Long Tribute Poems. These are the most popular long Tribute by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tribute poems by poem length and keyword.
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I do not like poemzoo-m.com
This is only my opinion.
It is perfectly fine for me to have this opinion.
I am not breaking any rules/regulations by having this opinion.
PoemZoo-m.com is a sister-site of PoetrySoup.com,
which funnels the poems posted on PS onto the Zoo.
This offers poets more exposure.
On a business level, this sister-site generates ad-revenue
and creates a SEO back-link which helps PS ratings.
Now, more exposure and additional revenue towards a site which I enjoy using,
is a good thing.
Also, I agreed for the PS administration(TPS) to post my work "online" in other venues
every time I agreed to the Terms and Agreement clauses when posting a poem.
This isn't lost on me.
Wot else isn't lost on me, is that simply by posting on PS, my work can already
be printed, emailed, shared, linked all over the public domain.
So having my work funnelled over to the Zoo isn't really a big deal, is it?
No, it isn't.
Life goes on.
But it can lead to yet even more possibility of work being used without my permission
even with copyright stipulations/ownership.
Humbly, I am merely an amateur poet only beginning on my poetic journey.
I do not have illusions of grandeur.
It is a specific crowd that enjoys(some lol)of my work.
I am definitely not everyone's cup of tea.
Yet, I have been approached(on another poetry site where I have been a member
for years, a non-profit site which doesn't run ads, doesn't offer premium membership;
this site exists for the sake of art itself. The owner runs it for free by donation)by musicians/producers/composers, to collaborate some of my work, turn it into music.
Some of my work has since been put to score, performed live, and is being recorded
I am lucky and thankful that I was asked for permission to have my work used.
This is not always the case.
Some of my work, and possibly some of your work even, is being used without your
It is very easy to print a poem and 'accidentally' cut-off the author's name.
Just as an example.
Yes, you can fight for your copyright, but this can be an extended, energy-consuming
and frustrating experience.
So here is poemzoo-m.com, a site to "look for that perfect poem".
There is no 'live' submit field. Poems are funnelled from this site.
When I first joined PoetrySoup.com nearly four years ago,
the site was much more closed and intimate.
There have been many changes since.
Embedded links were added so poems can be shared and linked all over the internet.
As these changes were added, I began deleting specific poems because of this,
poems which I had/have intentions of taking to the next level professionally.
Now that poemzoo-m.com is up and running, I will be deleting even more poems.
For many different reasons.
I don't mind having certain 'oldies' up for sentimental reasons,
nor do I mind having specific tribute poems up(as an example).
Even though poemzoo-m.com offers more amateur exposure,
and this can be seen as a positive thing,
I do not want more of that amateur exposure.
Just because the owner of PS is covered by the legal jargon of the terms and
agreements, within my sometimes far too altruistic mind-set,
it would have been respectful, polite and professional for the owner of PS to have
first given a heads-up beyond just the legal jargon;
to have transcended the legal jargon and formally asked poets for their permission;
to have at least had polls and blog discussions first.
By not doing so, the PoetrySoup.com has blatantly moved away from the original
"family-of-poets" setting, as exemplified between 2005 - 2010, and is now acting as
a corporation. The world is already unravelling because of corporations, because of
the corporate legal jargon which protects business over rights and moral codes.
Again, legally, the owner of PS has done nothing wrong.
The extra exposure might benefit some poets.
Simply put, I was not formally asked for my input or permission
to have my work funnelled to a sister-site, BEYOND the cold legal jargon
found in the Terms and Agreements of this site.
Also, having the choice to opt-out(a box/toggle to click in member area, etc)would be
great. If the sister-site generates ad-revenue, it doesn't matter if my poems show-up
there or not, the ad-revenue will come in with general traffic.
Traffic is wot is obviously desired.
The traffic will be there regardless if certain people's poems show-up or not,
or if people uber-post two-word poems.
Since there isn't such an option(as of yet), I will simply continue deleting poems,
because I am not an animal to be shipped from Zoo to Zoo as an exhibit display
against my own freedom of choice.
Since this posting, TPS has added a toggle option in the member area
so that Premium Members can choose if their poems are shown on PZ or not.
I am glad to see this implemented. Good choice, TPS.
You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We're doing what we can
But when you want money
For people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...
You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be all right
All right, all right
Written by Lennon-McCartney, 1968
Rights owned by the Michael Jackson Estate
By the lamppost at night
with the pale moon shining bright
but obscured by the fog
I saw her in the harbor
standing where my boat lay moored
but she knew that
her azure eyes beckoned me to come
smoke from the cigarette in her hand
trailing upward and blending with the mist
and the gold braid around her wrist
I remembered my gift
I stood transfixed
if only for a moment
then I walked to her slowly
and tipped my fedora
and the little joke we shared in love
I asked,"Where have you been all my life?"
Waiting for you, she said
I laughed at her resentfully and said
You left me here from this place
without a note, without a trace
I scoured old haunts, you weren't there
you left as if you didn't care
Remember our walks along the shore
your favorite drink,that special place
in the cafe by the window
where the sun would shine on your hair
and leaving a golden glint
like it did on my boat
when it was in full sail
Then one day you went away
our love became a mystery
that was never solved
now your'e here and I ask you why
There was a war, she said
I lost this guy and you came along
to fill the void and share my sorrow
I loved you, Jake, your silly hat
the way you tipped it, the boat , the cat
who begged for fish after each catch
she paused and lit another smoke .
took a puff and exhaled and said
Then one day , he showed up , his name was Clive
the guy I mentioned had survived
and left his tags with a guy who died
and he became an MIA
he was hiding out in Mandalay
involved in something, he wouldn't say
but he wanted me there, he promised me fame
I was a singer, you know
and all the dough that I could want
or all I could take
I just had to know how to play the game
Then I thought of you Jake
and what we had
and I told him , No
He got mean, Jake
and threatened to expose me
for what I really was
and I couldn't bear for you to hear
my sordid past, my constant fear
we're both alike, you and me, he said
We'll take what the world has to give
and grab it by the throat
or I’ll destroy you if you don’t
As time went by,it didn't take long
to see he was singing a different song
His lies and schemes, the other dolls
I lost my respect and I didn't care
I had to get out, I needed a plan
to rid myself of this rotten man
There was this guy, Buck
who ran the bar, he pitied the plight
that I was in, he hated Clive as much as I
I told him I watched Clive at the end of each night
the cash he hid in a special place
no doubt to leave in a hurry in case things got hot
he would check to see how much was stashed
if it was worth the dare, we would split down the middle
and make our departure at the crack of dawn
I knew a Burmese captain who owned a scow
who asked no questions for a fee
he'd have some cabins for you and me
Just before closing , I feigned getting ill
and called for Clive to aid me somehow
to stay awhile and give me a pill
and while he was there, Buck went to that spot
took the cash and lit out that night to wait for me.
at a pre destined place
My bag was packed in another room
I told Clive I would rest and join him soon
But as soon as he left, I slipped out
to the back, grabbed a cab
headed for freedom away from that man
thinking of you and to make things right
She paused for a moment and put out her smoke
and I thought I saw a drop of blood
form on the corner of her mouth
she quickly wiped her hand across her face
and continued her story at a slower pace
I arrived at the pier where the scow lay docked
took one look behind me and looked at the clock
of the building where we were to meet
checked my watch that matched the time
I saw a jeep pull up and he saw me
two grips in his hand and a smile on his face
he said, I got his dough, I'll leave his jeep
It's the least I can do for that miserable creep
I said there's no time to waste
just show me the dough
we'll split down the middle and get ready to go
he said, "Oh"
I'm ready to go but my plans have changed
I'm traveling alone
but I'll leave just enough to change your luck
this one's for you and this one's for Buck
I suspected as much and I scowled as he grinned
but his mouth shaped an O as he looked down below
the knife in his stomach pulsed blood from his guts
too late I saw his gun come up as he fell
I fell a pain in my side and clutched my coat
I picked up the bags
and summoned up strength to get onto the boat
I looked at the captain and said
There's double the price
if we can get away soon
get up some steam
and head for Rangoon
the captain patched me up
as good as he could
with the aid of some rum and a smoldering wood
to cauterize the wound
I knew it was wrong to take his life
but I was prepared to kill him
to end this strife
as a precaution, I took the knife
that we used to cut bait with
a long time ago
the knife stirred up memories
that you and I had
that pressed my decision to leave that cad
but the wound didn't heal, the lead lay impacted
I was resigned to my fate to see you once more
before it's too late... and here you are
She collapsed in my arms and I held her tight
with tears in my eyes , her audible sighs
gasping for breath and leaning toward death
And before she expired, her hand on my face
Where have you been all life, babe
waiting for you, I cried
waiting for you
A tribute to the black and white movies and dialogue of the late 30’s and 40’s
© Ralph Sergi
for René Etiemble (Jan. 26, 1909 – Jan. 2002)*
Barely a few speechless moments before your first words
burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre » :
‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en la mar,
que es el morir ;
y llegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.’
Is the open back door which emboldens courage
No untarnished name to be remembered by
No selfless mate to lay by your honour
No issue laying about themselves for your prize
Decidedly it was a door of stealth
As if choosing it you let it be known
you were only merely passing by
and stopped to hang your hat here for a while
Yet you let your kin and callers believe
your whims were worth putting up with
your mischievous tantrums and gripes
merely the mental athlete’s unwinding antics
The poïetic birth pangs of imminent glory
just the mounting stones in the monumental lighthouse
that ages from hence would pick forth
your works your unfathomable literary resource
You upheld dozens who did leave behind a name
a lasting name not quite torn from solitary pain
Yet who could deny you could have bettered their fame
What undisclosed pain you harboured in your brain
Oh so strangely were you endowed with the intelligence
of the Chun Tzu - that uncanny eagle’s scan
To rout out of the mazes of your students’ past lives
just that one passqge through their Tierra del Fuego
But then you who completely espoused the rigours
of that step by step mounting of respectful steps
Were unsparing in your demands of adherence
to old Master Kung’s hierarchical obedience
An open hand ready to sign any cheque
to succour the caller’s needs
was alas ! also the whip hand
To keep the renegades in constant check
You were possessed of a rare brand of anger
which shook the land about you
At those who bent justice to their unsavoury will
such thunder boiled from the guts of the earth
Now you’re gone and empty lecture halls echo your
uncontainable ire where forged resounding silence
You said at the start of a seminal master-seminar :
« Nul n’est prophète dans son pays ! »
With the distaff side hanging on your every word
wondering if your plans were for something yet undone
No stray notes lie about to record your travail
No visible correspondence to make it all credible
Only books and books files magazines and books
and an overcrowdedly conquered mental pad
jumbled words scratched into shaded inchoate sketches
ganglia synapses shot-up neurons
no clues to a ragingly flailing mind
none to record the lives you succoured
nor even the beneficiaries’ hurriedly scribbled thanks
nor besides to the beclouding relations with one and all
not even a hint at why you may have refused
to forge a name beyond the beaten path of fame
Would going by the front door
in a fanfare of tv talkshows conference papers prize-giving ceremonies paper- interviews in ample studied poses and thoughts for future auto-memoirs volume one to seven the rest put-together posthumously in an omnibus
expurgated version with prefaces notes introductions critiques eulogies
would it have been less like you
to exit by the side-door
the baywindow leading to reflected glory
in a cool cloister of loosened leaves
stray poems in the tradition of your schooled masters
or did you burn them all
in a fit of (cou)rage
tore them to bits incinerated by your fiery mind
or squashed within yesterday’s leftovers
not caring who thought what
the mocking condescension
* The late Professor René Etiemble held the Chair of Comparative Literature at the old, pre-1968 Sorbonne University but retired in 1978 while a professor at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University. In later life, he even refused nomination to the French Academy of Letters, though he did accept the Academy’s Prize. He was a prolific critic, essayist, and memorialist, having published some poetry and three novels. A renowned linguist and grammarian (a graduate of the prestigious and elite Ecole Normale Supérieure de Paris), he remained until his very last days an inveterate Sinophile. He edited the Gallimard-instituted UNESCO oriental literary classics series, a fitting tribute to his encyclopaedic learning.
© T.Wignesan, 6 novembre 1997, Fresnes-94, France (from the collection : Poems Omega Minus, Paris, 2002)
I've been hearing news about the tragic shooting in Newtown, Connecticut
which happened almost a year ago, so I decided to post my poem again as a tribute.
The tragedy was fresh and heavy on my mind when I wrote this...
The wind howls outside my balcony door
My feet are cold from walking across the floor
As I step outside to look at the snow
I know for sure I won’t be sleeping anymore
It’s 5 am … only five hours of sleep
The house is so quiet, kids aren’t making a peep
I head to the kitchen, down darkened stairs
Coffee doesn’t take very long to prepare
Back in my bed where it’s cozy and nice
I pull the covers up, my body cold as ice
My legs are warming with my notebook on my lap
I’m thankful for the company of an early morning chat
The lights begin to flicker, my internet is gone
No one to chat with, I find myself alone
I light the few candles I have sitting about
Just in time for the power and lights to go out
Buried under covers, too bad I’m alone
The coffee tastes good, it’s still kind of warm
I close my tired eyes to take time to pray
And think about what’s ahead for the day
My mind won’t cooperate, thoughts starts to wander
So many things that I start to ponder
Like funerals for those little ones, starting today*
In a town in Connecticut, so far away
yet so close to home, in a manner of speaking
I think of my children in their rooms still sleeping
My tears feel hot coming down my cold cheeks
As I think of the events of this sorrowful week
And of all the evil which has been unfurled
And tomorrow, supposedly the end of the world*
Well, maybe the end would be just as well
We’re already living in a sort of hell
No! I can’t think like that…I have to stop
I just wish I could have a direct talk with God
And find out what it is that He wants me to think
Find out why such bad things are happening
Why did those children have to die?
How will those parents say goodbye?
My heart aches so much as I look at the ceiling
I can’t imagine what those parents are feeling!
God, give me some answers! Show me the way!
What is the point of getting up today?
What is it I’m feeling…? Is it grief, or fear?
I hope in time things might become clear
Sitting in the dark as the temperature falls
The candles flicker gently, making shadows on the wall
Those candles smell good, they smell of peace
I close my eyes to try to get some sleep
Quietly there comes a stirring from within me
I could imagine God's words, through a gentle epiphany
The children are ok… they’re in a better place
Their parents have pain that I’ll help them to face
This brings me such sorrow, I am hurting too
But I’ll use this for good, I can promise you
Things happen in this life that can’t be understood
Let your heart ache for the evil, but search for the good
Remember all those things that make life worth living
Like family and friends… like serving others, and giving…
Do what you can to make the world a little better
Just spread the love… and try to remember
This world is not the end, and it isn’t your home
And neither is your body… That’s just skin and bones
There are beautiful things in store for you
I know you can’t imagine, but believe that it’s true
And tell other people, so they will have hope
It’s the only thing on earth that will help them to cope
I look out the window at the snow flying by
The sun is coming up, but gray fills the sky
I may not have the answers to all I want know
I just have to believe that God is in control
A peace comes over me like a little gift
I feel that a burden has been lifted
I still feel sad, but hopeful, in a way…
At least I think I'm ready to face another day
*Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
On December 14, 2012, 20-year-old Adam Lanza fatally shot twenty children and six adult staff members in a mass murder at Sandy Hook Elementary School in the village of Sandy Hook in Newtown, Connecticut. Before driving to the school, Lanza shot and killed his mother Nancy at their Newtown home. As first responders arrived, he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head.
It was the second deadliest mass shooting by a single person in American history, after the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre, and the second deadliest mass murder at a U.S. elementary school, after the 1927 Bath School bombings in Michigan.
The shootings prompted renewed debate about gun control in the United States, and a proposal for new legislation banning the sale and manufacture of certain types of semi-automatic firearms and magazines with more than ten rounds of ammunition.
* Some people believed the world would end on 12/21/12 all because the Mayan Long Count calendar was thought to be reaching the end of its cycle.
Tribute to the Wolf
I am of your nation (Cherokee)
I have travelled far to find my family
(They are scattered across America)
Boundaries are now gone
I know you as you know me
My Mother taught me so
I know you, ” a ni wa ya”
(Of The Wolf Clan)
You speak in our tongue
But the words are of another
I am of the, “a ni sa ho ni” people
(Of The Bear Clan)
Yet I listen to you young one
Your clan has been spread
Many left by the wayside
(1000 died in the great walk)
Yet you are still many
(The trail of tears)
The largest arm of our Nation
You are our protectors
The First New Moon of Spring,
(Festival of Spring held in March)
Has past and the seven did well.
( Seven Clans)
I will keep food for you till
(There is always a welcome to others )
Green Corn dances the days away,
( Mid Summer festival)
Of the Stomp, Feather and Buffalo.
Not eating, playing games.
Then to be cleansed by the water
Holding our Sacred Prayers
Of seven and four we hold dear
(Seven Clans, Four compass points)
Our seven that scattered to the four
(The scattering of the Cherokee)
While three levels we retain.
( The three levels of existence)
The Owl looks on as the Cougar screams.
(The sacred creatures of the tribes)
Our balance is retained therein.
Secretive yet open in their ways
We will dance in a great circle
(The great circle was paramount in their beliefs)
Then let the Long man take our dreams.
(Running waters, Rivers & Streams)
The little people will come if called
(Belief in little people that are in their image)
They are our Brothers though so small
Hair that sweeps the very chaff
( The little ones have very long Hair)
Remember they live in all things.
(They live everywhere and in everything)
Guides to lost children they are.
( They look after lost children)
As children they play with us.
Bringing happiness to a sad child,
(The little ones have healing powers)
Creating purpose to the befuddled.
Treat them with respect
(The little ones must be treated properly)
Bother them not with silly ways,
Or silly ways will stick in your mind
Should you see them be blessed!
Let not a loose tongue talk of them
(If you see one don’t talk of it for Seven years)
As the westerner and his broken mirror
Take seven years to talk of them
Never speak to them after sunset.
Beware of false cures in this life
( Medicine men beware of them)
The Raven Mocker, may be in disguise
( Raven Mocker was bad Medicine man)
Seek only the pure to be cured of ills
Seek not a cure from one that ails
(Choose a medicine man that is healthy)
They are a false being in our eyes
Mix today with yesterday to be safe
(Use Modern and old medicines together)
Only smoke with the fit one
Then drink the waters they give to you
May your ways with the Wolf be many
(Just a farewell to the Wolf Man I was talking to)
I shall read of you in the dens of the Great Bear.
Tristesses de la lune
Ce soir, la lune rêve avec plus de paresse;
Ainsi qu'une beauté, sur de nombreux coussins,
Qui d'une main distraite et légère caresse
Avant de s'endormir le contour de ses seins,
Sur le dos satiné des molles avalanches,
Mourante, elle se livre aux longues pâmoisons,
Et promène ses yeux sur les visions blanches
Qui montent dans l'azur comme des floraisons.
Quand parfois sur ce globe, en sa langueur oisive,
Elle laisse filer une larme furtive,
Un poète pieux, ennemi du sommeil,
Dans le creux de sa main prend cette larme pâle,
Aux reflets irisés comme un fragment d'opale,
Et la met dans son coeur loin des yeux du soleil.
— Charles Pierre Baudelaire
The Sorrow of the Moon
Tonight the moon, by languorous memories obsessed,
lies pensive and awake: a sleepless beauty
amid the tossed and multitudinous cushions of her bed,
caressing with an abstracted hand, the curve of her breast.
Surrendered to her deep sadness as to a lover,
for hours she lolls in the bright luxurious disarray of the sky —
haggard, entranced — and watches the small clouds float by
uncurling indolently in the blue air, like flowers.
When now and then upon this planet she lets fall,
out of her idleness and sorrow, a secret tear,
some poet — an enemy of slumber, musing apart —
catches in his cupped hands the unearthly tribute
all fiery and iridescent like an opal's sphere,
and hides it from the sun for ever in his heart.
— Translated by George Dillon
The Sorrow of the Moon
This evening, the moon dreams with more laziness
as well as beauty, on a multitude of cushions,
and with an absent-minded, light hand,
caresses the curve of her breast.
On the satiny backs of slippery clouds,
dying, she devotes herself to a lost lover's lament,
strolls her second-sight across visions of white
which blossom-up into the azure night.
When sometimes on this globe, in her idle sorrow,
she lets fall a secret tear,
a pious poet -- an enemy of sleep --
catches in the hollow of his hands, this pale tear,
in images made as iridescent as an opal's fragment,
and far from the eyes of the sun, hides it in his heart.
— Translated by Chris D. Aechtner
*So here in the last translation, a more literal translation from French to English,
the original rhyme scheme in French, is lost.
One can easily see how much personal bias the translators added into their translations. In the first example, I find that Dillon did very well with re-creating the atmosphere and tone, but took too much license when injecting an English rhyme scheme.
Not only did George Dillon add extra words to create an English rhyme scheme
within the translation, but he also added premises that are not in Baudelaire's
original poem, or are merely implied as a possible interpretation of the metaphors.
Tesu A Folk Love Story of India Part. 5
The story as painted here on Poetry Soup
is the sole creation and imagination of the writer,
except the names Tesu and Jhonjhi.
The Poem Tesu is based on a folk story of India.
The Tesuwalas* (little children with a earthen lamp
on their heads) as depicted in the Poem are gradually
diminishing with the passing of time and changing life
styles. It's a tribute to that great warrior and lover Tesu,
who sacrificed his life because he had given words
to someone. How and when you would come to
know soon ....Ravindra
Tesu A Folk Love Story of India
What a brave, unique, strong soldier
and a lover was Tesu.
No mortal has ever became,
Such a man of valor, love and courage,
Whose participation would have changed,
The fate of any battle,
And a lover, who kept his promise
Given to his beloved before death. 12
He was brave and bold enough,
To sacrifice his life,
For keeping his words,
Given to someone unknown,
But Tesu had,
One very extraordinary unique quality,
And a desire, of making any looser,
A winner, even if he is not known to him. 13
His desire and habit to make,
Anyone known or unknown,
A winner or a looser,
Tempted him to decide
To fight from the side of Kauravas,*
Who had assembled to defeat,
The right cause of Pandavas,*
And this tempted decision and desire of Tesu,
Became the cause
Of his unwanted end. 14
Kanpur India 14th Nov. 2012...... To continue....
Protected under the copy write provisions of Poetry Soup as per US laws. Copying this story without the permission of the writer is strictly prohibited and would be subject to legal remedies taken by the writer.
* The Kauravas are descendants from Kuru, a legendary
king of north India, who were the opponent of Pandavas
in the Mahabharata. The term Kaurava in broad sense
includes the pandavas also, who were also the posterity
of the same clan. The Kauravas represent the material
or evil forces, who drove the Pandavas from their territory.
Later the Pandavas returned and conquered the
Kauravas in the great battle of Kurukshetra with the
help of Indra, Krishna and Balarama.
In the Hindu epic Mahabharata, the
Pandava are the five acknowledged sons of Pandu .
Their names are Yudhisthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula
and Sahadeva. All five brothers were married to
the same woman, Draupadi. (Each brother also
had multiple other wives.) Together, the brothers
fought and prevailed in a great war against their
cousins the Kauravas, which came to be known
as the Battle of Kurukshetra or Mahabharat./b>
I wrote the Invisible man poems many years ago. These poems, and I have not submitted them all, was for a little girl who died in a road accident. They are a tribute to her memory. It was a dark and very sad time and I miss her so much. The Invisible Man poems are supposed to to show the the darkness of my world, the way I felt. They are very precious to me. Thank you for reading.
Back to the place where I raised walking the streets of my old hometown nothing changes,
Having been walking for days and days the shoes I found have just starting falling apart,
My toes poke out from a big hole in the front and my blistered feet are freezing cold,
It's funny sometimes how things seem to start to give up just like my broken old heart.
As usual the cold bites through my torn clothes then the wind whips up and blows my hair,
It needs a good wash the grease lets me flatten it to my head and it's grey wavy and long,
But now the wind has changed walking becomes easier I'm glad the wind is behind me now,
This time the wind can blow in the same direction as me so now it can help push me along.
Someone is walking towards me better duck my head it's an old friend that I once knew well,
But there was no need to duck as he crosses over disgusted and he gives me plenty of space,
I can recognise him, all he sees is a pathetic tramp an old man pissed and down on his luck,
Even from the other side of the road he looks sideways just so can't bare to look in my face.
Invisible goes back and sits on a bench, hurt, confused, at a loss. To try and take this from his mind he thinks of nice things.
When I was a young boy the there were scented breezes I enjoyed each new day the sun always shone,
When you had friends you could play games and talk, laugh run through grass that was ever so long,
Children full of stories mostly untrue, had a unique personality each of my friends I will never forget,
But age creeps in and things change lifestyles change losing innocence is the thing I really do regret,
I dream and take myself back, back to the days when cowboys and Indians chased each other all day
Back to the days that were warm and long and we got bored we had holes in our trousers and shirts,
Sometimes when I concentrate really hard and really long I can see myself playing or standing there,
Covered in newly mowed fields with straw and grass running shouting and the wind in my long hair,
And as I take myself back I can see my friends faces running and playing football as clear as today,
What has happened to my happy life where has it gone tell me, "Why does our youth get taken away?"
The following is a tribute to all Native Americans. Please check the footnotes for
A lonely man riding a tashunke
Toward the anapo
Where the yellow-gowned prince
With an army of golden spears
Aimed at desert’s sandy heart
The ozuye ohitika cries out:
And dances the can wakan
Little naughty miracles
Come out of tepees
To welcome me,
With hope, with fear…
Le mita sunkaku, le mita cola, le mita tahunsa
And we rush with our mila hansaka
To hunt the tatanka
Under blue sky
Where cetan flies
Ocheti of us
Men with pahaska
Adorned with wanbli’s niyaha
Ride like wakina on burning sands
And the lunchtime
Our tepees are filled with le mita colapi
Joy and laughter
All is skuyela
Can this last ohinyan?
Owanka wakan is shaking
Traces of worry
On my tunkasila and unci’s faces
-Miyelo ca kola!
-Should I believe that?
-My friends will be here anytime
To be your guests!
Mind is drowned in doubt’s lagoon
Yellow prince is wounded
His bleeding chest
Disappears into horizon
The white are coming
A black wickmunke
O wakan tanka
I ask for peace
I beg for love
Is that much to have?
Tepees are glowing?
Or greedy flames
Have found their victims?
This is wicoti mitawa
Raise my spirit…
O cherished land
Oh burnt tepees
Smokes, ashes, cries
Blind the eyes, deafen ears
Nagi Tanka: Great Spirit
Tashunke : Horse
Anapo: The Dawn
He-ay-hee-ee: A call to the Great Spirit
Can Wakan: Sun dance
Esnella: A loner
Tepees: Native American Tents
Cinks: My son
Cunks: My daughter
Le mita sunkaku: My younger brother
Le mita cola: My friend
Le mita tahunsa: My cousin
Oo-oohey: It is time
Happo: Let’s go
Mila hansaka: Long knives
Tatanka: Buffalo bull
Pahaska: Long hair
Le mita colapi: My friends
Siyotanka: A kind of flute made of cedar wood
Owanka wakan: Sacred Altar
Nituwe he? : Who are you?
Wasichu: White man
Miyelo ca kola: I am friend
Haho: Look at this
Wakan tanka: God
Wicoti mitawa: My village
Wahi: I am coming
Hecheto aloe: It is finished
IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THE PRIME OF MY PARENY’S LIFE WAS ALMOST
MY ENTIRE LIFE
Did you ever notice that the letters in the word “love” are sequestered inside the word “evolve”?
Because to me that is what love appropriately does
And after sixty-plus years together love does,
in many ways,
change its ways of wonderment
and is often altered on a course to sheer contentment
for that is the result of the continuation of a consecrated commitment
an abiding faith that the others faith rests upon the others shoulder
as they grow ever so much older
remembering a time of working hard together to get through the hard times together
that old fishing boat she hated so that became battered and eventually succumbed to the weather
while all the while smiling because each year seemed a bit brighter than the last
and all the joyful events that are now part of a bejeweled and fulfilling past
a past reflected in each partner’s eyes which gaze upon a tribute to dedication
a coupling worthy of adulation
he being content to make her content proves the content of their cohabitation
a union rich with rewards that come in the mail bearing pictures of their first great grandson born
a baby with beauty by an angel at birth besworn………………………
so there they sit sharing a couch and swapping a calliope of memories
he talks of fishing and she of a cool Autumn breeze
as each agrees
sixty-plus years weaves two souls together as tightly as any weaver ever wove a sweater
and for some fated reason the last decade seems somehow, in retrospect, better
well……. not so much better as just plain more comfortable
no surprises, no red flags, and no warnings to heed
just a mutual and spiritual type of need
the need to talk away a partners tears
while knowing that his partner truly hears
and dries her eyes compliantly
to face yet another hardship defiantly
ever eager with a gentle finger to wipe away the wet that it might no longer linger
because these are two who vowed with strength that forever, to them, actually meant forever
through the trials…….. through the riches ……….and through the smiles
but most notably through all the determination together to damn away their fears
Yes……….it seems to me that love evolves ever so softly after sixty-plus years
© 2013…copyright PHREECEE..~free cee!~
DEAREST MOM AND DAD-ALTHOUGH YOU WERE BOTH 90 I NEVER THOUGHT I'D MISS YOU BOTH AS SEVERELY AS I DO..HOWEVER, I HOPE YOU BOTH FOUND COMFORT ON THE CLOUD YOU NOW MADE YOUR HOME!