Best Slaved Poems
In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept -
Each woman, man, and little girl and boy.
Relentless horror had around them crept.
In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept
Until one day, even the angels wept!
For freedom’s win, the world cried tears of joy.
In camps, they’d slaved and starved; cold nights, they’d slept -
Each woman, man, and little girl and boy.
For Seeker's My Take on the Holocaust Poetry Contest
Moonlight Shadow
Broken dreams
On purple flamed wings
Celtic rumors
Burning bright
Crosses and crescents
Knights and swords
In the mist of a weary mystical night
I saw her lying there, chest broken and bare
Picking her up, horse galloping away
We escaped the arrows and swords
She my sworn enemy lay half dead and splayed
My duty for not to tribes, but only to save
Slaved to the sword, this moment I escaped
Both bloodshed and grief
Freedom at last
In a hut in the forest
I dressed her wounds
I caressed her heart
Our eyes met over the firelight
I emptied myself into her
She, with lips so sweet
Drained the flood of tears and hate
From my very being
Shocked that love should strike me as an arrow
I held her, my first and only love
For three days and three nights
We whispered to each other foreign words
I touched her face and as she touched mine
In my arms she died
Softly and loved
I buried her
I buried my hate
I buried my sword
I buried my history
Celtic rumors
Burning bright
I, at peace
For the final flight
I held love within my arms
For that celestial moment in time
Now the final embrace
Wrinkled and old
I kiss deaths door
Knowing within
She is there to greet me
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror
I see my brother’s face,
I quiver with recognition.
As time takes me,
so it takes my eyes, I reason,
a trick of the mind.
Just sometimes.
Sometimes, when I’m working with my hands
I see the hardened hands of my sister
who slaved to keep her family together.
Only sometimes,
then I give my head a shake.
Not real, I defend.
Sometimes, when I look at my feet
I see the worn shoes of the homeless,
the refugees in search of a place.
I remember the long, hard road
and compassion forms in my throat.
Just sometimes.
I wish I could see that way more often.
Tears do Fall
...a sad sonnet...
My tears do fall as they cowardly crawl
To rivers of disbelief with banks of grief
My heart a slaving stall building the wall
The love I seek near windows bane belief
In distant dormant dwells my heart repels
Admits the darkness hides my tearful tides
Loves empty wells with superstitious spells
Where sorrow divides the banished brides
For a silence slaved stands a soul depraved
In a desolate domain where demons deign
A captive caved within a mind that’s mazed
Of a vaulted vain amongst a drowning drain
Will the tears bathe my final grassy grave?
As they nail and engrave will my spirit save?
May.18.2018
NO 440 ANY FORM, ANY THEME
UP TO MAX OF 20 LINES
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Mastered Puppets
Of the voices thrown and never shown their cries travel well
A starving sewn with a bitter bone of their life a quiet quell
With larval lips that are losing grips where echoes only dwell
Their smile drips as they use their fingertips in a yielding yell
Left alone with a grunting groan their silence slaved to seal
Ruling the hunger zone a thirst on throne with a musty meal
Voices held captive and anguish adaptive with souls of steal
Their reality refractive with dreams inactive they still congeal
Mastered and strung with a tangled tongue they begin to pray
A heart hung and death unsung, wounded words they convey
With tears they wash as the sorrows squash their moral display
The sounds that swash in their postured posh soon fade away.
June.18.2018
Ventriloquist Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
TWO STRANGERS IN LOVE AGAIN
Two strangers learned to fall in love again
Amidst long distance tumultuous air
It buds, blooming regardless distant strains
Healing hearts that before been slaved by vain
Standing from despair their constant prayer
Two strangers learned to fall in love again
Wrap tight to gazes, drawing bigger gains
Sweet romance: the crayons to us, new pair
It buds, blooming regardless distant strains
Liberty rouse chemistry dropping sane
Their sparkling eyes mirrors pure love and care
Two strangers learned to fall in love again
To hugs and holds, seduced minds are life-chained
Devoted hearts protect: keeping their stare
It buds, blooming regardless distant strains
When sincerity of love is sustained,
everything in space and time we can share.
Two strangers learned to fall in love again
It buds, blooming regardless distant strains.
________________________________________________________
6:47pm , January 31, 2016
Dedicated to my Huge One... :)
Her name was Anarkali,
an eloquent carnival of legendary beauty.
a dancer in the court of Emperor Akbar.
Deep russet rouge blushed her red,
a silky smile on her rosy peach cheeks
rich, sensual and seductive...
With the sweet scent of jasmine, and
festal moonlight of crystal starred sky,
the damsel danced her way to Salim's heart.
A charmed Prince reverberated in her dreams
in rhythm of a daisy swaying in his breeze.
Entranced in her emollient ecstasy
Captured in the cage of her beautiful eyes.
Love blossomed like a dazzling wildfire.
But a sinister callous world, was eager to kill.
Passion handcuffed by shackled royal ego,
Anarkali was sentenced to be entombed alive.
Behind a wall of stones and prison bars,
Blood still throbbed her myriad unseen scars.
As vibrant colors of a sunset blurred,
An enslaved moth danced to flames of death.
As chimes of Ghungroo* muffled in mutenes,
An enslaved soul emancipated in darkness.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anarkali in Urdu means Pomegranate blossoms
*Ghungroo is an ornament of bells worn as anklets by dancers.
The love story of Prince Salim ( Mughal Emperor Jahangir) and Anarkali is legendary.
Anarkali, also known as Nadira Begum, was a courtesan from Lahore in modern-day Pakistan. According to one of the stories, Anarkali had a relationship with the Crown Prince Jahangir and the Mughal Emperor Akbar had her enclosed in a wall where she died.
4th July 2019
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest Name : Slave to love
Within the subtle soundless silence
There exist echoes of a lingering loud
My pendulous heart decrees in defiance
Such emotions plundered and ploughed
Like a geocentric giant guillotine
My lamenting love sacrificially sliced
My soul slaved in the Enigma machine
Where dreams are deceptively diced
The loving light battles the darkest day
And sorrows surrender at portals gate
For love barely escapes the submissive sway
Marauding memories reminisce and recreate
Stained surreal abiding accumulative art
A priceless painting of my Pendulous Heart.
May.20.2017
Pendulum of Time and Place - Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
“american psychosis”
on the road,
the dream
begins.....
the sun is burning
a fever in the sky
upon the endless serpent
a serial killers life
diseased upon the road
into the darkness
i fly.....
this is where it
all
comes together
the pure
release
of freedom's
forgetfulness.....
i twist the throttle
speed is time
time is speed
as the sun is setting
i feel the need
in the night
the shadowed coolness
neon eyes reflecting
what the day
never will see,
the american night
where our dreams
born
from valleys
to where earth
touches sky
what is
true......
early morning
in the industry
factory
where even the sun
bleary
black and white
day to day
is beyond me,
i could not be slaved,
i gas
chain smoke
sugar fix
and the road
calls
sirenly.....
every mile
a day
studied
at 80 miles per hour
then just as the past
left behind
on the side....
under a bridge
the assassin of youth
stalks
as we laugh
and curse the sun
for we can knowing
it is not death
to fear
but life.
3 days on the road......
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush
But man is slaved to fate,
No fun or spontaneity
Unless you speculate
You can’t keep a good man down
The candle’s sturdy wick,
Yet alcohol and ageing
Seems to do the trick.
Let he who is without sin
The first stone seek to cast
Attack is the best defence,
May as well be first as last.
Life is like a box of chocolates,
Yet as we grow old and greyer,
The top ones are all gone,
And the best from the bottom layer.
A woman is like a fine wine
With time she will mature,
But men by nature love to taste
A vintage that is newer.
The pen is mightier than the sword
Or so it has been writ,
Unless you’re in a sword fight
And then you’re in deep ….
Let me go on collecting the jewels of joy to adorn your soul
Let me tirelessly take out the paste out of sandalwood to heal the blisters on your tired feet
Let me solemnly invite the cool sea breeze to wipe the sweat of your slaved life
Let me get the roistering rain drop to radiate a spectrum of lively colors out of your buried wishes
I went on saying...
Let me pluck the star from the magic wand in the fairy's hand to add gloss to your downcast dreams
Let me steal the amity between the young lovers to infuse passion in the fictional album of your love life.
Let me replace the spiked stones in your rocky path with jasmines and lillies.
Let me give a tea break to your body clock that has been running restlessly for ages.
She pinned her ears to all that I said
She smoothed her face showering a beam on what she heard
She shared her couch with me and offered a warm kiss on my forehead
She set to put her wishes forth after I ceased to spearhead
Her wondrous wishes astonished me
She proffered..
Give me the minute hand of your busy 24hr clock
Set aside one page of your elegant day's enthusiastic book
Sprinkle the perfume of your happiness on my tender ageing heart
Devote a corner seat in your daedalian decision room
I now realised..
All she wanted to comfort herself was..
My smile,
My happiness,
My laughter,
My success,
My glory,
My hug
and a few endearing words everyday.
Neither a crown nor a castle will make her happy
She delights your moment's attention towards her, so put aside your luring lappy.
Life's clock never ceases to tick at all,
God meanwhile is with you and me and walks with us all the way,
We don't know when our clock will stop and we'll hear His call,
So,let's enjoy life the best we can today and everyday
You should treasure each day, and all the time that you hold,that you got,
Appreciate Love and everything good you have now, you know,
Because tomorrow, who's to know,who's to say,you may have it not,
And all that you really own,it's only this precious time, here and now
We are surrounded by all these clocks anywhere and everywhere, I see,
We wear them, we carry them, we sleep and wake up with them, where we go,
We're slaved by time and by all of them,we keep them in buildings, in our homes, don't you see?
We buy them in silver,in gold,in every metal,style and name, we can't have enough of them I know,
They organize our life, some are pretty and some aren't,some are quiet and some are loud,some are new, and some are very old,
They give us time to plan ahead what we need to do everyday and 'time' is more precious than gold.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
November,05,2014
Ancestors had fore-planned
My whole being in Spanish
Yet, my concerned parents wrote
My rhesus A-plus blood in Tagalog
I was born, they said
To enjoy my own life, not theirs
That I took slowly my first steps in Ilocano
Only to be held captive by a beast, a stranger
My Dad, lover of math, thought I got his brain
So, he slaved himself working…and sent
Me to a Catholic private school, but
I found myself reading in Russian
‘Cos I was granted summers bathe in Dnepro
Where I spied the future in a Ukrainian accent
Thou, alone for years, I managed to earn happiness
As I learned friendship and peace in Arabic
But, I was best-loved in Chechen
And I’ve lived my dalliance in French, my lovers
For me, my inspirations; they half-influenced
Me, to become words whisperer in English
Oh yes, life is strange
And full of twists, yet, I saw the sliver
Of hope in Modern Greek, when
I met my other half. She spoke about….
Xristos, in whom I now dwell
For his language of love I learn to speak
And I try to live it in perfection
Till I breathe my last
If I Tell You, 2011
Vickie M. Ortiz Vazquez
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
What comes to mind?
Morena of “el barrio” or Blonde woman of “el barrio”
Better yet, pale skin-blonde from up north
That one, the straight English-speaking wanna-be
“Con su pelo lacio”
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Could you describe who I am?
Woman controlled, subjected by Welfare
Carrying on the poor women cycle
You know, the one imposed by the few rich white men
Shackled
Would you think of me in a bright light; dim light?
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do you envision an immigrant, alien?
A woman once taken and brought at age 15
Beginning of her womanhood
Tormented by loneliness, isolation, ignorance
Frustrated by the never ending question, “Are you mixed?”
Misunderstood by her citizenship
Seen as unfair by many
Slaved island, unrealized
Are you able to narrate which Puerto Rican woman am I?
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Puerto Rican I am
“Café con leche,” Afro-hair, big lips, small nose
Distance between what I was and inspire to be
Clinching to her African heritage
Searching
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Can you explain the injustice my hair endured?
Constant search for assimilation
Assimilation
To break free
Impacted by those with similar skin color, Afro hair, big lips
Different
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do you paint two contrasting siblings?
Light, dark complexions
Tall dark father with short light mother by his side
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Do your pages bleed from inspiration?
Disgust?
Stereotypes?
Would I read between the lines, a woman becoming her own?
Struggling between many worlds
Or, do you spell the notion of loud, submissive, sex symbol
You know, the one portrayed in the media
If I tell you, Puerto Rican I am
Can you decipher, WEEEEPA
Twins, entrapped in purity of essence,
The woman and the vista;
She, for all the world, is real,
The other cast interpretive.
Models of implicit quintessence,
The painting and the sister;
She, to be so bold, can feel,
The other felt intuitive.
Beauty slaved in delicate pairing,
The female and the prospect;
She, embodying existence,
The other forced reflective.
Each a fundamental bearing,
Yet singular in aspect;
Apart, yet close in distance,
Duet, the splendour comparative.