Long Deserved Poems
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Regardless of our faith, in Love we can believe,
For Love's within us all, if we choose to retrieve.
Should we choose to leave Love in a dormant state,
Then we invite into our heart the bitterness of hate.
Those who believe in the power of Love,
Radiate and spread around all the beauty of.
Those who deny Love to flourish within their heart,
Spread misery around, since it's all they can impart.
We have all been blessed with the greatest Gift,
Though some choose to away from Love, drift.
The presence of Love or not is always crystal clear
In how we treat others; how others we revere.
Love is not selfish, cruel, apathetic, unforgiving;
Does not embrace greed or a miserable way of living.
Instead, Love is selfless, compassionate, and kind,
With consideration for others a natural state of mind.
Love is not ego serving, boastful and bragging;
Doesn't tune out a guilty conscience nagging.
Instead, Love is humble, modest, and reserved;
Accountable and accepting of what's deserved.
Love is not jealous, envious, resentful, or bitter;
Nor shallow, spineless, a flip-flopping fence sitter.
Instead, Love cultivates virtue, values, and integrity,
Making real in oneself a comfortable place to be.
When, our Gift Of Love, we cultivate with care,
We then reap to scatter Love seeds everywhere,
Always hoping they'll take root in another's garden bed,
Where there's being tilled the opposite of Love, instead.
When in our hearts we grow Love, we never have to feel
Afraid that another will come along and from us, steal
What we are growing and therefore, in possession of,
Because all they can take from us is some of our Love.
Once in the thief's possession, Love can only grow,
Infiltrate and change the current seeds they sow.
So, when we give the Gift Of Love and without request,
We can know in our heart we have given the very best.
In this day and age of money taking precedence,
Love is still free to receive and to dispense.
Love cannot be bought nor can Love be sold,
Making the Gift Of Love untouchable by gold.
We need not save our Love for special times and places,
Just for special occasions and to gladden special faces,
For the magic of Love is released every time we give
And multiplies within us when the Gift Of Love we LIVE!
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2017-12-24 16:52:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
...His starting point, after much hustling,
was a diner at the edge of the town,
the man who had once built massive bridges
now spent his days at work frying hash browns.
Working for a pittance, day after day,
the only place that would dare give him pay.
About three months into doing such work,
just after the breakfast rush was complete,
he saw a woman enter the diner,
with two young boys, she looked about forty.
Time had done little to Alan’s ex-wife,
Whitney was a queen, hallowed in his sight.
He tried to hide, but Whitney caught a glimpse,
a flabbergasted look clear on her face,
but he made no move to go talk with her,
and she had two kids, could not leave her place.
His heart pounded until Whitney had left,
seeing her moved over felt much worse than death.
She had proclaimed that she would stand with him
when the accusations first had been made,
but the media had taken its toll,
he had watched her resolve drain, day by day,
until the day that the verdict had come,
when he’d been locked up, then it had been done.
She’d started divorce, he didn’t contest,
it was something he could not do to her,
she’d wanted children, normal existence,
all the things that a good woman deserved.
With him in prison, that would be denied,
so he’d signed the papers, and said goodbye.
It had been simple, before he’d been freed,
when he had not had a reason to hope,
now, seeing her, with some other man’s kids,
seemed beyond his ability to cope,
a wound that wouldn’t heal, slowly bleeding,
making him question the point of being.
But the next day, when his shift was over,
and he was walking slowly for the bus,
he saw a G-wagon, and his Whitney,
and his heart started racing then because
there were no kids there, no shield she could use,
confronting this was what he could not do.
But she came forwards, her face fresh with tears,
struggling hard to keep herself composed,
until she broke down, and embraced Alan,
saying, “I’m sorry…how-how could I know?
I’m not sure how to deal with this because
I don’t know why she would do this to us!
“Now I’m left looking at a man I love,
that I abandoned, I’m ashamed it’s true…
We were so happy, but now all I see
is all the things that I’ve taken from you.
The life you deserved, that I thought we’d build,
her lies and my weakness…it’s all been killed.”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
...A child who’d never know a father
that had deserved him more than she could tell,
knowing that she must lie to her husband,
the truth of it would not end very well.
The moments when she should feel only joy,
she just felt despair she could not avoid.
The weight of it all pushed Whitney to drink,
she hid it well, since Jerry worked a lot,
the au pair did most care for the baby,
since inside Whitney was nagged by dark thoughts,
she’d see her youngest, and think of her loss,
then call the au pair, and hand the babe off.
This pattern went on for about a year,
all of her family noticed the grim mood,
Jerry did his best to cater to her,
but despite this Whitney didn’t improve,
when, despite her kids, everything seemed wrong,
when in her own life she didn’t belong.
It wasn’t suicide that claimed Whitney,
at least it was not the conscious sort,
it came when she’d exhausted her wine,
and without a thought, went out to the store,
far enough gone that she didn’t realize
that she had no business trying to drive.
Her car was found at the base of a bridge,
she gone so fast she’d burst through the guard rail,
the coroner said she’d died in impact,
when Jerry heard of the news he just wailed,
he may not have held the love of his wife,
but to him she’d been the love of his life.
JERRY
Jerry found himself in a trying place,
alone with three children, one of them young,
working full time to keep everyone fed,
without nannies he would get nothing done.
But even then, his children were depressed,
not understanding the whole of this mess.
He’d never been an emotional man,
but he tried his best to be there for them,
especially their one-year old baby,
who, of course, needed so much attention,
Jerry’s hair turned gray trying to keep up,
and he was still mourning for his lost love.
He managed to find some sort of balance,
some way to keep his kids going through this,
they were the only good this he had left,
the only reason he cared to persist,
alone he had little time for himself,
it did take a toll on his mental health.
He’d no time for dating, didn’t want to,
it still hurt too much to not see Whitney,
all his time was spent with his three children,
there was none left for fun or for hobbies,
Jerry felt himself a shell of a man,
everything was struggle, there was no more plan...
CONTINUES IN PART V.
What Democracy
Democracy, in Britain is nothing but a lie.
From the dictionary the word should be deleted
Whilst democracy’s the slogan that politicians cry
The majority of us feel that we’ve been cheated
With political correctness forced upon us every day
Just in case the casual word may cause offence
If you have a strong opinion be careful what you say
Even though you may be talking perfect sense
When we joined the E.E.U. I’m sure we took the view
It would give a larger market for our trade
Yet now our mighty nation has a legal obligation
To abide by regulations Brussels made
The referendum was denied, the politicians lied
These decisions were decided by the few
It was no doubt understood, M.Ps thought it would be good
With a total disregarding of our view
MP’s pull out all the stops to try to fill our shops
With G.M foods that we don’t want to eat
Whilst cameras check our speed on roads where there’s no need
We’d be better off with coppers on the beat
If when confronted by a crook you land a good right hook
You may think that he deserved it, it’s his fault
When he is on probation you’ll be locked up down the station
To appear before a jury for assault
When travellers leave a mess, you’d be spot on if you guess
That authorities will turn an eye that’s blind
Yet drop a *** end in the street and before it hits your feet
You will get an instant ticket and be fined
If asylums what you seek and English you can’t speak
Benefits are paid for your welfare
But if your British and your old, your property is sold
To pay for any time you are in care
If you chastise your child, because he has run wild
That law will on your collar give a tug
For no matter what you say, do-gooders rule the day
Even though the child may grow into a thug
In the interest of fair play referendums are the way
The majority decide just where we go
We shouldn’t change our laws or take part in futile wars
To massage a political ego
When we are due a big election, parties vie for our affection
Promising the things they have in store
It fair gives us the hump, they should take a running jump
They must realise we’ve heard it all before.
It is hard to understand who governs our fair land
Or who it is that makes up all our rules
Our politicians bore us, or totally ignore us
Democracy in Britain! It’s for fools!!.
.
Form:
She said that this man, my grandfather,
held her head under the black pool water,
while up above, a German man leaned
out of his window, against the moss and brick
to scream violently: "Don't hurt that woman!
She is the most beautiful woman in the world!"
The tone of the man's voice, authoritative, cold
broke my grandfather's concentration and he
let her bob up to the surface, coughing, sputtering
in an almost drowned manner, while still maintaining a beauty uncommon to humans, as she stole a quick glance
to the heavens of heavens to acknowledge the saving
power of a stranger.
This is her story today, as she sits on three moth-eaten,
velvet pillows to make her tall enough to reach the kitchen table.
She has shrunk in her old age and is no longer "the most beautiful woman
in the world".
She sips her black coffee out of Russian demitasse cups with diamond emblems
until she reaches the grinds which have slept in warmth on the bottom,
to fool her, she thinks.
She nibbles her white toast with butter and honey and shivers in the air conditioning as royalty should.
When she has filled the remaining ten percent of her stomach (the other ninety percent was removed from the worry
of ulcers when technology was in it's infant stage), she continues her story.
It lasts all afternoon and twists and winds around the basic sub-plot that, somehow, her beauty and dignity was
acknowledged in the worst circumstances, and, with her infinite wisdom, the world was made a better place.
Her voice soaks into the wooden cabinets, and will remind me forever of strong, fresh-brewed coffee, and I think,
right at that moment as I look at my hands (which I know will resemble hers one day), that I miss my grandfather.
The most gentle man in the world, whose thoughts never amounted to more than wanting to garden well, or shape
the perfect pizza in his pizza shop.
This man, who set chairs on tables to clear the floor before he danced in pure Zorba the Greek manner, with a glint in
his innocent eyes.
This man, who looked at this woman, this fabricating, self-absorbed, once beautiful woman, with an adoration never
deserved.
I clean up the dishes, while still listening, and kiss her good bye on her forehead.
Jittery from stories caffeinated and old, I chose to walk the long way home, lightening my mood and shedding her
words along the way.
Perche Sono Me IV (Fire)
It’s been a long time since I have told anyone why I was myself and why I am me. It was long ago that I dictated three prose poems on this matter. The same questions have come up; newer ones add to my plight. I am single because I will not settle for anyone who only fulfills the needs of my loins. I prefer a person that arouses my intellect and respect for her. The people I have met only meet one of those criteria, except one meeting two of the three. Still, to get all three is a challenge. Even getting two of the three is a challenge.
Why are you Single?
I am myself because of the pain I have endured by many who have claimed to want of me while they were giving a kiss of deceit. Playing with anyone's emotions is an unethical crime that haunts the perpetrator later in life. Several females who claim to know what they want are falling and feeling the pain they deserve for what they wanted was not deserved or earned. If you are stupid enough to want a bridge and house built for you without contributing to the production, then do not expect to have them when the man has built them. Of course, an unethical man will claim to have these until you are trapped and left out in the trash. Do not expect the good man to take you in, as you are not recyclable. When you give up on wanting a respectable man, you give up on being respectable to yourself. Your pain and the pain of your children were caused by you pursuing the pleasure of your false beliefs. One of them believed that she wanted a person of her faith. He could not commit to the person of free milk. He used her for five years. HARK to her for showing disrespect to herself and her daughter. Now, she is with someone who cares about how they treat her. Putting aerosol on excrement does not make a candle's scent flow in the breeze.
What type of partner do you want to marry?
Education is vital to me as I have seen many go to school only to find a mate or find a person to mate with. It is pretty disturbing that the goal is procreation and recreation. It is wiser to find someone who matches the qualities of a good girlfriend or wife if they meet the higher qualities. If you want a good friend, find someone with the qualities of a good girlfriend. If you want a good girlfriend, find someone who would make a good wife. If you want a good wife, then focus on these two aspects.
Life is good wen ur missing that certain fragrance, warmth heated imaginary endless love, soft kisses filled with Every intention to kover a wonded heart, heaven threw hell i was floating right pass the moon on dayz that should b irrelevant. Home is the highest energy u kould feel, i dislike knowing that ur the valve to my heart n mind that certain key that Broke into my lock, im no locksmith ,just give me 5 or 2 min with u and i have u feeling different, so either run away from me on a different planet and i know u Still love me with sadness that i kouldnt change to a different route of a cycle of a man that kan be there for you lookn gudd to a point , satisfied like either broke or poor well b ok whats higher than high? family, i wanna bring you all ur needs its not ur needs that u want from me just me and im missing you beyond missing like are coming threw? i miss u ,i have passion in us and you should know being the luckiest gurl in Life wouldnt be no gudd with a lil madness
like the world is tragic loving you forever n ever And more its programmed to our conscience automatic so my love exist wen i lay my last breath ,I say im selfish, kids in my life why Kouldnt i stop when, when u gave me chance after chance With that there I dnt deserve bliss u deserved kids ,sayin that? is that a lil kid Mind , Im a blindless guy in the world ,now im A hypocrite Who isnt.. Just know i love u Not even close Like the ojays.... Not ever like the future lame squeeze, i hate being the guy you'll be reminiscing of ,wat u were missing, wen you should be right next to me, like did u forget what u left behind threw arguing ,How do u say no more bcuz if ur heart hurts instantly shouldnt I TURN MY BACK ON YOU, Well i should turn it around , A roaming stream of feelings against Urself and knowing our luv is luv.. Real love or mistaken love, Like its not enough, i feel like the world is mine when were all layed up I keep messin up. A lil bit more and more konstantly i would nvr expect the world to just up n leave Hurt and just done to even bare to stick around me, sick n tired of being hurt once again so fall and i will katch you like a baseball mit , i feel you like Im missing you, i See you like Im missing you And i kant even touch when im missing you which I know the message Wats falling over and breathin Wen its the barely the 2nd inning
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
It took many years for me to love me
For rich or for poor the body keeps the score.
Society is always on the go no time to be still,
no time to chill, we are expected to go with the flow
To be authentic, eccentric quirky, society resents this
to be different in society’s eyes is a no.
Present in the present everything must be fast no time to be slow.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I in the word individual
Deserves to be loved.
Society has a way of making one feel trapped and detached.
For all the math equations, anxiety frustrations the I in this individual
Has gone through subliminal it has took many years to find out that the
I in this individual never needed to fit in. Because I all ready fit within
The F and the T in between the word FIT.
For the love Individual I deserves is the IT in the word FIT.
The I in the individual already exists in the word LIFT
As the I begins the journey of elevation.
It took many years for me to love me the way the I
Deserved to be loved by a better half as if part of me was missing.
Half a man stumbling through life unsure about his place in the
World that places labels upon your existence twisting and breaking
You down expecting you to stand with a smile when life calls from an UNKNOWN NUMBER
the voice message reads “You better not frown”.
Don’t show your broken places, fractures or fragments.
This society’s systems can slow you down watch you drown and remain stagnant.
It took many years for me to love me
As if the I in individual was broken.
But the greatest love story I ever lived
Wasn't written in sonnets.
It was whispered in my bathroom mirror
At 3 AM when I finally said,
"I see you. I hear you. You matter."
The greatest love story started
When I stopped apologizing
For taking up space,
For laughing too loud,
For crying too hard,
For being too much
Or not enough
For anyone else's comfort.
This body has carried me through heartbreak,
These hands have created magic,
This mind has survived storms
That would have leveled cities.
These scars are not failures;
They are proof that I fought
And I'm still here.
I learned to fill my cup with kindness towards the boy I used to be
Now, when I love her, it over flows as we come together scars and all
on this journey called GROW.