Long Apples Poems
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Open Letter to you,
MY LOVELY HATE SPEECH
I hate my speech today, yesterday and the day dust rises.
I was there opening my eyes carelessly, smiling like an idiot
I was gazing shamelessly, walking like an idler without course
Little did I notice my vehicle lose direction; little did I notice my head bleeding
I was just there; the settled dust rising, tables turning, grenades and bullets are now apples
Little did I know the power in my lovely hate speech.
What pride did we get after slaughtering fellow Kenyans like goats,
What are the stuttering rifles rattling about, are humans turning game,
What are the grenades doing in civilian pockets, are they keys
Why are the churches burning, you cannot tell me tis the holy ghost fire,
What has that neighbour done, why is that policeman lying there,
Why is no body answering me, am I alone, or are you wondering too
Should I assess the power in my lovely hate speech, am concerned.
My love speech I hate you, my hate speech I love you
Both speeches are one, are the same, of same taste, I hate my passion for you
I love my fellow politician, i love his dirge during my friend’s burial
You bleeding mammoth my friend, I like your corrupt tummy
You scavenger of your own carcass, I like your greed for power
You megalomaniac virus of a beloved country, we love you, let us be
Little do we know death will let you release us, How uncertain are we of you.
My eyes are full of your ocean, the palace you exhume immorality
My ears are preoccupied with your desert, the desert devoid of trust, and the just
My nostrils have your pungent infamy, your callous greed, your everything
My mind can’t decipher the thought of your sanity, your policies and you
You make me lose taste, you make me look like you, you make me you
I am youthful to the economy, i am youthful to the wise, am not youthful to your “youth”
Little do i know death will let you release me, How uncertain am i of you.
Am talking about you, what have i said about me? What?
I hope I know the promise in my Kenyan Anthem
I hope I have a plan of getting rid of the chaff, the you
I hope am not you, i hope you don’t like seeing me wise
I hope your son is listening, the son that wants my very own daughter
I hope am the government, the government of me, for me and by me
I hope i know peace, the peace am preaching, the peace you hate. I hope.
Yours Kenyan,
Mzee Emmanuel Mwau.
It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
A Determined Devil -
As I lay another cedar beam plumb for our home
smoke plumes, serpentine and sulphuric, interrupts the sunshine,
I look below the ridge, Eve standing silent
with weapon in hand,
a woman so grand,
panic has no rest in her person, fear has no finger on her pulse,
I move like lightning, to war by my Lady's side,
Valley vandels have come, scortching field fruit,
searing insidious signs into our peach and apples trees,
incarnate, the Devil disheveled with a defunct posse of three
approaches me, hailing not from a city of Angels but from a ghetto of ghouls,
mean and ugly like ignorance injured by the ivory tusks of innocence,
a madman desperate for the destruction of Divinity,
unskillful and wishful for lies to come alive,
he's a scribbler scribe, a dribbler riddler
a stereotype simpleton, frontin' and gruntin'
fallin short of the great gangsta idol,
just a stereotypical imbecile, a pencil with no lead,
burpin chicken feathers claimin them to be the silk quill of Angels,
I turn to Eve now
with eyes saying now is the time for demise,
briefly, before I strike steel across the throat of Hell itself
our first promise to each other repeats in my memory,
"I forever fight for you"
as her brown eyes convince me of loyalty, love royal,
she rips her blade through his groin
as I open a river across the throat of this terrible thug...
Raising A Tribe -
Eve, this land is already populated by persons whom seem like us,
although different too, like seasons in soul,
divergent in their dreams for dynasty,
they have dialects from a depth of Dawn
that awoke long before we arrived to thrive here,
customs peculiar as shapes to stones,
Father never spoke of these klans
who strive to survive outside the mercy of His guarded Garden,
competitive as clouds in a shrunken sky,
I met a merchant, a servant to trade,
he told of banners and blood, laws and legacies
cultures savage and cities of crime,
gleamed from telling stories of wealth and wonder,
said they worship their Gods more ways than gold folds,
consider what we have encountered Luv,
will our children slay or be slain, war or work
love or get lost in conquest,
you, as a Woman of God's glorious gambit
have a harvest of futurity's face in the balance,
will you deliver the destiny of our union into this drama...
Justin A. Bordner...J.A.B. 2021
little green dragon sprouts emperor’s wings she lights tastes red plum nectar _family hopes among trees monarch blown from seas one love will never be still dancing rhythm meet _erratic dance but on course destiny sea blown alone sun's daughter she flies wisteria’s home _cherry blossoms roam wild rose fawns run firefly hides sparrow plucks delicate wings sunflower escapes _to moon flower clearing skies monarch gone sparrow sighs apples ripe the winter the flowers are gone _Madame butterfly hides child - * Note - based on Madame Butterfly" is a short story by American lawyer and writer John Luther Long
All of a sudden I miss a step
And then you excuse me the lack of continuity
He dragged me here, taking me by my hair and then asked me to leave some space in me to handle all of his dirt.
To exchange.
I could be stronger getting fat in my tower.
I could be stronger but then I recognize there's no need.
'We found love in a hopeless place' but then again it was all about deserts when we were somewhere else.
- - -
They told me you were standing over his dead body
But now you're unlocking my valves
They told me you were standing over his dead body
But now you're making my rivers flow
Some of it is yours
And some of it is mine
The guilt in between us is circling around
Sometimes it's all yours
Some of it remains mine
I put myself in your hands
Staining you with my glitter
But then I remind myself to go back home
There was a break in me
That's left me hopeful
I was flowing in your hands
And now I'm lying on a cloud
With our rights in my pocket
Gods were eager to give me answers
But there was little left of me
He took my grounds where I used to flower
But then you came and I let you in
That's just all that he's left for me in his will
He'd sworn he wouldn't let me out alive
- - -
Are you a satanist miss? What? I'm a little snake between your sheets, I'm a ladybird sitting on a leaf, I talk to you about ways I die, my puppy and cooking, I get weirder day by day, there was a connection and then I jumped on it with all my weight. I'm here because I'm a girl with daddy issues and it's my entrance pass. He took pins and pushed me to the ground. We do things for grown ups and oh my God, you're so young but I forget to blush so I guess it's all good. People made me feel guilty for growing up, are they doing the same to you?
I place myself in the queue then I grow weary and even my body is reluctant to stay.
I wash my hair every day and you start accepting my existence as a part of your reality. All my breathing cells. All my syntheses, my mitochondria as I can't accept how they react to you so I leave them and you alone.
It was mine but then they started eating it by piece by piece and the fear's crippled me. I was expecting a breakdown. I've had of enough apples to look this young and now I'm made of candy. They told me you kill people, well, I'm a girl who's forgotten to die.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
Why does suffering come to the weak and feeble?
Misery doesn't come to us simply
Whatever fruit we plant, will grow on the tree
Why do we see good people suffer?
They pray to God, but are denied supper
The result is not God's decree
It's a Universal Law, you will soon agree
The bad you do, comes back to you
As you sow, so shall you reap
If you want apples, you must plant apples
Otherwise, there will be no apples on your tree
People think that it is God in heaven
Giving cruel orders from cloud eleven
Is it true that God is passing the decree?
Or is it a law unfolding that we see?
The law is known as the Law of Karma
It is this law that causes all the drama!
If you understand the law, you will agree
That apples can't grow on a mango tree!
There will be no reaction, unless there is an action
There will be no effect unless there is a cause
Apples or mangoes, be it one, two or three
What we plant, is what we will see on the tree
But why do bad things happen to good people?
We hear people question, but the logic is feeble
It is expecting apples to appear on a mango tree
But how can apples grow on a mango tree?
Is this something difficult to understand?
Is it unique or does it happen in every land?
The fruit you plant, will be the fruit on the tree
Just like there are mangoes on every mango tree
Have you seen a new born suffer?
Some are born fortunate, the circumstances differ
There must be a reason, you will agree
Otherwise, why would this ever be?
We may not remember, but the law remembers the past
Whatever we do, will be counted till the last
Good or bad, whatever be the degree
Will appear as the fruit that we planted on the tree
Some people question, “Is there life after death?”
Or is the story over when we take our last breath?
When we watch some children born with a smile and glee
We realize this is no magic, nothing happens for free
All this happens by a law on earth
There is no luck or chance involved in our birth
Fortunate or unfortunate, doesn't come randomly
The circumstances of our birth don't just happen simply
Who is in charge, who controls our destiny?
Is there a power that is issuing the decree?
Happy or unhappy, can prayer make it be?
Or is it our own deeds that will make our destiny?
Heartfelt light… falls gentle on my dew drenched silence,
When moon is fading beneath the silent blessings,
Raining through the moments, healing with soft expressions
Moments alive with the flames of joy kindled to birth,
Praying into the depths of grace, with faith beyond imagining,
Faith that is the greatest thing since the angelic wings…
Embracing souls with a deep and everlasting peace, serenity
Warm like autumn’s crimson chuckle with its own brand of rustling
From the songs who glisten with the stars, leafy answers
To the wind’s distress – the feeling like a flavor of tempting sincerity,
The abiding of truth in the glowing embers of an emotional storm…
One who delights in the flavors of stardust shimmers, reflecting
Hearts and souls, intimate as the darkness’ ghost – whimsical and fearless,
Listening to the rude remarks of pines and laurels who lust for glowing
Grace, enchanting as deep sapphire skies who breathe through
Twilight dreams, stunning as the fires from September camping like
Endless stories, the ones who never end because the last page
Is the most beautiful amen, the agreement to abide in the pleasant
Yes, indeed… amen to the moments when hope is extracted
From the fears and there is only the evidence of gentle in soul felt tears
Blessing away the rusty realization, the caress of an imagination
When yesterday was the peace, both quiet and bold…
Expressing the music gesturing through the melancholy,
Blending with rhythms of dancing leaves, the season’s abundance
Blessings, corn and apples, pumpkins in bold ginger
Expressions of the harvest collected by the moments in burgundy
Hazy moments, crisp and cool morning rising with the beautiful
More inspiring than the wonders of a summer’s soft kiss,
Chasing the winds of grace, like laughter in the soul, growing kinder
As the moments pass, outshining the moon’s glow and the spring’s show
Flowery and stunning, beyond words – yes, autumn rises
Inside those who know her as the exalting treasure she has become.
Hallowing the ghostlike promise of yesterday’s mesmerizing
The magnificent silence of God’s blessed peppering …
Spice of the season who is forever more wonderful than poetry
Could possibly portray, more like the spell cast by hope
Who knows that His love, His love is poured out on Autumn’s soul
Louis Watson loved well made, toy ships, and had a fine collection,
Since father was a sailor himself. Like aged wind's novel directions.
Louis loved sailing toy ships on Crystal Pond, like gaiety filled youth.
He'd pretend they sailed on open seas, laden with candies and fruit!
His family lived on the edge of town, beneath pink-beige starlight,
Looming as evening warblers began singing, to scarlet Mars' delight.
Louis had fun with best friend, Fred. They had boat races, ofttimes.
Ships flew to the pond's far side and back, overseen by green pines.
Rain's tinkling footsteps had faded, into gold sunset's famed flames;
When family, of heart's familiarity came, like blossoms uncontained!
Louis lived in the house of endless motion, like eternal, teal waves,
Full of plans, murmurs, creeping and dashes, in butterscotch days.
Scandalous thunder left scarlet skies appalled, amidst fragrant dusk;
Over their street of songbird sonatas, and of lemon breezes, brusque.
Nights nuanced by northern lights, had neighbors arriving for visits;
Bypassing bittersweet nightshade, or scents riding gusts, like spirits!
'Silver vases' held their own flowers. The thirsty poured 'snake gourds.'
'Elephant apples' fed large appetites, as 'cannonball' blooms, warred.
'Zinderella' lilac got dressed for the ball, but 'Billy Button' was ready;
When 'starflowers lit up nights, and 'voyage champange,' felt heady.
Louis dreamt of owning a unique ship, for his birthday was coming;
Like colorful birds dream of nectar, when they are sweetly humming.
As his birthday dawned, pink and golden, his hopes were surpassed,
When he saw his dream ship, and its rhyme written by Father, at last!
Father had entered a toy shop, after seeing a rare ship in a faux pond;
And soon bought that pretty ship, like many marvels, du vaste monde!
I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea.
And, oh, but it was laden
With pretty things for thee!
There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold,
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were all of gold.
The four-and-twenty sailors,
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks.
The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, "Quack! Quack!"
Your rhyme reads like a rap they say,
a rap I say,
a rap they say,
perhaps but rap is rhyme you see,
it's rhyme really,
it's rhyme you see,
this poem is not lyrical,
no not at all,
not lyrical,
'cus songs use words repeatedly,
repeat you see,
repeatedly.
We'll use that as the chorus,
it's easy and thoughtless,
lets build a rhyme fortress
with verse summersaultus,
not a word but I don't care,
eating apples grapes and pears,
seeking angles of praise from flair,
story starts now take a chair.
Out in public with clothes removed,
I've had this dream but now it's true,
a dude that's nude and on the move,
without a pube all in plain view,
swing it like a helicopter,
round and round 'til someone stops ya,
grab some weed and party poppers,
run down streets to dart from coppers,
drinking aftershock that shocks ya,
always after the shot has docked ya,
stick your head between some knockers,
wake up thick lipped at the doctors.
(Chorus)
Write it like a conversation,
it might give it a new dimension,
in that last verse you forced the rhyme,
of course that's fine in this rap rhyme,
'cus rap is rhyme it's rhyme they rap,
that is a fact a fact is that,
by it's nature rap is rhyme,
if it reads like a rap then it reads like a rhyme,
does that mean always rhyme is rap,
of course it isn't it's less than that,
now that sounds mean,
what do you mean,
rap rhymes are rhymes and rap,
rhymes just rhyme they're not rap,
well what's this verse then is it rap?
No my friend this verse is crap,
I hope they remember this is a conversation,
they're not reading you lost their attention.
(Chorus)
A third verse now this is long winded,
it's forced and pointless poets cringing,
get back to the story,
now you were knocked out,
yes and I remember nowt,
then what the hell's this rhyme about,
it's like a selfie with lips that pout,
no one cares except the poser,
that means no one notes the nose hair,
wrap this up it's going nowhere,
rap it up like you're a rapper,
this poem keeps on getting crapper,
no one's read as far as here,
in this worse rhyme you've wrote all year,
at least it flows like hip hop songs,
it flows with flow its flow is strong,
to flow like this use words not long,
here's the chorus lets sing along.
(Chorus)
it reads like a hip hop
POTD 17/10/2018
Not long ago my son and I had a brief conversation about cars. Perhaps the car talk was just a part of our complete conversation about the weather, the news, politics, and sports. I don't recall, but it could have been a serious conversation about car purchasing. Things were going well until it came to the point where he asked me how many cars I have owned.
For the first time, I was invited or would challenged be a better word, to think about and count the cars and trucks that I have owned over the past 45 years. I found the total rather interesting and also a bit surprising. I may have even forgotten a car or two, but my best count came to 19.
I must tell you that those 19 vehicles represented 7 major car makers and comprised a total of 8 different colors, and not one of them was red. I doubt that I would ever purchase a red car.
I must say that my wife looks lovely in red, and I have often told her so. I like red apples; I grow red roses; and for obvious reasons, I simply refuse to purposely run red lights. Red is a most beautiful color, and I wear red during the Christmas holidays. However, except for tee shirts, it is not a color that I have learned to wear. Maybe someday I will be more into red, but I'll have to think about it.
05282017 PS Contest, Red, Mystic Rose