Long Exacts Poems
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The Heavy Price Paid To End The Deepest Of Dark Pains
In my night-dreams, flies jargon of oracles wise and profound
words given that break heavy chains by which I was once bound
just a conversation with my dark-muse and her ancient friends
as she promised, they provided a means to making of my amends
tho', they are not angels, and each one exacts a heavy price
one that costs this soul very dearly and I have to pay thrice!
For when I reenter this dark world and walk among the dead
I am commanded to do a ghastly deed, one I so truly dread
kill, on first day of each week, not true villains as a great release
my victims are to be the innocent or else their help will cease
this long forty year vicious cycle only ends when I shall perish
or dare'st to murder that which my heart most fervently so cherish!
Alas! They knew well such great cost I would never ever dare to pay
what do they say, poet's ink is the blood that keeps devils away
yet all of my devils dance gaily within my red-blood splattered ink
and to this day, I sorry at how low my desires caused me to sink
tho' with glee, they told me this also would make it all go away
if I would murder my own beloved wife and use her blood to pay!
Now to commit that unthinkable act, its time has too soon came
I had played with fire, sought the dark gods, played their game
the oracles I told would get their last pay come full moon tonight
this would bring buckets of blood, to their greatest of delights
each one appeared and gave me more useless advice to seal the deal
having no clue, that this old tired poet, himself would thus kill!
All that gloomy day I worked to make sharp the sacrificial knife
to kill the monstrous monster they had made, not its beloved wife
she I had sent very far away, to visit her beloved family in Spain
to spare her this night's bloody sight, never to see her again
now the full moon has risen, that dark, dreaded midnight hour came
I give you my friends, these sad words bereft of a dark poet's name!
signed,
In honor of my hero, Edgar Allan Poe
1-31-2019
Note, this now finished piece was the other poem(4th) that I had
wanted to present when honoring Poe in my ongoing dedication series.
I only just finished it today, early this morn. I hope you may find
it dark, ghastly, and very Poe'esq in somber mood and its darkness..
You're an individual.
You're unique.
And it's important that you
create the space to
express your uniqueness,
and become the fully expressed,
fully unleashed,
fully unlimited vibrancy that you are.
There's a stage in a mans life
when he will keep
every other thing aside
and stand alone without fear
to confront whatever obstacle
that stand in his way,
even intimidation from
the most powerful
or care that beset him
and infest his life,
his inadequacies he will confront
and challenge them with boldness.
Even when the
demons of hell be invoked
and conjured up to come forth
and do their very worse,
he knows they shall not pass
and neither shall they prevail,
because he has been through a lot,
he doesn't really cared
anymore what happens to him,
he has come a long way
and he's here now,
that is all that matters.
He speaks the truth
that only him can speak,
so profound and will so piercingly hurts
the ears of the guilty ones.
he will boldly stand on the edge
of the mountain top
and let the wind of life pass forcefully
through and over him.
he becomes a determined soul
who confronts the odds in his life,
with the help of the almighty,
he attains the consciousness of the cosmic,
his spirit is now so awakened,
he becomes one with universe,
so enlightened,
he is now an adept to
help in the down world,
carrier of the divine light,
protector of the weak,
full of vigor,
always ready,
a doer of the impossible,
he now becomes
the keeper of the flame,
his back bent from the rigours
of suffering and pain,
showing the marks of
the whiplash he received,
his brows so wrinkled with
inner wisdom that comes out of the
time spent in long hours
of fasting and meditations,
calm with the inner beauty of the spirit,
not intimidating or forceful,
he commands authority,
exacts influence and check anything
that's not edifying from
influencing his environment
and atmosphere he created for himself
and then allow others into his world
to experience the realm
of power bestowed on him,
he is indeed now,
a peculiar fellow,
a workman that needs not be afraid,
one set apart for good works,
for he has chosen the path of his destiny.
Yes,there is such a man amongst us.
© 2018, Emeka Mokeme.All rights reserved.
There has always been an inter-outer over-under tender balance of loveless socio-equations as they super fit the psychosocial sexe-endices in this modern garner of pluses/minuses/bytes and scribbles mostly incommunicado inexperience and parental impreciseness as to, "anything planned", which in tomb leaves us doth a deranged desperate captive of that all inbibed prisoner **** of nun conformist adventurerers and that really, that there are just too many organic integers making for really bad math.intuitations/attributes and all of the familio do's and don'ts that creep bastardy across the years to inculcate, interfere, incase all of the hoped, promised integrity of just 2 people in love? with all that makes it their potential, not all of the hopeless, ne'r do wells, dead driven dud marriages that hoped to promulgate their failures onto the newbies totally unprepared, but willfully negative implicit on that new, and should be uninterrupted, all naked, seeing alter intense emoexplosive journeys to that wait waits, some supposes, everybody entices, everyone enthralls, quired questions, problem perplexes, initiates initiated, complexes complete, duty deforms, eerily exacts a viscous value, on properties promised a forever coexistance, but not at the expense of selfish selfness; can it be to an us award of a faceoff fervent fever, that WE, can coincide an opposite internal presence that allows us to be a universal component undeluded, underived, unpolluted by the natural wonders that are our genetic cohesions, so they can further their total promise to lead a connected life of copious love, desire and plentitudes of us-ness, disavowing all else in a socioinvasive parental wake of them vs us in all things blood/emo crass cursive? Leave them, the future lovers of us alone, let it flow and keep your, non orgasmic, loveless failures to yourself, old/tainted people of relations, lovers of social inhibitions it plays to an ill-at-ease, stubborn Igor-ignocompliance. Yes, we had Summer Love/Woodstock, but then we grew to be livestock, waiting for the senior-socioseniorslaughter pill mill. You must have some small, tinder, macromolecule of what it was to be standing in the bliss of universal underware; a long time ago in a universe far, far, away. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! the neighbors.
The Protraction of the Epiphany
Complacency in a stilted light of regret
Vagrancy in a jilted sight of neglect
Emergency in a wilted light of insects
The urgency of a curative substance to inject
Wellsprings of artificial truth and humour
Hells things accumulate with the modern day consumer
A year in the jungle with the rare black Asian Pumas
A fear and a rumble of a growing brain tumour
Excerpts of illumination beaming out through a crowd
Concerts of contamination leaning forward and loud
An old hearse of consecration screaming lines of the Proud
A written verse of invitation about what is sworn and vowed
Desert storms inland from the sea
Crescent forms of moonlight that shine down upon me
Elegant storms of starlight that are too bright to even see
Decadent norms shed for what’s right as you embolden the free
Elevated insights into the passages of time
Nominated fights about the ravages of crime
Consecrated rights about the rhythm of a rhyme
Ill-created sights as we look to the night for a sign
Refine the moment before you descend from your throne
Define who owns it as humanity leaves you alone
Confine who clones it before it hijacks all of your homes
Incline to hone it before the Queen turns to stone
Perpetuate the intimate and sign up for the next sequel
Commiserate the consulate before human rights become the prequel
Eviscerate then integrate as you shout about it from the steeple
Amalgamate then consecrate the water for the people
Divide the notion of partial responsibility
Inside the ocean of martial comparability
Apply the lotion of spatial inter generational exclusivity
Collide the sojourns of musical improvisational proclivity
Allow your sorrow to rise up and purge from your system
Now you follow the size of your urge to demystify him
How tomorrow through the eyes of your words make you thin
Bow to the borrowed lies of the absurd man with a grin
What comprises the ultimate act of integrity?
Hot suprises to formulate the exacts of berevity
Not decided to promulgate the contraction of longevity
Of the insiders I consummate the protraction of the epiphany
The End Copywrite Elizabeth Moroz
My distracting theatrics verses are preempted versions of impending calamity, one by air, and, one by sea.
The point of levity is to advance the common element of surprise--the unexpected of the "clueless," whereto, I'll appropriately relabel as "passengers," save or bar the crew members, whom I'll also relabel them as, "sacrificial lambs," "... jolly good to go down with the ship, eh, First Mate?" "Every man for themselves, Captain!" "Are you from the States?" "Birmingham, sir." "England or Alabama?"
Levity is on because hope exists as time permits the gullible. A poem I wrote, exacts that point, entitled, "Mirror, In The Line Of Fire: POTW," where impending doom may claim your liberties, both physical [inability to move--fear], and mental [clear process to act--hysteria] is in the strike of you--death seizes your face/fate/faith.
My quantum phrase addressing those factors is, " ... gullible may hold the keys, but 'tis knowledge that opens the door."
Time idles whilst the plane sits on the tarmac--read the manual where on board is the safest place to position yourself or loved ones--a measure of hope--tho' odds are great, lean your faith on righteousness hold--greater than other--hymnally speaking.
With so much floatable furnishing, Titanic could have created a raft for a few souls more--again, a measure of hope.
A clear mind and ability to move give hope to those lacking, as fear and panic claim ownership of precious souls.
The odds may be great when facing such a calamity, and having such a mindset, therein lies the greater calamity.
A third survived, 700 souls, and two-thirds lost 1400 souls the Atlantic Ocean claims. A sad yet true revelation grew in Titanic's aftermath. The phraseology: "The Affluent Survived, The Destitute Died," adds another chapter of humanity's truths of life's measure of worth well-hid in the core of Eve's fruit, hence, illumination, "Since the beginning of time/knowledge of good and evil.
Murphy's Law acts as a jumping point for quantum knowledge in their efforts to simplify life struggles with a convenient doorway for its exit for your journey to a better you--give time for hope.
In the odyssey of days that mercilessly run like grains of sand,
An unseen battle is foretold that we shall wage in the shadow.
The war within our hearts, a citadel besieged by falling stars,
Where every collapse exacts from the spirit a tribute, a drop of molten gold.
Beneath the vault, the cosmic architect with thoughts of crystal,
Arranges untouched paradises, but our hands prefer to dawdle in the hourglass,
Battling with the hope that deep down longs to burst into hyacinths,
Teach us, O experience, to offer instead of an army, a choir of chosen voice.
The spell of fears is the garment we don, fling it through the wind!
Even titans carved in stone feel the shiver of lurking fears.
Each lemon seed become a tree, the hope that raises its branches to hanging gardens,
Where the seed of goodness rises to the heavens, to bind remnants of fairies in tender whispers.
Refuse yourself, O being, to lay treaties of war upon paper,
When in your palms you might hold the core of reconciliation, the sketch of a beginning.
Behold how illusions take root in your eyes, that gilded in the sun dance vividly,
Horizons drawn in skies, where stretches a greenhouse of blossoming souls, a chord of love.
It's the battlefield and the sacred hearth, a struggle of good against the very self,
Shields of silver carved in seafoam, inlaid with pearls of love.
Pawns of spirit in the cosmic game, where the queen is compassion,
And the king, a generous spirit, takes his throne in the vastness of the universe, bearer of untamed light.
Thus, with each turn of fate, in the weave of time, we embroider new destinies,
Where the spell of fear is undone, and in the chaos of the night grow fields of stars,
Thousands of lanterns, guiding man's steps to the fountains of ageless love.
In this magical tableau, we take the most sacred war, to be human, and melt it under rays of peace in guitar strings' song.
Cloaking misty hills and many a deep valley floor:
The empty Moor presents an outlook, stoical and dour.
Seemingly barren, this mute guardian of history,
Emits an air of arcane intrigue and darkest mystery.
Stunted Jack Pines, seen clustered on a distant knoll,
Stolidly defy Nature, though she exacts her toll.
They, as living record of ravages exacted by time,
Struggle to survive the harassment of its harsh clime.
Of other trees that one seeks, there are but few to see;
Except for a solitary Oak, a rugged, ponderous tree,
With deeply gnarled bark and stout branches entwined,
That survives, whilst all others, the Moor has declined!
When storm clouds threaten, and the midday dims,
This land, subject to Nature’s unpredictable whims,
Sends all Moor denizens scurrying, helter skelter
To seek the comfort and safety of familiar shelter.
When evening winds, croon their eerie symphony,
And babbling rills join in, to send haunting melody
Echoing across the ling, it provokes fresh fears,
That warn the Moor is no place to be, when night nears.
When the Moor is lit by a full moon, still there’s deceit,
For deep hazardous shadows, often trick unwary feet,
As bog and tussock, seemingly reach out to ensnare,
The ill fated interloper who chances to stumble there!
For Nature strives to erase all signs of human hand,
Would return the Moor to what befits this native land.
Her awesome control, allows for no compromise,
As those who would challenge her ways, soon realise!
But I enjoy the freedom such visits offer me;
For tis therein, I find peace and serenity.
So when solitude is an urgent need, and my goal,
The Moor brings composure to my tormented Soul.
Rhymer August 20th, 2016
*Image of Education by UY.
A Cog in The Machine
Life advances their kind of entrusting stays,
origin of roots possessing foundation,
flung to care sprouts variable promises,
~~executes each seed.
The great void advents the id of emptiness;
launched needs, yet farfetched and demanding the task,
contending the fathom fact of dimensions,
~~inception account.
Countless bearings operate the mechanism,
instants cognitive effortless life makers,
quintessential beats absence into the void,
~~marked units of time.
Simplistic explanative of a machine,
the inner workings of every component,
jointly toiling as a singularity,
~~a fitting duty.
A pristine canvas lengthens on a tripod,
while a sable paintbrush jabs an empty point,
visionist Seurat and Signac rethink art,
~~Pointillist purview.
A concert hall seasons an orchestra pit,
woodwinds, brass, percussion, strings, keyboards, chorale,
symphonic blends as a meek piccolo peal,
~~a highest-pitched tune.
The world is our stage where we fulfill our roles,
all taking part in a scene that is rehearsed,
a constant performance since opening night,
~~functioning beings.
Inconsequential entity's conjuring
queries who's who, what's what drives absoluteness,
amassed strays, exacts focus o'er all, for I ...
~~... am the unique one.
2022 May 17
*1st Place*
Pick-A-Title, Vol 30
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 May 29
*Title #3
HMS; 11,11,11,5 syllables x 32 lines = 8 sapphic stanzas
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
A brighter future a cloudless day
Or an earthly living Hell
How much of its our doing
How much is down to me
Is the fate laid out before us
A future meant to be
I know I've tempted fate before
At least a time or two
Risked life and limb and maybe more
I'd risk it all anew
Cos life for me's a wonderland
A journey to behold
A beautiful utopia
For the young and for the old
Til man exacts his dominance
Over everything he can
And mortgages each single soul
Of every living man
A banking led dystopia
Indebtedness their aim
We're caught here in the crossfire
In a costly Rotschild game
The year is sixteen ninety four
And a deal is on the cards
The notes are shilling loudly
From the moneylenders bards
Twelve hundred thousand reasons
Mortgage woman, man and child
The deal's been done, the trap's been sprung
The laughing Joker's wild
The Devil dealt a crooked hand
The rules weren't Heaven sent
The loans they pays a kingly ransome
The bets at eight percent
Inflationary stirms prevail
Nations drowningbin the flood
The odds now stacked in favour
Of a deal they signed in blood
Now money's just a token
The game is truly up
Their sleight of hand's been deftly played
They fill their debtors cup
Human lives collateral
As the game stacks in their favour
No money's needed anymore
The game is theirs to savour
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
The Devil deals in dying folks
His deals a living Hell
The game's a crooked one we know
It's plain for all to see
And the fate laid out before us
Is down to you and me
explanations of life's complexity seem more like
eager delusions designed to keep us tame, all my
energy is sucked out of my soul as I try to hold on
explosive emotions can't just be willed away
exploring of all my flaws, and damage that weight on me
eternity seems well, quite daunting.
exhaling long breaths as I scramble to stay calm
excising demons, evil parasites, mental agony and takes all of
energy leaving little left to with the
exigent circumstances of life
enhanced by loneliness and longing
eat away at what little remains of my vitality
each day chips at my hopes, dreams, reasons to go on
existence is constant, and time stops for no one.
each dawn I awake and dread the day to come
"exacts steps are not marked. Just keep walking!" I command myself
elongated by perception moment's feel like years.
eerie shadows and screaming whispers of afterthoughts and doubt
echo through my being swarming my mind in perpetual discordance
evening comes to me like a warm loving embrace
eagerly awaiting sleeps oblivion as a respite from the difficulty of day
entertaining synapses collide without fail
enticing thoughts of suicide as I try to fight for sleep
exhaustion creeping up and lingering no matter how much rest
endlessly I search for some meaning to maintain all the
effort and toil it takes to go on living. the fact is
etched into my soul is the promise I made to you to keep going
elusive as happiness seems, I gave my word I would be strong
essentially, I'm just living in hopes your looking down on me
eyes full of understanding and love that I fear I will never again see.