Long Flogged Poems
Long Flogged Poems. Below are the most popular long Flogged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flogged poems by poem length and keyword.
I could recall some years ago
The day that sealed the deeds of the deal
And dot the long journey of nine months
In my calendar of the years
The same brought about the cry
That started the journey of my childhood…
What a honey of motherhood?
An answer to your heart cry
You were assisted and ushered
Into the labor room
Like my savior was accompanied
To Gethsemane and went further
With the burden of sin of perishing souls
He bent His knees in prayers;
He sweated blood
So you lingered 'un-angered'
With the burden of a baby boy
You genuflected in labor
Fear with joy loomed in the air
Swimming in the ocean tides of the clouds
And I could see water dripping
Down your cheeks and nostrils
All because of me
Could I see any one that flogged you?
No! It's I beating you from within
Not with cane but with pains
Like a sheep before its shearer
You journeyed between life and death
All because of me!
It would have been simple if that was all
But I could see
Like two of your younger ones
Even of your daughter's age
Shouting at you
Push! Push! Push!
Else you kill this baby
What ridicule leading a miracle?
All because of me!
Push! Push! Push!
That was their shout and cry
That ushered me into a new world
Right at their ward
That was not because they're wayward
It was a labor room
It was labor for you
That which ignited my favour
What a pain heralding a gain?
But it was like a pay to me
I took it for a ride but
It was mother’s pride and joy
I thought it was play
Until she smacked and spanked me
Yet they succeeded
As they persuaded you and encouraged you
Then and there with flow of water
And pool of blood you pushed forth
And you pushed through.
I thought it was a favour and for my good
Only to see her hand carried me
As if she was all out to help
But it was only to cut the cord
While I held my hands together
Lost in the comfort and dream
Of the cosy womb
She took me out of the comfort zone
She smacks and spanks me
Again, again, and again
She made me to cry and never cared to say sorry
But told stories
He's another boy, she said
Right there she baptized me
Into a new world
She dragged that thing
She called cot to your side
And placed me in it
Alone I was laid crying
And all she did was to laugh at me
Mum. Her white uniform belied her act
Dedicated to V.A Aderounmu.
© Fisayo Aderounmu.2012
“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (Spoken by Jesus) -John 8.12, NIV
**************************************************************
Igniting Divine Light
when the grim darkness of night
shrouds our life
and we know not
which path to tread
to reach our goal
when the mind is veiled with clouds
woven inside a spider`s web
and we know not
where lies our goal
when the spirit is at a low tide
driven by the pull of the moon
and we know not
which way to swim
when the soul is soiled
with dust from the filthy pathway
that everybody tramples on
and we know not
how to come out of the fix
When our life is in a horrible mess
concocted by a swirl of fateful events
and we know not
how to to make it turn around
It Is time to ignite
the light of faith in the divine
light of His love and mercy
through sacrifice of His Only Son
crucified for false heresy
flogged and buried in a dark tomb
by some vile men of lore
light glowing from Christ
risen from the tomb of darkness
to illuminate the path of His shepherds
and guide them to reams of brightness
light that dispels
the dullness of dark despair
to infuse trust and aspirations
inspire confidence
illuminate our path
our journey in life
light that cleanses the human heart
from the filth of sour hate and pride
ushers in joy to one and all
and disperses darkish clouds away
light of the hope of redemption
of man from evils and his sin
to the end goal of salvation
trough renewal of human soul
light of a distant dream
of peace and unity
of justice and liberty
of inclusion and fraternity
until eternity.
When I was young
Life on the farm was difficult to understand at seven
The rooster flogged me
Dad in vengeance chopped the heads of everyone of his mates
numbering a hundred
as he watched in the coop
Perhaps I didn't understand the reality that since I ate at the table
that I had to pluck the feathers off too
It was one of the hardest things to do
As a young lady he taught me manners and I served
his gentleman guests
as they looked upon me, the youngest daughter
Perhaps God had greater plans
for I wanted to see some of the world outside the farm
When Dad got sick, he left a hundred sheep for me to tend
It was the happiest and peaceful I've ever been despite the pain in my life
Perhaps God had greater plans for me when my mother sold the stock
and I was left to work a waitress job at fourteen
and I liked serving the people
they were much different than the farmers I had met
I had my chance to leave home with my mothers permission at the age of sixteen and moved to Georgia
and I knew God had other plans for me
Its been thirty two years now
when will I learn that society isn't too good for me
I find myself on my land looking and feeling the breeze on my cheek
steel tears from my soul
for I've never been loved by a man at all
I thought about throwing in the towel, and becoming a hermit
Perhaps God has greater plans for me
He spoke to me the other day
I know the voice of my Lord
He wondered why I do that..
pretty much, sell myself short
he said there is such beauty and wonderment
and I blinked as a fawn
Perhaps I do not know how to communicate well in public,
in fact, even people in the small towns nearby say I am the nicest lady but odd
Life is harsh as we search for acceptance
my inner child trembles and I am so very hurt
for who could love me?
As the old folk sing an old folk song
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)
Perhaps God has other plans
Life is difficult,
no doubt about it
My over poured soul flows
and I lack comfort that I need
harsh words are more than I can bear these days
and I find many blessings knowing I don't have to stay on this earth for all time
Perhaps I could show the world my inner self so kind
but I'm shy
to get hurt again
I've never given that to any man
but Dear ole Dad
Form:
(autobiographical)
I was barely eight before mother died
When Gerald was happy and not as reduced
When he was the loved son
The child with a loving home.
From aunt to aunt I learned to live
Out of the anger of dad
Out of the voice that brought fear.
Into the hand of pestilence-
My second life began-
A life of maltreatment,
A life of struggle
Elder brother disowned when he revolted
The treatment harsh and inhuman - so he bolted.
I joined the struggle
The life of scuffle
Wherein I was the marked
The recalcitrant and ragged
The delinquent in school
The tortured child of the family's few
Who outlived the deads of two aunts
Beseeched to care for him.
I am half mad, they tell me
I know I am a psychic
Half crazed child
A ricochet of mum’s death-
I have been alienated
Disillusioned by life, ill-fated
Tortured by a disturbed mind.
Dad on my heels
Listening to propaganda
murder-bent at my heels
flogged flogged flogged till I go for pills.
Fled my home to the street
Ate from the bin
Lived with street kids
One of the flocks
One of the hard rocks.
I have been in the cold
No bosom have rocked with me
Save mum’s who lies in the clay.
I am spiritually dead
Physically out of mind, they say.
From pastor to pastor
From prayers to prayers
From recessions to intercessions,
Through starvation for correction
I remain unchanged.
I am finished, they say.
Nothing can help me
save God on whom I weep and call.
My relatives
Alienate me
making me atychiphobic
Aggravating my anthropophobia
building in me gelotophobia
and all those anthropological phobias
A loved child has no right to know.
It bringing me pain for they are nailing me shut.
I pity myself - Pity me father
Pity me, brother
Because I have tried
Tried to be loved
Tried to be the best from limps
But I am not up to those dreams.
I know that many dislike me
Feel uneasy when Gerald is around:
Instead of helping me
They become indifferent, violent.
I told Louisa last week as she fumed at methat
anything I lay my hands on
fails to work again.
It either gets bad or broken.
My own things end up craggy
No matter the patience and prudence I put in.
Why then am I born?
Why the fear
Why the alienation?
I pray that I be left alone
Donot curse me again, donot.
Accept my fate and let me be
Else you help in killing me.
*PURPOSE IS DEFEATED*
Long time ago, they left the boundaries
Like an eagle from afar, they sight our mysteries
In the system, they saw mismanagement within
They robbed their way in
They killed their fellow uniform man eventually
And the cycle continues circularly
Civilians pursued
Powers misused
Purpose is defeated
We have formally forgotten those days
When virtues of peace were promoted with violence
When the press were oppressed
When justice was jeopardized
When our constitution was constrained to contempt without conscience
When the scales were afraid of scary blood, but love printed papers
When the beaks of singing parrots were broken
When religious teachers were treated rigorously
Purpose is defeated
Purpose came again
Our uniform men are well informed
But they are not well equipped
A great battalion with good training
Against that without training
A great battalion with pieces of metal
Against that with powerful machines
Ready but not resourceful
Purpose is defeated
No longer dying for the nation
Lets bring down those rebels
A call of duty to the north
They respond with gallant boots and courage
They respond with pieces of metal on their hands
They respond to a place where many have fallen
Even at that, they fought gallantly
They were made to improvise arms
Purpose is defeated
They return with blood stained boots, hands and courage
Their faces and pieces of metal looking down
They have fought a good fight
But sorrow lurks around our families
Women now widows
Offsprings now orphans
Uncle died as one of them
Father retired as one of them
Pension still on attention, no ease?
Purpose is defeated
Purpose is here again
Retreat! Retreat!! Retreat!!!
Fela Kuti sang 'Zombie! '
Check point checking for phone users
Bloody civilians! Dont make a call here!
Sheep flogged, goats flee
They get recruited just for revenge
Purpose is defeated
Purpose is here again today
Where natural death is rare
People are killed
People are killing
People are on their way to kill
Cows are chewing crops
Crops are chewing cows
This is not normal!
Purpose is defeated.
©Kporho Vwede Daniel
(a.k.a. General Ali official)
In winter's cold grip
In the land of the Angles
The Good Christians came
Against their will to a trial
In a grand city
Called the Ford of the Oxen
Good will be slaughtered
By the hands of hot fire
The hands of the judge
The home's ruler was their judge
His stare was piercing
That went with flaming outbursts
And with his red hair
And the king's false overseers
Were the proud jury
Against the thirty Christians
Who came years before
Who came to spread medicine
To heal the ones sick
Cleanse all those with leprosy
To raise the ones dead
Cleanse all those with black demons
All without a fee
But to the judge and jury
This was dark poison
That spread about pestilence
And the Good Christians
Were flees spreading everywhere
Now in England's robe
Eating away the fabric
The thirty Christians spoke thus
"Blessed are those ones
Who suffer from sword or flame
From rope or prison
Or from winter's sheer coldness
For the sake of light
For Christ and goodness itself
For they are Christ's own
They are in heaven's kingdom"
The jury looked on
In their long adorned white robes
Clenching their own fists
Feeling their ring in their palms
"Heretics!" They yelled
With that word, the trail ended
They were now guilty
Still they sang a song of life
"Blessed are those ones
Who are reviled and hated
Rejoice and be glad
For great is the light of Christ"
As red flames rose up
The king in his ruthlessness
Had all of them flogged
In the sight of the cattle
And had their brows burned
And drove them from oxen's ford
And they stripped them all
To wail and die in frost's grip
Or be still in pain
But they kept singing with joy
The king shut his mouth
For hot anger chained his lips
His freckled face scowled
All the cattle were ordered
To have no pity
And walk to the other side
If one is in sight
And not pour good oil and wine
On their bleeding wounds
And not let them find an inn
To find some shelter
They were in winter's cold chains
For nature herself
To be executioner
Those few Good Christians
Still had the spirit in them
And looked to the stars
Just as Christ laughed on the tree
They joyfully laughed
They went to this world laughing
And left this cold world laughing
Shame
When word had spread of His arrest, I left
Bethesda, passed five porticoes and came
Eventually upon the Roman fortress;
My curiosity overriding shame.
Six trials they say He underwent, stood still
With arms behind Him bound, yet He refrained
From admitting guilt before being dragged outside;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
They flogged Him with a lead-tipped whip and placed
A crown of long sharp thorns to mock His fame,
With laughter wrapped Him in a purple robe;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
As parting crowds allowed the Cross to pass,
A constant storm of fists and curses rained,
My silent form within the shadows hid;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
From my place upon the hill, I watched Him
Shake his head when offered wine, the same
Brew sipped in greed by His companions;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
With scant regard to modesty they stripped Him,
Then gambled for His clothes and scorned His name,
Brought hammer, nails to crucify this man;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
As noon approached, the sun retreated and
Darkness fell across this land, yet hard rain
Fell none to wash away complicity;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
His sweat stained forehead creased in agony,
That wound where spear had pierced his failing frame,
And from on high I felt His gaze meet mine;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
When all was still I helped Joseph wrap Him
In a linen shroud, was thanked, proclaimed
A friend, dismissed this status out of hand;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
Sunset stretched the shadows, an olive grove,
A cave His resting place, Mary Magdalene
In stifling tears reached out to say a prayer;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
And there we sat until the night sky turned
To dawn, cold stars above, the burning flame
Of our own thoughts now dwindling embers;
While I could only hang my head in shame.
I’m older now, my life is nearly done,
Have followed in His steps despite been born lame,
For healing hands once worked a miracle;
Yet even now I hang my head in shame.
Suffering for Christ
Tears, flow for the way the world treated Jesus,
Suffering for a world that knew him not.
Then, to ponder what was within this Jesus.
This drive of the Living God flowing throughout.
That, a carpenter would build his own cross.
To carry to his own death, unknowingly
The prideful and leaders would nail the carpenter.
To the cross to complete this work as finished.
That others might receive this Spirit of the Living God, for we are the ones truly suffering without,
This promised inheritance of the Holy Spirit.
I ponder , Stephen what drove within you to tell of this Jesus that would have you stoned to death.
For, this power and glory within could not be contained. Spirit of fire set ablaze within.
While, looking up to heaven smiling at Jesus at the right hand of God, Paul, what drove you to go against everything you had been taught, to tell of this Jesus from which, once was out to crucify others talking about Jesus. You would be stoned, flogged, whip , persecuted, yet this Spirit placed within was thriving. ?Philippians 1:20-24 NIV?
[20] I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. [21] For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. [22] If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! [23] I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; [24] but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.
All the apostles persecuted,stoned put in jail,for the prideful and arrogant leaders wanted all praise and glory of man, that this Spirit did not spread.
Now, when I hear suffering for Christ.
It is a reminder, the body without the Spirit of the Living God is truly the one suffering.
For, we see in this world wars,hatred,greed, division from people who have rejected the Living God to purify One into A Child of the Living God, Spirit dwelling within the temple made without the hands of mankind.
The fat director in his piggy mien
Sitting in opulent oval office,
Wearing costly French suit
A delicate silk bow tie,
While the buttons are straining to keep
The belly from bursting out,
In performing callisthenic of the bulge.
Telephone rag, he lifted two of several
Dropped and picked with Havana stuck to his pout
And spoke rapidly with cheek dancing:
I want them in my piggy bank
I want the whole, as my piggy position is concern,
I will take seventy five per cent of the piggy taken
Forget about them,
Leave the piggy bubble project uncompleted
I will meet you for a brunch,
Masses rendered impotent, swallowed and wolves down
By the pig and his henchmen
Raining down hardship and flooded hopelessness,
Wiping up suffering and slashing death,
They fed and sold selfishness
And leave many to immeasurable loses,
To wash and watch shame
Inside the sewage of the rich
Presenting dramatic performance of bone to bone,
And starring, the ultimate Warrior Kwashiokor
For nouveau rich spectators applause,
Waifs and beggars begged and flogged more
Expectation refused to manifest in globe
Yet those who have expanded chests came out
To yell protestation but, castrated in their ranks.
The robbed queued in supplication to Almighty
Ears from the nooks of the ghettoes
From the air every blessed hour,
Wailing mulimukun sobbed Allah
That of rabbi baritone Jehovah Rapha
Enough! Prostration to lead infinite frustration
And threw hands up,
And supported the jaws with fragile limbs waiting
Aluta continua! Drummed the repressed voices,
With boundless bundle of fists thrown up
To face the militant ants with all laser weapon
Punctured, battered and marched down
Until the rout were silent;
Real war is not wage on the battlefield
But on a space minute than head of a pin,
World is just a rounder
Which urchins kick about in the streets,
The rule and regulation, don’t bother
Whether pricked by volley
Or pretended thorns hidden all around
When permitting dribbling,
We are fools to the brim.
Hark there kind sir, what brings you here?
A message for my lady, from Sir Lyle Gere
He penned these lines, for her gentle ear
Would you have this delivered, pray kind sir
Indeed I will, my word is my honour
Fear not kind sir, for tonight it will see her
What is it butler, who wrote me this letter?
Sir Lyle Gere, my lady, has requested a titter
Pray let me see, you insolent old timer
Your sarcasm ignites, especially at night sir!
Dear Lady Camilla, holder of my heart
My eternal hope is for our life to start
Would you be so kind to join me for a sitter?
High tea perhaps , around say four or a fiver?
Note down these words butler
And pray not a word from your sour lips
Much obliged kind Sir Gere
‘twill be my utmost pleasure
To join your company for a wee sitter
Until the morrow, I will treasure this letter
Will you now excitable lady Camilla
Lady of leisure, not a spoon thou hast washed
Shush, be quiet you insolent obscene butler!
Or what will you do, sweet Lady Camille
I will have you flogged for your foul mouth
And public it will be, just you wait and watch
My sincerest apologies, my dear Lady Camille
Never would your Ladyship do anything so vile
Oh you know me so well you old timer
Subtle am I? Oh surely my Lady!
My sensibilities are fragile, I hope he knows
I can only consume delicate h’ ors de oeuvres
Sweet desserts and cucumber sandwiches
He will be fooled my kind Camille, he will never suspect
Has he ever had the pleasure of seeing your lovely face?
No, our paths have never crossed butler, are you insinuating?
Never my dear Lady, I am a mere butler!
My thoughts matter not, my heart be ripped, I will deliver this chit
Come flood or disaster, your healthy smile is my bread and butter!
Aye your sarcasm is but fraught with the devil’s own tongue
But in my life you have been for so very long
I love your wit, you impudent satirist
You crafty shrew, slyly devious!