Long Justify Poems
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After the day have spoken to the higher power, felt numb
Confused, mad, angry to the world
Revelation was last February 2012
Should have worked on it then
Felt to be at fault
Was busy
If worked on it, the Divine must have finished it
Don’t know
Saints higher power says forget it
Terrified, Frightened
Trust me not
Not powerful as the Divine
Believe the higher power would shift
Divine would justify it
That babies are safe in heaven
The Divine wants to give women chance (on the right ear) choice [on the left) to save themselves
Then saw tragic car accident
Higher power says “It’s the turning point of life”
By saying this higher power believes
Just not powerful as the Divine
Written:06162020
Personally above and beyond all
I hate and despise in this world
Is misappropriation of certain
What used to be meaningful words
Critically descriptive important essential
That have been devalued demeaned
To such a lesser degree they bare no relation
To the initial gravitas they instilled
Like when I hear the throw away term
Racism is used currently bounded about today
With total and utter disregard
For what it was and is meant to represent
Now that I as someone who is someone
Who in general terms is rarely offended
Find absolutely nothing short of offensive
Because I know currently the trend is for
people to feign insincerity
Seemingly finding anything and everything offensive
Which personally I find both detrimental and most offensive of all
Because they have and find it somehow
or other acceptable to use these words
To use as a slogan or trump card to win an argument or justify a cause
But in reality they haven't got a clue what
they actually mean or meant historically
Identity and meaning in certain regard
To some people those who have experienced
The actuality and brutality embedded within
I hope are able one day to witness the day
These seemingly throw away words
Are reclaimed and are taken back placed
once again under their control
So as they can be truly appreciated and
understood in correct context
Not misappropriated so someone can
pretend to identify with
Because if they truly genuinely identified
They themselves would then finally realize
What it is like and means to be
" " OFFENDED " "
Our Saviour* knows us and our genuine submissiveness
He did save our souls by His merciful graciousness
Now, He’s transforming us from sinfulness’ uselessness…
…Toward ways of holiness with His forgiveness’ effectiveness.
Our Saviour knows us and our humble position
He did justify our status by His redemptive adoption
Now, He’s rescuing us from transgressions’ destruction…
…Toward deeds of kindness with His workmanship’s sanctification.
Our Saviour knows us and our wholehearted sincerity
He did convert our perspective by His wise sovereignty
Now, He’s pulling us from worldliness’ vanity…
…Toward values of eternity with His leadership’s authority.
Our Saviour knows us and our confident stand
He did bend our will by His powerful hand
Now, He’s freeing us from selfishness’ demand…
…Toward sacrifices of service-errand with His Scriptures’ command.
Our Saviour knows us and our obedient paces
He did straighten our attitude by His righteous braces
Now, He’s separating us from haughtiness’ curses…
…Toward exaltation of worship-praises with His compassion’s forces.
Our Saviour knows us and our faithful stewardship
He did change our work-position by His offered relationship
Now, He’s nurturing us from humanistic friendship
Toward peacefulness in prayer with His blissful fellowship.
Our Saviour knows us and our eternal life history
He did grab our dead faith by His mighty victory
Now, He’s strengthening us from becoming weary…
…Toward expansion of soulwinning territory with His Gospel’s glory.
*Jude 1:25 To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.
And so the soup’s, coming to a boil
Very difficult, not to get embroiled
Rumour has it, Hitler’s on the rise
Goose stepping, in poetic disguise
Jackboots kick open, doors of rhyme
Acrostics embed, swastikas sublime
Vaxxers accused, of a new blitzkrieg
Covid deniers, offer vapid intrigue
Enigma encoded, in sonnets of fear
Lady Haw Haw, sobs crocodile tears
All together poets, salute Sieg Heil!
Conspiracy theories, jabs are on trial
Contagious haikus, causing upset
Biden instigating, everyone’s death
God’s gone paranoid, so we’re told
Playing both sides, to steal our souls
Armband stars, equal covid passes
Monoku writers, killing the masses
Limericks are evil, piled full of poop
No place for crap jokes, tainting soup
Poets reincarnated, in nom de plume
Childish dark magic, one has assumed
So do ends, always justify the means
In war and pandemic, mania’s routine
By
David Kavanagh
How much do I know
of how reality plays?
Can I touch the sun
always on a fine day
Can I see inside you
perhaps using X-rays
Can I skip a heartbeat
if she comes my way
Can I fix the future
it’s best to make hay
Can I reflect myself
damn mirror broke today
Can I overcome fear
so far so good anyway
Can I know what’s true
of course by going astray
Can I justify reason
much easier than dismay
Can I show you God
maybe it’s best to pray
Can I define reality
only what my mind betrays
Can I be immortal,
in death, time goes away
Can I rise up again
in endless guises, I’d say!
Break the mirror Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
03/05/23
releasing me - of minutes, hours, days - of being bored,
as age creeps into my bed, and what is left, is in my head
- providing nourishment for my soul – my spirit being fed
by looking glass images, images that slip through the crack
in my day dreams, my nightmares as my brain, I rack
for images, memories, experiences - that lay dormant in a stack
upon stacks - waiting to escape the boarded up shack
that has been the villages claim to justify its existence.
The grounds, the foundations, reasons to take a stance
and say yes, yes there where days when I knew romance
and as ever the fool, no one around to kick me in the pants
as all has become history, – fourteen thousand pages – turn a leaf
and you will find that this one’s life is far to empty, far to brief.
In it – between the covers of seventy-eight – can there be any relief
from all that has been laid before you ?, can there be belief ?,
in what is before your eyes, as you look into what is laid before
you, as I reach in, grab at, touch that slow closing door
with hope that it will be possible to get a glimpse of more
before my soul, my spirit, my essence takes wing, begins to soar
beyond this plane, all the pain I have known before.
In here – these lines – I feel the loss.
Upon this stone – know – I see no moss,
for on here, I offer no direction,
just many hours of histories reflection.
Empty- I feel in this alone place.
Emptiness - I see in this aged drooping face.
Where is ?, that I might seek to go ?,
to gain wisdom, to learn what I do not know
of a world of spirit, of soul, of a fine mind.
It seems to me, little hope to find
- among humanity – the true essence of woman kind
as she entombs all- such waste – leaving all behind.
Oh !, if only the fickle hand of fate
could lay upon these drooping shoulders, in these arms, a mate
that in ones darkest hours, a soft glowing light, shine
upon this old soul and in the light of day be mine
that would share on a world , not to compare
with anything like my world of despair.
The hour has passed, the rest are in decline.
The minutes that remain – with stain, are mine.
There is little I see, that will make life fine,
for the ephemeral time left to me, little will shine
through as I look into the black, storm cloud ahead
that rage, stage battles, assassinate instead
Some are crafty and witty
Tainting the experience of a city
Quenching whatever godliness will kindle
Befriending only to use and swindle
Now the old wish for the olden day
And the young crave for that which the old say
But aren't we victims of one another
Each one a brother to a brother whom we don't bother
All the good that we today see as myth
Is fanned by our strangling of each other's faith
Yet the name of the Lord is still on our lips
Tell my then why the tapestry fades and rips
Like trees lush and green but without fruit
The gardening we have received we still don't foot
Taking without giving
Virtue dying out of our living
For we justify of its death with the times
And we are now silent in the face of crimes
Away from the woe of calling light darkness
Consequence will reveal your deeds in starkness
Let God lead ye, oh ye his sons and daughters
Safely wading through the darts and the plotters
We of Christ's fold shall be known by our love
And all the righteous bearings we shall have
K. Muitherero
This page in our history will not read too well in the future.
Tomorrow’s scholars will sigh and balk when they try to argue or justify.
Great minds of the future will not understand how we allowed this to happen.
They’ll see them as criminals but look at us and just wonder why.
A thousand years is nothing in the history of this planet. A thousand years will soon go by. We’ll be gone and cast into the winds of history. But our page in history will always be there for others to see the lies.
Will we be remembered as the generations of fools who let this happen?
Will we be remembered as the ancestors with cowardice eyes?
Will we be remembered as the ones who burned all of our bridges?
Will we be remembered as the weakest of our kind?
We let them destroy our economy.
Our bonds with our brother nations cut for greed and conceited pride.
Our people dying all around us. Our children wilfully subjected to starvation. A nations pride died through our eyes.
Our page in history should be written on a black background with small white words telling of the lies, deceits and failures of small white minds.
Stop pretending
your racism is patriotism
Stop pretending
your sexism is natural
Stop pretending
your homophobia
is healthy heterosexuality
Stop pretending
your evangelical orthodoxy
isn't xenophobia
Stop pretending
your traumatic patriarchalism
doesn't justify
and sanctify
therapeutic womanism
Stop pretending
your monotheism
isn't,
once the veil of dualism is lifted,
predative anthro-supremacism.
Try remembering
that silent gifts,
like grace,
and redemption from hypocrisy,
are a lifetime healthcare process,
co-redemptive journey,
dance into integrity
compassion
pleasure
curiosity.
Write Right
I have written inside the box,
worked under the pain of the
literary lashers, choked back the
crimson ink of penned passion.
Occasionally, a blot of defiance,
a subtle innuendo, a more
obvious double entendre,
would escape the “Proof”
readers. As if there is some
proof needed to justify
the roots of my passion,
the depth of my meanings. Then,
by happenstance of brief encounter,
a mentor said: “Just write it kid.
Let them figure it out.” Thereby,
I was set free to love the challenge,
embrace the barren landscape,
ski words on the fresh fallen powder
of the unsullied page. And so I write
not seeking to produce a masterpiece
but to become the master of the piece.
Holding edges on the sharpened
turns of life, enduring the moguls
pounding thoughts, peering into
whiteness streaking past,
and laughing at the thrill
of freedoms fear.
I write – that I may write,
that poetry might have my voice,
share my voice, be my voice.
From outside the box I shout
that there is a freedom in the
harnesses of forms when we write
with the fury of our storms.
8/10/2014
For Regina Riddle
contest - Writing