Long Detail Poems
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just an average typical morning within this same old town
avoiding all the neighbors that nosily creep these grounds
while all these other folks keep busy bodying gossiping and all
who has whiter teeth, bigger boobs, or the cutest guy at the mall
i stopped at the library to dodge all these illiterate snots
the only place that's quite enough for me to organize my thoughts
i walked in just to be stopped, breathless, dead in my tracks
a book, not made of paper or even hard back
binding was some type of stitched authenticism
bound with a beautiful articulate collage of pattern to it
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I stood there for a second, which felt like a lifetime
must have been reading stars, because it left my mind blind
if only just once I could hold that masteredpiece written classic
I can't lie it was perfect man, I just had to have it
I gasped for a moment, dead in my body
frozen and stunned hoping nobody saw me
it crossed my mind for a split, then, I thought
nah ****
if I get caught I'd be a goner, but I just couldn't wait any longer
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I darted for that case in a flash and I shattered that glass
busted it open, like I was late for literature class
static shocked a little as the book touched my hand
it was in that moment i knew i was the #1 fan
then it wasn't long I realized it was written for me
initials imprinted so there was no questioning
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I fell deep into the title it really 'hit a line'
bold, italics, with a dedication underlined
I wasn't sure why I needed or wanted to own it
but I would have searched forever if I would have known it
searching every library for a perfect story
all the titles and endings just really seem to bore me
this one was special I just wanted to trace over the print
read. every small detail. no need for suspense
Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale
-Across the Atlantic, 1793-
We cry out cursing to our very gods
Whilst mokala and plotters lead us in lots.
And slaves we have become, slaves we are groomed
And setting in the milken sky, is the moon.
This is the hell that befalls one’s prism
If he doesn’t open himself to pragmatism.
The ways of mokala are not our ways
And their days are never like our days.
Hope you fall in line with my tune’s knell
As it would guide souls to wisely dwell:
Now permit me continue with my sad tale
Before we are rapidly placed on sale.
For here I stand under an alien sun
Faraway from my own sweet land’s rung
Battered, chained to the queue’s label
As humans are placed on the auction table.
Here I proceed with my tale feeding you
With my pain, pains of brothers on cue
As they are sold off like fresh tobacco
Whips meeting flesh if anyone plays the hero.
***
Rocks! ebesse rocking, shaking like old
The chains cutting into arms, legs to mold
Croaks and groans climaxing to a sadistic rhythm
Beating us to yield forth into realism.
Light strained in through rat nibbled openings
Else we would have left the hold like blind goblins
Vicious to the point of abandonment
Scuffling for blood, mokala’s disbursement.
Aided by the scurrying light, my head worked
East, west, south and north, on shoulders, rocked-
Acquainting itself with the crampy hold
Taking in every detail for any bolt.
In long prodigious rows we humans lay
Meditating, some wide-eyed not to say
Tear tracks dry on their black paling cheeks.
They now submissive despite the reeks.
A cough here, a huff there. A groan here
A croak there. A curse far afield, a stifle near.
A prayer whimpered here, a shiver rippling
There. A horrid sight it was, a grappling.
That pungent stench, from decaying beings:
Men awake whilst parts decayed in rings.
I was nauseated, my eyes reeling, pained
My stomach flaring to throw up content.
And there they ran, hiking on heaving bodies
Playing hide-and seek- on chained enemies.
Tossing about, screeching on their suppers-
Causing a kick here, shrieks there, left-overs.
And my groans joined the choir, a dirge
Loud to fissure walls, and seditious to merge
Vocal forces to kill, kill! Kill! No shy-
And we’d die sober, die! Die! Die!
how much is it worth to you to feel safe and secure?
how much would you spend? how much could you afford?
what is the monetary value that you would place on your life?
how much money would it take? how much would you sacrifice?
what price safety? what would be the cost?
what price safety? what would you spend to prevent the loss?
too frightened to get on the elevator in the building where you reside
don't know if you'll make it to your door before a thief is at your side
too scared to walk to your car alone in a public parking lot
don't know if you'll get the keys in the door before you're assaulted or shot
what price safety? how much money would you spend
just to have that feeling of security once again?
most every elected official in most every country in this world
have their own taxpayer funded security detail
the celebrities, movie stars and TV personalities
have personal body guards and/ or private security
America has been on heightened alert since the Twin Towers did fall
the airports, the borders and Homeland Security are constantly on the ball
security has become one of the nation's fastest growing industries
and you can't go anywhere in this world without showing identity
so how much would you spend to remove from your life that spirit of fear?
how many dollars would it take to protect what you hold dear?
there're not enough police to go around to be in society's face
so security officers take up the slack and stand in their place
we've become the front line defenders that the community sees
to detect, protect and defend them and their property
retailers spend thousands of dollars just to secure their goods
from thieves, boosters, shoplifters and your garden variety hoods
the government be it federal, county, city or state
use security officers to keep the peace in abate
yet without benefit of weapons, no batons, no vests or guns
we hold to our positions and we get the job done
we alert the police, FDNY and the EMTs
at the first signs of violence, fire and any emergency
but we're at a disadvantage when it comes to getting paid
for we barely make what would be considered a livable wage
what price safety? what would it be worth to you
to give security officers what they are due?
what price safety? I ask you once more
what price would you pay just to feel secure?
WHAT PRICE SAFETY?
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
For many years I have realized that our hearts are very deceptive and unreliable. I cannot imagine how many times my heart has let me down and exposed the dark and negative aspects of it. Please permit me to share just one experience with you.
Thumbing through some old material a few days ago, I came across something that I experienced over 40 years ago and more than 2000 miles away. When I read the notes which had been in my possession for more than 35 years, my soul was enriched because I was sharing about the need for dedicating our lives to God which often demands that we take the initiative to say, "I'm Sorry", not only to God but also to fellow humans, even if we think that we are right.
On January 2, 1983, I referred to an encounter I had with a nurse in or about 1975 in Memphis, Tn. Now, 40 plus years later, I remember being in Memphis, but I don't even remember such an encounter. Had I not recorded the incident, I would not be speaking of it today. My notes reveal that a point was being made about changing our minds and taking the initiative to apologize. My notes also revealed that I was indignant toward the nurse, after which I left the scene and was heading home. Somewhere between that nurse and my home, The Holy Spirit convicted me of my actions and attitude.
Again, presently, I do not remember what really happened, but not only was I convicted by The Holy Spirit, I was compelled by Him to find a public telephone. Before I reached home, I telephoned the nurse and apologized for my behavior.
God knows every detail of what happened that day in Memphis, and I suspect if shown a video of my behavior, I would be embarrassed, to say the least, and perhaps surprised by the anger released from my heart. For many a year, we have heard it said, "Follow your heart". Technically, I do not follow my heart, but I lead my heart. And but for the grace of God, the cleansing blood of Christ, and the compelling forces of The Holy Spirit, I would be forever lost.
02162019PoSpMTFB
An email written to eldest daughter
December 28th, 2019,
which unwittingly, magically, accidentally...
resurfaced while scrolling
thru outdated emails
and OpenOffice documents of mine
thee evening of February 20th, 2022.
The remaining lines
comprising reasonable poetic rhyme
sent to said offspring
more than two plus years ago
and dada feels grief no more, cuz time
heals all wounds.
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp faux claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler Craigslist curb alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
courtesy lack of income
rendered paternal bond disastrously dire
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
Currents breeze chasers, swaying to and forth on the delicate
Fridge of the starry night’s encroachment, oh brilliant weavers
Of this dreaming quilt of opulence majestic, I’m lost within your
Fabrics motion, as waves of air flutter ever so lightly, in the rippling
Effect of thy flight!
Floating elemental orbs, steamily bouncing between the heavens
And the earth, chariots heat balloons elevating the inspirational
Heights of mankind, exposing the grandeur of our magnificent
World that surrounding us all, in natural beauties ultimate
Masterpiece beyond our mortal existence!
Splendor’s optical window of the open air experience,
Lifting the physical being on the wings of imagination,
Casting away the shackles of the land, and releasing
The inner dreamer, welcoming them to join within their sacred
Dance amongst these vast divides of Nirvana!
Free falling angels, cradled within this timeless basket of inspiration,
Gently are thee to be rocked by the very breathe of God himself,
For you’ve entered into the kingdom of the heights most majestic,
Be still now, and just listen to the whispering of the angelic,
As your heart beholds the wonder beneath gravity’s unbound
Feet!
Carelessly let these moon children be illumined, by the
Ivory pearl that lingers within this glorious twilight surrender,
No journey’s end will ever capture this spiritual moments
Experience, in such glorious detail as the remembrance carried
Within the human hearts memory so tenderly embraced!
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Negotiation is a tool and those who reject it is a fool, you must go back to the negotiation table to find out if the proposal is able. You must read every detail of it and be careful not to toss it in ditch. This will be your last chance to get it right before nature starts rolling the dice.
You have walked away from it several times but nature is keeping you alive; you have not read it so how can you understand it? Your IQ is so low but mercy is keeping you on the show. How could you refuse to meet when the people have been keeping you on your feet; I have survived a thousand deaths but destiny is not ready for me yet.
You have got to go to the Negotiation table to get some critical things done; this race is not for you and the angels will not look after you. You have a lot of bills to pay and compensation to give away the destruction of the property is your personal responsibility.
How much time I must tell you that I am not a politician, how many times I must tell you that religiosity and business cannot work? you have swallowed the bitter gall and got mixed up into a brawl.
The table has turned and there is no way you will were wear the crown, you will not return to the stage until you compensate the family for all the misgivings and deception that you have brought.
And when that is done you will suffer the biggest defeat under the blistering sun and all your nuclear weapons will explode in the heavens, they will have no effect on the human brain.
You are stubborn, hard headed and careless, you are not the king, the King’s man or the door man you are just occupying space but nature will get you out of the race, you have angered everybody and no one wants to tarry, you have jailed several journalist and they have branded you as the biggest hypocrite.
I saw it on the evening news how you have handled the accused, I am not a politician and I am not going to sing your political song, release the people from form your jail before the mercenaries come your way, this time nature will respond with full force and water will rise up on every roof ..
You will go to the negotiation room and hear what your negotiators have to say, you will participate in the discussion and show some respect before the dam breaks, I hope that you will understand that you must pay your debt before I go away.
In the heart of the night, with Chopin as the ally of silence,
Looking towards the sky, I wonder, who shall listen,
Knowing illusions fade, but you are eternity,
I'd summon you to me, through some conjuration, maybe.
I taste your kiss, a memory and reality,
I shiver and am clothed both by cold and passion, starkly,
I'd sleep, but the dream that you might disappear tries me,
The thought of you being taken by a lofty wave frightens me, dearly.
Tomorrow, where will you be, in this vast world?
I fear a capricious and cruel fate might be unfurled,
For perhaps you'll be caught in a web, with no escape,
In the boundless heights of the celestial vaults, an astral wraith.
My love is like a war, a mystery pure,
Nothing can take me away from your consuming flame, for sure,
I wouldn't give up this passion, mystical and pure,
For a quiet destiny, in an eternity devoid of allure.
My hand that knew your softness,
If it were to be taken and thrown into darkness,
I'd find you, rebel angel, at every crossroad, wide,
Or I would crash down, a victim of love unfulfilled, inside.
Eternal existence might be a blessing or a burden to bear,
But I'd offer this eternity to all, even to the worst, I swear,
Just to live beside you, a moment, a second, an hour fair,
And then to crash down, like a lost star in a heavenless sky, rare.
We look at each other, and in this gaze, we lose and find our realm,
Time seems to slow, yet slips away in a tireless overwhelm,
I rebuild myself with every dawn, in every chant, every hymn,
Knowing you, perhaps, believe that my love is a fatal blade's helm.
The streets are our prisons, each with its own fate to attest,
I head east, you to the west, in contrast, we are pressed,
A mystical discord, like a fierce wind, keeps us apart, unblessed,
Rewriting the same old story, an unending dance, an eternal quest.
The distance between us is greater than any galaxy's span,
In the theater of our life, the final act nears its plan,
Shadows of past love follow us, with melancholy as they began,
And the tragic play of destiny continues, every card on the table ran.
A single glance embraces an eternity of farewell,
So many emotions in a simple touch, they swell,
Embrace your memories, time will betray you, I know,
I love you in every detail, in nothing and in everything, a constant flow.
For millennia, our race has lived a vast success.
Hatred, envy, spite, and strife are on the rise.
Despair, aggressiveness, self-centeredness.
Depravity, intrigue, lewdness, vanity, despise.
Hubris, a lack of self-awareness, and trickery.
Aristotle's five components have been corrupted.
Air, water, earth, and fire are no longer ancillary.
Humbly wished to stay alive rather than dead.
When I think back on all I've been through, it all seems insane.
There doesn't seem to be any way for me to heal.
Even if I tried, I'd never been able to reach or even get obscene.
On a detail level hit, I was wounded in the deepest part of my soul.
It seems clear to me now that my fate was set by my disputes.
Before it was too early in the process, I tried tentatively.
They've formed outflow and false analogies without any roots
When I had all the talent and drive, I regret not doing it smoothly.
They think they will be able to detain me after a full investigation
They make me feel scared with all they perform
I demonstrated to them that they could inflict pain and dejection
They're alleging in the flood that they lied about the game.
As a leader, I cannot assert that logic will guide my word.
They exhibit how to rule for the benefit of their family.
They did, however, get the human falsity award.
They're simply playing badly and misleading the community.
However, it's excessively various to decide.
You dared to contact that one strand.
You aren't aware when you alter your face.
It turns into such a terror-like experience.
It's going to last a period, you accept.
For the first time, you've been right.
It's the unique last time indefinitely.
You were harmed, and you stumbled struck poorly.
It felt agreeable yet surprising.
You said that you felt humiliated over increasing.
Pause for a minute to consider; it appears it's an act of futility.
When it got back to sobbing in the downpour, the storm faded away.
This time, everything had changed after much sorrow.
You never know when one door will shut, and another will open.
All the regime crashed, and I'm now being hailed as a hero.
Life is a journey, not a destination; without patience, no gain
Written: June 29, 2021
A broken person Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Faraz Ajmal