Long Importance Poems
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Gonifs and gossips revisited
since originally being crafted
approximately half dozen
dirty deeds done dirt cheap years ago...
Abound and lurk
within every nook and cranny
analogous to some annoying pest
harmless though one reside here,
when off his meds goes berserk
here at Highland Manor Apartments.
They snatch and snitch packages -
meant for other than themselves -
think Grinch who stole Christmas
plus snoop, i.e. eavesdrop
big Dumbo ears as listening devices
(batteries not required)
or serve as rumor mongers
to don self importance
and trumpet "FAKE NEWS."
We (yours truly and his misses)
dwelled at aforementioned residence
July first 2025 will be eight years,
and no sooner did both of us set foot
on premises than hearsay
immediately promulgated
(metaphorically swirled about our heads),
and passed like greased lightning
thru the robust grapevine
purportedly wife of mine
brought in live snakes.
Oddly and interestingly enough though,
I never actually never heard nor saw
a fellow resident
talk (or whisper in hushed tones)
about me outright.
Rather than badmouth other feisty folks,
which leaves unpleasant virtual
aftertaste described as phooey zook,
thus comeuppance to reprobate recipients
I activate viz cluck
king silly reasonable rhyme,
(so keeps head up
for urbane adverse city slicker
you better watch out
(...better not shout...) just duck
and run for cover cuz poet took
effluvia enroute spouted by word huck
stir, he avoids naming
(chatterboxes whose lives
so devoid of meaning,
they figuratively kickstart tittle-tattle),
who vocally ramp up
some juicy tidbit with any luck
taking page from former president playbook
letting their lips uncontrollably run a-muck
totally oblivious to credibility factor being a schmuck
buzzfeed initial kernel of truth and truck
outrageous zingers suitable for National Enquirer,
tragicomical, cuz mistruths
courtesy tenants exhibit chutzpah to pluck
farfetched outright lies and innuendos
rolling of tongues of then occupants such as:
"Bible Thumper/Holy Roller,"
"Bingo/ Phat Cathy,""Crooked Old Man,"
"Curvy Girl/Thunder Thighs," "Frumpty Dumpty
"Mush/Smash Mouth, "Snaggletooth,"
"The Bodyguard," "The Fossil," "The Schvartze,"
"Winkle," and last but not leased "Zha Zha”.
Give me fruit flies, mice
and/or roaches any day,
or give me death!
Am I invisible?
No, I’m not.
Sometimes I feel like I am.
Sometimes I wish I was.
But deep down I know I’m not.
Even if it was my deepest desire,
I’m certain it’d ever come true.
In this house,
I may not be invisible,
But my feelings definitely are.
Like they’re hovering,
far away from my body.
Where my family can’t see.
I soak in the words they preach,
When I become the outlet for sadness, anger, and grief.
My body moves mindlessly as
I comfort them.
Each and every person.
Even though it is never returned.
My brain taps restlessly at my skull,
Begging me to listen,
Begging me to acknowledge the twinge in my chest,
the tears building up in my eyes.
But I can’t.
I cant.
I lay alone in this bed,
Staring into the darkness,
Wondering why noone cares.
Shouldn’t I get some compensation?
Don’t I deserve something back?
Aren’t my kind words,
My selfless actions,
Deserving of something,
More?
I’m told to “keep it together.”
But why me?
Because I am stronger than them?
more mature?
more understanding?
And yet I am so young.
Can my heart keep beating,
With this many wounds?
My rib cage is torn open,
blood leaks from my chest,
dark crimson stains the world
around me,
and yet I still ask,
“Are you okay?”
Even if it is my life,
I will offer it to them,
For it bears no importance to me.
Surrounded by these people,
The ones I call ‘family’,
I am a counsellor, for all ages.
I wonder where I store it all,
All the trauma -
That’s been passed down to me,
Like a secret ingredient,
Measured by the gods.
A treasure to keep safe.
And I lock it all away.
Will I ever escape this?
Am I always to be seen as just another diary to dump words in?
Someone who will drink up the sorrow,
From her very household,
Just to prevent a flood?
When will this torture end?
I know I love them,
There is no denying that statement.
But I no longer wish to walk around with the label “therapist” stamped on my back.
Don’t you see the scales above my head?
Dangerously tilting,
About to fall?
I feel like sometime soon,
The bolts will loosen,
And all will fall apart.
I am breaking into pieces,
cracks appearing with each trauma untold.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here,
I wish when they saw me,
I was seen for conversation - normal ones.
And sometimes I wish I was invisible,
Or maybe not even here at all.
- continued from Part 2
I Am Making More Profits
Than An Open Window Can Scope!
But More Importantly
Than Any Viable Earnings Can Invoke …
Lovely … I Am Sending Valuable-Love
… Inside This Envelope
(Isa. 54: 11, 12)
Yes, Lovely … You Are My Amethysts & Rubies
and Sapphires and Silver and Gold
and I Am The Richest Person Alive!
… If The Truth Be Told …
I Want You Ecstatically Happy
Now Surely, You Must Know
I Just Want To See Your Own
Luminous, Starry Eyes Aglow
… and Pour Drops of Soothing Oil
and Lavish-Anoint You – Head To Toe
and Smell Your Sweet, Pure Perfume
Wafting Like Incense To My Nose …
And Hold You In My Arms
and Never Let You Go
My Lovely One, I’ll Be With You Soon
Because I Love You So …
My Lovely One, You Know Me
To Be A Lover of Honor, Most Honest
The Length Between Us Is Loyal
and Getting Closer By The Moments
And You Have Your One-True-Lover’s
Word of Oath – On This (like Sacred-Sonnets)
And I Will Come For You, My Lovely One
… I Promise …
But The War Rages On
and Will Wage Worse Before Its Gone
But These Things I Have Told You
So You Have Always Known …
About Harsh Ways of The World
So Go Past Them, You Must Stay Strong
and True To Me ‘Til I Come
and Make Us A Brand New Home
(For To Me, Again – You’ll Belong
… Before Ere’ Too Long …
(Rev. 21: 3, 4)
But I Must Finish My Duty
and Complete My Timeline-Task
The Importance and Responsibility
For This Job Is Very Vast!
It’s For Our Future & To Make Sure
That We Will Always Last
and That No One Else Dare Repeat
Poisoned Mistakes From Prideful-Pasts
And After This … We’ll Never Again
Ungroup or Unclasp!
But Your Understanding & Agreement
Is Needed Now … That’s What I Ask …
Oh, Let My Words Kindle
Your Starry Eyes Like Flames!
Let The Fire of My Ardor
& Pure Force, Course Thru Your Veins!
(The Song of Solomon 8: 6, 7)
And Let This Letter Draw You To Me
With Unbreakable Mettle Chains!
and If You Must Whisper and Weep
Just Softly Echo My Name …
(Remember, You Agreed To Wear My Name)
(Isa. 43: 7, 10, 11 / Acts 11: 26 / Rom. 10: 13)
Let This Letter Be My Lips
Speaking Forth Innocence
Let This Letter Be My Lips
and Each Word A Knowing Kiss
Let This Letter Be My Voice
Telling You How You’re Loved & Missed
For Soon, We Will Be Together
As If In Celestial Bliss
I Send This Letter So It Could
Act As Your Revival
I Sent This Letter So You Could
Know I Am Reliable
(Part 3 of 4)
Two certificates
The first certificate that you will receive in life is a birth certificate. This certificate is to prove who you are a time to celebrate new beginnings and the start of your life journey a head.
The second certificate you may receive in life maybe a religious one from your baptism
to a christening or even a name ceremony.
The third certificate you may receive is one of a achievement for your education and the qualifications you have achieved throughout your time during school for your path of life’s journey.
The fourth certificate you may receive in life is a marriage certificate, but not everyone will receive this one. To some the idea of marriage is not of importance, to some people they choose not to marriage as they have been chosen to follow a vocation in life in a religious way,
to Some people don’t generally believe in marriage full stop.
The fifth certificate you may receive is a birth certificate if you have been gifted with a child.
This is truly a blessing and one to be treasured.
The sixth certificate you may receive could be divorce the end or the start of something new.
The seventh certificate that you will receive but not officially is a death certificate.
The end to your life and your existence, meaning everything has stopped,
your body battery has ended and done it’s time.
Why is it that a certificate means achievement, a status of who and what you were.
Everything in life is on paper, from the start to the end.
So when your loved ones receive your death certificate and start to arrange your funeral which is a sad time, were families make rash decisions and they fall out with each other over money, material things and personal belongings from the loved ones whom have just passed.
Remember the first 3 words of funeral are FUN so this is time to celebrate and remember them.
F: fond memories to share and laugh about
U: unique & unforgettable memories to share
N: never forget to live, life is to short.
Don’t feel guilty that your life is carrying on.
In life there are a lot more certificates you can achieve than the ones listed above.
But remember in this world we are all the same, no matter what colour you are, what religion you believe in, what sex you are, how rich or poor you are,
we all will have them 2 certificates in common and
that’s Life and Death.
By Tina Mitchell
KING ALFRED THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
King Alfred the Great (c. 849-899), arguably the first great king of England, may have done more to lay the groundwork for English literacy and literature than any other English monarch. And he was quite the scholar himself, although there is no consensus that the following translations were primarily Alfred’s work. He could have done the translations himself; he could have overseen the work; or he may have commissioned the translations. No one really knows.
Alfred the Great undertook to translate “the most needful works for all men to know.” He wanted to succeed “both in war and in wisdom.” Alfred has also been credited with helping to develop a new English prose style.
The Meters of Boethius: Prelude or Verse Preface
attributed to King Alfred the Great, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus begin the tales King Alfred taught us.
The great West Saxon ruler, in his cunning,
Understood the art of all songmen,
Revealed his great skill as a poet.
Keenly he longed for Saxons to craft such songs,
To make men merry with manifold amusements,
To ward away world-weariness with pleasing poems.
Alfred loved poetry for its art and power,
Longed for it to free men from both boredom and pride.
But the arrogant man, in his self-importance,
Pays little heed to wise words. Still I must speak,
Begin my singing, weave tales well-known
For attentive mortals. Hear me, if you will.
Boethius Lay I: The Goths
from King Alfred the Great's Meters of Boethius, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Long ago the Goths left Scythia,
swarms of shieldmen streaming from the east,
two savage tribes tramping southward,
both growing in greatness year by year.
Under the rule of two remarkable kings,
Raedgod and Aleric, their people prospered.
Many Goths made it across the Alps,
intent on conquest, raging with war-lust.
Braying brazen battle-boasts, eager to attack
the awaiting Romans, their armor flashing,
stout shieldmen descended, waving war-banners
and slashing swords.
They intended to overrun Italy...
Keywords/Tags: Alfred the Great, Old English, Anglo-Saxon English, Boethius Translations, West Saxon, poet, poetry, art, power, pride, wise, wisdom, king, kings, leadership, war, battle, England, literature, words
I hear their idle chatter and wish that sound was optional.
A box checked in a menu, a simple click and forget.
The rapid dilation of my pupils brings me back.
Back to hypnotic aisles of temptation and necessity. A selection of the finest they say.
Right there see, on the cardboard, next to charts and columns of calories and strange
numbers I’d sooner forget.
But buy one get one free still gets me every time.
I stare intently at the dancing numbers until the man with the tie moves away.
Glossy pages shine brighter than the fruit racks they mirror,
Competing for importance in my wallet and my life
The magpie wins and the bananas will wait.
Half the magazines hawk five a day in rounded sans serif, bold against the background of a
chef’s haircut.
Maxims of bizarre cosmopolitan playboys and hustlers marked up at 3.99. Landscapes of
polished flesh glow beneath the loving airbrush of the paycheck. Competing for nuts at the
zoo.
A vanity fair for the hollow, shining in the fading light of a red top sunset.
Paraphrased blogs and condensed morsels of crude celebrity nudes for the I-Generation and
the remnants of New Labour and Thatcher’s Britain.
Anglers, caravans and 50 cent, half the demographic, half the price. Count me out.
I finger a few and find no real desire. The Internet offers this bilge up for free.
They’d all be nude and crapping on each other.
The great silicon toilet of humanity
Past freezers of long dead prisoners, pulped to perfection. Pigs in tubes and flat cow
concoctions.
Pancakes of vomit and fish dishes I won’t ever try. No time for it.
Frankenstein's monster behind glass slides.
Packets of sugar in various disguises. Cereal and chocolate, soft drinks and sauce dips.
Lattes and ladles, loofahs and loaves. The prattle returns through the shelving
I turn around the curries and there is the tie. Talking sport and hard drinking, women and
the weather. Looks me in the eye.
I turn before any interaction and feign interest in something, a scouring pad. Intricately
woven metal coils waste major concentration and he’s gone. Box checked, minimize and move on.
Everything shines in this weird three-quarter light, hypnotic. Confusing. Conscious of the
bottles ahead that I can’t ever touch. Seedy and appealing, puerile and appalling.
Something for everyone.
And nothing for me.
You were my delight my only child that I prayed for.
My joy overcrowded all thoughts from that day on
I burped you, changed your diapers, and watched you grow.
Take your first steps, I recall patting you to sleep,
Patting you, while you lay upon my chest, gently,
Listening to you fighting sleep, though ever so tired.
Remembering those times will be my epitaph always
Reading to you before you fell asleep each night,
You were more than my world; you were everything,
Then you were whisked away from my life so quick.
Lost I wondered within my mind, wanting, needing
Almost a decade of not knowing, not seeing you at all,
Missing the important years, my heart lost and faded.
My child was gone from my life, losing so very much.
Joy I felt upon that first day, I saw your eyes; I adored
You did come back though oh so distant from my life.
I was and always will be your daddy, loving forever.
Unconditionally, no matter what you do to anyone, or me
All my interests and endeavors are for your future and more.
Many things I was in failure to teach you through the years.
I was glorified beyond any blessings from children you bore.
I made mistakes I should have followed more closely at times.
Not wanting to intrude was my undoing, my ultimate crimes.
To me, part of life is making mistakes, learning, growing.
However, I failed to be there to help guide your travels.
My heart, soul, and mind gave all that I could within our time.
My homestead I gave, in love for you to grow stronger still.
However, I failed to promote the importance of its needs in depth.
Now I must prevent another failure, though you do not understand.
My boldness and refusal to your desires are for a better futures end.
Not to allow the return of a mistake in much anguish I attend.
To allow another to navigate the abode in current conditions,
Shall create more loss in one form or the other to no good ends,
My standing firm at this call is in the best interest to all indeed
My heartbreaks, my mind wallows in the failures of my past.
I must make a slight adjustment; though understand you do not.
Maybe in the future you will understand the strength I give.
These are some of my hardest days of life, for your daddy knows.
However, I must force the understanding of truth about life’s needs.
This is just one lesson I must teach before my end, This I know.
**Being in the Moment**
My mother believed in prayers more than my father did. My father preferred to tackle his problems with a flask of white rum, while I believed in the importance of being present in the moment. There are hidden compartments within us, my poetic friends. "Being in the moment" can serve as a helpful reminder if we understand it more expansively.
Perhaps it was true what someone said about dealing with situations as they arise. I refused to grieve for my dearly departed husband because past experiences had taught me to suppress my emotions. My lack of dispassion and willful stubbornness made me question my feelings:
Did I love him? Did I forgive him? Perhaps it was the disrespect that prevented me from doing so.
The truth is quite different. Forgiving an offense empowers the offended. It is to a man’s glory to overlook an offense (Proverbs 19:11). While I can’t change the past, I can learn from it. This wisdom might prevent me from walking through a fire like that again. I would look at his picture on my refrigerator and feel a mix of love and hate toward him. In that same moment, those emotions coexisted within me.
I yearned for companionship, craved to be held tightly throughout the night. If someone can fulfill needs for companionship, love, and intimacy, there’s a greater chance that the other person will fall in love again and again. But not me. You burn; you affect me deeply. I have invested so much and ended up the loser every time. Love seems elusive to me; instead, loneliness has become my captor.
I know that loneliness does not have to be the final word. Even when the world feels against me, I will shine through, like ancient wisdom. I lost the love of my life due to jealousy. He lost me because I loved him enough to let him go. I experienced a breakthrough; I had given up on loving a mortal again. I would rather be alone than live with someone and still feel lonely.
I am not programmed to fail or to tolerate foolishness. Call me stubborn, call me high and mighty, call me the new modern woman. I refuse to age as a failure but instead strive for greatness, relentlessly pursuing my happiness. I know I deserve this. The poet within knows it, too.
As my online followers watch my journey, they should go ahead and do their own thing—after all, life is too short for anything less.
(This is only my opinion, only written to promote calm discussion or debate. I know nothing, am not an expert on anything. If you are easily Religiously riled, spiritually offended, do not read this. Period.)
The Devil is smart, subtle; he can control one without the controlled being remotely aware. He can appear beautiful and angelic like, surrounded by dazzling light. He is content with making some simply complacent, not believing in his existence. Complacency means that you will not consciously, prayerfully battle negative influences in the world. He doesn’t need a lot of active foot soldiers. He can make you financially secure, a weekend content church goer, as he does many, when it prevents you from deeper scrutiny and higher spiritual growth. Complacency helps him indirectly perpetuate evil influence in the world. Pop Culture: meditation is good...but meditation should not be approached and practiced as a touchy-feelgood, New-age fad. Without knowledgeable instructional understanding of mind, body, and spirit, meditation can lead to demonic possession. When one puts his mind and body into trance, if not protected properly, if not first being in the presence of God (the importance of understanding shallow meditation vs deeper meditation~ Omnipresence) one opens himself up to demonic possession. Possessed often do not know it. It’s very seldom like the movies. Psychic powers, psychic centers of the Cosmic Form, should not be stimulated unless one is totally prepared to become a priest of God, totally committed to selfless service of humanity 24/7. One should not mess with Mysticism as though it were another hobby, or simply an occasional pastime. Two scoop day or one. Subjects like Kundalini, spiritual fire for purification and transformation, should not be attempted without proper groundwork, without spiritual training – dedication involving total, complete surrender to Christ Principal (Son of God), otherwise it is tantamount to giving a 4 year old a loaded gun to play with. Am I suggesting then, that one should not Meditate? Absolutely not. And everyone starts as a novice. Psalm 19 verse 14: Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” All meditation, whether done by novice or otherwise, should begin and end in God’s presence.
Clocks in the house were all but removed
I chose utter quietude over malicious ticks and tocks.
Adhering to schedules was reliant on the angles of the sun,
and the sandy family hourglass artifact sitting by the side
of me at my station, every hour on the hour reminding, and
I myself being ready to flip. This was how not to live
as a farmer and still be a slave to the working of grains.
The sanctity of my spinning room was also my prison for
forty hours every week, and a third of my adult life.
Pressing down on the pedal below to see the top half rotate
and as my world turns I sometimes get approached.
With significant fibers, their casual orders are mine for marching,
working that spindle to the satisfaction of the customer,
as was every occasion but my last one, the best one, the only one
that I'll remember as special, delivering my soul from boredom.
My only daughter, sweet thing, no siblings to rival with
unless a naked, well tattered doll counts. She took it on adventures
to the moon while I couldn't see my child, my savior expanding horizons.
It was silly not to see her blowing about carefree as the wind that day
without concerns over food and shelter all she desired was the deepest
one of all. She was sleeping on desires with every chance to dream for her
best friend a modest cape for him to fly. Deep inside I knew her spirits
and that doll would ride the same breeze but I had to say no for the silk
was not mine. The customer was always right until the next day
when I stepped out to the corner store for the bite of a sour apple,
returning to an open door the hourglass was broken and my spindle bare.
The world had stopped spinning, time had stopped existing… so long
comfortable rut. Mortified for a brevity, just when I thought worlds
couldn't change, mine had with the crashing of an antique. The glass
littered beach on the floor was proof of that. The spindle was stripped of
its importance and all of a sudden it hit me fast, so fast I smiled.
My daughter was no devil and yet she was the culprit stealing
my heart before and a cape now but it was okay,
just this once, to have a family legacy mocked
for the prosperity of a child's imagination.
Seeing them fly in the backyard I dripped gentle
waves from tear ducts upon that glass scattered beach
secretly grateful, values in my life were restored.