Best Issued Poems
Children as young as three years old,
Killed for not doing as they’re told,
Forced to forget their culture bold,
What a tragedy to unfold!
Two hundred fifteen, that ain’t less,
Young innocents abused, suppressed,
How can humans be so heartless?
It breaks my heart, I must confess,
Wonder, how they would have pleaded?
Their cries for mercy unheeded
Residential schools, not needed,
Were soon closed, but lives conceded,
In the name of education,
A way of ‘assimilation’,
Native kids faced termination,
What a gruesome excavation!
07.01.2021
{On 28 May, 2021, the bodies of 215 children were discovered in a burial site at the grounds of the Kamloops Indian Residential School using new, ground-penetrating technology. The deaths are believed to be undocumented. The school, which was closed in the late 1970s, is located in Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation. First Nations refer to a section of indigenous inhabitants of Canada, along with Inuits and Métis people.
Between 1831 and 1996, Canada’s residential school system forcibly separated more than 1.5 lakh First Nations children from their families in order to assimilate them into the Euro-Canadian and Christian ways of living. They were forbidden to acknowledge their indigenous heritage and culture or to speak their own languages.
According to an information resource set up by the University of British Columbia, children were subjected to physical, sexual, emotional, and psychological abuse.
In 2008, then Prime Minister Stephen Harper publicly issued an apology, on behalf of the Government of Canada, to all indigenous people acknowledging the country’s role in the residential school system.}
For Edward Ibeh's "This or That, Vol 4" contest
Categories:
issued, abuse, children, death, school,
Form:
Rhyme
Searing flames within hissing steam burns
letting the dragons out in frozen time
cold stone winds blow into the desert sands of illusions etched
Dark and feral holding immeasurable promises
held captive under those that are never completely met right
freedom and forgiveness denied cries from an impenetrable heart
Hatred is the twisted short sided vulture of the virtues
incomplete confidence expressed in a waning moon
Tears of ivory silk burning salted spiced
Cries forever inside chambers weeping wall’s
taken far away into discoveries path
were limitations and love never coexist
Endless beginnings take centrefold in a staged arena
otherworldly visions of a life re-imagined scarcely believed
in a sealing ritual sacrifice, sacred temple of another is played outcast
Vibrant scalding primal evil colors paint the blood truth
boldly endurance can no longer be silence issued
through the sun’s warm radiance Illuminati exposed
Co written by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
unrhymed tercets
Categories:
issued, conflict, cry, dark, heart,
Form:
Terza Rima
Mary spent her final days
Inside a nursing home
Tended to by well trained staff
But still so all alone
They gave her everything of need
Bathed and fed and groomed
Exercise and social time
A clean and friendly room
But everybody knew that she
Was lacking something more
A special friend or family face
To show up at the door
Mary never cried a tear
A smile graced her face
Those that worked around her knew
This shouldn't be her place
She should have someone at home
To give that special care
To hold her when the pain of age
Became too much to bear
They loved her and they cared for her
As much as strangers can
Doing everything they could
To lend a helping hand
But Mary soon began to fall
Her life was in decline
Her smile slowly faded
And her eyes refused to shine
She passed away one evening
In the comfort of her bed
As nurses stood around her
And they stroked her silver head
They went to call the family
But no number could they find
No-one there to take the call
For someone left behind
Sadness fell about the place
A CNA was called
To go in and remove the things
Around her bed and walls
But there was nothing there to find
Among her issued things
Just two little boxes
Tied with ribbons and some strings
She brought them out and set them down
And all had gathered round
Should they look inside to see
What memories would be found
The charge nurse said, "There's no response
To any call we've made.
No-one cares if she is gone
Or where her body's laid."
Silence gripped the staff on hand
They tried to hide their tears
They looked upon her sum of life
Two tiny boxes here
Someone said, "Let's look inside
To see what she's amassed
We should know what she has had
If anybody asks."
They looked around in silent nod
Agreement had been made
They chose the smallest of the two
And contents were displayed
continued ( Sorry. Not enough characters to finish )
Categories:
issued, caregivingsmile,
Form:
Rhyme
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a gulp of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Emotions racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Categories:
issued, computer, conflict, dark, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
This is the story of a real murder . . .
I was just five years old and was in my bedroom playing,
we had just moved into to this cozy little basement apartment;
mommy was talking to a man, who was yelling something about money,
then everything went quiet and I came to see what was happening.
Mommy was laying on the floor with eyes like my dolls,
lifeless, and this man I had seen before was standing there;
I ran to mommy, "wake up mommy wake up!" But she was so still,
the man told me he would take me to my daddy who lived not far.
Crying and weeping for my mommy and daddy loudly,
the man told me to, "shut up!" But I couldn't I was afraid;
he stopped the car near a huge field and pulled me out shouting,
I dropped my teddy on the side of the road and I was fighting him.
When mommy did not show up for work the police came,
they found her body and knew she had been murdered;
an amber alert was issued for me (but I was already long dead),
after three days they found my lifeless body in that rural field.
Hundreds gathered for our funeral, family and strangers,
there was music and dancing because we loved to dance;
the talkers were full of thoughts and memories and even poems,
me and mommy were united in life and would be forever in death.
The man had dragged me into the field and I was yelling,
yelling for daddy to come and then he stopped my voice;
he put his hands on my throat and then threw my small body,
as I lay there looking up with dead eyes- there was a rainbow.
I saw a double rainbow and then my beautiful mommy,
was holding me, I asked her why that man murdered us,
she told me, "because I owed him money and I made a mistake,"
our spirits will live on she said, but we will not rest in peace yet,
she whispered, "soon, my daughter we will dance again in heaven . . . "
_______________________________
August 12, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/"We Will Dance Again"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-817-954-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the Premiere contest, Through Their Eyes #2
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
First Place
Categories:
issued, death, mother daughter, murder,
Form:
Narrative
I am the
Scot's thistle
The emblem of my
proud country it has
been our valiant
pride for so
many years
\\!!!!!//
\\\!!!!!///
\\\\!!!!!!!////
====!!!!!!!====
////!!!!!!!\\\\
///!!!!!\\\
//!!!!!\\
!!!
\!!!/
\!!!/
--!!!--
\!!!/
\!!!/
--!!!--
\!!!/
\!!!/
--!!!--
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
The thistle has been the national emblem of Scotland
since the reign of Alexander III (1249 - 1286) and was
used on silver coins issued by James III in 1470.
According to the legend, an invading Norse army was
attempting to sneak up at night upon a Scots army
encampment. During this operation one barefoot Norseman
had the misfortune to step upon a Scots Thistle,
causing him to cry out in pain, thus alerting Scots
to the presence of the Norse invaders.
My entry into Deborah Guzzi's " Oh, what a Shape I'm in! " contest.
Not easy doing the above, i nearly went cross eyed.
Categories:
issued, history, inspirational, nature, people,
Form:
Concrete
Nothing is ever time wasted,
just the interlude to the rest of the album. Soon it becomes nostalgia. To think you almost pressed the skip button..
It's all about trying new things.
Slowing were briding the gap.
Looping untold tales of blues and jazz into our samples.
The things considered classical.
Instant vintage.
The things we keep hidden in headphones,
The venerability of hype.
It's always about the crowd.
Afraid to digest something different.
This was the first time I met her.
At first I laughed,
Reaction that I faced my own ignorance.
Listening again finding purpose.
Not knowing that we'd come to spend the rest of our lives together.
All three minutes and forty five seconds.
I was dishonest.
Not revealing anything real about myself until I heard it for the first time.
The first time she sung.
Music.
This wasn't an image to be upheld in front of others.
Or the gossip type spread circle to circle.
I was never exposed to this.
Skimming the top layer ready to press next.
Too far caught in the slander that first impressions can give.
History often repeats itself but this wasn't the case.
This was wholeheartedly the epitome of how she effected me.
The rhythm of how she moved.
How she spoke.
Like that I matured almost instantly.
She became my biggest influence.
A two way street that bridged the gap of my own ignorance.
After time I began to leave my headphones on the dresser.
We were amplified.
She'd follow me everywhere just as I'd follow her.
Soon it caught on to the masses.
Each and every thought became a publicist of what she'd recite over and over again.
A parental advisory issued with every cover.
Finding the one became a catalog.
Stumbling back to the first interlude all over again.
The copyright not for sell
Categories:
issued, black african american, black
Form:
Free verse
Unfortunate circumstances made me a weekend father
Two parents separated by a marred history,
now had to care for a child ...
an innocent victim who received emotional shrapnel
as collateral damage from our argumentative battles
Our destructive habits fell onto her,
but children are very resilient, thank God
I loved being a weekend father
There was no bitterness about allotted time of custody,
none of that foolishness
My wife and I settled our divorce amicably ... no courts involved,
except for the legal formality of having a divorce decree issued
by the state
We worked things out between us much better being apart than when we
were married
It's funny how that works
So I got my daughter on the weekends, but over time I had her
more than the weekends
We bonded pretty good
And anyone with kids will tell you, that four-year-olds are a quirky bunch
They're old enough to do enough things for themselves,
but they still want you to do a lot of things for them ...
y'know, they still want the baby treatment
My daughter, she really only demanded two things of me when I first
started having her every weekend:
she wanted us to watch movies together, movies like "Lion King,"
or play video games together, video games like "Lion King"
And she didn't like the part of the movie where Simba's dad, Mustafa died
She always cried, and told me to skip that part ...
that always touched my heart
Because it told me, in unspoken words, that she loved me and didn't
want anything bad to happen to me
When she turned five, I enrolled her at my alma mater college,
in an art program for kids
My sister and father told me that my daughter had artistic ability
So every Saturday, we spent half the day at the college,
because after she got out of class, we would get something to eat,
then go to the main library on campus and get on the computers
To make a long story shorter ... she received an art degree
when she became grown
Becoming an illustrator and computer graphic artist
That's what being a weekend father means to me
Categories:
issued, art, divorce, father daughter,
Form:
Verse
There was once a king who decided that for him - beauty was silence.
He issued a decree that all sound was banished henceforth and that his land would forever more be as silent as snow. To enforce this impossible law he sent countless envoys to every corner of the land. Every creature was informed. No birds can sing. No dogs must bark. No man, woman or child could speak their needs and must now make them known by signs. Even the very thunder was ordered to be mute.
The penalty of course was death. Few were able to obey.
Flocks of birds were shot from the heavens. Dogs were slain before their master’s eyes. All the trees were stripped of leaves lest the wind should sigh through them. Brooks were frozen so water could not splash or gurgle down the stream beds.
It was like a permanent winter with bare trees and frozen ground.
Children at play were wiped out without mercy. Cows being herded were bombed for lowing. This unmerciful killing went on for many years.
The merest sound so angered the King that he ordered atrocious punishments for offenders that he did not kill.
The talents of artist were in great demand as they painted cards for all occasions for people to flash. in lieu of speaking. The effect on the population was to cause the formation of many covert societies where secret meetings, when betrayed, were raided and countless murders committed by the ‘silence’ enforcers.
The King was greatly feared by everyone and dubbed “Snowman - the Silencer”
Generations of good people were wiped out. Countless noisy species were hunted to extinction. Music was never heard or played.
Silent clocks were invented. Sound-proof rooms were built. Some desperate parents, to protect their children, opted to have their babies larynx-es removed at birth.
The King was surrounded by silent apathetic, joyless subjects.
The King’s obsession had effectively destroyed all the people, the life and the environment around him.
How much easier it would have been, if he, in wanting silence had only thought to destroy his own eardrums.
Categories:
issued, allegory, evil, humanity, power,
Form:
Prose
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” … Rumi
God’s consistent plan as tapestried for man's time
and blessing-stiched with knowledge threads divine,
decrees that His cherished children faithfully heed
the spiritual growth pains may gain when hearts bleed.
Since the first sad tears from first eyes shed thundered rain,
God has universally issued and used pain
so His children would each yearn to call out His name.
Without dark as hurt fraught, none would seek His light.
Wounds serve to swerve all towards knowledge beyond ourselves
for answers His love-light shines brighter than all else.
Categories:
issued, faith, god, prayer, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
“HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT!”
We had all been issued small American flags on sticks.
Jack was on probation, as was I, but we were, reluctantly by Mrs. Mengin, finally
Let into the mix.
“Now boys and girls when the big black car with American flags comes by
We will all stand at attention salute with the right hand wave our flags with the right
And say ‘Hello Mr. President.’”
“HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT!”
“Good!
Let’s rise and form a single line
No talking!
Jack! I’m not going to put up with it!
Stay out of the street folks!”
(what’s this? Hadn’t noticed Hadn’t been listening all morning –
the excited whispering all around)
Sudden shuffle Giggles…………………………………………………
Downstairs Outdoors……………………………………………….
“The President is coming!”
“Down 14th Street!”
“Boys and girls!
Stay back from the curb
Against the fence!
Don’t forget what we all say
Remember to stand straight”
“Do you think he well really come by this dumpy old school?”
“HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT!”
“Shut up, Earl…………..and it aint no joke!”
………………………………………………………………………………….?
“Is he coming Mrs. Mengin? He should oughta be here by now”
“I…………..I can’t see him……..yet………?
I wonder?.............
Oh dear!”
A half-hour passed
The futility of waiting began to be realized
“HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT!” Jack laughs
“That aint him Jack that’s an old lady….HAW HAW!”
“HAW HAW………………………HAW HAW!”
“HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT!.....HAW HAW!
Punishing Jack was put off because of the moment’s frustration
“Alright! Boys and girls let’s go back inside
Hurry!
Back to work!”
Mr. Roosevelt had gone down 17th Street instead
Categories:
issued, childhood, old, old,
Form:
Free verse
SUMMER CALL OF LIGHTNING BUGS AND RAIN
At dusk of Spring, the lightning buzz of bugs.
The sinkhole drain of creeks, its bed - depressed.
What hell has issued this? Clouds, down the dugs!
The faded sky, blue dry, thus has oppressed.
Oh heaven come close, with manna wet hugs!
With mercy prayer, to God, our sins confessed.
At summer’s dawn, a nimbostratus calls.
The sun is hot beneath the gorgeous falls.
~ ~ ~
The drought, a distant thought, as rain conceives.
The humid clouds do water grass and ferns.
A summer rain rebirths red wagon. Leaves,
submerged in verdant waft. The earth’s soil turns
to crimson mud, and raindrops drain off eaves.
A prosperous psalm, the creek with child churns.
The palpitations - thunder of my soul.
Strong pulse of Summer rain - a fruitful bowl.
8/20/2017
Summer Rain Contest (Dale Cozart)
1st Place
Ottava Rima
Prayer - 1 syllable
Categories:
issued, rain,
Form:
Ottava rima
My challenge was not issued there! My challenge was issued here!
Which was why you threw me off, when, first, you ran in fear.
You, who had the reputation of being the best to play this game,
"destroying" all of your challengers, while gathering all of the fame.
But, maybe all of that fame went too quickly to your head,
As your audience ate up ev'ry word that you had said.
Respect for your battle skills was immediately reserved,
But, now, I have to wonder was all that respect really deserved.
As I stated in my "ODE," this is a game of speed and wits,
Where the strong throw all the punches, and the weak take all the hits;
Where a real poet accepts a challenge, no matter how many dare,
And is always ready to battle anyone, any TIME, ANYWHERE!
The last point, that I just made, is the one that you should read,
Giving it all of the attention, that it really needs.
I decided to step up, but you decided to run and hide.
I guess hiding is much easier, than swallowing your pride.
Ev'ry request that I made to battle was met with an excuse,
Which made me think that you were really trying to dodge all of my abuse.
Are you afraid to get embarrassed, or of losing all the fans,
After proving that you are unable to meet all of my demands.
If so, then you "officially" forfeit your claim to greatness,
Because any such claim, to me, would be considered weightless!
The number one spot is "officially" up for grabs,
So, now, the scientific minds are working in their labs.
"THE DOZENS" is the name of the game that we will play,
So, if you do not have the balls, then please stay out of the way!
But, if you do decide to play, accepting the fact that you just might get pinched,
Make sure you come alone, leaving your "boyfriend" on the bench.
I entertain the crowd, but from the crowd is who you run.
Therefore, your reign at the top is "officially" done!
Now, to more "worthy" opponents my focus has been shifted.
So, turn in your little crown, since you are obviously done with it!
Categories:
issued, on writing and wordsme,
Form:
Rhyme
courtesy of management in general
and particularly Jackie Geiger
assistant property agent.
One benefit living social
at Highland Manor Apartments
until decrepit and bent...
constitutes qualifying for reimbursement
direct deposited into checking
as chump change event,
hence one generic grateful gent
feels self satisfied as Clark Kent.
After broken wing and prayer
granted courtesy The Flying Tigers
at long last located valuable information
issued December of each year
surprisingly enough exactly where
social security (2021) 1099 form
remained untouched, I swear,
yet earlier yesterday April 5th, 2022
at 1500 hours though very near,
and finally located necessary documentation
(think rental rebate) here
with unexpected discovery
birthed following poem aware
many if not all avid readers
will not care, nor give rat's a$$
regarding humdrum minor dilemma
involving one bonafide
*****sapiens merely
bruising himself – common Joe
garden variety generic biomass,
nonetheless, he fetes, lauds, tauts...
rental rebate tantamount
approximating financial reimbursement
without being unduly crass.
Thus reasonable rhyme
yours truly doth aire
without stut... stut...
stuttering, yet no guarantee
wordsworth their weight
in gold will ring clear
more likely receive
frosty reception everywhere
across world wide web,
perhaps with unwelcome glare,
yet profuse apology
if man with wit - me,
(i.e. Whitman) didst unwittingly interfere
with unwanted distraction
courtesy bobbing square
pants donned sponge
soaking up precious time (yours)
foolish longfellow rushing in where
one capricorn long since wed
not nsync, but alone,
cuz angels fear to tread
"quod erat demonstrandum"
forgotten Latin accessed
at least once year
when yours truly crafts poetry
more familiarly recognized as Q.E.D.
(shares close pronunciation
with ska quid word)
ditch costs extra nay saying
horse sense according to Ned,
whoop sorry, I meant mister Ed.
Categories:
issued, appreciation, april, blessing, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme
At eventide,
Under the roseate glow
Of the receding evening sun
I sauntered down the road
To where my beloved dwell
Not far-off from my own abode
Fast by his threshold
A low moan issued from his room
I made open the unlocked door
And so I happened upon him
Mightily taking his mistress
My eyes grew wide in shock
I made as if to storm,
But then stopped
Loosed upon me, an exquisite pain
Felt with every fibre of my being
Soundlessly, I turned around
Post-haste, homeward bound
In great dolour, I walked onward
Carrying my enfeebled feet
Heedless of the lowering clouds
Lightning flashing, thunder pealing
Yet I walk onward
And so the heaven opened
Pouring, the rain
The entire me suffused with it
Thus I quiver in frost, yet
I walked my leaden leg in the drenching rain
And so the inky blackness of the night cast over me
The evanescent rain went home
Afterwards , I gained my shelter
All rain-drenched
I laid, inert in my bed
With an unblinking stare,
My eyes cast into the void
Benightedly, I fell in the arms of Morpheus
And I saw the door opened with a groan
Came in, my inconstant lover
He drew nearer and sat fast by me
I couldn't cast a look at him
For scalding tears welled up in my eyes
He pillowed my head on his chest
And nursed me in his arms
Touched his lips to my locks
Now patting, now caressing
My shoulder, my tresses
His heart beating pitter-patter
He held the nape of my neck
And with an undertone voice
Whispered to my ear
Forgive my failings, my Inamorata
You're a vision of beauty,
And you're my true love.
I harkened to the honeyed words
Falling from his silver tongue
My heart leapt
Thus, hungrily,
I bathed his lips with sensuous kisses
And I melted into his embrace.
I arouse from my slumber, behold!
E'en the murky darkness of the night
Has passed away
And the sun, smiling in the heavens
But my heart, still heavy with pain
Alas! Who to bring solace to my lugubrious tear-stained visage
Categories:
issued, betrayal, break up, feelings,
Form:
Ballad