Best Stop Him Poems
Sir Richard Branson - Rocket Man
There was a boy who had not fared well at school
Years gone by and no one could call him a fool
Now a business tycoon and philanthropist
Virgin records, first venture on his checklist.
The owner of the Virgin Group he became
An entrepreneur with stand out claim to fame
Though it was not always a smooth sailing ride
He took the failures and mishaps in his stride.
Sir Richard Branson, born in nineteen fifty
Dyslexia made school a difficulty
That didn’t stop him chasing his ambition
He was determined to follow his vision.
A star in the making he just would not quit
Nothing and no one would stand in way of this
Each successful venture led to another
Outer space was the quest above all other.
Exploring space travel Sir Richard wished to do
Virgin Galactic has made the dream come true
This year SpaceShipTwo made its first test flight
The six on board had the journey of their life.
Sir Richard’s virtue is a lesson to all
His charitable kindness defines his call
We have to admire this boundless superman
May he continue for as long as he can.
It goes to show however humble life starts
Determination can fly one to the stars.
12th October 2021
My father's abeng blew up my mother's womb
And I was chained there
Nine months in darkness drinking blood
Longing for my resurrection from the tomb
Longing to break the chains
Holding me before my birth to a carnal earth
Longing to stop him pounding
Pounding on the door of my bereft eternity
I carrying the weight of him already
The weight of them against the gravity
Of my life. My wings folded
Longing wield sword edge of flight against the sun
I burdened to undo what already is done
Have no finality here.
Look at me like an eagle flying in the sun
Blood dripping from my talons when the flight is done
O let me cleanse the world again
In the red flood that alters pain.
One day I was born screaming for a cause
I could not take kindly to tradition
Slapping black and blue a baby's **** ... laws
Must have been broken to beat the innocent
Unless it is a crime to come into this earth
To carry so much legacy
From maroon history to Jesus Christ, blacklisted
Like my my forebears: Shaka
Father of my grandfather's mother,
My other grandfather, Accompong warrior
Slain between the stones of Holland Estate and Mountain
Bridging the way for fleeing slaves
I come Cudjo less, Nanny less, merciless
Carrying on the war of generations
Calling no more for repatriation but reparation
Of human rights, human dignity, and racial sovereignty
Where Africa may find again its concord
Without false treaty and flimsy accord
Raping the Congo of natural resources and life
I come, the bushing through guinea grass
Tumbling kingdoms with wisdom and knife.
For this I was born, beaten at birth
Given resurrection from the night of earth.
My father sought to be civilize
Recite poems of Britannia's might and lies
And I, I was singing with the night
Reading a long history of pain to make write
Of my own proclamations, to declare
I shall not bend my knees, nor walk in fear
Where death measure us in dust
And vampires and conquistadores lust
For El Dorado buried in my disgust.
I am a man, and I will make my monument of truth
Upon the gravestone of the brute.
He's in love with his own image
He believes that he's a king
And punishing women
Is his favorite thing
He thinks he's really special
Entitled , above the law
But I can see right through him
and all his ugly flaws
Nothing will ever stop him
From taking whatever he can get
Leaving you heartbroken
And living with regret
He don't care if he has hurt you
He don't have a heart to hide
Everything is all about him
If he ever said he loved you, then he lied
Without mercy he will use you
And not lose an ounce of sleep
Then tell you it's all your fault
The reason that he cheats
Warping what is real
Cutting you down to size
He won't miss a beat
And he'll revel in your cries
Relentlessly he WILL abuse you
Crushing your very soul
So you'll never love again
That's his only goal
He wants to know you suffer
It feeds his egocentric mind
Giving him your energy
While you slowly die
Then he's got you where he wants you
And the torment begins again
Til he's twisted everything inside you
Completely f@#k!ng up your head
Anger is an alarm to the inner beast,
With clenched fists and teeth,
Slowly drawing hefty breaths,
Biting into words and stamping the floor beneath
He’s deformed and blind, thoughtless and irrational,
How do you tame him? Food, shower or electric shock?
How do you stop him from breaking knuckles and clocks ? Lock
Him in isolation, hug and whisper few kind words or joke
About how he is green and ugly and rabid like a Biting dog,
He struggles to drive off the buzz in his ears and
shake away the bugs throbbing his temporal veins,
Agonized , he looks for anything sharp and painful,
All he finds is a pencil with a broken lead.
He scribbles a note in disgust, spilling a few tears and bleeds
His heart out on paper .
Then he succumbs to the only drug that can cure,
No more beastly silhouettes can be seen,
Neither the satanic screams nor the blood shot eyes,
As harmless as can be written,
When he sleeps, he’s soft as a kitten.
Just like football I am waiting ,
on the side line,
To go up on the field,
Yes we are playing Goodooga,
Aboriginal big guys, tough as steel.
Here comes Albert racing faster,
Trotting down the bloody wing,
Gotta stop him, take him head on,
Hit his ankles, the hurting thing .
Fell him like a big old tree,
Pot belly lands on me ,
I’m a still a seeing stars,
Shadow sparring,
all round me ,
Get up you silly Galah.
So there I was out on the wing ,
Waiting for a pass to me.
Intercept, Albert's a coming ,
he passes ball, dodges see .
Just a few of broken arms,
Black eyes worn with pride.
Rugby Leage what a battle ,
Carry the ball through the other side.
Running for the other goal,
Sidestepped Albert, got there see.
Not a bloody forward pass, (illegal)
Planted it between the trees.
At 17 I was in an interstate game,
between Dirranbandi n Goodooga, we lost. (shame)
Do you dare to hear this story,
listen to the rant of a cuckold tale
This story will give you nightmares
if your masculinity has begun to fail
Despondent voice of said henpecked man
was recorded secretly at a support group therapy session
He swear he loves his wife,
don't know why he picked up the knife
Says he has a wonderful life,
but something is not quite right
Then he contradicts what he just said,
the reasons why are mixed up in his head
He confess that he just wanted to scare her ...
frighten her bad
But he wasn't too convincing,
she only started to laugh
She commanded him to put the knife down,
then started to throw her 130-pound weight around
Used sex as the ultimate weapon,
said love was going out of town ... indefinitely
He said he begged like never before,
pleading with her to please don't leave out the door
Said she just slapped his pride on the backside,
told him the bank account was gonna take a nosedive
Raised her eyebrows and gave a baleful stare,
then said he was having it too good
He said when she gets to talking like that,
he's learned over time not to say anything back
Letting out a small sigh, he said
he simply becomes a docile little boy
and go sit elsewhere
Says the only time he roars like a lion,
is when she tries to take away his adult toys
Trying to stop him from getting season tickets
is gonna cause him to make a lot of noise
So she just let him be for awhile,
let him calm down ... give him a warm smile
He said being henpecked ain't so bad,
he gets his favorite meal after breaking mad
Yet and still, he seemed kinda sad
Now that the group therapy is over,
he said his wife is gonna come get him
And make a point to remind him
of how he dresses so bad
That he's such a loser, just like her dad
I had a conversation with my father, this morning upon my walk
I’ve been feeling down a little lately and I really needed to have a talk
He always knows just what to say when I need to motivate
Thanks for the talk today, Dad, you were really great
Yes, I know my father has passed on; it’s going on four years
I still remember saying our goodbyes; I still, nightly, shed a tear
But, that doesn’t stop him from helping me and offering his advice
I use my morning walks of solitude as our channeling device
I hear his many words of wisdom echoing in my head
When I feel like just giving up he encourages me to carry on instead
I remember his jokes and platitudes he always serves up with a smile
When I feel my father walk with me, I walk the extra mile
I had a conversation with my father, this morning upon my walk
Thank you, Dad, for being there, I really needed our little talk
I’ll talk with you again tomorrow and every day I walk thereafter
You still pump hope into my heart and fill my soul with laughter
Paper Lion
He was a paper lion
With a crayola coloured mane
When he sprung from the page
She thought she was insane
He rose there from the floor
Transformed into a man
Destined to become her lover
Sculpted body bronzy tan
He lacked no ounce of courage
As he reached out for her face
When he pulled her towards him
Her heart began to race
A most ravenous beast
Her clothes he stripped away
He fulfilled her wanting passions
In his hands she was the prey
Power leapt from his body
As he let out a ferocious roar
His majesty from paper Jungle
Had her screaming out for more
Looking there into his eyes
Her confusion mixed with lust
She didn't want to stop him
Yet her brain said she must
She pushed him away
How could this dream be real
Her body and her mind
Kept spinning like a wheel
When she refused to believe
He was returned to the page
The worlds saddest paper lion
Again locked in his paper cage.
He sits there with a beer in his hand…
With residue from his last line on his nose.
No lights on in the house,
Because he’s always home alone.
To drunk to get up he urinates on himself.
But he can still get another beer.
He sits down and starts to cry.
He wonders why his family isn’t here.
He’s hung up on the past.
Things that could have been…
But right now he sits alone,
And he’s slowly dying.
He doesn’t even care about his daughter.
Who tries to stop him from drinking.
She cries and begs him to stop.
She sees him slowly sinking.
Soon he’ll lose his family…
Or more likely he’ll die.
It’s truly difficult to watch…
My daddy kill himself one beer at a time.
We hang on hints or clues to see what's to come next;
I'll cite examples as proofs from a well-known text.
He that crawls in fours when rooster gleefully calls,
Walks in twos like the blazing sun, but soon he falls;
Here's a hint, clue or foreshadowing to foresee
His fall from a life's precipice … and it's a key.
One comes in, blooming and wearing a laurel wreath,
And this bubbling signal, we know, should stop him breathe;
He fights a fierce fight at a place, where three roads meet;
And so soon, we raise the blanket and hear ... three tweet.
A man comes with no eyesight to solve the riddle,
And predicts that sinner stands boldly, right middle,
And he that mocks him for his ill-fated eyesight,
Would leave the city ... groping wearily ... at night.
At last, that man with the clearest eyesight we see
Leave the stage and us in threes as a beaten bee.
12 syllables in each line
A 1st Place in the following contest (judged on Feb. 10, 2021)
Feb.9, 2021 (Originally posted on Nov. 25, 2020)
The Gem That Slipped Through The Cracks Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
A 2nd Place in the following contest (judged on Jan. 8, 2021)
Podium Placing Promise (5)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Every November, Harlem hums
coquito chilling, collards cooking,
a holiday approaching
that never sat right with me.
Before the parades, the plates,
my mind slips past the pretty lies
we paint over pain
and calls it “Thanksgiving.”
I think about Columbus
the way they crown him a hero
when really
he sparked the unraveling
of my whole bloodline.
Taino shores stained red.
Africans dragged into ships.
A continent bent under the weight of his footsteps.
And every year,
I whisper the same wish:
“If only I could turn back time…”
That’s when the sand rises
lifting out the sidewalk cracks,
spinning into an hourglass storm.
Suddenly I’m in 1492,
staring at the moment
everything went left.
Columbus stands on his deck,
smug, boots tapping out the rhythm
of centuries of sorrow.
And my whole soul wants to stop him
one push,
one word,
one shift in the timeline.
But the sand flickers
and replaces him with worse.
A conqueror history hid
because his cruelty
couldn’t fit on clean white pages.
He doesn’t want gold.
He wants erasure.
The sand darkens.
Across the ocean, Africans fade
not freed,
just gone,
executed on their own soil
before they could ever become ancestors.
The Caribbean I know
Bomba drums,
Taino caves,
abuela’s laughter in Loíza
collapses into dust
so fast I begin fading with it.
I reach for Harlem
its stoops,
its music,
its cultures braided like my own DNA
but my hand slips through the city
as if I’m a ghost
in a world that never had a reason
to make me.
If I change the past,
I erase myself.
I erase my people.
The sand spins like it’s teaching me
with every grain.
Then suddenly
a softer shimmer.
The scene resets.
Columbus steps off the boat humble,
listening.
The Taino greet him without fear,
teaching him how to walk the land
without breaking it.
Years later, Africans arrive
not in chains,
but in hope.
By choice.
Bringing rhythm, language, strength,
building a true America
with the Taino
side by side.
The hourglass rights itself.
Harlem returns
alive, loud, imperfect,
but real.
And I breathe.
I can’t change the past.
But I’m the proof
that my ancestors made it through
anyway.
I want to keep you safe from all this harm
The shouting the hitting so you keep Calm
I am determined to stop him touching you
He never left you alone he bloody knew
Hurting you in such an ugly cruel way
I will protect you so you won’t become prey
His evil way of attacking, was because he can
I’m older now, becoming a much stronger man
The fast river between us will get much stronger
The helpless life you gave me will be no longer
All that power you once had over that little child
I have become clever, smarter you won’t get me riled
Your accomplice was trained to be as bad as you
She was not a mother, just part of you, evil two
I will make it my only mission to keep him by me
This is so he can feel safe & warm till I get him free
He has suffered far to long now, I will make it stop
My strength the Lord gave me will carry me forever
I am ready to conquer you, this will be my endeavour
He’s with me now so go elsewhere if you ever dare
He will be with me now, as for you I don’t care
My love is for him now that’s been waiting to share
That’s just me, myself and the world out there
“I think I’ll go out,” the husband said.
The wife let it slide for about a half hour.
Then she asked, “Where are you going?”
There was no reply, so she walked into the living room.
Immediately knowing.
He had sneaked out, being careful to make no noise with the latch.
She knew what that meant.
She had him on a strict diet, and a locater application.
She got on her phone and looked at it.
Immediately knowing.
As she suspected he was at the Donut Deli down the road
No doubt eating the things he was never supposed to eat.
He had had so many affairs with sweet, fried things.
She got on her coat, determined to stop him.
Immediately knowing.
The task begins with awareness, and freedom without it is harmful. So let us not look back in fury or forward in panic, but rather around in awareness. By Poet
Let me tell you a story.
Can you Imagine a harsh quiet? Jeers sneer idleness,
or scoff to classify the ultimate sinful act of sadness;
or quashing irk for an eternal colossus of havoc,
perhaps the planet was spaed and will be ruined here.
Cynical scorn asphyxiates, cauterizing all life on Earth;
who can imagine how vile days linger eerie memories?
how often tongues are swelled with astringent tartness?
those with acidic sadness tease with a biting reply.
Soul was sunk on all live paws to quell a herd of verrucae,
could you kindly scan feeble shapes on a pealing day?
how would you handle a splenic tongue with an awful zest?
or apply on a scorching sting a horrible sneering welt.
Mortal musings slay my sight while roaming ruins,
I feel the pain, frocking seconds ripen fruitful minutes;
none to stop him, acidulous hours burn a swollen body,
did you honor your vow not to view your tears in public?
Or, to win, they select the nuclear light to avow the day,
scavengers swarming forbidden self-destruction zones;
where the war had started, it was awarded might;
whenever beguiling eyes and spite the sight,
I hate lethal viruses as much as a police car passing by;
I hate falling asleep at night as well as not falling asleep,
I hate the doorbell at night and massive storms,
I hate going broke or having too much money.
I fear being late and fear being the first to come;
I fear that all I yearn for might jeopardize others I love;
I fear death or a miserable existence for a long time,
I fear not adoring enough and being confused.
Slow slurps, wearing vengeful speeches bleary;
on stage atomic bombs were used to turn the sky purple;
Insouciance fosters the dreadful pulverization,
I should have dropped my Kyiv pass.
wabbling world......
2ND PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 17, 2022
Theme: War
Form N - Narrative - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
god has 3 perfect lives
and he lives them simultaneously
arent you fathoming the power of god?
One of them is a gullible god
and he walks around not knowing he is a gullible god
and he will have conversations with you
and like a genie where you dont know you are making a wish you are
i feel oceans and worlds apart from my husband but forever will be gay
but an everlasting nightmare it remains
and then the next thing you kno wyou are the victom
One of them is a prophet
god surprising god
and everytime he does he regains his throne
and the only way to stop him
from regaining his throne
is to put him in his little bubble of ignorance
a world that isnt true and let him lead
see if he can see the truth and fool you all
The third god is the god that everyone murders
by slapping their elbow armpit and saying debbie does dishes
but keep in mind there is a curse to this perfect life
for god will live every single life from the beginning to the end of time
and be voted in and out of murder as you slap your inner elbows
and you never know when god is walking in your shoes
for the other gods have a time machine for this wish to be true
and satan the code name for the murderer as everyone alive gets a turn
to kill their nightmare or dream come true and defeat their enemy
since the beginning of time every writer every prophet every poet
has been predicting this crime scene for death to avenge
and then welcome everyone to eternity
as we all become different crime scenes of a matrix to keep us living
happily ever after escaping our nightmares
and living our dreams
it just takes time
so keep on dreaming
and eventually with gods puzzle of angels and demons and 3 gods and other
worlds i'll be back and slide to help you
just keep believing!