Long By nature Poems
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Locked in the history through the doors of his mind
Are the remains of an unwritten contract he signed.
The rules he lived by with his own flesh and bone,
Wrote in his blood and signed alone.
An Indian father or a Spanish bride,
The white mans greed won’t alter his stride,
The black mans courage with endurance within,
Mixed with trials errors and mortal sin.
Through the hardship and horses through courage and pain
These are the hands that held the rein.
Annie Oakley, Kitty Wilkins and Bell Star,
Combined lace with leather and created a gender scar.
From Picket, Custer, and Crazy Horse,
These are only a few who would not alter their course.
And those less know on Oregon’s trail,
Who sold all they had and to the west set sail.
Chisholm, Goodnight and French, some of the Cattle kings,
They all are the reason a cowboy sings.
And their blood still flows through our veins,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Forgive them for they knew not what they done,
As they settled the west with hand and gun.
Fought for open space they went through,
Not knowing that greed and politics followed them too.
Restless by nature a curious kind,
Searching for answers they will never find.
An unwritten code he rides for the brand,
It pumps through the veins into the soul of this man.
He gathers those memories and tries to remain,
These are the hands that held the rein.
Writing no letter for he can’t but he would,
To who he’s not sure but it is understood,
There is no place to send it anyhow,
So he saddles his pony and rides for the cow,
Sings a song and says a poem in rhyme,
To cut the quiet and pass the time.
That helps keep the stories of his horse and life,
As he sings of a friend and dreams of a wife.
Through the doors of his mind those memories remain,
For these are the hands that held the rein.
Like shuffling a deck he’s held in his hand
He has gambled his life and made a stand,
And made a vow he will try to fulfill,
With the luck of the draw his blood flows still.
To the next generation, with changes in time,
We still hear his stories in song and rhyme.
And if one more day could be spare
For the songs sung and poems shared
Let him live just one more day,
Let him ride for the brand and draw his pay.
In our future let our history not be in vein,
For our hands are now what hold the rein.
Form:
Recently, I thought upon the story of Jesus and his disciples having their Last Supper together. I considered the fact that there were few food items with which to part take. Or were there? For example, just to name a few, there was the bread, the water, and the wine; there seems to be no record of any other foods present. Or were there? There were other types of non physical food items present; the kind that does not enter via the mouth. For example, love, tenderness, and compassion were very present. Should I even mention that there was The Presence of The Almighty God wrapped in human flesh and speaking of how much he appreciated having a meal with his disciples?
Moreover, there was also selfishness with a topping of desires to be the greatest. There was a 'power struggle' between his disciples at the divine table of God. There was the 'love of money' saturated with greed; and so obvious to everyone, there was an overflowing of over confidence and down right cockiness.
'Servant hood', although not a very desirable and tasty item, was also a highly present entree. It moves me to tears to think upon the vast menu and entree at God's table. However, I am forced to choose only one entree for this Divine purpose. My taste buds gravitate toward 'the entree of service'. I must confess that this taste bud is not a 'natural one', but one obtained by observing the "Master Server" who said, "I am among you as one who serves". Lk. 22:7
We are programed by nature with a desire to be served. A baby is born with an attitude that does not ask, "May I help you please?" On the contrary, it seems to come with a list of demands like, "I want food, and I want it now!" Nothing is wrong with the baby. It's just the way we are born into this world.
Let me suggest that when we gather as family and friends for dinner this Easter, let there be something on the table more than ham and roast and a host of other delicious foods. let's open our spiritual eyes a little bit wider. I think that we will notice the Christ, not only serving up the 'Bread of Life" and saying, "Let Me Serve You", but He would be inviting us to join him in 'serving one another'.
04152017 cj PS
Mother told a story yesterday
of how poets die in black penury
she said I won't be a pretty poet
as my dreams dance on my ink
"Poets are mirror of deceit and pain
craving beyond the debris of life
over my dead body will you be one!"
she pulled down the heaven on me!
a woman is a country of many colours
the hearts of men are far country
we are all students of life, learning
even the masquerade has a date,
a date to join their ancestors beyond
hold your tongue to your bosom
fate knows whose palm wealth will
be planted sooner or later by nature.
You will be raped by darned darkness
fed by junks of insanity lurking by...
a teary gland shall emerge, right in
the bosom of your myopic despair shall
you live by your sorrow like an oiled
orchestral stammerer down the street
father raged holding my LLB firmly
like pixels collection from a twisted
camera abandoned by a loner.
writers are mirrors connected to reflect
this world filled with broken stanzas
if my fears are not for my brothers and
my sisters and for Nigerians chains...
I will leave my hope dashed in the air
tilt this morning with the eyes of the night,
we will dice this moon for hand
on the paupers animated series of life.
Aduke birthed venoms last year for you
Chioma made your tears red images
words are like Sunbeams, the more they
are condensed the deeper they burn!
demise of a poet, no one seem to notice
in your domain,you don't expect praises
if a kingdom falls,there are several others
to replace it while you rot calmly.
Poetry pays but its a business of the Elites,
a trade not meant for children!
Shakespeare name is still carved on the
body of the sky, his head still seen today.
what is penny without a route in life?
Poets are pauper to their testy tongue!
Father, leave me to my dreams to perish
alone, even if evil calls for good,
I will stand as one poet and always will.
let the traces of a saint be kept in peace
let the shining armor of a poet glitter
becoming another star is not a sacrilege
Poets are not broken and shattered dust
this musing muse is only our spirits;
a spiritual elixirs to the clay world
we are crops, the worldcover, ladders
let the ways of poets be kept, we are
not paupers on the street begging for meat.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
I was chosen before my time.
Listen very close this is not just a rhyme.
My life was known before I was born yet,
Time had to come around the horn.
Now I am here with a job to do,
Part of my job is to watch over you.
Yes I am a keeper and I must be kept,
For another brother’s died while I have slept.
The poison metal pipes are going around,
Flowing in, flowing out and all around town.
Earning a day’s wages and still in need,
Then the poison metal pipes help kill a seed.
We’ve been accused for doing most of the wrong,
And if we’re not careful, we’ll believe all the long.
In the midst of it all, others round about me fall,
STILL, I am destined to answer my call.
My call is from above to both young and old,
So what I am telling you, I am only being told.
By one most know of, and they may know OF Him well,
But its not enough to know of,
THAT’S THE REASON WHY OTHERS FELL!!!
You see I owe you as a brother, and I owe Him as a Father
So I am here for Him, and there’s really no bother.
I will do what I’ve been destined to, this I know is right.
During the morning, during the evening, and into the night.
I’ve been called, picked out, with a mission ahead.
And if you don’t take heed, you may wind up dead.
You see, dead is being more than without a beat,
It is also being held under another’s feet.
Not thinking for yourself, influenced by the WRONG others,
Persuaded by some BOYS, and then, becoming mothers.
Not following the wisdom of our parents from old,
Not wanting to take heed to what we are told.
We are leaders by nature and
We can’t help this,
Still the way some of us are leading,
Others will never reach this bliss.
You can not be a leader less you have someone to follow,
But whom can you lead, the strong or the hollow.
We do not have long in this earthly place,
Yet its not about the color, the gender or the race.
Its about being a soldier and the chain of command,
The torch has now been put into my own hands.
You see they’re many torches, all in the hands of the same,
Strong minds, strong willed with the backup of
“THE NAME”
The end is soon to come so I must go now,
But you have already been chosen for right here and now.
You are the next leaders, I would give it some thought,
Because you have not only been “CHOSEN”, but;
You’ve also been
BOUGHT !!!
Form:
You have been running around the world looking for a diamond girl; You have been running around the world making unfair investment and driving the interest right up to heaven.
You have stolen the gold from off shore and bury it beneath the dirt; you have crossed the line and interfere with the divine. The world is one big mass spinning around in a looking glass, it can see you from every angle and when the sun goes down and the moon rises up you will see your shadow on the wall.
You have been running around the world from Bahrain to Kuwait, knocking on every door and spilling oil on the gulf shore. You spend time romancing in the UAE in expensive hotel and mingling with young boys whose puberty is wrapped in keffiyeh on top of their head and marrying them off to innocent girls whose Virginity is stacked underneath their bed, and the old men seducing the pauper at gun point, with black tea and a jar of ice.
This morning I stood between the line and the divine piecing together the mystical trail that will get you over the rail, there is no imaginary line and I keep telling you that from time to time you have got to find the mouth of the cave that run through my grandfather land and track the connection with the gulf
.A tunnel is manmade but a cave is designed by nature to provide human shelter. It begins somewhere in Qatar and ends somewhere in the great mosque of Mecca, oh what great tragedy lies at the foot to the cave.
From the beginning of time the Arab were bold, they were skillful men with beautiful women and they had their work cut out for them. They were the best traders in town and they could build a castle on top of the mountain with a hammer and a stick and they could sweep you off your feet with their indigenous barging techniques.
They were skillful fighters and strong mountain divers; they knew the mountain like the back of my hands and they could run up and down the mountain in seconds and find peace in heaven but something went wrong when the Europeans invaded the Arabs.
They give them fifty-three for fifty-two and got a brand-new pair of shoes.
You have one more assignment to do before the mission is complete.
WHY MEN ARE SEEN TO BE THE SAME EVIL.
By nature, boys are born with the pride of being the very first of creation. This pride grows as the boy matures into a man. Others use it wisely, whereas to others, its a means of enforcing superiority over the female sex. This, in the very least, is why men are perceived to be the same, evil.
Most often than not, you hear a girl say, ''all men are the same'', ''boys will always be boys'', ''men are dogs'', men are brutal hormonal beings, the list is endless. A select few are kind, gentle, noble, faithful, honest and respectful. The majority have dented the identity and image of the male sex.
You see, unless you are looking at the mosi-o-tunya, that is, the smoke that thunders, there really is no smoke without fire. A story is told of a husband that beats the wife and abuses his own daughter. That teacher who calls a pupil to his house to collect homework, he locks her in, plays loud music and pounces on her, robbing her of her innocence. She screams but the music is too loud. She leaves his house robbed of all dignity, esteem and self worth. Its a trauma she'll have to live with all her life.
Little by little, it eats her up. She becomes an introvert, keeping things to herself. She cant easily trust because she is scared. She does not know who might hurt her. A guy genuinely loves her but She fears love because she assumes he's after sex. She refuses. Another tries, and another until she decides to give it a try. Unfortunately, it's a player this time. He promises her love, trust and care. She feels loved and she gives her heart. She gives her body and he leaves her heart ripped wide open. Now all unspoken, unsaid, unexpressed feelings bottled up inside her erupt. She cries but she's all alone.
A father leaves his wife and kids for another woman. A boy deserts his girlfriend after refusing to abort his pregnancy. He says his not the father. A step father calls her names and beats her. She's called ugly, she's called fat.
She grows in fear, feeling helpless and vulnerable. She feels she's not as important as her brother. She has hidden past hurts and pains inside her.
She wonders. And i ask the question, WHERE ARE YOU MEN OF COURAGE, LOVE, RESPECT, CARE AND HONOUR? She week's and yearns. Does anybody hear her?
Onemind
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.
These are translations of Voltaire, one of the world's most prolific, best and most influential writers. Voltaire, born François-Marie Arouet (1694-1778), was an amazingly prolific writer who produced works in nearly every literary genre, including poems, plays, novels and novellas, satires, parodies, essays, histories, Bible criticism, and even early science fiction!
TRANSLATIONS OF VOLTAIRE EPIGRAMS AND QUOTES
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love is a canvas created by nature
and completed by imagination.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If God did not create us, it was necessary for us to create him.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My only prayer to God was, “Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.” And he granted it.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God is a jester performing for an audience too frightened to laugh.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Doubt is an undesirable condition, but preferable to ludicrous certainty.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Faith is believing what reason cannot countenance.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
?Life is a shipwreck, yet we must sing in the lifeboats.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Every man is a product of his age and few are able to rise above its misconceptions.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Judge a man by his doubts rather than his certainties.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The secret of being a bore is to reveal everything.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Common sense is uncommon.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains the malady is usually incurable.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Voltaire, France, French, English translation, you, Phyllis, youth, young, crush, love, lost love, kiss, time, write, writing, words, poems, poetry
(Just who are the most self-righteous people on earth?)
When God created Adam and designed the fall,
To reveal Christ's glorious salvation call.
Self-righteousness, then came into play,
To plague mankind in a wicked way.
Sadly, by nature we tend to be,
Righteous in our own works, you see.
The christian struggles most every day,
To keep his self-righteousness at bay.
But, the most self-righteous man on earth;
The one most permeated with its curse,
Is the atheist in whom we find,
Through the perversion of his mind,
An evil heart that readily condemns
All who dare disagree with him.
The beam is there , yet he sees it not,
But, 'oh the mote, it's in clear eyeshot.
From his cocksure "pulpit" above,
He promises to bring utopia and love.
He delights in questioning God, too see,
If he can set God at his knee,
Even to replace Him on His throne,
There to self-righteously rule alone.
He's been this way since the day of Cain.
The atheist, as God, will proclaim,
To be the righteous judge for all,
Obeisance to him is his clarion call.
The tyrant appears in manmade splendor,
Declaring there is no god but Caesar.
And given a little time, he'll appear again,
And we see the rise of Joseph Stalin.
Don't be fooled by this false hope,
That man in his own wisdom can cope,
With the ills lifes struggle brings,
Into our mortal transition scene.
The "seeming" right way to man, at best,
Becomes the wrong way leading to death.
As the battle royal turns out to be,
The war between my flesh and me.
Because the great danger exists,
In our deep-seated self-righteousness.
Unlike the atheist, we pray every day,
That God's Holy Word light our way.
But, the atheist will have none of this;
No matter how much "man made" pain exists,
From his self-righteous attempt to be,
The righteous judge for you and me.
With this "revealed" knowledge we should find,
Not hate, but love of a Godly kind,
For our adversary the atheist, you see,
But for God's grace, thats what we'd be.
1Cor.2:14 "the natural man recieveth not"...
Rom.8:7 " the carnal mind is enmity--neither can he know"....
John 6:44 "no man can....
John6:29 "this is the work of God, that ye believe"....
Lionel
Being in the mind of a savage.
All I know is how to act ferociously.
Manipulating the minds of the weak, fearful, and the victims.
Beating them into submissive.
Emasculating the strongest, just to see him break.
Dismiss him of his role, and never to see his family again.
Being in the mind of a savage.
I destroy, divide, and conquer.
tearing families apart.
Over yonder, as they scream,
begging to be saved
but nobody hears them.
Breaking the spirits of the koons, mannu, aunty, sambo,
and the uncle toms, as they all have a common factor.
They're all nostalgia.
The animal within me is untamed, uncontrollable, and inhumane.
I'm superior by nature, at least what I see.
Being in the mind of a savage.
What you call crimes are white privileges to me,
justification, rationalisation, & beliefs
set me free each time.
All I know is to kill, steal, destroy, & reverse the cycle of genetics.
I changed their culture,
to fear, tough love, attitude, punishment, violence & a career.
Sabotage the mind, break em' down, then bob the builder em'.
When you stop em' for believing in themselves,
oppression appears.
Being in the mind of a savage.
Other savages, keep em' isolated, uneducated, impoverished and oppressed. There's a few who escapes but we own them too.
We love to be entertained, as we mock, advertise, and stereotype em'. Less sensation and lacking sensitiveness
in the terminal fibers, keeps me acting viciously.
Unintelligent, laziness, frightfulness, ignorance, backwardness, violent, inarticulate, sexual frustrated, hunger, inattentive, unable to control themselves, & in care of, are all the signs of a n****.
Created a cultural matrix of positive
and negative feelings for me,
and each time, I justify my actions by logical reasoning with em'.
Ohhh, forgiving are they. Just to do it once more, and that once more became many more.
Being in the mind of a savage.
If any shall become bold, intimidating or become a threat, we shall lynch you.
Propaganda, genocide, & economics are all profits for the savages.
Paternalism plays a major role as
terrorizing and restrain are easily justified.
Keep em' from achieving social equality
as they become more bumptious on the streets.
Being in the mind of a savage.