Long Cousin Poems
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A DREAMERS PLIGHT ON JUDGEMENT DAY
Give solely sovereign sway & Masterdom.
The air nimbly & sweetly recommends itself unto my gentle senses
To commend the ingredients of my poisoned chalice.
But this same thing we desire the most
That makes us say 'the one I love the most is the one I hate the most'.
The love that follows us at times is our trouble.
How tender it is to love the babe that milks me?
And make my face vizards to my heart,
Disguising what they are.
False face hide what the false heart knows.
From a dream, I hear a shout; a loud one
But hear it not, the dreamer; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell
For sleep is the cousin of death
Which keeps the face pale as lights thickens,
The crow flies away to the rooky wood.
Nights black agents rouse to their preys.
As a dreamer wakes unannounced from nightmare
And eats his meal in fear
Sleeping in the affliction of those terrible dreams
That shakes him nightly.
The torture of the mind which maketh lie
In restless ecstasy...
My virtues will plead like Angels trumpet-tongued.
Upon the sightless winds
Shall blow the realities (of life) in every eye,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.
Innocence & pity like a naked new born baby
Striding the blast or heavens cherubim riding on an horseback
Then arose to escape the thrills of the instant
Living a coward you ones own esteem.
And I asked: is it nights predominance or days shame?
But knowing where my path leads to; I follow my journey
Even when the dark night strangles my travelling lamp.
Would nature hold God's benison from those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes?
Maybe with vivacious or flushed face, we all go to the grave
After life's fitful fever, we sleep well
And be not disturbed, nothing touches us further.
Just like a possessive man trust are their great grandmothers
He sleeps well not, because six feet of solid earth
Hath not keep her permanently underground.
She would creep out - so many Lazaruses from the grave
But after the dead which goes to peace
And at the end, hears a voice cast from pure gold, calling
Heaven or hell, the book chooses
Even he who was left unwept, untombed,
A rich sweet sight for the hungry birds beholding
Leaves for a permanent and eternal home.
Get set.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
Gregory
You made yesterdays news, invoking fears
You were found on the streets
Discarded and left to die alone
Thrown away like a piece of garbage with little thought
An inconvenience, as you struggled for your life
So many questions and no answers….
Your thoughts were dark and twisted and not appropriate
You did not fit the mould
Opportunities wasted as you oared against the current
The river washed you out and you choked to breathe
Your thoughts were numbed by substances
Chemicals that took away your sanity
Robbed you of your family and your home
Left your mother with a broken heart and tortured soul, struggling with forgiveness
Your father fought his own demons just long enough to remember your life
And then fall back into the abyss and darkness and forgottenness
Your friends cried as they thought of you.
Their scarred faces and souls with their big crosses around their necks
Their tattooed and tattered young zombie bodies
With their vacant eyes that bore too much pain to contain
Thin and remorseful souls
with the tears that fell down their cheeks like rain
They loved you, you were a good friend!
It was said you would give the shirt off your back for a friend
Your first love wondered how she could have helped?
Your grandfather has lived too long to see this day
One more funeral in his 88 years
A reminder of his son of 17 that was also discarded.
Your brother tried to honour and play his guitar that you gave him
Tears were shed
Beautiful memories shared and kind words spoken
A life too young
Fell beneath the caverns of a broken world
Aunts write poetry to make sense of it all, desperately writing to keep your memory alive
Unspoken grief all around with nowhere to go
One more forgotten victim of an epidemic
Bi-polar they said
Addicted they said
As they sat in their offices high above the streets away from it all
Making policies to keep you safe.
Safe injection sights to shoot poison to your veins
And kitchens with large pots of soup to sustain you until your imminent death
The great unravelling of a generation
You were loved by many
You were a beautiful soul, a good friend, son, brother, cousin
A beautiful child with big brown eyes and so much promise
Gregory always remembered
Rest peacefully sweet soul…
Grace Daub August 25, 2021 written after my nephew’s untimely death- homeless and on the streets
To the proud parents, Anna and Theo
A serious lad, silent and thorough
A clan of preachers
And dealers of art
From the southern Netherlands came Van Gogh
When sent to school, he did not want to go
The separation led to much sorrow
But he learned to draw
Whatever he saw
Sent off to sell art in Paris, Van Gogh
His happiest time, and now in love, oh
Till the landlady’s daughter told him no
Now a broken heart
Surly to sell art
Fired from his job in Paris, Van Gogh
Vincent sought out a coal miners’ burrow
A priest of sorts, but a squalid fellow
The church was appalled
And cursed his resolve
To the asylum for crazy Van Gogh?
His father baffled, on the verge of foe
Art interest, once again, began to grow
Back to school again
This time, in His name
To paint in the service of God, Van Gogh
School’s out, back to his parents he would go
Using neighbors as subjects to ditto
Proposed to his cousin
Which she found disgustin’
Burning his hand to see her, holy Van Gogh!?!
Now off to The Hague, a family furlough
To live with Sien, a boozing bimbo
A man to see ya…
Caught gonorrhea
Three weeks in the hospital for Van Gogh
The pain of loneliness drove him back home
Once again, a failed love with fair Margot
Then Vincent’s father died
He grieved deeply inside
The tragedy further refined Van Gogh
Finally, Vincent’s work was in the know
“The Potato Eaters” made an art show
Just add more color
Said his dear brother
Rubens brightened the dark gloom of Van Gogh
Vincent’s diet: coffee and tobacco
Mixed with absinthe began to take its toll
Though he kept on painting
Then Paris, more training
The end was getting closer for Van Gogh
The masters: Monet, Degas, Pissarro
Cezanne, and Seurat in his studio
Influenced his style
Learning all the while
That time was running out for Mr. Van Gogh
Then he moved to Arles, bad health in tow
Completing great works the whole world would know
“Sunflowers” (in vase)
“The Café Terrace”
Minus one ear, the frail, ailing Van Gogh
With his tattered mind, and mournful woe
Committed to the asylum, Mausole
With his final works
“The Church at Auvers”
“Starry Night” was painted in pain, Van Gogh
“At Eternity’s Gate”, he was sorrow
Wandered into a field, farmer’s fallow
Put a bullet in his chest
In hopes of peaceful rest
“The sadness will last forever”, Van Gogh
>Are the best things in life free?
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad Author
& Poetry Soup Honourably Mentioned
One of my cousin’s on Facebook one day.
Said the best things in life are free.
Then she wrote a list you see.
Well not you, as it was seen by me.
I had of course, to reply.
Well my writing bug did, I sigh!
1. Hugs! To have a hug that close honey.
I need deodorant and that costs money.
2. Raise a smile! For that I must clean my teeth.
Toothbrush and paste, they are not cheap.
3. Family! That’s not free.
Just think of the mortgage fee.
4. Sleep! Really need a bed for that.
They are not cheap. That’s a fact.
5. Kisses! Flowers, chocolates and all that.
Leaves my wallet looking flat.
7. Friends! No doubt my turn to treat.
Every blinking time at pub we meet.
8. Memories! Now that is the one.
Don’t need cash to remember one.
That was before all those things I did do.
You said were, ‘free,’ you did it’s true.
Sadly they were not for me.
The seven things you said were free.
So that’s all now, you’ll get from me.
And all of this, ‘was,’ blinking free.
ooo0ooo
Some of my Angels are on loan.
I say I have four caring for me.
Two in the day and night you see.
As my cousin was ill, you know.
I ordered two, too her go.
My cousin later informed me she was okay.
her operation done she did say.
So my two angels she thanked that day.
And bless sent them back yesterday.
I sent the following message on Facebook 9-8-15
I have trolled, you have been told.
And I don't know what to say.
Those angels I did send you know,
Are still not back today.
Did you tell them to travell by train?
I know their wings don't like rain.
I checked the air at Felixstowe.
Just in case there they did go.
Sadly there was no sign of them, you know.
You know I am a patient man.
Bet they are talking as angels can.
Expect they'll turn up, and when they do.
I'll tell you when to cover your ears too.
As the air here might be blue.
Bit like the sky, i'm telling you.
Oh yes! Hope you are well soon too.
Having released those angels two.
I'll clip their wings that's what I'll do.
And next time, send my men angels to you.
(TMA)
As we are both recovering the Angels are on stand by. Well you never really know when, or where they will be needed do you?
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
great uncle died but I still have God;
Great grandmother died but I still have God;
Great auntie died, yes I still have God;
All my people dead and gone, yet I still have God;
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
Second cousin died but I still have God;
Another Great uncle dies yes I still have God;
All these physical persons have left my side;
As I breathe and receive as I believe I still have God
My Dad’s mother died my grandma, but I still have God;
Mother die my mom at 39 years I was only 17, left with just dad
Was mad at God felt alone, betrayed and shun…guess what I still had
I still had God;
Father died ten years later, never sung to my father I cried yet I still…
I still had God (He’s by my side)
He’s my heart, the air that I breathe He’s in and outside of me;
Of the 5 children my mother’s mother had all dead;
Except my uncle left alone, yet not alone I still have God;
My best friend and his entire family murdered, made National News
Went to the funeral felt hurt again yet alone, but guess what I still had God;
Cousin died, two close friend died still I cried
Yeah! Yeah! I know I still got God
Death hurts, but what’s worse is to lose your soul and spin eternity in Hell
Wife died three years ago, Yeah! I know I’m alone but guess what..
I still have God
Come to me all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens I’ll give you rest;
I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be birth in you say’s the Lord;
He heals the brokenhearted and bind up the wounds
When you go through deep waters I will be with you;
Whenever you feel unloved, unimportant or insecure remember to whom you belong;
I’M ALONE BUT, NOW ALONE;
oH am I
I’M ALONE BUT NOT ALONE;
oH am I
You can be sure that I will be with you always to the very end of the age
Even if my father and mother abandon me the Lord will take care of me –
God said: I will in no way leave you, neither will I in any way forsake you. Therefore we can say: The Lord is my helper. I will not fear. What can man do to me? –
“let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”
I am alone yet not alone…
4/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Salam, how are you there?
Wassalam, good, Alhamdulillah
How about the issue in Sabah
Nothing to worry
I am worried because you are my friend
I am okay; just want to know your opinion
No probs, what do you think of that opinion?
Does it hurt you personally?
Nope, it makes sense
I am not personally taking part, I have my own problem
Indeed but I am so sad, many don’t understand the situation
They are taking one side condemning Suluk in general
So as the other Suluk in Sulu archipelago
Many also condemning Melayu in general
I always think about others
My cousin, a policeman is in the frontline
I am so sad, pray hard
Please cry with me
I am here for you to lend your cry
Can I pretend nothing happen?
We can’t pretend to be nothing to happen
Then rest and cry with me
To make people understand is not easy
Sometime we also take time to understand our situation
I am hurt to what happen, we are being fooled by colonisers
They ask us to inherit this misery
Hmmm I am so sorry to hear that
Hopefully you won’t hate the Suluk generally
So, as long as it does not contradict to my stand
What is your stand supposedly?
At least I have one good friend from Jolo ancestry
I am a good friend because you are good
I know nothing about the war; I just wanted to know the peace
It’s really easy to smile and pretend that you are okay
Rather than telling people why you are sad
It’s not easy to imagine that war
I just want to keep it by my self
I wanted to keep this in my sleep
When I wake up tomorrow
Peace is expected to blow
Let have this peace to reign right away
The poem is made through the conversation with Malay friends from Kuala Lumpur about the conflict happened in Lahad Datu. We shall never put the bangsa in general as what we are thinking is right: Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant. We need a better understanding to conclude that each bangsa like Suluk and Melayu have nothing to do with the situation. It is a matter of siding the truth and rights. I therefore personally accepted if everyone hates me because I am Suluk and that would make the world stay in peace and to save peace, I am willing to be called such: “Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant” but the “country and world is peaceful” is achieved. The war declared ended today by Malaysian authority. Let Us All Save Peace. Layag Sug. 11th March 2013, Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia!
Laying my head back, eyes closing,
reminiscing, the years falling away into decades ago
to the 1950s at my grandparents' grand home
for Christmas.
It was a gracious dining room.
Noontime sun streaming in.
Chair rail with deep red wallpaper, white trim.
Decorating the lace clothed "Big Table"
was a tallish 1870s porcelain Meissen fruit centerpiece
with lovers circling the stem.
Even the adults had to look around it.
Grandmother "Lil" and "Mister B"
were at their nouveau best.
All their progeny seated in good form
awaiting the traditional invocation by "Mister B".
Also seated were the ones that were to be
"seen but not heard" at our side table, the "Kids' Table."
Draped card tables for the dozen of us -
me, my brother and sisters and cousins.
Everyone all scrubbed in dresses and ties.
Mine was a clip on.
As expected, a milk glass got tipped. Spilt milk.
Besides that, we kids had great fun and
became friends again as we did each year.
The thing of it was, none of us liked
being at the "Kids' Table."
We felt lesser, unworthy, subtly so.
Even when I was ten, I knew there were
only two ways to get to the big one:
marriage or go in the army.
We all wondered what it was like to be adult.
After all, most of them smoked.
They all had drinks.
The women had figures, swishy swirls.
The men wore suits like they knew how.
At the "Big Table" they all talked like experts
about stuff we didn't understand
and they laughed loudly at Uncle Bob's jokes.
As the years moved on, things would change,
always do.
I saw virtually all my cousins
disassemble their lives too early -
marriages, divorces, addictions, lost jobs, left school -
beleaguered into inevitable submission.
My family miraculously unscathed.
But they're all gone now,
"Big Table" and little table too.
All that's left from the 50s
is my brother, sister and me.
For years, I was at the "Big Table" since my brood and I
took over the Christmas tradition.
The "Big Table" conversation was
superficial and posing was prevalent.
So one year, I put myself at the "Kids' Table." Just for fun.
Yes, milk got tipped.
But oh, the wonderment and hope. A meal that truly was
food for the soul.
Now that I'm old and looking back,
with a quiet smile, mulling it,
I kinda liked the "Kids' Table" better.
Colored pencil illustration by G.Gaul
Marry Your Best Friend To Get the Best of Both Worlds
Not many can claim they met their spouse in a battle of wits
much less the fabled (don't believe a word of it!) Internet.
But my uncle, he's not many. And my new aunt? Well she's a keeper.
And it wasn't love like a summer fling --- but it goes much deeper.
The rumors you heard - it's all too true - they met on Online Scrabble:
sesquipedalians by heart, but in the strictest sense, true Word Warriors.
Her last turn was an "I Do"... and when it came, he knew that he was done for:
pussyfooting through the back door, the tenacious Triple Word Score.
The date was planned - his bachelorhood canned. Compensated on Christmas day,
a wifie from Wales to tie the knot with my uncle the Stud from the Spud State.
The Red Dragon Damsel flew in (too strong to be distressed) into my uncle's country life.
(I still remember his clenched fists pouring buckets at the altar ... his first love)
And she brought her little Dragoness, too --- a fiery spark named Emily.
My job was to walk my new British cousin down the aisle,
as she whispered to me, "Should we link arms?"
And though I should have said, "What's the harm?"
instead of a rather robotic canter --- it now brings a smile.
My lovely Aunt Laura wore an eggplant dress, as if too challenge the mountain majesty
that peaked through the church window of that fine Idahoan morn.
Her glorious entry introduced by a Celtic song that would have made Enya weep,
as the vertigo of vows came to a close like a caged bird being released.
Mariah Carey's famous Christmas hit took to life --- All I Want Is You, rang true,
as they took each other's arms to dance celebrating an unlikely circumstance.
Crossing oceans to become One: she from Barry, and he from Boise.
The After Party --- filled with giggles, tears and rip-roaring stories from every point of view.
The wedding cake (believe it or not) was a Scrabble board:
one slice was Congratulations - and though a bit silly, to me it was poetry.
And my uncle - you could tell - was simply dumbfounded
as she took the words right out of his mouth
... with a crumb-filled smooch.
Written February 27th, 2016.
For the My Wedding Day Is Special Because... hosted by Olive Eloisa Guillermo
NOTE: I've never been married before, so I hope writing about my uncle's wedding instead is acceptable.
WHALING SHIP CAPTAIN"S LOVER part 3
Now Jorgie met a new love
He begged to make her wife
First, they’d fetch her small boy
to start a fresh new life.
So East they went to Minot
To find her cousin there
But when they came to his big house
His smile for them was spare.
The cousin was not happy
To relinquish that fine boy
He said his wife would waste away
Without her greatest joy
And Jorgie, solemn, studied them
The woman and the child &
Wept with great compassion
Her broken heart ran wild.
Determined to do justice
Twas no one she could blame
Jorgie hugged the boy good bye
Her soul in raging flame.
She bid the woman love him
And tell him she was aunt
And with her newfound husband, John,
Departed pale and gaunt.
Now John, he was a good man
Who worshiped his new wife
They agreed to keep a secret
About her former life
And so away the years passed
Son came after son
Jorgie had a fresh life
They built a solid home.
Each month she mailed the letters
To the ‘cousin’ in the west
She parceled up the photos
true siblings in their best
But Sadness haunted Jorgie’s eyes
She tried to hide it well
But her husband knew her---
She had him in her spell.
So sad she was and so forlorn
He needed to confide
To someone who could help him
to cheer his cherished bride.
And so he told his sister
His wife had longed to see
From her past her loved ones---
Her own sweet family.
So sister Lena planned a scheme—
For Jorgie wild and free
the gift would be a great surprise
And John he did agree.
They would take the children
Aboard the westbound train
Jump the train at Minot
To see the boy again.
Wait they must til autumn
For Jorgie twas the best
In May would be a newborn babe
Nuzzling at her breast
Then hit the plague of ‘17
Entire towns were dead—
And in their midst was Jorgie--
With her newborn-- cold, in bed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Jorgie : (pronounced Yor’ gee) was a nickname
Her name: Sena Jorgine Larsen
My father’s mother. The baby named Clara. My was nearly 4 when they died. His father, John Anderson—Jorgie’s husband , never remarried. He lived to be in his 70’s. His sister, my great aunt, Lena Anderson Hildebrandt, told me this story in 1971.
PS THERE IS ANOTHER PART TO THIS IF ANYONE WANTS TO READ IT LET ME KNOW. I DON'T WANT TO BORE ANYONE TO DEATH! vat
A Very Merry Christmas
T’ was the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Spoons were stirring the drinks
Held by every souse
The shot glasses were filled
With three kinds of whiskey
Though were often spilled
When Myrna got frisky
The highballs were placed
On the chimney with care
Until Uncle Nicholas
Tripped over the chair
By chance no kids awoke
Because of that slouch
But Grandpa slid off
His warm comfy couch
“What was that,” He asked
“Was there a collision?”
Which in this case there was,
And not one of his visions
Yet, before lying back down
Gramps had one more night cap
Then slumped onto the couch
And squashed poor Nips the cat
While out at the bar
There arose such a noise
Because Myrna was flirting
With some of the boys
I sprung from the recliner
To help my dear cousin
And saw lads sucking shots
From her pierced belly button
Away to the window
I flew for my life
But when looking outside
There was my modest wife
Dancing in circles
Around the snowman
Though minus a coat
Being half in the can
When I hopped to the door
But who should appear?
My dear uncle George
With a cooler of beer
I had to think fast
For my wife and Nick
And for Myrna inside
Yes, I had to think quick
Then came inspiration
To set up the maneuver
Of thumbing my phone
For the app to Uber
I had fifteen minutes
Until the taxi’s came
So I shouted and called
Everyone by name
Now Nicholas, now Myrna
Now dear Grandpa G
Yo Uncle George
Climb in a taxi
I called to my cousins
In the midst of a brawl
It’s time to drive away
For Pete’s sake, drive away all!
And then in a twinkling
I saw on the roof
My wife of all things;
Still high on forty proof
I didn’t call out
Knowing she’d crash
Yet she jumped in the chimney
Landing on the heaped ash
She was dressed in a robe
That turned coal black
And I was surprised
Coz she clutched a small sack
Then my wife oddly asked
If I thought she looked chubby
But I knew that trap
Being her hubby
I spoke not a word
As she quickly rose
But when I picked her up
Tore her panty hose
I sprung to the bedroom
Flopped her on the bead
While the sack she held
Knocked me upside the head
But the bag just contained
A large carrot and stones
And ‘Merry Christmas To All’
Displayed on her phone.