Long Hectares Poems
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It's an institutionalized war against a black man,
Yet we celebrate deceit, glorify the shallow plan,
Brothers lost in lust, in lies, in shame,
Building a broken nation, feeding a hollow flame.
Where are the men, strong and true,
Who see the war, who know what to do?
Disciplined, focused, committed, and wise,
Not distracted by lust, but lifting the prize.
It's an institutionalized war, and yet, here we stand,
You call me a scammer for holding Bitcoin in my hand.
While you chase cars, debt shackles your feet,
I hold 25 Bitcoin, the future beneath my seat.
Twenty-seven cars? I’d rather own land,
Twenty-seven hectares, where true wealth stands.
But you worship vanity, you chase the wind,
Uninformed, unaware, as the cycle spins.
The balance sheet empty, no cash flow in sight,
Yet you celebrate the shine, ignoring the fight.
The school failed to teach you, left you a slave,
Chained to material, to the shallow wave.
It’s an institutionalized war, but where is the brother,
Who tells you to build, support one another?
Instead, they laugh when you break from the grind,
Escape the matrix, leave the 9-5 behind.
This moral decay, this ignorance we feed,
Is tearing our nation, planting the seed.
We don’t keep it real, we let each other fall,
Indulging in vanity, ignoring the call.
The ripple effect is clear as day,
A nation lost, as brothers stray.
But until we rise, and call out the lie,
This institutionalized war will never die.
Turn round around
Get me astounding
Wait for me
Do not disagree
Let us glue
Traces of you
Superb memories abounding
Which keeps funding
With kindest emotion
My hearty devotion
Playing thy guitar
But we are
Not to share
What duties ensnare
And the honor
Of great Connor
Shining so bright
How cognizance ignite
Like the TRUTH
Mixed with Vermouth
Land massive STARS
Yielding flavored hectares
Humans march upon
Earth's free cons
Awarding less duties
To foreign beauties
Pleasing young hearts
Praised enchanting arts
Teasing loyal minds
Eyes open blind
Lurking safe trip
How loyalties gyp
In fearful journey
Trading scornful honey
Dark souls morn
After trust warns
To savage peace
In lovely teases
With pretense borrowed
I rarely kowtow
With watery words
Keeping young birds
From eagles gazes
Forsaken reasonable promises
*I believe I've awoken the little red panda
donning five yellow stars on a crimson bandana
spreading hectares of jaded Jinping propaganda*
*She lives in a land of dragons and Maoist oppression
I think I'm becoming her latest star-spangled obsession
Sad, she'll probably never breathe sweetened air of the free
or feel warmth from the torch of Staten Island's fairest lady*
*As she tap-taps away on her communist keys.
Careful not to say anything blue about her chairman Xi.
She knows with a slip of the mind -one twitch of the teeth.
She'll be chum to the yellow sharks of the South China Sea...
I hope someday she has the means and courage to flee.
Sing a song for old Hong Kong over sweet cups of green peace*
* If you ever make your way over, don't tote any echo locators.
Unless it's a pod of democracy dolphins-they tend to be voters, not haters.
They'll batter yellow sharks if you drift from the star-spangled breakers.
God bless your journey -I pray that you stay safe and finally make it.
Memory houses soul asylum vestige...
where complex edifice once anchoring
venerated Glen Elm demesne once stood,
now nothing except vinyl city!
I recall breathtaking, expansive, incredible
numerous, tremblingly awe inspiring views
billion miles (slight exaggeration) heavenly
sights comfortably ensconced, while perched
high atop sadly long since demolished complex
edifice anchoring Glen Elm demesne – summer
mansion property captain Leiper (circa early
nineteen hundreds) more'n century ago once
encompassing hundred plus acres whittled to
approximately 2.42811 hectares upon purchase
February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight by
papa Boyce Brandon Harris, insync with help
courtesy paternal grandpa Aaron Harris, the
former who invested blood, sweat and tears,
when not yoked, tethered, obligated... to
incumbent duties consonant with assignments
linkedin, when gainfully employed as top notch
mechanical engineer at General Electric, he
slaved away gentrifying neglected fixer upper
(matter of fact single handedly reshingled roof)
that same exterior hideaway offering solace
against imprecation, ostracization, ultimatum...
damnation, humiliation, laceration, (albeit verbal
lashing against yours truly), when exhibiting no
motivation to work (courtesy thank debilitating,
immobilizing, paralyzing anxiety/panic attacks),
now though still plagued with same understood
as congenital (possibly in utero) malady, yes an
abominable, execrable, implacable..., nemesis
which unpleasant memories haunt me even to
this day, whereby nothing but utter failure cast
dark shadows analogous to edge of night oft
times accompanied with suicidal ideations,
whereat damned, continually bereft, abysmal
bereft legacy testimony marginally functioning
as the token "scapegoat" throughout twelve
torturous years yielding absolute zero aptitude
unable to comprehend, (I strongly suspect die
hug noses along high functioning autistic
spectrum - case in point youngest of two sweet
progeny (both daughters) afflicted with yepper
aforementioned cognitive learning disability,
she benefited social services since birth, and
can attest to much more positive academic,
and socialization endeavors well on her way
living clear and free empowered at twenty
orbitz round the earth.
Ballooner, blink in the hot air.
Wink, O noonday sun.
On the brink, is life unfair?
Drink and be as one!
Supreme being, I imbibe!
Above god and man!
Dervish, deus, diatribe!
Lengthen, every span!
Grim-faced, O my spectres?
Well, that's the way it goes.
Singulars and hectares!
Core cone, thy carrion crows!
Trammell the enameling?
O nightingale, sing sweet.
O sky above, thy paneling!
O lion, at thy feet!
Yellow priestess, ritual.
Of this what knoweth ye?
Barrel out the brazen bull!
Fling out, fancy-free!
Rhyme and riddle, rill on roll.
Drums, thy wargods beat.
Goddess of the asherah pole!
Chosen to complete!
Tyrant of tomorrow?
An image wrought in spark.
Brindle, bindle, broken bow!
Gold, fluoresce in dark!
Hone thy skill, O warrior!
Dare not to drop thy tools!
Skyscraper, art free and sure?
Toss away thy rules...
A billion can buy a bushel of impenetrable silence.
Hectares of prime farmland or flashy private jets.
It can buy a turd in stilettos and a pyrite-hearted mistress.
A billion can buy you a secondhand spaceship.
Or an endless good run of Wall Street luck. It can buy a pair of bloated lip-plastic nips and butts.
With a billion you can casually jump burning ships.
Change the scented steps of a double helix.
Buy a fresh orphaned kidney if you so wish.
A billion can buy you onto underage islands.
Where the silver heads pleasure and innocents' dies.
A billion can buy a cure, but it never has the will.
There's more profit in a shady shot or a toxic pill.
They say money can't buy happiness, but I'd rather die on a champagne yacht.
With half a dozen painted chicks on my arm.
Then all alone under a soggy city bridge
A billion can quarry a slab of pink granite stone.
But not a stitch of silk will anyone own
when death unchains the flesh from the soul.
**V**
\ /
\ /
v
He is her knight in shining armor in all angles and sight…
He has all the courage to go and ask her hand,
From the woman’s father who’s well-known as a noble man;
Words of humiliations, he swallows them all,
He is a commoner but his love for her is so true and pure.
Despite their opprobrium, he keeps fighting for his great love,
In a humble way, he begs for her parents’ blessings
knocking their wooden heart;
Bowing before her father… he implores…
Making faithful promises to keep forevermore.
His heart of gold and few hectares of land
enough dowries he can give,
all for his dearest one.
For she’s their only daughter,
their lovely princess
very precious,
and so pretty-she really is.
The suitor’s words are passionate, fervent and firm,
The man is so adamant, he still refuses him,
His words continue…spewing cogent powers…
Finally melts her mother’s heart---
His struggles to win her and be both blessed will soon be over,
He’ll surely conquer for his love is so great proven to last forever.
Sept. 17, 2013 9.25 pm
©2013by Leonora Galinta
First Place
Contest: Epic Only
Judged: 9/24/2013
Sponsor: Greatest Poet PD
Ninth Place
Contest: In Honor of Painter Charles Haigh Wood & His Painting
Judged: 10/1/2013
Sponsor: Poet Isaiah Zerbst
We are old MacDonald’s great-grandchildren
who help him in his fields during weekends,
We gather chopped hays and feed his chicken,
then watch him works with his farmers and friends.
We love working in the fields together,
We ride ponies and horses…we’re cowgirls!
We greet his hardworking farmworkers who’re there
while they cut rice straws with their sharp sickles.
Our grandfather owns large hectares of land,
Ranging from the foot of the blue mountain
to the spot where we, three sisters stand;
Tour around freely! Ride in his land train!
Beyond grandpa’s rice fields are big orchards,
And behind are gardens with vegetables
where we’ll immensely enjoy afterwards;
Healthy foods will be on our long tables!
Our grandpa is so happy to have us,
He says, “ With triplets grandkids, life’s so nice!”
So, when we go back to school he gives cash,
buys new dress, pair of boots and hair bowties.
France went into the first world war
because it had no choice
the allies won the war
with a population of thirty-eight million
Eight and a half million were mobilized
five point three million were killed
4 million hectares of land devastated
6 hundred thousand buildings destroyed
20 thousand factories destroyed
nobody wins from the wars
Iran and Iraq keep fighting
Palestine keeps fighting, your buildings
Now down around your knee's
your children die your people flee
you let anger rule your lives
nobody wins from the wars
you fight to promote your God
But with his power, he can do anything
he doesn't need your help
he does not want his children dead
Nobody wins from the wars
thousands of missiles fired
thousands of people bleed
thousands of insults taken
nobody wins from the wars
you build your missile silo's
more nuclear bombs do we make
until someone makes them fire
nobody wins from the wars
the planet then empty and broken
you destroy what your God created
nobody wins from the wars
but if we join united
with money invest in new jobs
your smiling children's faces
can win forevermore
In peace, we can work united
to build the crops that we need,
bring water out to the desert
build lush fertile ground that is green
Invest in desalination
bring water from pipes to the land
build jobs for a world united
with arms that love people we see
With time we could fertilize deserts
build lush growing crops and new trees
we can build together new cities
where children have lives and can read
What's on the moon's darkest, parched side.
That spooky cool patch, for millennia ignored for millennia
Perhaps manphibians sitting aside a moon fire.
Worshipping the sun and its quivers of fine gold.
Maybe there's nothing but clusters of cool stones.
Like the ones Neil gifted to us so many earths ago.
I fancy this is where Syd Barrett came home to rest.
Crazy diamond briefly sparkling in pop culture's nest-
Maybe it's just time to leave this hermit moon alone.
Tap our virgin prints into the red powder of Mars.
Millions of miles just to rocket-boost our egos.
Blessed by the shimmering grace of a Goldilocks star-
Wasn't man fashioned to explore- to overtake.
To forge great weapons and fill hectares with blood.
Spill carnage from his heart, leave disease in his wake.
Till this masterpiece called Earth melts into nuclear mud.