Best Chronicles Poems
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
I grew up in rows of houses ending in graveyards,
where six feet of dirt covered
the mound of my existence
and failure arched every single doorway.
Depression draped the windows
with patterns stitched
by poverty’s unapologetic hand.
The futility of language lacing its voice
with abject grief and guilt;
Expression left to moan its desperation,
yet unable to communicate its plea.
While eyes lost the blue of horizons and hope--
blindness welcomed
as agony’s twisted comic relief.
Emptiness has a way of filling up
and spilling over, consuming;
Until all that remains is a chronicle of life
lived too painfully in reverse,
and the screaming sheathing of despair
mummifying the entombed...
Hickory Dickory Dock
Just two more clicks of the clock
Which way will it go
Still nobody knows
Hickory Dickory Dock
November is starting to stink
Will it be great or will it sink
The Whitehouse smells like swass
It’s still housed by an a$$
November is starting to stink
Did he ever drain that swamp
Or did he just romp and stomp
He rants like a child
His mouth runs wild
Did he ever drain that swamp
I’ve got gas and I’m in need of a dump
I’ll take a Donald and wipe my Trump
Don’t be in a rush
Plunge after you flush
I’ve got gas and I’m in need of a dump
Chronicles of my pain
Family, a support structure that holds people together they say
Well to me family is the root of my depression
Family is the reason why I cry myself to sleep
The reason why I lose weight daily
I'm regarded as the forsaken child just because I don't have anything to prove I have a dream
Regarded as the forsaken child because I have achieved nothing at my age
Sadly my heart is weak
My mind is polluted with thoughts of suicide
Chronicles of my depression
I'm the no body in the family
Yet I fight so hard to make things happen
No one supports what I live for
Therefore I am disregarded as a son
At times wishing my father was alive
Hoping he would understand me better
Or should I just follow him too
Maybe we would be happy together
I'm broken and shattered
Out of hope just left with sadness
I guess that I am destined for sorrows
Maybe everyone would be glad
If I won't wake up tomorrow
My heart is bruised and wounded
Tell me what peace looks like
Give me a dose of happiness
But anyway it's just too late
By Walter Mafokate
THE COFFEE SHOP
BY EZAR AND STEPHANIE
The Coffee Shop (Male)
It was a warm summer afternoon; As the sun covered the sidewalk like they were bride and groom.
On my way to the coffee shop, a place where I often stop… In the downtown city blocks.
Wearing cream designer shirt, shoes, slacks, and socks; I saw walking towards me a lady with beauty on lock; Designer dressed from bottom to top.
Louis Vuitton heels, the color of scorching hot; Thinking to myself, she deserve props. Not realizing that we were both headed to coffee shop, a place where I often stopped.
Like a gentleman, I open the door to let her in Prada is what I smelled in the wind.
Oh my, she had thick legs and thick thighs Brown skin with light brown eyes.
Headed to the Bristo with a laptop by her side…
She ordered a caramel latte. What do I do to break the ice and conversate?
At the coffee shop a place where I often stopped.
Written by Ezar Williams
The Coffee Shop (Female)
Work heavy on my mind; Mid day, need to break away and unwind
The weather is warm to my skin; The air is breezy and fresh as I take it all in…On my way to the coffee shop where I often stop.
Laptop in one hand, purse in the other; As I walked towards the door, I noticed a “Brotha”?
Tall, dark, and handsome would not be original; This Brotha has stance, confidence of someone spiritual.
He opened the door, as a gentleman should; I walked by, nodded politely, but in my mind he stood.
His eyes spoke, and his smile remained still; Designer dressed, shoes, matching hat, dressed to kill.
I headed to the counter to order my favorite drink as if I wasn’t fazed; By his inviting stature or silent praise.
“Caramel Latte” I request, “I’ll be at my usual table” I directed.
Something was different at the coffee shop, a place where I often stopped.
Written by Stephanie Jones
Beneath my tendrils,
Hidden by waves of despair
Lie Souls lost in storms nightmare
No cross, or family visitors,
Except crabs and eels
And curious seals
Picking away at the last semblance
That made them once human
The seas sermon, their last chaplain
A sunken boat, company for the last captain
The sea has many secrets
And I know her spirit well
For I am the last witness
To ships that sink
To gulls that die
To hear the whales that cry
To see the births,
Far away from man’s eye
I cast my shawl
Up mountains hidden
By current and canyon
I watch with my many eyes
The dolphins panic caught in trawlers net
Whose whistle, the final lament
Asphyxiation the cruel torment
The finless shark, the once proud ruler of this realm
Writhes in clouds of blood, while enemies swoop
Victim to another’s, gourmet soup
All is secret, for the sea hides many things
Her coral cities and sea horse prairies
But locked away in Davies locker
Oil and gas,
The treasure and the waste
She is the mother of all,
And the reaper of her domain
And I am left to wonder
For her embrace is mine to share
For I am the jelly fish, and I am a witness
To all who have wronged
This place where I belong
And now I see the virgin iceberg
A last paradise where man is not welcome
Leave my mother be, and leave her children’s kingdom
Let the cold be her knight,
Let the bears rule the night
And let nature be the light.
For I am just a jellyfish
Wandering my home, the sea,
You go to yours and let mine be.
For the sea will always be a part
Of you, and me.
And that is how, to respect my home, the sea
Footnote: Thejellyfish has over twenty eyes, more than any other creature on the planet
If there is anything I want more than success
That thing is joy
Money and success is nothing
If you don't have joy
Last time I felt joy in me
I was a child
I found a way to handle situations
I found happiness whenever I lost it.
My teenage life is nothing like that
There's pressure from everywhere
People expecting a lot from me
Me always putting other people's happiness above me
Me constantly getting anxiety
Getting depressed and forever smiling
But making sure everyone else is happy
Simply because I don't want them to go through the same thing I go through
I just want to get happy again
But again it won't happen
Whenever something happens, I'm not disappointed anymore
It is how my normal life is
Just full of disappointments.
CHANGE by Ian Munywe
upon his visage boasts sweat,industry an upheld virtue.
firm stature is exhibited,hard labour an accepted custom.
a time for toil yearns,wheat and other victuals for the future.
every stride to strive in burning heat,a quest out of perpetual penury.
feelings of disillusionment eminent,in the brink of a huge fall.
life such a baffling puzzle,everyday hustle inevitably knows no end.
a new dawn presents opportunity,quite in a rush for elevation.
an orison heard audibly,benedictions befalling a mortal.
reverted in such haste such distaste,it were best in prior times.
a new sense of belonging looming,adaptation of wanting predisposition.
amidst all the experience,hardly a thought in modesty lines.
amnesia having set in,pristine of new life in no time.
integrity eroded ferociously,candidacy annihilated in totality.
how mankind does change, indeed swiftly we tend to forget.
RISE by Ian Munywe
two sides of a divide collide inside,audibly voicing their thoughts.
optimism reverberates severely,realism ricochets as quite a formidable term.
resounding trials too eminent,life manifested in a perplexity of events.
too many fish upon this vicinity,evidently not enough room to fry.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
hard gravel swept over by dust,feet shuffle upon tough earth.
mallets bash into rigid steel, potrait of his new born remains sole solace.
all efforts to reap this here season,barren yield begets unknown anguish.
a sojourner already on course,in vehement search for a new start.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
wary he tranforms worn he conforms,glimpse of the past vision of the future.
feet now trod upon all rugged earth,all adorned in strapped sandals.
steel once too rigid little too hard,antiques and ornaments an eventuality.
henceforth sight of new territory such insight,cite so picturesque a gaze in awe.
by all means he shall triumph,by any means necessary.
Lanky’s Chronicles
We meet a long-limbed white boy that said his family was owners of slaves.
He was a leggy ole boy and bony angular in his physical ways.
Uncle Tom was from his past.
He described plantation life as [w]holistic.
We nicknamed him Lanky.
Lanky always got to the point.
He lives in Gross Point Park, Michigan.
He talks for hours non-stop.
He was wealthy.
He was well off.
Lanky was very sharp.
Now, one thing we have discovered about Lanky is that his family migrated
from the South, which really did not make since when he was white.
He said it was done during the surfacing of Industrial North.
They came to form a greater empire.
1930s is when this took place and today Lanky is an ole boy well to do in
Southgate.
Flip the Script
Lanky is an ole boy from the Confederate South.
He married a Cherokee woman and became tribal.
He became Chief of the Creek Tribe.
He was a White Indian in black folk’s lives.
His family migrated to the North.
They established themselves in Chippewa territory.
Peace was kept and life became whole.
Lanky was seen as a canon in focus with a dogma purpose.
His annals are archived at the Smithsonian.
Lanky demised in 2005.
This is to bring forth knowledge of his life.
___________________________________|
Penned on June 5, 2014 @ 12:33 A.M. EST!
I am a Taurean Girl
Adorned in strength of character’s veil
Valour and grace held as a scepter
Born in a month named after Maia
Nurtured in the magnificent land of Gaia
I am a Taurean Girl
Rare and fearfully made as a clear pearl
Exuding confidence in mauve Louboutins
Blessed with the gift of gab and soul
Wherein lies the passion that makes me whole
I am a Taurean Girl
Madly in love with a Capricorn gentleman
Whose dreams resemble that of an airman
Strong, passionate, he makes the heart airlift
And brings with the blessing of two precious Libran gifts
I am a Taurean Girl
Endowed with the rich blessing of Abraham
Ever smiling, cheerful, intelligent, quirky in nature
Like red wine, maturing, getting better with age
Eager to continue writing fresh memories on life's priceless page...
I sang of Caleb at Harvard University, 1660
I sang of Africans come to America unknowingly
I sang of women and children who came to Jesus
Singing Old Spirituals, Crossing the Red Sea
Native-Americans may have lost everything, but one -
Their love for land. Highest ratio in our wars. True patriotism!
Like King David, who wasn't allowed to build God's Temple
Yet the biggest donor, because God Great Giver's, never outdone
I sing of Cheeshahteamuck, First in Theology in 1660
Died of TB, malnutrition, dank & cold dormitory
Like them, I know the HEART OF JESUS, the Victory
He won through suffering. The Cross: "The Way" of Unity
I sing of Africa, my adopted mother, womb of more slavery
Still, all this world is slave to sin, pleasure, false security ...
Whatever GOD allows, is BEST and the best place to be
SURRENDER to NOW: like Jesus, tasting & sharing ETERNITY
Within Twilights , Sparling star dust... Sweeetness of Love, goes to the Extremes... grasping, passion as it overwhelms Beautiful Tristen, with his gentle touch, Smile...
as he approaches tis most beautiful elegant woman his heart tis ever seen, his emotions overwhelmed him, tis with excitement he moves closer towards her, giving her a beautiful red rose, then he begans to reach out gently to take her by the hand, as his eyes met hers, he saw his raving beauty, his True love.. tis wearing elegantly glowing white shinin' with radiance of silver streams flowing down tis lacy curves within her evening gown, sparkling as she glows, she softly smiled and began to blush, as she let him take her hand gently, then as he slowly pulled her close unto him, then he led her through the corridors down toward the ballroom unto the opened French doors, tis in a distance, sweet music softly playing within the air… tis within twilights
as Tristen heart began beat-faster, tis he turns towards her, as she turned toward him, he places his arm around her waist, as she placed her arm around his collar of his tux…
Smile.. they began to slowly move within tis dance… gently swaying to the peaceful beautiful music… as hearts beating closer, then he whispers… softly… sweetly unto her heart.. words of such passion… expressing his love.. unto her heart tis she has been waiting to hear… grasping such passion
as clock strikes midnight............
~In Progress~
Staggered by the virus burning through the city veins,
Stop motion, speeded up, the slam of distant trains,
Rattled through the concrete as forgotten people die,
Howling jets of power chords go crashing through the sky.
The cardboard jungle stretches out along the seamy streets,
Where grimy flesh of down and outs use newspapers for sheets
And sleep with crazy fetishes that slice and dice the skull,
Narcosis bred by pills and soup make all the senses dull.
The rail-yard cauldron simmering with cabbages and rats,
Skin and fur of vermin bleeding protein in the vats,
It tastes of pulped up sewer waste distilled by Mr Hyde,
The methylated spirits put some flavour back inside.
Leaned up against the siding now corroded through with rust,
The corrugated blackened bones of asbestos and dust,
Insanity, reality, all sympathy gone up in flames,
Lunacy screams at the moon and calls the symptoms names.
Down here it doesn’t matter what the poets choose to write,
The road to hell is paved with good intentions every night,
The only thing that means a damn is death will set us free
Of all the madman chronicles of sociology.
pitchforks heavily leaned upon,
puffy cumulus clouds drifting slowly
across the summer sky,
parted by a wheather vain of
a rooster crowing in the wind.
bundles of hay rolled up bask in the heat,
like giant golden cantelupes in a melon field.
beautiful children grow calist palms for iconographers
to chisel and paint.
orothodox prayers are offered up.
scythes are swung to reap simple parables.
along baltic dirt roads pebbles are scattered
by combersome rusty old farming trucks
with wooden rails.
seeds bounce off and fall through the cracks
sprouting small communal agrarian gardens.
hens are kept in small huts,
they lay richly decorated gold leaf eggs,
for priest to carry over the shoulder's
of the weary men at the eucharist.
The Baby Chronicles
By
Cody B. Turner
Into the world I go
On this awfully bright and shiny day
So many things in front of me
So many words to learn and say
Into the world I go
Full of things bigger than I
Giants hover over my body
Saying comments like “He’s shy”
Into the world I go
Leaving a dark but comfy place
The world I know is no more
The only comfort is a smiling face
Into the world I go
In your arms by giants I am placed
Seeing a smile looking down upon me
Knowing that I can never be replaced
Into the world I go
In store, not knowing what’s for me?
This life I know is too big for oneself
But still that smile’s all I see
Into the world I go
Only one smile to see, no other
This smile deserves a beautiful name
I think I shall call her mother.