Best Flogged Poems
pink and sparkles spout
above liberty statue
cloud tauts happiness
fireworks all around applaud
hands clap on soil and sea
the swirl of nations,
a landing party of dreams...
but some from afar
drag chains as if dead, rowing
amidst the cotton
the white plant—has thorns—
placed on Jesus saving crown.
sowed on plantations —
a reaping of civil war
continues today.
plumes of red and black
fume over the green lady;
a gift from the past.
stripes upon the flag’s backside.
hands raised beg for forgiveness
7/3/2020
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(4)any theme any form Poetry Contest
John 19:1-3 Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they struck them in the face.
Betrayed for thirty pieces
Of silver
Mocked, spat upon
Flogged and crucified,
How Messiah suffered and died.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly 2019.
Matthew chapters 26 and 27 KJV.
Ample vicissitudes we both had faced
after the blood-curdling shipwreck while on voyage
trapped in a warren, dreams sailed in a haze
my young master bravely tamed me for his advantage
I became his bosom friend, worth not to put back in a cage.
Young master, what a strong faith you had!
despite the danger you didn’t give up
you had the power, a gift unparalleled to any other lad
to commiserate a beast was not your mishap
nature’s realm was exalted by your heart to the top.
While the wave-tracks lead to uncertainties,
life-boat drifted along the sea in misery
you felt at ease with me despite your difficulties
as fishes miraculously abounded, I fed myself happily
believing that you were the best angler who did all things for me.
I hummed a song in a long journey of anguish
on our way awaited all the scorching hassles
the gale of storm flogged once more its piece
mysterious island beckoned with its ostentatious obstacles
but, your courage and prayers walked over all troubles
finally, I found my lair through your ardent struggles.
August 12, 2013 6.30pm
©2013by Leonora Galinta
Second Place
Contest: any poem goes
Judged: 12/30/2013
Sponsor: Poet Linda PD
I held the stumbling humanoid,
Standing on two feet, scared as an alien
I am his cradle and his playground
Even before he was named *****Sapien.
Watched him crawl on hands and feet,
Watched him grow, move and trail
His mind having lost all its restraint
Unknown quest beckoned his first sail
Wandering unhinged in the oceans midst
Lost his color, lost his curl
Breathing the air on land unknown
Came back white as a polished pearl
Placed himself on a glittering throne
Uttered words, harsh and foreign
Ruling all with his reeking greed
Brandishing his spear, sword and the gun
Started digging my gut for diamond,
Chafing oil off of my skin
Pulling out my heart of gold
Making mules of his kith and kin
Chained his brothers, labeled for sale,
Subjected them to conditions sinister
Bent and flogged all their lives
Sisters raped at will of their master
I silently watched the macabre play,
Where no one but he smiles
My eyes oozing out warm tears
To fill at least a dozen Niles
Ate my arms and thighs for dinner,
Bathed me with blood each night
As he danced in a trance unashamed
But I Africa —I refused to die
Written :04/25/2017
Aub
Aubrey Gordon Joseph Mc'Govern
by Don Johnson...
he was born in 1895 to a land so different then,
one of three boys born at Brenda station,
near to Hebel up the river near the water on a bend.
though just a child he told me of his life upon the land,
of strange things seen and space ships strange, with
coloured lights so grand.
how he and Walter and the boy had seen it flying past ,
but never went to look for it though it fell with a mighty blast.
he drove the coach for Cobb & co, held six horses by the rein,
these 3 Mc Govern's never married though,
so no Mc Govern's will remain.
he worked on Cubbie station as a station hand
their fences he did mend, delivered mail a sulky
mailman to the squatters he was friend.
no radio on the airwaves then, the news would come by him,
by word of mouth the bush telegraph, bare facts with no garnishing.
one time he was a shearers cook and cooked o'er an open fire.
he was on the rum, maybe seeing things, old Aub. he was no liar.
as he stooped to check the boiling pot he saw the Devil lunge at him.
so he flogged him off used his boiling spuds,
made a goodly campfire dim.
old Aubrey's gone where the old drovers go,
but i sure remember him.
as a story teller i did know,
when i was small and thin. …
Squatter Jack
have you lived awhile in west Queensland,
out in the red soil dust,
where the crows will pick your eyes out and,
bore water is a must,
have you seen a thin and starving cow,
not a blade of grass to eat,
the timber`s gone no Mulga now......(13% protein in leaves)
just the deadly summer heat,
the squatter flogged his paddocks out,
too many cattle there,
he thought good seasons were about,
but we know they are rare,
so now he tears his hair out,
and cries poor bloody me.
we`ll have to subsidise the lout
when he whines so publicly
the old cow bogged in the dam today
and there she`ll likely lie
the crows will take her eyes away
before she gets to die
scrub Mulga`s tucker in a drought (Mulga tree)
on the bushy limbs they`ll thrive
where some mugs had it bulldozed out
no cattle left alive
then the rain it comes after years of drought
and the grass is green and sweet
they`ll forget the bad times have no doubt
till dead cows are flyblown meat.
by D H Johnson.
There's a Good Man just up that hilltop there.
A Good Man,
He loves all children, both the troublemaker and the perfect ones.
He loves the poor and gives them alms and shelter.
He loves the hungry and thirsty, he feeds them and gives them wine.
He loves all who mourn, and comforts them.
He loves the ill and heals them of their ailments.
He loves the peacemakers, and befriends them.
Among these things, this Good Man loves sinners, and he dines with them.
Despite these things, that Good Man is up there on that hilltop, among the thieves and the criminals.
Despite his love for all, he's treated like a murderer, flogged and beaten.
Tortured;
All for his blasphemy.
He was forced up that hilltop against his will,
But never did I see him strike any who condemned him,
Nor did I see him curse all who struck him.
As the beating sun scorned upon the crowd and the Good Man,
No longer carrying his piece of wood upon his back;
His face turns upward, to the sky.
And he calls for Elijah.
Soon, the Good Man dies.
The King of the Jews dies by Roman hands.
As the Good Man dies,
The earth trembles
The sky turns cloudy and blackens out the sun
The winds nearly blows us all on our backside.
Soon, it becomes apparent to all onlookers,
That this man was no Blaspheimer.
The Good Man was the Son of God.
And instead of bowing down to him,
We crucify him.
And so,
I tell you,
On the top of that hilltop,
Dead,
Among the sinners,
Is a Good Man.
A Man who loved all.
A man sent by Elijah and killed by us.
Jesus of Nazareth.
King of the Jews.
A polytheist would argue
just one God
That there are endless guards
and many rods
given these wards
With many temperaments and aims
devotion for a supreme being
Compassionate gods spread
charity, clarity’s
light and goodwill
Whereas others spread hate,
blood still spills
Relates—mayhem and darkness
The God of the Old Testament
unforsaken is the nakedness
not ever to turn the other cheek
not even for the meek
He portrays Himself
Jealous and wrathful
vengeful, rageful
Numbskull—beware!
Whilst man plays by the rules
these judges will decide
The winner takes it all
The loser has to fall
No complaints, apologies
Whilst the God of New Testament
demonstrates much mercy,
forgiveness you shall see
For God and his creations
This is what’s in common
in the world religions
This is the core,
the common essence
all shared values
when in His presence
The road is long, painful and circuitous
A troubled past will plague us
dubious religious sects, false replay,
vulnerable man is their prey
Realization from my deepest self I reveal
enamored in love is how I truly feel
I felt with all things,
a strong sense of collectiveness
An emotional rapture
of the combined sacred oneness
One man showed us love
A true love He
displayed,
flogged, died
Crucified for love
of mankind
The Jewel of Jesus
Find a man like Him
and certainly not a moony (woman)
In Ganges River, I shall swim
in blessed holy water
I’ll bathe in
His wine I’ll drink
On my knees I shall sink
Bow down and pray
for Yahwe’s precious Jewel
the One, the Only
Eyes of blue?
Jesus Christ Superstar
In a fun house called the great reset
grace and goodness is often flogged-
While confetti and saccharine accolades
are sprinkled over perfumed hogs-
A slanted house filled with greenies.
Crying o'er climate bleed from private jets.
Sashaying across the continents.
With their gigantic carbon footprints-
A mirrored house of concocted panic.
Distorted masks sewn to the masses.
While privilege laughs from naked faces
inflated parties and mansions gated-
The media ogres. with tongues of sludge
blow dirty noses into the heart pond of God.
While the self-righteous, Maoist and Marxist.
Porpoise side by side with the devil's pod-
"While many are silenced by authority, some are voiceless as they have no courage to protest. But some prefer voicelessness for convenience sake which is a graver offence" ~ By Poet
In a world of much noise and cacophony
Some are fated to remain voiceless,
Due to reasons forced or voluntary.
Raising no protest, they yield to their fate
Watch the meek docile lambs that move,
Behind the shepherd to be huddled inside
Food and shelter are all they need,
And they abide to be shorn with no dissent.
Silent are the beasts that trot along,
Miles on end through rugged tracks.
Blissfully ignorant of what awaits,
They stagger lamely to the slaughterhouse.
Mournful is the voicelessness of the slaves,
Flogged and beaten to bear the yoke,
Stifled is the cry within their throats,
Never once let out to break the calm
Heart rending is the voicelessness of the dumb,
Trying in vain to utter fleeting thoughts,
Through signs and gestures crude to view,
Lisping and blabbering in broken sounds.
Fierce is the silence that lingers on,
The ones subdued under stark threat of life,
Gagged and tied unable to moan or move,
While looted of all that is hoarded in life.
Silence turns golden for the sober man,
Who remains sedate when taunted or abused
And shuts his mouth with great restraint,
To prevent a brawl from brewing up
Voiceless lies the dead beneath the sod,
Actors who once rocked the stage,
They exited out from this turbulent world,
To be shrouded within crevices dark.
Many times during my life my heart has been shattered,
by friends I thought loved me who betrayed that love;
with souls black and decayed and hearts empty,
why did I not see this darkness they held.
At first, my thoughts were for them to suffer like I have,
for them the shrivel and wither and know about pain;
but soon I realized that hate and revenge is wrong,
why did I not see this darkness they held.
I prayed to the Lord for help on how to let go of this hate,
and he told me to look to his son for the answer;
so I did and I was humbled and felt unworthy;
why did Jesus have to suffer so much.
For although he was betrayed and whipped and flogged,
and made to crawl in the streets falling, stumbling;
and was nailed to that cross carried and crucified,
he forgave- so why can I not do the same.
For, I believe those with black souls and empty hearts,
will never know the promise of- eternal paradise;
so, in the end all will be judged for their ways,
and I, will just be me for the Lord sees all.
_______________________
August 22, 2020
Poetry/Verse/Eternal Paradise
Copyright Protected, ID 20- 1280-496-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
This Body
Those on the bottom can see but can’t act,
Those on the top can act, but can’t see,
O Lord, please free me from this body of Death, America.
Dear Lord, How am I to stay composed, as the very fabric of justice decomposes from
beneath me?
My footsteps are weighted down by the sounds of my ancestors screaming for my freedom, as
they realized that their deliverance was only in the life to come?
Am I to wait until the life to come?
Like some passive animal, always turning by backside to be flogged by the excruciating
hypocrisy of white supremacy,
You ask me to hold to your precepts, you ask me to hold to your law of love,
And yet for me it is like Atlas, bearing the weight of my oppressor’s ignorance, all the
while attempting to free them from their codependency on my subjugation,
Even for those who see, their loss is still their gain, Privilege,
But for me, loss is the sound of riotous rage burning the streets of Chicago,
And yet my Lord,
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen,
I must believe, even as my circumstances bludgeon me from the inside out,
I must believe that you have a plan.
We need not loans, but a redefinition of what it means to prosper?
Can you grant us at least this my lord?
A vision of repentance in which top and bottom begin to fade away beneath the sound of
righteous equality?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment, then we shall be healed.
And this body will know the sublime language of harmony.
Lord God, do not free me from this body of death, America.
For in my freedom, my brethren will still suffer.
Rather, free this body from its insanity.
So that we all may sleep and dream soundly.
Form:
I held the stumbling humanoid,
learning to stand on two feet- scared as an alien.
I was his cradle and his playground—
even before he was called *****Sapien.
Watched him crawl on hands and feet,
watched him grow, move and trail
His hungry mind lost all its restraint.
Unknown quest beckoned his first sail.
Wandering unhinged in the oceans midst,
lost his color, lost his curl.
carrying in his lungs, an air unknown,
came back white as a polished pearl
Uttering venom, harsh and foreign,
guarded by spear, sword and the gun—
crushing all with his reeking greed
placed himself on a glittering throne
Digging my gut for diamond,
chafing oil off of my skin,
pulling out my heart of gold,,
making mules of his kith and kin
Chained his brothers, labeled them for sale,
subjected them to conditions sinister
Bent and flogged all their lives,
sisters raped at will of their master
I silently watched the macabre play,
where no one but he smiles.
My eyes oozing out warm tears,
to fill at least a dozen Niles.
Devoured my arms and thighs for dinner,
bathed me with blood each night
as he danced in a trance unashamed.
But I Africa did not die,not quite.
Written 04/29/2016
The crime families have met
It’s all been flogged and settled
The crime of all crimes
The crime of the masterminds
They have met with the hackers
And the behind the scene masters
The plot is in play
Let all the world fall prey
Bankers will fall
Poets will run over to the mall
With their two dollar money orders
All for fame and obvious fortune
Any fraudster knows
To bring all the gullible in to binge
The prize must be huge
Huge and as heavenly as sin
If you never have to pay
Make the prize a billion they say
In gold or in fools all told
Oh yes this tops even Thomas’s crown
Affairs and petulant airs
They love the sound of their own voices
Living in a world with few choices
For those still seeking fools gold
Anything they don’t understand
Must be evil
Burn those whom don’t adhere
To our negative trump like ears
These brilliant pyramid men
Have figured out the perfect scheme
Send me two dollars
The contest is different than it seems
If you cant tell a template from the evil gate
Or an amateur student like affair
You are as blind as the guard
In the museum of fraudulent despair
The super tramp of
Krispy Kreme
Has reported live
The crime of the century!
God does time fly!
Psalms allm ssllaay yyai!
Doesn't it seem as if we have never been?
There was now another thing accepting us?
Like we were fluids?
Drunken fluids that is comparable to these standards-
eruptions!
The fault in the crust going to kill us ever after even though we don't know us-
we are decent folk
but always clone,
but where oh where to say we went home?
I know of distance and poke,
I know of wrongful god and soap,
I don't think you know though-
where the strikes at heights find lightnings to bite,
where there are stations upon their masters of relations of separations that don't adhere,
nor guide us-
live in Gobe-
central Amazon,
People finder.com for the good one's who survived...
I loved her, expected her yonder,
but became far fetched and the flogged bogger...
It was so longer than she respects-
it was faulty as the next,
and then they said let's bless this ...