Long Ankle Poems
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Jack, Jack, Jack and jack, what about me, my name is Jill
I’m only mentioned once, when we climbed up the hill ,
Then Jack fell, and broke his crown, I was filled with dread,
So tumbled after him, but he had gone to bed,
To bandage his head.
Jack Sprat and his wife, one ate no fat and the other no lean,
So hence left their platter void of food and always clean,
So, I suggested to his wife to keep slim, to do some running
Down the street, to lose the weight
She ate.
And Jack Horner who only sat in a corner, I felt that was cruel,
Told him to tell his teacher that he would quit school,
He was never again, to be made a fool.
As for Jack be nimble, I mentioned that as he was always quick,
I would nurse him if he broke his ankle jumping over the candle wick,
So now I no longer feel a little jealous, as I have taken Charles's tip,
I tried to help the first Jack, but did get involved with the other three,
I now feel good, my name is Jill and I hope you agree.
Now give me a giggle,
Hey diddle diddle
Competition entry:Jill Nursery Rhyme Poetry Concert
Sponsor:Charles Messina
Date; 03/11/2024
slithering through a suffragette smattering
the serpentine has no shoulder
on which to give
or have taken
piggyback rides through pantsuit criterion
so certainly lacks the same of which to dry witch salt tears with
whirling up and around then down up her ankle
thick thick thigh
deliciously dry coconut shunt
lipstick cracking
open pistachio shells
bravo to the mercenaries!
at least the split is red enough to pull the lever
and
spill how
women got their seat
at the
baccarat table
Her hair was a mess
like a tumble weed
I had on short socks
made of tweed
She was staring down at my ankle
It was fully exposed
my thoughts were uncomposed
We pretend like there is no tension
but it's there
We just don't have the courage
to bring it out into the air
So we pass pleasantries back and forth
a penny for her thoughts
would be well what it's worth.
SO TELL ME THE TRUTH
I am not playing the sleuth
Give it to me unfiltered
Give it to me raw
It's not that easy,
our true thoughts we stall
So don't criticize and judge
my fat little pudge
but if you do
tell it to me straight
so we can all get along
and this bridge we will gate.
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.
A thirst for walking shoes tightens ankle bones –
it would be sure enough a miracle
if for at least one morning
I could parachute out of my own inner attic
to make a soft landing into
lighter than air sneakers.
Alas this world is overrun with footnotes,
warnings that we are not to take anything at all
for granted.
Amazing how some days
allot me just enough time
to recall, that I am not yet,
or may never be,
Bonafide.
The spiritual path is rocky and narrow,
agile mountain goats get ahead of us,
as we slog behind
picking up their leavings,
each dropping a footnote an*
that the race we have been losing for years
may be already over.
If (by any chance),
I have any wisdom left to me,
I would vehemently caution all:
for God’s sake
to always read the small print -
*
For Dylon Song Tribute contest
Sponsor: Oliver Mckeithan
Written on: 05/22/2025
Inspired by Mr. Tambourine Man
The roads yawn in their speech,
on this uncharted path tonight.
Clocks hang on walls like ghosts,
their hands spinning aimlessly.
Somewhere,
beyond the velvet murmur of the lamp’s glow,
my feet shuffle like old leaves,
sashaying to an illusory jingle.
Its carefree melody swirling with the wind,
jangling the bones of my memory.
I follow not because need summons me,
but because idleness has become a deafening sound,
since I am a stranger to sleep,
and the restless heartbeat keeps asking.
Guide me to the edge of oblivion,
where the horizon unstitches,
and the future pours into the present.
Transport me beyond reason,
where untethered thoughts can float,
mid the whispers of the tide.
I want to be in the in-between of music notes,
on the cusp before the sound,
at the pause before the waves break.
And then,
when the day begins to rust,
and the tide teases apart my shape
Let me wade behind you,
ankle deep in a strange joy
still wandering….
Even the river forgot to flow when your pure feet entered its water.
The fish abandoned their dance until your prayer was complete,
and the river held its breath, honoured to cradle your devotion.
As you turned toward the temple,
the priest gently placed a tilak upon your forehead.
There you stood—
a beautiful soul, ankle-deep in the river,
beneath an amber sky,
your crimson scarf resting gently upon your head.
For a fleeting moment,
the world forgot to move.
...and so did I.
Your eyes carried a silence
no words could ever imitate,
darkened gently by the kajal
that only made them speak louder.
Your green lehenga swayed with the evening breeze,
while your crimson scarf guarded every prayer
that escaped your lips.
Then, before folding your hands,
you looked at me-
with the innocence only faith can wear.
In that single glance,
my heart whispered a wish
it knew the heavens might never grant.
I longed to call you mine...
yet we stood on opposite banks
of the same river. I wished I could become the bridge
the river never was,
so your prayers
and my promises
might finally meet.
You looking towards the sky hoping to get something?
Aigbofa lanwoke, ifakan kosi ni paara.
Why and how would you do that when you're not Abraham,
Unto him whose life was tested to be the father of all nations?
Could you stand such test with no hope for better thing?
Try it and you see your life be better,
Neither can the mother soil do same.
In the sacks she uses to exist gold coast our hopes are pack to other nations.
What's our hopes and where lies our lives?
Even the grave can't question her judgment,
Lest it dies the second death before the judgment of Messiah.
Iku npalosan onpaloru,
The poor daily cry and the rich grow in their desire.
Our lads are the weapons of the merchant crew
While their children are being nurture for political sits.
The beautiful ones are yet to be born and the ugly are failing to die.
This is the stream of our daily cry.
Haven't lost focus the use of hijab is the major talk in town
That our schools are forced to be closed down.
All in pretence of the right to religion and association,
Neglecting that not all right is absolute for the purpose of peace of the nation.
Look into my eyes and tell me that my skull has gone below my ankle.
And I will tell you that a trial of putting on this right cant be handle.
Think oh think my dear,
Cos the mother soil needs us more for it to be clear.
Better than being the generation of Cain for the power that rest in us.
©Olorode Olorunleke Samuel.
cold hands carry my brother across my shoulder, snow bound in a blizzard,
skis have taken us in lost trails of Colorado, never so much have I shivered,
brother hit a lying branch, hidden just beneath the snow,
broken ankle, broken ribs, a broken heart all I can show,
cell phone reads “no provider”, as I laid down out of breath,
as my brother softly speaks, as if facing certain death,
comes a trapper in our sight, black man pulling old sled worn and shoddy,
the lord has sent a caring savior, who lifts my brother’s cold frail body,
gently placed upon the sled, slowly pulling ‘cross the snow,
hours passed as sun went down, yet my faith is still aglow,
ambulance comes to this man’s home,
brother taken, we sit alone,
tales of war and segregation, while he fought hard for our nation,
painting pictures in my mind, which remain as affirmation,
of this man who knows I’m white, but as if color blind he shakes my hand,
if I could I would make known, of this a humane tale throughout this land
Now I lay me down to sleep
Alone upon these empty sheets
Of paper lying on the bed
Side table clock says 5 a.m.
Oh dark of night, I beg thee stay
Keep the morning light at bay
Oh dusk beloved!
Oh dawn be damned!
Me pull the curtains tight again
And only this I have to show
These tries at rhymes
Turned tales of woe:
Of sticky socks
On stinky feet
Sit ankle bones
Prop broken knees
‘Neath pasty thighs
With muscle pains
Crooked back
And shhit for brains
Tired eyes must take their rest so
Leave behind this manifesto
For the rights
Of righteous minds
To get their forty-winks, sublime
Después de la fiesta
While they take la siesta
Sun sets low
On the horizon
But lo, the sun set also rises
O’er every heart and soul supine
Crouched behind their window blinds
Who heave a sigh
At yet another
Evening pass without a slumber
All perchance to dream is lost so
As tonight is now tomorrow:
That is all
And with that said
I take me self to bed again