Long In disgrace Poems
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let every old woman with a wrinkled face,
she should be aware,she lives in disgrace,
a furrowed brow,hairy lip and single tooth,
know me well,i'll get the truth.
a squinty eye and scolding tongue,
the squeaky voice she's had from very young,
you will never hide from me,
i'm the witch hunter general you see.
my name shall be feared throughout this land,
my hunting of witches will go as planned,
first you'll be tossed into a cell,
stripped naked and starved,until you tell.
i'll start to prick to cause you pain,
and i'll do it over and over again,
then you'll be bound to stool or table,
cross legged of course,even if you're not able.
after twenty four hours the cramps will set in,
again poked and prodded,but i'll use a new pin,
you'll then walk the stones til your feet bleed,
still i reckon you don't get to feed.
then you're taken for a swim in the lake,
your baptism water you didn't take,
if you're innocent you will drowned,
but if you sink a true witch i've found.
this cruelty wasn't enough,mathew got no kicks,
a new style was developed,it only took two ticks,
he bent victims double,tied thumb to big toe,
a rope round the waist,in the water they'd go.
these people were worn down by his torturous way,
but hopkins was going to have his say,
one question he used in the brow beating session,
you're aquainted with the devil,i want a confession.
a nod or monosyllabic reply will do the trick,
or my man will beat you again with the stick,
then poor john lowes,a suffolk minister of note,
was told you're a witch,i can tell by your coat,
a quarrelsome gent of seventy was poor john,
disliked by many,they wanted him gone,
hopkins took the task to prove he was right,
john was kept awake for many a day and a night.
they ran him till he was out of breath,
he was weary, and scared half to death,
so he confessed to get some peace,
then the torturous pain would cease.
hopkins said"another one i didn't let survive",
john went to the scaffold august 1645,
no cleargy would read for him at his grave,
a villager said"to the devil john was no slave".
who knows how many poor sould were lost,
letting hopkins rule,had it's own cost,
more than 200 people this way met their fate,
by the time hopkins hit norfolk,it was too late.
his trials of blood passed through our countryside,
in his work mathew hopkins took great pride.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt, the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion flower shrivels on its vine.
An empty heart has stripped my soul
of its craving need to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings,
their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorseful regret.
That mockery invaded my aching breast,
when it ridiculed me as a fool;
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task,
should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken and lost in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only beats to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered
dying of thirst, drying up in a field of grief,
and I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
and must retire.
I've watered the seeds of my self doubt
with salted sweat from my furrowed brow;
over fertilized them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds a reprieve in relief.
I've tried to save them all,
but half-hearted attempts were all in vain.
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain
and suffering loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and pray that it may be forgiven
for my folly, for I've given it no choice.
I've only myself, this bereft poet, to thank.
Written January 24th, 2021
Judged N/A 2/22/21
Contest Open Poetry !
I stopped beneath a big oak tree
and tried to catch my breath
My body it was shaking still,
he scared me half to death
I pulled my notebook to my lap,
my hand it held the pen
And started writing poetry,
my love for her again
When then I looked above my place,
the branches filled with birds
They watched as I was writing this,
they chirped at every word
“Don’t let that old crow bother you”
I heard their voices say
“He wants to be the only one,
that’s why he acts this way”
“Just keep on writing poetry,
your verses are the best
Be yourself, you’re doing fine,
to that we can attest”
“There’ll always be someone like him
that tries to pull you down
But worry not, just wear a smile
in place of that old frown”
So that I did, I wrote and wrote
and didn’t have a care
So I could always send my love
to you I long to share
I penned for you a poem of
affections written deep
Hoping that close to your heart
my words you’d always keep
When then again I heard that voice,
my day then turned to night
“I see you’re writing poetry,
I knew that I was right”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,
we’ll put it to a test
You write yours and I’ll write mine,
we’ll see who is the best”
I closed my eyes and thought of us,
my mind held such a view
I wrote some lines of perfect prose
to say that I love you
He scratched and clawed upon his pad
and with an evil grin
He tossed the page down on the ground
and said, “Let’s go, begin”
I read the words that he did write
and if I must confess
I didn’t understand a thing,
his poem was a mess
Several lines of gibberish,
hate in every breath
Calling names of everyone,
he even threatened death
And then he read my offering,
a look came on his face
His feathers black had turned to ash,
his head hung in disgrace
For love shall win out every time
in ink of gentle flow
“Go spew your hatred someplace else,
it’s time for you to go”
I watched him as he flew away,
a sulking fading bird
On silent wings he disappeared,
he uttered not a word
I often walk along that path
but now I wear a smile
For I’m still writing poetry
in my romantic style
Though I will not forget that day
as these words come to mind
“Hate will never pass the test,
it’s better to be kind”
Thank you for reading my poem.
While walking my dog in a field one day,
a massive black bull appeared in the way.
It snorted and grunted and pawed at the ground,
I could tell by its face that I couldn’t walk round.
Now here was a problem, I had to think quick,
although in my stomach I really felt sick.
To run, or to stand there and mirror it’s stare,
the steam from its nostrils showed ‘it’ didn’t care.
Well in for a penny and in for a pound,
I ran at the beast as it stamped at the ground.
Screaming with terror, I must have been thick,
and me only armed with a very small stick.
The look on its face as it snorted with rage
turned from pure anger to one of amaze.
It turned and it trotted right out of my sight,
while I started shaking with all of my might.
My dog, then no coward, took up the chase,
and barked at the bull as it left in disgrace,
while I caught my breath and wondered just why,
I hadn’t been gored and tossed high in the sky.
This story is fiction, I’d tell you no ‘bull’,
but in my young days all the girls it helped pull.
When I meet trouble I face it head on,
though some say it’s easier to carry a gun.
The gun that I carried was my silver tongue,
though now that I think, all the girls liked that long,
but back to the story, that ‘nearly’ is true,
this tells of those problems you cannot work through.
There’s been times in life with no way around,
and truthfully this is what I have found.
Don’t stand there and take it, be sure you bite back,
even when screaming, just narrow the gap.
If you leave some space to let troubles take hold
and never take action, but let yourself fold,
then you’ll carry them with you for all of your days,
they only get worse and determine your ways.
So what if you’re frightened, or maybe get hurt,
face up to life’s terrors in one sudden spurt.
Grab the damn problem by scruff of the neck,
what is there to lose, when your down on the deck?
Then just like my bull, if you meet it head on,
you may find it’s not real, but it ruining your fun.
The problem’s invented by ‘me’, I have found,
are the ones that are hardest for me to get round.
So real or imagined don’t stand there and stare,
just run at them screaming and don’t give a care.
If they disappear, you make shake for a while,
but even if ‘tossed’ you may rise with a smile.
Ivor G Davies
The Immigrants
By
Elton Camp
Mexican man, father of three
Feed, clothe them, would he.
But a job is not to be found.
Not in his own hometown.
To the north he will go
Jobs to get, he’s heard so.
Come here you cannot do
We will welcome but few
Far beyond the Rio Grande
Lies a virtual promised land
But he must ignore the rule
And give his life unto a mule
Pay to him his very last peso
Trust in the mule’s say so.
Into a van a crowd to pack
Enough food & water lack
Across the miles of barren dirt
Perhaps to be killed, surely hurt.
If he is lucky and isn’t caught,
He may find the work he sought.
If any income tax he dares to pay
The INS will soon come his way
Their demand on him is very hard
Must show us now your green card
We find your morals low & weak
Because English you cannot speak
To hear you jabber in that Spanish
We deem to be so much outlandish
We hate the darkness of your skin
Never can you be an equal friend
Explain to us why you ‘re so short
And for all your faults, we will deport
You may not get a house on our street
Likes of you we aren’t willing to greet
We fear you might keep a filthy house
One running over with lice and mouse
But if to hard, manual work you’re able
We will agree to pay you under the table
Expect that your wages will be quite low
Take what’s offered, or out the door you go
Hola, Pedro, you will hear our mocking taunt
And take the low-level jobs we don’t want
And remember your own subservient place
Or we will return you to Mexico in disgrace
You illegal alien, nasty, ugly and full of sin
Though you cooperate, no way you’ll win
When menial jobs for you finally run out,
We’ll send you packing without a doubt
You’re a parasite, so work here no more
We have firmly shut and locked the door
The country’s border is closed to you tight
So that it can’t be crossed without a fight
Arizona has shown the rest of us the way
To keep such riff-raff as you so far at bay
The very same should be true in every state
Illegal immigrants real Americans so hate.
(Please realize this is a poem of satire and
is designed to show the feelings of many
in my hometown which has a large, recent
influx of immigrants. It doesn’t necessarily
represent my own views.)
I'm heading down that long tiresome road
Have a six string I never have to reload.
Blazing my way before my star burns out
And yes I may hold you near
Don't ask me to hold you dear
But I'll sure take another beer
Making my six string shout
Sometimes making it cry
Be rocking till I die
Just don't ask me why
Somewhere someone may dream of me
Even though with them I may never be
Memories, of the towns I have left behind.
Echoes of regret never let enter my mind
Love ain't that easily defined
Thousands of screaming people still hear them in my head.
I will be rocking them till long after I'm dead
One town is the same as another
Still call people I don't know my brother.
Sometimes while making my guitar scream
The smile ain't as easy at it may seem
Where will I lay my head tonight.
And Who's lover am I going have to fight
Rocking along the highway
Life sometimes leaves me with nothing to say
Some sexy momma just wants me for a day
And for a hot blooded country boy like me
Everything looked ok as far as I could see
Just couldn't let that be.
Feeling the city heat.
Smiling at all those I meet
Standing there in front of that crowd
Made sure my six string was good and loud
Left them people wanting more
But I'd done left the floor
And then I'm on that tiresome road once again
And I can't remember all them towns I've been
But someday maybe
You can be my baby
I can tell you now, tomorrow I'll b on that tiresome highway
And you won't be going my way
Getting it while the getting is good
Just so it's understood
I hear that highway a calling me
And that's the way it is always going to be
Playing my six string till my star crashes and burns
Living off whatever I may earn
Playing that damn thing till I die.
Don't bother asking me why
The lonesome highway may be long
But at the end I'll be singing you my song
Six string always loud
My heads up in a cloud
Tell me whoever tries to takes my place
Their going to have to bow out in disgrace
Cause no one can make one sound like me
No one you'll ever see
This six string in my hand
Playing lead in my own band
Cause
Even after I'm dead
Them six stings, will still be playing in my head
When it hurts – when there is hope
when in pain, when darkness fades
when the light dims, shadows stay
falling on the dusk, in silent grief
stilling the breath, a troubled night
when it feels like the heart is breaking
when there is doubt and love is forsaking
when the feelings burn like a distant rain
when the miracle won’t come,
and the heart seems older than the earth
when the silence remembers
the last beautiful moment, so still
when hope is not a part of the spirit
and the ringing in the ears
it is like a music that sings fear
when the moments are filled with shame
and the burdens color the air in disgrace
when all is said and done…
when the hopes are surely gone,
Pray, pray for the Lord’s light to shine
Pray for the heart to find its smile
Pray for peace to write its rhyme
Pray for the love that is so alive
Pray for God to answer and define
What is good and what is right
What is meant for the soul’s cry…
Pray and let God work
He can burn away the hurt
He can set the captive free
He is alive and we all agree
He is worth everything to me
He is the light, the love, the peace
He is the reason I can see –
Despite the hurt that sometimes blinds me.
Pray and let Him be
the love that sets hearts free
Pray and don’t forget to praise
Because His love will always amaze
Pray, pray – pray for His grace
to wipe away the pain
and stir the heart to believe
His love is alive and it’s completely free!
Pray and believe
He is the reason I can see
His love heals the worst in me
His light shines through the dark
He is the very air I breath
He is the reason I will never be
… without a hope, without a peace
Without the love that flows through me
I keep praying because I believe – He is the love that gives my heart its sincerity.
He is the love that never fades or wanes.
His love is strong and restores right where there was wrong.
Keep praying and always know, He is the hope that keeps faith sound
He is the One I will forever depend on
He is God and I’m the child who sings – a melody
light of love falling from the guitar’s strings,
richest melody, a song that was meant to be!
The bridge is long, the lake is wide,
the trees are bare, they’ve lost their pride.
and so it goes, as Winter shows its face,
the bears asleep, deep in some hidden place.
snowmen stand tall, in neighbor’s yards,
inside, the elders write Christmas cards.
the children on their aging sleds,
slide down the hills, fresh from their beds.
and me I’m packing, a long road lies ahead,
to where, I don’t know, it hasn’t yet been said.
a soldier’s life, is guided by the rules of war,
to follow with the others, I’ll do my given chore.
and as I’m waving to my son, gliding down the hill,
my backpack holds his photo, my heart does feel the chill.
here comes the bus, I dare not hesitate,
to board it now, no matter what my fate.
and as my wife and child, sleep soundly here tonight,
in some forsaken distant land, I must prepare to fight.
in my pocket lies a rosary, I count the beads each night,
if there’s a god above, he must know I’ve tried to do what’s right.
to follow his directions, through trials and tribulations,
to be a good and better man, a part of his creations.
with heavy heart, I go to battle, some unknown enemy,
to kill someone I never met, disturbs the very soul in me.
and as I stand here at attention, I watch the body bags,
unloading from our waiting planes, all covered with our flags.
as tears fall from these eyes, that have seen the worst in man,
I cannot help but feel the pain, but still I do the best one can.
the scriptures say “thou shalt not kill”, these words we all live by,
but many Christians go to war, and blindly heed the battle cry.
now homeward bound I leave this place of horror in disgrace,
that I have been a part of this so called the human race.
animals in their wild domain, will kill for food and territory,
while we kill for many reasons, and claim we won with glory.
now back home, I hold my wife and child, my love for them still thrives,
in these arms that once have taken, much too many lives.
I swear my hand upon the holy bible, this will be my solemn word,
no matter what the battle cry, I will not go, I will not be deterred.
I’m standing here so nervous, just about to pass out
Terror has it’s grip on me-I’m filled to the brim with doubt
My palms are sweaty and itchy, I’m having trouble holding on,
What in the heck was I thinking, I should’ve just withdrawn;
Now Luck can sense my fear and he’s prancing side to side,
On the outside I might be smiling but my gut is twisting inside;
The judge is getting closer now, should I be on the left or right,
Wracking my brain to remember, no one knows of my plight;
I step around my horse’s nose, he’s finally standing still,
The Judge is looking Luck up and down with terrifying skill;
Things are flashing through my mind, I check them one by one,
Did I clip his ears, Did I paint his hoofs, I refuse to be outdone;
The Judge is almost finished now, he tips his hat to me,
I dip mine back and he moves on-I breathe a sigh of relief;
Now all we have to do is wait for his final judgment call,
I whisper softly to Lucky, “Soon you’ll be back in your stall”;
Waiting now is the hardest part, hoping we did alright,
A top ten would be amazing, if not we gave them a good fight;
A backwoods girl competing in such a prestigious show,
How Luck and me made it this far, I honestly don’t know;
The Judge is handing off his card, the results are about to be read,
My heart is pounding harder now, my body filled with dread;
They start at number 10 then count down to First Place,
10 is called, then 9, then 8-I hang my head in disgrace;
I’m certain now that we didn’t place, my dreams are shattered in two,
I shake my head in disappointment-So much for our debut;
“First Place number 6-6-2 handling Lucky White Star”
I’m sure I didn’t hear him right, A cruel joke by far;
I stand there stunned to silence, then make my way to the gate,
Why on earth did he pick us, My questions will have to wait
I grab the blue and pin it on my Luck Mans haltered head
Truthfully I’d have been happy with Yellow, White, or Red
Shocked and stunned by this happy turn, I show my boy off proud
I was hoping for a top ten but my First place won the crowd!
~For the Top 10 Contest~