Long 'freedom Poems
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Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
I see him stumbling around looking for something to hold on to but there was nothing there except the open thin air and a bunch of bureaucrats wearing thin frocks walking around on wet grass with fake greetings and a forced smile that caught us by surprise.
Bob has been in the news and this has left everyone confused he is running for office again, midths the barrage of criticism running down his spine weakening his legs and making him look like the walking dead. At first, he looks like a robot coming out of a hut, and then it appears like a man in despair. There was no one around to cover him except for gravity and his own sanity.
Bob is fun to be around but this time his attitude makes me frown, he does some weird things, like walking with his nose pointed in the air and use his finger to show you the clock.
Sometimes he is agitated and his temper cuts deep causing everyone to proceed with caution while he rolls the dice and shuffles the cards. He is a nice person to be around but the mood swings will drag you down; yesterday I invited him for tea, we had a small talk and it left my aunt weeping in the dark, what is really going on with Bob?
Bob is a very good man but sometimes he looks very sad; he has a very tight schedule and attends more than ten meeting in a given day, heaven knows how he stands up while going through the gate.
He knows his work quite well and he can talk up a storm from hell and still remain true. I watched him come and go and how he presents himself while he rides the big ship, and the ceremony he attended with the mercenaries hiding in the bushes and the guard of honor marching every hour to pay their respect to Bob.
He wasn’t quite in it, he was always looking for something to hold on to but the air propels him along and John, his closest friend, stood next to him and pushes him on.
I could sense a silent annoyance rising up in john’s emotions, as he reached for support while climbing the steps. He attempts to hold john several times from his back but John shrugs and show him the way with a polite gesture.
They and had a cup of tea towards the end, and spend some time feeling out each other. What was said, I really don’t know but the cluster bombs exploded and close that chapter. The tennis match was a blessing in disguise, and it is an indication of how the story will end, I love happy endings.
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
1. THE STORM
COPYRIGHT-POETESS-ANJALI DENANDI,MOM
The storm - from where, it comes
Why - comes, it ? Where, it goes ?
When - it came first ?
Forever it goes and comes
Has it any good effect ? Who knows ?
Destroy ! Just destroy ! Just- ! Must !
The nature becomes calm -
All know - it is the before stage of storm !
Oh! Fear ! The nest thinks - on the tree palm !
The storm has no own form ;
Yet - it has very strong action !
Which can break the mother's emotion !
Lives become hopeless by it !
Forever It can stop the heart beat !
Branches never come back as alive !
The buds and baby-birds never come back !
But the storm returns again and again ...!
Bee-eggs never come back -
But after storm - again bees build the hive !
Though trees feel pain -
Yet - branches , buds come back again !
The new branches , buds , baby-birds , eggs -
Take place on the empty places -
The new nests become happy again !
Cont’d
But no kindness of the storm's invisible legs ,
These always break the sweet dreams !
For these bad works - the storm feels the happiness !
To the storm - who blesses ? ! -
Try - in minds - for own love placings !
Oh ! The storm ! What do you mean ? ! -
Now - find and think about blessings !
Yes ! Yes ! Yes ! - - -
Be the well wisher of the nature ! Please !
Not destroys - creations are the lives - keys !
In front good works - down your knees !
Know - follow - who is your creator ? Who is ---
2. AN AIRY AFTERNOON
COPYRIGHT-POETESS- ANJALI DENANDI,MOM
In an airy afternoon-
I float by my little boat, on river-
Smiles, on sky, the silent moon-
I gift it my loving-look, from very far!
Waves touch my feet, which are naked;
These waves are too busy-
These never come back!
Some very little children, they are naked,
They enjoy around my boat, I see and see---
And eat pop-corn from my jute's sack;
Fishes are seen sometimes on open air-
Again hide in deep water;
My white sail- is in joy of freedom!
I reach very far from my little home!
My pets, my dog and my talking parrot,
Freely walk on my happy boat;
I call,"Hey! Children! Come here!
Yes! Please! Stand on my side;"
They do, like my speech!
Then go and on a big horse, they ride!
Which stands on bank, without speech!
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
"Puzzle Stomped"
Pieces scattered
placed on a table
with boundaries
between
the incarcerated margins
there are strict conditions
Time drips
its wet connection
each piece a stair fitted
imperfectly
perfect
towards upwards
new mirror reflection
a cracked heart piercing
the tear with savage dedication
behind her veil
the known Morpheus assails
her compromised senses
holding her captured
behind the external view
eyes blindfolded
the blue sashes now let loose
opening green windows to
free the redressed vicissitudes
to undress the crisp breeze of her
monk chanting wake
a new phantom arrives caressing secrets
gambled on a fresh Delius
composing his unfinished symphony
he’s looking for her singular notes
Somewhere,
he stands behind her
sharp as a needle,
cutting tall poppy
each step she takes
towards her freedom gate
In his hands he cups
the hidden
missing piece
The sewing of pages
she continues to bind
in her sleep
along a strong spine
turning and folding stories
uncommon ne'er sublime
their spelt magic
grows majestically spoilt
seeded from a sweet perfume
conducting intoxicating notes
stories flying black-winged
off all the slippery knaves
and wax-sealed pages
like ebony feathers
mummerating starlings
turn into suffocating
dream stealing
king crows smiling maces
She the Smythsewer
laying tenuous imprints
for a new road home
He the myth Beyond
shakes the game board
peace in pieces, a long forgotten song
the chance card thrown
the blanket of romance
thundering over a stormy mind grows
patch worked with glassed-in
jarred ghost bees, the old
puzzle of a story stomped on
He places his feet
firmly between hers
closing in on time
Beyond takes her hand
And sensually whispers
along all her fairest fears
sweeping all pieces off her
tattered story board
fallen irretrievable
forgotten
left lacking
on the harsh floor
Cum dederit
dilectis suis somnum,
Ecce haereditas
to the tune of fate
there is so much more
the words are sewn and sung
the child in time fled
long gone, as if all was pure fantasy
destiny arrives supernaturally too soon
Time for a new story
He says darkly
and swiftly closes
Past’s door.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
If i allow a mother to steal food, in order to feed her babies. Does that make me
an angel or criminal? How do we as people not take responsibilty to change our
own destiny?
For justice is the right of everyone!
If i don't take the time to teach this mother to stand, to be self reliant, to have faith,
to face her fears. If i don't teach her compassion and self respect. Does that
make me part of the problem or the solution?
For any injustice hurts everyone!
If i don't register to vote because i believe the system is broke. How then can i sit
on this mother's jury, with 11 others to deceide if she committed a crime?
For justice is the right of everyone!
If i allow the truth to be silenced by her economics or her up bringing. Am I giving
her an excuse to keep on?
For any injustice hurts everyone!
If i check hispanic as my race because my other choices demand that i deny my
mother. Does that mean that i disrespect my own people?Does that mean i don't
believer in Dr. King's dream?
For justice is the right of everyone!
If i allow the disrespect of another's faith, from one coming of my own. Does that
mean I have no faith in my own beliefs?
For any injustice hurts everyone!
If i adopt a child from a a foreign country. Does that make me heartless to the
needs of the here?
For justice is the right of everyone!
If am a solider supporting my family and I must go to war. Does that mean I
support the reasons behind the war?
For any injustice hurts everyone!
If am a hard working law abiding citixen . Does that mean that it is none of my
concern how the system punishes criminals of differnt races?
For justice is the right of everyone!
If my child is on life support and my insurance won't cover no more treatment .
Who then has the right to deceide if my child lives or dies?
For any injustice hurts everyone!
If i justify my wrong doings with excuses of what was done to me and my people.
Will you tell me what that makes me?
For justice is the right of everyone!
Justice is everyone's freedom to think, feel, love, have no limits in what one can
do. Justice is to receive the respect of everyone. Not to be judged for sex,race or
faith. To have equal opportunities for you and I!
To quote Dr. King's words, " Injustice anywhere threatens justice everywhere!"
end quote.
For any injustice hurts everyone!
Form:
1
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing thee, thyself in turn.
Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke –
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.
I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore –
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
2
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.
Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.
I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more –
remembering thy portrait in my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
. 3
Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions, mind alert, thy hungering to learn.
Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.
I watch thee grow, and will, forever more –
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.
‘Tis all I have.
4
Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee.
Break loose those prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain –
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft –
all a capella – pure and long.
Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.
Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.
[Finis]
Have You Tried My Slushie? By
Briar Rabbit
I don’t know if it brings the boys to the
yard
I’d want some time to myself
I think..
I think of angel dust
while
liberty belles call my name
cement and concrete as I leave the shrink
i am bowed down some
staring at my shoes
as I walk to my stop
I take PM dawn pills
For Purples edge,
Irony, I know
It’s bubble and burble
And bubble and grape flavor in my mouth
Chewy fat chunk of life’s worth
Like Nicki sticks to a wad
I chew it
It’s imprinted
Yummy and pink bubbles
Imprinted on the wrapper
Wrapper
Rapper
I like smoking
Smoking
Puro
Cheap menthol lights
The Inhale and the burn of the
Humo
In my nose
On the top and to the sides of my lungs
Smoking
Puro
I’ve become a Whiz Kid @ this
And I learned to become
a cowboy kid cigarette
aficionado
I watch my toes
Shoe gaze
Blow some smoke
Through my mouth and my nose
And then I breathe
I am a
Smoke Tamer
It’s purple-blue, tinged grey
Curls in form only real Wizards
Can create – Dragons, Curly cues,
and ring after ring after ring
When I’ve had my high , I pinch my cherry
Roll it between my fingers and test the
edge
Of this proto-promethean glory
Index to thumb
My butt at ease
And my feet alive
I pet a bug
Or an ambitious spider
Cupping my hands I put her back
in the bush. Apologizing
after letting her explore my fingertips
my hands, my wrist, my arm
to my elbow and then I let her know, no
gently
I cry a little inside when i do, because
she’s
curious and seeking comfort in some
shade
like I do.
Our feelings I think are
mutual
I am still..
Sticking with Fabolous
My slushie named orange and blue
Half to three quarters gone
I’m sippin it and three a party in
My pants, no ********, a wow in my
Mouth, and a brain freeze.
The brain freeze gives me a *****
Seriously.
I’m serious.
I cross my legs, lift up my hood
Arrange two rings and a cross
Pick at the crud under
My nails, maybe I should
Pull down my shades
Arrange my pant legs
Again.
Slurp my slushie.
Brain freeze and I’m turned on
again
I blush and pull down my hood
I’m still sitting at the bus shelter
I light another one,
My smoking curls,
Curling
curly-curly
curly ques..
MY smoke curls
MY smoke curls