Best Ordeals Poems
A sigh escapes still, immune to overt silence, unabashed...justified
Another teardrop enters the infinite pool of resilience, uplifting...reinforcing
Another hand empathizes--
touching, impulsively putting one's heart unto wounds, alleviating pain
enfolding memories into paper, ostensibly vigilant
Unborn dreams awaiting fruition.
empty streets, impacted pieces: occupied lives, unwavering spirits
Arighting the entropy--
"Not Impossible!" Heaves Obstacled Nation -- Untiring, Persevering!
A lone emboldened seed is planted, objectifying hope,
ushering life amidst rubble,
engaging tenacity inherently within overburdened, yet undauntable voices
Ardently surging, emerging from insidious waves of chaos,
ultimately touching azure
Time effortlessly moves, insensitive to ordeals
nonetheless, undoubtedly healing...
As wings echo distantly, irradiated winds oscillate
blush unfurling light...
Arise, Sun! Embrace the illuminated blossom. Orbit Love's universe.
0330040203042013
11th March 2011
**It has been two years since Japan encountered
such a devastating triple tragedy
of the earthquake in Tohoku, tsunami and
the Fukushima nuclear plant disaster...
They are still slowly picking up the pieces,
so much needs to be done,
so many are still displaced, uncertain of their futures, of their lives...
hopefully they are not forgotten.
It may take long, long years,
but I honestly believe Japan can rise over this, I honestly hope so.
****Thank you David for this enjoyable challenge.
It has pushed me to approach this topic in a way that
I would have never thought of on my own....
when autumn’s last but long exhale
left mists of winter in its trail
her thoughts turned to the past to look
at greenway and the paths she took
where reading signs inside her skies
she'd dream up deaths and alibis
along the short cuts through the wood
with thoughts of stabbings and of blood
while hemlock often made her think
of slipping coniine inside drink
then with the breathless views behind
a choking often came to mind
though with the river dart in view
her thoughts would turn to drowning too
and passing by the greenway bell
she'd sound out bludgeoning as well
then muse once at the greenway gates
of ordeals, follies, pigs and fêtes
before she'd vanish through her door
to ‘kill’ some time and write some more.
When untamed wind roughens fine wisp of day
and grating the bite of late twilight sky--
O woeful eyes quiver and turn away
from hours' piercing ordeals that darkly sigh ,
like fragile mirrors thrown into the air
my aloneness bleak as clenched shadow's jaw,
while ominous vapor darts from nowhere
to cast upon life wrecked by sharpened claw:
Yet above, tiny stars could not resist
their flicker of blinks, a luster divine
that I find comfort in dear heaven's mist
absorbing tender solace quite benign.
How beautiful a gentle eve when viewed,
Through life's unclenched jaw... now truly imbued.
Has the Milkyway been altered, does it
now need saved? Never mind, I’ll draw
mermaids anyway.
I wanted steady onward. Seems I’m never
heard. I need a mockingbird. Could familiars
best somewhere, somehow, still linger?
To get the sky back on track the galaxy must
be regained or has it expired, its hope past
tired? I’m stuck on the outer rim where no
answer has ever been. Join me, bring your
confusion, you will both fit right in.
Not engaged or vacant, not present or absent,
his eyes hold no malice. My eyes are filled
with need to know how we should proceed.
Pokemon have been gathered, some soft
cushy and large, and some hard little figures.
I believe what matters is the comfort he gets
from just a squeeze.
Rough challenges bounce, smacking hours
around. Tough ordeals stack fears like circles
in squares that cast their shadows unfair.
Has the Milkyway been altered? My child’s
health has faltered. Long shadowy goosebumps
are everywhere, even goosebumps mermaids
believe in and wear.
Best in retirement.
There comes a joy, a contentment not had before in life.
The struggles in life about over, the ordeals mostly gone.
Sweet surrender it is called but it’s more like victory.
Victory over life not had years before.
New friends become familiar, old ones more dear.
For some it is to know steadfastly they are going home.
Not to an earthly dwelling place but an eternal home.
To Loves eternity without question.
Alone at the narrow and busy street
Waited promptly for a cab to stop a bit.
At last lucky one respond to signals
Rode calmly whilst have thought of things
As the cab traversed streets to bridges
Mind soared with the driver's ordeals
Spoke undated events which ruined his life
Special one left for someone without notice
Love within and without fear to commit
In a relationship but haunted by past
Cab driver's enlightenment at once realized
Through sets of words emphatically uttered.
I wandered the vastness of the universe
Just to meet you here
I considered many life times to glimpse
Your adorable essence
I explored the magical land of Atlantis
Even the technological Lemuria
I lived a couple of thousands of years in Sumeria
And learned to spoke magical words
I lived with the hundreds of lambs in Syria
To learn how to live with them in the barren land
I was in Mongolia to learn how to cook food
And created my own menu
I was with the Emperor and Empress of Japan
To be one of their counsels
I was once a daughter of a peasant in Italy
Learned to live with a single meal a day
I learned to fly an airplane in France
And leave my profession for marriage
I craved to wrote songs in Canada
But still longed for someone I knew
I was with you in the battle ground of ancient Egypt
I learned how to kill and to be killed then
I tried to discover more about myself
Lived inside a cave of mountainous Indonesia
I entered the great temple of India
To learn how to be the master of my surroundings
But died when a mysterious epidemic spread
I created more thoughts and realized inside a cell in Chile
And killed myself for an escape to my wrong ordeals
I existed again to work on my rippled karma
I visited the temples of Tibet to find peace
I discovered how to heal myself
And every person I tormented
I roamed around the great City of Brazil
But to no avail I never saw someone like you
I remembered why I am here then
I still chased you in further ground of Incas
But nothing happened
You still left me for another person
I continued to soar within this land
And was killed while counting miles across the sea of England
I explored the lessons of to be abandoned
As I always waited for this love
I was catapulted again in the battle fields of the Philippines
Where I was killed in an ambush with my three comrades
Yet my desire never materialized
I returned here being wary you was out of life again
I decided to go back to the golden planet
But escaped before the capsule like craft flown
While have had a thought in mind
That I am expected you to came
And now finally we bumped each other again
This will be the last life I shall chose to see you
Since I planned long before this moment
I will be home where I am from
And be one with my sparks.
During the Second World War, people were panicking everywhere in the world. And of all continents, Asia was one of the most devastated in the history of wars.
So many people in Asia were victims of slavery. Most of them are women. They were victims of molestation and rape. The worst of all, slitting them in their necks or being stabbed so deep between their breasts after being disrespected.
The story of the loaf of bread started not in China or anywhere else in the North, but in the Far East -- the place called "Pearl Of The Orient." Pearl of the East, as it is sometimes called, is situated north of Borneo and south of Japan, east by the Pacific ocean and west by the China sea. The map itself shows a shape of a human form.
Many people who have lived in the Pearl country had a hard time during the Second War. One loaf of bread is equivalent to one family's meal of six, or even ten. The scarcity of bread during those times is not caused by the insufficiency of flour or yeast. Salt, as an ingredient, is not supposed to be the problem too. Only that salt was used for other purposes.
One loaf of bread is the prize of winning the lives of one whole family in hunger and danger. In different ordeals that almost all captured families were going through back then, if you don't have a loaf of bread then you have to earn it. Otherwise, every single member of the family dies. Many times a loaf of bread is placed on top of the head of the man of the family for shooting. And sometimes a loaf of bread is used for marinating human flesh. If you don't know the exact number of slices in the loaf of bread that you are holding, your life is in danger too.
The loaf of bread is the story of a country's downfall for defending its land from invaders. The loaf of bread is not just food, but life for a loaf of freedom and justice.
I yearn for when my troubles were as frost flowers; when the intermittent wresting
of my inner strings was natural , a part of growing up, and when, from tender stem ,
there emerged feelings of confliction that whirled into a strange collage-puberty's
design. But whether my ordeals then were unique, like the latticework of
snowflakes, or as simple as a raindrop on my pane, each one, wing footed,
eventually melted from my mind.
Later came the common plagues: marital discord, effects of growing old and other
irritations, weeds I plucked and dandelion fluff I blew away. These I could abide.
But other winters passing now have brought trials which are as a thorny web.
In unexpected times of drought, from seemingly nowhere. . . they sprout. Star
Thistles (over which I've no control) come time and time again to prick my soul.
Unlike the fleeting flowers of frondescent youth (whose memory retains for me some
beauty), these thistles of infliction are both ugly and unyielding. Surrounding me are
melancholy notes, and though the melody is rallentando, I think this dirge may
never have an end.
For Catie Lindsey's "Dark Prose" Contest
Nigeria.
The country of my birth. Beautiful in youth. Wrinkled as the years pass by. Through no fault of hers. But by the doing and undoing of her children, consciously and unconsciously.
Blessed by God. Impoverished by mankind.
Struggling for self-liberation but incarcerated by wicked and egoistic souls. Souls who prefer to squander and milk the nation today with the goal of enjoying life and securing the future of their lineage.
Nigeria.
Everytime I read the dailies, the thought of what might have been makes it all the more pathetic. A nation whose citizens should ‘swim’ in milk and honey. Whose name should be revered amongst the comity of nations. But for the myopic thinking of our leaders – past and present – we are where we find ourselves; in the woods. The genesis started with their actions and inactions.
Directly or indirectly, the fault is ours to bear. Forget colonization. Forget its offshoot, neo-colonization. We can be what we want to be. Fortune favours the prepared.
Nigeria.
A weak giant.
Clueless leaders.
A country with no respect for history. For the rule of law.
Whose citizens are permeated with a brief memory span.
Nigeria.
How can looters still have the temerity to contest elections after their misdeeds some years ago! And people will vote!
Another election is forthcoming; we will forget the ordeals of the past. And vote these insatiable, power-hungry, monstrously greedy, sinister people called ‘leaders’ into power!
Posterity will judge. If it can’t, then God.
Nigeria.
Girls are being kidnapped. Maybe raped and dehumanized. Students are on strike and the government does not give a hoot. Some governors are forever enriching themselves by passing bills that will pay them billions of taxpayers’ hard-earned funds. Pensioners are being owed. Poverty is on the increase. Unemployment too. Crime. Name them.
All these in a sane country!
Nigeria.
Until our ‘leaders’ are stopped from travelling abroad to treat headaches.
Until a law is passed mandating their children to school in public institutions.
Until every politician is made accountable for every kobo spent.
Until the rule of law is supreme.
Until our votes count…
Things will sure fall apart in this country.
If this night you suddenly find
you have lost all faith in mankind,
need I say anymore, I care.
A resourceful comrade, I’ll be -a
friend in your dreadful green se-a.
I'm willing to help guide your boat;
sailing wild, can we keep her afloat?
Right now, waves seem brutal, unfair,
behind us spite-filled ships bear down
like dead weights leaving us to drown.
A quick look to heaven reveals
bridge of mercy for such ordeals.
Overwhelmed, I found when despair
troubled me, then I learned to tread
water - a sure hand ‘neath my head.
I know the pardon He can endow;
will faith in mankind help you now?
Ease into this slowly and share
your forgiveness with stormy souls.
Mind, you must give God the controls.
written 2/13/14
Roy Jerden's word acrostic contest, judged 3/10/14
Freaking us out
Drones you know
There in the air
Just beware
Way up high
Spy in the sky
Cameras filming
Our secret lives
Trespass our land
And Cities too
Must get my gun
This drones’ through
Snapping away
Pictures of you
On the internet
Their loaded too
Well I heard a buzzing
Looked up high
Hovering around
Was a spy in the sky
Drones everywhere
Flying about
Surprized stars
Get caught out
Well I spy
This flying eye
Can’t sunbath
Watching the sky
Makes you angry
Gives us chills
In the papers
Stars ordeals
Can’t even have
Just one day
Of calm and peace
Relax and play
Well I heard a buzzing
Looked up high
Hovering around
Was a spy in the sky
© Copyright KC.Leake
29th May 2015
All Rights Reserved
Rappelez-Vous
(English translation below original French)
Rappelez-vous les petits fils
Qui ecoutaient leurs grand-peres
Raconter des histoires d’ infanteries
Et de battailles de la premiere guerre.
Rappelez-vous des braves garcons
Qui s’imaginaient etre des soldats,
Qui plus tard servaient le drapeau American
En tant que veritables soldats.
Rappelez-vous des pauvres parents
Qui ont recu des telegrammes et des lettres,
Et qui apres ont place indefiniment
Des etoiles d’ors aux fenetres.
Rappelez-vous de chaque petite amie
Qui esperait un jour se marier
Avec son beau voisin-ami
Qui ne va jamais plus rentrer.
Rappelez-vous des nouvelles jeunes veuves,
Avec ses petits orphelins des peres,
Qui devaient subir les enormes epreuves
D’elever leurs enfants sans l’aide des peres.
N’oubliez pas les anciens jeunes garcons—
Les chanceux qui ont survecu
Et regardent souvent les horizons lointains
Cherchant leures ami-fantomes qui ne sont jamais revenues.
Remember
Remember the grandsons
Who listened to their grandfathers
Tell stories of infantries
And battles of the first war.
Remember brave boys
Who pretended to be soldiers
Who later served the American flag
As real soldiers
Remember the poor parents
Who received telegrams and letters
And who afterward indefinitely placed
Gold stars in their windows.
Remember each girlfriend
Who hoped to marry someday
Her handsome neighbor/friend
Who will never come back again.
Remember the new young widows,
With their little fatherless children
Who had to undergo the enormous ordeals
Of raising children without a father’s help.
Don’t forget the former young boys-
The lucky ones who survived,
And often look at the far horizons
For their phantom-friends that never returned.
--Isn’t She a Daughter of Oedipus?--
Isn’t she Antigone? In search of a fallen prince,
who roams in the battlefield where the corpses of
defeated warriors lie gruesomely in streams of blood.
Isn’t she Antigone? In search of a sibling who was
rejected by a sightless ruined old homeless man at Colonus,
who walks through the middle of a pack of hungry wild dogs
and a flock of huge winged covetous vultures
coming together for laying carrion.
Isn’t she Antigone? For sake of a brother Polyneices’ soul,
who kneels to the ground and moves the earth with her slender fingers,
dragging an armored corpse and covers it with dirt she removed with tears.
Isn’t she Antigone? who risked her own life because of sisterly fidelity,
and, now, thrown into a hole that is deeper than Oedipus’ eye-pits
to end her anguish, a miserable life; to close her abhorrent memories, the horrible ordeals; while hearing a tender, caring voice of a wandering soul from above
“mourn no more, my troubled child
weep no more, my beloved daughter”
The clocks upon the wall are stopped,
they haven’t worked for years.
It could be any time in Tokyo,
in London, Paris or New York.
It’s late, and deadlines, met or missed,
are past. The news is done, it’s fixed in print,
though muted televisions flicker out
the incremental day-long cycle.
The running strips across the screens
record trivia and disaster.
Aleppo’s in the news tonight,
A fabled city lies in bloody ruin.
It has been wrecked by earthquake, sacked
by cruel thugs, like Tamerlane the great:
this is not new, and here it’s hardly news,
just death in a far country.
But to Aleppo’s markets once the Silk Road came,
to reeking, fragrant, raucous sukhs and khans.
Imagine the exquisite cloth,
embroidered travellers’ tales
of fabulous ordeals from caravanserai
to citadel, to watchtower, wall and gate,
thin air of mountain passes under snow,
fantastic tales from the Middle Kingdom
whose emperor under heaven knew he was
the centre of the world. Aleppo’s traders knew
their precious wares went out as far as
Rome, Cordoba, Timbuktu and Zanzibar.
Imagine narrow lanes, braised savoury meat,
clothing, fruit and spices on display,
jostling animals and men, the public haggling
and secret treasures: silk, jade and porcelain.
Here the silent markets never stop.
A dumb Bloomberg terminal rolls out
the stocks and currencies all night,
though no-one’s watching.
Aleppo’s markets are in ruin tonight.
Starved people live in blood and rubble,
homes and hospitals destroyed.
I can’t conceive how they survive.
I must drive home now, through quiet streets.
There will be beggars wrapped in blankets
at the traffic lights. Money will change hands.
Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
At home there will be food and warmth.
Aleppo’s dying, and people in the street,
begging, on a night so cold, alone, so late,
I can’t conceive how they survive,
and Bloomberg has no metric and no code for this.
[Johannesburg, August 2016]