Long Built to last Poems
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In our small community, there was a library surrounded by a playground filled with play equipment for children. There was a large and strong swing set
made of iron. There were also a sliding board and merry-go-round, both large. This swing set was the best, and it was built to last, with no fear of breakage.
Whenever the coast was clear, and if no one chased us off, we'd play for hours. "Coast was clear? What on earth do you mean?". What must be understood is this: In America, I grew up in the 50's and 60's in the rural South. Jim Crow laws were in full force, and that presented a major 'bigger than life' problem that my friends and I had to overcome. There was only one playground in town, and it was for "Whites Only".
However, in this heavy farming community, our playtime was limited and restricted. Because of that, when the 'spirit of playtime' embraced itself around us, we were willing to violate the rules and have fun as long as we could, which usually was a very short duration. It was like flying through the air without wings on childhood aircraft forbidden to us. So many other freedoms that were taken for granted by most kids in America were denied to us; but to play on that vast playground was so much fun and so liberating, that we broke the Southern Rule. I cannot count the many times that we were chased off; but we always went back, again and again.
No. We were not trying to change the world; we just wanted to swing.
No. We were not fighting for civil rights; we just wanted to slide on the boards. We were simply innocent kids, looking for joy rides on the merry-go-round.
If we had a motto, it was not "Let Freedom Ring; but rather, "Let Freedom Swing".
That was over 50 years ago, when Jim Crow was alive and well in America. Now, most people prefer to forget that he ever lived. I choose to remember.*
10192017 Contest, The Sounds Of The Past, Roper; Chosen picture for theme: The Swing Set; 2ndPl;*"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it", John Santayana
songer.co/song/rbydqk4der6jizslma0xvgcl
[Intro]
He thinks he’s a king, rollin’ loud and proud,
Don’t hear the whispers, just craves the crowd.
[Verse 1]
I rattle when I roll—call it my battle cry,
Got a hood full of thunder, howlin’ at the sky.
Paint’s peeled off, sun’s tanned my skin,
But I still glow like a firefly trapped in tin.
They turn their heads when I let loose my sound—
My smoke screams, I own this ground.
[Chorus]
Yeah, I’m slick, just look how I gleam,
Every scratch on me’s got a story and some steam.
Them fellas glare hard, tryin’ not to be caught—
Wishin’ they had half the wild I’ve brought.
(“I see you, Darryl, don’t act like you ain’t lookin’.”)
And the ladies? Ha! They blush like they mean—
Mmm-hmm... I’m still turnin’ heads, know what I mean?
[Verse 2]
Those seat springs pokin’, feel like a hug,
Wipers stuck on, like they’re cuttin’ a rug.
A/C’s dead, but the sauna’s a blast,
Who needs cool when you’re built to last?
Got the radio blarin’, my favorite tune,
Life’s a party, under the silver moon.
Every corner I hit makes the heart race fast,
In this thrill machine, I’m never outclassed.
[Chorus]
Yeah, I’m slick, just look how I gleam,
Every scratch on me’s got a story and some steam.
Them fellas glare hard, tryin’ not to be caught—
Wishin’ they had half the wild I’ve brought.
(“I see you, Darryl, don’t act like you ain’t lookin’.”)
And the ladies? Ha! They blush like they mean—
Mmm-hmm... I’m still turnin’ heads, know what I mean?
[Bridge]
Drive into the sunset, nothing’s outta reach,
Paint me a picture that no one can teach.
With wheels on fire, and a heart full of dreams,
Living for the now, ripping at the seams.
[Verse 3]
So crank it up high, let that energy flow,
I’m a comet runnin’, with a hell of a show.
Sparks fly by, hear the engine roar,
This ride ain’t a journey, it’s an open door.
With every mile traveled, my spirit’s set free,
You can spot me easily, living wild and carefree.
[Outro]
So here’s to the wild, and here’s to the fun,
With the top rolled back, yeah, I’m never done.
Still turning heads, through thick and thin,
In this life I’m leading, I’m ready to win!
Wow well that's clever. I mean really really intelligent. Must have done all the research well. And drawn exact plans as to not make any errors. Roaring fires sit down in an ice bucket whilst wild seas are placed in shot glasses. Wow. How rather remarkable. What a notion. Ideal isn't it? And squashing the elephant into a child's bathing suit and that mammoth into a negligée meant for a petite lady frame. And as for the wild rampaging rivers well they are meant to be channelled into one centimetre alleyways built with cardboard cut-outs. Dugouts are neither pull outs nor are they pop up books. And bookshops selling their hardbacks with cushions for pages and covers of corrosive substances. Hardly hardy and built to last are they? Which causes the pavements and other concrete areas to crack resembling an old man's face then weep like a memory of childhood dreams. Landscapes link lines and lines frown. And frowning is not a frolicking fauna nor fawn and a dawn would always say hello to the tops of the trees first. Backwards belonging being beforetime bringing basting battling bullfrogs being birthday babies. And a naivety is a navel in a crested guild sitting on the top of a carved antique cane then tip tap down the little streets of old intertwining with the modernity of fashionable shops, markets and bistro bars. Late night stink. Burping. Rather a percentage than a percent sign then. And numbers drawn on a scarf is a scar on a material that was a one off item never to be sold in replicas on shelves. So stick a pin to hold the water of sinks and baths for this is often better than using plugs. Put all plugs away. They are no longer to be used and are now banned in most countries. Pickup puck picked puck pucks picking prickling prickle pickles. Running. In formations on a shelf. And a dive bomber went zoom down the stairs in a five centimetre breeze block house with several rooms saying oh. Z multinationalism multicoloured disco pants and ballet shoes. Turning. Z Socialization Z at thirty-three garden gnomes catching six fish in a snowstorm. And a savoury dip in a kilt dancing with a cracker in a hexagonal hat. Hahaha xx xx xx Z
Form:
HE: I felt so alive for a minute there.
The moonlight struck your face.
Beauty fired my senses, arousing.
SHE: Tell me, I need to know you care.
HE: What will that tell you, what will it mean? What you already
know? Or a dubious ambivalence that you cannot face?
SHE: You think we move too fast, I know. Pieces
tearing away from us in blurring slipstreams?
Would they strip us to the bones of unknown futures?
Things we cannot sustain? Would such velocity deny you
grip of your own personality. I wouldn’t ask that of you…
HE: Who knows what you would or would not ask of me if
we don’t stop to think?
To drink the air after rainfall, to watch
the moonlight reflect in your tears,
sweet silvered orbs of mountain dew.
The savour of your essence, languid integration,
development of a degree of certainty – barriers against pain and despair.
SHE: My tears? You mention my tears. My tears drawn
from the well of your own sinking, buckets dipped in
rupturing premature graves.
The dagger plunge of reticence; failure
to tell me of love; to say yes, come on, let’s go –
and damn consequence.
To hell with consequence. Tell me…
HE: Truthfully I am unsure of what to tell you.
I hesitate to express it. I think, yes, I am in love
with you…but do I love you? It’s early…too early…
SHE: I want to speed. I want to race. To run, shouting
with adulation of you in
rapture of your adoration for me. I want to
move, fast, the way you moved against my
flesh when needs must,
when passion, lust, jawed and scavenged your will
and rammed it against my bleeding feminine surrender.
Time is wasting. Why can you not move fast?
HE: Fast? Faster than the rush of eroticism
and it’s frantic tumult? Why, because the danger lies
in reality and its fickle machinations. And it is this:
we need to pace ourselves, for love, like
the nature of existence itself,
cannot be hurtled towards or through or against.
Cynical it may sound, but neither is built to last, and
neither are we. Each moment damns us by its intricacy
You are…you are really crying now…I see…
SHE: Men!
Mom has always loved antiques
I have never asked her why
Perhaps it's the connection to the past
Maybe the craftsmanship
The smell of ancient wood
The curves
The fact that they were built to last
She turned a passion into a business
A few small pieces in her living room
A sign on a door
Interesting how businesses are born
Bob there by her side
Together building on her dream
There once was an old sawmill
Where men had worked with their hands
Hard work had its demands
Each one did what he could
Their strength remains
Locked within the wood
Those same hands had built mom's home
Over one hundred years ago
Time dripped on it didn't slow
Mom's home became the perfect place
To celebrate the past
Her home and business
Built from things that were made to last
The business grew
Taking over the home
Visits from patrons
Calls on the phone
Busy all the time
No space for them to be alone
It became time
For them to expand
They looked to the future
The life they planned
Built on their historic land
A new addition built from old wood
Soaring ceiling
Above them stood
I remember the beams
Spectacular
From an old barn hewn from fir
Lifted on Bob's wide strong back
Formerly they had been just a stack
A one of a kind home
Filled with love
With bedrooms and landing up above
The kitchen was the centre piece
A place to gather
Filled with love and peace
Love of the past
Hope for the future
Has alway been a part of her
Together melded and celebrated
As a result I appreciate
The solid
The values
The ingenuity
Forever engrained in my blood
My respect for the old
My admiration of antiques
Remnants of the business still remain
The building sold
Mom loves going to auctions
She still sells at local Antique Markets
Sadly Bob has passed on
Thankfully mom has moved on from her sad
She too is made of stronger stuff
Not unlike
Her beloved
Antiques
An old poem and this one is about old things.
For Broken Wings' contest. Written April 13 2013
The Now Continuum
In the quiet pulse of the present's breath,
Lies the secret, the power that outlasts death.
Not in the past, where shadows cling tight,
Nor in the future, a distant flight.
The now, the moment, this sacred time,
Where all is aligned, where hearts chime.
It whispers, “You are the creator, the key,
Unlock your truth, and just let it be.”
Since thoughts speak in past tenses,
Drop the mind, rely on senses.
Embracing and releasing,
Pain pangs and pleasure pleasing.
There was a beggar who asked me for R10,
With a tired face, worn by life's harsh trend.
I looked at him, and I asked, "Have you searched deep within yourself?"
For many seek outside, not knowing the wealth
Lies within, in the heart, in the soul's true song,
A treasure that’s been there all along.
He sat atop a bucket, weary and lost,
I asked, “Have you checked what’s inside, at what cost?”
He shook his head, “I’ve never dared to look,
Since I got it, I've just sat, in the same old nook.”
“Open it,” I said, “See what’s in your grasp,
Your power is hidden, break free from the clasp.”
He opened the lid, his eyes widened in awe—
A golden bar, a life-changing law.
No longer a beggar, no longer in need,
For inside that bucket lay the seed
Of wealth and freedom, the key to his fate,
A life transformed, no longer chained by fate.
In the now, in the present, you hold your own power,
A moment of truth, a single hour.
What you seek outside, you already possess,
It’s within, it's yours—nothing less.
For the continuum of time is vast,
But the now is your anchor, built to last.
Embrace the present, let it be your guide,
In this eternal now, you cannot hide.
So rise, creator, in this space so wide,
The universe moves, and you’re the tide.
In the now, your future is spun,
You are the light, the moon, the sun.
In the now, your future is done,
The present is where you’ve already won.
Verse 1
I’ll strum you a tune in the glow of the moon,
Sing a melody made for a heart like you.
Soft-spoken stories that dance through the air,
Taking you places like we haven’t a care.
We’ll daydream in colors that don’t have a name,
Like jasmine and sunsets and warm summer rain.
Wrap me in you, let the stars realign,
Just one little touch and the world feels divine.
Chorus
I’ll make you believe, write our names in the sand,
You’re my island delight, and I’m your barefoot man.
I’ll chase off the ghosts that once haunted your past,
This kiss says I’m in it—yeah, we’re built to last.
Verse 2
I’ll hum you a breeze like a secret refrain,
One you feel in your chest when you’re dancing in rain.
Whispers that heal, like a sweet lullaby,
Hope in each note, and the fear says goodbye.
So drift off to sleep, let the dreams come to play,
I’ll be there in each one, come night or come day.
Chorus
I’ll make you believe, write our names in the sand,
You’re my island delight, and I’m your barefoot man.
I’ll chase off the ghosts that once haunted your past,
This kiss says I’m in it—yeah, we’re built to last.
Bridge
If the tide pulls us far from the shore,
We’ll just build our loveboat and paddle some more.
In your smile, I see where the music begins,
With each note I play, girl, you pull me right in.
Verse 3
Take my hand, we’ll drift on this tune,
Float where the stars write the notes of the moon.
Every word, a promise, no need to pretend,
This song that I’m singing has no final end.
Final Chorus
I’ll make you believe, write our names in the sand,
You’re my island delight, and I’m your barefoot man.
I’ll chase off the ghosts that once haunted your past,
This kiss says I’m in it—yeah, we’re built to last.
Outro
I’ll strum you a tune… that’s what I do…
I’ll write you a song… only meant for two…
Just me and you…
Only meant for two…
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long
Stones cut by oblivion's first glance
Carved, intricate, resembling man
In their design, shaped and created
Generated by the silenced sentient
Creatures that crawled up from the mud
Now builders, the lot they have become
The blocks of life still fragile to the touch
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long
Structures perfected over time's meanderings
Hard work comes at a cost to love and family
Dirt fills in the empty spaces left behind
Life is something you can not unwind
Ideas become more solid than concrete
To flow like liquid rivers on to city streets
Built to last until they crumble
Replaced there to evolve again forever
Glass and metals reach the sky high rises
In dimensions dictated by color and design
Children inherit empty spaces now vacated
With a purpose decided by some future generation
Empires fill in the void of the survivors
Not satisfied to simply be alive
Every stone must be inspected for a flaw
Given to science as every castle must be taken down
Handed over to someone sober
Archaeologists know best on how to fix the past
Every castle must pass the test of chance
With the power of history's command at hand
For a second chance to get it right
Workers find perfection in transforming rocks
Illusions created as living spaces preserves imagination
Homes become fine art of beauty for the future
Structures define us even before we are born
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long
Gothenburg Penitentiary, the hardest of the hardest/
The concrete jungle, where everyone is heartless/
Gothenburg Penitentiary, the show now mercy/
So, you gotta learn to swim in murky waters/
Gothenburg Penitentiary, my heart just sunk/
The next fifteen years of my life I'll be sleeping on a bunk/
With a celly who's a mess and a cell that smells of funk/
The only thing that's on my mind is I won't be nobody's punk/
So, I walked through the gates, with my head held high/
And heart of a lion, with fire in my eyes/
Ready for war, and whatever comes with it/
I can see it in their eyes, these dudes are restless/
So, I'm making shivs, ready to leave somebody chestless/
Stressed and depressed, I'm not trying to hear a thing/
Kill or be killed, somebody leaving in a sling/
Or in a body bag and it won't be me/
So, I'm alert at all times, ten toes, two feet/
Not trusting anybody, sleep with one eye open/
I can't worry about my time, it's nothing but do it/
And this mask on my face won't work for long, I have to prove it/
The next person test me, will need a first responder/
My shiv on the ready, it's nothing to ponder/
I'm in my cell practicing my draw when I'm alone/
It's some dudes in here with life who never going home/
I'm not bigger than most but I can hold my own/
Small in stature, my heart full blown/
Fighting everyday, toe to toe, blow for blow/
Trying to prove a point, to anybody's who's a foe/
I know how it goes, and I won't show no weakness/
Thinking about my life and I can only reminisce/
This can only make or break me, only the strong survive/
In Gothenburg, it's do or die/
I'm built to last, and I stick to the code/
But now I'm on this journey walking a lonely road/
For a crime I never done/
Abandoned by everyone on the outside/
Unmusking the Lies - Poem written to Elon Musk
In the stillness of night, a truth stirs and grows,
A chorus of voices, where our history flows.
From the ashes of burdens, our spirits ignite,
Our pain woven deep, and we’re reclaiming our light.
Elon, hear our cries—this narrative’s flawed,
To claim we are killers, is a strike at theawed.
The echo of struggle, the chant you condemn,
Is a cry for the fallen, for our lost sisters and brethren.
"Kill the Boer," they chant—not a call to the blade,
But a voice through the silence, where our heroes were laid.
It reflects the suffering, the scars of the past,
A fight for our freedom, a hope built to last.
We carry the weight of history’s chains,
But our joy and our strength break free from the pains.
We aren't the oppressors; we rise, we stand tall,
In the shadows of anguish, our spirits won’t fall.
So listen, dear world, and lend us your ear,
For the truth of our struggle is steeped in our fear.
To label us violent is to silence our soul;
We rise from oppression, reclaiming our whole.
The chants of the past are our stories of strife,
They honor the fallen, they honor our life.
In the face of injustice, we won’t turn away,
We’ll sing for the chosen, who fought night and day.
So stop with the labels, and see us anew,
For our strength is in unity, and our hearts hold the truth.
That mourning is layered, and pain wears many forms,
But in justice and healing, our resilience transforms.
Let love be the narrative, let wisdom be clear,
For only in understanding will we silence the fear.
Together, we rise, hand in hand, side by side,
In the tapestry of justice, our souls will abide.