Long Immortal Poems
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Hell, thy ancient fury red.
Blue the bloody bright.
Death and Doom, holy is dread.
Deprived: foe of sight.
Eyes unneeded, pop in skull!
Lips fall from the face!
Clean death, are you due a trull?
Heaven, where is grace?
Immortal insectile file.
Two by two in ranks.
Well, think on this one a while:
When to call the tanks?
Singularity, thy grin.
Full, O rubbish bin?
Hope, thy budget's looking thin!
Pin to help us win!
Anyway, thy question.
O voices of the past:
Stay at post? Suggestion:
Just hang them all, O mast.
Who listens to counsel sage?
Asked: levels of rage?
Rusty are the bars, my cage?
Victims of the age!
Golden, glorious, gibbous.
Night, thy fading glow.
Bright the bane, bore, blunderbuss?
Shows what fools all know!
Call them in most anytime!
Greatest war, break out.
Countenancing, O cold crime?
Death is but a shout!
In the landscape
of melancholy,
where arctic
heartbeats linger,
I long for withered
willows to blossom
like speckled
diamond petals,
while your crystalline
silhouette strolls
through tangled tunnels
of my weathered mind.
And I question
the highest choir
orchestrating
ethereal anthems:
What if there’s no right key
to harmonize this
undying yearning?
What if love had a voice?
Would it be an
echo of melting snow—
thawing glacier hearts
to stream upon
silver lakes,
mirroring drifting
clouds of memories
that drizzle
rose-tinted flakes?
There, the crisp
air whispers
magical tales
chauffeured in
cashmere cadence.
But, like the golden
tendrils of
winter jasmine,
my fingers
stretch beyond
fogs of frozen rainbows,
sketching
sweet-scented dreams
across skies
in porcelain pigments,
as your voice
glimmers and
glows amidst
poetic pearls
resting on
your lyrical lips,
shifting through
colors of the
seasonal breeze,
serenading
symphonies
for soulmates.
So let me
undress the
wintry wisps of vanilla,
cloaking the
citrine threads
of sunrise in your eyes,
listening to
the song of the
wind that shrouds
our unsung sonatas
when we were undone.
For you and I,
we are like
jewels in the azure,
ruminating in rhymes,
quilted in a
secluded igloo,
as chickadees
of the night
chirp in sync
with the moon,
mimicking hymns
from the
hypnotic lyre of Orpheus,
to which Eurydice waltzed,
even the waning stars
would unravel
a sequined staircase
to the gardens
above the highest spheres.
For I would die
a million
deaths to
rewind and replay
the dulcet chorus
of this
immortal romance.
My dubiously protagonist Self
outgrows toward a co-invested
cooperative
co-governing center
A core UnWhite House communication center
Tao training for sacred positive
and trauma negation memories
Into ecologically
and economically
Right whole open
PanenTheistic MacroEconomic Intelligence
Amping up
co-relational win/win choices
through unconditional regard
of global
inside/outside co-discernment
voiced human choices
Ego AnthroPrivileged
by secularizing LeftHemisphere
health and safety cooperative wants
evolving old tired competitive addictive needs
to defend revolutionary
evolutionary win/lose theories
that predation is normative
whether in a win/win thrival opportunity
or in a win/lose risk to survival time
Not mentioning
survive together to thrive
communal co-empathic
win/win imaginations
empowering enlightened co-governance
animating long-term resilience histories
My intimately win/win highest and best
co-redemption narratives
feel like a sacred housed cooperative
trauma-free awareness
and copassionate intent
to live together EarthTribe curiously,
yet confidently,
win/win animated
sacredly together
On, but not overpowering,
my cusp of traumatic anxiety triggers
and co-therapeutic anticipated compassions
together deepending mutually co-invested
ownership and co-therapeutic
natural health and spiritual safety
intent
Calls my sacred housing cooperative images
merging projects for
and from
cooperative nondogmatic experiences
comforted by food and energy
nurturing resilience
Appreciating river-front environmental green
and clean
co-relational preservation
not at all bully mean
Historical-multicultural
Right-sacred/Left-secularizing
co-discernment spirit-mind/nature-body skills
of cooperative
co-governing communications
For green compassionate resilience
reproducing inside imaged
EarthPeace therapeutic homes
and panentheistic gardens
in/out-sided
wellness-rounded
competing mortal space
throughout immortal time
for EarthTribe's health-cultural
co-responsive resonance.
Rapturous petals always
reflect the immortal,fiery
light.
The impregnable,potent
snowstorm abides in the
passing rainbow.
The symphonic melody of
the past blooms like
a delightful creek.
Every step in this tough,
rocky road is watered
by agonizing tears.
It enfolds the undying,
unrelenting sun.
Its solace is a sublime,
wandering grace of
the dark rill.
Unraveling the tapestry of
zeal is released an unwavering
truth crossing the
labyrinthine heart.
The light of diamond transcends
unswerving,towering cliffs.
Our beloved ,enduring
daisy,even the wise
star bows to your
innocence,grace
and beauty.
Someone to Care
I’m weary of this haunted place,
Trapped by insecurities and fears' embrace.
I yearn for them to flee,
To vanish without a trace,
For this oppression still clings, a ceaseless chase,
And it won’t leave me be.
This mental anguish fails to mend,
The pain too raw, too real to comprehend,
Scars of abuse, time can not erase,
My arms reach out, in hope's embrace,
Praying for someone to care.
When tears fall, no hand to wipe them clear,
When screams cry, no solace from my fear,
Amidst the terror, trembling hand unclaimed,
No refuge found, from guilt and shame.
I once knew joy, beneath the sun's warm beam,
Now ensnared by darkness, a recurring theme,
Haunting demons in my darkest dreams,
Sanity lost, in silent screams.
They won’t leave me be.
This mental anguish fails to mend,
The pain too raw, too real to comprehend,
Scars of abuse, time can not erase,
My heart laid bare, seeking grace,
Longing for someone to care.
When tears fall, no hand to wipe them clear,
When screams cry, no solace from my fear,
Amidst the terror, trembling hand unclaimed,
No refuge found, from guilt and shame.
I've urged myself, time and again, to move on,
To gather strength, my resolve to don,
But these demons prove too much to bear,
They creep along the walls, by the candle's glare,
They linger still, drowning in despair.
Won’t someone save me?
Nigeria—
a land blessed with brilliance,
minds as sharp as blades,
souls burning with the fire of possibility.
But intellect, unguided,
can wander into shadows—
where drug lords reign,
scammers weave their fragile nets,
and petty thieves trade destiny for dust.
Two hundred and thirty-two million strong,
a people vast as the ocean tide.
Imagine—
if every drop of that tide turned toward light,
toward creation, invention, compassion—
what nation could rival you?
I have traveled far.
In America, I heard the complaints.
In England, the same whisper.
In South Africa, weary voices said,
“We do not want them here.”
And I asked, “But why?”
The answer was one word—
reputation.
Scripture has spoken:
“A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches.” (Proverbs 22:1)
My Nigerian brothers and sisters,
your future does not lie in gold,
nor in fleeting riches,
but in the immortal wealth of honor.
True intelligence is not deception.
It is honesty.
It is compassion.
It is humility.
Yes—life is hard.
But life’s greatness
has never been built by crime.
It is built by integrity,
by the patience to plant seeds,
and the courage to guard them
until harvest.
Nigeria,
the world waits for your rising.
The question remains—
what name will you choose to carry?
Exegi monumentum aere perennius
Were that to be true,I would clearly be a genius
Like Quintus H. Flaccus who presented us with that trope
Inviting every poet to share that selfsame hope
Of clothing our visions in immortal verse
Which is what our poetry seeks to rehearse.
With words aplenty we endeavour to imitate
What Raphael in his bright art did delineate
When he transformed his beloved Fornarina
Into that sacred symbol Caeli Regina.
But how pale is our verbal imitation
Beside such delicate delineation.
Bacon with his spare aphoristic style
Readers of every age does beguile.
Keen and sharp his words pierce rapierwise
To etch his meanings tartly through our eyes.
His work will eternally live on
For us he remains a paragon.
Wildean wit is our next port of call
As with earnestness he does us enthrall
And with his epigrams makes us all smile
As he toys with words forever and awhile
His aesthetic makes language both sing and dance
Will we ever behold his like again perchance?
If only I could marry Raphaelesque immaculate conception
With the acute penetration of Baconian perception
To the gossamer lightness of Oscar's touch
Then would my poetry be improved much.
So it would be that every generation
Would consider my efforts truly Horatian.
Do we live forever?
Will we shine in stars and be heard in seashells, selling our histories upon seashores?
Do we live forever?
Will I haunt a long-lost beau into loving me, sparkle with electric messages as a ghost in a machine?
Do we live forever?
Will you ever understand the chicken / egg dilemma, why we don’t count them before they hatch?
Do we live forever?
Will you remember kissing me? Or your memory eating disease? Will you remember forgetting me?
Do we live forever?
Maybe I’ll learn what’s above black and below white, what happens within silence and outside of air.
Do we live forever?
It’s a looping number 8 that's trying to find the end of a circle - or, maybe the start.
But when I find out, you’ll be the first person I tell.
A lonely demon
Sad life, live alone, always, since timeless time
Since time immemorial, a sadness, endless time
Live in the ocean of time, ageless life, sad kind
This demon is full of desire, a cursed creature
People don’t like him, they think he is satanic
Is not. He is only restless solitude, living alone
A wanderer around the world, a people lover
A good soul, a good heart, a selfless demon
A sensitive being, a suffering creature of God
This demon is my friend, sometimes we meet
In the cemetery, oh, lovely place! Playground!
This is his residence, an invisible castle; light
Shiny this amazing fortress, a nice stronghold
My demon friend lives there alone. Great home
Elegant old furnishing and huge rooms and halls
But my demon friend is so sad, because alone
He always watching the ladies, he needs one
Hmm, it is not possible to meet with a human lady
because this friendly demon is a being of spirit
He hasn’t a body, but he wants to try human life
with a lady. Hmm, he has followed us for a long
time ago. For a thousand years, oh time is wrong.
Just watching the humans, the ladies, the families
Poor demon is alone, he has no family and no love
His castle is full of emptiness, just ring the silence
Sometimes we drink together, I bring dry red wine
He loves it, and he always gave me a demonic drink
It’s comes from hell, and amazing blue wine, a life
Drinking this giving a new life, phosphorescent wine
The demon said you do not need to learn the other life
Just drink, and follow my line, we are together in time.
In time? I asked him. In the space of time. Answered.
He is right, but I have no time, and he is an immortal.
Lonely demon, my brother, please teach me your life
I want to be like you, a super demon, an immortal
Not easy my life, but you are a student, still mortal
The sad demon wants to be a human, lonely his life
He is suffering a lot, why am I a demon? Why?
He can’t change his life, can’t be a human, sad life
… immortal.
Why should thoughts, ideas and dreams be
as esoteric as secrets?
Turn them into poetry,
and share them with the entire Humanity...
I have shared mine with all without ambiguity!
No fortress, stately rising into the vast skies,
can escape the battering storms so damageable,
and not tumble down...to lay in ruins as others have;
here's your only chance to be immortal:
be a wide river which can withstand tides!
Why should a literary work
be as esoteric as secrets, to remind the worst humiliation?
Don't pass under the yoke for a defeat,
be daring, fearless, challenging and brief;
do lucky survivors ever submit their will to desperation?
And should you be disheartened by a wrong choice?
Don't cuss fate or damn yourself for bumpy roads;
instead of complaining, look on the brighter side:
dare to make a difference with the gift of words...
by giving your dead language a more vibrant voice!
Verse: a metrical or rhymed composition as distinct from Prose: Poetry
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci