Long Jaundice Poems
Long Jaundice Poems. Below are the most popular long Jaundice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jaundice poems by poem length and keyword.
There was change, an odd pulse,
a new cadence and tone, in the place I grew up
where my mother had been...
Where white fences stretched out to cradle our home
but where zones, unfamiliar, were on now on the cusp
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same maple bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
but was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Eventually, I would grow with a fresh point of view,
but the child that I was, still waits for the moon
I'm older and wiser, maybe stronger than then
but, the moth will look in, escaping the moon
ramming the screen
seeking the flame...
batting its wings,
while resisting the change, ...again, and again
11/3/14
Four brothers brought up to revere God and love country.
From Rockford, Illinois, a close suburb of Chicago.
Frank, who grew up to be a Marine.
Ralph, who joined the Army and John, an Air Force man.
Their letters home can be found if you google
“The Abandoned History of Four”
Their only surviving relative a second cousin,
A woman who recognizes the value of their letters.
They express the horrors of WWII, the air raids, the submarines,
“The Japs and nasty Germans raiding without warning”
They take you through Pearl Harbor, a particularly nasty day.
You get a feel for the terror, and the aftermath of what they lived through.
None of the three brothers married or had children.
Frank was sent home with malaria and jaundice, and had mental problems.
Ralph and John were probably in similar states.
Optimistic, patriotic soldiers who lived their truth.
At the expense of their futures.
Until now, the skies were only blue or gray.
But today, wrathful Cacus set the sky ablaze.
Today, the spectral smoke choked ochre sky mirrors
exploding wildfires unleashed below.
Today the tarnished jaundice sky measures
the crumbling Constitutional edifices,
the raging roving injustice burning
everywhere across the land.
Today as thousands are driven
from their homes, the pestilence
spreads across the land,
killing hundreds of thousands.
Today the sooted grimy sky
reflects the deceitful lawless tyrant,
all his crooked crony stagehands,
his white nationalist army of tormentors,
as their raw sewage floods the rivers and streams
of our theories.
Today this climate rampage
has nothing to do with climate change.
We bask instead in the political climate
of aberrant delusions.
Today this inferno in the sky,
this ceiling of hellfire,
suffocates our oxygen of dreams.
Below, the Constitution provides
kindling for the flames
ingulfing our democracy,
the fuel for our conspiracy wildfire,
our rite of passage
to the underworld.
Published: Dissident Voice 10/18/2020
Do you know the land where the lemon-trees flower?
There are folks whose bouquets seem to be vagrant;
their aromas are devoid of willpower.
“They need water,” says my friend who’s called Fragrant.
Contained within their trunk itself a sweet smell,
but in the growth cycle it bears exception;
scents escape from the bloom before blossoms swell.
Fragrant defines fruitless trees with perception…
Dry blooms expire before they reach beauty’s door.
Loveliness defaults when jaundice does not pardon.
The water of forgiveness seeks to restore.
Fragrant says, “Fruit is borne in grace’s garden.”
written July 13, 2018
three Goethe stanzas inspired by this quote:
“Do you know the land where the lemon-trees flower?”
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
Fanatics in feigned fury forced fellow fools for fait accompli
Laying lies as labyrinth loyally to murdering Lord,
Haggard Haters in hounding habits and hypocrisy as honor hunched,
Bearded Blackguard blazes bright sword amongst blinded buffoons,
Jabber with Jackknife judging jaundice with Kind “Jihads”,
Happy to hack the Innocent whose life they cannot save,
For the foolishness and orderings of an epileptic and adulterous protagonist,
Ten times in ten holes for ten years hunted by his guilt in 9/11,
And thoughtless Arabian protects a coward from justice of his acclaimed crime,
As Hitler and Haman hewed wicked gallows sitting as Judges of men,
As Abacha abandon décor following the doctrines of murder in “holy unholy book”
As Mobutu, blazing terror the macabre style
And like Osama Bin Laden,
Another coward fanatic dies running from Justice
A banana tree bears bunches
of fat yellow legs,
clusters of pendular limbs
known as hands.
Such contradictions
serve to push our minds
out of their crates.
Try not to ponder too much
on fully thawed tarantulas
and small venomous snakes.
Feel free to postulate
how quickly life begins green
by turning yellow,
until seemingly overnight
a mottled jaundice
heralds an unpleasant end.
Most mature bananas bend
in like manner,
and could give rise to thoughts
of Pyrone’s disease.
Banana enlightenment is rare,
some may awaken
clutching at a pulsating plantain
only to have nirvana slip away
as time unpeels
a more humdrum reality.
For best results
potassium yourself daily.
Rejection chain reaction
New Born Male Child
A babe suffering during while
A Mother who wanted her son to die
Heaven’s intervention rise
The new born experienced Asthma, Yellow Jaundice and Malnutrition
The birth weight way below normal circumstances
Life surrounding was uncertain
Doctors are given up hope
Assurance was no cope
Doctors calculated that the babe will only live to 7 in longevity
They told the family to prepare for a funeral and not become attached, but if I lived on it would be God’s will
The Doctors suggested that I put in a Foster Home, but my Grandparents stepped in
Foster Home ruled out
Fast forward through the years, the babe grew up to a teenager of 17 and beyond
The Male teenager spend many weekends with his mother who didn’t want him
The Mother often said she wanted a Girl
No fault on my part, I just became the end product what God wanted me to be
She would cuss and chastise the son for no apparent reason
It was always criticism and negativity that came from the mother to the son
There was definitely a wall of a barrier between the mother and son with love nowhere to be found
The son was blamed for his mother not marrying the internal father
How does a child who didn’t ask to be born being the problem?
The Yellow Jaundice had changed the pigmentation of skin to Caucasian, but that was only briefly when I was born
To this day, the son feels no love and doesn’t extend love to his mother
There used to be a lot of anger and bitterness, but since has been released
Carrying plenty of tension throughout the years
The son prayed to the Lord in honesty in stating he didn’t love his mother
The Lord’s response, “Just respect her”
There were times the son hated himself thinking it was a mistake in him being born
There was even a thought of suicide attempt
A Mother who is not even proud of what her son who is independent, Graduated from college and Self-Alliant has become
The son will always believe a mother wanted to kill her son while she was barring with all her smoking, and stated quote “I would of had an abortion done when abortions weren’t even heard of back then
Yet, a son who is ever proud and achieved greatness in life under the Lord’s eyes.
Darkened room's creeping oil slick walls,
pressing hollow fear trapped breath,
tears falling in shameful streams,
victim's self inflicted dreams,
poison broken bloodshot eyes,
sickly yellow jaundice betraying lies,
hated liquid in false love slips down,
another sorrow's ghost trying to drown,
fire ignites soul deep inside,
deceive myself at dawn's new light,
just to sleep I laying lied,
in the murky liquid savior hide,
God in a bottle where this lamb died,
here the light inside was weighed,
penitent vomiting black bloods words,
remember I once prayed,
seeing death smeared on my hands,
the day that I was saved.
I made it out
To Castlereagh
By peddling
Along the verge
Banjo said
'tis the land of lots o time'
That will do me
Just fine
I seen lots of sheep
Wasn't sure if they were Conroy's
So enquired
Of Old mate
Standing
By his gate
108
In the shade he was
This old man
And a paddock
Full of sheep
'Conroys gone
Same with his son
And the mail man
He don't ride no more
You'll see no drovers camp fires
And as for big lagoons
With flocks of birds
Only in your sleep
Teamsters toiling
No
Roadtrains belching
Out here
On Castlereagh
I made my fortune
And lost it too
Just like that
Big blue sapphire
I found digging that
Fence line
If the season was good
I wouldn't had holes
In my pockets
For it to fall through
He didn't lement his loss
You get use to it
Out here
On Castlereagh
I make money from mud
But not from dust
That's how you do it
On this land
But you do it for the love of it ?
He looked at me
With his weathered face
And jaundice coloured eyes
No
No
Once I did
But not now
I love me dogs
I do it for them
I breathe this mountain air
And when I can't
I will be dead
Along with Banjo
Conroy and his son
With a whistle
The dogs were gone
Be seeing you he said
Back on the verge
I left Old mate
By the gate
Time to find
Ballimore
YELLOW
Called him yellow?
He must be an Albino!
The point aimed at is this fellow
But the yellow must always mellow
Acting the Shakespearian Othello.
No true friends in the ghetto
Except you are hood and get-on.
Adorned naturally with a color enticing unease,
Jaundice, his name, and "Alfin" joined to his,
Names that causes 'All Eyes On Me'
Wondered what life would be
If he had been a black coffee
L. Custance ask: who are the truly bothersome blokes?
Not the one, the butt of some jokes
But the one his exemplary life chokes
And ends well better than his folks
To remove this dandruff from this shoddy native land
Stand on his watch, he'd be a better brand
This prose, he knew and incubated;
THIS ON-THE-SPOT POETRY he marinated
Is to accomplish many task,
Ask Ken L. Custance, for instance
Who inspired this lofty lines,
Created and embellished by our great minds.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 10th March, 2017.