Long Deeds Poems
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A god mended in string and wired corsets, armature.
The blackened police the striders in the dark…
a crippled plaything,
a hymn of the tourniquet and tethers.
...an earth-bound deities song.
...of the corrupt entertain fears.
The black politic of crippled idol giggles at noon.
The laughter of the loon in the maelstrom of the melancholy.
Mechanics of pale things.
...fear the eyes of the black chromed officers.
Enigmatic and mysterious thin men in rusted black armature...
draconian laws of rooks.
Hymns for an inky book.
Stratagems of military men and political puppets,
see the crippled thing unwind.
The god entwined.
Broken shells and barbed wires,
Rusted gears,
Twisted springs,
Men in black cloaks,
...suspicious eyes,
lords of crimes, and dire deeds.
...of the broken god mended,
in string-wired corsets and armature.
The dark police the sable striders.
riders on the storm in the darkness...
as corrupted something abides!
Banking on inherited memories rejuvenates me.
As and when I remember the memories
That me and my people long to cherish
And those me and my people despise to relish
To remember not as memoirs
But as inerasable scars.
The nation, the geography, the war, the leaders
The language, the temples, the forts and those statues, and the ethnicity
Then comes an innate xenophobia
That declares me and my people as more equal than others;
And others do live in History’s mischief,
Bloodshed as part of the living
And for the living of me and my people,
And the making of the histories
That I and my people have today
As glorious moments of the past for the present
But for those who produced this wicked ‘hero’
That is unexplainable.
The unforgettable’s enigmatic inexplicable
And this makes me feel the heroic deeds
And the unheroic moments as great periods
And people who built that fort and this temple.
I only consume History.
Producer of History
Learning from the past bloopers
I reconstruct the future through THIS present.
And those present here.
There is NO present as such
For humans live in past glories
And memories that are painful
To think about the future
And the prospective futures
Those (are) perceived either in fear or in hyper ambitions.
The past seems to me
A mere wars-the wars fought
For a feudal by a feudal
Or those slaves-(Both physical and social).
Those kings and their courtesans
The numerous wives and those concubines
The titles and the moribund army.
The modern PROMOTERS of democracy
Yet the common man was ‘there’
But not living.
I exterminate all the above
Including the democracy,
The dictatorship of the preliterate,
The religious kingdom, the Islamic republic.
Egalitarian society for all- the inclusive growth
I will have equality
Where people are equal
In all but something giving room for those
Like I who would like to produce
History- future history.
I produce History
Not for History’s sake
For myself – my sake.
The Winds of Wars
The winds of wars have shorn the shores where children once had played,
revealing bones of dead unknowns for whom the faithful’d prayed,
to no avail beneath the veil of death where rockets strayed,
for tit-for-tat is where it's at when war hawks’ eggs are laid.
The winds of wars destroy the moors, strew corpses’ burnt debris
which stains the staves that mark the graves (blest signs of victory)
where somber moms are sighing psalms while staring wistfully
upon the past before the blast that doomed their destiny.
The winds of wars clog corridors with folks in search of peace
because, outside, the genocide is giving no surcease;
‘But what the heck, it pays the check’, so say the world Police –
beneath the sky, they slice the pie, each hacking off a piece.
The winds of wars have wiped the floors with foes who won’t obey
(the bombs that fall are meant for all, the bodies ricochet) –
‘The carcass count may sadly mount’ the vanquishers will say,
while hiding facts of heinous acts neath verbal lingerie.
The winds of wars (soon metaphors for hellish deeds, though deeper)
have flattened schools (allowed by rules as written by the Reaper),
and brought despair beamed through the air (beware the booby beeper)
and, when they slay so faraway, make human life the cheaper.
The winds of wars have spread the spores that taint and mangle minds
with doublespeak and hide-and-seek that closes eyes and grinds
the passive pawns (once mowed like lawns) with servitude that binds,
and while the blight is holding tight, the wider world unwinds.
Postscript
The Wins of Wars
The wins of wars fill warlords’ drawers (some call it charity)
with yellow gold for weapons sold to kill the enemy
and purloined oil from conquered soil and tankers seized at sea –
the poor are billed to fund and build the wartime industry.
The wins of wars are won by whores who sell their souls with glee
and run amok to spend a buck (for killing’s never free)
and more and more they’ll arm for war (a spiraled spending spree)
until at last the warrior caste’s deposed and forced to flee.
In the up's that I have found
With the in's that help me out
Here and there and there about
There's only so much that I'm allowed
In the all that I can keep
That keeps on affecting me
Will take for granted in its deeds
Where no longer will I be free
For what looks good at the time
Sometimes comes back to bite
If you don't keep a watchful eye
And you let it run your life
For what's good can turn out bad
If you give it the upper hand
What started out as well laid plans
Becomes more of a demand
So be careful in what you do
Give all of your time to
Like you've heard and it is true
Can take a bite out of you
When the bluster and champion of words bleeds
from the flue,
quite unintentionally, with seeds…
The whirlwind of contrast and opposing creeds
turns one blue,
when the bluster and champion of words bleeds.
Spur of the moment spat of dandelion weeds
without a clue,
quite unintentionally with seeds.
A test dummy with mouth and lip speeds
seems so frou-frou,*
when the bluster and champion of words bleeds.
Delightful time but for tilt of raw deeds -
a daft wind blew,
quite unintentionally with seeds.
When unmitigated passion and escalation leads,
bad blood breaks through…
when the bluster and champion of words bleeds
quite unintentionally with seeds.
2/26/2022
AN ORIGINAL VILLANELLE
L Milton Hankins
*Frou-Frou — silly
IN THE MIRROR OF LIFE
In Mirror of Life, reflections,
span a lifetime of tears.
Reflects moments of pure courage,
and … embarrassing fears.
Its reflections aren’t enlargements,
of deeds both good and bad.
It’s what it truly is, memories,
we can’t change … a tad.
Bible is like God’s “life mirror,”
reflects our heart’s intents.
Discerns the words, to others speak.
reveals … just what we meant.
In the Mirror of Life, I pray,
that what God sees, sees true.
LIfe, full of gratitude, and hope.
and prayers … I prayed for you.
May 7, 2022 copyright
All rights reserved
Contest: IN THE MIRROR OF LIFE
Sponsor: Annoucheks Gangabisson
To draw the string back, with a notched arrow,
To sense the taut twine pull against and test
The strength of stiffed up shoulders and flexed chest—
But not to loose the arrow at the sparrow;
To aim, to wait, to track through the narrow
Cracks between webbed branches, to feel one’s breast
Beating boldly, and breath deep, slowed, suppressed—
But not to shoot the shot at the sparrow;
Oh the bitter pangs of deeds not done, thoughts
Unsaid—how viciously they gnash and gnaw!
And of duration, long and dreadful are
The laments of a pounding heart’s grim knots.
Ah, what work it is such ice then to thaw,
As that of one who’s soul has missed its star.
HOPING TO FIND PEACE AND JOY IN MY LIFE DON'T BE SAD
My brother you don't have the corner market on pity
And you can't serve your own cake at your own party
Pretty-much been already started those sins you've forgotten
And when the world is through
And when your deeds are too
This is what you can do
Put your hand over your mouth
Stop complaining, fussing and shout
Hallelujah, hallelujah praising the Lord our God
Hoping to find peace and joy in my life
So that I stop feeling sad
Coming together for the master
Jesus is my treasure
Hoping to find myself in Him
Seeking a new beginning
So that I stop feeling sad for myself
Need to thank God for giving me breath
Hallelujah, hallelujah praising the Lord
Hallelujah, praising God
Coming together for the master
Making Him my treasure
Praising Him forever
HOPING TO FIND PEACE AND JOY IN MY LIFE DON'T BE SAD
Dedicated to JOHN LEONG
inspired by John Leong
4/21/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Copyright © 2018
from anthology "God's Children New Poets, Poems and New Friends 3"
In the grove of life, where the fields of time were greening with beginnings,
I spotted you, the naked shadow, a birth from the depth of the holy nothingness.
You crossed its silent threshold, coming with empty hands at dawn,
Unveiling yourself of the shroud of non-being, watched over by stars and the moon.
You embraced the universe, armed with only a pure soul,
In the pilgrimage toward the final silence, you will step again disarmed.
And I ask you, sister or brother in fate, whence come these cold chains?
Why plant nettles and thorns in the garden that was gifted to us pure and untainted?
In the ephemeral dance of being, all gold and silver dissolve into the illusion of time,
All palaces and thrones, sandcastles beneath the waves of vast oblivion.
The only currency that weaves across Styx embraces a finer essence,
A shared love, compassion speaking through deeds, a mirror still awaiting a response.
Ah, pride and vanity, dragons that steal the light from your eyes,
They plunge you into the shadow of a self beached on shores of disillusionment.
But the beauty of life woven in humility and kindness,
Rises like a phoenix from the ashes of falsehood, soaring toward true glory.
We will leave behind only echoes of that breath-song,
With a melody sung in acts of love, in the souls of those who remain to hum along.
This will be the mark, vibrating into eternity, a divine resonance,
The legacy that will cross the threshold, between earth and skies, to be followed with reverence.
And in the margins of time, when departure sends its envoys,
You will part, justly, with empty hands and a heart full of blessings.
The naiads of your eyes sealing the unseen tale left behind,
You remain the symphony of forgiveness, the harmony of celestial love, eternal through giving.
Echoes of promises, whispers in the night
Words that dance upon the wind, a fleeting light
They speak of love, of dreams, of forever's might
But do the footsteps follow, or do they stray into the night?
Actions unfold like petals of a flower
A language universal, a truth in every hour
No need for interpretation, no room for deceit
The heart sees what the eyes can't, the truth in every beat
I've been deceived by words that shone like gold
Promises of forever, that turned to dust and old
But actions whispered truths, in the silence of the night
A language only the heart can hear, a beacon shining bright
Yet, still I'm drawn to the poetry of their speech
The honeyed words that flow, the promises they preach
But like a siren's call, I'm wary of the sea
Lest the ship of my soul, crashes upon the rocks of deceit
So I'll watch the hands, the feet, the eyes
The rhythm of their actions, the symphony of their lives
For in the melody of deeds, I hear the truth revealed
A harmony of character, or a discord that's concealed
Trust is a garden, that needs tending and care
Nourished by consistency, and the light of truth that's shared
Words may be the seeds, but actions are the fruit
And I'll trust the harvest, not the promise of the bloom's pursuit
In this dance of trust, I'll follow the beat
Of actions that resonate, like a heartbeat in the street
For words may fade like whispers, but deeds will forever stand
A testament to character, the architecture of the heart's plan