Long Injecting Poems
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In shadows deep around the world,
here and there where thoughts converge,
A poem stirs, with words emerge,
To shed light on the dangers found,
When religion's cloak is tightly bound.
Religion, a force both ancient and grand,
Can unite hearts, make spirits expand,
Yet in its depths, a peril hides,
That can fracture love, and reason divide.
Humanity's quest for solace and hope,
Gave birth to faith, with ways to cope,
But zealotry lurks, its venomous fangs,
Injecting discord, where harmony hangs.
Dogma's grip, relentless and tight,
Blinds eyes to truth, distorts the light,
When beliefs become walls, shutting doors,
Exclusion breeds hatred, igniting wars.
Throughout history's tapestry bold,
Religion's bloodstains, their storys told,
Crusades, jihads, battles untamed,
Innocence lost, lives forever maimed.
Divisions deepen, as doctrines entwine,
Judgments and bias, no room to align,
Oppression thrives, on fervor's flame,
Suppressing freedoms, tarnishing each name.
The dangers lie not in faith alone,
But when control seeks an iron throne,
For those in power, the righteous few,
Manipulating truths, distorting views.
Science's wonders, held at bay,
Reason and progress, they seek to sway,
When dogma prevails, stifling the quest,
Innovation falters, and growth is suppressed.
But let not these words condemn the whole,
For within faith's sphere, great hearts console,
Compassion and love, its bedrock true,
When used as tools, can heal renew.
Let us embrace the wisdom we find,
In the essence of faith, to bind,
Not to divide or claim supremacy,
But to uplift, and set our spirits free.
The dangers that religion presents to all,
Lie in the hands of those who install,
Their narrow visions as eternal truth,
Neglecting the essence, and its golden youth.
So let us tread with care and insight,
Embrace the sacred, with minds alight,
Seek unity within diversity's grace,
Embrace the beauty of every faith.
For in the end, it's not faith alone,
That causes the dangers we've ever known,
But the frailty of hearts that sway,
From love's true path, thus led astray.
There was once a daring man,
Ordained as the "Knight of Love",
How he came about his name
Is a tale still spoken of;
Leon had a friend, named Jim,
Who loved a girl called Christine,
She was a beautiful maid,
Born to the king and the queen;
Jim was a simple farmer,
No wonder the king was mad,
How dare a simpleton love
The princess, it was too bad!
But Christine loved her Jim too,
And that's where the problem lay,
She refused to wed a prince,
No one but Jim, come what may!
And here's where Leon came in,
His task to convince the king,
That Jim was a worthy man,
Though a farmer hardworking;
Disguised as a wealthy man,
He came to the king's palace,
Entertained the king with wit,
Proved himself without malice;
At night, during dinner time,
He sat down near the princess,
Slipped her a strong sleeping pill,
Soon she lost her consciousness;
The king feared for his daughter,
Called the best doctors around,
But try however they did,
She didn't wake up, made no sound;
A week, it passed by and still,
The princess remained asleep,
No one could find out the cure
For her unconsciousness deep;
Then, Leon said to the king,
"I think my friend can help her",
Thus, Jim was brought to the court,
And some herbs, he did refer;
Allowed to see his Christine,
Jim brought those herbs to her nose,
(While injecting antidote),
After five minutes, she rose;
The king was super happy,
Leon asked, "Where's Jim's reward?"
Jim asked for the princess' hand,
For having her health restored;
The king had given his word,
And had to agree to give
His daughter, Christine to Jim,
And happily they did live;
Leon was appointed knight,
And served the king thereafter,
He'd brought his friends together,
Their home was filled with laughter;
They called him their "knight of love",
And somehow the name got stuck,
It makes for a splendid tale,
How Leon changed Jim's love luck!!
8th January 2023
For Hilo Poet's "Metrical Tale" contest
Czeslawa Kwoka
#26947 04/12/1943
(c) London F. Bus
Auschwitz Birkenau.
Killing is hard work,
but the schnapps is fine.
Czeslawa Kwoka the beautiful girl
with innocent eyes,
She is Polish, Catholic and only forteen,
but they dont care.
Beautiful girl tied to a chair
Beautiful girl they hacked off her eyebrows
and her hair.
Beautiful girl beaten and raped.
SS killer awaits.
Syringe full of Phenol,
hidden behind his back.
Beautiful child with fear in her eyes.
Stares straight ahead,
She fights and struggles
and wont co-operate.
Click fires the camera shutter
but she wont smile,
Damn it smile! Lachein Schlampe, .
The SS sneer and laugh.
Damn it smile! .
They Punch and slap her
face again and again,
Beautiful girl, defiant, angry and in pain.
She doesn't smile, so they beat her again.
If she smiles they will kill her,
If she doesnt smile they will kill her anyway,
Like the way they
killed her mother yesterday.
Her death will be the same.
Click goes the camera again and again.
Turn sideways, click.
She is naked, blind folded
still tied to the chair.
She doesnt see it coming
The syringe full of phenol,
with a six inch needle
they stabbed it into her heart,
between the 4th and 5th intercostsl ribs.
Injecting the Phenol to end her life.
She passed out in 15 seconds,
She cried for her mother as she died.
In thirty seconds she was dead.
Then her naked body turned pink.
Her name Czeslawa means Glory..
One more dead, 250,000 children to go.
Arbeit Macht Frie.
[email protected]
BROS BEBETO'S BET
Betting can tie you down like a sitting belt.
And I can bet Betty's boyfriend's bet
Mirrors how most of you beters felt.
Betty's boyfriend bets, but the ticket bursts.
"I'm getting this money o," he'll always boost.
Betty's boyfriend is known as bros Bebeto
But now, bros has learnt hitherto.
Bet9ja, what have you done to this young man?
Bros Bebeto's bet on Bet9ja shattered a plan.
Now he's Stan despite being nobody's fan.
Oga learn...learn ooooo and wise up.
Know when to proceed or press stop!
Else, pressure will pile up on your head.
Meanwhile, Bros Bebeto's bestie said:
"I trust myself, I for don cash out since,
Even before the last 3/5 games, miss.
Now ticket don cut, betting no bi your equal,
Greediness don comot your body, leave score,
With foolishness, dem go drink liquor.7"
Betting is injecting yourself with high temperature,
Because you believe you're a rare creature.
Betting is creating an environment of high tension
And using the urge to blur your life's vision.
Why allow a slip ignites forlorn thoughts,
Accumulating fixtures or games of all sorts?
Anxiety of a bet slip will almost make you slum.
After a long day awaiting a long slip's outcome,
The list is almost endless, but the slip
Brought bros Bebeto's bet down the deep.²?
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 3rd December 2023.
Robert Frost...A Reflection
No matter corporeal essence
of Robert Frost bid adieu
from temporal plain approximately
five and fifty plus years ague,
his rediscovered spiritual
omnipresence suffuses anew
mine gnarly feeble exegesis
denounce-able, deplorable,
and despicable hue
Morris legacy of Robert Frost, who
nonetheless (auld choke king aside)
doth rank as irreproachable amidst
pantheon of deceased
great poets, you
would agree, unless familiarity
already yar aware
how the New England vantage point
(approximately three quarters
of a century) in the past
his (WMGK) magic doth blare
infusing and injecting
a much needed cheer
full dose of dare...
ring ling lee, (I spout
je nais sais quois)
in my attempt
to be poetically debonair
(the only French known to me)
in an effort to endear
homage Robert Frost,
he whose flair
with words defy accolades
and brilliance doth glare
with blinding profundity here
to fore lamentable, impossible, and
feeble attempt to emulate,
a immortal one man brand
amidst pantheon of
August American poets,
the depth of,
his writings doth expand
lovingly justifiably ineluctably
historically gently fanned
this nonpareil poetic king,
whose status grand
which feeble, ignoble,
and laughable attempted hand
(spurred by facilitator
at "All Poetry" website) island
did this impossibly
elusive task, thus admit
admission aye feel duff feet head
to write letting words flit
to and fro, hither and yon,
that bind like true grit
with that esprit
de corps cerebral impact
that doth gently hit
ice suppose said task
would be a breeze to an Innit
where he/she,
would immediately synchronize
unlike myself, who whiz
not up to this task,
as yukon up prize
thy dog gone ruff hewn effort -
no (Chuck Norris) lies
attested as wretched - to by
any gallivanting guys
hence aye desperately axis allies!
My wretched soul so twisted by self doubt,
malingered on false words and fragrant lie.
Through turbulence and ever-endless drought,
in hushed distress, my inner child did cry.
Yet fervent help did temper my despair,
injecting hope to heal my restless soul.
Allowing one the time for self repair,
absolving fixed beliefs like burn-ed coal.
So ransomed was my life by guilt and shame,
yet guidance told my heart to go explore.
And grieve afresh, and reason over blame -
that with pursuit, one's worth shall be as law.
For then my crooked heart shall be secure,
and peace shall reign and fear shall be no more.
04.01.2024
Like the early morning mists
That rise from the waters’ depths
Memories emerge in swirls and twists
Foggy shadows of lives past
Of them all, childhood scenes outlast
‘Membrances of dear, familiar faces and
Fragmented moments of particular places
Emotions retrieved from those distant spaces.
Of my family, I do recall
My mom and dad most of all
For by the time I came along,
My only sibling had grown and gone.
My brother knew our parents when they were in their prime, and then I came, much later in the span of time.
My arrival changed the course of their
Tamed and settled ways,
Eroded away the edges of predictability,
Stirred up the easy flow of their days,
and I’m told,
Challenged everyone’s sensibility.
The truth is likely not so dramatic
Although, we all could be a bit theatric.
My father and uncles sat for hours at our house
Argued and joked, cussed and smoked
Lamented the damnable things politicians do.
Then over cribbage and coffee, they’d list
All the best ways of snagging a fish.
From captured bits of conversation
I suspect, as were others of his generation,
Dad was a “roustabout” in his youthful days
In my recollection, though, he was our defender and a regular “Jack of all Trades.”
With the men around, my
Momma stayed in the background-
Busy always with domestic chores
Cooking, cleaning, laundry and more
Injecting a flair for the lovely into her everyday life,
Seemingly content in her role as housewife.
Doing for others brought her great joy
The fruits of her labor did others enjoy
Surrounded by close friends, My momma did shine
Social activities filled her free time:
Fancy luncheons, music shows, quilting bees, Bible studies and bowling leagues.
Memories can be such hazy things.
Images of loved ones blur with time;
yet, with clarity, through the vapor, I still see
My parents’ hands, worn frail and thin,
Their journey’s trials traced upon their skin
In their touch, though strong from life’s hard labors,
They softly held my babies safely in their arms, and
I knew that love was foremost in their nature.
Like the early morning mists
That rise from the waters’ depths
Memories emerge in swirls and twists
Enveloping me in love and devotion.
The Colours of Happy
I am the painter of happy
Traveling along life's dark streets
listening for the beat
Feeling hidden colors with my feet
I see the beauty
beyond the dark
I'm floating within this concrete park
leaving my mark
Playing tag with a can of paint
My art is vibrant
I won't settle for faint
What you see as ugly
it truly aint
I'm not afraid of dingy places
I let colours flow outside the lines
My choices are different kinds
Injecting a symphony between life's spaces
Color removing tear drop traces
Grey shades this paint erases
I see possibilities in others faces
Finger painting
or with a brush
I make the concrete blush
Beauty awakened with my touch
I love the power of yellow
If you are down
or feeling mellow
I just might be the right kinda fellow
My flavors are sweet like jello
Within these hands
I wield a rainbow
My tools, stardust and ultra glow
From my bowl
I pour happy on your soul
Until your own light begins to show
Watch me move quick
when others are slow
Wrapping amazing
with a platinum bow
Let me paint you
a different kinda blue
bright skied Technicolor
the perfect one for you
A bubblegum happy kinda chew
Grab life and dance
do what you want to do
Choices many
don't settle for so few
I can paint you
A penny for your thoughts
help you realize just what you've got
Be the dreamer
it will help a lot
Choose exciting
a life that's red hot
Forget Generic
there is more to be got
Let others choose boring
what I offer
can't be store bought
I'll hand you a brush
we can cover more ground
flower squirting
big footed clowns
Spreading happy around
that joyful sound
Multi colored
me and you
Unconventional freedom bound
our happy can astound!
What was lost
its been refound
Time to open these eyes
happy colors surround
You too can see
just have to look around!
Form:
tin voice pleading
magic lost
version of self on the edge of drought
fakery
like a bin of plastic fruit
maybe buy livability
maybe find the stinging centre of body
whatever floats to the top of thinking
making purchases of white stuff in half lit alleys
that peel back growth
swaddled in needing
injecting junk into the night
how to find a mate dismantled?
dark eyes eroded
that brim like black coffee to its rim
a look for something that must be had
in gibberish leaps of high
flares of addiction
that smell like an animal skinned
poisoned air of white powder
that charts the touch between us
Poem composed: April 22, 2021
Revised: April 25, 2021
Contest: Open Poetry 3
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
It's the life of a street nigga
get money or die trying in the process
If a nigga make it 21 where Im from
that mean you blessed
all the drama and stress that just goes with tha struggle
along wit the dope boyz moving bricks by the bundle.
It's the life. Everybody been threw it
you can't avoid meeting ain't bout sh!t people
some take heartbrake harder than others
when they think about injecting some lethal
In my eyes lame niggas & fake women is see threw
you know a nigga crazy after a week
of knowing you they say they wanna be with you.
It's the life. We all then had it
the 1st one we gave out heart to
game recognize game but how
men & women use each other is a shame
women say niggas is all the same
everytime they get their heart stepped on
but you know what gets me
a baby muva that think the nigga she had a
baby wit is suppose to get back
wit her just because their child is born.
It's the life. Real talk misery loves company
most women is selfish and when it comes to love
I loved it so much my heart became helpless
but you would've thought that I'd learned from that
I kinda lost count of how many women
emotionally stabbed me in the back.
It's the life. Decision making comes wit a reasonable price
but honestly every question you have about life
forget a therapist take it to Christ
life ain't right but it gets better once
you get on that spiritual kite
but Im telling you this right here
ain't nothin but to street life