Best Ores Poems
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
This country United
one can clearly see
only blind hide in truth
Illegally a government seizes power
against the vote with a clear strike
Overthrowing moral grounds
At which point do we say enough
Their soul aim to enforce ill will
against good standing people
It's a mutiny against freedom of choice
using it to kill babies
Exploiting our democracy fact
You bloodless hounds without spines
are only in it for the money
Crawling vermin hidden underneath the table
Fighting for scraps sick agendas
I am a son of David from the clans of ulster
As state assets are freely given away
Without consent their should be a public outcry
Democratic Republic sits on the right side
All the left wing who will hang this nation
Out to dry as they rob ores
from underneath our feets destroying our land
with your greed creating poverty
Selling away our basic rights and commodities
sick reality without virtues
To gain their thirty pieces
We need to stand and defend our constitution
for our children's sake and their dowry
As they sign the pact
One which will weight
heavy on their souls as we are raped
continuesly of our sovereignty
Human rights ignored for no good reason
enough is enough I have a voice
any laws passed by this circus
Undemocraticly elected government
Is not backed or passed by the peoples choice
this needs to be called into order as a state
Crisis of emergency by the judges
They who stand for truth to address
Should judge according to the law laid down
Africa, Africa,
Africa Wake up, wake up,
Your time of success is coming,
The future awaits you.
Wake up from your seat & walk,
You're not there to stay.
Africa, Africa,
You have a dream to work on.
Stop sleeping in your dream.
Your friends are heading to their,
Journeys.
Africa, Africa,
The hope is still there, what are you,
Thinking of?
Is it natural resources?
No, no, no, no Africa, l don't think so.
You have all, but you don't want to put,
Them to use.
Africa, Africa,
When l turn right, l see mysterious of things,
Occuring on the surface of Africa.
When l turn left, l see tears rolling down,
The map of Africa.
Africa, Africa,
You are the problem to your children.
When l think of the physical features,
Tears roll down my eyes creeping towards,
The center of my chest.
Africa, Africa,
Iron ores, we export them and import,
Vehicles.
Why don't we use those ores in,
Manufacturing those imported vehicles.
Why Africa?
Africa problem is Africa.
©®2021
A.M Ngumbu, Jr.
9/15/16
Across the lands and shores
Plants and spores
So much life in different shapes and forms
Many storms cold or warm
Always been an omnivore
So I eat vegetables like corn
And meats like albacore and boar
I don't care about the odds on the board
It's about so much more
And not just the reward
I'll continue to row without an oar
Near and far from the seafloor
As well as any trees such as sycamore
One up the highest score
And maintain a good rapport
I've always had an interest in lore
Minerals and ores
I'm not rich or technically poor
Worse than any apple, some people rotten to the core
Such foolish things people support
And over such petty stuff people go to war
Still there are areas on this Earth that have yet to be explored
And possible fossils of new dinosaurs
Looking up at the full moon shining beyond so many other orbs
By: Dalton Ogletree
How our flame seems to burn
like a wildfire on mountainside
only to become coursed by the wind
changing directions to begin again
All of nature from a distance
across the rivers bank
can only stand in awe
in view of our flaming fury
burning with every touch
melting each to the core
as fusing the finest ores
I am your wick to your lantern
you are my deepest resevoir
of limitless oil....
you are my infinite universe
unexplored spaces
which I can't ignore
my venusian heaven of love...
You are all that....and more
What a glorious thought of being created a little lower than angels on high.
We have been blessed at birth to do what we choose, and thus far have created wings on which to fly.
Put purpose in your life and work a plan, be resolute and strong and nothing against you shall stand.
Do not meander along in life like a floating branch that always winds up downstream stuck in the sand.
Put both oars in the water, raise anchor and pursue that passion as a salmon swimming upstream.
Surround yourself with good friends and family, which inspire you while you help others reach their dream.
Two oars are in the ocean of life one of which is called faith, so let God be your guide.
The second ore is the ore of prayer and these two will overcome any rising tide.
It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4 Beginnings of the
Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the Jews, flat
perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not especially
Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone. Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on
the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to My
Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride to my
eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or
we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the European,
African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of elements, bags
of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily compassionate
toward the mother, earth, the goddess, history, or some such
abstraction and, thus, acted on a fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting fagots for the burning of the Jews.
A cacophony of cheers
Sand sprays like fireworks
From feet, hands, ball, hair.
Four women, two-a-side,
In a battle for the ages.
A motion of fluidity and a
Knowledge brought forth
From years in the fray.
Sun, rain, the elements,
Just more adversaries
In a long procession of
Combatants put asunder
By their clear dominance
Of a gritty game of volleys.
The Americans had few
Times met with struggle
Along their long journey
Toward the gilded yellow
Badge of Olympic honor,
But this night the glint in
The eye, the coordinate
Movements of limbs and
Lengths and deliberations,
The perfection of intents
And wiles and exertions,
Would not birth triumph,
But instead place a bitter
Pill flat on their tongues.
But such is the bare truth
Of warfare, and such is
The coming of wisdom ...
For without that sour taste
And constricting swallow,
We have no estimation
Of the finer, sweeter things
That the battlements of
Life hold within their walls.
Gold knows no favorite,
Nor does it gleam in the
Eyes of the fortunate only.
Momentum true is the key
And this night it flowed
For the sake of those
Whose feet knew this
Beach as their own ...
Who felt their home and
Peoples and affinities all
In the grainy coursing of
Cold granules underfoot,
And sometimes, when
The heart has the peace
Of its OWN around it, that's
All the difference needed.
But character outshines
The most precious ores,
And in that bold and true
Respect, our wonderfully
Beautiful and courageous
Girls of Stars and Stripes,
Shall ALWAYS stand at
The top of the podium,
And the anthem of our
Appreciation and pride
Will always play in their
Ears ...
We love you, Kerri
Walsh Jennings and April
Ross, and you are, without
Question or argument,
The very BEST.
The natives believe that the Mississippi River
carries the souls of their ancestors into the water of judgment
wherein they will either enter the Sun's fire of joy
or sit in the ice of the Moon having their feathers counted and examined,
I suspect that when we, The Corps of Discovery accomplish our mission
this Grandfather river will haunt us like a deep dream that fights Time,
He is an American river now, an avenue for the trade of empire, substance and soul,
President Jefferson purchased the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon in 1803
for 15 million dollars, enough gold to build a bed with
and a landscape large enough to construct a nation on,
it is now summer of 1804 and with hearts, rifles and ores we explore
into lands that lurk with life old as oceans and tribes ageless in tribulation,
we are three dozen men whom hunt not warriors or wealth
raiding and rapine be not our pleasure, war party song our spirit sings not,
we are agents of destiny,
emissaries of Washington and explorers of the Northwest Passage,
the Spanish, French, and English already have merchants and mercenaries
peppered in remote areas of lucrative wilderness
furs, precious metals and trade routes lay naked to the will of disciplined conquest,
for the Indians survival is the business, their heritage hinges on heroism,
everyone has a claim yet only one power will reign,
J.A.B.
Crying pitiful face of Earth
Wailing beneath the darkened skies
Bubbling tears pouring down her saddened eyes
Yearning to be freed from troll's cries
Still in learning she is, to be debarred from lies!
Dark and desolate is her centre
Gloomy and dull is her lather
Yet, tolerant and adamant is her temper
For her call is to be a loving and a doting mother
Such a fate she accepted from a tray, Oh so Silver!
Enduring the devilish nature of her common kin
She bears selflessly with them even if they bask in sin
And does her best to give them a life devoid of sores
Without reproach, she fulfils her chores
Never expecting anything in return for her lost ores!
Delightful she was at the time of Creation
Distressful she will be at the time of Destruction
Graceful she shall be at the time of Rejuvenation
Forgiveness she will grant to those enjoyers!
For a tender heart she has acquired throughout the years!
Crying pitiful face of Earth
I pray, have Patience with all Its Worth
So that Eternal Life shall flow in Your Soul
And dazed shall we all be in Your enthrall
Even if Your tender heart with iron is now mold!
Our politicians to be told what for
Why they continue to take us to war
Is it for the oil and ores
To continue earth sores
Or for conglomerate greed galore
Part 2.
Into the wasteland he flies
To bury the souls of lies,
Beneath the leaves of time,
Dirty deeds must dirty die.
This then the watchman must do:
Step on the fingers that try,
With downward pulls to pry,
Into doom flower faces,
These flowers must not die.
--
The conquistador arrived.
He gazed at the unscathed bounty standing
Respect-less before him and squinted.
Surveying the laughing land,
He made up his mind with astute rat-like grace
And thrust with self-satisfied lust his mighty sword into the sand.
God’s word thus bespoken he listened, breathlessly.
The jungle though could not understand
Tectetan, tectetan, tectetan
Nor chose to hear or fear
This little man,
Oh thou little man, thou little man
What is your plan,
Little man?
The jungle laughed, unbothered
Unmoved it ignored
Untouched it continued
Unfettered it roared
With sparkling green verdant song to sing,
It sang.
The conquistador fumed
Scarlet red
Vino roja bottled fumes
Of smoky rage
Stomping he retorted
Thou art doomed
Veni Vidi Vici he screamed
Satisfied, mesmerized
With scroll in hand he did announce
All that is yours is mine
It says so in this paper
The King has made it divine
Mine Mine and only Mine
Did he but announce
Without a golden ounce
Of irony’s feathered face
Whose trace,
With obsidian plans to erase
Surely soon he would get to know.
Breathlessly he stood once again, the conquistador did
Assuming
The noise, ploys and feathery joys
Of the jungle toys he heard
Marked abdications hour
At work already
At hand
To make this land
His.
Impatient
Making up his mind
Marching straightforwardly
Towards the eye of the jungle
Sacking with gaze the mighty maze
Of spider green vines hiding before him
The craze of ores whose mint would course the earth
Soon to raise his rank to that of Jerusalem’s teutonic bearded men
He was surprised when he saw
Three sets of steely indian eyes
Peering through the jungle wall
And the flying hatchet hit him hard and true
And for all we knew he never came back again
“Ecab cotoch”
Copper blooms, titanium too below the iron of the sky
Rich fields of ore, quarried, lay everywhere without a quarrel
In conjunction with all things shiny on the land and rust of day
Mountains pinnacles are miles high
With gold draped cliffs of drifting yellow beads of brass
Green vegetation grows around them to quell their worries
Reaching to be free from electricity, thermal conductivity
Streams that run along the fields of metal valley mines
Gray with aluminum strands soft and solvent
Punctuate the landscape up above
Anodizing, analyzing, thinking they are zinc
So much of zinc below the solid surface riches
All this to be discerned by proper science expeditions
Metal machines gather what they need to feed their kind
Golden days, silver nights, tongues of tungsten
Wrap themselves around themselves for warmth
Metalloids are not yet born or forged
Malleable to shaping when they come
Some nonmetallic friends stop by to see the young
Marble and silicon are spies
Disclosed, exposed as such
Despised, disposed of for their corrosive side and lies
Platinum dressed in blue arrives
Stays to take a smoke or two
Smoldering in a blistering sun
Smelted, furn-aced for the future
To be tempered into something smooth
To contemplate the truth with other alloys
Query how all metals can be used
How Earth can hold itself together with the ores
Both in the ground and in the metal fields outside
To lay aside barren lands their souls in sun for warmth
Metal-tate a way to feel the force
They carry on and need no water
Of course rocks are most jagged and driest on mountain tops
They yield the finest metals, minerals at their pinnacles up there
And where suns furnace first glowed on
Touched the tip of Earth
Up there still, refines, defines the metal fields
9/22/14 Pinnacle - Poetry Contest
Breathe for all that you choose to cease
taking gentle steps gliding across the mantles of degrees
created potion mixed in the motion, administered vial of bewitching
unwithheld acrobatics performed, in the grind of ores desired smelting
A royal scene to which there is pleasure upon measurement
to be kept locked away, a buried treasure added settlement
released only to follow, a raging bull galloping
entering forces of which forces are handling
Capturing the deeps stare, look in her eyes
keep your Solitude don't you dare reply
sailing across a sea of greed, to n' fro windward
captivating scenes, effectuate depths within molds inward
When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old
and lays you in her caves, all drenched with gold
don't ask her any questions and you don't dare stare breathe
You just follow her as her prisoner, til which she is pleased
7/30/16
Streetlights
Not turning on until the night
I am wrong not always right
During the day and night
Just trying to live my life
Below satellites
I'm going to roll the dice
More than once or twice
Making sure my family is alright
And helping them through any strife
As I work with a bigger appetite
Nearby minerals, and ores some of which were meteorite
Went down many rapids with beer on ice
And not every cooler or crate was watertight
Cleaned up any of my messes, never once littered during the plight
And didn't always listen or follow advice
Don't care about facebook likes
I can barely remember what exactly I wrote and typed
Below sea levels and atop the heights
I've worked with many chemicals and particles, including dolomite
All these different rituals and rites
Some of which involve a sacrifice
Fantasies and dreams about paradise
But not all can get a slice
Some end up paying the price
In ways that are colder than ice
Leaving behind kids and a wife
You want to be rude and not polite
Then go take a hike
Before I hit you with all my might
And the impact of dynamite
By: Dalton Ogletree