Long Black sheep Poems
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In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
Have they gone suddenly silent, these yearlings tender lambs,
In the stilled quiet amongst the melting snows of winter,
The mountain fields run crimson, and an eerie stench oozing
Upon the winds of distain!
The cannibal lies within the forest of the towered halls,
In the giant fortresses of mankind, he does stalk amongst his own brethren,
No wolfed bite of treachery could leave such a mark of
Terror, as he the beast, whom would feast upon the raw flesh
Of his kindred kind!
A gentlemen chamleon blending amongst the tailcoats
Of learned men, sheathed within the amour of intelligence's,
A humanistic wolf moves flawlessly, within the herds of the
Meek and mild, to pick his victims of the city flock
At his leisure of desires pleasure!
Underneath the outstretched wings of the red dragon,
The bubbling caldron pot of truest evil, does runneth over,
With the gravy’s leavening's of the corruption and violence,
Welcoming this creature of the demonic to the dinning
Table of the unrighteous and wicked!
Black sheep, black sheep, do you have any wool,
The whittend lamb does ask, nay but in the woods
Therein, lies many go within the wolves din and take
What you like at your own risk of course, my innocent
Friend, but beneath the blackened skinned wool the
Wolf does smile, with a sheepish grinning!
In an extravagant restaurant a well-mannered gentlemen,
Orders the specialty of the house to go, later he adds
He adds his special ingredients, spiced to the taste
Buds of the cook himself, it sizzles with an unusual
Oromia of well-cooked human flesh, the cannibal
Smiles with delight at his culinary masterpiece,
As the police knock at his door, with a missing
Persons report!
In the jail cell of the lost souls, he the cannibal known
As Hannibal Lector has no regrets, except say one,
The meal he never got to finish!
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Our lives are not immune to the impact of time,
nor is our mind between the tensions of love and hate.
That's why I curse this wanderlust heart -
still searching for that wandering star.
without a guide - without a love to call my own.
I try not to look back, but sometimes certain scents,
remind me of things that saw me as a minority.
A summer heart misplaced in winter's wickedness,
a child frozen in the passages of a stolen childhood.
Ingredients of my life are a juxtaposition of flavours,
finding purity among diseased hearts,
fighting against principles of corrupt minds
and I hurt nobody - until they pushed me,
it was never about the physical - but the mental.
Silence is different in adolescence -
suppressed into a protective bubble,
you reject the harshness of existence.
My small hands could not hold the burdens,
so I was mute as demons slayed my father,
his anger drowning my brothers into darkness.
Tears of my mother, dehydrated my soul,
so I grew like a tree with broken branches -
sometimes naked, sometimes an abundance of green.
Even in an obscure world of nightmares,
my heart was a light bulb, full of dreams -
but misplaced in a place of misunderstanding.
I adopted silence in the violence,
because I struggled with reality's fabrications.
Fatherless,
I found acceptance in the war on the streets,
where love was poison, but hate brought prosperity.
Only surviving due to my father's name,
yet I knew it was an unwinnable game.
My hands were pacifying guns,
so I learned to exist without bullets.
I was a black sheep in a strange white herd,
opposing shepherds who couldn't tolerate me.
A clean soul in a dirty social order -
a peaceful heart seeking a place to call home.
Silence is a choice in adulthood.
I used to ignore the pain from unhealed wounds,
but today the inner child screams and shouts,
because oppressors can no longer mute my tongue.
Death taught me not to be bitter,
stubborn fingers how to bleed ink onto paper -
showing compassion in an ugly world.
If life was so simple, we wouldn't look at it differently.
Our perceptions are based on what we have learned,
what was, what is to come and what we search for.
Where you end up depends on how you deal with the past.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
The afternoon's a fire, but my head still frozen to the pillow.
The fan blows soft and I lay softer.
Without a signifier I'll get up for the 4th hour in a row,
I'll stay ignorant to all the day can offer.
That's the sixth day out of eight I've laid, late.
Fostering doubt.
Guess I'll try out gout.
Stuck in the bed that I've made.
They took the trees down on Spring Garden
"Regrowth is a process" I said lying
I remember stretching out my arms when
I spread out these roots of mine.
Branching out, I watched bark harden
As we were dying on the vine.
I used to see the pasture line
Far beyond what I can describe
These days I just can't seem to find-
The right words
Make all the difference.
All your sins laid out before you, which ones would you keep?
What misdeed really makes you proud?
I know you have one too, that ball of black down in the heart, deep.
But you just won't say out loud
It's okay, take your time
It's a tough question I know
Could be a theft, maybe a lie.
Could be something darker though.
I betrayed the one I loved
I did my very best impression of Brutus
It's what I'm most shameful of
When I broke the trust between the two of us
But it set off an avalanche
That broke the mountain, truly
Memories of our last dance
Taunt and tease me cruelly
But then I saw another chance
So I reached out and pulled it to me
I was looking to come to terms
With the people I hurt and the lessons I learned
When I saw the sun set on the skyline through someone else's lens
And I waited for my new life
And my old one to end
It inspired me to live again
To put the past behind
Take the opportunity to make amends
"Regrowth is a process"
I mean it this time.
So this is my confessional.
Every passage is a penance.
I put myself on trial.
With every line a sentence.
No doubt it was bad, I couldn't prove you wrong.
Afterward it really dug into me
And I tortured me for so long
But there's a lot to personality,
People are complex
And when you do the work it seems
Your personage resets
So judge me all you want you see
I'll gladly be the black sheep.
Because without it all where would I be?
All my sins laid out before me, which one would I keep?
I think I'll just keep all of me
Embrace by letting go, remember while forgetting
turn fire to ice, pay the price for something free
and just let me be in my little world of insanity:
where gravity collides with space, fish swim in it
where time runs backwards and your birth is death
the wisdom of and old age slowly vanishing as years pass
you become younger and younger; stronger and stronger
until you begin to wonder, what are these things I'm looking at
tiny hands, tiny feet, the final hour of defeat
in a fetal position you lie in bed, unaware, uncertain
tick-tock; nothing more than a stain; vanished, gone
where the absurd is normal and only the informal
is deemed sane, the insane run the show, while it may seem
hectic even the skeptic accepts all opinions without doubt
where the Sun shines darkness and all are afraid of the light
because it just might reveal their lightest secrets
where the Moon smiles because when it's in an eclipse
for a glimpse of an hour it holds hands with Earth, reunited
at long last, escaping the shadows of the past - only sadness
lurks there, the Moon, the Moon, living without a care
Hold me go, let me tight, freeze the ice, burn the glow of snow
let me tight, hold me go
Siht ecalp si ton rof em!
The essence of silence shadowed by the roar of the storm
voices of the just silenced by the shouts of the idiots,
Dance my little marionettes, trade your freewill for the comfort
of a warm couch and a TV, be obedient and wash your brain
don't question just accept, don't evolve just slightly adapt
don't use your potential just be a small part of the sequential flow of data
once you bend the way we want you to, all is good
An aggressive approach indeed, the question is where does it lead
BAM goes the stamp - you've been rejected, ejected from society
the black sheep of a deluded reality, some sort of a fail revolutionary
a stationary passenger waiting for the bus of conspiracy
What a meager attempt from a conspiracy buff-
The painful truth be told,the less intelligent the people are
the easier they can be controlled, the greater the amount
of idiots shouting, less is the chance of the just to be heard
Absurd, ABSurd, ABSURD!!!
Quiet down my children, follow the Shepherd back to the herd
the lonely Sheep is bound to be eaten by the Wolf.
Form:
“Hyacintho Caelum”
salvus me
per poetica
Hyacintho Caelum
advenit
sicut turbo
in pluvia
red life reigns
poetry awakens
opening
gifts again
a gain
Life
mysterious
calls us all forward
metronome time
constantly calling
the call
it never changes
the poets’ Majesty
pleasure through
the wrecking balls
dropping white and
black dogs barking pain
blue sky arrives
through inner worlds
ownership -
their belief in faith
messages
in the crazy minds
all turning keys
treasure notes
delivered
and passed
like naughty kids
in class, romantic
black sheep
waving white flags
and all the recalcitrant
revolutionaries
marching metronomes
marking wild rides
through storms
in search of some
golden purpose
down rabbit holes following
their shining diamonds
tears of mutes imparting
stars shining their way
they seem like magi
searching for some better
more beautiful
destiny
dark night
becomes day, eventually
some not blind, find losers
leading the way
red roses,
sacred hearts
deep, some
bitter and dark
turning inwards
then outwards
now becoming bees
pollinating the blooming
of all the others
lost then found
poets
and their stories
parked, for sedentary
ghosts to read
ignite new sparks
blessed
through soft and harsh
sentences
in the prisons
of their mind
they are now
opening doors
like the Magi
protectively
holding forth
their Frankincense
and Myrrh
wisdom for fools
now wise men
is eventually found
in an unrecognised world
birthing pearls
placed reverently
on electric walls of worship
lights glowing ultra violet
are ignited by something other
to lead the way
Winter watches sky
arriving on clouds
Christmas melts all
like a Summer heatwave
hearts to bloom again
we have read
what others wrote
poems and verses
in their ancient tomes
their scrying books
before us they
were searching
for their purpose
written with love
through joy and pain
gifts and lessons
through
one true word
our destiny
now begins
LOVE
always
wins
awakening
awakenings
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
Christmas, 2021
The Poets
I ate what was given,
yet still, I grew too much,
my body betrayed me,
while your words cut like a blade.
“You’re so fat,” you'd say,
as if it was my fault to bear,
a child branded for something
I couldn’t fix or repair.
Still, you'd say, "Eat all your dinner,"
like that would make me right,
feeding the guilt with every bite,
in the silence of the night.
You blamed me for what I couldn’t change,
for the flesh I never chose,
as if I was a broken thing,
something you could dispose.
Each word you threw, like daggers sharp,
pierced deeper every day,
but now I see it wasn’t me—
it was your hate, your dismay.
You saw me as something less,
something unworthy of love,
but I’m more than your cruel words,
more than your push and shove.
You wanted me to call you dad,
you were meant to be a stepdad,
but you didn’t even step up—
never once did you try to stand by.
Not once did you show me you cared,
not once did you try to see,
a father’s love should lift, not break,
but you couldn't even notice me.
The black sheep of the family,
unseen, unloved, alone,
you wouldn’t have noticed if I disappeared—
I was just a name you’d disown.
And my mum, she wasn’t better,
her love as cold as stone,
standing silent, watching me fall,
never lifting me alone.
You both tried to pass on your pain,
to make yourselves feel whole,
but I won’t carry what you gave me—
my heart is not your toll.
I already have enough to hold,
too much to carry from the past,
I won't let your brokenness define me,
I’ll rise, I’ll make it last.
My bedroom, my safe place,
so quiet, so alone,
just what I need to heal,
to find the peace I’ve never known.
But I am stronger now.
I’ve risen from the wreckage you left behind—
slimmer, happier, healthier,
a soul refined.
You never gave me the tools to live,
so I learned them on my own,
built myself up from the ruins,
and now I stand, fully grown.
I’ve gained wisdom, strength, and grace,
things you could never steal.
I nourish my body with care,
and honor what is real.
I am whole, I am free,
unshackled from your past—
I’ve found the light within me,
and nothing can outlast.
Facts beyond Illusion
The absence of who you are falls short of whom you could truly become.
The decline that leaves you slain without hope. Sliding down a slippery slope after slippery slope. Looking back at the years with no end in sight.
Where have all those years gone? The righteous ones, the heroines and heroes of truth. Now there seems to be this new norm running loose. Wrong is the new right and vice versa are those thoughts that wage war on our minds. Those thoughts that seem so hard to find. Our eyes do not deceive or betray us, but there is still no justice. The makeup that made you has started to crumble and fade, now you wonder if you have been laid to rest without a shred of dignity.
Falling to your feet, subdued by the sheer weight that bestows the question of, what it all means. There is no judge nor jury to preside over things that are true. It appears that the laws that are written have a certain vibe of bias when looking through the hourglass, but blinded by the sand in front. By the time the sands clears, one would think, now you can see the truth, but it disappears in plain sight. Ups and downs are these scales foreshadowing the twist and turns of this rollercoaster ride, where we all died inside. Puzzles are broken into multiple pieces, releasing the pain that is increasingly felt inward. Causing a downward spiral of drunkenness. Spinning in a circular motion of consternation. Chastised by man based on the premise of misinformation hesitation has caused an even bigger loss of life. Cutting like a knife, losing themselves in confusion, with no repercussion for the fallen. Just a percussion of lies from your mouth to our ears, tears with no guilt. Just laughter when it comes crumbling down. Frowns of disbelief sicken you from inside as the plot thickens, labeled you the black sheep. Displaying enough bravery to stand alone and atone for the ones that shall remain nameless. The cost was
too high as so many loves ones have died. Infinite lies that should lie in the belly of the beast. Just to hold on to that one moment of release to fight for freedom and peace.
Darius Howard
April 19th 2020
Tattle cries are just as loud as battle cries,
but the difference is
tears from mannequins dry on untouchable skin.
You may have a purpose, but your attempt at a movement
is motionless because your passion
is a carefully constructed image
replicated in a false ideology
that manifests into something specific
obtaining a manual manipulation.
A self servant visibility is indicative
of an egocentric personality and everything insinuated
to be perceptually believed as sacred
usually doesn't leave further than the tapping of your fingers.
You proselytize by regurgitating the ways
of a preferred deity and establish yourself
by turning your mirror to reflect the angle
of how you want to be seen and adjust your thoughts
for a higher seat in your vanity
in order to possess everything in your hypocrisy.
The feedback you get initiates a sedimentary mask
you proudly wear and give a name to because
as a statuesque representative in an upscale consumption
of physical and mindful gluttony,
it is the exemplary rock to inscribe your identity.
You disguise it as spirituality, enlightenment, or awareness
labeling it as politics, religion, parenting, racism,
abortion, extortion, activism, or sexism.
It does not, in anyway, alleviate
the struggling strong minded from with holding their weeps
on garments bled by friends in unsung tongues and private sin,
in time well spent where the secrets
of the heart are kept for keeps rather than exposed and disposed of
in a widespread generic documentary
for the world to see the effects of their warfare.
Where words of vulnerability and exposed nerves
are perceived as nothing but memes and black sheep
trying to be shepherds making lists of things
to better humanity in articles utilized by a machine.
As if the top ten life hacks will take neglcted children
out of the slums of a poor shack
and stop the hateful attacks on those who need welfare.
The bandaging by labeling and over medicating
will not eradicate the urgent need for eye to eye,
flesh to flesh, heart to heart
laughing, kind, grateful, melting of this
plastic society.
(G Penta minor for the first lines in a ballad pulse 72 quarter, )
My wolves are my strength, and I am their strength
We are a pack, and we are family
Messing with them is messing with me
Messing with me is messing with them
Different species are in our ranks. We are no longer exclusively one species.
(F Blues/D major – pulse 90 then 120 quarter)
We gather ourselves towards the kill and strike
Come and try to fight us and you’ll find out the strength of our bite
Here us howl
Oh, little lamb how the flesh feeds us and comes out in a pile of excrement
Of course, you were a pile of excrement when you opened your mouth to bleh with the others of your false flock
You lied to the others about being the strength of a pack when you were a mere charcutier board
(Repeat backwards)
Of course, you were a pile of waste when you opened your jaws to speak as you were following the flock into the slaughterhouse
Oh! Little Lamb how your flesh was to become the food for those that have demonized us, while giving you a false hope to be redeemed, when in truth they were stealing your spirit and soul.
Your body was the last thing to be given away.
They wanted it until you took it back.
You were thrown to us to become the flesh we need to survive. Well, little lamb you were not a true lamb.
(Eb minor 100 quarter)
You were not a black sheep.
You were a small wolf being feed lies by a den of thieves that gave you that name.
When we asked what your name was you stated that you were called a Lamb.
They have betrayed you and threw you to us.
They thought they knew the wolves and gave us little credit.
We have existed before they came about.
We were the ones that guarded them when they were weak
We only eat the ones that hurt the population dynamics
Little Lamb, do you see the one next to me?
It is a lamb that travels with me as my mate.
A lamb that travels with the wolves will never be alone or need to show fear from us or from anyone; because the strength of one is the strength of all, and the strength of all is the strength of one.
Come join us for the kill and the fight to survive!