reporters were asked to state their ideas
what was the biggest news story of all time?
Many said November 22nd, 1963
If you were alive on that date, you know the story
And were probably stunned by it
I was eleven and I have never forgotten it.
want to guess which one it was?
end of WW II
US astronauts walk on the moon
assassination of President John F. Kennedy
World Trade Center bombing on 9-11
If you have to guess, you were not alive on that day.
the kids grow up
with plastic guns
before they grow teeth.
they watch the screen
where the hero kills clean,
a bullet solves the problem
faster than a thought.
blood splashes brighter
than sunlight on pavement,
and the crowd cheers louder
for death than for love.
they are fed violence
with their morning cereal,
taught to settle everything
with fists, knives, bombs.
generation after generation
learning the lesson:
murder is easier than mercy.
I don’t know about you,
But I have reached a turning point.
Yes, it’s not the first time for sure,
But each time it becomes more clear
Sharper and deeper,
And this time it shakes me to my very core.
I know I am not alone,
Although it may not include you at this moment,
I know it will eventually,
Because the turning point
Is one of human destiny,
What defines a human
What defines the next step we each take
On the ladder of our own personal ascent.
Mount Analogue comes to mind
A place imaginary, a book unfinished
A symbol of something sublime in all our hearts.
Let me repeat that, in all our hearts.
This is the turning point we all face
Sooner of later
All of us, together at last.
Hell yeah! And
Amen.
(9/11/25)
(“The Heart of It #2”, 2007, original oil)
When A Light Is Extinguished
(for Charlie)
Today a great light was extinguished
A great soul lost to his family, his friends
His nation, and humanity as a whole.
Shades of MLK Jr.’s assassination,
A shadow of hate swallowing up the light,
Spread out across the nation
Like the Sun eclipsed at noon.
In the dark we cry
Hearts broken open
By the senseless taking of a life brighter than most,
Reminding us what kindness and brightness
And generosity of spirit is truly like,
Bright and true
And in its essence deathless eternal.
Rest in peace young man,
Go in peace great soul.
(9/10/25)
light pink suit
splatters of blood
secret service men climbing into motorcade
Dallas Texas
November 22, 1963
some of us will never be the same
Ink spills, stains the name,
Whispers sharp, like poisoned darts,
Reputation bleeds.
©bfa042325
In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A paradox reigns, in endless sway,
The good perish, while the wicked thrive,
In this land, where virtue's brief, and vice survives.
Patriots fall, like autumn's leaves,
Assassinated, poisoned, for their noble deeds,
Their voices silenced, before their time,
As darkness feeds on justice's prime.
Bola Ige, Barnabas Igwe, Marshall Harry too,
Ogbonnaya Uche, Ken Saro-Wiwa, and more, anew,
Their memories linger, like a mournful sigh,
As tyranny's grip tightens, and hope says goodbye.
Gen. Aguiyi Ironsi, Gen. Murtala Muhammed, fell,
Their legacies lost, in a tragic spell,
For how long shall the good people die?
When will justice dawn, and tyranny's night pass by?
November 21, 1963
He took the harmonica
from the bib pocket of his overalls
blew thru left to right, low to high
back and forth a couple times,
slapped it on his palm
like he’d tamp his cigarette,
one of those unfiltered Camels
on his dulled dented Zippo.
He blew a quick riff up the scale,
inhaled it back down,
spun his harmonica around
slapped it a couple more times,
stopped as if thinking
about what he’d play
then smile that smile he’d smile
while looking at her,
start in on The Tennessee Waltz
watching her stand up, close her eyes,
hug herself and sway.
As he played he moved to her side
wrapping his left arm around her waist,
she draped both arms on his shoulders
and they glided around the living room
in a world of their own
viewed by us six kids,
all of us grinning and smirking
and making kissy faces
watching mom and dad,
mom singing the words
motioning us all up to dance
that night we stayed up late
that night before
president Kennedy was killed.
Does my PTSD gets in the way of my character by
Unknown and recognized faces in any situations to
neutralize my energy? Because of someone 's else
Pre judgments, forced opinions, making false
deliberate spoken assumptions with slandering, personal
attacts. My character Assassinations
My feelings seems If I'm trapped in someone's else box
of how I should verbalize or how one portray me as one
see fits. My Character Assassinations
If the tables were reversed how would the assassinators
feel? My Character Assassinations
A great man, bloodied upon the stage,
Lifted high his fist in a fit of rage.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” was his Battle Cry.
He lived through the trauma, too driven to die.
A crooked man, intelligent but troubled and young
Lay sprawled on the rooftop with a powerful gun.
His life snuffed out in a moment, he didn’t hear the cry,
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” echoed by thousands standing by.
God’s Grace and Protection covered the park that day,
Although the protectors were in chaos and stark disarray.
A Higher Power had declared the time was not here.
It was destiny calling for 45’s Battle Cry cheer.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” will stay in the minds and the hearts
Of the millions of Patriots ready to play their own parts.
They stand tall and resilient with no fear or dismay.
Our Country’s values and dreams won’t be stolen away.
We will never give up. We will never give in.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” until we are free again.
Chula Fleming © August 11, 2024
In a letter curt and bitter cold,
Words like ice, sharp and bold.
A missive wielded with willful disdain,
Dismissive of all warmth, maliciously slain.
Lines etched with callous pen,
Rejection sealed, again and again.
No comfort found, no writer even to scold
Just echoes of a preposterous tale untold.
Dismissive missive, harsh and clear,
Leaving wounds that never disappear.
Yet amidst the chill of its embrace,
A glimmer of strength, a tiny trace.
For in the face of unwanted rejection,
There lies within, a resurrection.
From the ashes of disdain's abyss,
Rises resilience, a defiant kiss.
Assassins of the night, trying to take one's breath in his sleep
Lurking in the shadow like a coward till the night is deep
That noxious gray mist they cast that stops his breath
Like lazy crows that feed on someone else's death
But by grace of God he must survive
May the light of tomorrow arrive
January 20, 2024, 1:05 AM, PST, SPC
Flaws people whose bones,
Lives in glass houses should not
Be throwing stones.
Assassination of President Kennedy
The tank ship was on the way to Kingston in Jamaica
The sea was deep blue, the weather calm, In a few hours, we could stretch our legs and have a beer because the ship was dry, the charter in Houston, Texas, had insisted on this.
The radio operator came down and said “Kennedy had been shot and killed.”
There were shocked voices, was it true?
We all looked up to the president he, like us young and represented, the future and
now taken away.
Of course, we blamed the Russians
until news came and said the assassin was an American.
He Kennedy had stood up to Khrushchev and told him to leave Cuba.
Later, some of us understood that Mr. Khrushchev had saved
Kennedy and his hint of using nuclear force, what would he have done if Russia had not yielded?
We loved Kennedy, we saw him as a harbinger of better times when world leaders could talk and find peace.
I was young at the time and it was a good time to be young
Years later, I saw Walter Concrete in a recording announcing Kennedy's death, and he said it all.
An old dying king to name successor:
Likely, his first son, a feared oppressor;
Even, the speed of his new kompressor,
Quick prayers to God, The Intercessor,
His name for three full hours Mind Changer.
“Don’t let the king enthrone Long Ranger,
Who has been to us Happy Stranger:
A prince proud to be dog in a manger!
And should Long Ranger emerge the King
In his ears, Russia’s new bullets shall sing.
Courtiers and guards might round him form a ring
But sure he will be collecting the thing!
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.