Long Belied Poems
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I could recall some years ago
The day that sealed the deeds of the deal
And dot the long journey of nine months
In my calendar of the years
The same brought about the cry
That started the journey of my childhood…
What a honey of motherhood?
An answer to your heart cry
You were assisted and ushered
Into the labor room
Like my savior was accompanied
To Gethsemane and went further
With the burden of sin of perishing souls
He bent His knees in prayers;
He sweated blood
So you lingered 'un-angered'
With the burden of a baby boy
You genuflected in labor
Fear with joy loomed in the air
Swimming in the ocean tides of the clouds
And I could see water dripping
Down your cheeks and nostrils
All because of me
Could I see any one that flogged you?
No! It's I beating you from within
Not with cane but with pains
Like a sheep before its shearer
You journeyed between life and death
All because of me!
It would have been simple if that was all
But I could see
Like two of your younger ones
Even of your daughter's age
Shouting at you
Push! Push! Push!
Else you kill this baby
What ridicule leading a miracle?
All because of me!
Push! Push! Push!
That was their shout and cry
That ushered me into a new world
Right at their ward
That was not because they're wayward
It was a labor room
It was labor for you
That which ignited my favour
What a pain heralding a gain?
But it was like a pay to me
I took it for a ride but
It was mother’s pride and joy
I thought it was play
Until she smacked and spanked me
Yet they succeeded
As they persuaded you and encouraged you
Then and there with flow of water
And pool of blood you pushed forth
And you pushed through.
I thought it was a favour and for my good
Only to see her hand carried me
As if she was all out to help
But it was only to cut the cord
While I held my hands together
Lost in the comfort and dream
Of the cosy womb
She took me out of the comfort zone
She smacks and spanks me
Again, again, and again
She made me to cry and never cared to say sorry
But told stories
He's another boy, she said
Right there she baptized me
Into a new world
She dragged that thing
She called cot to your side
And placed me in it
Alone I was laid crying
And all she did was to laugh at me
Mum. Her white uniform belied her act
Dedicated to V.A Aderounmu.
© Fisayo Aderounmu.2012
(note: The site restrictions don't allow long epic poems, so I have split this into 6 segments, each should run straight on from the previous one.)
THE EYE OF THE SEA
Or
The Rime of the Ancient Kubla Kahn on the Road to Mandalay
There washed ashore a devil’s whore
Who claimed he’d never been paid,
Near dead from Sin, or weatherin’
Yet feared to loose his blade.
We did our best to ease his rest,
But our experts all were vexed:
The Old Wives College exhausted their knowledge;
The doctors cursed their texts.
Wracked with pain his life had waned
His eyes were growing dim,
His final words were barely heard:
Everything looked grim.
With chicken pills we cured his chills,
For strength we gave him broth,
His brow was mopped, his temperature watched,
We swaddled him in sailcloth.
Then from afar with strengthened heart
As if ‘twere heaven’s game
His mien changed, he had regained
The pilot to his flame.
In heartened mood we gave him food,
And bade his tale be told;
And so he spoke for the price of a toke
And a butcher’s bag of gold.
“ ‘Twas in the port of Herringford,
Where all the cows lie down,
A skipper talked, he claimed he sought
A crew of great renown.
The wind was high in a sunless sky,
The waves were barreling in,
And word got round of men to be found
That night at The Mortal’s inn.
At eight o’clock the bolts were shot
And all were locked within,
With muttered words of rumours heard
And lubricant of Gin.
The Captain coughed and glanced around
For conversations shed,
With laser gaze and aged malaise,
In a darkened voice he said:
‘Into the storm at the crack of dawn
We sail on the morning tide,
Let no man here betray his fear,
His passion or his pride!’
The aim of the endeavour was legend’ry treasure,
The fabled crystal ship of the Prince,
Lost years before off the Straits of Nepal,
And famously quested for since.
Our boat, ‘The Eye,’ was a Barquentine,
Just a quarter league in length,
She sailed as sweet as a sackful of eight,
With grace and speed and strength.
Twelve good men without pretence
Agreed to the journey ahead,
But the cheery tales of places sailed
Belied their inner dread.
The crew we got were a hardy lot,
Experienced one and all,
But none were fools and caution ruled
When it came to signing aboard.
Continued on The Eye of the Sea part 2
The soldier, he looked down at me
While I protested vociferously.
He seemed to be but twenty-five
An age that weathered eyes belied.
And as I turned to walk away,
I heard the soldier up and say:
“It seems that you don’t understand,
What it takes to protect this land.
The price we pay for what we do,
What we suffer for folks like you.
The cost of keeping people free
Is letting go of the fantasies.
The stories all you people tell,
Burn away in war’s fiery hell.
The illusions that most people hold,
They Sink away to depths untold.
To keep you safe we confront truth,
And force along the end of youth.
You chant and say ‘Let’s end all war,’
It’s understandable deplored.
But you never seem able to derive,
That the end of war is the end of life.
As long as folks can think on their own,
Conflict will exist, and war will be close.
To end it all, the cost would be
All trace of individuality.
A price too great for man to know,
Better the chance of trading blows,
Than giving up what is our essence.
It’s a bloody but important lesson.
And since the battle can never end,
You’ll always have need of warrior men,
To fight against chaotic tides,
To hold a line against the night.
And as for seeing an end to war,
Only dead folks will see no more.
We don’t as much for what we do,
In money I make less than you!
We ask no power, small or large,
We don’t demand to be in charge.
We don’t need swoons or genuflects,
We ask only that you show respect.
And though it makes bleeding hearts burn,
It’s a respect we’ve dearly earned.
By watching buddies die and scream,
By hearing them in haunted dreams,
By seeing our peace-time lives crimped
By missing limbs and nagging limps.
We just want you to understand
What such a life does to a man.
To keep peace for this country, wide
A piece of all of us must die.
And even if we survive steel rain,
What comes home will never be the same.
We do it ‘cause it must be done,
To those for fear no law but guns.
We stand up strong and take the blast,
So common folks, the rage will pass.
And had we not chosen this life
You’d all feel the weight of death-run-rife.”
And then the soldier walked on by,
I could not believe he’d bought the lies!
The fool, he probably stayed up late,
Thinking up new folks to hate!
If he’d only go to college, he’d see
The real heroes are protesting…
...She spoke to him in friendly tones,
dropped him DMs and made it known
that she’d like to meet up some time,
a pleasant evening they could find.
She even said she was sorry
for mocking him so easily,
that she regret her wild youth,
(she couldn’t say it wasn’t truth!)
To her surprise, the man set yes,
Carmena nearly lost her breath
when she met him at the bistro,
into a handsome man he’d grown.
The date was such a real delight,
they talked for hours, until night,
as if they had been friends for years,
Oliver belied all her fears.
He wasn’t dull, at least not now,
that was the gift that age allowed,
to be free of youthful passions,
to see a man, learn to know him.
And though she swore she would hold back,
that night, at her place, she attacked
this man and led him to the bead,
they tossed and tumbled, then rested.
She awoke to see him standing,
picked up his clothes, stared dressing,
she said, “Come on, it’s a weekend,
come back to bed, let’s go again.”
Oliver just gave her a small smirk,
said, “Yeah, I don’t think that will work.
Fun as this was, it’s over see,
in truth, you’re kind of old for me…”
She looked up, shocked, not getting why
such words were coming from this guy,
he laughed again, and said, “I must
thank you first, for the both of us.
“I wasn’t hunting trim last night,
but alas, it somehow felt right
to bang the chick who shattered me,
and taught me how a man should be.
“You see, back then, I was quite dull,
respecting the ladies in full,
and what did that get me? Nothing.
Girls like bad boys, no denying.
“They crave men who treat them like sh-t,
that Chad ******* just displayed it,
you’d chose him over guys like me?
I make six figures, it’s lunacy!
“But hey, without you I’d have not
learned their tricks and got what they got.
the bad-boy game’s not hard to play,
and I get sex most every day.
“Just act strong, play the alpha game,
they’ll come running and give up strange,
no need for weddings or divorce,
and I don’t loose my shirt in court.
“So I guess this circle is done,
by the way, you had no protection…
I’ll see you ’round, Carmena dear,
but I don’t think I’ll come back here.”
With that he just sauntered away,
Carmena cried for the whole day,
and wished that her whole life would burn
for what she’d taught, and what she’d learned.
What beliefs within that do you define
the adversary's lies or Gods Truth divine
like a child absorbed what you've been taught
have you examined the things that are thought
In the stronghold of your heart and mind
the vast majority of information you will find
is designed to impair accurate thinking
because six thousand years of deceit are drinking
The Word of Truth is made for our correction
to tear down the the entanglements of defection
to expose corruption and self deception
the barriers and veil to the Father connection
People believe in angels but seem to forget
that the armies of Lucifer are still here yet
a deceiver and lies are his pathways
to deaden hearts where clouded thinking stays
Is the easter bunny a truth or lie
and when children grow up and do ask why
in the Truth of God they haven't believed
because like a fairy tale it is received
Just another story as it's understood
like the fables to show evil and good
that the outcome and end can't be serious
because they believe the Truth is mysterious
The paths of Truth lay within simplicity
and it's clarity does overcome lies duplicity
Gods Kingdoms children and such like ones
speak a single Truth not Babylon's tongues
Like the fiction of fairy tales lies reside
in religious doctrine whitewashed graves hide
by pomp and pageantry Jesus teaching denied
and the indoctrination of demons Gods Word belied
Fiction upon fiction are children fed
so like those tales Gods Truth made dead
why take it seriously when one is grown
all stories end happily in heaven is shown
What is important is what they get now
for death doesn't exist for eternal soul anyhow
Beliel and Satan and prophetic prediction
they can just chalk it up as another fiction
One cannot teach lies and be a spiritual Jew
by teaching of Jesus can only speak what is True
to be a Son of God with all lies must brake
for Holy Spirit must heart and mind remake
The Word of God should affect all reason
and clean out all thoughts that to God are treason
Jesus may have died to save all from sin
but that won't help if not reborn within
Behold I am coming quickly says He that is True
to cleanse the earth and make all things new
broad the path to destruction those chosen few
they have believed Gods Word and whats holy renew
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
(the following extrapolated
thought thread exercised,
NOT utilized to intimate
how Fats Domino belied,
and wowed a crowded house as-sized).
as a former ace procrastinator, i abhor
putting off doing what best ought
to get immediate attention bar
ring some extenuating dire circumstance,
sans mishap with flying car
pet case in point being unexpected a bomb
bin able crisis necessitating
hypothetical individual impossible
to remain calm
while in the process
(assisted with good ole mom)
to hoist self with one's own petard,
which emergency best warrant a re ward,
otherwise if fate doth NOT
require one to break
from ordinary business as usual
to enlist the "FAKE"
help of a grenadier,
who doth make
his/her livelihood
risking their life,
and limb without quake
king (obviously compensating bravery
as he/she doth stake
out mortal danger with adequate adorn
ing mortal kombat
with ample legal tender and/
or promising first born)
for unstinting mettle,
especially tolerating accompanying
martial baritone horn
player screech (like fingernails
scraping blackboard)
in close proximity - eliciting a scorn
ing glare from soldier spy
tinker tailor with a torn
smile while trained
special ops named Bjorn
incurs deadly hazard from one morn
to the next amidst adversity
shouldering care worn
Marine's motto semper fidelis,
which unnecessary loss of young life
predicated on add
age, viz being at the least,
a day late and dollar short egad
inadvertently dooming
princely valiant warmonger,
a mere stripling lad
whose mourning brings
heavy pallor of sad
ness, which imagined situation - aye
tangentially congruently analogous by
and by to the butterfly effect,
or sparrow's swan song i.e. die
destiny wrought, when one dost espy
a single occurrence no lie,
(the flickr ring, instagram
ming, kickstart ting well nigh
linkedin shutterfly of a butterfly)
say twerks catcher in the rye,
hence no matter how small, thee or thy
can change the course
of the universe forever,
no idea how nor why!
(unsettled conscience beckons expunging)
Upon espying aesthetically pleasing lass
(considerably younger than me),
middle aged ma'am, or classy older woman
impetuousness overtakes rationality
courting acquaintanceship constituting
aforementioned type female
these premature ejaculations
blindside yours truly
upon comfort level
of unfamiliar lady recipient,
(especially years gone by
with then young daughters in tow)
oft times lacked conscientious wherewithal,
how embarrassing offspring felt
at their buffoon papa appearing,
intimating, kickstarting... rapport
at first blush evincing politesse,
yet keen eldest progeny
adept to discern in apropos overture,
despite being well mannered
couched foray, an unconscious insinuation
discerned, hinted, leveraged...
unspoken ulterior motive,
yet honest to dog overt blurting
complement toward veritable stranger
essentially, intrepidly, overtly...
stated genuine pleasantry
attempting to recoup losses
from utterly abysmal
socially withdrawn adolescence
could easily be interpreted
as sexual innuendo
(particularly witnessed by
acutely perceptive first born),
whose reverence, asper in this dada
plummeted, especially cuz
similar instances occurred,
where ambiguity
to formulate unfavorable conclusion
tacked on her growing
list of gripes against dada
loosely analogous to Martin Luther,
whereby his “95 Theses,”
which propounded two central beliefs -
the Bible and central religious authority -
humans may reach salvation only
by their faith and not by their deeds -
was to spark Protestant Reformation,
which essentially kindled
figurative fuel to the fire
incrementally cleaving paternal dotage
undesirable, no matter Pedophilia
never goaded what in mine mind
amounted proving daring do,
since suppressed infatuations
decades past, this then
extremely reclusive knew
nothing about powder milk biscuits
to give shy people the strength
they need to get up and
do what needs to be done.
Thus, an apologia without exception,
whether or not these words seen to deux
darling daughters, plus
other gals who experienced discomfort
at innocuous attempt
to get linkedin with
whirling wide webbing of women.
(thank you All Poetry, Facebook, family
Poetry Soup,... et cetera global friends.)
A network of cherished kinships allied
forged, and linkedin analogous
to union of groom and bride
thru electronic bonds engender intrigue,
nonetheless unconditionally accept,
no matter I chide
self, and reference mine existence
as if...this mortal already died
now more appreciative than ever,
cuz younger days witnessed
peers that did elide
me accompanied with relentless
teasing, snubbing, roasting
akin tubby kindled over a fireside,
thus...solitude shadowed me as sole guide
peopled with books
to escape and hide
from so called "real"
webbed world, yet inside
this former grievous
lad through alienation,
emasculation, and isolation no joyride
valuing myself less than a pawn on
chessboard of life
envying extrovert as kingside
station depriving, insulating, and
ostracizing yours truly belied
to Matthew Scott Harris
marginally functioning, and denied
him camaraderie, dating, enjoying
female friendships due
to lack of confidence and pride
and at the cusp of
pubescence...a slow descending ride
into the hungry (anorexic)
maws of suicide,
which ideations hammer psyche,
now aghast how I tried
(without success) to disappear sundering
mine complex edifice
into the wide
abyss of nothingness, hence to treasure
those electronic connections,
perhaps...totally no more'n four score
(and seven years ago)
all told of unbeknown village people
comprising worthy chums,
sans human league roar
ring (okay pardon the hyperbole),
but letting this foo fighter explore
a greater range of interpersonal
(no matter virtual), but each
unnamed cyber buddy worth more
than simple rhyming galore
words express, some
or all those who sprung
from Earth, wind and fire,
viz cosmic toreador
this poet would their
physical presence adore,
who realizes genuine experienced love
second best option
communicated thru the Internet...bonjour,
hence please accept at the least
(even thee lovely cousins,
daughters, sister Shari por favor,
a hug emanating from within mine
integrated central processing unit core!
A drunkard, a thief and a con man,
Who was known by the name Greedy Jack,
Lived a life so vile Satan watched him awhile,
Said, "Of sin in his life there's no lack."
He decided to pay Jack a visit.
Thought with this man he'd have some fun.
Said, "Jack, you're an ass. You ain't got no class.
You're coming with me, Man you're done."
Jack asked him for one final favor.
One last night of drinks on the town.
Satan agreed, Jack really could plead,
And Satan and Jack made the rounds.
When at last the night's drinking was done,
Jack said, "I've no money. You pay.
Turn yourself into coin and the drinks we'll purloin.
We'll slip out the door free and gay.
The devil agreed to the trickery,
And turned into some coin on the sly.
But while he was coin Jack made sure he was joined,
In his pocket with crosses, Belied.
Jack said he would free him if he,
Would grant him ten years to be free.
The devil agreed and he'd have all he'd need,
But in ten years he must pay the fee.
In ten years the devil was back,
And Jack knew he had to think fast.
He asked for an apple for he wanted to sample,
The sweet apple tree they'd just passed.
The devil once more agreed.
He even got him to climb up and pick it.
But while he climbed the tree Jack whipped out three,
Silver crosses to lay there beneath it.
Jack told him that he'd let him down,
But first he must grant one last boon.
He'd not pay for his crimes to the end of all time,
And the devil agreed as he fumed.
Jack thought that he'd won the match,
But time passed and he grew old and sick.
He knew he must die and he let out a cry,
"God forgive me I'm all out of tricks.
But God would not let him in,
And Satan said a deal is a deal.
You must wander the earth, this now is your berth.
You're stuck Man. Now how does it feel.
Satan gave him an ember of coal,
To light his dark path as he left.
He carved out a tuber, he felt in a stupor.
He'd use this for a lantern he guessed.
So he now walks the earth a lost soul.
Not wanted in Heaven or Hell.
With a coal in a pumpkin at least he has somethin',
To light his dark path 'cross the fell.
Ofttimes yours truly assiduously tries to adlib,
but blubbers like a landlubber
at sea treading water donned with bib
(that doubles as yellow
spongy bobbing life jacket)
furiously doing doggy paddle
riding the next tidal wave
hoop fully washing me ashore to crib
if need be to dig an underwater channel
painstakingly slow drabs and drib.
The English language I simply adore
though offtimes methinks waxing eloquent
affects listeners as yours truly a bore
in record time flapping waxed lips
beholds one gordian
tongue tied knot major chore,
whereby I wanna bolt out figurative door
feeling deplorable and stuck
analogous to Eeyore.
Ache 'n to launch into a monologue
or chime into ongoing dialogue
me noggin off times generates brain fog
mental state mimicking one,
who quaffed an over abundance of grog,
which for this teetotaler would constitute
a mere thimble full of drink,
perhaps rum enhanced eggnog
just one sip and boing I go
topsy turvy as if a felled log
hit me over the head
rendering me unconscious.
Thus wood explain mine altered state
though unsightly gash on pate
battle scar leveled playing field
with the missus, 't other significant primate
supplementing and complementing
one aging long haired
pencil (vane ya) necked geek
being caged, yet free
to roam within human zoo
both, (née all) of us captive
on carousel of time
nsync with every other *****sapien
begot to participate in circle game.
All superfluous joking aside,
I strive to groom conversation,
whereby uninterrupted flow of words
(versus fumfering, hemming, hawing,
stammering, stuttering...), thine
general oral feedback paradigmatic guide
ever diligent to think
before I speak with pride
else I heep discourtesy
upon myself and chide
yours truly with harsh rebukes,
which maybe tantamount
going off the mountainside
plummeting into the abyss
engenders an unpleasant
metaphoric roller coaster ride,
and if crash test dummy doth survive -
upon gibbet he will be tried
punishment broadcast world wide
for flagrant horrendous verbal
egregiousness (waywardness) he belied.