Best Mobilized Poems
For years, the ominous signs were palpable
The deep fraternal mistrust festered and discernable
Propagated by colonial masters to divide and make Rwanda malleable
And left lingering became monstrous and uncontrollable
Snowballing in 1994 into an orgy of murderous hate
As Hutu brothers turned against their Tutsis siblings
For three cruel months respect for human life was obliterated
For three bloody months sanctity of human existence perished
As the government of the day made killing an obligation
And mobilized the population through official propaganda
To destroy all Tutsis and saboteur-Hutus
At the end of the Holocaust over one million Tutsis were sent to the great
beyond
Dreams and hopes were shattered
Loved ones massacred in the most agonizing and cruel manner
While the indifferent international community looked on unconcerned
Just like after the rain comes sunshine
The blood of the martyrs of Rwanda has irrigated and purified
The country of a thousand hills
Which has risen from the ashes of the gory tragedy
To a land flowing with peace and tranquility
To a Haven for tourists and investors
To a land of calm and forward- looking citizens
Committed to work and put their past behind
And queuing behind their charismatic Leader
They cry unceasingly and with one voice
‘’Never again shall bestiality descend in our clime’’
Remember September 11th
Signed legislation, equal access, public schools and mobilized troops.
Supreme Court Justice Warren, controversial some would say, provided a goal of unity,
the removal of stigmas, fair competition, birth of global recognition and a future for the
spirited ambitious, the motivated and the entrepreneurship.
911
Terrorism, tragedy, illnesses, women and men of good deeds, financial wills, heirs , war
and mobilized troops indeed.
A blow to it all, the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the working, the unemployed… the
skilled, the unskilled, our service members and our vets as well as some committee bills,
but mostly the future of America’s youth…. onto a system of restructuring wages and for
some of us enduring exploitation to make up for the loop.
Ranking 27th, Lower five, a time for the nation to realize, status quote can be no more for
the circle is full and it has closed.
The future is your vote like a Clef Sign on the staff and the rest will flow like a great
symphony from the past , yet to be numbered because it’s not the last and the people’s
opera will take the stage…we will restore the two decade old history page.
To participate, to live, to fight for the already established route, come one, join all, rally
and acknowledge your rights.
Copyright@2010by Carrie M. Love-atkins
Sometimes our attention will turn toward some of God's special creations that may cause our hearts to skip a beat or take one's breath away. Such was the case with me when one of God's choicest roses left me speechless and staring.
While chatting with a friend, I looked to our right and saw a mobilized rose bush* moving in our direction. It appears that I was more startled and enchanted by the beauty of the roses than by the animated movement. The roses were much lovelier than any that I had ever seen and were most beautiful, full of color, and downright stunning.
I did not speak to the rose but wanted to, nor it to me, but I heard it well in unutterable tones, and as I stared at it with wonderment, it watched me sheepishly. I was to some extent spellbound and for a while, I could not look away. There were also other flowers standing and some coming and going in a most orderly fashion, but none was as noticeable as the roses that came in our direction.
Indeed, for a few seconds, I forgot that my friend was standing there, and lest I be embarrassed, I discontinued staring at the one particular rose that had spell bounded me. I then turned toward the less eye-catching flowers, but that special rose continued moving toward my friend and stood next to him as I walked away. By then it was clear to me that they knew each other, but it was also clear to me that the rose was not available to me for acquisition, nor was I in a position to acquire that priceless rose.
It's been many a year since first seeing that mesmerizing rose of impeccable purity and refinement, so arresting and captivating of me as no rose, violet, lily, or lilac ever had before. Never had I encountered a flower so adorable and embracing.
I tell you, roses are my favorite flower, and many of them have graced my home for more than 22 years. I must confess that there have been times I have denied them proper care and adequate water supply due to drought conditions, but I love my long-standing roses dearly. Moreover, for a long season and more, I cannot forget that overwhelming rose that fixated and left me speechless more than 10 years ago.
120219PoSoup, (entry 072820)July NA HM Poetry, Constance La France. Your Best New Poem, Emile Pinet. NA . *fiction. 2nd contest(7/9/20), Strand Completely New 7, Brian Strand. NA
Vae victis! Her quick eyes spy out the field.
Reconnoitred, the foe's dispositions have been noted,
quantified, assessed. The forces of order
and tidiness, in neat array,
perfect their alignment, await onslaught.
The sentinels stand guard:
A pot of jam, a jar of marmalade are emplaced
on the strategic salient of the dining-room table.
In battle-dress, knives, forks and spoons,
the infantry, have been fully mobilized. Now battle!
The moment's silence is conflict's omen.
Certain of the issue, she advances,
knowing all order is as brief as day,
while primal Chaos ruled
when all was void.
She crawls towards an unwary footstool,
a defenceless lone straggler near the door.
This, with one fell blow knocked out,
her target would now appear to be the oak sideboard.
With a sideways reel, the feint is over.
Blitzkrieg is launched on the dining-room table,
the heart of enemy operations. She tugs
the table-cloth; a pepper-bomb descends,
inducing heavy sneezing fits
(didn't they outlaw biological warfare?)
Thus repulsed, she makes for the paper-stand;
papers, magazines, ordered by number, edition or day,
take heavy poundings till they lie scattered,
littered on the floor.
The main assault no longer brooks delay! She tugs again -
the infantry charge down.
They miss the mark but make a hellish din.
With head well positioned for cover, she tugs
a third time, and with a mighty splut
the jam-jars teeter, topple and tumble,
and tumblers crash down with deafening jars.
With jammy hands, the victress daubs the walls,
and in triumph commemorates her feat.
By the shindy wakened, Father stalks in,
his face like that of Jupiter tonans
before the fatal blow.
Her sunny smiles pierce the dismal gloom -
O double conquest! Did Gaul, cowering
to the gore-drenched blade, love Caesar,
the British tribes, defeated, bless Agricola?
What smiles leave hard a little tear
makes tender as a lamb, and Dad,
a willing captive to her wiles, gives in -
surrender unconditional.
And Mum?
She'll do the mopping up, of course!
I plead the fifth!
Rhymes with no sniff
Nosed clogged Ben Gay spade with no shifts
Pace makers tripped wires
Remit
Remake takes patents to skin drifts
Power ranged a game with low lifts
Tires rims shine made drift
Blinds closed with long sticks
Brick houses with no bricks
Framed same found day shun with steel trip
Wires hang dancers give
Beauty baked lashes give rip
Maybeline lined lip
Color shadow followed him
Made created a land with give gifts
Transparent pulled out of bounds balls bounce do drifts
Out strike title stripped
Sterilize steroids with no stick
Big boned with mild tones sounds
Without Biz
Bone Thug great hit
Smashed charts with no
Ozzie remake with slick
Hiding lights with strike back
Big rims Cadillac
Heavy Chevy comes back
Nova stars mobilized
Ride click tight riding high
Bean pies French fries
Filled with no lies
Mouth covered
Say nothing
Snitch out
Been made!
Nature is generous to give a good sight
life is in full acceptance of this might
the longer is the trouser worn by light
from four to twenty two, deprived is night,
the sun is eager, the neighbourhood stays bright.
The city booms with different colours,
the countryside graces as the major donor
variety gives out everything to wish for
adventures and recreation, beauty isn’t poor
activities for the living, always giving more.
The soul is energized, ready to shine
enjoyment, proving to have extra spine
what is for the day is also mine
traveling, swimming, music, all is fine
plans have mobilized and put them in a line.
Fun is expectant and has opened a file
the need to beat last year’s record by a mile,
is worth every penny of time’s redial.
The beach creation of sea-sand aisle,
calms the waters for tourists to smile.
I love the flowers and butterflies above
I love the family reunions that don’t evolve
I love the puzzles that aren’t difficult to solve
I love the busy towns formed by many curves.
All these, well packaged to give me summer love.
Published: 6/24/2020
For the Summer Love Poetry contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke.
Placement: 2nd Position (7/4/2020)
Paralyzed in a tranquil trance,
She stared at the white blank page, terrified,
visualizing a perfect storm, robust and rugged
Then her metacarpals mobilized, resulting
in a mortified tableau of a raging wave,
her pawn trapped,
she sculpted that death defying
dance,
perfection,
marred by a sadistic smile,,,
her first work of art
A Nation, wearied, sapped traumatized.
This vast exotic land, fringed by lush emerald jungles
A spark rising from the west, once looked upon by all,
A giant?
No, faded glory.
Vistas of burning star and torrential rivers
Once revered, now a derelict of crumbled epitaph
Africa, This burden weighs heavily on your brow,
These monsters slow the speed of your growth,
Stunted by greed,
raped by men,
is this a country?
where profligate band of men overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude,
Where gangsters and criminals reconvene every four years to loot.
Lords over conquered Lilliputians
Their mission obvious,
their strategies similar,
their inducement a bribe.
Lewd lords, banished the reputation of the ancestors,
Greedy goons imposed themselves as godfathers
The urchins in Lagos to the desert of almajiris of Kano
From cult cloned rivers to the borders around the Delta
Felons, fit for prison makes the rules,
And the people so docile watch a drama of an unending bondage
No resistance?
Where are their men?
To stay the impending doom of the unborn innocent citizens
There are no heroes yet, they never let them live,
A nation, where criminals becomes governors,
Bandits as senators
And a never-ending interest from dullards to rule a people.
And four-year’s tenure makes rascals twice richer as the masses beg for sustenance
Mobilized by kingpins, barons and bandits once decorated with honor
There are no heroes here, they never let them live,
monsters fit for jail order this path for their greed.
A people battered by long years of oppression
What a nation! Countries of Africa be not like this,
Mocking an incomplete incubation from colonial oppression
Sending their offspring to a second beggarly bow to slavery,
Oppressed by wicked mere mortals gathering dust as riches
Yet in the same country
Many races live there,
The Proud,
The fierce,
The warlike
And Yet unable to break free from subjugation from their new tyrants
They heard a voice, they responded
Though indistinctive the call, unclear their destination
Waiting not for a signed correspondence
They mobilized and departed to their destination
Then arrived the challenges staring at their face
The seas, the deserts there to cross
Thirst, hunger and starvation, theirs to face
Yet determined to bear their cross
Lost in the wilderness, searching for the lost souls
As week stretch into months and months expand into years
Traveling miles without end because of their love for lost souls
Yet they have no plan to retreat even after many years
Not that they are fugitive, fugitives run away from home
Not that they are vagabond, vagabonds have no home
Not that they are wanderer, wanderers are far away from home
They are pilgrims, like pilgrims they are heading home
Suffering man's blatant inhumanity to man
Undetered for they know they are on a mission
The vision, on their face fiercely to man
As in the manners of every deputation
Trekking long miles of single-file roads
Enduring crude moist heat and drenching rains
The nuisance of mosquitoes and sand flies en road
And myriad indigenous wild insects and pains
Righteousness and morality prayerfully to seek
Like humanitarians caring nothing for their own lives
So long as they could preach the message, heal the sick
And bring education and enlightenment to people's lives
France went into the first world war
because it had no choice
the allies won the war
with a population of thirty-eight million
Eight and a half million were mobilized
five point three million were killed
4 million hectares of land devastated
6 hundred thousand buildings destroyed
20 thousand factories destroyed
nobody wins from the wars
Iran and Iraq keep fighting
Palestine keeps fighting, your buildings
Now down around your knee's
your children die your people flee
you let anger rule your lives
nobody wins from the wars
you fight to promote your God
But with his power, he can do anything
he doesn't need your help
he does not want his children dead
Nobody wins from the wars
thousands of missiles fired
thousands of people bleed
thousands of insults taken
nobody wins from the wars
you build your missile silo's
more nuclear bombs do we make
until someone makes them fire
nobody wins from the wars
the planet then empty and broken
you destroy what your God created
nobody wins from the wars
but if we join united
with money invest in new jobs
your smiling children's faces
can win forevermore
In peace, we can work united
to build the crops that we need,
bring water out to the desert
build lush fertile ground that is green
Invest in desalination
bring water from pipes to the land
build jobs for a world united
with arms that love people we see
With time we could fertilize deserts
build lush growing crops and new trees
we can build together new cities
where children have lives and can read
The Witch of Winslow Street
In West Saint John, no fortune sprang.
But greatness graced the Blue Rock Gang.
As Carleton rascals, David Goss
And Bobby Alexander launched
A secret goal that made them itch,
To see which woman was a witch.
So, mischief was their middle name,
And witches were their call to fame.
There was a place they used to play,
An old abandoned Chevrolet.
From trunk to back seat, they would steal
And plop behind the steering wheel.
Then, they’d pretend to leave the weeds
And squeal the tires at breakneck speeds.
But, always wary for a witch,
Sometimes they’d end up in a ditch.
It was their dream, to try and guess
Which harpy was a sorceress.
It was the toughest job in town,
No cackle, cape, or cone-shaped crown.
But just a weary, worn-out belle
Who squeezed out through the gates of hell,
Attired in a ragged robe,
And sent to their part of the globe.
There was a house on Winslow Street,
A place where witches came to meet,
Where vines grew right up to the stoop,
Amusement for the Blue Rock troupe.
They’d fall back in the bouncy bush
That sprung them back out on their tush.
And from an upstairs windowpane,
A witch was watching her domain.
One night the boys came home from Scouts,
And stopped to check their playground out.
When suddenly they picked up Dave,
Their trait to always misbehave.
They threw him way back in the plant.
Like tentacles, it grabbed his pants.
He couldn’t move! His legs were seized!
The witch was looking very pleased.
An incantation on her lips,
And bony fingers on her hips,
The conjuration barely sent
And David’s legs were like cement!
He tried and tried to free his feet
But vines had tied him up so neat.
His friends, too scared to help him out,
All they would do was point and shout:
“She’s on her way! Get out of there!
She’s coming down the parlour stairs!”
With all his strength, Dave mobilized
Right there before the witch’s eyes.
He ran so fast he passed his chums.
His knees were sore. His feet were numb.
And overhead, beneath the moon,
The witch was riding on her broom.
***
both sides use conscience for a hook
it's a con artist's suitcase
fill your cup in the Ocean of Tears
there's enough of everything in there
toasters glowing blenders humming
dogs humping on lawns across the land
in a cloying oppressive sweetness
that could diverge and go anywhere
Club Med’s Oracle Island for example
blind sibyls eyelids fluttering
hissing spitting twitching babbling
it was the wisdom of the ages incarnate
but Bobby was miles from all this
making that fox up a tree deduction
consumed by the dread of discovering
at death that his life was an in-flight movie
only with less captivity and more wandering
unsure of coming up with an airtight alibi
he mobilized his only shield
the lid off the dustbin of history
held against his approaching doom
they give you anything you want at first
the customer can do no wrong
then the high pressure hose
and subsequent foxhole autopsy
great 3 color graphics
they even have a screen saver
yet fate had a trick up her butt
plucky Lemona it suddenly turns out
as the machinery of Zeus grinds us skyward
has been a spy for the forces of ambivalence
disguised as a bushwhacking retromaniac
gone undercover and surfing the channels
that were woven into the Swami's beard
from the first instant that she knew
the Eel King was a candle lit hallucination
as well as a groping spiritual vagrant
don't you mess with Bobby Eel daddy
it was Lemona and her retinal retinue
of petulant maidens on a magic carpet
Jacobins in Mr. Roger's neighborhood
with its habitual hypocrites and tired liars
a decreasingly sentient society
caravans of slaves needing theater
with which to compare and gauge their pain
the boardroom's feral chessmen
puking up last night's takeover
I mean takeout again
uh oh I'm getting calm down messages
from my fiance Lemona Oblongata
so I can't even feel exalted at last
I've been inoculated against everything except
the Eel King's daughter
"A use of physical force so as to damage or injure; passion, fury, distortion of meaning, desecration". Such defining words is the meaning of violence. Let's imagine giving the microphone to Mr. Violence, providing him a voice and an audience to see what he has to say:
Good evening ladies and gentlemen. If you have never met me, count your blessings. If you should never encounter me, you are among the most fortunate of earthlings. My name is Mr. Violence, but feel free to drop the 'Mr.' because I am not an honorable entity. I strike fear in both the public and private domains. The insides of my being is itself a war-zone with which even I cannot make peace. I bid you not be surprised that I am dominated by fear and indeed I am the coward of the planet and controlled by evil. My rein of terror roams throughout the earth, and my thirst for blood is never quenched. It's not just this planet, but I am universally mobilized as I crash and burn throughout the galaxy. You are constantly making gallant attempts to combat, curtail, and in every way you try to control me, but I cannot be stopped or destroyed until my day of doom has come, and it will, perhaps sooner than later. Until then, I'll keep wrecking and ruining, making war, and consuming".
Mr. Violence had his say, but what say ye? There appears to be a culmination, a mad rush to who knows what, and in Mr. Webster's words, 'a distortion of meaning'. But what say ye? Let's take life by the hands and live, love, and laugh, never allowing Violence to hold us hostage, realizing that in the end, we win. Let's stay in tune with God, not only to survive with our heads down and hearts filled with terror. Let's return wholeheartedly with a drive not to survive but to thrive.
08072019cjPoSoup
There's a word for it;
One of my favorite words;
It often crosses my mind
as is the case presently.
But it always evades me.
Its meaning seems to always
find space in my life's spear,
and I'd be pleased if I could
retain it for good usage.
But it always evades me.
It often walks onto the doorsteps
of my mind and camps out at
the doorway of my heart.
But it always evades me.
It is a physics kind of word
that speaks of time and space,
of being in a state of indecision
or immobilization, only to be mobilized
or influenced by an outside force.
But it always evades me.
If I shall ever recall it again,
I must document and shelter it in a
special place so that I can utilize
it at will. That word fits my life and
circumstances like a customized garment.
But it always evades me.
053123PS
On the imaginary side of my brain, there's a picture of a copper coin. One side of this coin is about nothing, does nothing, and will never become anything more than it already is. Even if in a mobilized state, it will invariably remain in a straight line. Let's call it 'tails'. The 'tails' side will remain in a nothing state. It will never change in value nor usefulness. The other side of this coin is about something. Let's call it 'heads'. It will activate or mobilize only if some foreign force interacts with it. Moreover, the 'heads' side has the capability of being spent for something in exchange, increasing in value, or being utilized for various purposes, simply because it can interact and become sensitive to other entities. By definition, both sides would be 'inertia'. Perhaps you and I have met both types of people. That is, 'heads' people(the changeable) and 'tails' people(the unchangeable).
031420PoSp