Long Harp on Poems
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I tend to harp on the happy life
That I've been so lucky to have had
One of the fortunate ones that's for sure
Since I was just a wee lad
Why me, at times I've wondered
But really don't want a reason
Content to accept my very good fortune
My love is one for all seasons
Must have performed a special good deed
To deserve such a life so glorious
Guess I could classify my role up till now
As purely phantasmagorias
As I sail on forth to my golden years
Giving thanks for a life of love
Feel more fortunate than one man deserves
As the love light shines from above
I tend to harp on my happy life
That I've been so lucky to have had
Won't question the reason I've been chosen
To live this life filled with glad
© Jack Ellison 2015
I remember when
The stars weren't my own
I remember when
Sad stories of a real soul
I remember when
We used to play pretend
My future, my escape
Dream of another time or place
What shall become of me?
Only doubt
What did I see?
Nothing, no belief
I know now.
Her sorrows aren't unheard
Her tears water my soul
Gave way to a new being
Made new, now whole
Her intelligence set her back
Her doubts supported by lack
So little
But love
Such lack
But love
Why did she love?
Disgustingly sorrowful
A pitiful being
But no harp on her
Seeing is believing
Now I appreciate the gains
I will never fault her
Because when it rains
I hold her umbrella
Might let it go when she cries
Her peace, disturbed
Tears blending out of sight
She brought me here
Her light was dim
She had little to give
But she gave it all
Why? Why provide when your well runs dry?
Why? Why give when you can barely stay alive?
Why?
Maybe the tables could turn
Karma, God, Jesus, and the like
Buddha, Confucius, reverse her fortune
But there was a block
A hold
Unknown truths, stories untold
Lack of trust
Lack of care
She knew, sadly
No one was there
Her heart stayed crushed
Each day, she hoped to restored it whole
Each day she'd come home
Stories thoroughly old
Tired, old, tired, old tired
LET ME OUT
she'd scream
[ Where is her mind? ]
She'd find herself wallowing in grief
grades, grades, grades
friends, friends, friends
am i the weirdo
am i the problem
what do i do
how do i change
find a way
find a way
FIND A WAY
MAKE THE CHANGE
MAKE ME BETTER
CHANGE MY LIFE
I CANT STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER
someone save me...
locked in a box
she had the key
born trapped
What shall become of me?
I know now.
I don't stand proud.
I stand knowing.
I proudly show it.
Abundance, unfathomable
Love?
Insurmountable
The lack she felt, reversed
Wishing for a hearse
I lifted the curse
Now I sit, fully imearsed
I live in the moment
Authentically
I live for myself
Unapoligetically
I live.
I live.
I want to live.
The will never take that from me.
I want to live.
Now what become of me?
Let's see :)))
Thoughts rest as we float into our soul’s nest,
toroidal heart, where throbs soundless thunder,
bliss magnetism humming, deep in our chest,
leaving our presence awestruck in wonder.
At heaven’s gate, all nodes collaborate,
attuned to the pulse of the universe,
the music God makes, which then shapes our fate,
which we sing as a melodious verse.
Spine a harp, on which Divine Mother plays,
illumining our central vein with light,
rapture unbound, that by day and night stays,
inducing spasms borne by bliss beat’s delight.
God’s play divine sublime has but one aim ~
That in timeless time, we become the flame
You're in love-plight and sing for me each night,
As though abandoned by the savage world;
On the kingsize bed, here, we spouses fight,
In whirlpools of nightmares, I'm, often, hurled...!
Insomniac and sleepwalking; I sing,
Mindlessly over roofs with broken tiles;
And hear from a far-off church, my knells ring,
Faded from our faces are those soft smiles...!
In the furnace of the cast we get burned,
Religions stand far and harp on morals;
When, lo, to ashes, our physiques get turned,
Will zeitgeists glorify us with laurels...?
Could clutches of cultures, yet, long hold back?
Yeah, at last, breaking the caves of our graves,
Our nightingales, within, will make crypts crack,
Sweet songs will soar over soundless sea waves...!!!
10 April 2023
SIMPLY POETRY 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Our lament for time well spent…with Farmer's market regulars Pip & Lizzie the pair are a sartorial oracle and festive fillip with follicle flair....was a delight to share forever memories at our locavore lair...
Through the mist of memories we sift
With whiffs of yesteryear cheer sniffed
Rides on sublime tides of time we drift
Rain again regulars refrain visit biffed
Others defending..spending limit thrift
Quiffed punter chunter I've been stiffed
Will harp on gets swift short sharp shrift
After rafter of laughter graft or grift
Miffed by dafter manager’s latest rift
Not the first time we have ever tiffed
One thing that will always give us a lift
Makes our hearts sing on a busy shift
Stops any tizzy thrill of fill of Phil & Lizzie
A heaven sent present our favourite gift..
“Mind Fist”
by Positive Mark
Protection from a demon or protection from the chaos?
You’re smudging for a cleansing or you prepping for a seance?
We don’t purchase insurance after we done wrecked our car,
so why wait for calamity to unmask who we are?
I always harp on shadow work, ‘cause that’s what gets me through it.
No progress will be made unless I buckle down and do it.
Traversing through the underworld, to sort through buried trauma.
Relationships,
The times I quit,
My issues with my Momma.
What waits for me in shadows that I need to understand
before my spirit finds the light to be a better man?
And when the magic spells work, and I find that brighter day,
should I dip my quill and lead the way,
or bag my goods and go away?
Mind Fist
Programmed fools demonize our culture,
try to undermine, demoralize,
say that it’s all ‘white supremacist,’
it’s ‘patriarchal,’ ‘all built on lies.’
Overblow every mistake they find,
project onto us all of their sins,
parasites dependant on a host
that they’re busy killing from within.
Be they our teachers of professors,
or scum media lying out loud,
don’t listen when they preach self-hatred,
for there is much of which to be proud.
They like to blame us for slavery,
tell children it was unique to us,
when the Muslims enslaved twenty times
of what came to the Americas.
They don’t teach that for ten thousand years
it was commonplace to all mankind,
they do not want that much perspective
to ever enter into our minds.
They don’t mention that we helped kill it,
that the west paid in blood for that change,
or that no culture who came before
dared to take on this practice deranged.
They harp on this to guilt good people,
make them cower to the leftist crowd,
there is no need to feel self-hatred,
when there’s so much that should make you proud.
They like to proclaim that we’re ‘racist,’
it’s their favorite way to shut you up,
use your skin tint to assign virtues,
endlessly coming up with such stuff.
But the only racists out there are
the lefties who reduce us to groups,
the rest of us don’t care for this crap,
and are annoyed by people who do.
When we buried Jim Crow long ago,
held up equality under law,
we did all that a country can do,
one standard for all, despite our flaws.
Go ask China about Africans,
or the Muslim world of people dark,
and you’ll understand very quickly
that our attitudes are far apart.
We say that color doesn’t matter,
and that all who try must be allowed,
so when they preach racial self-hatred,
flip them off, you’ve a right to be proud...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
A Parody for Soupers based on the song, 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town.'
You better not shout
You better not sigh
You better not pout
I'm telling you why...
PS Admin is makin' the rounds
They are bound
to be making a list
and checkin' it twice
They're keepin' tabs on who's naughty and nice
They'll know when you cause trouble
Someone will pimp you out
They'll take action on the double (not)
Asking, "What is this all about?"
You better not bully
Or use a curse word
Cuz in Poetry Soup
You'll be labeled a turd
You better not be a troll
Cuz it's a crime
Harassment takes a toll
Even if it's done in rhyme
PS Admin wants poets to have a goal
To be nice to each other without blocking
If you do you may find a lump of coal
In the toe of your Christmas stocking
You better not fire your gun
Then your comment gets deleted
That's called a 'hit and run'
An offense that shouldn't be repeated
PS Admin always reads what you're typing
Sent from your IP address
So, you better stop all your griping
Or your account they will repossess
You better not be cruel and mean
Or you'll find yourself in a deep abyss
Kicked out for being a drama king or queen
Having PS Admin's butt to kiss
Every story has two sides
Sometimes they believe the wrong one
The one where the snide villain hides
After their dirty work has been done
They frown on those who harp on negativity
Team Poetry Soup finds it rather banal
For which some among us have a proclivity
In other words, to make it clear, Don't be a.n.a.l
You better not write of hate
It's best not to be accused
So if some of you can relate
It's better known as being abused
If guilty, you'll get nuttin' for Christmas
But if you insist on being bad
There'll be no POTD for you on Christmas
If you make PS Administrators mad
You don't have to worry about Santa Claus
Just don't make Team Poetry Soup frown
Or you'll get kicked out for breaking their laws
Cuz they have the power to shut you down
Lost in a world of regrets and dejection
Struggling for an escape
But I am shackled between a rock and a hard place
With no key in sight and no help coming my way
I am trapped.
Flung into a world that hates me but needs me
A world with its foot on my neck
The more I struggle, the more the diseased, putrid-smelling member
Crushes nearly the life out of me
I am trapped.
The open road to nowhere calls me to liberation
But responsibility and maturity have
Placed a Denver boot on my golden chariot
And have stolen the reigns of my white stallion
I am trapped.
A sword falls before my feet
With the balm of relief at its tip
Beckoning me to impale
My already lifeless body
Onto its medicine
But God and hellfire
Prevent my eager hands from
Injecting my body with its medicine
I am trapped.
What did I do to be plunged
Into this perpetual prison?
The bars to my cell
Are far too solid to destroy
To whom can I cry out to
And how can I know they can hear me?
Who is able and willing
To rescue this damoiseau in distress
And how long must I wait?
How long my I hang my harp on a willow tree
And weep?
How long will it be
Until I am free?
I am trapped…
I am trapped…
I am trapped.
They all put so much stress on
getting a college degree,
and if it’s math or science,
I think that I would agree.
But in the humanities
another trend now appears,
kids are taught to hate themselves,
and this is reason for fear.
Instead of the great questions,
they’re taught to obsess on race,
and disparage great thinkers
who have the ‘wrong’-colored face.
Instead of human nature
they’re taught to harp on gender,
to the point they no longer think
there is a ‘him’ or a ‘her.’
Instead of economics
they’re force-fed socialism,
and thus doomed to see the world
through a misshapen prism.
Instead of building a life
these students are taught to see
themselves as passive subjects
to assigned ‘identities.’
Instead of questions of faith,
they’ll be taught religion is dead,
just to have leftist belief
pounded hard into their heads.
What comes back won’t be something
worthy of pride or respect,
their morals gone, their reason cowed,
their soul an absolute wreck.
You will not get a person
quipped to take on the world,
you’ll get an angry NPC
out rioting like a churl.
You will not find them ready
to become women and men,
just fragile people who think
the name ‘Blackjack’ does offend.
You will not find strong actors
now ready to get to work,
just entitled people that
rant and scream like spoiled jerks,
and worse still these useless souls
have a hundred grand in debt!
I got to think a trade school
would’ve been a better bet.
Then at least they’d be useful
to society at large,
help to maintain all we’ve built,
and not be the culture’s charge.
Plus if they really want to
give the great thinkers a look,
they can go do that for free
with a bunch of library books,
Or look to the internet,
most of the greats are there for free,
your own thoughts will be as good
as what comes from academies.
Unless it’s math or science,
college doesn’t make much sense,
don’t sent your kids to college,
you’ll just be ruining them.