Long Beseeched Poems
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Tears in the Garden of Gethsemane were in a downpour
They ran deep in the cracks of pain of a divine soul
There was an endurance of a struggle to repress the world’s evils
An anguish that could not edify Jesus' slumbering disciples
The passing of that grief was beyond what scripture could show
The rain hanged in the clouds to let Jesus’ tears flow
Dripping from his eyes and drenching his white robe
The lord absorbed humanity’s inflictions with every heartthrob
The life that was breathed into the Garden of Eden
Jesus held its breath to give us a new life in Gethsemane
An immolation of divinity no prophet could amply inscribe
A supplication beyond any prayer that the saved can imbibe
It is the longest time a man has ever beseeched and knelt
The most hits the world’s spines of sin can ever pelt
The heaviest burden a single man has ever felt
Agape flooded Gethsemane when God's tears spilt
January twelfth two thousand and ten
October seventh two thousand eighteen
and again August fourteenth,
two thousand and twenty one
witnessed near annihilation and destruction
of the Haitian nation,
(especially courtesy first and third aforementioned)
whereby countless/ nameless individuals
e’en the strongest Herculean type men
crushed by humungous slabs of building facades
practically demolishing every creation
since this island settled,
which indigenous tribes initially sought safety
in any geologic den
seeking solace and salvation
from wrath of nature
by paying obeisance via oblation,
perhaps giving credence
to clear water in tandem with rooster and hen
that laid a golden egg, especially
as encroaching savages affected violation
particularly when Europeans
foisted forfeiture of land
with primitive implement like pen
no matter that travesty, trickery, mockery,
et cetera wrought humiliation
pleading invaders to forsake such actions
rent asunder culture beseeched divine force
argh inhumane brutish, nasty and (shortish)
simians (compared to 21st century Homo sapiens)
refused to cease desecration,
yet the peoples of this dominion
rose from the ashes like the phoenix like bird
no matter genetic pool
underwent white washing from scouring influx
from western thumping proselytizers,
which alien beliefs hard to swallow like curd
and basically bribery (with lustrous trinkets)
and those coveted legal tender bucks
foisted/ forced the unpleasant alternative
(wanton slaughter) to be clearly heard,
yet within the very fiber of tropical mangrove
persons patiently lined up their ducks
as intimated by this aging hippy type nerd,
and declared as the first
African American peoples spurred
INDEPENDENCE to be the word.
Wave upon wave of melancholic feelings of foreboding
barely seventeen and the world was closing in
She would never get the chance to watch her body aging
because of a genetic aberration that was inherited by next of kin.
While the hourglass of time sifted gently through her fingers,
every fiber of her body beseeched and urged, for one more day;
As the chamber of life emptied
her soul became readied *
Then like a dandelion to the lips
she blew the seeds away,
scattering all her hopes
throughout the living air
It was a sad dispersal
f a young girl's passions, and truth be told
she found this to be, quite unfair.
Like bursting orange pearls that float from mellowing trees
Translucent the montage of falling heaves and heaps
Dressing the ground adorning Winter's gate to pass through
In timeless drift to fall and wither to anew
Winds shift to drift like sifted flour, powdered
Like donuts sprinkled with white sugar devoured
Eating the sky with whistles and howls beseeched
Swirling to turn briskly finding its colder breach
Morning tide arises to lift its globeflower sun
Blooming low with arms outstretched, spreading stunned
Bleeding orange in mother earth's basket filling
Bidding to inspire the courage of all souls willing
Breaking through darkness this guardian of hope arises
For great is the heart's bequest to dream beyond horizons
Blazing orange in the pristine painted sky this glorious morn
Primordial our story, our peace, our beauty be reborn
10-11-2019
In the twilight hours, a sense of eerie panic drapes the land,
A silent fear, like a shadow of a forgotten truth,
Uncertainty whispers through the crumbling walls of once-reliable faiths,
Institutions that stood like ancient oaks, now hollow, fragile, trembling.
There is a Presidential Election, marked on the calendar,
Yet, the air is thick with a void, a chasm where a leader should stand.
No President, only a chorus of echoes,
Promises that dissolve into mist, leaving the soul adrift.
I felt free and chained in the same breath,
An oxymoron of existence, a paradox of hope and despair,
Like the cusp of an election, when the stage is set,
And all the crooks parade in borrowed honor, their smiles a mask of deceit.
You are beseeched to vote for the right man,
But who among the thieves wears the least tarnished cloak?
Freedom, a gilded cage, its bars forged from the illusion of choice,
Chains that shimmer with the false glitter of democracy.
In the labyrinth of my mind, thoughts flow like a river of molten gold,
Words melt into metaphors, emotions entwine with reason,
A narrative of consciousness, where every verse is a mirror,
Reflecting the melancholy of a world on the brink of change.
I walk through the echoes of broken promises,
Through the fog of lost certainties, seeking a lighthouse in the storm,
A beacon of truth in a sea of lies,
Yet, the horizon remains a blur, the future a shadow of doubt.
The vote is cast, a pebble in the ocean,
Ripples spreading through the turbulent waters of fate,
And I stand, free and chained, in the twilight of hope and despair,
Waiting for the dawn, for the first light to pierce the veil of night.
Better to be bold in battle
then benign in retreat!
No victory comes from actions prattle;
May honor be found in refusing defeat -
My vaults will not be breeched
by faults,
may we have a merry waltz
devoid of all unsavory salts,
this of you I have beseeched -
On this table we have met to render fable
rich as ancient Babyl,
heralds of ancestral heros and our forces' label,
bulwarks raised above this field's haze, stalwart gaurds strong and poised,
daunting sounds of ritual carols, the primal ones that spirits praise,
what is this match but a moment for atonement,
trite tribute and humble homage if you wicked will foment,
my battalions and I are stolid, faithful, our souls not being rent,
the birds in sky like personal medallions signify for we, victory is meant,
in the center sentries stood,subterfuge, lethal blows I knew you would,
a Queen as envoy repelled rudely, religiously crude as you brood,
armistice you will seek knowing bleak the future be,
like battered egos quiet speak,loosing strength,you shall weep and sneek
to snatch the proud prey from eagle's beak, your pommel being sweaty sleek,
terrified of the Promeathean peak, of my glory you may peek,
The mellow march of my bagpipes,a pallid pitch that makes men creep
they like leary sheep my wolves will eat,
must you trust a God of glutton lust,and savor his decree,
of Athena I have asked,athwart this army made by brass,
as broken glass shattered fast it shall yeild to Her Mass,
shaken soldiers running past, your eyes will cry the slaughters vast,
pray not in vain to block our rasp, or for this fauna you'll be mast,
my blood as Emperor say you crave, oh how brave,
like a slave made the day his grave was paved,
such a man is never saved,
J.A.B. Part One -
Where do I go from here Jehovah. I have tried and I have not succeed. I did what
you have adviced and failed. I have followed your exampled, and instead I was
ostracized. You have seen my affliction, and you heard my out cried. I am wobbling
in a pit of excrement, and where is my rope. I have done nothing wrong again,and I
am being slaughtered. You have seen the two side on the coin, and why sweet
Jehovah you have not save me. Why per long this saga when every story has an
ending. Why make bad people look righteous, and good people look wicked. I have
beseeched you on matters and I have groped for your advice, and I have follow
them. Then where is my victory, you are "Jehovah God of Army" ,and I have lost the
war.
Jack Frost nibbled at my fingers
And he froze my toes
He put rouge on both of my cheeks
And blusher on my nose
He spread ice crystals through my hair
And on my eye brows too
He froze my moustache to my beard
So I can’t talk to you
That’s why I’m writing in the snow
With this here pointed stick
And keeping clear of hills so that…
I don’t go downhill quick
This ground so crisp and even
With no slopes to slip and slide
Seemed a really safe place till…
I spied the thing I spied
For when you gaze upon the ground
You might see the odd crack
But what you don’t expect to see
Is fishes looking back
It didn’t take too long a while
To work out my mistake
This little patch of terra firma
Is a frozen lake
I pulled apart moustache and beard
And shouted to my mate
I haven’t done it in a while…
I’m gonna try to skate
I got a decent distance
A manoeuvre that was rash
A fish leapt from the water and
It came down with a splash
I tried to turn but had no grip
So headed for that hole
And I beseeched the weather Gods
To save my frozen soul
And as I reached the ice free hole
I prayed my life to keep
But I found myself standing
For the lake was two feet deep.
So Jack Frost sent me paddling
And I’m frozen to the bone
I need a nice warm change of clothes
And so I grabbed my phone
Pretty soon my wife arrived
And briefly I was bare
My wife said, “Jack Frost; he’s a one,
To have bitten you right there.”
....When she gets bored of Mr. Slick
and wants to have real fun.
You win some you lose some Newssome.
You abuse some,
misuse funds,
talk about appropriations,
self donations,
inappropriate grooming curriculum, son.
You have seen Mr. McDonald get his
unhappy meal on.
You aint seen nothing yet,
just sit down and getsome.
You are like flotsam and jetsam,
jetsetter for perverted UncleSam,
Vagabond salesman,
if you aint got none you createsome-
choreographer, Cartel Coyote's cartographer
peddling your routine up and down
the West Coasts like fentanyl was red rum.
Hey, I know, "Spirit fingers",
where they're not supposed to be.
In the mid-east they chop them off for thievery,
how much more for stolen innocence, blasphemy?
Sticking in your curacomb wand in
the young and gagging throats,
grooming them along,
suppress any dissenting tongue
till the vomit can be depressed no longer
going going along with Gomorrah
and your lot of Sodom.
Your Madame girl, casting plots,
creating poorn and connecting the buyer dots,
aqua on the tongue,
polka young one, right,
cross the cross, cross the border,
cross the line dot com.
You got sanctuary City,
plastic titties on Men and now want to
do children and throw your wrench in- Dodging balls Sporting Women.
Tale of two opposing campaign promises-City-
Destroyer,
mass exodus equity mis-opportunity
deployer
through L...... till your knuckles get bored .. ...,
off to other things like
vaccine Court Order,
New World Hoarders of rights,
food, travel, autonomy and speech.
Shadow candidacy come deadline
Dateline Promoter on August 18th.
El Presidente' can surely expand your groping reach.
For your band of pick-pockets
infantried by ordered unnational
exchange and securities.
The demon horde lackeys who have monopoly
on who can get impeached, beseeched, leeched
and teached or who can be seen
or breached.
Who is allowed to travel, unmask,
and pollute the jet-stream.
Soon, who will be allowed to eat or breathe.
I want to make a comment to anyone who might read this poem. It caused a huge sensation when I first published it on FaceBook. I started receiving hundreds of friend requests daily. It honestly frightened me. I am deeply sorry if I offend anyone. My poetry comes from the air and often it is sad, sometimes angry.
I wonder if we realize how vital a friendship is?
How Highly; Jesus, the man,
valued friendships’ bond above a mortal life,
And beseeched His Father, in that tortured night,
Not to leave us alone.
Such need is met in a frightened broken soul
by the gentle touch of a friend’s gentle hand?
Rejection –
without pardon,
can rive the best.
Lost hope,
when abandoned,
rend us fragile and alone.
Can our friendships not endure strong to the test?
As penitent prodigals, we all seek our way home.
Desperately we grapple for this sought reprieve
So that none may be lost? No-one turned aside?
Denied gracious acceptance,
A loving embrace, mercies sweet freedom;
That all joy may increase?
Why do we choose to abandon each other?
Withholding forgiveness, and restoration
From a weaker, stumbling brother.
Who bears the greater judgment?
As we condemn one another!
What sad insanity,
Broken vows from wanton need!
We turn aside,
crush their pearls,
Watch them bleed!
Who cares?
They are not at a place
to meet our own spiritual needs!
The selfishness of this current age,
Is appalling to behold!
Leaving ashes in our wake…
“Ichabod” cries the Holy One!
As faltering hearts’ grow cold.
04/02/2019
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