Long Dominican Poems
Long Dominican Poems. Below are the most popular long Dominican by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dominican poems by poem length and keyword.
Catastrophe of the dry run
The sea, Ice, air, human are rapture
The powerful are brought to ruin
Green horse making this World hot
70% is absorbed in heat
18 degrees Celsius balance the heat
Mighty keeper of water in the lands
Mighty destroyer of Islands
Changing, charging chastising
The atmosphere
I see, I am part of your activities
Burning of coal activities
Carbon emission, 34%. 2020 activities
350,000 in Britain suffered your hands.
65,000 Dominican Republic feel your hands
500,000 in southern California left home to avoid your hand
Denmark gathered the heads cos of your hand.
The heads accept to make peace.
If only it will go to the heart.
Oh mighty one, tell me how to keep peace,
Is it more of vegetation, so I keep peace?
Or keep away carbon dioxide
Nitrous oxide and methane
for peace.
Mighty one, tell me
How you can lie low, for peace
I know I used more than
I put back to you.
Should I have my own forest?
But I know sunspots and solar flares started before me.
REASONS OF WRITING
This poem was writing out of inspiration on hearing and reading how this atmosphere has been badly used and the follow events caused by bad emission to the air, the changing in almost every natural events gave rise and when the heads of states gathered in Denmark to plan for the way forward. It is my contribution on how this atmosphere can be made for a better condition for us all to stay in.
MESSAGE
(1) This poem is a free verse, it run through without break, saying the major event that global warming has cause in the world.
(2) That the heads of states decision in Denmark should be put into practice not mouth say.
(3) That before man (human) started anything sunspots and solar flares started before man
(4) We use more than we put back to nature.
(5) That green vegetations is also a way forward.
(6) Everyman should have his/her own or plant his/her own forest it is possible.
The Bad Priest
In Lyons (I think it was Easter, 1438),
I was a priest and somehow can recall
the dim church, the heavy clouds of frankincense
and the knights and the peasants lined up for communion.
I chanted the magic words
and did the magic gestures but
instead of the wine becoming the blood
of our Blessed Lord,
it changed into piss.
I was not ready for this.
Inside the chalice,
the reflection
of my own most hideous face -
I poured my face onto the floor and
a thousand rats writhing in a sea of worms
destroyed my last pretense of piety.
The congregation – the whores no less than
the assassins – knew that I was one of them
and could no longer hide the fact.
The stained glass windows crackled and shattered,
the church crumpled into rubble;
and we all shrieked
as the earth quaked
and God was deaf:
to the sobs of the amputees.
For the unforgivable crime of sacrilege
the ecclesiastical tribunal interrogated me
under the direction of the Bishop.
Those Dominican friars, those Domine Canes
(bloodhounds of the Lord), figured I'd sold
my soul to the adversary and when they
put me on the rack and hung me up backwards
and hammered each ankle and elbow in turn,
I saw that they must be right,
for they showed such tender concern
for the state of my soul.
I confessed but still had to be tortured again,
in order to confirm the first one.
The Dominicans wanted to burn my genitals
to get to the names of family members
who might be party to this conspiracy,
but in his mercy the Bishop forbade them.
I had to prepare myself for being burned at the stake:
There would be no merciful strangling instead.
I could pray for the grace of God,
but I knew I wouldn’t get it.
I could not even look forward to oblivion
as I regarded that yellow shirt
printed with the Devil's signs
that I'd have to wear on that
morning of shame and buckets of ****.
My friends will ask for my forgiveness
as they set the straw afire.
Will I be a Christian then?
Copyright © 2015
11.12.2015
9:18pm
This crazy rush hour traffic, traffic
like swimming the Caribbean Sea,
in these streets you don't wanna be.
Headlights brighter than spaceships,
spaceships, these drivers make you
wanna flip, rush hour you'd wanna skip
Many hurrying and rushing, rushing
sending many to hospitals with blood
gushing...Driving down these streets,
never know what crazies you'll meet
On roads with deep potholes, potholes
and speed...speed is their creed,
think you're bold, ask that stiff
he's cold. And remember, bigger the
car makes Dominicans a star
And, motorcycles like bubble bees, a blimp
is all you'll see...their weaving and
bobbing ahead of everyone hopping
So, on these roads don't close your eyes,
got to be like an eagle, everyone tries,
Dominican traffic can be anyone's demise
Dominicans don't have rules, they aren't
cool, with do as you wish out of school,
school that too ain't cool. Got old folks
cursing, with all their pimping and hustling
And, to drive, you will need an eagle's
eye on these bumpy roads to get by, get
by many who seem to be mentally ill
behind the wheel
No tail-lights, tail lights?
not even head-lights...hard to
see around high beams at night,
nearly everyone runs red-lights
it's HOT and no police in sight.
So, where's the police, police?
hardly any don't you see, pay is lower
than fish in a sea...Yes you'll see,
Dominican traffic will make you run
for the sea. Driving isn't pragmatic,
just frantic, hectic and chaotic.
by: LP
10:13pm
Edited: 26.12.2015
2pm
**(on Facebook w/photo/theme: North Coast Poetry Society)
Til 2 A.M.
One day a Dominican female gave her black guy friend two balls of chocolate.
Not just any chocolate but the kind can make you look twice and pocket it.
The chocolate was so good that reciprocity was the only emotion you could have worn.
For that reason and that reason alone, Til 2 A.M. this poem was born.
13 days before all of this, the black guy was walking to the library in the morning around 11:56
While simultaneously being approach by the Dominican female and a question at 11:56
“What was it that you wanted to show me?” was the question with which she arose.
The following is a minimum Til 2 A.M. but here is how the story goes.
First, they played hangman… Til 2 A.M.
Went twice upon a roof… Til 2 A.M.
Watched a Spanish movie… Til 2 A.M.
Dined at two dining halls… Til 2 A.M.
Went to Walmart 3 times… Til 2 A.M.
Played a poker game… Til 2 A.M.
Chilled in each other’s dorm… Til 2 A.M.
Watched Netflix twice… Til 2 A.M.
Went to the dollar store… Til 2 A.M.
Walked to a football game… Til 2 A.M.
Surprisingly met devouring breakfast… Til 2 A.M.
Worked on PowerPoints… Til 2 A.M.
And played the most amazing game of uno… Til 2 A.M.
If turning up on weekends made you rich, these people wouldn’t have 2 dimes.
To recap the course of events, so far they only stayed up Til 2 A.M. five times.
Now that this poem is read, this story may be dead, because of the short lives in their palms they read.
Life will never know about the journey ahead, but Til 2 A.M. Death must wait for the Dominican and the black… to go to bed.
(True feelings)
Not all culture are the same
If variety of different culture did not exist
Variety of history of life and different culture food would not exist. They would not be much to talk about if everything
Was the same.
What is the desperation of people want me to be this
African girl that I will never be.
For I am a Caribbean French girl get used to it already.
I am not a "niger" for I am not African from the Niger country, nor Neither is my son.
So really I think alot of few people need to relearn about history and culture.
I have my own culture background to put up with, what
Makes you think I would want to be part of another ( no offense)
I am sick of tired of the disrespect, for it goes both ways, I could do the same.
A person maybe the same color as another but that does
not mean they from the same background.
A respectable fashion is always display, which means
You ask but don't assume. For it could be done to you
I don't know if is being done in disrespect, but if it's so
Something must be wrong with thee upbringing not mines.
This nonsense been going on for a very long time.
The desperation of them wanting me to be this African girl
That will never happen.
Basically correction 101 I am a woman not a Niger nor a Muslim nor Dominican nor Jamaican. I am old enough to be your mother or sister ect. Thank God I am not.
I will not low to your level for the way I see it one of us have
To be the mature one, I see, it would be me
supporting the anti-communists in
the Soviet Union from
1944 to 1989---
supporting al-Za’im in Syria in
1949---
installing Shah Mohammed Reza
Pahlevi in 1953 Iran---
supporting Colonel Carlos Castillo
Armas in 1954 Guatemala---
providing weapons to anti-communist
Tibetans, from the mid-1950’s to the
1970’s---
rounding up & supporting the Laotian
Hmong to fight communists in Laos,
from the mid-1950’s to the 1970’s---
providing weapons, money and aid to
Colonel Ahmad Hussein and Colonel
Ventje Sumual’s forces in 1958
Indonesia---
attemped to assassinate Fidel
Castro various times, training
anti-communists to invade Cuba
in 1959 through the failed Bay of
Pigs operation and Operation
Mongoose---
supported coup of Rafael Trujilo’s
regime in the Dominican Republic
in 1961 and his subsequent
assassination---
supported the Ba’ath Party killing of
Abd al-Karim Qasim in 1963---
instigated, supported and provided
money to those carrying out the
coup & assassination of Ngo Dinh
Diem in 1963’s South Vietnam---
supported Joao Goulart’s removal
via coup d’etat in 1964’s Brazil---
supported anti-communist
right-wingers in 1967’s
Greece, killing what had been a
democratically elected government
there---
did everything under the sun to
eliminate the government of elected
President Salvador Allende in Chile,
from 1970-1973, including the
murder of Rene Schneider---
supported the military overthrow
of Argentina’s democratically
elected Isabel Martinez de Peron in
1976---
PROFESSOR SILA, VICTOR SINCLAIR, AND ROCKY PATEL
were scheduled to visit ARTURO FUENTE at the DREW ESTATE in ASHTON.
However, the count of MONTE CRISTO stopped their trip at SAN MIGUEL
because of the possibilty of BROCATUS intercepting them and searching
them for PIRATE'S GOLD near the GRAYCLIFF off the ISLA DEL SOL.
He had the ROBUSTO to use a TORPEDO on their ship,
the PRESIDENTE CHURCHILL.
Their friend ALEC BRADLEY had heard of the plan while
speaking with DON PEPIN GARCIA as they were both seeking
VEGAS GOLD by playing BACCARAT. "AVE MARIA",
he cried..."what can we do but try to warn them."
However, they were already at sea, and the only way to reach
them was PERDOMO which was transmitted by DAVIDOFF
in a ROBUSTO BELICOSO manner. It took nearly 60 RINGS,
but he finally reached ROMEO Y JULIETA who then passed
their message via OLIVA on the PUROS INDIOS which
was sailing near CORONA.
He had been a member of the GURKHA brigade in WWII,
and given the CU-AVIAN, summoned his comrades
PADILLA, MACANUDO, and MADURO to help him stop
this attempt in the NUB. Using a DIESEL TORO, they
successfully sent a signal over the LA PERLA HABANA Mountains,
where DON RAFAEL stopped the DOMINICAN MADURO MELEE.
For the uneducated, all CAPS are names of Cigars, Cigar Companies,
or related to the industry.
Why do I take from the poor, for the rich?
Why do I steal from those who I love?
Don't act like I don't remember, Mom,
When I disrespected my gifts from you.
I told you that Saint Nick got them.
If only I had known the truth.
You're hard as a rock, Pops, I see that.
But don't you think for a second that I forgot
About that time I disrespected you for
Lying about being my biological father.
Don't you also think that I forgot
About how I was treated as your own.
To Miss Kelly in preschool,
Screw you for giving every kid
Popsicles except for me. That made me feel smaller.
And I'm sorry for not sleeping during nap time.
To the Dominican man I farmed with last summer,
Don't think I didn't see you panhandling,
Because I did. I'm so sorry I didn't donate.
I promise that if I see you again, I will.
To all of my little siblings, sorry I don't see you
As much as you want me to.
I should not have taken your big brother away.
Or maybe I haven't taken anything from anyone.
Maybe--just maybe--I really am trying.
I really am trying to work with what I have.
Maybe I'm so afraid of not giving, rather than taking.
Maybe I'm selfless. Maybe I should be more self-ful.
Or am I wrong? Am I not dead wrong?
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound
the lamas leap and the water falls-- clear,
mindful, the wind's play on the Quechua's ground.
The majesty of the Andes astounds
for from behind the clouds, the peaks reappear.
From the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Like great red-clay dunes or snow capped mounds;
courts rise and fall in terrain, so austere;
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Rainbows of red, blue, and gold oft surround
distant ruins of gray stones, now severe
from the mountain's peak; the wooden flutes sound.
Solid, earth-bound, sun-browned, lost to the hounds,
so, Quechua shepherds bound stairs cavalier--
mindful; the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
Pachamama's love surrounds without bounds,
long gone are the conquers; all life is here,
from the mountain's peak, the wooden flutes sound--
mindful, the winds play on the Quechua's ground.
* Quechua is one of the native people of Peru
**The Dominican Monks set hounds trained to kill
on the natives who refused conversion.
*** Pachamama, fertility Godess in Incas Mythos
If I Sat Down,
Tears Streaming Down My Half Dominican Half Puterican Face,
Droplets Of Water Coming From My Brown Eyes
Would You Laugh At Me?
If I shaped the stars and the sun,
With a #2 pencil full of led,
Would you laugh at me?
If I looked through a lens Of hope,
To see the bright, ripe moon
Glowing from a distance
Would you laugh at me?
If I try to mimic characters
From an amine,
With a smile of warm joy,
Would you laugh at me?
If I act like myself,
To be your fragile friend
You hold close.
Would you laugh at me?
If I work hard to
Complete Projects
Or videos to make you smile
Would you laugh at me?
If I had bruised myself
Without knowing
Would you laugh at me?
If I embraced
my half Dominican- half Puterican side of my life
Would you laugh at me?
If I fall...
Through the swollen pit of life vs death
Would you laugh at me?
If I Replay my favorite songs,
Humming the lyrics
Would you laugh at me?
If I stay...
Or If I go...
Would you laugh at me?
Or have the courage to say… Hello.