Long Ankle Poems
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Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
The Halloween Party was in full swing
Witches, wizards and an alien thing
with tentacles and one huge eye
Flourishing a laser gun shouting "Die".
Alison and her friends Ada and Jo
Were all dressed as feline kittens "meow"
Carl and Simon had laced the fruit punch bowl
As the evening drew on it took it's tole.
Drunkenly a bet was stupidly placed
Who of them would last and not be outpaced
A nightly vigil at Haunted Creek
Where rode a phantom horseman, there to seek.
Everyone there all knew the awful tale
Making in unison a quick inhale
It was long ago in 1702
A mounted stallion there cast a shoe
The rider's name was Squire Abraham Knight
Was set upon and put up a good fight
He was then butchered for a gold doubloon
Was then thrown in the creek and found at noon
Unexplained sightings, that then disappear
have been recorded, it is very unclear
Warnings come from parents to their own child
No-one goes there, it is left to grow wild
With youthful bravado they all met there
Torches flashed around, as the trees stood bare
Alison and her friends huddled together
Shivering in the inclement weather
Bart and his brother camped down for the night
on a hillock, keeping the creek in sight
Joining them was the terror gang of four
Troublemakers, who all acted hardcore.
Two hours later it started to snow
Huge flakes falling and wind began to blow
"I've had enough of this" said Alison
"I'm all for going home. I'm all done!"
Eagerly agreeing, walked back in step
Suddenly Jo tripped up and in pain wept
"Can't go further, my ankle is wrecked"
Leaning on shoulders, onwards they all trekked.
"No, I can't, please, you must stop", poor Jo wailed
"It's agony! she gasped and then inhaled.
"Come on Jo, we can stop at Adam's place".
"We will make it there at a slower pace.
Adam's place was an old abandoned farm
"No, not there!" said Ada-May in alarm
"Afraid of ghosts and ghouls?" mocked Alison
"More like rats and spiders and not much fun!".
Giggling they arrived at old Adam's place
The moonlight showing fear on each girl's face
"We have to go in there, we have no choice"
Jo jumped. "Was that whinnying of a horse?"
On that retort they threw open the door
Stepping inside, they all dropped through the floor
Not one of them survived their dreadful doom
Trapped, without rescue, in the dark, dark room.............
The interrogation threatens to shudder like an earthquake
A long index of accusations spread out among the atmosphere like a blazing forest fire
Satisfaction, the officer and venomous umbrage, the criminal
Self-appreciation, the quiescent defense attorney with no right to be there
Misery, the boisterous dauntless prosecutor
The months of the annual calendar, the jury
Pain, the almighty judge
It’s a court case already divested from the defendant
Why should it not
Bother, why bother
Its past the millionth time in 216 divided by the jury
Satisfaction has seen countless rewards of capturing umbrage
Satisfaction has felt the boundless benevolence of glory
And foaming at the mouth, glowering with muffled respected fury
Sits umbrage, staring out blurred vision
Victimized in his own apperception
What’s the cost, the damage total; what has befell, befell reality
The anathema of fate or rather the favored affliction of fortune’s fool
Within a realm of possibility it may perceive to be both
A pebble laced with a thread thrown into grass only miles away
To be reeled right back in like a helpless fish on a line
The audacity, the audacity; oh just hush
Silence is golden and this silence is benevolent
Joy was once prevalent in the company of such disgrace umbrage reigned
Together they were serenity, a mixed graceful period of harmony
Such a song sung by dual owls in the presence of the lightened darkness of night
(sigh) …I can’t do this anymore
Make a world, create a story peacefully
Creating a plot circulating, tip-toeing around the issues placing bait in front of my eyes for me to take
What is wrong with me, my life
One word, a sharp enough blade to stab in the ankle to slaughter Achilles
In this case, me
The poet’s banishment, scourge creating a series of nine lashes
Still runs deep, refuses cessation
Proceeds to feed on every ounce of merriment to permeate through the cracks
Melancholy has produced to invade back in
What’s the cause this time for it to attack
A few simple words, reflection, swift defiance
the bruises upon the right appendage whispering, begging for more scars
FOR WHAT? ! ? ! ? ! ? !
Forget it….it’s nothing
Satisfaction has pardoned me, set me free
Umbrage, my twin has taken over me
To another bridge, we sit and sulk over a failed attempt at flight
Cause we willingly defy the right to say goodnight
A Polite Warning. The Following poem is somewhat steamy. Not explicit, but explicit in
inference. If this sort of thing offends you, then please be considerate and don’t read
it. Thank you.
Naked Flamenco
( A sultry summer night spent together
With ardour between us growing
She whispered, “Let me dance for you”
I agreed, little knowing………………. )
Binding spells of mysterious wanting
Soft dark her eyes looked
Into the shades of my mind
An enchantress of fantasy
She etched her velvet pattern
On veiled secrets
Parted
Dangerous lashes flutter desirous
In emerald peacock pupils
Midnight burnished hair let fall
In captivating tangles
To full ephemeral corners
Of soft bitten lip
Coy damp line drawn on her cheek
Captivated
Her expression acknowledges
With known provoking smiles
Eye lights shine saying “already mine”
With twisting flamenco poised
Sensual arm insinuates to finger tip
And eventide's rose is pale skinned
And naked
Curved line from ankle
Writes portents to the nape of her neck
Through black tousled sexual spinal blades
Shoulder dipping
Quivers her femininity to rising breasts
While arched longing
Mouths the indescribable tactile seconds
Of her promontory dancing
Patient in toe tip exquisite she places
Penchant elegance
Of her naked ballet
The ribbon swirl of vanished gossamer dress
Depicted wing-ed arms
She rises a surrealistic
Flight of angels created
In soft light air brushed forms
Of muscle, rib cage, bones and tendons
Body writhed centres eclipse
On pubic between
The epitome of gestalts navel breathing
I shudder Goosebumps of enthralling
Built by such grace of a heavenly
Consecrated female
Led beyond mere heated needing
To a place resplendent
With sheer un-tameable and un-nameable beauty
Guitar stringing twangs the milliseconds
Of her overture
Spanish castanets tap click fervent
Pronouncing the rhythm of my heart
Naked pale formed Goddess
Gently rips from me
Every appreciations confession of
Perfections contours
Fine satin sheen hairs risen
Beading sweats slight trickle
Aroused by my infatuation
Nipples stiffen
And I am drawn from and by
Heavy breath to music’s ending
To land in her presence
Panting
She has seen through me
Every century of a woman’s glory
And with a slow beckoning finger
Her eager eyes
Tell me
It is so
In the 80's I lived in Anchorage Alaska. You could go anywhere and catch salmon till your arms fell off. I would drive for hours to fish in completely desolate (of people) lakes. There were several lakes that were so clear you could see the trout swimming two hundred feet down (they were 8 to 28 inches long) you could see the bottom of every lake just by peering over the edge of the boat. After several years of catching these trout that were as long as your arm, I checked the map for new and more challenging lakes. I found a lake Southwest of Wasilla that had "fingers" cut into one side of it. Each one was 50 by 2,000 foot long, obviously man made. I didn't bring my boat and planed to fish these "fingers" from the bank.
I had snapped my Fly pole running through the trees and was tired from all the the frantic running. I rigged up my Casting pole and walked out to where the water was just above my knees, between two trees 20 feet apart. 15 min went by and I figured I better change lure. My right foot had sunk past my ankle in the silt and I pulled hard to get unstuck. My left foot sunk deeper. I had been in this situation before and kept working to get at least one foot unstuck.
Almost an hour went by and the water was to my waist, I had mud to my calves and the waders were like a second skin. I couldn't move, I tried everything. By now the water was up to my armpits. I saw my cooler float by and then my tackle box (and needless to say, my life too) That's when I started yelling help. There was no body on these lakes and I knew it. I went under water and tried to dig my legs free, only to run out of air! I came up yelling help. I yelled only to hear my echos of help, I had a wife and two daughters to live for. I was done.
That's when I heard a calm voice say "catch this knife" I looked over and it was an old man in his 80's. I told him I was stuck real bad- he said, "I know, cut em off" and tossed me a knife- It was a perfect ten foot toss and I caught it! I went under water and sliced my waders from the hip to the thigh (240 bucks worth)- when I came up again he was reaching out his walking stick to pull me out. It was 5 feet too short. I yelled at him to come closer, "just grab hold of the tree branch there and I could reach it" He shook his head and said again "cut em off" and then he walked away behind the trees.
We were taking our nightly walk in suburbia.
Every evening after dark, the same routine-
Well, that night we were in for a surprise
Every light in the neighborhood went out!
Right then, I slipped off of the sidewalk.
Excruciating pain radiated from my ankle.
Even though I could see nothing, I reached.
Never had I felt so helpless, in my life.
Just when I was about to lose my balance again, I felt his hand.
Obviously, he saw that I needed help, I, screaming loudly.
Yet, again he calmed me, pulled me close, and held me.
I knew we had to look at my leg.
Not that it was broken, but probably sprained.
Getting home seemed like it would be impossible, ominous.
Almost apocalyptic!
Strongly, he shouted, “Come on, we’ll make it if I have to drag you.”
To my surprise, I felt his big hairy hands grab me.
Right as I was about to sink to the ground again,
Over his shoulders I was tossed!
Like a sack of potatoes, I hung there…not walking.
Laughing inside because I knew I was safe with him,
I clung on for dear life!
Not knowing what was next, and scared.
Ominous thoughts began to flood my imagination.
U. F. O. s appeared in my mind’s eye…abduction!
Reality turned fuzzy.
Nuclear invasions by aliens seemed factual.
Explosions boomed all around.
I Screamed, not with pain, but with terror.
Gasping, I cried, “Get me out of here! “
“Hurry, please!”
Blackness everywhere and he looked at me weird.
Oh, how I wished for a flicker of light.
Raw fear was overpowering reason.
He, on the other hand, seemed to brave it well.
Often, in the past, he had shown courage, too.
Oblivious to the real world, I pounded his back.
Delighted to be safe, although half upside down!
Just then, he started hysterical laughing.
Usually, he was calm in every situation.
So, I wondered what was going on.
Terrible thoughts intruded; even shadows frightened me.
Practically frozen with fear, I could hardly breathe.
Afraid my heartbeat would be heard.
Sane, but wondering if I were crazy.
Trying to talk, but my voice kept cracking.
“Desperately,” I shouted, “Look up in the sky!
Aliens are coming to get us. We are going to die!
Reassuring me, he said, "You are going to be all right.
Keeping hope, he took me down the dark streets to the hospital!
©February 18, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Chorus x 2
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
1. A personality that is a well powered Agora
for affluence and power to trade
from collar to ankle, my long covering is embroidered
with stitches of laurels
as life’s willy, I stand against nature’s passive resistance
educated beyond satisfaction
as I neither drink the slurry of poverty
nor condemned in the scaffold of barbarism.
The depth of my influence
surpasses the borders of space
the slideshow of my worth stays not reclusive
as my path has gone beyond fate
to put fortune under no quandary to visiting me.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
2. There is no contest
to my flag standing highest and brightest
yet my blessings still feel reclusive
my known image will stand collateral for global peace.
Media houses even in the desert
roar in a moving tempest of my reputation
yet not half the needed depth is achieved.
My commanding drive and intimidating leadership
the first education to all newborns
I am a feather bed to all my networks
even in the grave, my decaying bones
will be worth more than the basilicas of ancient Europe.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
3. Stronger and continuously refined I am
as I stand on top
and drink the revile, like old wine
of those who wish to live in forgery of me
the air is tagged with my trademark
as communities mimic
from the chronicles and sweeteners of my exploits.
The sun rises from my past
to reiterate a future covered with curtains
of red silk and exotic flowers.
Down the stairs to a panhandler is stupid
but my pride can wear an Asian salwar
rather than an Italian blazer
yet, fully satisfied to cling
unto the appendages of God’s glory.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
There were seven Indian Government schools. All built alike. The
one I'm writing about is Spring Creek. He Dog, Soldier Creek and White River,
Grass Mountain, Two Kettle, and Black Pipe were the other schools. The
Headquarters for these schools was at Rosebud, South Dakota.
On some summer evenings we were able to talk our mothers into
hiking to the lookout tower. We followed the ankle deep sandy trail road to the
cliff north of the school., A canyon lay at the foot of the tower but we climbed the
bluff. I don't know why we didn't explore the canyon unless it seemed dark and
sinister. The footing was better once we reached the summit. The closer we got
to the tower the taller it grew and standing at the foot of the steps looking up was
easier than getting to the top and looking down. My mother didn't usually make it
to the top because she didn't like heights. But she didn't mind being left behind
this time. We never could get into the building at the top because it was locked,
but we could climb the steps to the very last one. Even my little sister managed
to elude mom and followed us to the top.
From the bluff we could look down on the garden. My aunt grew a
huge garden and canned the produce for the hot meals served the school
children. We kids didn't work in the garden very often, but we looked for the arrow
heads and fossils. Which, I suspect the adults probably considered the best
place for us.
At the end of the road, living in shack, was Old Lady Grease. I have a
vague recollection of seeing her. Tiny, frail, wrinkled and gray headed is all I can
remember.
In spring and fall we were in school in Kansas.
It's Christmas now. Cold and usually snowy. We were in a winter
wonder land.
I'm standing at the fire escape window. The ghostly pale full moon is
illuminating the naked arms of the trees as they shiver in the wind, swaying to
and fro as if dancers in a ballet. I listen to the winter sounds. The frigid air
enhances their sharpness. The ax's thud echoes up the canyon as one of the
Indians across the river chops another supply of wood. One of his peers beats
on the drum. It is one-thirty a. m. but the thin walls of the tents do not keep the
cold out. Day or night this chore must be attended to for survival.
In the shower
when the water is hot and my skin is red
I can see the scars
Still see them
Even after years
Even after rubbing oil on them for days, months in a row
The scars were once organized
But that was in the beginning
Before I started running out of space
And so I would fill in any gaps and go as high as I dared
And eventually moved to the other ankle
I remember being reluctant to move onto the right side
But I did
Next to the scars is a mark on my skin that I've always had
I don't know what it means, the mark
But the scars make me remember things
Things I wish to forget
That I have moved past
But still, they come back
Visions of self-destruction fill my mind
I think that runs in the family, the self-destruction
And I still show signs of it
But back then
I would hurt myself because I was angry
Punish myself for every mistake
Every reason I could find
It was wrong and even as I did it I knew I shouldn't
I knew I was allowing something evil to enter my mind and control my thoughts, my actions
I see myself crying in front of her
Over and over
Uncontrollable
I hated it, the fact that I was crying
But I couldn't help it
And as I cried I grew more frustrated with myself
Which only made me cry more
And I would go home and hurt myself for being an emotional person
Because I thought I was weak
I've learned that it in fact makes me stronger than many others
Wish I'd known that back then
Before I left scars on my body, a temple
Marks that may never go away.
Will I ever be allowed to forget?
My friend touches her fingers to the iced window
They trace downward
Creating a pattern in the ice
Cracks
Scars
It is a beautiful, graceful motion
And I watch her, wishing I could take a picture
But I keep watching until she finishes
And the marks she left will go away
Because the window will soon ice over again
But they will forever remain in my memory
Her beauty
Her elegance
I wish I had seen these things before
But maybe it was meant to be this way
Maybe I learned in the right timing
To take time to notice and appreciate the trivial, beautiful things
Because the world is full of them
And that includes me
So, eventually
The scars won't matter anymore
They are a part of who I am, yes
But they will be a reminder
Never to go back to that place I once was
I didn’t know if I was going to make it through the night, my feet were as cold as ice, my heart was where it was supposed to be, but I had this strange premonition that I would wake up in the middle of a storm just before the break of dawn.
And the mountain will meet with the sea and whisper a silent prayer for thee. It was as plain as can be the waves were coming after me and so I had to ride on top of them until I got closer to my anticipated friend.
There was a sudden heat coming out of the ground and not a single cactus could be found, a group of people were crossing the dessert and patches of dust starts popping out of the ground and swirling in the air ,causing everyone to run for cover that was not there,and the heat crawls slowly up their feet and the distance between them become wider.
For one moment I thought I was here and then I found myself at the bedside over there weeping for those that didn’t make it.
All of them were lying flat with their hands tied to their backs, feet bound with ropes and blood was flowing from their waist to the ankle. I have seen it from a distance and I kept saying to myself what do I have to do with such oracle?
It’s another deja vue that comes back to haunt me and a new window was opened in the earth and I could see everything that was running underground.
A sanctuary with dead bodied buried beneath it and a hangman sign stood upright with a Guillotine position at the back and a pan set underneath to catch blood from the dock,
They had waiting rooms and places where they groom. The young girls had to dance naked before them and they were treated as daughter of the heathen
In the early morning they bore the pain and at nights their bodies become the shame of the city oh what profanity, the pleasure of men are deferential to women.
Another day has passed and hope is getting meager, and the fear of waiting for something to happen seems never ending.
They made their way through the ground from a tunnel that was out of bound and it leads from timbucktoe around the bend into the gorilla shoe.
And the black bear on the other side continue to steal the spice but the panda came just in time to do the summersault to get them out of the dark into the open air, and finally the plane got them out of there.