Long Commemorating Poems
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As I sit and watch
Watch you denounce the obligatory violence
Announcing and pronouncing the fabricated freedom
Joyfully commemorating and celebrating your assassinated true leaders
The enemy killed not the leaders but the ideas
You buried not them but the ideologies intended to truly liberate you
6 feet deep under the ground,
Saying they shall multiply and long live!
Chanting slogans with no comprehension just for the rhythm and sound
Deep into the ground
Burying your true liberation from colonization
Being sold the false hope of FREEDOM.
As I sit and watch
Watch black man selling his kinsmen to the highest bidder
Manipulated by the enemy to think he is better and different
Better than the poor masses who sacrificed themselves to be his ladder up
You are no different black man
You are just a slave in a black tie
They bribe you with a cheque from your forefathers’ fortune and wealth
They use you to steal in your own pocket
Stealing your legacy to your enemy
Yes they are right ‘You are different’
The difference between us is your inanity.
As I sit and watch
I watch my brothers and sisters been turned to be educated slaves
Enslaved by a mere pen and paper
A piece of paper segregating us and determining our destiny
Desired so hard by many to own to serve the enemy
They chose very well the useless texts to colonize and brainwash you
They planned so well to systematically oppress you
They took the weaker with no vision to execute their plans
As I sit and watch
I watch them say “save that one in a cell we might use him later”
I watch them say “kill that one he is too stubborn, a true leader and he is a threat”
I watch them with white collars reading the scriptures that say ‘a slave must obey his master’ and shouting PEACE BE UNTO YOU!
I watch them on the other hand brutally killing, raping and stealing.
Wake up black man and liberate yourself
No one will
Not even your so trusted leaders
You are not yet uhuru and so is your Azania
They stole your land with a bullet and you shall get it with a bullet not negotiations and commissions
Free yourself
Decolonize your education
To truly liberate the coming generation
Preach not their gospel but Africanism and socialism
ALUTA CONTINUA!!!!
#I WRITE TO PROMOTE NO VIOLENCE BUT TO LIBERATE
enjoy the reed
now displayed as a satisfactory deed.
* * * * * *
A Senior Moment - written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Valedictorian treads across makeshift platform
i.e. most likely auditorium stage marked
by hushed audience inhaling, notating,
and regaling gleeful lightness of buoyant feat
(but me Yeats heavy of heart) feted for 2017 Redmond
Enrichment Academy graduates, who attained,
a milestone vis a vis earning their
high school diploma, and ready to launch
bountiful daunting challenges, yet sure
footed each young gal and/or guy
will exude joy and sorrow upon grasping their
high school diploma aware a sound education
sent each on their own future path
while pomp and circumstances issues forth
by adroit musically talented underclass
* * * * * *
man, which emotional celebrated achievement
evoked by keynote student speaker,
but also underscored via that well worn mortar
board, linkedin, kickstarter, Joyus
tune (composed by Sir Edward Elgar –
subtitled March Number 1) acknowledging
cheers, eliciting grownups immense Kleenex
moistening overpowering quintessentially
simmering ululating wrenching yowling
as tassels flipped (maybe in conjunction with
a non twittering uber bird) to the left side
of the caparisoned newly anointed future
Dharma Bums, professionals and/or trades
persons momentarily stung with sadness
to depart favorite classmates and teachers
who voluntarily cosseted, ferried, and
* * * * * *
capitalone did flickr imperceptibly, kneaded
and leavened LivingSocial, and massaged MineCraft
outlook plenti full confidence, faith, and inherent
lettered oblations serve as snap chatting,
In Full Flight Her Soul Departed
To free my heart of all that haunted me
Told I, these my tidings.
... On a summer's dawn,
Fresh from our orisons, we wandered forth
To greet the waking of the meadow flowers
And peer into the crystal pearls of dew
That shrine the beauty of the world, when lo!
Beside the cresses of a dark pool bending
Whose voiceless depths of waters brings to light
The dreams of brooding earth, I saw her face
Folded in mystic rapture, set in glory
Even as in the heart of sorrow nestles
The seed of consolation, and beside her
One stood in semblance of those two higher souls
That bear annunciation, and they two
In Heavenly colloquy abode, the while
My spirit marveled, waiting in a region
Where time was not. When suddenly a breeze
Came like a wayward thought, and swiftly ran
Across the shadowy waters, and the vision
Was there no more; and when I turned to her
None stood beside her, but she seemed as one
That waketh from enchantment, and all day
Her words did sound as echoes of old song
From out a happier world, - and that same night
In quiet sleep she died.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-27-2015
Note- Here I present this as was written,
in my old way, long ago abandoned but now attempting
to rekindle that writing flame..
Based upon the death, decades ago, of a dear friend.
(1) orison
Syllabification: or·i·son
Pronunciation: /'ôr?s?n/ /'ôr?z?n/
Definition of orison in English:
noun
archaic
A prayer.
EXAMPLE SENTENCES
Origin
Middle English: from Old French oreison, from Latin oratio(n-) 'speech' (see oration).
(2) annunciation
Definition of annunciation in English:
noun
(usually the Annunciation)
1. The announcement of the Incarnation by the angel Gabriel to Mary (Luke 1:26-38).
EXAMPLE SENTENCES
1.1The church festival commemorating this, held on March 25 (Lady Day).
EXAMPLE SENTENCES
1.2 formal or , archaic The announcement of something:
the annunciation of a set of rules applying to the relationships between states
(3) colloquy
col·lo·quy
'käl??kwe/
noun
1.
formal
a conversation.
"they broke off their colloquy at once"
2.
a gathering for discussion of theological questions.
The whistles screamed that cold dark night
Winter, 1903
At least fourteen would perish
Way out on the prairie
The westbound Sunset Limited,
Eastbound Crescent City Express,
Met head on in a collision
Lives lost in great distress
Horror met the rescuers
Two twisted trains in flames
Of fourteen known to've perished
Of two, were not found names
A hundred plus years later,
On the date and pre-dawn hour
We'd come to the memorial plaque
With Teddy bears and flowers
Holding our thoughts in silence
We walked along the trail
Remembering the violence;
Their deaths upon that rail
Precisely 2:50 A.M
What was it? We don't know
But in our silent vigil
We heard a whistle blow
Sounding clear across the night
Once long, Three short, Last long
But there was nothing in our sight
Praying - we moved along
Our memorial under silver stars
For those perished on the track
Ended as we got in cars
With one last look-
a century back
We'll never solve the mystery
But do we need to know?
Commemorating history
We heard a whistle blow
Double dynamics in aesthetics
of life's wicked minds
provocative abstract
crimes unique designs
provoking mind with twice
the rhymes.
Double scripts in life's
wicked flips three verbs & throwing nothing but reverb.
Twice the lyrical lines,
avast steer clear of this
lyrical pioneer with mystical lines
futuristic rhymes killing the physics
of time.
I'm slinging dope rhymes
from grams to kilos at times.
Committing felony crimes
weight of these lines.
My word's hold weights of digital scales an impale compared to Harvard & Yale.
Mesmerizing my life & time's
provoking line's
commemorating provocative
crazy mind’s.
Bleeding & seeding impeding heart's
repeating & pleading succeeding reading my rhymes conjuring unique
crazy mind's.
Ambidextrous configurations
accentuate double dynamics of wicked rhymes a philosophical philosophy
of conjuring wicked mind's.
I Promote innovation without hesitation or else
the desecration of creation by strangulation.
Asphyxiation of dynamic creativity longevity
of exquisite multi-faceted wizardtrii & ageless
philosophy's streamlining ergonomics
of unique crazy mind's.
Roam conceptual "crazy minds"
seeking philosophical philosophy
writer changing worldwide sentence's
timed artists limitless fears strength,
limitless power abilities of
"crazy minds"..
Transduce fear to fevers,
love philosophy,
conception of a philosophical
"crazy "mind
call me crazy a poet,
crazy me what you
change crazy every time,
before crazy ever changed a
"crazy mind"....
Retrospect rear view mirror,
clear as crystals clear view,
no mirror it's the rear view
retrospective preview premier
broadcasting worldwide
Premiering...
Composer's of compromises the sediments
of our settlements are noteworthy symphonies
in musical scales an impale
to life's frail detail.
?Universe interconnected?
®O?N~§ € £ F€º
?Interconnected»«Universe?
Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
#WickedRomancer
Oh dear! It’s December - time again to look into my crystal ball.
A ball of thoughts in front of me that I don’t need at all,
for I can see the images portrayed from other years,
where different circles feel the touch of agony and tears.
The focus and the buildup always comes across the same.
We’ve indoctrinated to our culture; that Russian roulette game;
not with one bullet in the gun, but alcohol and cars or shame
to spoil the festive season when commemorating the Lord’s name.
From that party’s endless pouring where limits have no end.
Who pays the price of conscience when someone has to send
the messenger to bring the tears that flow from they close by
who live Christmas as another day, with the question echoed - why?
I hear on the dates, the ninth, thirteenth, fifteenth or twenty-first;
the closer to our Christmas Day the more it seems the worst.
A shattered family claims a body. Gifts are silently held dear,
and Christmas Day is over before the twenty-fifth is here.
And there’s the shame of letting out what has been a lustful thought,
loosened by a carefree attitude the Christmas orgy bought.
One misdemeanor iced with lust brings on magnitudes so great,
where children, yes the children have their Christmas filled with hate.
Family’s who have lost touch; not through distance from afar,
believe that Christmas is the time to heal the feuding scar.
Curt are greetings for the foe, for so long kept apart,
and soon the flame of alcohol awakes a murderous heart.
Through close knit societies, away from your very own,
a fragile crack can open; the time of peace and love is blown.
This may not happen close to you where the path is smooth and clear;
Christmas comes and goes in perfect time. This is your lucky year.
Come January just look back. Ponder what you’ve heard and read.
Piece together one by one, the living, left and dead.
I know like me you will be touched with every role that we recall.
It’s the lead up to each Christmas - I am no prophet after all.
Framed by moonlight,
Neither sunlit consciousness nor death's aegis,
Will come between our union tonight,
For I can no longer deny myself the happiness they promise,
Every creak in the floorboard and fluttering of my heart is talking,
Urging me to become the prince of her story,
The future they've envisioned for us seems like a fantasy,
A sleeping damsel in distress calling for a knight in shining armor to defeat the societal dragon,
And exchange an eternal vow through one swift motion,
Life after death wrapped in each other's arms,
Devoid of doubt or personal persecution I leave the door ajar,
Allowing the night sky to be our chapel and the stars our ladies in waiting,
The moon illuminating your mattress altar in a white crystal morning,
I stand behind your headboard,
Too far away to kiss but close enough to touch,
Venerating your resting form that I for so long have secretly adored,
Stricken by your dormant beauty I use your pillow as a crutch,
To gaze longingly at your chest as I lay a single rose,
Commemorating our transition out of life's comatose,
Our bodies a mere breath away from coexistence,
The night breeze envelops my senses with your intoxicating fragrance,
Leaving my arm weak and trembling as I raise my knife,
Surrendering to our last moments of mortality I crane my neck to give a final goodbye,
Your terminal expression captured in my knife's reflection,
I plunge the knife into my chest embracing their postmortem romance doctrine,
And without volumes of poetry nor gifts of gold and ivory,
I inter our wedding in your bedroom cemetery,
Our chests adorned with matching wounds,
Only a few moments left before my dream comes true,
So for the first time I hold your hand,
I sever it, sewing it to my chest as a macarbre wedding band,
Christening our matrimony between corpse and man,
A loving bond the world cannot understand,
Never again will I be alone,
Nor will she need a tombstone.
It feels like the world
has been struck by a
plague of pathological lies,
where fictional truth
seems to sell better,
the allure of
imitation glistens
even brighter,
while superficial tongues
recite infected mantras,
praising slaves of Satan~
singing corpse lullabies.
And I can feel
my drained soul
descending
into darkness,
as this cathartic
sanctuary
slowly decays,
into odds and ends
of incessant numbness.
Spikes drive through
this splintered ribcage,
shackling my life force,
to silently bleed
in salvation.
I feel the scorching
iron ore entering
my splitting heart,
as they watch
the crimson flow,
mocking my
doomed empathy.
For kindness
is disregarded,
in a cynical world
that has no mercy,
falling into an
abyss of tears,
awaiting eternal sleep,
never to rise to
another devil’s trance,
whilst bleeding in
reckless reckoning.
I am the mistreated
mistress in misery,
stranded in the
midst of an
abandoned island~
cruising through
roaring waves,
in desperate hope
for butterfly bliss.
I trace
deadly deeds
in bloodstained
sea-castles,
pleading the lord,
to tether
the cold walls,
that hide all these
layers of brokenness.
Carvings of
chaos on my skin,
choreograph a
prodigious dance
of death,
commemorating
creased calm,
with prophetic
songs that
have no life.
For the coldest
breeze still
lingers in circles,
from the pits of
an out-burnt mountain,
reluctant to rearrange
dried up poison,
with their cape
of sentiments,
in cold refrains
and resentment.
Yet I question the
cosmic Peridots
scattered between
moonstones in
artless skies.
How can a poet
make the dead
seem beautiful again,
when musty maggots
are the only
fillings they would get?
I'm a provocative artist spilling ink's
brilliant spectrums of colorful emotions.
Productive Poet seeking worldwide
philosophical philosophies ambitions
of "crazy mind's ".
Provoking philosophical philosophy
streamlining ergonomics of the mind
in life's angelic orchids of ageless wisdom's.
Whispers of my words echo throughout
time with exquisite wizardtrii & ageless
philosophy.
Question the caress of a Philosopher’s
soft word's embellishing wisdom's
of mythical proportions.
Multifaceted dexterity a cherished
personality with eccentricities of
simplicity.
My flaws are multi-facet eccentricities
of a devoted passion rearranging star studded premiers.
Spiritual Spitz tunneling & funneling
tasty bite-sized wisdoms living life’s
philosophic philosophy in which life agrees
in greatest proportions.
Exquisitely unique with a custom
physique of a sharp dagger
double-edged swagger.
Ambidextrous configurations of my
dexterity twin in line designs in a
single file rhyme.
Smearing colorful abstracts in
mythical designs mesmerizing
my life & times
Commemorating these provocative
lines with a unique dynamic of time.
Prophet in profits of a profitable future
configurations of my multi cultural
points of view.
A conspiracy without no theory
a hypothetical question listening
to no suggestions.
Architect of accentuating aesthetics
in romance with a provocative
dance in a mythical prancing pose.
?Universe interconnected?
®O?N~§ € £ F€º
?{Interconnected»«Universe}?
Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
#WickedRomancer
? #poet #poetry #poem
Form:
written months ago commemorating
the graduation from a vaunted charter school
in Bend, Oregon of thy lovely youngest,
this papa could not attend -
geographical distance constituting the primary determinant.
* * * * * *
Soundcloud springboard no matter
what destiny each young man or woman
decides to pursue. Though accolades dedicated
genuinely (just my outlying participation)
special veneration x2c accorded beautiful
radiant daughter ecstatic gloating honestly jubilant
kindred made noble perseverance reaching
the ultimate write x zit that will usher her
onward toward opportunities sustained
by confidence gained thru academic ambition,
dynamic dedication, and gigantic germination
of maturation, whose individual future
* * * * * *
trajectory predicated with the rubric of essential
scholastic tools essential to gain positive
further education and thence employment endeavors.
So Punim (whom this papa does
love and miss) attempted to let the words
tumble upon the display screen communicating
in my patois, (a gallimaufry of mumbo jumbo
shrimp limp ping missive) at your success
attaining a laudable momentous occasion per
rejoicing, no matter the message possibly
lost amidst this cobbled gobbledygook,
which attempts to pass as acclaimed literary
endeavor. Okay, I experience tears of euphoria
and misgiving at lack of finances to share
in person how this dada daubs dribbling
tears ducts. Congratulations thy beloved Shana.