Best Chattel Poems
The clock chastises me,
as painted petals bloom brilliance
in illuminated wonder that attempts
escape from the hidden crevices
deep within my beleaguered mind.
The beauty I seek is but an allusive dream,
flowing rags of worthless chattel
that fill me with words, heavy, like stone,
my rhymes but pointless emotional prattle.
Yet, still my need must pursue that dream
to create another verse so sublime as to define
me as me in a world filled with poetic doppelgangers
and, so, I write just one more sad, lonely line.
"Extant nectared incense she lit, burning inside, slow but alone,
Arrogant me, let her leave, as here I sit, awaiting the unknown."
Clever, perhaps, but are my words,
like the melancholy song of the lonely Lune,
beautiful?
Geez, or should I say jeez, no Cuneiform here,
shall I try once more...
"crystalline sparkles
achromatic winter jewels
spring paints with colors"
...to bring out in me that which,
through these many years of seeing
my world ravaged with emotional upheaval,
still, in its turn, allowing me to experience
love and enchantment from eyes
that held me in the warmest embrace.
"I see the storm as rage engulfs those lovely eyes,
the blue intrepid sea of passion's lost release.
Inside, the tears of torment flow to sooth the lies,
yet, pain remains in every moment's wish for peace.
As burning anger seethes inside of you
the path it seeks obscures your point of view,
and leaves the ragged scars of bitter love
left blurred like mist in sodden clouds above.
Emotional, these moments steal your gentle heart
and eat in to the darkened void that once was you,
but misplaced hate can not keep you and I apart,
when, with my shroud of love, your heart I will eschew.
I hope you'll see just how I feel for you,
for you are why I do these things I do."
Crap!
Total
crap I read!
and I chuckle
as I re-read it.
In a single sonnet,
iambic hexameter
and iambic pentameter,
the Bard must be turning in his grave;
I guess I'll have to try another day.
08/15/2018
Form:
When men were kings with steeds
women were handmaids to their needs.
repositories for their seed to grow
...I didn't know.
When men worked to make fields right,
women worked both day and night,
with bleeding hands, she'd try to sew
...I didn't know.
Men talked politics to only men
women weren't allowed back then.
If she had a brain, it mustn't show,
...I didn't know.
A woman couldn't own things herself;
like chattel, she sat on the shelf.
Her children were only his to show,
...I didn't know.
This is one thing to take note:
at one time, a woman could not vote;
until Suffragists began their show,
...I didn't know.
She worked and the check went to the man.
He'd give her cash within his own plan.
Altho tired, she helped her children grow,
...I didn't know.
Now women sit as corporate heads,
doctors, lawyers, all well-read.
We're living in the afterglow,
on the shoulders of all those women
...we didn't know.
Long ago Man soaked alters in blood,
while sacrificing animals to God.
And ever since Noah and the flood
plows got hammered into sword and rod.
Civilizations grew and flowered,
only to vanish with little trace.
And men of peace were labeled coward,
while women were chattel, kept in place.
God was always at war with Mankind,
smiting pagans with His Holy wrath.
And a compromise was hard to find,
there was no hope for a peaceful path.
Jesus didn't think of God that way,
wanting to remove hate from His faith.
And preaching love, taught us how to pray
purging souls of unclean thoughts and wraith.
He challenged what the people got taught
and they demanded blood for His love.
And crucified Him, yet His death bought
us eternal life, through God above.
He was mourned and laid out in a cave,
where for three days, He suffered in hell.
And then He arose, and left that grave,
sought His apostles and bid them tell.
God The Father now lives in our heart,
and blood’s no longer offered to Him.
For through His Son, Man got a new start
and our fate no longer looks so grim.
Tender tear drops drip
like dreams from pain ted petals, as slowly, I
pick my path through the st inging nettles of every pain
filled word you say. You pus h me away with idle chattel,
as in my heart I fight this loosing battle. Can't you see I'm
so lonely without you. I would gladly be there to hold
your hand through life's insipid sorrow if you would
but let me. I would fill you with joy and make
you smile each day with fragrant lavender
roses. But I know you don't feel the
same. Your indifference hurts.
Am I so difficult to love?
I would joyfully give
you my world
if you let
me.
01/29/17
I see you walking on the beach
with the shyness of a kite,
toes gripping the sand with eyes that float
to the ends of the sea - tell me
(why do you look to the stars, love,
when we are more amazing?)
There are dreams
within dreams
in merely the sheen
of your crystal clear eyes
Yet with each breathless sigh
I can hear you hesitate
(...lunar cycles, she coolly states,
we are but a phase...)
Tell me, dear, where else
do the heavens find themselves trapped
but in your gaze?
Does not the Sun give us light each day?
(the Sea itself takes time to lick our feet,
as vast as she is, despite how we treat
her -- she comes back again,
nevertheless)
Is the Grass, as green as it is,
aware of its sheen?
Do the Miraculous Butterflies
long to metamorphosize yet again
(or are we the only creatures who dream?)
Do the Mountains boast of their grandiosity,
their towering tallness?
(why then, do we meek and mild, feel embarrassed
over our smallness?)
Take me back to the time
when all of these things were gods
and we were merely chattel,
(just the remains of a celestial battle)
the forgotten residue
----is that You?
An afterthought of a careless god
from cradle to grave?
We were unchained long ago,
yet still think we're slaves...
--
sitting on the hoods of our cars,
wishing upon shooting stars,
thinking love is somewhere out there
beyond the clouds or perhaps even the ether
And yet it's neither
It's right HERE
As tangible as the question
lying in our reflection--
(the truth committing suicide
on our tongues)
We'll conquer every mountain, every sea,
travel beyond the farthest galaxy...
...before we ever contemplate
the miracle of You and Me
It began with a tiny black hole in my mind,
bit by bit it gravitated me into the void;
making me a slave to silence.
I had never seen anything more powerful,
perhaps it was a god;
a deity of darkness or hell.
I was immured in shackles,
made a prisoner of the dark;
yet in isolation I kept myself alive.
I begged the many divinities of the world,
yet none spoke of benediction.
No one stood alongside
and no one held my hand.
I knew I couldn’t make it,
but I didn’t let it show.
My mind screamed in thoughts
and my heart grew cold.
I couldn’t feel the outside world,
I was still in it
but it wasn’t in me anymore.
Thus, I clutched my heart in my hand
and locked my fist.
I switched off,
bereft of any feelings;
I became numb.
‘The Great Darkness’ became an acquaintance in solace
and let slip it’s deepest and darkest secret,
‘’that the best way out is through’’.
Hence, I placed back the frozen heart,
hopeful it would melt;
but flames breached from a rift;
igniting a wild fire;
captivating me and everything around.
It was a renascence
from my rite of passage,
that rekindled the id;
to moult
and contort
by the ordeal.
A door closed behind me
and a door swung open in front.
I saw everything I never wanted
and everything I always did.
I came out to the dark alleys of the world
with my chattel,
a forever-burning candle;
to light up yours;
for it was the end of the beginning.
Is Friendship Just a Delusional Fiction?
Is friendship a lifeboat that floats on convenience?
Can we all divorce who we like with a gesture
that’s less than a wave on a looking glass seascape,
ignore too, the wreckage of dreams that waves scuttle,
consigned to obscurity absent a tombstone,
now fodder for lies (Christ’s saints still love their brothers)?
Man’s ‘truth’ proves flawed compass and ‘sin’ haunts earth’s wheelhouse,
as Science fills mainsails, God’s Ark laps Truth’s oceans!
Some fools think strict planning’s the pearl of all notions,
the wisest of husbands intimidates frail spouse,
views women and children just chattel that bothers,
like friends (a close second) whose wild seeds they’ve not sown.
Control is the issue; dictators aren’t subtle
(a friend who’s not under your thumb can’t be shipshape)!
Yes, freedom and friendship’s an unhealthy mixture
for all the enslaved must kowtow to your brilliance.
Lord, let me own friends who own freedom to doubt me,
who own I’ve the freedom to doubt them in concert,
(our music still blends as soul’s melody’s fragrance,
impinges on Hearing, a flavored denouement),
find women and men friends who love I write poems
that skip on mind’s pond like a pebble, or stone-like,
touch depths that no rhyme’s plumbed, just God’s Love could meter,
source undersea landslide of epic proportion.
May God bless my humor though few think I’m funny;
send rain to help cool me though I’m a weak convert!
Invisible, God does not dote on appearance,
His Grace for the sinner’s a sign of rapprochement
though few may see me to have worth His Grace welcomes.
Should Love a God offers be harsh as the Third Reich?
Provisioned for life, what world could be sweeter?
Not friending who friends you, Love’s close to abortion.
Brian Johnston
26th of January in 2021
God and The Devil sat counter
over whiskey at the boardroom table,
to negotiate the terms of her surrender;
no real surrender materialised,
but the battle-lines were re-drawn,
albeit imperceptibly so.
The value of the chattel
will not be agreed,
the meaning of defeat
almost as meaningless as winning,
but for the stroking of the battered ego,
chattel’s value unknown.
I sat with God and The Devil
at the blood-stained boardroom table,
they specified the terms of my surrender
and erased the day of my resistance;
the surrender was real and assured,
I haven’t heard from them since.
23rd January 2019
BELIZEAN BLEND
In the beginning it was the Yucatec, the Mopan and Kekchi as well
Who came from the steppes of Asia where nomads dwell
They fished and farmed milpas, in paradise; away from hell
Some building great civilizations that, for many reasons, eventually fell
Then came the Spaniards whose ambivalence; mixed feelings
Caused them to waver in subsequent dealings
Killed some natives, driven off by others
In the end did not settle; wasn’t worth the bother
Displaced by the British, rowdy pirates turn woodcutters
Who made laws and build infrastructure down to the gutters
Cut logwood, then mahogany for powerful and wealthy folks
Then, to satisfy greed, sought others to enslave in yokes
Africans from Jamaica and Bermuda transshipped
Then as chattel they were frequently whipped
Stolen from Africa, becoming the major labor force
Dehumanized and tortured for centuries without remorse
Mestizos fleeing oppressors in the Yucatan
The War of Castes brought them from beyond
Working as chicleros and cane cutters
As a way of providing ‘ bread and butter’
Garinagu deported from St. Vincent as a form of punishment
Many dying in their odyssey , their massive predicament
Survive , resiliently, on the rebound
A proud people, with culture and learning very sound
Mennonites coming to enjoy religious freedom and peace
Avoiding persecution for a life of ease
Providing furniture, low cost poultry and eggs
Reducing the cadre of many that beg
From India and China they were duped and brought
As indentured servants who were hastily sought
Later as merchants and shopkeepers they came
Voluntarily this time, which is not nearly the same
Backpackers and excursionists everywhere
In a world where they’re free to choose elsewhere
Not part of the earlier diaspora
But manifestations of a new plethora
Life as we know it makes no sense if we have no choice
So what is the alternative and do we have a voice ?
The world is spinning out of control with violence and death all around
And the Republican presidential candidate is a racist media hogging clown
Everything is off kilter and while I sit and contemplate
What is my alternative and what will be my fate?
How do I sing songs of joy when chaos is on the rise?
How do I survive a Babylonian society and keep my eyes on God's prize?
In the midst of perversity and immoral behavior
My only alternative is to stay connected to Jesus my Savior
When I see a white man kill nine African Americans in a church
And after arrested given a bullet proof vest
Yet when an ex-military black man kills five white cops
He's blown up I feel such unrest
Over the injustice and the inequality that is occurring every day
Over 123 black men killed this year what more is there to say
What is the alternative? What is it that we need to do?
What is the alternative? As a nation we need to seek truth
I don't condone Mr. Johnson's behavior
but I understand where he's coming from
Too many young unarmed black brothers
Killed by white police guns
So what is the alternative?
What as a nation do we realize?
That racism is alive and well and killing blacks is on the rise
What is the alternative?
How do we bring about true change?
It's time for white Americans to stop acting like we're deranged
We are Americans too my people have been here over 400 years
Yes we were once slaves but let me make this clear
We are no longer your property
We are no longer your chattel
Stop killing and slaughtering my people
Like they're mindless cattle
So what is the alternative?
It's time we all develop a true relationship with God
And hopefully be infused with a Christlike love
And true compassion in out hearts
THAT IS THE ALTERNATIVE
genuine love
like a dove
chattel for cattel
cattel as chattel
frosty the snow man?
or the glow ran?
as wisps of flakes on the wind
God can you please rescind or resend
that snowflake that never duplicates
cause I sure like this one, so replicate
uniqueness got my attention now
but in itself it's lost somehow
like whispers on the wind never retold
how far do snowflakes grow old?
For eternal energy I'm fold
for a snowflake I will never scold
Tangible frost
a valued frost
Form:
THE AWAKENING
It was midnight that I laid still
and breath had filtered down
An open book - a nagging fly
will wait for me until
bestirred at morning’s knock
when stoves excite a brew
and housewives stir a door
toward sunrise bursting through -
to heaven like a broom
sweeping eyelids like a fan
and chattel and dust balls
like billiards across the room -
that wake the inner chambers
of my brain i separate stalls
that conjure up my daily tasks
within these slumbered walls
terrorism has been going on for thousands of years
not just in the Middle East, but in America right here
Black folks have been terrorized for many years and in many ways
with lynchings, cross burnings and the destruction of the churches where we pray
we've been treated worse than dumb cattle
at one time they even referred to us as chattel
we've been beaten, whipped, forced and sold
taken from Africa, our motherland
brought over on slave ships
to become the property of an unrighteous man
for over 400 years we have been treated
no better than common dirt
but our faith in God has been the only constant
enabling us to deal with the hurt
to Black Americans terrorism is not a new word
and for anyone to say as much seems completely absurd
Twenty score years ago, and some
The evil merchants crossed the waves
Gleeful as they raped and pillaged
Their cargoes of dark-skinned slaves
En route to the land of Liberty
Where all men are created equal
In their most frightening and wildest nightmares
They could never have envisioned the sequel
After four centuries of hatred, violence and exploitation
Against the human chattel who built this nation
The values upon which America was built
Would overcome its culture of greed
On the backs of unknown, unsung masses
Who bore the burden of long labor and whips lashes
And the prayers and Faith of prophet preachers
Came a man, half black, half white…
A new breed leader
Who dared to believe against all odds
That he could unite these United States
Seen only, perhaps, by The Dreamer…in ‘68
Who could have known our country’s fate
For the first time, truly, since 1776
A Golden Opportunity For Unity exists
That all Americans could possibly be One
Our new president alone cannot get this done
This is for you, for me, for we, for us
E Pluribus Unum, from many – one...
If God we trust?
Copyright 2009 Iger Rolyat All Rights Reserved
Warning!!
This is a free verse poem.
It may not meet the high standards of poetry soup.
It is also highly controversial.
The writer of this poem realizes that poetry is supposed to be light and fluffy!
Just like TV sitcoms.
But hear it is anyway, (oops hear, I mean here, is spelled wrong, automatically
disqualifying this poem as reflecting any beauty or talent at all.)
Hope it does not wound anyone too badly.
I Wonder what the headlines would be like if Fox News existed in the early 1800's?
Perhaps something like, "Despite minor slave trade infractions this month, such as 10,000
pieces of human chattel suffocating on their own defecation, 5000 female slaves being
raped by their masters, and 9,000 male slaves beat to death for smiling at their master's
wives, ABOLITIONISTS CONTINUE TO PURSUE THEIR OPPRESSIVE, SOCIALIST AGENDA!!!!"
Wow, how badly I long for the good old days of "American Morality!"
When the American Spirit was "Strong and Virile!!!"
Before all these bleeding heart abolitionists freed the slaves and destroyed the Southern
Economy!!!!!
Ah, just brings a tear to a brotha's eye.
Thank God for Fox News!!!!
Who else do we have to keep us honest?!!!!