Best Boomerang Poems
The word’s speaker and listener would hear
Cackling,
Not from one another,
But from a burning Sixo;
They would feel
As though
A noose was choking
Their voices
Before they could even tell
Themselves to “rest in peace”;
They would see
The bullets
That rushed,
Jealously,
Into the bodies of intelligent black heroes and heroines;
They would taste
The blood
That could have filled all the courtrooms
Where racist murderers were not convicted;
They would smell
The human
Waste of those treated like human waste –
A stench strong enough to make some jump
Ship just for a breath of fresh air,
Before the waters
Then enslaved them ….
These effects may sound
Insane
But are they any more
Out
Rage
Us
Than our current
Usage of the “n”- word?
That is,
Many of us would say nothing
If a black friend declared,
“A ______ will never become the President of the United States of America ….”
To be honest,
I even agree
With the essence of this statement.
For only a full black man or woman
Will
Eventually
Become
The President.
Thankfully,
That still leaves all black people in the running.
Bent love never dies; it just keeps bending.
Until it morphs into a burning boomerang.
That smacks you in the chambers of your half-mast heart.
I breathe inside a three-bedroom chasm.
Somewhere between happy and what-ifs.
Saying hello to a twenty-six-year-old echo.
Of close calls and head-on crash regrets.
You deserve a good life.... I don't.
You've taught me, after decades of decline, what unconditional really is.
It's that satin island that I've been sailing toward upon this broken ship.
Even though I screwed you into the rotting wood of my id.
I'm truly happy that you landed softly in a heart.
That gave you that elusive elixir called
"What I couldn't give."
as my pen positions itself
between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand…
…I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride….
Thoughts spew inside my head – too
fast to articulate. Too deep to defend. Ticking like a badly timed bomb
infused with a faulty timer – I reach for the pen…
words align themselves as I walk Through the clutches of Pre-validation. My mind
is appeased – my will is at ease…until the stumbler opens his mouth:
“Poetry” he whispers and I’m thrown
Into the vapors of Validation wondering, perhaps, maybe? Could it be
that without will I have created that which could be termed
as poetry? The jury is out: the naysayers and the critics;
the conservatives and realists;
friends and foes –
torturing my mind, stroking my ego, making my blood boil,
soothing my heart…
tears I cannot cry…smiles they can not see…
anger spills out; indifference sets in;
I wring my mind and
pack my poem
slowly I embark on the
Wrought past Post-validation.
Baby steps in forming words I love. Twisting the poem in forms I’ve
learnt. Dressing it in different styles, shortening it, elongating it;
Snip, snap, cut, bandage –
Rhythm no rhythm. Basking in formless form.
Counting and discounting syllables
But still it’s not enough.
What’s the use of words if they don’t effect?
Diving into The plunge I reign in the words – the leader of my chariot-
My poem succumbs to my will.
Wielding, exposing, slicing, dicing, building, destroying, encouraging,
condemning
the poem breathes – a life of its own.
And I think to myself Oh please who am I to be the wielder of such potency?
I call it back.
Taking a stroll along the beach, I reminisce of things past;
The things I’ve done; the things I’ve not done;
The rot in the world; the love
that begs to be heard…
The thoughts start swirling in my mind.
….
My steps take me back to the beginning…
as my pen positions itself
between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand…
…I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride….
For: Boomerrang Contest sponsor: Michael J. Falotico
A cosmic river
of boomerang bullets
fired decades ago ripping through
Indian flesh Black bodies
Vietnamese heads
Lebanese souls and millions more
of assorted uncounted Others each
little lead blob morphing through
ancient mosques and bible belts
Algerian dead ends in Mexican villages
erased lives scattering through space time
shape shifting as they return to the unholy
source of gold diggers graves and Left Bank royals
a rush of karma fueled vengeance
returning as a no-mans jihad against
everyone and
nothing
amen
Four scores and seventy
ingrained in blood stained garments
ancestors still rumbling in their graves
impatient souls lamenting their years
pages kept turning
pens are writing
and the story is unfolding
Dead trees hang over broken walls
threadbare buildings stand solemnly
in a city that was once their home
mothers weeping for their children
people scramble in the streets
and the great big God mewl from above
The tough bent curb wood swerves around
and cuts massive clouds into thin air
chopping trees pounding light posts
swinging and dancing from side to side
then paused upright in the open space
The karma
the sprit
the holy words
a limb for a limb
a sword for a sword
raw vengeance soaks up
the weeping earth
Stricken night makes its debut
swelling echoes mount from beneath
decades of blisters that clinches their feet
and the tension brewed as it gets closer
The moment fires strange emotions
filtering, wrangling and mooting
dignity and power captivates stubborn minds
and eminent slaughter looms from behind
anticipation impress heavily upon tainted lips
while an exodus flows in the manmade ditch
It aims directly at the center
empowered by a forceful northern wind
and moves vigorously toward the west
I saw her pulling his tiny hand
dragging him away from the screaming crowd
while she secured her little girl
intimately to her thumping chest
She struggles through the imposing crowd
with faith courage and determination
but the swelling boomerang ripped the children
from her weary arms
swiftly it disappears
and she heard these words
whispering in her ears
Wash your face
dry your tears
walk close to the mirror
and let down your hair
listen carefully
and tell me what you hear
breathe deeply
move slowly
you are here
©2013 Christine Phillips
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Boomerang
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: January/1989
A State Of Contemplation
2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?)2morrow(
?2morrow(
?2morrow(
?2morrow(
)worromot
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
)worromot(!
Jaunty can't live without her
for silly matters deter
actually he loves much
gone from home no touch
boomerang husband's purr
Note: Sorry, this is my first limerick
I was wondering
where the boomerang had gone
and then it struck me
What fools do sing of Karma?
Justice meted out like some kind of sick equation as though
any thoughts or theorems are constant.
I'm sure Pythagoras and Euclid would be very proud of all of us.
See this place and time:
Sigma batwings beat like boomerangs,
doors slamming out the dust-choked sunlight,
trapping sinners in the saint saloon.
An argument!
There at the corner table where
pink flesh meets inlaid wood and
the oily leather squeaks and cracks around the
ultimate geometry machine the
steel bed for brass and lead and rifling.
This is bar-graph justice, an
erxcercise in mean and percentage, or
was it median?
Bam!Bam!
Like a prophet fired from the kiln those bullets eat the air
between the foresight and the torso.
This is aborigional justice come
'round full circle on a decent man.
BOOMERANG
A long crooked path
That is life
Walk-it-out in any direction
finding mountain-born canyons
rapid falls the gathering of
wish dust
active or mental lust
No matter the course there will be return
return and on the run!
Your path now obscured by natural maturity –
trees with many branches
swamps of clumsy creation
This dart (even though shaven sanded smooth)
will find its mark
And thee become (perhaps old and gray)
thee become (perhaps) skeptic will call out to HIM
HELP!
“What have you learned?” HE will say
Now begins the real contemplation
What will you carry over into some new direction?
“What is the plan?” this question asked
again and again at some nebulous point
On the wheel
The spoken words that are sown
Returns on karmic winds blown
Gathering the dark clouds we try to disown
It can bring us a gentle rain
Or roar like a thunderstorm without restrain
The actions we take will come again
Perhaps returning with the fury of a hurricane
Depending on the thoughts we planted
We may forevermore be haunted
A boomerang thrown in the spiritual universe
Will return to reimburse
Perhaps with a blessing or a curse
Things can go from bad to worse
Life is an equation containing our words and thoughts
And variable actions upon which we reflect
The equation is balanced, the answer is sought
Using the universal law of cause and effect
Treat every female with respect
Never let one suffer neglect
Your Family Tree
Makes it plain to see
That each one will somewhere connect!
Kangaroo With A Boomerang
A kangaroo went hopping
through the outback one day,
he was hopping mad
while carrying a boomerang.
He was looking for me
I did something bad,
I stepped on his tail
that made him extremely mad.
I didn't do it
no, I swear,
he'll smack me with that thing
I can't hide anywhere.
I tried to hide
in a eucalyptus tree,
it wasn't good enough,
because he found me.
I tried to explain to the kangaroo
what I did was a mistake,
he was so angry
he began to shake.
He beat me over the head
with that gigantic boomerang,
I'll never make friends
with a kangaroo again.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Sept.14/2004
I wrote this for a friend on another poetry site.
She lives in Australia.
Can't get rid,
tried wiping on the mat.
Shits too ingrained
the smell just lingers.
Fumigation is futile,
I can't escape.
You just won't leave
Please go go go.
I think at last
you're gone for good.
Then STRIKE,
Back once again.
Leaving's so hard
for you to get.
Don't boomerang
Please, go go go.
The Boomerang Effect...
I thought it was all talk & none sense!
Until, I reap what I sowed.
An its a given u must pay what u owe!
Might not be today, tomorrow, or even a year from now.
But the seeds that we plant always manifest out the ground!
Like this one Kat...a dam fool that live by the gack!
A brother with no respect 4 his fellow man & known 4 stabbing ppl in the back!
Like a reck that's fatal...he didn't even see it coming.
He hit a lick 4 a brick...a week later the ppl that he robbed caught him & shot him in the back while he wae running!
Do un 2 others as thou want done 2 thee.
An what's good 4 the next... doesn't mean its good 4 me!
What goes up... must come down!
An what u do 2 ppl...eventually... will come back around!...The Boomerang Effect!