Long Execution Poems
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Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
my mind is screaming
merely mimicking my lost design
my heart is bleeding
memories of a dissolved time
With the scorned child, I thought gone
the next stage of life has now begun
Feeling lost within my own doom
feeling as though I'm surrounded
Crowded within this room
screaming at the top of my shattered lungs
Not a single soul wavers
no one bothered to look up
They walk right through my scattered limbs
Leaving behind their muddy scuffs
Dancing upon them
Like leaves blown onto the street
Late into an autumn dusk
Trampled upon are the ones not seen
And on top of my punctured ribs, they stand
As if designated to their blind feet
This decaying plot of land
Porous and indented
with rubber soles imprinted
A pathway for others and nothing more
My torso became fused with the floor
my hand stretched to the sky
Grasping for any signs of life
My own existence I now struggle to find
But no plea no cry no sorrowful why
Passed through my lips are ever heard
Never acknowledged, not a single word
No value in me
Do others see
So I find myself in the dirt
Questioning my own existence
And it was in this very instance
Because the thought that I do not
was so Persistent
I prove to myself I exist
Because where else
but one's self
Would an owned thought live
So self I have no matter how distant
Self equals existence
But does it prove that I live
what is life but the execution of one's mind
Thinking about it and then creating it into time
So just maybe my problem does not lie
in the acknowledgment that I can not find
But in the value I have placed within it
And through my childish eyes
I view myself with the value I was given
And through these eyes, I see not
The value in myself or my thoughts
Thus with time into reality i create loss
Now the question has changed
and the new question raised
is how do I find value in something
where previously no value was placed
Who I am need to be reappraised
My childish eyes that once gave
A view of my worth
established at birth
Into this blackened dirt
They shall be laid
With newly found worth
Love for the child I gave
For value in her, I placed
And upon the replenished earth
A foundation was finally laid
I walk, rising from the dirt
A path that I have made
Forever Changed
...I could do anything....I could...
...any-thing...
...action is action....
...what you are doing is of minimal importance...
....there is no difference between folding clothing and sweeping the floor...
...both need movement.... Why favor any particular movement over another?
...that's what doing has me doing....
....it has me moving, thinking, deciding, processing, interacting with life.....
....but is it any different for a math teacher than it is for an accountant?
....I don't think so....every exercise requires execution...every proceeding is after a
result...
...it's all the same...
.... but then I see so many people love what they do....
...they choose a specific activity that coincides with what feels rewarding...
....but again, what is it about that particular action that makes it any different from
another so much as to make a person like folding clothes MORE THAN sweeping the
floor?
...for me I don't know....
.... its as elusive as the most profound mysteries....
....AND, if everyone can know what they love to do, how do I choose for myself if I
find all things alike...?
....I sit for many many hours contemplating what job should be my vocation...
...What practice should I give my life over to?
....I ask myself what interests me, what do I like learning about...
....but I love everything...EVERYTHING!
...politics...history....flowers... sowing clothing... singing...writing poetry....
..."its all good!"...literally...
...I always circle around, back to the same place...
...I could do anything...I could...
....everything is rewarding as long as you participate with the goal of feeding your
spirit more knowledge and wisdom of how to honor the gift of life...
....but knowing this gets me no closer to knowing what I'm supposed to do...
...SO... I pray...
and pray and pray and pray...
...and search myself... and ask others, and try things to no avail...
...and since I don't know for myself, I ask God to show me....
... I'll do what HE wants me to do...
...there's nothing that could be more rewarding....
...but He hasn't answered my prayer, so I wander still...
...waiting to know...
....waiting to accomplish...
....waiting to set goals...
....waiting to feel fulfilled....
...waiting....
Serenade Me, Julius La Rosa
His striped tie has a green tint color
And his hands are dark and bulging with blood.
I can see them gripping the steering wheel like parrot talons.
I can see from all the way up here
That one of his fingers has a golden wedding ring,
And he just sits there in that Studebaker
Looking up at my apartment window,
Like I’m some freaking captive locked in a high tower,
And he’s my guard, my sentinel,
Making sure I do not escape.
“Hey you! Yeah you! I’m talking to you!
Oh? You have a problem with me seeing the blond bombshell?
The one with the face that launched a million ejaculations?
The face that burned the topless towers
Of a million American households?”
Now he has a cigarette going inside that sleek automobile.
It’s dangling from his lips
Like a big white toothpick from Scully’s.
The Los Angeles Mirror,
The front page,
Rests forlornly on the passenger seat.
I can even see the headlines from up here –
Something about an execution,
Julius and Ethel R.
Serenade me, Julius La Rosa!
Sing to me now! ‘Eh, Cumpari!’
It’s 1953 and all’s well in the world.
There shall be a tiki torch in every back yard!
“A cocktail? Here, have mine.
I’m well stocked here in my Kasbah.
Now, sweetheart, what were you going to say?”
“When I dance with you,
I feel like I’m in Paris by the Seine,
Dancing in technicolor with Gene Kelly.
You have wonderful moves and a very masculine touch,
And I can almost hear Gershwin music,
Way off in the distance.”
“By the way, my darling Norma Jeane, who taught you to dance?”
“To be honest, my mother.
It was an emergency situation, I had a hot date, so…”
And now we are sashaying on my torn and tattered carpet,
With Perry Como crooning ‘No Other Love’ on my Hi Fi,
Over there in the dark corner.
The lights of the Big Enchilada
Glisten outside my lone window
Like a million incandescent candles
That burn with lust for us.
“Hold me closer.
I need to feel your warm blood.
I need to breathe in your luscious sweet cologne.
Mmmmmm. Kiss me.”
“I will kiss you.
I will kiss you long and I will kiss you very hard.
But first, my darling, why not some Rachmaninoff,
The second piano concerto,
Instead of Perry Como?”
“No Piggy.
Locked in your arms I’ll stay.
Waiting for you to say,
No other love have I.”
In old Jerusalem near cross and sepulcher
Transgressors and confessors searching for a cure
Weary Pilgrims assembled in this place ornate
Guilty, broken, sad, sickened, from life’s heavy weight
Here we remember how our sin once did molest
How selfish deeds and hateful thoughts God does detest
Yet for us sinners Christ in love performed His grace
His sacrificial work makes this a holy place
Somewhere near here religion organized deceit
They drug him to the pavement to make his end complete
Somewhere near here truth was twisted, justice denied
Somewhere near here, misinformed, crucified they cried
Somewhere near here with cruel whip his back was beat
Somewhere near here Rome drove nails in Christ’ hands and feet
Somewhere near here the savior wore thorns for a crown
Somewhere near here the savior’s blood trickled down
Somewhere near here they punctured a sword in his side
Somewhere near here for our sin our blessed savior died
Somewhere near here, hanging shamefully on a cross
Jesus was sacrificed to restore human loss
Here listening to vile words the crowd did sputter
An announcement of forgiveness he did utter
Here on these grounds the lamb without blemish or flaw
Orchestrated the salvation the Father foresaw
The execution done His body was removed
The task was now completed, the Father approved
In a tomb near here his slaughtered corpse was encased
Still, dead, and buried, His accomplishments erased
For three days in the dark of the earth he did lay
While the Sabbath left His friends to mourn in dismay
But on the third day, somewhere near here, before dawn
There came a rumble and He awoke without yawn
Somewhere near here before the daylights detection
Breath was restored in mighty resurrection
The women and the disciples saw him near here
Then to more than five-hundred he dared to appear
I’m quite impressed with these walls and decorations
But they provoke neither joy nor celebration
For I’m on a journey to see the saviors face
And perhaps that’s the lesson of this wondrous place
For nails, nor cross, rocks, or cave can keep Jesus still
Resurrected our savior moves around at will
He will not be confined to places around here
But where ever we go our living Lord is near.
My final curtain call has come,
The stage beckons one last bow.
I’ll die in that electric chair,
Twenty four hours from now.
So many thoughts pour through my mind,
Of Hell and eternity.
Can one so lost as I be saved
And avoid that destiny?
I can’t forget my mother’s face,
The day I was arrested
For killing that abusive cop,
an act the law detested.
The cop and I had history,
Dating back to my teen years.
And my mother never noticed,
The nights I came home in tears.
Abuse began when I was twelve,
with a shoplifting arrest.
The cop would make a choice that day,
what it was, few could have guessed.
I was cuffed and placed in his car,
Then driven out to the cape.
The next day, I reported him,
and accused the cop of rape.
But they just laughed and sent me home,
I had nowhere left to turn.
That utter sense of helplessness
Was a hard lesson to learn.
He’d pick me up from time to time,
Bogus charges were the theme,
Then drive me back out to the cape,
Where no one could hear me scream!
Obsession fill the next ten years,
The injustice would not cease.
How can a man protect himself
When abused by the police?
One night he took me to the cape,
Thinking I was easy prey.
That was the last thing he would do
Before his life slipped away.
He didn’t know I’d gotten free,
And he never saw the knife.
When he pulled me out of the car,
That was when I took his life.
I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed again,
As he bled out, in the mud.
I was captured an hour later,
Still soaked in my victim’s blood.
They said I stabbed him sixty times;
I lost track after he fell.
I hope I’ll get to stab him more
If we both end up in hell.
I await my execution,
As I try hard to forget,
How I enjoyed killing that cop,
Something I still don’t regret.
For what I put my mother through,
My heart is filled with sorrow.
And yet, her darkest day will come
At setting sun tomorrow.
For that is when I’ll know at last,
What the Lord intends for me.
It won’t be long until I learn
Where I’ll spend eternity.
Is my immortal soul the kind
That God’s Kingdom would allow?
I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough,
Twenty four hours from now.
Some watching my ease
Of execution of the self
The latent anxiety unteased
Writes me off in simplicity.
Some denuding me of honor's wealth
Wait in turmoil
For a scab to fall and unveil its pus
And if I do not flinch for pain
Writes coward beside my name
Some deck out in borrowed jewels
Could not stop me looking at the stars
They heard only my polite conversation
Saw my faith
And did not understand the transformation of desire
The restructured purpose of the heart
The difference in whose I am
They frightened ran
Frantic to recompose themselves in fear
They judged me like the world again
But O how deep the flow
Of divine grace
That such may come and find nothing in me.
I am a man of firm convictions
I know the way all things should go
Before they go
I watch the frightened blunder
Inventing old salvation in new fora
I do not yield to that
Peace is a vision of the broken self
The spontaneous abolition of lies
Do not give the heart too much grandeur
It blinds the vision to the soul
Reeks havoc of self interpretation
For before the strong delusion
Comes the lie
Do you not remember how impolite you were
How disrespectful
How nasty the tone of argument and action
And how he opened not his mouth
Waiting for you to come to confession
That gives a man a sense of justice
To execute judgment without compassion
And yet, great Christ, you wait for repentance.
You have your Barabbas
And yet you have no peace
How can right disturb the heart at rest
We weave a tangled mess
In a world of pride, but patience is a a door
I left it open
Without pain
For what you have become, what you manifest
I would not cry, could not cry for cess
Barabbas means himself well
But his history is a figment, his tale a lie
And then again
What power could sin have over sin
Poor, weak, wretched, vain
How your pretext falls like dusk
How bewildering the edge of night
If you see me again
Please note that I am the same
And through my door
Comes those who have forgotten pain
For I built it so
To admit the naked form alone
Be mortified at my door
You cannot come until you are purged
It is your life
I have neither haste nor urge
Only you can make right
I can only hold the light
For under my cosy exterior of ease
You will find again
Just what you see outside.
the water in the teapot is boiling &
the top is rattling---
as the hot steam begins to bubble out
the piercing scream is coming---
14+ million out of work
no universal health insurance
foreclosures upon foreclosures
(just in time for the “holiday season”) &
the
99%
have
had
it---
while the mainstream media does its best
to avoid the happenings within the belly of this empire,
it is unavoidable now,
as those who are out of work
who cannot pay to see a doctor or pay for their loved ones to get
proper hospitalization,
are on the brink of throwing caution to the wind,
like kamikazes ready to suit up
like a gurgling sickness in the stomach that the 1% refuses to try &
medicate,
but then again,
we’ve had enough of the band-aids---
it’s said “you shouldn’t try & fix what isn’t broken,”
but it’s time to revamp that saying
you should break what you cannot fix,
you should break it & throw it out the window &
start from scratch---
this is where we are headed.
and everyone knows it,
because the escapist tendencies of the 99% are fading,
primarily because those who would choose to, can no longer afford to &
what is left is a people at the end of their ropes---
within days of troy davis’ execution in georgia,
anwar al-awlaki was executed in yemen,
making it quite clear that the lions are on the coliseum floor &
those that have been chosen to be eaten alive for the
entertainment of those that have the money & leisure to watch
are just the beginning.
giggling up high in the stands,
those who have profited from this steady downward spiral
seem to be on autopilot,
walking through the undisturbed routine of their days as if nothing is going to happen,
as if those events that have taken down longer standing empires in the past,
will not affect them.
if when it all goes down,
we will be incarcerated at best
like those 700+ on the brooklyn bridge,
rounded up like cattle for a few shocks & a branding
(in hopes they’ll do what they’re told),
or in the worst case,
be executed ourselves as a result of an inevitable
clash between an armed public & those that have been
depriving us of any real chance at long term survival
under these conditions,
well, one would be a complete idiot if
they did not throw up their fist in the air
NOW!
OldSockFable
OldSockFable
3Fabel4
One old sock afforded free the one they thought the drier ate the one they
dropped by accident the basket overflowed in haste of want to escape the rain
the sock has none no toe jam yet no misery of toe no hole it is white it is in small
form the top is not so very long but short like a ballerina dancing in a music box
she wears sox like these
Could this one be the sock she wore on a foot like mine to keep it warm?
Iola the dancer the prance the vixen the ballerina the lover the sock loser in the
drier she it is that loves me and still cares Iola is the other name for ewe.
The missing pages on the internet the hair nets no one can ever find they need
them back they must be worn to cover hair in kitchens there the kisses muss the
hair so coifed and formed with gel the parfume forgotten spilled the baby powder
added to make the special day. Dancing done in heart if not in deed dancing just
for me. Jacket is lined and Indian motif fits with my jeans a lighter color blueing
blending as eye dance as eye prance just for Iola ewe in
mye sock and nothing else as she appraises mee. Sandals hidden against the
day eye need them shoes of leather marking time some of them just needing
dimes to ride ride ride then walk some more in leather uppers made of nothing
wondering at love and shoes and slipping in the cracks of learning wondering
again at love slipping sock upon the left foot only making shoe to fit more snug
BULLETIN Flashing News If MSN acquires YAHOO then none of the games will
ever work again the Windows will have the YAHOO frames and MSN will be the
tending frames. Yellow will dominate the blue and everything will be PEA GREEN
when MSN becomes YAHOO nerves strained beyond belief as headache comes
again with no relief just perhaps the medicine eye take so much later in the day
will win me a stay of execution intended not to mend it not to heal it but just to
temporarily extend it. When eye was working and eye lost my toe they took it off
the boot and greasy as it was they tossed it in the trash and smiled Can you save
my toe eye cried NO was all he said it is too dirty there is no way to use it now.