Long Dark haired Poems
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Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........4.
Now, mighty ones,
I return to sing the song of Alahsar,
now, come with me,
once more, let us stand in the priceless dream,
like the eagles, high aloft,
let us fly now too Dream-Scape.
A great wall stands,
ever impenetrable,
this outer wall to kingdom,
it stands firm,
within the great wall,
the largest, silver gates we behold,
this is where the song does take us,
now, let us see what we shall see,
let us watch the scene unfold.
We see many soldiers of the outer guard,
armour shining,
they stand watch at the outer gates,
Now, listen, a great hammering on the gates,
something hard strikes four times on the gates,
then a short break,
this repeats, time after time,
the signal of the enemy dignitaries,
outwith the gates,
in eternal darkness,
these damned souls awaited entry.
the gates are slowly opened,
soldiers now stand expectant,
mighty hands on sword hilts,
spears at the ready,
shields held tight,
the great silver gates,
they open slowly to the darkness,
a gasp from the soldiers of the golden king.
These mighty soldiers,
they now take a step backwards
out of the darkness,
eight spider riders of Akrah,
they advance,
they come forth on their gigantic spiders,
shudder now at this sight,
slowly, these abominations,
they did come into the light.
soldiers of the golden king,
they begin to retreat,
stand tall, men of Alahsar,
the order of the golden king,
let them pass, these loathsome beasts,
The gates stood atop a hill,
at the bottom of this hill,
one hundred of the elite knights,
the Captain and ten others,
they did splinter from the group,
ascending the hill.
The mighty bastions of Hellish design,
they move so slowly forward,
eyes of amber putrescense,
aligned on head,
perfect sight,
poison fangs begin dripping,
food so close,
bodies of the most mighty bulk,
carried with such hateful ease,
eight mighty legs,
they carry the weight with ease.
True, dark-haired demons,
born of the darkness,
what fear they do instil,
their leader, on the first spider,
he pointed a long finger at the captain,
Slowly, the spiders moved in line,
towards the Captain, their Hellish march,
when the head rider was up behind the Captain,
they all started down the hill,
Let us now follow this strange procession.
To Be Continued..........
But the lover he knew this would not be enough
In such games as romance the going will get rough
And his youth had not abandoned him yet
Such failures monumental he would not so soon forget
And all had been less than this goddess on earth
No other had touched his heart so since birth
So amidst the glorious dreams of love in spring
The icy chill of doubt began to take its wing
The mirror told truths he’d never liked to hear
When faced with himself he’d rather disappear
Than bear witness to what he saw as a goon
A common ugly brute, spawned from a cartoon
With his disproportioned limbs and pessimistic hunch
Never had Ryan stood out from the bunch
His muscles had weakened from ailments past
And his metabolism sadly had deserted him too fast
His green eyes burned fiercely for his love had not gone
And sleep seldom reached him until long after dawn
Ruminating at length on the woman he desired
Wrecked his body and wracked his mind so tired
Could she ever love one as common as I?
He asked many times neath the midnight blue sky
His answer proved negative on most mornings young
And the tears had scarcely left him when the first sparrow sung
At last, the abused and depressed young pup
Decided he would go out on the town and drink up
Pounding beers with no regard for the consequences thus
Leaving him to stagger, cry, and flirt and cuss
And as sudden as the sun blooming on the skyline
The lovely Lyla was there, alone and looking quite fine
In an instant all sorrow was cleansed from his mind
And convinced him once more no greater love would he find
On that evening with conscious sobered by passion
My old friend took to speaking in a serious fashion
Only I was there to listen to his marvelous speech
Of the intensity he possessed, I know I cannot teach
With a storm gently rolling on a westward winter wind
The dark haired young man, chilled and quite pale skinned
Turned to me slowly with the look in his eye
That told I would recall this moment till I die
“Tonight,” he began, “I have chosen to wait
For this woman I love until some later date
And I shall stay to this, if months or years may pass
If that is the price of being worthy of the lass
If I must stand by and watch others lay
By her drunken side, while I have no say
And hundreds will flirt and many win a kiss
So I will remain in a life without bliss
I watched as the dark grew around his eyes.
He came through the window,
Stepping like a shadow.
He was the night, he was the ghost, he was the
Unaided fighter as he reached for my side.
And I so desperately wanted to caress his masked face.
His pace was noiseless and so attractive,
Yet death was nearer with every step,
I thought.
Still, I didn’t care if my life would have ended
That night, stolen by the elusive ninja…
I wanted him even closer.
He quickly searched the inside of his shozoku,
Only to reveal a deadly suriken.
Breathless, as he approached, I stood there,
Not wanting to disenchant from his spell.
With one blow, the suriken ripped
The shoulder of my nightgown.
Flowing red stained my pillow
And it felt so real.
Oh, how I wanted his knife at my throat,
Me, his target of the night,
And how I sighed when he drew
His katana.
With one lethal strike I would have
Plunged on the floor, choking for my last breath,
Yet he gently traced the contour of my
Trembling chin… trembling, but only for his touch.
My tears sparkled in the cold, hard steel
As I sensed his breath arising.
I only heard his samurai chuckle and with no warning
He hurled his sword back into the dark.
We both moaned in anxious passion
When he bore my hand into a painful
Wrist lock.
I did not care, I did not see, I did not feel anything aside
The dark-haired ninja over my hips.
Our mangled bodies mirrored in the shiny steel of his forgotten blade,
His chest crowning over mine,
His hands fondling in my hair, down to my aroused breasts.
Two naked bodies trapped in my jujitsu legs.
A ninja so dark, so passionate, so fast,
He gently pulled aside my hidden Sai from under the cushion.
He kissed my breasts, my wrists, my hair,
My lips…
My shoulder, he patched with his soothing mouth.
We locked in kiss so quickly, his tongue
Bitter from my blood, snapping at my neck
And torso while he pushed inside me, deeper.
Invisible in the dark, he loved me
In endless ways, my fragile ninja rested
On the top of my chest.
I stroked his hair in content and silence,
Not even knowing his name.
A dark-haired ninja lay over my hips
When dawn came chewing at our lashes.
I then turned, not to see his figure,
Relying on my silent samurai
Of the dusk that I’ll go back to sleep
And he’ll go back to black.
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
My dad fell head over heels in love with my mom during their college years. Mom was a petite, a dark haired, dark skinned little angel would could warble a song like none other, with a smile that earned her the name, Sunshine! Her real name? Angel! He was a tall, handsome, fair-skinned, bearded man from a far off land named Persia. He spoke no Arabic. She spoke no Farsi or Armenian, though her father was Armenian. The very first words she ever said to him were, “Are you alright?” when he was thrown off the maintenance truck, probably because he was staring at her and not holding on. They fell madly in love…..Only later….later did they discover that she was 10 years his senior. She looked much younger. He looked much older, and this was the Middle East where age MATTERS.
A strange twist of fate
My love not defined by years
Why should it matter?
She broke up with him and she broke her own heart in so doing. He tried to stay away. Not only was she older, she was part Arab, and his mother would NEVER approve. Armenians married Armenians. If they did not do so, the race would die out. She threatened him in a letter. “If you marry that Arab, you are no longer my son!”
Forbidden…your love
My heart in state of turmoil
Family demands
The age difference was a chasm that was impossible to cross….but he loved her. He adored her…her smile…her tender heart...her beautiful voice. He begged her to come back to him. “I cannot live without you.” She had been longing to hear those words. They married, and everyone named them….the love birds. When Mom got sick with MS, it was Dad who cared for her, who wouldn't put her in a home, who shed tears for the woman who had borne him three children and had been a support to him during his years of administrative and pastoral work in Iran. He bathed her, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her soiled clothes, took her for rides…the only time she felt free! He carried her down three flights of stars on his back when he had to rush to the bomb shelter….Don’t tell me love is bound to age! NONSENSE! I've seen with my own eyes…a love that defies all odds…and remains strong…to the gates of death.
My Angel is gone
The sweetest joy of my life
When you were my wife
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Suddenly a knock came, it was his estranged wife, "Darling I am sorry, and I need you in
my life",
She begged that he would answer, then decided use her key, as she entered she was calling,
"Darling where are you? it's me"
As she came in from the kitchen, slamming closed the back door, she spied him lying
injured, on the hallway floor.
He called to her "come closer, for I think that I will die, and before I do my darling I
need you at my side"
She knelt down beside him, placed his head upon her knee, she panicked as she looked
around, the body she did see,
"Who is that?" she asked him, "that girl with golden hair, and why is she wrapped up in a
rug at the very top of the stairs?"
The voices spoke again to him, "kill her or she will tell, if you kill her now we promise
you can have her down in hell"
He beckoned she come closer, as on his words he seemed to choke, and as she trustingly
moved into him, he stabbed her in the throat.
It was several days later before the bodies were ever found, the blond haired girl up the
stairs, and the couple on the ground.
Police were called to investigate,and the verdict of their fate, this was a crime of
passion, of vengeful female hate.
They concluded that the wife returned unexpected to the home, and when entering the
property found her husband not alone,
In fits of rage and jealousy she took a sword from off the wall, her intention was to
murder them, death to one and all.
They believed the girl was just to heavy for the wife to move downstairs, even commenting
and complimenting the girls beautiful blond hair,
With her husband now, she pushed him, as he fell against her knife, he must of been
reluctant, to harm his estranged wife.
The lovers dead she could not face the truth of what she''d done, and slit her throat in
sheer disgust of the vengeance she had spun.
Opening up the boot of the car, that the wife had been seen driving, something wrapped in
a woolen rug was obviously hiding.
The body of a dark haired man, with a bullet in his head, looked as if for at least 6 days
this fella had been dead.
See what no one ever realised, and no one ever knew, the voices speaking to the man, spoke
to the wife too!
We ain't lived the blues yet
How the hell would we know
We ain't been there dying
How the hell would any of us
Ever hope to know
We never even felt it
The hunger and the crying
The orphans and the widows
We only heard the lying
How the hell would we know
Shelter from the storm
Shelter for the dog
Shelter for the garbage
How the hell would any of us
Ever hope to know
Does your greed take control
Is your heart on the wall
Is it always on your mind
Is your mercy hiding out
Is your memory hard to find
Take it to the finder
You'll need it for the test
Take it to the maker
He's apt to bar the door
Take it to your momma
Take it to the smithy
You know what he does
He sharpens all the iron
He knows what to use
You know what he uses
Your story's out
You're on the run
You think you got the blues
You think you got a reason
You think you know the news
You ain’t really got a reason
You ain't really got the blues
Seven pairs of shoes
You ain't got the news
You ain't heard it yet
Your momma got the blues
She raised you better than that
You'd rather frolic
A feather in your hat
How the hell would you know
Jimmy Brown would tell you
And the little shoe shine boy
The little dark haired boy
They all want something better
They can taste the blues
They got a reason
They know where it's at
They can hear the blues
Might walk another path
If they had some shoes
Heaven knows there are two
And yes, there's still time
Rosemary and Sage
And yesterday's wine
Tomorrow is a long time
Sell the news in heaven
Shining in the shade
Or on the hit parade
They'll always have the blues
They'll always have it made
You can take a ball and chain
And tie it to your blues
You'll never slow it down
You'll never see it drag
It won’t even know
You can't shake the blues
It's like a big oak tree
Not a bird would feel it
Not a leaf would fall
No acorns at all
What makes you think
You got the blues
Not a thorn in sight
Seven pairs of shoes
You think you got the blues
No shadows anywhere
Not a cross to bear
Life more than fair
Not a soul to save
Why should you care
Two souls searching ?
Inspired by a writing from my sixteen year old Daughter
This old man, sits in the shadows of his life’s plan,
this fading shadow, of what once was a man !,
who’s life’s colours, his aura are not but shades of gray
that come in, and seem to fill his every day.
And then, black shades he doth find
in the troubled shadows, in the mind
of his youngest, his black haired beauty,
his ever growing all knowing, big cutie
who’s mold is told, as it sets sound,
after all the rules have been laid down
for this, my dark haired child
who’s dark soul seems so wild
with rage, her soul locked in a cage,
and there seems to be no turning the page.
That book needs to be found,
her soul, her spirit set free,
to know that beautiful sound,
find inner peace, let herself be.
Escape the clutches of doom, find peace
and know just how easy it is to release,
from the deep recesses of her troubled mind,
all she looks for but never seems to find.
That place where she may set free the flames,
get out and get away from the games,
be strong my Dear, and put the fires out
with such glee, be free, and shout.
B. J. “A” 2
February 27th 2001
Lost in a strange Space
A writing by my youngest Daughter,
about a painting she had done of herself.
In honest god truth, I could not really explain,
to you all, what is going on in this painting.
What I can tell you is, the title explains a lot,
because a lot of the time, I am lost in a strange space,
that is so indescribable that I’m not going to try.
The flame I’m holding in my heart represents all
the anger and frustration I hold inside me,
in fear of letting it out, may lead to destruction of myself.
My face is black because a lot of the time
I feel I have no real appearance, just a mind.
The faint yellow around me
represents what little faith I have in my body.
If I could explain, to whom is reading this,
all of what is going on inside my mind
I would, but I can’t, and all I know,
of what is keeping me alive,
is the love I feel for a few people,
and the love they return .
By Melanie
Atfield .
Candy placed her towel on one of the many shelves that separated the weight-lifting area of the gym from that of the stationary bikes and treadmills. Tossed casually next to the towel were two keys – one for her house and one for her car, together on their cute chain with the slogan: No pain, no gain. She decided to begin her workout with bicep curls. As she strode to the spot she wanted, she smiled to see that nobody was occupying that particular piece of equipment. Someone stood a short distance from where Candy had tossed her towel and keys. A shop right next to the gym made copies of keys. He had been biding his time, but today he would grab her keys and get a copy made of the house key.
The nondescript man, dark-haired and of medium stature, fancied himself quite inconspicuous in his plain gym attire: gray sweat pants and an unremarkable shirt to match it. He stared at the young woman, but the expression on his face gave no indication of whether he devoured her visually with disdain or with pleasure. He seemed to think the trim sexy blonde took no notice of him. He could not have been more wrong!
Candy indeed had noticed the man immediately upon her arrival. He was the same creep she saw almost every other time she came to the gym, which would be once or twice a week, depending on her schedule. She made a mental note of the day and hour. It matched up to the other times she’d seen him. He was a Tuesday/Thursday evening kind of guy. She wondered if he thought she were blind to not notice him eyeballing her. What audacity he had! Suddenly, she saw him move toward the very shelf where she had placed her keys. Hmmm, she thought, what is that creep up to? Candy pretended not to notice when she saw him take her keys and then slide casually out of the gym. She decided to follow him. A plan was already forming in Candy’s pretty little head.
Sept. 19, 2022 for Matt Caliri's Chapter 1 Poetry Contest
(tentative title and beginning 3 paragraphs for my one idea for a thriller mystery novel that has been on my mind for a long time. I know the direction I want it to go, but I just can't decide how I would end it!)
I am a wall painted purple, oh, I remember that day well,
a girl of raven hair, standing on a ladder painting me;
I was laughing because her hair had streaks of purple paint,
and she was dappled all over with dots of me.
The next few days I was left alone to dry in quietude,
then came the antique furniture and mauve drapery;
art work was attached to me in hues of purple so lovely,
my whole essence was of peace and tranquility.
I liked to watch the girl dance around the room so pretty,
she looked at herself in an oval mirror attached to me;
and I felt she was looking into my soul, often she was writing,
at her desk into a diary with tears in her eyes.
How I wanted to reach out and stroke that head gently,
but of course I was just a purple wall, I felt her sadness;
then one day she was wearing a beautiful white dress,
I did not realize that she was leaving me that day.
The door to my room closed with the furniture covered,
I spent my days in darkness as the curtains hid the sun,
at night all I had were my memories of that raven haired girl,
then one day, the door creaked open, so slowly.
An old lady with white hair holds the hand of a little girl,
she strokes the raven hair of the girl with such love;
the dark haired girl smiles- the lady calls her granddaughter,
she tells her, "this is the room where I used to dance."
Then, they open up the curtains and throw off the covers,
and they begin to dance and twirl all about the room;
I am happy- I want to join them but I am just a purple wall,
that little girl now looks into the oval mirror . . .
attached to me, and it seems she is looking into my soul.
_______________________
October 14, 2016
Poetry/Personification/Just A Purple Wall
Copyright Protected, ID 16-839-255-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Personification
sponsor, Lewis Raynes
Sixth Place
Last night I watched in silence
At the end of the road in forest deep
I hid amongst the trees watching in awe
As gypsies dance while others sleep
Under the violet hue of evening sky
Haloed by evening's golden moon
I watched gypsies dance and sing
As flames from bonfires leaped high in the air
Dark haired women in shawls and beads
Happily dancing and twirling without care
Casting their spells of magic and enchantment
Performing their honeyed seductions
Blended with aphrodisiacs of scent and sound
Gypsy men with kerchiefs around their necks
Hoops of silver adorning their ears, singing joyful songs
Children laughing, dogs barking
As if they’re singing right along
Oh, I so wanted to join them as I stood watching in awe
Envious was I of their freedom and joy
Caravans painted in bright images and colors
Tambourines jingling as velvet shadows danced in the night
Skirts swirling, gold and silver bangles on their arms
Dancing 'round the bonfire's fiery light
Accordions singing, with happy notes from a fiddler's bow
As they sang and danced barefoot under evening moon
In the coming dawn once again...
It will be time for them to pack and move on
With a last meal served...
The caravans are readied to make another journey long
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
As their wagons move along dusty trails
They'll be looking for a place to camp
A place to call home... at least for awhile
A place to hang their colored paper lamps
Until...
Suddenly- a cry rings out
"Stop the wagons, ring the bells
We've found the perfect place
The perfect place for magic spells
Tomorrow brings a brand new day!
Let's feast, dance and make merry
Come on let's get things underway"
And so...
The journey goes on
And never ends!
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on, time to leave
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"