Long Grafts Poems
Long Grafts Poems. Below are the most popular long Grafts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grafts poems by poem length and keyword.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Let those comment who kill with soft words when they ‘get’ you!
Should we hold praise hostage, retreat when we can’t see
reciprocal giftings that laud what we write in return?
My take’s yours if you like it, still yours if you don’t, but
a gift I hope serves you! My joy’s to encourage,
not harm. This might be the sole poem I post here (1), that’s fine!
Let all praise what we glean, words hearts join with mind’s sinew
praise noticed or not as you pass, whistle ‘Dixie,’
fly all flags half-mast! Share your muse though I freeze, melt, or burn:
blow my top at poor rhymes, curse free verse! Friend, inhabit
your prose, don't let rhythm and rhyme be a bandage
that grafts a snake’s tail on a mouse! Sing! Canary in mine!
The “One and Only” Krakatoa Kritic #007
(1) By here, I mean on this ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007’ site. I will continue to post poems under my actual name. I will try to respond to all questions about any review. I will not review others' work on request but seek to reward those I see contributing to others' growth, whose poems and whose comments appeal to me.
PS: I have published quite a few poems on PoetrySoup now! And I’m grateful to all readers if they comment or not! I think, however, that numbered, anonymous comments that only PS could identify the author of would be a significant improvement to PoetrySoup’s much-appreciated site! Members can already delete any comment that offends them! In this spirit, look for comments from me, ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007,’ on this site, on your poem! All payments/bribes are acceptable but will not get you nothing though I am a gold-medal receiver. A more loving, healthy community is my primary goal. I will post my reviews of all poems on both PoemHunter and PoetrySoup. I hope this will increase your poem's readership, and draw new readers to poets on both sites.
Comments might be more efficacious if it was impossible to construe them to be solicitations to read the commenter’s poetry (on both PoemHunter and PS). There is enough false praise in the world.
I do not claim to have the ear of God! The poems and comments I offer on this site are my suggestions, hoping to help both sites to become even better servants of poetic expression. InshAllah!
November 1 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Romans 11-12
Key Verse – Romans 11:2 God hath not cast away his people which he foreknew. Wot ye not what the scripture saith of Elias? how he maketh intercession to God against Israel…
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY MIGHTY INTERCESSOR
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who enables me in the Christian race
Thank You for Your gift of salvation grace
Along Your working patience-brace
Against stumbling block, snare and trap of sin-trace.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who enlightens me in worldly darkness
Thank You for Your illumination of vision’s clearness
Along Your magnifying lens of faith’s brightness
Against provoking fleshly alluring blurriness.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who grafts me into Your holiness-branches
Thank You for Your goodness leading to my fruit-bearing stretches
Along Your cutting severity discipline touches
Against boasting unbelief and conceit-crutches.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who delivers me from wiles of the ungodly
Thank You for Your covenant of the Gospel You show completely
Along Your counselling wisdom I obtain richly
Against threatening recompense of the unjust foolishly.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who beseeches me with Your tender mercy
Thank You for Your transformation of perfection's sufficiency
Along Your guiding sobriety that directs me toward commitment’s fervency
Against attacking slothfulness challenging my diligence-persistency.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who teaches me to cleave to Your compassion
Thank You for Your kindness bestowing me pardon’s peace-possession
Along Your sanctifying grant toward my effectual commission
Against cursing mockery belittling Your divine condescension.
Lord God, You are my mighty Intercessor
Who knows well my striving for earnest humility and honesty
Thank You for Your miracles for the fulfillment of my ministerial duty
Along Your assuring presence in doing stewardship-responsibility
Against frustrating failure caused by enemy’s hostility.
November 1, 2023
Brutus Iulius Trois page 02
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
In Hesperia the elder cousins the new Dardanoi
the sons of Silvanus Dardanus shall inherit
and Lavinia's bloodline shall dwindle down
caught by a curse not even Anna Perenna can protect
as the very last drops are given to wolves
Thus purified the Dardanoi become a great nation
As for the house of Ascanius and the true Trojans
Two bright stars that flame and fall
Troy is lost, Trojans are lost
a matricide, a patricide an orphan child
shall escape his curse and rescue Creusa
who cries all alone in Troy's ruins
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
Ascanius did not weep or cry in anger
Ascanius did not try to stop what was to come
doing such things had never helped his father Aeneas
Ascanius placed his faith in older prophecies made
and his trust in the protection of grandmother Venus
with peaceful prayers sent he pleas to the Parcae
Nona spin your finest threads for my son.
Decima give him a full cup of life leave him not wanting
Morta keep your knife idle until after my time.
Ascanius paid the Auger in silver coin
one eyed Merlinius bowed and left
To his soldiers Ascanius said slay me this soothsayer
but the mage Merlinius staged his own suicide
drinking a draft of false death
disappearing some said into the west
Silent stayed Ascanius, keeping secret his son's fate
In time Silvanus Trois inherited his fathers crown
and wedded Julia Dardanus his close cousin
tying the Trojan grafts tighter to their newly Latin roots.
Julia Dardanus died in birthing a beautiful son
she breathed her last even as he breathed his first.
In sorrow Silvanus lifted his son aloft to show the courtiers
as he hefted the babe, he named his heavy burden Brutus.
In true Trojan fashion Ascanius had raised Silvanus his son
In such fashion Silvanus in turn raised Brutus Iulius Trois
In a place of unmarked beauty;
Lays a stone dead and cold.
The ear the dirt covering lays hold;
The outside of the stone.
As the crust of the earth begins shaping the stone;
Grooves and rough edges appear.
The dirt becomes heavy and the stone is pushed into the earth deeper still.
The earth engulfing and swallowing the now grooved rough edged stone;
Rests with peace unknown.
A tree planted and grown sits tall above the earth taking the high winds and days of scorching Sun;
Dead of winter nights;
And raindrops not In sight.
The tree bends with the winds and never breaks;
The heat of Sun only brings New leaves front he buds;
And dead of winter;
And no rain has caused the roots of the tree to plummett into the depths of the earth.
The root of the tree that stands tall above the earth;
Catches a rough edge of thes tone that the earth has grooved.
Now together the root and stone go into the earth deeper still;
To find the moisture of water left by a rain of days gone by.
As the root of the tree entwines the stone;
A seed is planted and a small sprout begins to grow.
While the small sprout buds above The earth;
Its roots take hold of the earth, the stone, and the root of the tree.
Over time as the sprout grows its roots start cracking the stone;
And grafts into the root of the tree moving the earth and leaving the grooves of the shell
Of the cold dead stone in the place of still.
The tree holds entwined a beautiful stone that is yet to be seen.
The grafted design of one beneath and two above and greater still;
The tree with it's branches and leaves overshadows and protects the small sprout beneath.
By Christy Teas
Form:
In a place of unmarked beauty;
Lays a stone dead and cold.
The ear the dirt covering lays hold;
The outside of the stone.
As the crust of the earth begins shaping the stone;
Grooves and rough edges appear.
The dirt becomes heavy and the stone is pushed into the earth deeper still.
The earth engulfing and swallowing the now grooved rough edged stone;
Rests with peace unknown.
A tree planted and grown sits tall above the earth taking the high winds and days of scorching Sun;
Dead of winter nights;
And raindrops not In sight.
The tree bends with the winds and never breaks;
The heat of Sun only brings New leaves front he buds;
And dead of winter;
And no rain has caused the roots of the tree to plummett into the depths of the earth.
The root of the tree that stands tall above the earth;
Catches a rough edge of thes tone that the earth has grooved.
Now together the root and stone go into the earth deeper still;
To find the moisture of water left by a rain of days gone by.
As the root of the tree entwines the stone;
A seed is planted and a small sprout begins to grow.
While the small sprout buds above The earth;
Its roots take hold of the earth, the stone, and the root of the tree.
Over time as the sprout grows its roots start cracking the stone;
And grafts into the root of the tree moving the earth and leaving the grooves of the shell
Of the cold dead stone in the place of still.
The tree holds entwined a beautiful stone that is yet to be seen.
The grafted design of one beneath and two above and greater still;
The tree with it's branches and leaves overshadows and protects the small sprout beneath.
By Christy Teas
Form:
This is where black breaks open into bright bleeding feeling
as souls suffer the fire of flesh to enter arena Earth screaming
searching the ether for Adam and Eve's answer to forbidden fever
while angels wear snake skins of war to remember the carnage of this theater
and demons adorn their horns with the rose thorns of newborns,
in the blue garden of aging Eden every breath has a burn, every flame forewarns
denuding knowledge of it's pretenses, unveiling appetites and their prices,
we begin to realize that the Great Mother is a killer as well as a provider for our vices
feeding us the fruits of fortune along with the fate of decay
building our bones, branding the brain, electrifying, crucifying and rectifying our clay,
she communicates, educates and fascinates with looks of lightning and sandy kisses
the Mistress of Lucifer and Christ, she supplies the wood, nails and rain for our wishes,
civilizations rage, rumble and crumble in the judgment of her storms
there's mud and rock for every foot of fury, a cave and castle for all who defy the norms,
in her imperial urn she will cremate your eyes in flames of crude oil
baptise hearts in pools of rose water filtered through eons of soul soil,
her gravity will grind you to the ground where grief grafts prayers from tears,
in the sanskrit of sunrises she will summon songs that give your love ears,
this cradle and cataclysm of her erratic elements is where hearts are born and buried,
Earth, a womb and tomb of ancient bloom, oasis in eternal space where life is carried -
J.A.B.
I have bad teeth. Always have since birth. I had braces as a child and hated it. Hated going to the dentist. Put it off too long, too often. Ended up with multiple root canals, and bone grafts, and finally lost six teeth and had to have dentures.
Lately, my remaining teeth have been behaving a bit better I may lose another tooth before the end but that should be enough.
I am waiting for the development of dental clones which I hope will happen soon so I can grow perfect teeth and replace all my old rotting teach.
I tell my teeth one day my plans
“Teeth”
“Yeah master”
“We need to talk”
“so talk, dude.”
“
I am going to replace you all with brand new teeth. You have been such pain my entire life, can’t wait.”
“So you are going to kill us off and trade us in for a new model?”
“Yeah”
“Bastard, but hey we don’t have a choice since you are the Master and we are merely you’re eating machine slaves.”
“Yeah, you got that right.”
And last but not least, our optional prompt! I got this one from a workshop I did last year with Beatrix Gates, and I’ve found it helpful. The prompt is based on Robert Hass’s remarkable prose poem, “A Story About the Body.” The idea is to write your prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.
Should my being alone
Turn loneliness?
Is it wrong
Even if aloneness
Turns loneliness?
Isn't each moment of aloneness
A treasure?
Isn’t each loneliness
A challenge-filled world in itself…?
Does a primrose suffer darkness?
Has a lotus got averseness of mud?
Doesn't a cactus enjoy the desert?
Don’t wild flowers take pleasure
In blooming midst harshness…?
Turtles, whales,
Leopards, bears,
Jaguars, Pandas,
And Orangutans
Enjoy being alone than in crowds...
Love your being alone
And feeling lonely...
Best of arts and grafts,
History is a witness,
Have born out of
Being alone and
Feeling lonely...
The only person
I feel free to love
During my loneliness
Is my very self.
I become my friend.
I become my lover.
I become my admirer.
I become my adorer.
I become my art.
I become my craft.
I become my pot and potter.
I become my creation and creator…
I plunge into action
Like an adventurer.
I am being born
Or rather I take birth
As an art, artist;
Sculpture, sculptor;
Music, musician;
Poem, poet...
Do not be depressed, hence,
Or become downcast
When the crowds fail
Applauding you…
Get out!
Get away!
Enjoy being alone;
Being lonely...
09 October 2022
Written: September 08, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He has blue eyes and lovely blond hair,
Curls rose above his pink and pretty ware.
Do not mention his background or affairs,
With Africa by people who settled there.
His father's family tree has extensive roots,
Has Swedish, Cajun French, and British limbs.
Grafts from Choctaw and Cherokee wood routes,
That got some black stems from long-time whims.
His mother comes from a Creole background,
Descendants of a native African tribe.
Parentage from France and Spain was found,
And mingled with Bayou Indians and more vibe.
Because intolerance and hatred confine,
They also obstruct the expansive plain.
Therefore, bigots are vindictive and supine,
It is only clear to observe the gutter drain.
There are no pleasant views of the spleen,
There are no cloverfields or rolling greens.
Restricted minds lack the ability to see,
a breathtaking panorama of the scene.
And biased men with pretentious pride,
While in white, they become narrow-eyed.
who despise Blacks, Jews, and Native side,
They are completely sealed and closed inside.
pain is
a mind thing
blue skys
Each day I awake and kiss the stubs on my hand - - - now, five of them. I never broke! Remembering each day, I thankfully kiss the feet of God in my mind. I thank him for the fact that they have only cut off another joint. All night they threatened - - - and had finally cut it off. I recoup while they get some sleep. I never broke, but I cried. I begged, pleaded and cussed, because they wanted a show more than the information. I had learned self-hypnosis as a kid. Little did I think then of how I would use it.
So, here I sit today. No fingers, no toes. I need about fifty skin grafts but you know?- - - I’m all right !!. I’m all right. I have loved and felt love. I have had the joy of being a son, a brother, a husband and a father. I don’t owe anyone an apology.
Now, I pray to be able to look deep within myself. I want to retreat far enough into my mind to find that bridge. I want the path to the other side.
So, sleepy, so much blooo ......... . . . !