Long Kidnapped Poems
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Homer in his prime knew what was divine he sets out to woo the earth but his ambition was crumbed in the dirt, the Trojan War is an epic of past, love, power, hate, marriage, and crime; the Greeks and the city of Troy and the ten years war that took many lives and causes numerous painful sacrifices.
The marriage of Peleus’ and Thetis’ brought the whole nation together Zeus in his fantasy was merry and happy but the goddess of strife was denied entry to the marriage feast and so she made a dangerous decree, she throw her gift among the guests; and everyone scramble to find the second best, Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera began to fight for it but the spoon quickly ran away with the dish.
Zeus in all his pride could not decide who to get the goddess of strife gift and Paris, the prince of Troy, was asked to make the decision but Paris was not the smartest fellow and he left everything in a big hollow and so Hera the queen bribed him for a thin limb.
Hera promised him political power and a sordid throne for tomorrow; but Athena in a subtle tone promise, wisdom in mind and battle in pride but that could persuade Paris. Aphrodite knew his heart from the start and promised him the beautiful Helen of Sparta. But he quickly chose Aphrodite and wrap up the selection plight, woman was his weakness and he went all the way for her.
Charming Helen was married to Menelaus, the mean king of Sparta so, Paris journeyed to Sparta and kidnapped Helen from her home and brought her back to Troy with him and Helen could not resist his touch and she fell in love with Paris when she felt his heart and from there on the Trojan War began. It started with a gift and ended with a gift.
The Greeks surround the city of troy and hid in the Trojan horse. A few of them went back to sea and pretend as if they were gone but Paris and his men hang out on the lawn, and what they thought was a precious gift was an ambush set outside lawn. No sword was drawn, no blood was spilt but the Greeks defeated troy with a massive fire ball when they took the Trojan horse inside, “burn! Troy burn” the Greeks shouted.
And so Homer, the greatest storyteller of all gave an account of how the mighty Trojan fall on his way back from the Trojan War in the epic Iliad. You are a long way from home.
If you have never felt the lure of the desert,
you cannot understand why people like me
prefer to be surrounded by sandy dunes.
An inexplicable lure, that acts like a drug.....
Until I was kidnapped by four senile Bedouins.
There was nothing senile about their guns.
Courteously I was led into their tent
built near a small oasis. I was fed, sort of.
And then the entertainment began.
From behind the curtains, someone strummed
a melody of eastern music, eerie and mysterious,
but still unpleasant to my ears.
Two men performed a sword dance.
Then a lovely female dancer took the stage.
In the dim light, the air was smoky with hookahs,
she stood in the middle of the tent,
The music climbed slowly in a crescendo,
her dance matched the rhythm, slow to fast.
I wonder why she did not interest me.
I was more concerned about the weapons
Aimed idly at me. Someone handed me a drink,
like nectar. I drank and drank and drank.
The end came, abruptly.
I woke up groggily,
and was sent to the nearest town.
The senile Bedouin smiled:
"The desert has its beauty, my friend.
But be careful. You can get lost."
Still, the lure of the desert will always beckon.
It is Good Friday
Remember, remember
When, for Jesus, everything was nasty and sour
When things were very bad for Jesus
Yet, we don’t say: bad Friday
Afterwards, so everything could be good for us
Jesus was slapped
Jesus was kidnapped
Jesus was humiliated
Jesus was insulted
Jesus was beaten, kicked and hit
From head to feet
Jesus was shackled and handcuffed
Jesus could not even cough
Jesus was ostracized
Jesus was crucified
Like many Blacks and Africans
Like many brothers and sisters with dark skin
Yet, the heart of Jesus was pure and very clean
Jesus had no friends and no fans
Jesus was falsely accused
Jesus was mistreated
Jesus was immolated
Many criminals were amused
Many Satanists and perpetrators had fun
With God’s only Begotten and Special Son
Who had endured pain and suffering like a slave
Yes, yes, Jesus was absolutely brave
Yes, yes, Jesus was innocent
Jesus was resilient, too decent and too pleasant
It is Good Friday
Brothers and sisters, let’s pray
Every day is a Good and Beautiful day
Amen, Amen, let’s reflect on the Day
Brothers and sisters, let’s pray
Remember, remember
When things went very bad for Jesus
Who died for our sins, Who died for us
Yes, Jesus is still standing with us
Jesus is God’s Unique and Special Son
Watch the moon and enjoy the Sun.
Copyright © April 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred:
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was.
The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went,
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis,
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?
Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy,
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?
Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries
recited with graceful whispers, gave them
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels
bend under their heavy weight and bow....
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"
Southern Italian Town: Baiano
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
VOICES & CURSES AGAINST A CROOKED THRONE
Thunder fire you, Oh crooked throne,
That feasts on ?44 billion gone.
Betta Edu, Halima Shehu—names we know,
Public funds turned to private flow.4
Thunder fire you, Oh oil-soaked hand,
That hides ?500 billion from the land.
The NNPCL’s shadowed books,
While the people starve in empty nooks.8
Thunder fire you, Oh fraud of state,
Ninety-two projects abandoned to fate.
Fifteen billion lost in dust and lies,
Four hundred more never touched, though financed high.¹²
Thunder fire you, Oh weak mandate,
Born of a Constitution that twists our fate.
"On your mandate, you & your followers shall fall"
Your incompetency is printed across the wall.¹6
Votes without majority, legitimacy thin,
Yet you sit enthroned while hunger grips in.¹8
Thunder fire you, Oh blood-stained field,
Five hundred Nigerian soldier's lives unsealed.
Bandits roam Zamfara’s cold blooded night,
Sokoto soaks in fear & cries in endless fright.²²
Thunder fire you, Oh silencer’s bill,
That jails the critic, bends the will.
"Waka shege banza" echoes in the street,
And activists, except a few, fall beneath your feet.²6
Thunder fire you, as naira breaks & inflation climbs,
Poor mothers mourns & count their last few dimes.²8
Thunder fire you, Oh broken vow,
Renewed Hope is hollow now.
Twelve thousand dead, their names erased,
Ten thousand kidnapped, children displaced.³²
Thunder fire you, as you caused Plateau’s tears,
Farmers flee farms, Benue’s graves, Borno’s fears.
New terror group, Lakurawa rise, Sokoto burns,
Yet your useless promises yield no returns.³6
Thunder fire you, Oh defence in shame,
Zamfara governor Matawalle’s post, a cursed name.
The army outgunned, your people you betray,
While terror thrives and hope greatly decays.4°
And when the storm breaks, fierce and true,
The cry of the masses will thunder through.
No Aso Rock, no palace gate, no armored car,
Can hide your sad end & the shame of who you are.44
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Copyright ©?26th April 2026.
Draw me.
Not as they see me,
ignore the flaws that feed my self-pity.
Discount the bruises, the cast iron shackles,
the nostalgic anchors bound to my ankles.
Sketched from behind, so you can't see me cry,
fake charcoal tears cannot be justified.
And from your rear view your gasp breaks the silence,
is it such a surprise to discover I'm spineless?
I want you to draw me before you know me,
I guess I'm intrigued to see how you see me
So I strip off my clothes, as they pool at my feet
I'm stripped of my shackles and anchored deceits.
And I stand there, naked, my legs start to shake,
What do you see in your colourblind state?
You won't see my cheeks kidnapped by a blush,
or the lightning blue sparks though we didn't yet touch.
Lifeless and grey in your fogged imagination
Scared I'll seem dull in your black and white vision.
I want to be painted in shades of crimson,
Monochrome portraits won't portray my passion.
Looking back, I tell myself that you’re the one that got away, it’s not like you were a victim and I kidnapped you, not in a criminal kind of way
But as I recollect, I’m glad that you left, because back then I didn’t realize it at the time but when I was with you, I was holding my breath
Just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to feel the pelting of the bricks from the sky, because what I was doing wasn’t right for you or for I
You had already been taken so very long ago, and just because you got bored, or just stuck, and was looking for a way out, only you truly know
I was just there with the car door open inviting you to come in and take a ride with me, but neither of us knew what lied ahead for us, if only we could have seen
Hazardous road conditions, so slippery from so many tears that were shed, and the shaking of the road in front of us because our nerves were the only thing being fed
Living on borrowed time, knowing the road trip will end all too soon, but, in the end, not wanting to say goodbye, it came much too soon
Didn’t I see the warning signs? The “Yield”, “Look First”, “Stop”, before he breaks your heart up ahead? I was too blinded by the chemistry there brewing between us and look where it led
A disastrous wreck, carnage like you wouldn’t believe, everything that I held sacred to me then died right there in that street
Two hearts shattered, two lives torn in two, because we took a wrong turn somewhere between all of the lies and the truth
One of us walked away a little more battered and bruised, and one of us still has the scars, the reminder, the proof
So, in the end you were the one that got away, but I was the victim, the one who’s heart had been kidnapped and left for dead that fatal day.
Have you ever felt captivated by someone?
I mean kidnapped, just taken by their eyes
and neither can completely escape.
I don't know what it is about him and I?
We feel drawn together so strongly.
Did we meet in another life?
Your charcoal eyes are always smoldering
they burn with intensity
through every one of your photographs.
Such vivid, heated passion
even in stark black and white.
I have never seen lips like yours.
I run my fingers across them
wishing they were more
than paper and shadows.
Whatever happens to us in the coming days,
I know your image will remain
in my mind permanently,
forever welded together.
Written by Kelly Deschler
March 24th, 2015
She is friendly and as welcoming as anyone in the neighborhood in the spring, outside, in her garden.
She collects neighbors the way anteaters collect ants, without hardly trying.
They see her out there, and they put on their spring jackets and join her.
She listens and she laughs, and she enjoys them like no other person ever has, appreciating them.
They invite her to their houses, but she dare not go, so she makes an excuse.
They only see her in the spring, which seems curious, but they are too busy showing themselves to ask about her life.
She seems private, somehow, and they respect that.
None of them know that she lives a secret life, a terrifying life, inside the house, with her abductor.
No one knows that she was kidnapped when she was nine, and she is fearful of everyone, even them.
No one realizes that he is watching, and seething with anger that he let her out, worried about what she might say.
As they flock to her, to have her listen to them, he is plotting how he will make her pay.
And she does.
It is her last outing.
What was once to be, what was
A life of dreams and hope's reality
Chaos turned uncontrollably wildly insane
A society of a broken world,A Lost World
A dying generation,a new begins
People out of control,no control
Killings everyday the news channel saids
If not by gun, phones become deadly
The people cry even if their own destruction
The hurt is felt even to the economy
As well as the soul,a lost world unfolds
A society who condemns God just their pleasure
Their needs be not yours but their own
That behind the gun they pull triggers
Who to blame, not the one swinging hatchet
But society,We The People our choice cries
As we point blame to a lost world dying out
We want to do crime but not pay the price
Kids kidnapped and raped,no parental control
Our choice be our own Let Freedom Ring
But without sacrifice what do we gain
If we become a lost world without perception
A Lost world with no future cause we fail to teach