren't considered norm
 
The barrage of information           to absorb your time
new gaming now is free        to keep your mind online
even I use this tool         to reach inside your thought
every truth you hear            is seeking to be caught
 
here little there little           every piece in place
to clean up our planet     must destructive thought replace
errors inclination       mans  programming like a map
where is the intervention        to spring us from this trap
 
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC


Long poem by Odin Roark | Details |

Animal Chain Atocities

Animal Chain Atrocities

No longer a bucolic photo op
bedecking a cover of Life magazine

Free grazing
pastoral images
now but bewildered enslavement

Animal commodities
factory farms and feedlots
CAFO habitats raising
sixty billion a year for dinner tables

Chickens

Hi-Tech slaughter
football fields long
alethic poor
four walled ovens of another kind
debeaked and toe-chopped fowl
jammed in cages
made to stand in
assembly-line putrefaction

Wing stretching impossible
starvation strategy amok
lights off
long darkened days
lights on
long trickery days
springtime in winter
maximized egg laying
appeasing breakfast-insatiables

Cattle

Newborn calves
early prep
castrated within hours
crunched in miserable confinement

Brown and white fur for acres
a canvas of massacre
a sea of cattle
mooing for survival
moving mass
no escape
no Blue Grama Grass
Buffalo Grass off prairie
Yesterday's folklore

Then...

Three months before execution
feed dumped in highway-like divider troughs
grain fattening
ears implanted
anabolic steroids

Day of reckoning

Strong herded forward
weak cattle forklifted to their feet
into the slaughter chute all
hoisted upside down
eyes staring wild at blood drenched killing floors
fully conscious
skinned alive
legs cut off
while sport and laughter
fill the air

With stunning devices
electric pods
any not working used to hit
pried open mouths
more prods electrifying

Next stop

Happy meal pleasures

Hardly the American myth
cowboys herding cattle on the plains
for today
big dumb gentle beasts
chewing what cud they have
know not their horrible fate
becoming tomorrow night's
rib-eye steak in the making

Pigs and hogs

No Orwell's Animal Farm here
these pigs
with three-year-old-child-intelligence
used to thirty miles a day travel to
graze
root
interact with natural environments
live their highly social and active nature
are today
but tormented boars
castrated to barrow identity
jammed in small pens
no light
no mud
no straw
panicking
trampling each other
bloody fights
infections rampant
death prolonged
slaughterhouse waiting

Survivors

Pulled upon sharp hooks dangling
from overhead conveyer belts
bolt bullets shot in heads
bringing death
sliced-open bellies
rush of blood and entrails
all witnessed by live pigs
hanging from their own hooks
waiting their turn to become
sausage for pizza
holiday hams
shame for the conscious

Even arid winds of desert
pity the suffocating innocent
beneath airless breath of
Government
Industry
Media
eroding Nature's senses
promoting profits over compassion
technology over natural food
confusion over honesty

Yes

They live
these beasts
only minor rungs removed from us
incurring unnecessary suffering
for human-kind entitlement

Evolution's process
openly disgraced by butchery
while Man's dying conscience
remains mute

Who are the animals?


Long poem by lucky okoedion | Details |

BLACK CIVILIZATION - Too Long Awaited

Tens of decades of being spoon-fed or feeling helpless enough 
To surrender to strangers your leadership of culture and technology is not a generosity, 
But an exaggerated excuse of inherited slavery mentality; the Ironical simplicity 
Of not thinking forward enough,
Of not feeling good enough, 
Of not talking top enough, 
Of not standing tall enough, 
Of not acting bold enough, 
Of not knowing that standing alone 
To fall and stand again to fall and stand tall alone 
Is practice-worthy enough 
In order to remain tall. 

When will Africa build   
 her own world and refuse 
to stay down her hand for fear of mistakes and the inevitable growth-process failures? 
and when will Africa learn 
to dream her own dreams; I mean to be content within the realm 
where her programs only bear her own DNA signatures, 
where she no longer boasts shamefully of borrowed inventions that eternally refuse
to fit into the African context, that threaten to make us aliens of our true nature - 
incompatible alien social formulas that make our social engineering confused ?

Let’s cure ourselves of this cultural dislocation and intellectual humiliation.
When the inevitable barbarity of the crude form of our culture’s past is so glaring,
that we won’t but be irrational not to admit it,
who said it is something to be ashamed of?
Let them name a culture without a crude origin,
and I will show them a culture without a past, which is a culture that doesn’t exist.
Or let them show me an Africa who condemns its crude past,
and I will show them an Africa which has learnt.

An Africa which has learnt 
is the only Africa which can repent:
an Africa which has learnt to infuse
indigenous technology into all offerings she receives from the brothers around the globe,
is the only Africa which can build an African Africa.
Else she becomes a make-fit of a foreign cultural robe.

No civilization ever grew out of vacuum, 
but on the shoulders of others
to tower higher.
So it’s not a sin that Africa borrows culture today,
and that she condemns her crude past.
It only means a giant is in the making.
And it shall come to pass that out of these raw materials we are borrowing,
we shall build a black civilization and socialization
that will not like the former be sincerely shame-spoken of, 
but that shall know no equal,
and that shall be the highest export commodity in the world.
And Pan African is our formula.

There’s no genius without ingenuity,
there is no prosperity, whether economic or cultural
without indigenous Technology.
I can never help you to be better than me
unless you’re my next of kin,
and no continent is another’s next of kin.


Long poem by Troy Nelson | Details |

The forbidden object among us

Ignorance is bliss my friends
its true
for centuries we have been going to wars 
due to an object among us
from another world

like everything here
technology 
literature and creativity another
witchcraft another plane 
someone climbed a staircase

walked into a world of gold and stores
stole something, bought something
with a word
was the word no?
and every time that word is spoken
someone somewhere disappears?

But what is this item amongst us
sending us to wars?
making us think its something else
claiming victoms
proving its venom among the gods of other worlds
who have cut off their connections with us
one day after the third world war
after our supposed apocalypse
this item will slide into another world
they will live our nightmare
3 wars, centuries of confusion and torment
where ignorance is bliss
to never know they have this item amongst them
cursing them

perhaps its free
maybe everyone has one
maybe its a book
a painting
a camera

we need to find it 
before the war of the worlds starts again
and the nightmares the psychic children and war veterans
of the previous rounds remember
of vampires monsters, werewolves happen
and the truth of the apocalypse of heavens and terrors happen again

what is this item?

once locked in a world in a safe place with a will of its own

the gods of the other worlds granted this world everything we have to figure it out
they isolate us

so now we have technology
several races
different satellites
religions and superstitions of strategy
to corner this item
but ignorance is bliss

is it alcohol?
making women in the past bath in blood?
drugs ensuring kids kill kids?
religion masking itself with purity and innocence
to use 70 years of psychological experience to sell guns bombs and drugs?

is it a ring?
is it a paintbrush that captures the soul?
an instructional joke book?

it is amongst us!
the other worlds might or might not know
its will is to spark up the war of the worlds we are here to prevent
and if we fail
all of our nightmares
we think we just dream 
we will live 
fight and die for
in more than one world
and it will seem like it never ends

is this world like a safe place for it?
and we the guardians and protectors
and who better than the arch angels of death and justice and man
who was poisoned by it
and the evil gods who were deceived by this item
so they are going to get the last laugh?

ignorance is bliss my friends!




Long Poems